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Grief is a giant neon sign, protruding through everything, pointing everywhere, broadcasting loudly, "Love was here." In the finer print, quietly, "Love still is.”
– Heidi Priebe; As long as there is love, there will be grief
After sleeping to the comfortable hour of six o’clock in the evening, Akihiko Sanada pulled himself out of bed and began to dress for his graveyard shift. It was one of several back-to-back shifts that promised lost tourists, lost pets, and directing traffic. In less than a week, he’d officially be on personal leave that would take him to his parent’s home for two nights and then to Yakushima for a full week.
He glanced at the bed and pulled on his shirt.
Exhibit A: She’d pulled the covers up on her side of the bed before she’d left. Minor infraction. Motive: Good intentions.
Akihiko was irked.
With Akihiko’s grave shift in mind, she’d taken a long lunch and they’d enjoyed each other’s company in the space of a nap. They’d navigated the week in generally good cheer despite their sparsely overlapping schedules. They had a few basic rules for times where they passed like ships in the night, including waking the other up before leaving.
Mitsuru Kirijo was in violation of rule one.
Akihiko left the bedroom in pursuit of a solid breakfast to soften his mood.
When he opened the fridge, Akihiko immediately discovered the bento lunch he had prepared earlier in the morning, stationed in the center rack.
He raked a hand through his hair. Exhibit B: No motive. Negligence. Capital offense. Akihiko added another charge to Mitsuru Kirijo’s rap sheet.
Akihiko fished out his phone and sent a picture of the evidence without an explanation. She responded promptly.[Mitsuru] Mea culpa.
“Mea culpa,” he grumbled, tapping in his response. “Mea culpa this.”
I am very disappointed in you.
Rule two: Mitsuru Kirijo was under no circumstances allowed to forget her lunch.She was notorious for skipping meals while at work. In these instances, Akihiko had irrefutable evidence that she would either not eat or consume unsaintly foods obtained on the go, chock full of empty calories.
Her excuse came immediately:

[Mitsuru] I was in a hurry. I’m sorry. Did you see my note?
Akihiko glanced at the counter. Exhibit C: A small parcel addressed from his parents was on the kitchen counter with a note: Call your mother.
Akihiko, accustomed to the full suite of Kirijo diversion tactics, acknowledged receipt of both note and parcel with a warning.
I see it. You’re not off the hook.

[Mitsuru] Police intimidation tactics are not effective on me.

Won’t stop me from trying.

[Mitsuru] I’m looking forward to it.

“Not as much as I am,” Akihiko said and allotted himself a wry smile. He set his phone down to crack the pair of eggs clutched in his fist.He took intermittent bites of his breakfast while he opened the parcel. A note from his mother was tucked inside.

We found this when cleaning out your room. I think it would make a lovely gift to a certain someone – Mom
Akihiko opened the padded envelope. A locket slipped out and into his palm. Akihiko set his breakfast aside and ran his thumb against the surface.
The oval pendant was set with obsidian. A crescent moon fashioned from mother of pearl was embellished along the edge of the pendant and overlaid the black stone.
Akihiko squeezed the frame. The locket popped open and revealed a small white feather; Miki’s feather. He smiled and traced his fingers against the tips, still light and downy after years in storage.He'd found the locket at an antique shop. Akihiko had been on a jog that morning; restless in the swampy June heat and hot off of the mission that had ultimately delivered Fuuka Yamagishi to S.E.E.S.

2009
The June humidity hadn’t fully set in by the time Akihiko finished his morning run.
He’d slept like shit last night and a workout was the only way to chase the restlessness from his nerves. Akihiko crammed a protein bar in his mouth and headed for the gym. After ten sets of skullcrushers, Akihiko hit the pavement and packed in a run at a strenuous pace around the city.
It was a piss poor performance for a run, but today he just needed to move. His body was still lagging from the fight last night. Mitsuru had caught him exiting the dorm and given him a thin look of disapproval but had ultimately said nothing. Akihiko was grateful. He needed the clear air and he needed to give his body a job.
Restlessness and concern had kept the sleep from his eyes last night. A good deal of his concern was reserved for Yamagishi. Summoning a persona for the first time could be, well, awful. Yamagishi’s awakening couldn’t have been easy, especially not for someone as slight as her. She’d not only survived being trapped in Tartarus, but she’d used an Evoker for the first time and jumped in to support the mission. It was no surprise she’d collapsed from exhaustion after summoning Lucia for the first time.It wasn’t just Yamagishi who worried him.Mitsuru had gotten hit so hard she’d had the wind knocked out of her and when Akihiko had lifted her up, he’d followed a bruise forming from her ankle all the way up her thigh. The way she’d leaned on him the rest of the night had pumped him full of agitation.Mitsuru always picked herself up. Last night had been the first time in years that she’d willingly reached for his support.Yamagishi was recovering. Mitsuru was back to marching around the dormitory. Everyone was fine and Akihiko just needed to train harder.
Akihiko had topped out his run just under 10k and found himself outside of a dusty antique shop. The window displays offered nothing memorable, but a vague magnetism drew him in. He wandered through the aisles, filled with small animal statues, rugs, and old heavy furniture. He was still catching his breath when he approached the counter.
The woman behind the glass case greeted him and advised him to consult her if there was something in particular he couldn’t find. A gluttonous black cat observed him as he moved through the store, watching with a question-mark tail as Akihiko approached the glass case under the counter.
He’d spotted the locket and asked to see it.
“A locket,” she smiled, threading the chain against her palm and offering it to him. “Is a marvelous way to ensure someone keeps a part of you with them.”Out of context, it sounded like something a serial killer might have said. Akihiko admired the delicate jewelwork on the surface.“Mother of pearl and obsidian,” the shopkeeper said. She squeezed the side of the pendant and the frame clicked open.On the back of the locket pendant were three interlocked spirals joined at the center.
“What's this symbol?” Akihiko asked.“I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t know the name of it. A foreigner brought this to me many, many years ago.
It was given to her by an elder who told her the symbol was the mark of a powerful goddess. She believed it helped her find her true love right here in Japan. She was a widow, poor thing. She and her husband spent many happy years together before he passed. I believe she was preparing for the end of her own life and wanted the locket to help another.
Perhaps that is you?”“I don't know about that stuff,” Akihiko said. “It's just for a friend.”“I see. Then perhaps–”“No. I'll take it. So like… she– or someone could put, like a picture in here or something?”The shop owner nodded.“A picture, a lock of hair, a love note, or any item you wish someone to remember you by.”Akihiko reached into his wallet and removed a small, white feather. Miki had given it to him when they’d been playing by the river. She told him that an angel had dropped it outside her bedroom window while visiting the children at the orphanage. Miki had issued Akihiko a stern order to keep it on him at all times for protection.“Oh,” the shopkeeper said, taken back by the item. “Let’s have a look at that. May I?”Akihiko watched the shop keeper’s delicate hands guide the feather into the bed of the locket. The soft strands curled snugly into a loop around the edge of the frame.
“Now that is a perfect fit,” she marveled, adjusting her glasses.

Shortly after purchasing the locket, Akihiko decided he’d try and find Shinji before heading back to the dorm. Maybe he wouldn’t convince him to come back today, but persistence even through the simple act of being around had to count for something. Akihiko found him along the harbor, leaning over the rail and looking into the water.
Shinji gave him a sour look but tolerated Akihiko’s presence with nothing more than half-hearted scoff. They stood together and looked into the water, their feet stacked in the gaps of the rail. Akihiko remembered the locket in his pocket.
He showed it to Shinji and watched the color drain from his face. Akihiko felt a swell of panic and confusion grind in his gut.
“What’s that face?” Akihiko asked defensively.“You can’t,” Shinji gaped in horror at the locket. “Aki you numbskull, giving Kirijo that locket sends a very specific message. You ready to do that?”“Huh? What kind of message?” Akihiko looked at the pendant as it swung gently in the breeze, thinking it would tell him something Shinji wasn’t.
“Couples give each other jewelry, okay? It’s… an intimate gesture.”“Come on, Shinji. It’s just a locket.”“Objects mean things, Aki. Give her a book for crying out loud. She’s always got her nose stuffed in one.”Akihiko had contemplated the matter and had decided Shinji knew best, or at least better than him on this stuff. He’d tucked the locket back into his pocket. Later, he’d returned home to his parent’s house and stowed the locket in a box under his bed, double checking to make sure Miki’s feather was still tucked in the frame.

Shortly after Akihiko’s mother answered his call, a large crash resounded through the receiver.“Oh, I’m so happy you opened it!” she exclaimed over the noise.
“What was that?” Akihiko asked, suddenly alert.“What was what, dear?” she asked with a less than convincing level of innocence.

“Think you're tough?”
A series of sqwuaks and grunts crackled through the line. Akihiko rubbed his face with an agitated sigh.“Mom,” he growled.“Oh,” she admitted with a sigh. “Well you remember that I started taking ceramics classes? I’ve become so interested that your father bought me a pottery wheel. We're putting it in your old room.”“You're no match for me, you hunk of junk!” “Tell that old man not to move anything until I get there,” Akihiko snapped. “A pottery wheel can wait a week.”“Now, don’t you worry about us–” "Yes, bring forth the boxer!” Akihiko’s father cried out like a bloodthirsty gladiator. “I'll show him how a real man does it!" Another crash.
“Mom,” Akihiko warned.“Dear,” she called out. “Won’t you take a break?”
"Let me 'at im, honey! I'm as strong as an ox!"
“But I baked cookies!” she sang.Silence permeated the line.
"Cookies!” he shrieked.
A final crash. Akihiko heard the sound of footsteps rushing against tile.
“Over there,” his mother whispered into the receiver. “To the victor go the spoils!” his father declared, his voice muffled by a mouthful of cookies.“Nice work, mom,” Akihiko said, slipping the locket into his pocket. “Keep him busy. We’ll be there soon.”

Akihiko arrived at the station and slipped down the stairs into the locker room to change into his uniform. He engaged in an obligatory amount of shop talk and tolerated a modest degree of good-natured ribbing centered around his upcoming nuptials. He headed up to the main office and reviewed the shift log with the swing shift officer. He was surprised to see a few names listed on the roster for the holding cells.“One’s a drunk, the other a bike thief,” Akihiko’s colleague said, his mouth cracking open in a yawn. “Man, I don’t know how you stand these graveyard shifts. It’s only eight and I’m wrecked.”“You interview the bike thief?”“Not yet,” his colleague responded. “He was pretty agitated. Decided to give him a minute to calm down.”“Violent?” Akihiko asked.“No,” he said, handing Akihiko an almost too full cup of black coffee. “Shook up.”“How’s the drunk?” Akihiko took a robust pull from the mug.“Model inmate.”“Out cold?”“Like a rock,” his colleague answered.Akihiko asked after his colleague’s wife and kids before he bade him goodnight. He sorted through his emails and sent a quick thanks to Kurosawa for approving his time off request.
Akihiko perused a few files on his desk and quickly identified nothing urgent waiting for his attention. He moved next to the break room where he selected two bottles of water and slipped a packet of salted nuts into his vest. With the file tucked under his arm, he made his way to the holding cells and surveyed the two individuals on either side of the corridor.“Which one of you is my bike thief?” Akihiko asked.“Yo,” said the inmate seated to his left. He politely raised his hand. “Present.”Akihiko nodded to him and peered over at the man in the opposite cell.“Hello!” slurred the man brightly.
Akihiko handed the inebriated inmate one of the bottles of water and attempted conversation. The inmate had other plans. He accepted the bottle of water and placed it under his head as a pillow.
His snores were echoing off the wall by the time Akihiko turned back to the other occupant. He was a young guy, heavy-eyed and thickly built with a mess of hair that touched the nape of his neck.“Feeling okay?” Akihiko asked, pulling the file out from his arm.“Better,” he shrugged, his eyes downcast between his feet. “I’m not a thief though.”“Okay,” Akihiko replied. “You want to talk about it with me?”The inmate nodded. Akihiko unlocked the cell and led him to an empty interrogation room. Akihiko fiddled with the lighting; harsh fluorescents, the bane of his existence. He gave up as he always did and sat down across from the young man in handcuffs.
His name and age were included in the file, but Akihiko asked him to confirm both as a matter of procedure. Shimuzu Jun quickly revealed himself to be soft spoken and polite. He was eighteen and had lived in Port Island for three years since his father transferred for a job with the Kirijo Group. Their family had moved from Aomori. His kid sister was eleven and had a pet rabbit.“Anything else I should know about you?” Akihiko asked.Shimuzu shifted in his seat.“One time when I was little, my mom and I went into an old house,” Shimuzu began. “They’d just fixed it up, so it looked new. The walls were white and the windows were really big. While we were walking around, I had a really weird feeling. It was like we weren’t supposed to be there. I felt sick to my stomach the whole time. I couldn’t describe it but I told my mom not to go back there.”Shimuzu paused. He rolled his eyes up at the ceiling and pointed up.“There was this spot that felt different from the rest of the house,” he murmured. “In the kitchen, underneath the light, just above the sink.”Akihiko glanced at Shimuzu’s file. He’d only glanced over the location where Shimuzu had been booked. Akihiko read it fully this time and the location screamed up at him from the paper.

“What happened after you left the house?” Akihiko asked, closing the file tab and silencing the words on the paper.“It burned down,” Shimuzu said. “The wiring in the kitchen light above the sink hadn’t been replaced.”Akihiko shifted in his seat and patted his vest.“You hungry?” he asked.“Starving,” Shimuzu answered.Akihiko handed him the packet of nuts and waited for him to finish eating.“The arresting officer found you with bolt cutters in the outskirts of Port Island Station. Said you were incoherent.”Shimuzu shook his head.“It was my sister’s bike. Some punks stole it. I was just taking it back.”Akihiko took a moment to jot down a note.“These guys catch you?” he asked.“No,” Shimuzu answered.“What had you incoherent?”“I…” Shimuzu hugged himself and took a shaky breath. “Sorry.”“It’s okay,” Akihiko nodded. “Take your time.”“That place gave me the same feeling I got in that house, like something really big was going to happen.”Akihiko scratched out another set of notes. His fingers buzzed and ebbed numb. He concentrated on the pencil scrawling down the sheet and cleared his throat.“Happened?” Akihiko pressed, his voice wavering.
Shimuzu gave him a blank stare.“Happened, you mean,” Akihiko went on. “Something bad happened there.”A lot of bad things happened there. Things Akihiko preferred not to revisit at the moment; or ever.
“I didn’t say something bad was going to happen there,” Shimuzu said. “Just something big.”“But it was the feeling you got when you visited the house that burned down, right?” Akihiko asked quietly. “The bad feeling?”“Weird feeling,” Shimuzu corrected, shaking his head. “No one was living in that house yet. It burned down before anyone lived there, before anyone could get hurt. It wasn’t a bad thing that it burned down when it did.”Shimuzu paused and leaned forward.“You know how when your hair stands up before lightning hits? Or when you turn your back on the ocean?”“Yeah,” Akihiko said.“It felt like that,” Shimuzu murmured. “Like charged up or something.”Akihiko squinted at Shimuzu.“Where’s the bike?” he asked.“Still there,” Shimuzu said remorsefully. “It’s my sister’s. I was just trying to get it back.”“I know, I believe you,” Akihiko said patiently. “But you can’t go around taking matters like this into your own hands. Nothing good will come of it. Report it to the police.”Akihiko tore off a piece of paper from this notebook and pushed it over to Shimuzu.
“Write down a description of the bike,” he instructed. “Identification number is best if you’ve got it, but we’ll see what we can do with what you’ve got. Come back in the morning with your sister. She gets to I.D. it.”Shimuzu jotted down a description of the bike and passed it back to Akihiko: Pink with a purple handbasket shaped like a kitten. Akihiko shook his head. These teenagers had probably taken it as a joke. He’d have to get it back before they damaged it.
Akihiko stood up and led Shimuzu to the processing desk. The sound of late evening buzzed around him; a phone ringing, his colleagues re-ordering the files on their desks while they harangued each other. It was the peaceful chaos Akihiko had grown fond of. Akihiko selected the applicable forms and reviewed them with Shimuzu, explaining each one in detail before Shimuzu signed.
At length, Akihiko uncuffed him and motioned to the door. Akihiko continued penciling in responses on the long-form instruction sheet before him and realized Shimuzu was still standing in the lobby.

“You’re out the bolt cutter,” Akihiko informed him when he didn’t leave.
“You’re very kind,” Shimuzu murmured.
Akihiko gave him a stern smile.
“Go home, kid. Your sister is probably worried about you.”“You got a family, sir?” Shimuzu asked nervously.Through the thin wall separating the processing desk from the break room, Akihiko picked out the sound of the Featherman Ranger intro song playing on the television.
“Yeah,” Akihiko paused. “I’m getting married next week.”Shimuzu smiled.
“Congratulations.”He shuffled to the door and paused.
“Don’t go there, okay?” Shimuzu said, his eyes hollow. “I’ll get my sister a new bike.”

Akihiko took the steps down into the Port Island outskirts at a brisk jog. The station outskirts were deserted. A street light buzzed in the corner, its bulb flickering in the final death throes.
Akihiko could count on one hand the number of times he’d been back to this spot since that night. He visited his memories with Shinji in brighter places; Hagakure, a spot of railing along the Port Island harbor, and in the bed he shared with Mitsuru. He wasn’t here to get sucked into the past. Right now Akihiko was just a cop who’d come to fetch a stolen bike. Nothing else.
Akihiko came to a stop: Pink bicycle, sharp at twelve o’clock.
The only thing between him and the bike was an ocean of pavement. Akihiko kept his eyes level.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

He braved the edges of the vacant alley, staying in a parallel line where Shinji had–The earth roiled under his feet. Akihiko stopped and took a wide legged stance to stay centered.
The ground moaned with the cadence of a drum and droned on too long to be an earthquake. Akihiko froze as the air thickened and rolled over him in dense waves.
Akihiko moved his arms and legs. Despite the violent tremors in the environment around him, Akihiko found he wasn’t underwater or drowning, nor had the earth ripped open under his feet. He drew a breath and felt air fill his lungs, but it was thick and stifled, as though a glass tumbler had dropped around him and trapped him inside.
Through the dense watery air he watched the memory unfold. The acrid chalk of grief that lived in the back of his throat every day narrowed into a fine tipped horn and gored. The moon was there as it had been that night, sick and swollen. Time bled out onto the pavement, while Akihiko was relegated to a specter, one doomed to observe a nightmare.
There they were: Takeba, Minato, Junpei, Koromaru, Yamagaishi, Aigis, Mitsuru, Ken, himself, and Shinji.
There they were; surrounding Shinji as he drew his last breath.
Akihiko watched the scene unfold, watched himself ten years in the past cradle Shinji, watched his own shirt, vest, and pants dyed red. He watched Ken boil over in rage. He watched the tears form in the eyes of his friends. He watched Koromaru lick Shinji’s hand–Akihiko’s arms and legs were numb.
“Oh fuck no,” Akihiko grunted past a wave of nausea. “This is not happening. This is not–”
This is not happening again.

This was an open door leading him somewhere he should not be. He was an interloper, trespasser, and whatever forbidden portal he’d just stepped through, he was stuck. Akihiko couldn’t escape. Instead he stood, held in the spotlight of a prison yard and all he could do was wait for whatever fate befell him.
Shinji turned to Ken.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
A soft whimper came from across the alley.Akihiko tore away from Shinji’s face. Another interloper had arrived.
Across from him, across from the memory unfolding, stood Mitsuru.
Akihiko knew every curve, scar, and line of her body like the back of his hand. He knew her body enough to know that the woman before him was too gaunt, too thin, too slight, to be the woman he’d shared his bed with last night. Yet the proof was plain as day before him: There across from him was Mitsuru Kirijo. It was the end of March, still cold enough that he still had to get after her when she left her coat behind in the morning and here all she had on was a thin black nightgown and nothing else.
Mitsuru’s hands were cupped to her mouth, her fingers white from the pressure of stifling the sobs Akihiko could see writ on her face. Tears cascaded down her face, her horror muffled into her hands.
Around her neck was a locket with a black stone and mother of pearl crescent moon.She took no notice of Akihiko. Her focus was trained on Shinji.

“Aragaki,” Mitsuru whispered ten years in the past.

Akihiko reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around the locket. Pain, like a sledgehammer on fire, exploded against his palm.A shockwave rippled underneath his feet.Mitsuru’s chin snapped up, her hand flying from her mouth to the locket around her neck as if it had suddenly burst into flames against her skin.
They locked eyes. A hoarse gasp ripped from her throat. Her expression split; horror to grief and then a broken combination of the two.
“It’s you,” she breathed.“Mitsuru,” Akihiko said. He reached his hand for her like he was reaching for a frightened deer. “Mitsuru, come away from there.”
“No,” Mitsuru stepped back, shock lining her face. “No, you can’t… Stay back…”Akihiko stepped forward, one hand reflexively going for the radio on his shoulder while the other remained outstretched for her.“Mitsuru, it’s okay. Just come to me–”A door appeared behind her, the seams aglow with a soft blue light.
Mitsuru inched back. The door swung open.“Mitsuru, stop!” Akihiko snapped.
She froze.
“Stop right there,” he snarled. “Don’t you dare take another step.”And there again, Shinji–
“This is the way it should be.”
“I’m sorry,” Mitsuru whispered. “I’m so sorry.”Akihiko reached out seconds too late. Mitsuru stepped back and disappeared through the door. S.E.E.S. vanished. The bloodsoaked pavement turned dry and the red stain became an eroded brown. Akihiko stood alone across from the pink bike with a purple handbasket in the shape of a kitten.The pendant cooled in his fist.Akihiko reached for his phone and dialed Mitsuru.One ring.
“Pick up. Pick up.”Two rings.Akihiko felt the pull of the pavement and forced his knees to stay upright.
Three rings shit, shit–“Akihiko?”“Hey,” he exhaled. “Hey, how’s it going?”A stark, horrible pause.“You’re breathing erratically,” Mitsuru said.Akihiko let out another silent, slow exhale.“Nope. Just wanted to call, see how you’re doing. You good?”“Akihiko–”“You home?”“Yes,” she said slowly.“How long’ve you been home?” he asked easily.“I just arrived,” Mitsuru paused, her voice darkening. “Why on earth are you calling me during your shift?”“Just wanted to check in on you,” Akihiko said. “Hear your voice. So… you’re home?”“I believe we’ve confirmed my location,” Mitsuru said slowly.“Yeah. Good. What are you wearing?”A rather flat silence followed Akihiko’s question. He waited in anticipation.“Akihiko…”“I mean, you’re wearing something, right? Not like uh… a night thing, right?”“I certainly appreciate the curiosity,” she said. “But don’t you think we should save these types of questions for another time?”Akihiko glanced at the flickering lights with a sulk.“But I want to know now.”“I just walked through the door, Akihiko,” Mitsuru said. Akihiko heard the sound of a door closing and the light thud of a bag hitting the table.
“I’m wearing the sweater you gave me for my birthday. I haven’t even removed my shoes. Now, this is the part where you explain why you’re calling me during your shift.”A stale silence opened through the receiver.“That sweater looks great on you,” Akihiko answered at last.“You’re frightening me.”“Hey, no,” Akihiko forced a laugh. “Come on, it’s fine. You’re…good? Everything’s good?”“Something’s happened. Tell me where you are, I’ll–”“Nope,” he laughed. “Nothing’s happened. You’re good. I’m good. Everything is good. So, you know, get some sleep. Eat that lunch I made you. I snuck in a surprise. It makes me feel good, knowing you’ve eaten a good lunch.”“I know, Akihiko,” Mitsuru sighed. “I’m sorry.”Akihiko laughed emptily.
“Just eat and sleep. I’ll be stern with you later.”“Wait–”Akihiko hung up and returned the phone to his pocket.
Good. Akihiko was fine. His fiancée was fine. He’d just seen her, or someone who looked like her, step through a blue door wearing nothing but a short, black night gown and the locket he’d almost given her when they were kids, all while Shinji’s death had played back like a horror movie in front of them, but it was over now and maybe it hadn’t even happened at all, so everything was fine.“I’m fine.”
Akihiko paused and then gave the alley a perfunctory nod. He aimed himself toward the pink bicycle.
“All good.”His heel hovered over the pavement; where the warmth of Shinji’s body had been stolen by the cold hard ground, where Shinji had rattled with his final, agonized breaths. Where his Shinji had–Akihiko planted his foot and fell back like a brick.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

> . . . > . . . >

10/12/2009 17:21:38

Recording Location: Iwatodai Landline

Call type: Incoming

Beginning Playback

> . . . > . . . >

“This call is from an inmate from a correctional facility in Thailand. All calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to by a member of Prison staff. If you do not wish to accept this call, please hang up now.”
A stroke of the number pad.
“The call has been accepted. Please hold.”
A pause.
"Shinjiro?”A broken, timorous breath.“Is that you?"A fractured silence. Sounds of breathing from both ends of the line; shallow, frenetic.
“Aki…hiko…”Another pause. A harsh choke, followed by a sharp, sucking inhale.“Please,” she whispered. “Please just tell me where you are. Let me bring you home. I need–”The line went dead.
< . . . < . . . <

End of playback

< . . . < . . . <

2017
Shinjiro Aragaki’s job did not come with a manual.
There was no code of conduct to abide by, nor any policy or procedure to commit to memory. While he had learned innumerable methods to obtain information through his lived experience, the informant’s playbook was predicated on one simple tenet: Trust.Once trust had been built, all a good informant needed was a little flexibility, patience, and a long term strategy.Sugiyama Jiro arrived five minutes after closing. The owner of the bar had gotten himself in deep with Sugiyama’s uncle and unable to pay off a debt, so he’d struck a deal to keep the doors open and the liquor flowing for yakuza members even after Shinjiro had flipped the sign. Sugiyama’s fellow yakuza were idling in the corner booths, the smoke from their cigarettes filling the air. Shinjiro had just finished shelving a series of fresh bottles of Scotch. Shinjiro gave the bar top a quick polish and greeted Sugiyama with a nod. Sugiyama plopped down at the bar and fixed Shinjiro with a whine. Shinjiro had served him enough to know his order.“Evening,” Shinjiro greeted, sliding a coaster in front of Sugiyama. “Yamazaki?”
Sugiyama glanced over his shoulder and nodded to the group of men in the corner.
He turned back to the bar and snapped his fingers to the top shelf.“Barrel edition. Make it a double.”“One of those days, huh,” Shinjiro said, mounting the small ladder to reach the top shelf.“My uncle’s on my ass again,” Sugiyama moaned.Shinjiro twisted off the cork and poured, watching patiently when Sugiyama threw back the drink in one gulp. He dropped the tumbler on the bartop and shoved it toward Shinjiro.
“That so?” Shinjiro asked.
He poured again and watched the glass fill to the halfway point, sparing a glance at Sugiyama. The cuff of his sleeves were spotted with blood and while Sugiyama’s face was lined and tired, he still had the zealous look of a schoolyard bully.“I was just having a little fun,” Sugiyama said coyly with a glazed half-smile. “I cut his throat like the old man told me to, but then I thought I’d just go the extra mile, you know?”Shinjiro corked the bottle and kept it in hand while Sugiyama threw back the whisky. The bottle cost the equivalent of three months wages for Shinjiro and Sugiyama was drinking like a fish. Sugiyama knocked the bartop impatiently. Shinjiro produced a fresh glass and began another steady pour.“So I go to the guy’s house and knock at his door. His wife answers and I introduce myself, all polite and shit, and ask her if her husband’s home.”Sugiyama produced a pre-emptive laugh.“She says no and that’s when I hand her his wedding band.”Shinjiro traced his thumb along the cork’s textured edge.

“So now my uncle’s all over my ass about it. Old man thinks he’s such a gangster. I’ll take you to his place in Tokyo some time and then you’ll see what I’m talking about. Old school furniture, basement suite, cigars, a bar, poker table, all that shit.”“Sounds nice,” Shinjiro remarked.“It’s embarrassing. I’m twice the man my uncle is, Aragaki, I’m out there every night representing the brotherhood and what do I get for it? A fucking lecture.”
Sugiyama threw back shot number three with a whine.
“Remember the code, Jiro-kun,” Sugiyama mimicked his uncle’s scratchy, abused voice. “No women, no kids. What a fucking fossil.”“He coming tonight?” Shinjiro asked, wiping the counter.“No,” Sugiyama knocked his empty glass against the bartop with a wet smile. “Just me.”“Shame.”Shinjiro poured Sugiyama another generous, judgment-free glass. It was the least he could do, considering this particular shot would be the last this guy would enjoy for a very, very long time.

In his official police statement regarding the sting operation just outside Port Island’s city limits, Shinjiro made a point to mention the ill fitted pair of contact lenses he wore.

His longest and most trying stint as an informant to date had lasted up until three hours ago. Shinjiro had been working as a private bartender in a lounge frequented by yakuza, when his moment of opportunity had presented itself in the form of the prominent leader’s nephew.
Shinjiro had most certainly not intended to break anyone’s arm, of course not. He was a professional and these things happened. In his statement, Shinjiro enumerated how he’d been quite careful to stay out of the way when the contingent of Port Island police officers had arrived. He made sure to describe how he’d recently been fitted for new contacts and how his new prescription sometimes made him a little dizzy, leading to the occasional clumsy accident or stumble. It was these mis-prescribed lenses that had quite unfortunately led Shinjiro to stumble and knock Sugiyama down a modest flight of stairs.
Kurosawa read through Shinjiro’s statement, his face stony.
His office was lit by a warm corner lamp and smelled faintly of stale bread and mildew. Their meetings here were rare. When they did meet in Kurosawa’s office, they met in the early morning hours, when their targets were stumbling home drunk or otherwise occupied with yakuza business. Shinjiro usually met with Kurosawa or one of his appointees at Hagakure, behind Paulownia Mall, or Shinjiro’s apartment.
Shinjiro could count on one hand the number of times he’d been on this side of a desk with Kurosawa. The first time was seven years ago at a visitation room in Suang Si Daeng Central Prison.Kurosawa opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out a roll of antacids. He coaxed them out of the sleeve one by one with his thumb until only half remained. Kurosawa set the remainder on his desk and returned to reviewing Shinjiro’s statement.
Shinjiro scanned the surface of Kurosawa’s desk while he waited. There was a stack of other reports flagged for Kurosawa’s review, and another pile in a tray marked for filing, and another marked for further inquiry. A layer of loose leafed papers covered the surface of his desk, and atop of those, a manila folder.Shinjiro read the name on the file tab.
“Anything you want to add?” Kurosawa asked and reached for the remainder of the antacids.“He tripped,” Shinjiro said, stomach clenching.“So I’ve read. He broke his arm in three places.”Shinjiro was very sorry.“I’m very sorry.”Shinjiro glanced down at the manila envelope. Kurosawa followed his gaze.They locked eyes. Kurosawa chewed his antacids thoughtfully. He raised his eyebrows and Shinjiro, who had worn an expression of total disinterest for the last six months as an informant, allowed himself a rather guilty look down at the manila folder.
“Is…” Shinjiro rubbed his chin nonchalantly. The name on the file warranted nothing but nonchalance. “Is she…”Shinjiro dusted a bit of nothing off of his thigh.
He could probably reach the file before Kurosawa pulled it away. The real question was how far he could get with it.
Kurosawa was getting on in years and would probably just shoot him in the back instead of giving chase.“Yes?” Kurosawa said.
“Is she in some sort of trouble?” Shinjiro mumbled his question.It took a great deal of effort to make eye contact with Kurosawa this time. It was an awkward and prying question, but Shinjiro was careful this time to keep his expression neat. There was absolutely nothing other than mild curiosity factored into his question, and therefore no reason not to look Kurosawa in the eye.“She is an heiress,” Kurosawa said. “They are never not in trouble.”Kurosawa’s answer should have satisfied Shinjiro’s question. It did not.“Is…she…” Shinjiro started again.Kurosawa crunched into the antacids.
Shinjiro stifled a growl and cursed Kurosawa for not reading his thoughts already.“She…” Shinjiro began. He glared at the file and then at Kurosawa.The seasoned policeman gave Shinjiro a tranquil stare, one that reminded Shinjiro of a weary schoolteacher sitting with a slow witted child who required extra attention.“Why does she have a file?” Shinjiro blurted out.Shinjiro Aragaki: The height of elocution.Kurosawa returned to reviewing Shinjiro’s statement.
“Last week witnesses saw a man in a bowler hat entering Kirijo’s apartment and leaving with her over his shoulder. She appeared unconscious and was bleeding profusely from her nose and mouth.”“Last week?” Shinjiro frowned. He bounced his foot impatiently, glaring down at Kirijo’s name. He tried to recall what he’d been doing last week, wondering how close or far he’d been at the time of the incident.
“Is she okay?” he asked.“She’s fine,” Kurosawa said mildly.“How far did he get before your officers caught up to him?”“They didn’t catch up to him,” Kurosawa grumbled. “By the time officers arrived, the footage had been deleted and Kirijo was back in her apartment.”“And how long did Kirijo last under interrogation?”Kurosawa snorted out a laugh.“As long as one can when being questioned privately by a long time family friend,” he answered. “She claims that she’d been drinking and had made plans to go out that night with a friend. When this friend realized she was too drunk, he took her home.”Shinjiro frowned. It wasn’t shocking behavior, at least not to the rest of the world. Kirijo had earned herself a bit of a reputation since he’d last seen her.
“And the blood?” Shinjiro asked with narrowed eyes.“An accident, according to her,” Kurosawa shook his head.“Seems hard to swallow.”“Very,” Kurosawa replied with a nonplussed frown. “Which is why I’m issuing Kirijo a security detail.”Shinjiro chewed at the inside of his mouth.
“Her company has people for that,” he said quietly.Kurosawa reached into his desk drawer for a pen. He shut it with a subtle, but still noticeable degree of unnecessary force.
“People,” he groused. “The Kirijo Group has been complicated since Takeharu Kirijo’s death. You wouldn’t know from the tabloids, but Mitsuru Kirijo is nothing more than a figurehead in her own company. The men running the company - and the logistics around her security - are not what I would call reliable.”Kurosawa paused to run his hand over his mouth, his gaze fixed outside the window. He released a sigh of displeasure before continuing.
“I believe there are outside threats, but what concerns me most are the threats from within the company. Using her own people isn’t on the table. She needs discreet protection.”Shinjiro mulled over the file and willed it to start talking. The thin folder was one big noisy question mark that grew louder and louder the longer he went without touching it.
“Who are you going to give that to?” Shinjiro asked.“Ogawa.”“He’s not right for it,” Shinjiro said, shaking his head.“Oh?” Kurosawa said.“Kirijo will chew him up and spit him out the second he tries to keep tabs on her.”“Are you asking for this case, Aragaki?” Kurosawa took the file and pulled it closer to him. “Because these types of assignments are for uniformed officers. Besides, the two of you aren’t exactly on friendly terms, as I recall.”“That’s not…” Shinjiro tapped his foot.True? It was absolutely true. Sensing he was about to be shut up and put in a corner, Shinjiro mustered his case.“All Kirijo has to do is scowl at Ogawa and he’ll let her walk all over him.”“You’re exaggerating,” Kurosawa said snidely.“I’ll prove it.”Shinjiro stood up and exited Kurosawa’s office. It was early in the morning and the offices were just now filling with officers. Shinjiro breezed to Ogawa’s desk and approached him from behind. Ogawa was hunched over his computer and reaching for his coffee mug.“Hey, Ogawa. Give me your coffee mug.”Ogawa craned his neck up at Shinjiro. He pushed back in his seat to create a solid buffer zone between himself and Shinjiro.

“Aragaki-san? Uh… t-this one?”
Ogawa looked down at the mug in his hands. It was a blocky vessel with a handle made from an oblong hunk of clay. One good drop was all it needed to shatter. Ogawa looked down at it solemnly. On the face of the mug was a crude doodle of a man, a woman, a little girl, and some sort of four-legged creature standing under a blob that was probably supposed to be a sun. The stick figures had shaky smiles on their faces: They were right to be nervous.
“That’s the one. Let’s have it.”“Oh, a-are there no more styrofoam cups in the break room?”“Plenty,” Shinjiro answered shortly. “Stocked for a year or two at least. Hand it over.”
“You’ll bring it back when you’re finished?” Ogawa smiled at him weakly. Shinjiro didn’t answer. He reached over and pulled the mug from Ogawa’s hand.“Thanks so much,” Shinjiro muttered. He marched back into Kurosawa’s office and plunked the coffee mug down atop Mitsuru Kirijo’s file.“My God,” Kurosawa looked at the mug with utter disbelief.“Pushover,” Shinjiro confirmed.
“His eight year old daughter made that for him,” Kurosawa nodded at the mug. “While she was in the hospital recovering from surgery.”“All Kirijo needs to do is tell Ogawa ‘not to worry, I’m quite capable of looking after myself'–"
Shinjiro paused and demonstrated his subject matter expertise by acting out an exaggerated hair flip.
“–And he’ll roll over and die.”“You are a terrible person,” Kurosawa said to the mug.
“You need a bully.”“Sit down, Aragaki.”Kurosawa took a deep breath and moved Ogawa’s mug to the side. He opened the file and glanced down at Kirijo’s picture with a frown.
“Do you remember what you said to me the day I scraped you out of Suang Si Daeng?” Kurosawa asked.
“You love to tell this story,” Shinjiro said.“You said: If Mitsuru Kirijo is waiting outside, leave me here.”Shinjiro concentrated on the calendar pinned on the wall behind Kurosawa, his chin swiveling back and forth in a half circle motion.
Yes, Shinjiro had said that. He’d also been relieved when he didn’t see Mitsuru outside the prison yard. He’d no desire to see the look on her face when she saw what he’d become. Kirijo would have been horrified.
Shinjiro had strolled out of Suang Si Daeng with a pair of sunglasses over his eyes (courtesy of Kurosawa), a clean, bright red Hawaiian shirt (also courtesy of Kurosawa), and a delicious cigarette pursed between his lips (courtesy of the prison guard who’d opened the door for him, Kurosawa didn’t smoke and had told Shinjiro to fuck right off).
Suang Si Daeng had been kinder to him than most, but a year into his three year sentence, Shinjiro had put on a good deal of muscle, though it was sinewy and tired looking. He’d also walked out with a still-healing half moon scar that curved from his top lip to his right dimple. Shinjiro had rounded out the felonious chic look with a scraggly patch of facial hair that matched his scraggly, greasy hair and a bandage over his hand.Had Kirijo been waiting outside the prison wire she would have fainted. Assuming she recognized him, she’d have dropped dead and then miraculously revived herself just to make a big deal of all of it. She’d have stood there outside that fetid prison with a look of relief, fear, and anger on her face. She probably would have knocked the sunglasses off his face with one hand and the cigarette out of his mouth with the other.
If Shinjiro were a more honest man, he might have added a few more details to Kurosawa’s telling of the story.
Before Shinjiro had stepped out of Suang Si Daeng and into the humid morning and not seen Kirijo there, he’d found a shard of broken glass on the bathroom floor inside the lobby. While Kurosawa had stepped away to arrange for their return to Port Island, Shinjiro had taken the fragment to his left hand.With one decisive stroke, he’d made a blood oath with a ghost, one that spawned a hollow crumpling feeling in his chest.
That dry, crumpling feeling followed him back to Port Island. It followed him to the sparsely furnished spare bedroom in Kurosawa’s home, to the tiny desk where he began working as Kurosawa’s indentured servant, toiling over paperwork, and well further to his status of police informant. Weeks, months, and years passed with no word from Kirijo, and the feeling spread through his entire body and grew so familiar that Shinjiro sometimes forgot it lived there, crammed in next to the other sharp, jagged feelings that had moved in since the days of his bygone youth.
He saw Kirijo’s face in tabloids, on entertainment news channels, and in fashion magazines. Kirijo gave interviews about her pet projects (limited to fashion, luxury travel, and high end clubs from what Shinjiro could glean). Occasionally he’d glimpse sensationalist headlines claiming she’d bottomed out in rehab or was in hot water for partying too hard with other troubled rich kids.
Shinjiro had been unable to fight morbid curiosity and picked up every magazine with her name splattered across the cover. He bought the tabloids in a cold sweat and felt queasy for days after reading the things written about her. He had no doubt some of what he read was fictitious or grossly exaggerated, but there were other things that he sensed were true.

This version of Kirijo unnerved him.
Shinjiro wondered if the feeling he got looking at Kirijo on the cover of a tabloid was anything like the feeling Kirijo would have experienced if she’d seen him walk out of Suang Si Daeng.Seven years later, the dry crumpling feeling in his chest lived on and right now, it felt like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest.

He had run from Mitsuru Kirijo for almost ten years. He’d burned every bridge he had back to her and now here he was, begging for an assignment that would put him in close proximity to the woman he’d fled from. The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on him nor was it lost on Kurosawa. Shinjiro could see the devious old man’s mind at work behind that cool, unreadable expression. He needed to say something convincing.“That was a long time ago.”He stifled a grimace. Not the best response, but it was the best he had at the moment.
“What was it they called you in prison again?” Kurosawa pondered.
Shinjiro developed an immediate fascination with the pencil holder on Kurosawa’s desk. He could see the second hand sweeping over the face of Kurosawa’s wristwatch. The corners of the office were closing in.“David Copperfield? No,” he grumbled to himself. “Oliver Twist, yeah?”“This job needs to be done carefully in order to be done right, sir.”“What are your intentions, Aragaki?”“I don’t have intentions,” Shinjiro said. His response was too quick, too ready, so he plowed on. “I have utility.”“You’re a police informant, not an officer,” Kurosawa said delicately. "If you’d like to discuss the path toward becoming a uniformed–”“If you wanted a cop on Kirijo, you would have already assigned her file to Ogawa. You don’t want to raise the attention of the Kirijo Company, so you’re keeping it off the books. Tell me I’m wrong.”Kurosawa considered him.
“You are not wrong, Aragaki,” he said softly. “You are also not right for this assignment.”“I found your yakuza boss in six months - your guys looked for him for four years. You may have also recently learned that I netted you a yakuza brother and his buddies a few hours ago.”
“And broke his arm.”“Terrible accident, sir. Admit it: I have utility.”“I couldn’t agree more,” Kurosawa hummed. “I also know you spent a good deal of time avoiding this young woman. You were even willing to rot in one of the world’s worst prisons to avoid her. Now you want me to put her life in your hands. I don’t trust you.”“Yes, you do,” Shinjiro said.Kurosawa sighed. A beat of silence followed and Shinjiro edged closer to his desk, ready for whatever Kurosawa decided to throw at him next.
“Oh,” Kurosawa purred. “I just remembered what they called you.”The silence roiled. Kurosawa let it fester, seated behind his desk like a queen on her perch. Shinjiro squirmed.
“You have a past, and a rather complicated one,” Kurosawa said at length. “I have every right to be suspicious.”“I’m hurt, sir.” “Three places, Aragaki,” Kurosawa held up Shinjiro’s statement.
Shinjiro pressed his hands together and held them against his chest.
“I’m very sorry.”Kurosawa’s left eye squeezed shut with a prolonged twitch before he let out a low growl.“I’ll give you the assignment, but not because you’ve convinced me. Right now, thanks to your 'misfitted contact lenses' you’ve botched your cover as an informant for the foreseeable future. You need to lay low. Get another job, on the other side of town if you can.”“Can I list you as a reference?” Shinjiro asked.Kurosawa closed Kirijo’s file. Shinjiro’s cheek went unchecked.
“Since this assignment is off the books, I’ll have to fill out a mountain of paperwork to get you properly set up. I’ll also need some time to brief Kirijo. She doesn’t know yet I’m assigning her protection. It’s going to be an even longer conversation when I tell her it’s you and the protocols I’m putting in place, including background checks for each of her friends. Give me a few days to warm her up to the idea.”“Tell her I’m looking forward to working with her again.”“I realize that’s an attempt at a joke, Aragaki, but let’s get one thing straight:
You’ve hid behind me long enough. You want this assignment, then you’re going to have to get used to communicating with Kirijo directly. Think you can handle that?”Shinjiro had serious doubts about his ability to even step foot into the same room as Kirijo.
“No problem,” he said and earned a wave from Kurosawa.“You’re dismissed.”Shinjiro stood up to leave. He’d made it out the door when Kurosawa threw a knife in his back.

“Artful Dodger.”
The curse was cast. Shinjiro turned to stone. Shinjiro turned toward him reluctantly, unable to deny that he’d lost once again to a conniving old badge.

“Right?” Kurosawa smiled.“Stop pretending to be senile.”“Have you considered setting up an altar?”
Shinjiro shot Kurosawa a scowl from the doorframe.
“Don’t tell me you’re into that shit.”“So what if I am?” Kurosawa narrowed his eyes on him.
“Try it. Talk to him. Tell him about this fun new assignment you begged me to give you. I think it could help you work through a few things.”“The dead aren’t coming back.”“No,” Kurosawa said. “And altars aren’t just for the dead, Aragaki.”
Shinjiro huffed toward the elevator, his mood spoiled beyond repair. He plunked Ogawa’s mug back on his desk as he stormed by.
“Keep your sentimental things at home where they belong, Ogawa.”

Shinjiro slept until late afternoon.
The studio apartment he rented was furnished with a futon, a loveseat left behind from the previous tenant, a particle board bookcase with duct taped shelves, and a shaky coffee table. The stipend he received from his work as an informant wasn’t consistent, nor was it ever enough to cover his living expenses and Shinjiro regularly worked two jobs to make ends meet.
Kurosawa had pulled a few strings to ensure Shinjiro’s felonious past did not prevent him from decent housing. When Shinjiro had submitted the information to assist in Kurosawa’s appeal to the leasing company, Kurosawa had given him a rather judgmental look.
“Ouch,” Kurosawa had said after reading the starting rent. “You going to be able to afford this?”“I’ll manage.”“If you say so. I’ll give them a call, but I gotta ask: Why here? There’s nicer, more affordable options on the other side of town.”“Location,” was all Shinjiro had to say on the matter.He made himself a pot of coffee and browsed the local job listings. By mid-evening, he had a bartending job lined up at a high-end hotel bar called The Obelisk and another as a valet at the mediocre restaurant L’Etoile Brasserie. It would be enough to get him by.
With his livelihood for the short term set up, Shinjiro opened the file he’d won over from Kurosawa. The file was slim. It contained a brief, unhelpful, and unimaginative statement from Kirijo indicating that she’d had too much to drink and stumbled into a wall, leading to a heavy nosebleed. The file also included eye witness statements from the residents in Kirijo’s apartment building who’d seen the man with a bowler hat carrying her out over his shoulder.
The file contained confirmation from the responding officer that the security footage leading into the parking garage had been deleted.
Just as Kurosawa had said, witnesses reported seeing Kirijo unconscious with large amounts of blood from her nose and mouth, though one eyewitness insisted that the man in the bowler hat had terrifying yellow eyes.

Kurosawa texted as Shinjiro was preparing to leave for the grocery store. He would be sending over a task list as well as the expectations for Shinjiro’s assignment. Shinjiro was reminded to remain discreet and avoid raising the alarm with the Kirijo Group. Kurosawa’s cover story for Shinjiro was enough to snap him into picking up the phone.“Culinary consultant?” Shinjiro said incredulously when Kurosawa picked up.
“Do you prefer chef?” Kurosawa responded slyly. “I can only do so much.”“No one is going to believe Kirijo’s chosen to hire a thug off of the streets over a Michelin chef.”“Sounds like we agree on culinary consultant then.”
“And what exactly does a culinary consultant do?” Shinjiro pressed thinly.“Meal prep, grocery shopping, whatever she needs.”“Wonderful. I’m an errand boy.”“Sounds like you’re having second thoughts,” Kurosawa observed.Shinjiro clenched his teeth and choked back a growling sound.
“You read that pamphlet I gave you?” Kurosawa asked.Shinjiro glanced down at the Port Island Police Officer recruitment pamphlet on his counter. He blinked at it with a curled lip.“Would I have to cut my hair?”“Yes.”“Pass.”Shinjiro hung up and continued down the list of provisions. He would have full access to police resources, except for a uniform and standard issue weapon (to which Kurosawa noted, once again, he could obtain should he reconsider taking the examinations). If he needed anything, he just needed to put in a request, and for God’s sake be discreet and avoid getting on the Kirijo Group’s radar.
Shinjiro left for the grocery store once the after-work rush had ebbed.
He passed by bundles of carrots, cabbage, and potatoes on his way to the pantry aisle and opted for an armful of boxed curry to last him the week.
Would Kirijo eat curry? Even if just for appearances? If not, what the hell did she eat?

At the checkout stand Shinjiro combed over the newspapers and magazines on the shelf. One newspaper read EU LEVIES €2M FINES AGAINST KIRIJO GROUP FOR WATER DEPLETION.
Beside it, Shinjiro spotted a fashion magazine with Kirijo’s name on the cover. He pulled it off the shelf and tossed it into the basket beside the cluster of protein shakes.

He finished the post-dinner clean up and flicked on the electric kettle for his tea.
While his tea steeped, Shinjiro shoved the few clothes in his closet to one side. He then dragged the dilapidated coffee table from the center of the studio apartment and crammed it into the fresh recess in his closet.
Shinjiro reached up to the top shelf and retrieved the box that he’d kept hidden since his return to Port Island seven years ago. He sat on the floor and the longer he and the box engaged in a staredown, the more Shinjiro felt like he was falling backwards.
“Come on,” he said to himself. “Come on, come on, it’s just a bunch of old stuff.”It wasn’t like this was Shinjiro’s first time facing Aki’s ghost.
He’d encountered his face dozens of times, stopping, rewinding, fast forwarding, and pausing old, fading videos, each providing a different angle of Aki.
It had taken nearly three years for Shinjiro to burrow into Port Island’s syndicate crime network, and an additional year to earn the trust and camaraderie of a skittish, former Kirijo Group employee who’d specialized as an archival technician. Another year and Shinjiro had scrounged up enough goodwill and cash to bribe the tech into handing over a stockpile of records, archival footage, and documents related to S.E.E.S. and their operations between 2007-2009.The box was different. It was Aki – his scent, ghosts of his fingerprints, objects that had grazed his skin and body, a body Shinjiro used to know almost as well as his own. It wasn’t an abstraction or recording. It was real.Shinjiro held his breath and opened the box. A note from Aki’s mother was taped to the top.

Shinjiro-kun,

Kurosawa-san said you’d come home. Please take care of Aki’s things. It’s important they have a home with you.

The contents screamed at him from their excavated tomb:
A medal Miki had made, a flip phone, a wellness log with detailed notes, and a pair of boxing gloves. Shinjiro carefully picked up the wellness log and perused a few entries. The sensation of falling was replaced with a cold numbness in his fingertips. Shinjiro selected an entry at random, his tongue the texture of sand as he began to read.

May 16, 2009

Breakfast: Egg whites, miso.

Workout: 6km run, brisk pace; bench press 12x/68kg

Sleep: 6 hours

Physical: Strong

Mental: Strong

Notes: Dreamt of Shinji last night. Felt so real. Woke up pissed.

Shinjiro closed the log and arranged it beside the boxing gloves, medal, and flip phone on the table with a slow exhale. Finally, he placed a protein shake and Aki’s picture on the coffee table.
“I don’t have any incense,” Shinjiro said and lit his cigarette.
Aki beamed back at him.
“This is close enough, huh?”Shinjiro prepared himself with a deep breath and twisted the cap off of the protein shake. He took a swing and shuddered.“How did you drink this shit everyday?”Shinjiro cleared his throat and donated the bottle next to Aki’s photo.The photo was taken during their first year of high school. Aki had been confident and without a clue on their first day at Gekkoukan. The spotlight had found him almost instantaneously. Aki had become a star athlete at Gekkoukan in the span of a few short months. The string of medals came with a hefty pricetag –
fan club members, a dozen strong, each one hell bound determined to get a morsel of Aki’s attention.
Aki eventually learned to ignore the distractions and every day charged forward. Every day, Aki became a dynamo and transmuted his grief, rage, and restlessness into single-track determination.
Every day he sprinted out into the light and every day Shinjiro watched him from under a cloak of invisibility. While Aki surged forward into the promise of new strength, new adversaries, and new challenges, Shinjiro kept a close eye on him from what vantage points he could find: the sidelines, the stands, and the back of the room.
He and Aki were a strange pair. In Miki’s absence, they struggled to find balance but that year they remained inseparable. Their paths did not diverge but ran closely parallel. It grew into a comfortable path, only disturbed by Aki’s occasional quests to pull Shinjiro into the light.
Shinjiro heard the splash of water from the street below. The roads were pooling with rainwater.
Not far from his apartment, there was a spot along the ocean where if you looked down on a clear day, you could see straight to the bottom.
After their first day of the first year at Gekkoukan, he and Aki had walked to the water with Kirijo.
They’d leaned over the railing to peer into the depths. Kirijo had paced and urged them not to put all of their weight on the bottom rail since it didn’t look like it had been securely bolted in.Aki had coaxed her into standing between them. Kirijo’s chin had quivered when she’d stepped up and pushed the tips of her shoes between the bars of the rail. Shinjiro could still hear the piercing call of the gulls overhead, Kirijo’s soft and nervous inhale beside him, and the scent of salt and seaweed drifting up from the harbor. Aki’s gloved hand had remained firm against Kirijo’s elbow and Shinjiro had wedged his shoulder to hers to offer her a wall of sorts.
Kirijo put on a brave face and after thirty seconds or so of gripping the railing, had relaxed enough to
lean over and gaze into the abyss.
They’d not exactly been carefree youths back then, but they had been brave – and stupid.“So how does this work?” Shinjiro asked. “I tell you how much I miss you, shed some tears, and ask how you and Miki are doing or something?”Aki smiled back at him, his eyes cinching with his wide grin.“Even if I bought into this stuff, which I don’t, you’d better be doing something more useful in the afterlife than hanging around me. Go punch an angel or bounce around on a cloud somewhere.”A strange tickle of curiosity nudged Shinjiro to pick up Aki’s phone. To his surprise, it turned on and took only a few minutes to load. Shinjiro rummaged through the box and found a corresponding charger.
“Don’t take this as an invitation to call me, by the way,” he grunted, threading the cord to the wall. “I am not available to be haunted.”
He hung a small curtain over the closet door, figuring he’d give Aki’s altar a little privacy, and bade his picture goodnight. He finished his cigarette and poured himself another hot mug of tea. He settled himself in front of his dilapidated bookshelf and mulled over which book to start next. His options were humble, thrifted copies and curated to his tastes: Dickens, Austen, Dumas, Sōseki, Shikibuku. It was a bookshelf his cellmate Cheddarjack would have been proud of. He picked up his tattered copy of The Count of Monte Cristo and tried to distract himself for an hour or two before returning it to the shelf.
He checked the lock on the door and left the deadbolt in the unsecured position before retiring to the futon in the center of the room.
Shinjiro found the fashion magazine with Kirijo’s name on the cover and flipped to the three page featured interview. Kirijo had been photographed in stark black and white on the deck of a yacht, anchored against a series of dramatic rock formations. Kirijo’s makeup was minimally applied and her long hair was neatly twisted into a chignon bun. She wore a black Grecian style dress that plunged almost to her ribs, the skirt lifted and animated in the sea breeze. In one photo, posed in profile, Kirijo had her hands layered atop the rail with her chin resting on the backs of her hands.
Her gaze was hyper focused, somewhere between the eternal horizon of the ocean and the sky. She looked surprisingly childlike, almost like the girl who had leaned up against Shinjiro all those years ago along the edge of the harbor.The three page spread contained only one photo where Kirijo was posed facing the camera. Her dour and unsmiling gaze penetrated the lens and regarded Shinjiro with aloof disdain. Shinjiro flipped back to the photo taken in profile with a squint.
Whoever edited the photos had neglected to remove a section of a thin necklace chain against her neck. Kirijo must have either insisted on wearing it tucked under the neckline of her dress or the editor had decided it didn’t look good but got sloppy about editing it out in post production.
Shinjiro skipped through the photos and found the interview portion.
Mitsuru Kirijo has been at the frontline of daring, cutting edge entrepreneurial pursuits. Her incubator kitchen featuring sea-to-table fare off the coast of Capri has hosted the British royal family, dignitaries, and celebrities. Even for the select few who can afford the price of a seat aboard the yacht, seats are currently booked out years in advance. We caught up with Miss Kirijo aboard Colatura outside the picturesque Faraglioni rocks before she set sail for Gran Canaria.

What are your plans for Gran Canaria?

Mitsuru Kirijo: Oh, I never plan much when I travel. I prefer to remain spontaneous. I expect to spend a good deal of time at the seaside. Gran Canaria’s beaches are exquisite.

Tell us about Colatura. There were many who openly panned the idea of a high-end dining experience aboard a yacht, especially where you were allegedly using the opportunity to sit at the table with yourself as the main selling point.

Mitsuru Kirijo: I’ve felt a kinship with the ocean since I was a girl. I spent much of my childhood waking up with the scents and sounds of the ocean. I fell in love with Greece and Italy while studying abroad. A yacht is the natural setting for a unique dining experience, one that beckons the diner toward the traditional Italian fishing culture and cuisine. If people want to get to know me, why not offer them the opportunity?

And what does a wealthy heiress know about traditional fishing culture in Italy?

Mitsuru Kirijo: (laughs)
Perhaps nothing. I’m simply hoping to provide a dining experience in a contemplative, thoughtful setting.

What books are you reading? Anything you can recommend to our readers?

Mitsuru Kirijo: Not much, I’m afraid. It can’t be helped – I’m simply too busy.

I see. What other projects can we expect to see from you?

Mitsuru Kirijo: There are avant-garde designers producing remarkable pieces in London and New York. Lambert and Authier have both contacted me for a private fitting in anticipation of their fall collection. I’m looking forward to an up close and personal look. Perhaps I can charm them into keeping a few pieces for myself.

I doubt there’s anyone out there who could not be charmed by your social graces, Miss Kirijo.

Mitsuru Kirijo: Thank you.

Where did you become first interested in fashion?

Mitsuru Kirijo: I’ve always been fascinated by the range of the human experience that can be expressed through textile, but it wasn’t until I went to university that I became rather fixated on runway culture. The creative genius in the fashion community never ceases to amaze me.
You took six years to finish your degree in French. Was your interest in fashion the source of the delay?
Mitsuru Kirijo: Our college years are not strictly for academic pursuits.
I valued a well-rounded educational experience, so I took my time to enrich myself and enjoy my youth.

Some might consider that a rather entitled response.

Mitsuru Kirijo: I’ve heard things like that most of my life. I’m quite used to it. I don’t regret the decisions I made.

What do you say to those who claim you struggled to complete your degree due to a poor work ethic? Are you concerned with how public perception might affect the Kirijo Group?
Mitsuru Kirijo:
I’m not particularly interested in public perception. I want to follow my own pursuits. That’s all that matters to me now.
Shinjiro tossed the magazine to the side of the futon and turned off the tiny side lamp plugged into the wall. He stared up at the ceiling. Outside, the traffic lights shone against the bare apartment walls as they cycled through red, blue-green, and yellow, in calm predictable intervals.
Shinjiro closed his eyes and counted another day endured, another day survived.Time stretched out as it always did this time of night, long after the rush of humanity funneled him home, when the dripping of water from the leaky faucet told time far better than the second hand on his watch. The four walls of his apartment closed in around him, fortifying him from the outside tangle of chaos. The world with its openness and entropy would be waiting for him tomorrow.
It was at this time of night when the beast would come for him. It wasn’t the demon he’d buried at Suang Si Daeng. It was the other he shuttered away in the recesses of floorboards and in the rafters, the one that waited for him at night and dragged its body across the floor and recited his sins into his ear.
The needle dropped. The phantom record that perpetually looped the last ten years of his life began to play.
Another time, he promised the beast. Not now. Another time.
Shinjiro turned his head to the magazine and asked Mitsuru Kirijo a question he had no right to ask.

“What happened to you?”

A week after Shinjiro’s meeting with Kurosawa, Mitsuru Kirijo texted him.
Her message was lacking in the way of “hi fuckface, how’ve you been, did you enjoy your time in the cesspool you created for yourself” but still rife with Kirijo’s signature haughty indignance.
She greeted Shinjiro by stating that Kurosawa was overreacting and that if Shinjiro would just give her a few days, she could get him to reverse course. Shinjiro almost took her up on the offer and drafted her a text indicating he’d bring snacks for the next showdown.
He amended his response in an attempt to remain professional.

Best of luck with that. Give me your availability to meet and review logistics.

A pause. Then typing.
[Kirijo] How is this initiative being funded?
This is surely a misuse of public resources.

Just your availability to meet, thanks.

Kirijo gave him a time and date to discuss the details and, sensing this would not be the first time he would need to repeat himself, Shinjiro sent her a list of items he would need from her before they met. Kirijo, predictably, did not respond.Shinjiro pulled into the parking lot of their meeting point half an hour early.

Kurosawa had provided him many luxuries to help him get on his feet, but Shinjiro had purchased his car on his own. He’d bought it off an elderly woman whose grandson had given it a hard pass. It was an old sedan with manual window cranks, only started in second gear, and carried a suspicious beefy odor that Shinjiro feared he’d one day discover the origin of. It was the perfect vehicle for a washed up ex-con turned bartender in his mid-twenties.
Shinjiro locked the doors and began a slow amble toward the elevators when he passed a black motorcycle.He stopped.
Shinjiro took a step back and removed his sunglasses in order to give the thing a proper side eye.There was no make or model on the frame. The bike was clearly a custom build. It looked fast. It looked dangerous; it had Kirijo written all over it. Shinjiro returned to his car and made a quick phone call to the station. The officer on duty confirmed the plates were registered to Mitsuru Kirijo.
Shinjiro ended the call and reached into the glove compartment.

He found Kirijo two thirds of the way up a massive climbing wall in the upper deck of a gymnasium.
There was a man at the bottom of the wall with a series of ropes connecting him to Kirijo. Shinjiro hid himself in an alcove beneath a low hanging wall and watched.
Kirijo was currently navigating a section of overhanging wall, forcing her into an awkward position.
From his place at the base of the wall, Shinjiro was afforded an excellent view of Kirijo’s chalk-dusted behind. Shinjiro valiantly averted his eyes to the upper part of her body, although the tight fitting harness around her hips and thighs made that quite the challenge. Kirijo reached into a side pocket and dusted her hands.
She was nearing the top of the wall, and seemed to be weighing her next move. The man roped to her at the bottom was eyeing her with intense focus.“Slack,” Kirijo called down.
Kirijo’s coach clicked his tongue.“I’m giving you some tension. Rest and then climb down a bit,” he called up. “There’s a better route a few feet below you.”Kirijo shook her head.“I can swing.”The instructor shook his head in disapproval but put out more rope.
“Don’t rush. It’s a mental game as much as it is physical.”Kirijo lingered for another moment
before kicking her legs out in a scissor motion that granted her a wave of momentum. She edged along the overhanging wall and pushed upward with another swing. She reached for a handhold near the top of the wall and took hold. Kirijo pointed her foot toward another hold and slipped–Shinjiro jumped forward.The instructor bounced up from his place on the ground before expertly snapping the rope behind him. He squatted back and anchored Kirijo enough for her to latch onto a nearby hold. Kirijo released a sigh so loud Shinjiro heard it from the base of the wall.

“That’s very good, Kirijo-san,” the instructor called up, offering up more tension in the rope.Kirijo shook her head and leaned back in the harness for a moment before reaching for the wall.
“Climbing,” Kirijo called down.
“Lowering,” her coach barked. “We’re done today.”“I can do it,” Kirijo snapped. “I was almost there–”“Then you’ll get there next time. You’re coming down.”
Kirijo shifted her weight back. The tension in her shoulders was evident from Shinjiro’s spot under the alcove.
“On rappel,” she called out. Kirijo bounced the balls of her feet against the wall and made a swift descent.
Shinjiro did not immediately make his presence known. Instead, he watched Kirijo’s expression shift when her feet touched solid ground.
Kirijo had always been pretty but now Shinjiro could see how the years had deepened and sharpened her features into stark beauty. Kirijo was thinner than he remembered, her cheekbones a little too sharp, and her gaze distant and dulled.
Kirijo freed herself from her harness.
Once she had seamlessly moved and commanded the world at her full height. There was a new austere weight over her now and she seemed to be making a constant, concentrated effort into maintaining a regal posture.
Shinjiro took a breath and rolled his shoulders, shoring up enough courage to step out into the exposed space below the climbing wall. Shinjiro traversed the years of time and space he’d placed between himself and Kirijo with a few steps.
He approached with nothing more than a ghost of a smile and an oath; the oath he'd sworn in blood, in Aki’s name, seven years ago when he’d stepped outside the prison wire and into the morning light.
Kirijo raised her chin and watched him draw near with stolid patience.
Shinjiro stood before her and gave her a half-cocked smile.“Been a while, princess.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

2007

“Shinji?”A crackle of thunder shook the walls and masked the sound of the door opening.
“Are you asleep?” he whispered.
Another clap of thunder rattled the room, this time splitting the air so close that it could have been directly overhead. Aki sucked in a quick breath from his spot at the door.“Aki,” Shinjiro moaned, curling himself under the blankets. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting the light in.”Aki edged into the room and shut the door. Shinjiro opened the bedding to him and folded him in as soon as Aki kicked his house slippers off. Every inch of him was freezing cold and damp to the touch. The moron had just come in from a run. Aki burrowed in, his nose pressed against Shinjiro’s Adam’s apple.
“You reek,” Shinjiro said, adjusting his chin around the hair behind Aki’s ear. Aki shuddered in response and Shinjiro could feel his sweat chilling on his skin.
“I hate these summer storms,” Aki breathed into his chest.
“You’re such a baby,” Shinjiro mumbled. He circled his arms around Aki’s shoulders. Holding him like this always shut him up. The lightning flashed outside the window. Sleep was tugging at his eyes again, but Shinjiro could feel Aki tensing against him in anticipation of the thunder.
The boom landed directly above the roof. Aki cringed into his shoulder. Shinjiro walked his hand up the back of Aki’s shirt and traced the line of his spine with the pads of his fingers.“You kept your door open,” Aki said.“Can’t have you knocking and waking up the princess,” Shinjiro hummed. “Now let me sleep.”Aki’s breath drifted against Shinjiro’s collarbone. Warmth coiled in the base of Shinjiro’s stomach and spread in all directions. Shinjiro reached down and drew half-moon circles along the line of Aki’s cheekbone. The lightning pulsed outside and when the next wave of thunder rolled overhead, Aki was heavy and quiet in his arms.

Kirijo shook the chalk off her hands and regarded him with an unimpressed frown.
It was an almost perfect replica of the frown that had creased her lips when Aki had brought Shinjiro to the dormitory like a stray cat and instigated a grueling debate about whether or not he be allowed to join. Shinjiro considered the possibility that he might be in for a rematch until he got a clearer read on the look in Kirijo’s eyes.
After the prison guards had led him into the visitation room with Kurosawa at Suang Si Daeng, Kurosawa had noted the half-moon scar around the corner of Shinjiro’s mouth, his increased height and build, and his overall appearance with delicate diplomacy.
“You got scary,” Kurosawa had drawled.
As she stood across from him, Kirijo didn’t mention these things. Instead she merely looked at Shinjiro with wistful disappointment.Shinjiro held her gaze through a sting of self-consciousness.
Kirijo took another moment to study her hands before she lifted her head with a tight-lipped smile. She opened her mouth to speak when her climbing instructor slipped between them on his way out the door, a heavy coil of rope over his shoulder.
“Kirijo-san, as I have reminded you ad nauseum,” he pointed to a slight bump along Kirijo’s sternum, concealed just below the neckline of her shirt.“Remove your jewelry before our sessions.”

“It was a misunderstanding.”
Kirijo emerged from the changing room mid-sentence and breezed into the foyer. She adjusted the bag around her shoulder and began pulling her hair back into a bun, all while walking at a feverish pace toward the exit. Shinjiro glanced up at the ceiling and followed her into the stairwell.
“I had planned a social outing with a friend and simply imbibed too much before leaving,” she rattled on. “He was helping me out of the building when we both agreed that I should return. There was no forced entry, nothing was taken, and there was absolutely no malice or kidnapping attempt at play–”Kirijo swept down the stairs with light, airy steps and continued to address Shinjiro without looking back at him. Shinjiro craned his neck back and squinted at the ceiling once more. The bulbs were out on the landing. There was no emergency exit between the main lobby and the parking garage level.
“Officer Kurosawa was justifiably concerned when he learned the Kirijo name was associated with what appeared to be a kidnapping attempt–”Kirijo continued her confident sashay into the parking garage. Shinjiro choked back a wave of righteous indignation as she twisted to gain access to her bag and rummage for her keys. He followed her through the door and scanned the lot, the ceiling, and the entrance points while she barreled on.“However, the Port Island Police have much larger problems to contend with. The situation has been grossly exaggerated.”Kirijo slipped into the seat of the motorcycle and collected her helmet. She made deliberate, professional eye contact with Shinjiro and produced a smile.“I assure you there is no threat or risk that requires your presence,” she said with finality, inserting the key into the ignition and placing her helmet over her head.“Kirijo,” Shinjiro said flatly. “I need to look at your home security system.”“Certainly,” she replied.
“I trust you can still keep up?”Kirijo dropped the opaque visor over her eyes.
She turned the key in the ignition and twisted back on the throttle. Kirijo sped off, her knee nearly grazing the ground as she rounded a corner. She vanished from sight, the roar of the bike’s engine still hammering against the walls of the parking garage seconds after she disappeared.

The air turned tranquil. Shinjiro enjoyed the moment by lighting a cigarette. He took his time surveying the parking garage on the stroll back to his car. Once his cigarette break was over, Shinjiro shifted into the driver’s seat and pulled out his phone.

Shinjiro stepped into Hagakure just as Kirijo was settling herself into a seat near the entrance. She’d selected a booth and had her back to the door; unbelievable.She slipped her hand behind her ear, armed with a self-congratulatory hair flip when Shinjiro appeared and dropped into the seat across from her.
Kirijo’s triumphant smile evaporated from her lips. The hair went unflipped.
A waiter approached with menus. Shinjiro shook his head and informed him they wouldn’t be staying. Shinjiro reached for the water carafe on the table while Kirijo’s expression turned gray. He poured Kirijo a glass and passed her a piece of paper.
Kirijo scanned the list and looked up at him with an unamused frown.“Changing room, stairwell, parking garage,” Shinjiro recited the list. “In five minutes alone you gave me, a bad guy, three easy opportunities to take you out. I’m not counting the number of intersections you blasted through to get here.”Kirijo leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms.
“Noted. You are a calculating assassin and now you’ve cornered me,” Kirijo said. Shinjiro half wondered if she was going to offer him a cookie for being so clever. “Now I suppose you’ll shoot me in broad daylight in a public restaurant to solidify your point?”Kirijo appraised him with a condescending smile.
Shinjiro glanced at the hoisin sauce to his right and cocked an eyebrow. Kirijo followed his gaze. The look of triumph flattened.

“You wouldn’t,” she said.
Shinjiro reached for the bottle.
“Sure about that?” he asked, flipping the cap with his thumb.Kirijo fixed him with a scathing gaze, her eyes narrowed as though she had already sorted out how to make him disappear.
Her blouse was a pristine white and while Shinjiro didn’t know shit about women's fashion, he knew a lot about hoisin sauce.“Now that I’ve got your attention, let’s get something straight,” Shinjiro began softly. “You are not more diabolical than me. Try a stunt like that again and I’ll tell Kurosawa to escalate this arrangement from casual to full on police surveillance.”Kirijo stared down at the table, her arms uncrossed at her sides. A childlike sulk crept over her features and it appeared as though Kirijo was giving his words serious thought. Shinjiro prepared to pick up his train of thought with a softer tone when Kirijo’s gaze flickered back to his, a quiet smirk gracing her lips.“You think I’m diabolical?”Shinjiro matched her smirk.
“The stand up routine doesn’t suit you, Kirijo,” he said, capping the hoisin sauce.
“Since we’re all caught up, why don’t you invite me over for a tour?”

Kirijo’s home security system was nothing more than an alarm panel from five years ago.

Shinjiro didn’t bother pointing out the system’s uselessness to Kirijo. The station reps assigned to install the locks and cameras would take it down when they arrived in a few hours. In any event, arguing the efficacy of the current set up would not go over well with Kirijo, who was currently preoccupied with her attempt to vaporize Shinjiro with her glares.
Shinjiro remained defiantly solid in spite of Kirijo’s best efforts. He surveyed her apartment, his eyes focused on the ceiling and walls. A few items drew his eye away from assessing ideal camera locations, including the Victorian furniture that appeared less like an open bid for hospitality and more as a ward against visitors.
Just looking at the high back settee and thinly cushioned chairs hurt Shinjiro’s back. Kirijo’s living room made him feel less like he was in someone’s home and more like he was visiting an old, forgotten mansion that had since been converted into a stuffy museum.

“You decorate this yourself?” he asked.“What sort of question is that?” Kirijo was trying to sound snappish, but her voice was washed out and tired.

Shinjiro raised his eyebrows with a mild shrug and asked no further questions as he continued to scan the walls and ceiling in the living room. He spotted the dog door with a frown.
“You have a pet?” he asked.“A companion,” Kirijo sniffed, pulling her hair back. She paused and extended one last, valiant effort to level Shinjiro into the ground with her scowl.
“I need to freshen up. Don’t touch anything.”Shinjiro waited for Kirijo’s bedroom door to close before he reached out and gave one of the torture-device chairs a solid jab with his finger. His eye was drawn by an oblong object in the corner covered with a white sheet. Shinjiro glanced in the direction of the hallway before advancing on it. He pulled the sheet up and peered under to find a simple, weathered piano.
Shinjiro lowered the sheet with a mystified frown. Someone like Kirijo could easily afford something more opulent; a baby grand piano at the very least. Shinjiro tapped at the keys. A light chime from one of the high notes cried out for tuning.

Shinjiro lowered the cover.
Aki had cajoled her into playing during their summer vacation visit to Yakushima Island. Kirijo had obliged and had put both of them to sleep as soon as she’d started playing. Aki had woken with a start and immediately started applauding. Shinjiro had come out of his sleep less readily.
He’d felt a little guilty but Kirijo had smiled at him and said it was a compliment; her playing had offered him a refuge.
Kirijo emerged in a clean change of clothes. Shinjiro gestured toward the hallway and Kirijo shadowed his steps with stiff diligence.“Where do you keep your valuables?”“The office,” she answered.Shinjiro leaned over the corner and poked his head past the bedroom door.
A sudden flapping noise made its way down the hallway.“Excuse me,” Kirijo said, turning around and heading back into the main part of her apartment.
Shinjiro cast another uncomfortable look in the bedroom. Kirijo’s bed was tidily made. The room itself was sparsely decorated but offered a softer and distinctly more welcome contrast to the design and decor of the living room. Whatever style or motif Kirijo had selected for her bedroom was buried under several, isolated islands of books. Her bedside was fortified by a wall of manuscripts and another pile was stacked precariously on the nightstand, and another small library’s worth of books lined the wall. Shinjiro glanced over the room quickly and moved toward the office.“Welcome back,” Kirijo greeted from the living room.Shinjiro stopped in his tracks.
A queasy feeling seeped into his gut. He let out a defeated sigh.
He’d discovered Kirijo’s fiance was still in the picture some years ago. The man comported himself in public as a do-gooder playboy; attending charities, supporting various political candidates, and advocating for the philanthropic fad of the week. Shinjiro suspected the private visage did not match this outward facing facade. Police records yielded a spotless background check that reeked of Kirijo Group scrubbing. He’d come across information that alluded to a darker side. This information, obtained through perfectly reasonable and legitimate means, pointed to instances of Kirijo’s fiance paying people to keep quiet about unknown acts of misconduct, but no one seemed eager to talk specifics with him. Shinjiro had not detailed the man enough to determine the level of threat he presented. He’d set about correcting that just as soon as he was finished here.Kirijo had discussed him once, maybe twice during their time together in S.E.E.S. Shinjiro had kept his mouth shut. Even then, Shinjiro was not one to judge a person before meeting them, but the thought of a teenage girl having a fiance rankled him in ways he never expressed, not even to Aki. How Kirijo had managed to stave off marriage for this long was both a mystery and a relief.
Now that the man himself had arrived, it was Shinjiro’s distinct pleasure to find a reason to get him out quickly and deliver the bad news to Kirijo: The fiance would be the first in line to get a background check and wouldn’t be permitted any unscheduled visits until then.
“You poor handsome prince,” Kirijo sighed from down the hall. “Let’s help you dry off.”Shinjiro wrinkled his nose and searched for a hiding spot. He shook off the temptation and steeled himself for a confident and unpleasant introduction. He marched into the living room and found it empty. He turned to the foyer and found a white Shiba Inu, wearing his very own rain slicker and matching yellow booties. Kirijo was gently pulling off his rainboots and running a towel up his legs.

The dog assessed Shinjiro with a self-assured smile, as if this type of treatment was the absolute minimum standard for his lifestyle.“He looks like Koro-ch–”Both canine and Kirijo tilted their heads in his direction. Shinjiro cleared his throat.“He looks like that dog at the shrine. Uh, Koromaru, I think. This one of his puppies?”
The dog barked. Kirijo resumed tending to his legs with meticulous care.
“No,” she answered. “Though I am certain he’s flattered by the sentiment. Aren’t you?”Koromaru smiled at Shinjiro, his pink tongue panting through his teeth.
“That’s - that’s him?” Shinjiro blinked. “How?”
“Koromaru is a persona-user,” Kirijo explained.
Right; Cerberus. Summoned with a collar fitted with an evoker. He recalled the footage of Aki and Kirijo in the command room, both of them looking at Koromaru with proud smiles.

“We believe his persona has given him an abnormally long lifespan,” she continued. “He also receives a high grade diet, veterinary check ups every three months, and a regimen of supplements including regular cortisone injections. He’s very special and happily retired. Isn’t that right, you handsome devil? You’re ever so retired now, aren’t you?”Koromaru let out another enthusiastic bark, his tail whirring.
Shinjiro desperately wanted to pet him.Instead, he geared his attention to Kirijo’s kitchen. Out of curiosity, he opened the cabinets and found them dusty and bare except for a small pile of rectangular blocks. He picked one out and read the label.“‘The fuck is this?” he murmured.“Those are high-grade nutritional bars,” she answered.
The superiority in her voice was confounding. Shinjiro blew ten years of dust from the bars and turned back to look at Kirijo in horrified wonder. His sensibilities both as a human with a basic palate and a fake culinary consultant were affronted.
“You eat these?”“They’re from Switzerland,” she retorted. “They contain the needed daily amount of calories and nutritional content.”“They look like they’re from the war,” Shinjiro breathed.
“Is there a problem?” Kirijo said, crossing her arms.
Shinjiro shook his head in disbelief.
“This is some Dickensian shit.”Kirijo narrowed her eyes. Shinjiro’s stinging literary reference went unchecked and unpraised.

“Have you finished surveying all of my cupboards for threats, Aragaki?” she asked silkily. “Perhaps there is a contortionist assassin concealed under the sink?”Shinjiro sought to alleviate Kirijo’s fears and opened the cabinet door under the sink. He generously shone a flashlight into the cavity for extra reassurance and threw her a grave look from over his shoulder.
“All clear.”Kirijo rewarded him with a sneer.
“How thorough,” she said. “I feel so much safer now, thank you.”Shinjiro said nothing and contemplated the ration bar in his hand.Kirijo pushed her hands to her hips, her cheeks flushed with irritation. Shinjiro looked back at her gravely. Charade or no, his duty as culinary consultant compelled him to speak the truth.

“I really think you’ll die if you eat this,” he murmured to her.
Kirijo scoffed and swept out of the room. Shinjiro reluctantly returned the toxic relic to the cupboard and closed the cabinet door quietly. There was the very real possibility the ration bar had heard him and would come clawing out for revenge. Shinjiro turned his attention to the dog stationed at the entryway to the kitchen.“Bark once if you’re being held against your will.”Koromaru squinted at him and issued a rather unfriendly growl.

Kirijo’s office was no office at all, but rather an entire library crammed into a small room. Books lined every inch of the room from floor to ceiling. She had managed to jam a small desk and computer into a corner. Kirijo removed a stack of books occupying a chair so that Shinjiro could sit down.
“You read all of these?” he asked, studying the walls.“Let’s discuss the framework of this working relationship,” she began. “Kurosawa said my travels would be unaffected.”“Never fear, no one is going to take your precious European acid parties away from you,” Shinjiro said. He glimpsed the titles of the books and furrowed his eyebrows. “Kurosawa will work with you to arrange for security on your international trips. Someone else can watch you make all your bad decisions.”That one was sure to get him something - a sulk or at least a lip curl.“Bad decisions?” she repeated, a picture of innocence.
“Yeah, drunk driving, cocaine lines on bar tables, throwing up over the rail of a yacht, or whatever the hell it is you do nowadays. You’ll be free to engage in all of your favorite pastimes.”Kirijo made an attempt to hide her smile, looking terribly pleased with the terrible things he was saying about her character. Shinjiro didn’t like that at all. Instantly suspicious of her reaction, he tucked it away.
He handed her a list of protocols that Kurosawa had instructed him to follow. Kirijo read through it, the muscles on her face clenching as she made her way down the list.
“You want to hit the town, you clear it with me first,” Shinjiro began.
“A representative from the station will be here in a few hours to install the key card access lock on your door.”Kirijo’s complexion was growing paler by the second.
“They’ll give you a key card then,” he continued. “That is your key card, Kirijo. You don’t share it with anyone. Nobody else gets an access card until they clear the vetting process.”“Nobody else?”
“No one else but me for now,” Shinjiro added. “The station is working on background checks for these individuals.”Shinjiro retrieved another list from his pocket and slid it toward her. Kirijo read the names and shook her head with an ironic smile.
“Entailing what?” she asked, her voice piqued.
“Just a couple of questions. Nothing your friends shouldn’t be able to manage, unless they’ve got something to hide. Until then, no social calls or house guests.”Kirijo glanced down at the names, her expression pinched.“I’ll be back this evening to make sure the cameras were installed correctly,” Shinjiro continued. “If that door unlocks with a manual key or for someone without one of these cards, the cameras go on and I get a notification on my phone - and I'm very cranky after ten.”“Let’s call this arrangement what it is, shall we?” Kirijo pushed the list back to Shinjiro. “This is surveillance, not protection.”“Safeguards, Kirijo. Pretty basic ones.”“I don’t know what sort of threats Kurosawa is so concerned with, but I think he would agree that someone like Fuuka Yamagishi does not pose a threat to life or limb.”Shinjiiro held his tongue. Fuuka Yamagishi had a certain advantage that allowed her to survey and infiltrate, not to mention the ability to obtain real time access to Kirijo’s location. Her diminutive nature did not negate her as a threat. In fact, Yamagishi was almost as dangerous as a certain anti-shadow suppression weapon and at the top of the list for Shinjiro to detail, just as soon he wrapped up here.“It’s about risk,” he said deliberately. “Anyone with a key card presents an entire binder full of risk management procedures.”“How long are these background checks expected to take?” she pressed.“Faster if they cooperate,” Shinjiro answered.Kirijo drummed her fingers against her desk. Every inch of her face seemed to be hardening into marble.
“The cameras,” she paused. “Will they…are they…”Kirijo’s question fell into disquiet. Shinjiro gazed back at her evenly.
“The cameras stay off unless you have any unexpected guests,” he explained.Kirijo fixed a distrustful gaze in the direction of her living room.“I’m an ex-con, not a pervert, Kirijo,” he said quietly.“That’s not what I meant–”“I’ll be here tonight to make sure they’re installed correctly. We’ll test it out together so you can see how it works.”Kirijo lowered her gaze to her desk and nodded.“All right,” she sighed.Shinjiro nodded and held out his hand.“Schedule. Please.”Kirijo pulled out her planner and handed it to Shinjiro. She leaned back in her office chair and crossed her arms, staring up at him defiantly while Shinjiro thumbed through the pages.There were color coded tabs for Kirijo’s vacations; Dubai, Athens, and London, all scheduled within the coming year. Other tabs delineated Kirijo’s personal appointments: A nail appointment the same month as her trip to Dubai, Koromaru’s veterinary appointments, an all-day engagement labeled mentoring session scattered throughout the upcoming months, equestrian lessons, fencing sessions, and rock climbing. Kirijo’s hobby days were flanked by days that were blocked out in thick scrawls of black ink.“What are these?” Shinjiro opened the planner to her and pointed.Kirijo leaned forward to look at the planner. Shinjiro sealed off an urge to raise his eyebrows at Kirijo’s extremely unconvincing performance of refreshing her memory over the pages.“Those?” she remarked. “Those are rest days.”“Rest days,” Shinjiro repeated.
“Yes,” she said.
Shinjiro flipped forward several months in the planner. Even if Kirijo was climbing a mountain every day or riding from one end of the country to the other on horseback, Shinjiro highly doubted she even knew how to take a rest day. He was no expert on Kirijo’s evolution from star student to wild heiress, but there was absolutely no way she’d learned how to relax.
Kirijo leaned forward and latticed her fingers, waiting for him to speak.“I’m going to make a copy of this,” Shinjiro held up the leather bound planner. “I’ll bring it back tonight when I follow up on the security system. Any other secret planners hiding in that desk of yours?”The corner of Kirijo’s mouth lifted and this time she plastered an ironic smile over it.“Don’t be absurd.”Shinjiro graced her with a mildly approving nod. She leaned back in her chair, a little perk in her shoulders.
Kirijo had certainly taken the time to master a few basic skills in deception. She maintained eye contact, kept her breathing even, and didn’t fiddle with her clothes or nearby items on her desk. Kirijo’s tell, the quirk of her lips, was subtle and rather–
Shinjiro narrowed his eyes. No. Cute and Mitsuru Kirijo did not belong in the same sentence together. Shinjiro was growing delirious from lack of sleep. It was time for a stiff cup of coffee.
“Are we finished here?” she asked impatiently. Shinjiro shook his head.
“No,” he said softly. “You never sit with your back to the door when you’re out in public. Find the exits and get eyes on the entire room. Have your keys in your hand when you walk out of a building, don’t mess around or get distracted. You’re most vulnerable when you’re coming or going from one place to another. You know better than to waltz around assuming a threat will face you head on.”“I’m taking copious notes,” Kirijo tapped her temple.“Good. Just one more thing,” Shinjiro tucked the planner under his arm and rose to his feet. “No parking garages.”Kirijo snapped forward in her seat.“That’s completely unreasonable. How am I supposed to–”
“Your building has a valet service.”Kirijo’s face twisted with disgust.“I’m not going to trust a valet with a custom motorcycle,” she said vehemently.
“Smart,” Shinjiro nodded. “Ditch the motorcycle and just use your driver.”“But there are security cameras–”“No parking garages,” Shinjiro leveled a finger down at her nose.Kirijo’s nostrils flared. She turned toward her computer with the wave of her hand.
“Be certain to return my planner promptly, Aragaki. I have a schedule to keep.”Shinjiro exited the apartment, being sure to give Koromaru a thorough head scratch on his way out. He made his way down to the parking garage and found Kirijo’s motorcycle and inspected the undercarriage.
As expected, Kirijo had already removed the rather pricey GPS device he’d fixed to the bike outside of the climbing gym. If she could locate and remove it, then someone else would have no trouble doing the same.
Shinjiro returned to his vehicle and retrieved a second device from the glovebox. This model was smaller, more discrete, and a shit ton more expensive than the first. Shinjiro lowered himself to the ground and looked for a space in the frame that would conceal the brave little GPS tracker.
“Godspeed, new guy,” Shinjiro muttered, attaching the tracker to a shadowy part of the frame. “I give you a week before Kirijo gets her paws on you.”

Shinjiro returned Kirijo’s planner as promised and immediately set about the task of tailing her contemporaries. He’d been keeping tabs on one of them for several years now. This was a good time to check in with his contact for any updates and get him rolling on a new target.
His contact was a retired criminal by the name of Futami. Shinjiro had made his acquaintance during an illegal weapons stint when Futami, working for syndicates on the black market, was looking for low stakes, non-violent consulting work. At that time, Shinjiro had the perfect long-term job opportunity for him.
They arranged to meet at a greasy spoon at a halfway point between Tokyo and Port Island.
Futami settled into the seat across from him and brought with him an air of a man on important business; he’d come with fresh intel.“You ready for this?” Futami asked, his eyebrows furrowed.“Let’s have it.”Futami leaned forward.“They rode the ferris wheel in Kasai,” he said solemnly.Shinjiro let out a heavy exhale.“The ferris wheel, huh? That’s pretty serious.”Futami handed him a large manila envelope. Shinjiro pulled out a series of photos. The first had been
taken from the gondola behind Amada and his date. The two were locked in an embrace, the girl’s hands tangled in Amada’s hair and Amada’s hands shyly rucking up the hem of her blouse.
“Good for you, kid.”The other photos were of Amada and his date eating takoyaki, playing arcade games, and Amada winning her a hefty stuffed bear that was almost as big as she was. Shinjiro had seen several photos of Amada over the years, but he’d never seen him look at a girl like this before.
Ken Amada attended university classes regularly and was well into his law degree. He had a small circle of friends in Tokyo, but didn’t seek out the company of new or casual acquaintances. He tended to skip meals a lot and wandered the city at night, staying up far too late for someone with early classes. The girlfriend had been a new development as of a few weeks ago and Shinjiro was pleased to hear the latest.
He picked through the photos and fought back a smile when he reached an image of Amada, having just walked his girlfriend home, receiving a kiss for his troubles.“Still doesn’t eat great, but that’s pretty typical for university kids,” Futami went on after sipping his coffee. “Been hanging out at a joint in Ogikubo with the girlfriend lately, but he’ll pop down to Yongen-Jaya on occasion.”“The crowd?”“Noisy,” Futami said wearily. “But good people.”Shinjiro nodded and set a packet on the table.“I got another one. Professor at a local college, teaches computer science and information technology. Name’s Yamagishi.”Futami opened the packet and perused the photos of Yamagishi, taken at various public events and lecture halls at the college campus where she taught.
“I’ve got high level info, but I need details,” Shinjiro continued, eyeing the door.
“Where she goes, who she talks to, what she does when no one is looking.”Shinjiro’s informant raised an incredulous eyebrow.“You afraid of following this little thing yourself?” Futami asked, flipping through the pictures. He paused on one and flipped it around, revealing Yamagishi sitting on the grass with a group of students while they made flower crowns. “I’ve seen marshmallows more threatening than her.”He’d seen the extent of Yamagishi’s abilities through the Iwatodai Dormitory footage, but the current state of her abilities remained unclear. Yamagishi’s persona might have atrophied or she may have gotten stronger. There was no telling if she’d be able to sniff him out or pick up on Castor. Shinjiro planned on playing it safe, even though years had passed since he’d heard Castor’s voice in his head. His persona had been rendered retired as well as dumb and mute back at Suang Si Daeng following an intervention of sorts.
“Don’t be so sure,” Shinjiro said, touching his mouth. “She’s sharp. Don’t get caught.”He pulled up his phone and sent Futami a deposit and a little extra for incidentals before heading out into the rain.

The Port Island police set about their work pulling extensive background checks on the former members of S.E.E.S. What Kurosawa had not told Kirijo was that even when the background checks came through for her friends, the final determination on who got a key card would ultimately be left up to Shinjiro.A background check was not infallible. There were plenty of thugs in the world with spotless records. Looking into someone’s past gave an informant a solid start on where to look for signs of a bad actor, but nothing replaced real-time observation. While Futami set to work gathering information on Yamagishi, Shinjiro homed in on Junpei Iori and Yukari Takeba.Iori was married, no kids. Compared to the other former members of S.E.E.S., Shinjiro was most familiar with the Ioris' circumstances when he discovered they had taken on legal guardianship of Amada for a brief period of time until Amada graduated from Gekkoukan. Iori coached little league baseball while his wife maintained their home and volunteered teaching art at a nearby senior center. Shinjiro followed Iori’s wife to her volunteer shifts for a time. Once he remembered where he recognized her from, he’d dedicated a few days to following her. Yoshino’s records were sparse, but the documentation he did obtain indicated she suffered a rare type of amnesia. Shinjiro reluctantly labeled her harmless.Shinjiro followed Iori for two weeks. He was good with kids; patient, even when they didn’t listen to his coaching or threw fits. On weekends he and his wife would go to the grocery store or visit the park where Iori would roll himself out on the grass and rest his head in his wife’s lap while she filled sketchbooks with her drawings. After work, Iori would retire to the batting cages until closing time, cracking hit after hit after hit with his bat without wearing down. Apart from his inhuman stamina and the occasional visit to the pachinko lounges, Iori had no discernable secrets and was dull as dirt.
Shinjiro then assumed the slightly more complex task of following Yukari Takeba. Shinjiro learned of a crew member who worked on the set of Featherman Ranger with the naughty habit of selling unofficial backstage passes at prices even a ticket scalper would find outrageous. The name of the game with these guys was bribe or blackmail. Shinjiro needed access for a week, so he chose to bribe.
The film set was an ideal refuge for Shinjiro to survey Takeba. Corners, walls, set pieces, camera equipment; all of it provided good coverage and Shinjiro easily fit in with the other laborers. Takeba was prompt on set, hit her marks, didn’t waste time, and remembered everyone’s name. She moved from hair and makeup to the set seamlessly and when shooting wrapped, she took turns along with everyone else buying rounds for her crew and castmates and took a cab home if she drank too much. Every week, Takeba suited up as Feather Pink and visited the local children’s hospital. She was a fucking ray of sunshine and a waste of Shinjiro’s time.
Shinjiro shadowed Kirijo to the rock climbing gym, the fencing piste, and today, the equestrian park. He made sure she remained unaware of his presence, though Kirijo put forward little effort in thoroughly assessing her environment. Shinjiro wasn’t sure if her inability to do so was a symptom of negligence or apathy.
Shinjiro wasn’t the only one observing Kirijo. By now, he’d grown used to seeing the Kirijo Group’s representatives show up randomly to visit Kirijo during her equestrian lessons. On days like these, Kirijo and her nimble chestnut colored horse paraded around in full dressage. The company representatives would applaud the delicate and refined choreography. Kirijo would slip down from her saddle and confer with them with a prim smile and elegant posture. Kirijo would bow when the representatives took their leave after an hour or two of watching her perform.
When the instructors, trainers, and visitors had all vacated the arena, Shinjiro would tuck himself into the shadows. Kirijo would remove her dressage helmet and lead her horse in a full-out spring around the track, her hair inevitably ripping from its chignon bun. Even though the sprints only lasted minutes at a time, Shinjiro always left feeling like he’d woken up from a nightmare.

An unremarkable December passed by. Kirijo’s security system was working as intended and all remained quiet. Shinjiro followed up with Futami and scheduled a check in a few days after the new year.“Someone opened a door into the faculty break room and startled her,” Futami reported over coffee, face contorting with a sympathetic grimace.
Futami produced a bundle of photos as evidence, one taken of Yamagishi through a window. She wore a
forlorn look on her face and had a wad of paper towels in her hand.
Her white top was freshly painted in splatters of red curry.
“Partner?” Shinjiro asked, scanning the photos, including several with Yamagishi flanked by university students vying for her attention en route to a seminar.“Girlfriend,” Futami said. “She’s a nurse. They seem pretty serious.”“They live together?” Shinjiro asked, glancing at the restaurant entrance. Two high school girls with gift bags walked in and waved to a couple in the corner booth before joining them.
“No, but she’s got a roommate. Nice girl, keeps to herself. Goes on a lot of nature walks.”“Blonde?” Shinjiro asked.Futami shook his head.Shinjiro frowned at the photos. The anti shadow suppression weapon Aigis had all but disappeared after 2012. Shinjiro had scoured the intel he’d been given by the former Kirijo Group employee, even shelled out a good chunk of money for records related to the Group's shadow suppression units after 2009, but came up empty. Aigis’ name appeared to have been scrubbed from official company records.
Shinjiro handed the photos back to Futami. He paid for their coffees and grabbed his coat.
“Stay on her.”

Shinjiro had perfected a few talents of his own before, during, and after his prison sentence.
His ability to disappear had made him an alluring candidate for the role of informant. There was nothing particularly special about this talent, but it did require a keen eye for the contents of a room, the target, and the climate. It required patience.
He’d adopted two avenues to disappearing, depending on the circumstances. The first was hiding in plain sight. This was the approach for the informant, the valet, and the bartender. The second avenue was the more literal approach and required an acute sense of geometry for shadows, crowds, and corners.
Kirijo’s fiance was not particularly clever, but Shinjiro opted for the second approach out of caution.
The guy arrived at the Kirijo Group headquarters around ten in the morning and left at three in the afternoon. He visited the same group of bars, pachinko parlors, and pleasure clubs each afternoon and went home with a different woman each night.
Kirijo’s fiance existed exclusively in after-hours locations. He dropped money on women and booze as if there was some nation wide shortage of either. If the guy had to be placed on the sleazebag color wheel, he’d be off-beige. Based on observational data alone, Kirijo’s fiance seemed to be a run of the mill slimeball who posed no real threat.
Shinjiro kept him off of the nice list for other reasons.It was the rotten feeling the guy gave him. It was the way he reached for waitresses when he ordered his liquor, the way he ate and drank without seeming to taste, the way he dropped money on the table and grabbed his change with his fist. All of it gnawed against his thug’s intuition. The last time he’d ignored his thug’s intuition, he’d gotten on a plane to Bangkok and his best friend had died in a back alley five months later.Kirijo did nothing to assuage Shinjiro’s bad feelings about her fiance.She harangued Shinjiro for status updates on the background checks. She incessantly pressed him for updates on specific people: Takeba, Yamagishi, Iori, and Amada. She demanded to know what was taking so long and ended every interrogation with a subsequent follow up interrogation about why any of it was necessary.
Kirijo didn’t press him to expedite the process for her fiance. She didn’t even mention her fiance. Shinjiro’s rotten feeling festered.Tonight, Shinjiro had followed him to one of his regular spots. It was a stale strip club with aging furniture and dull lights. Shinjiro picked a different corner booth each time he followed Kirijo’s fiance here to avoid triggering any suspicion. The man was not what Shinjiro would call observant, but Shinjiro stuck to the shadowed corners of the room all the same.

The fiance had just ordered another round of drinks when a girl asked Shinjiro if he’d like a private dance.
He looked her over. She was dressed in a similar fashion as the other girls in the club; sequins, loud colors, and enough bare skin that Shinjiro felt cold just looking at her. If Miki were alive, she would probably be around her age. Shinjiro invited her to sit next to him and asked her a question he’d already answered for himself.“He come here a lot?” he leaned in close to her, but still had to raise his voice to be heard above the music. She followed his gaze to Kirijo’s fiance and frowned.“Yeah,” she sighed, holding out the top of her dress and fanning herself with the thin fabric.
“He the chatty type?”“The worst kind,” she said. “Constantly complaining about something. His job, his mommy, his fiance. We always celebrate a little when he leaves. Don’t tell my boss I said that, though.”Shinjiro nodded. He watched Kirijo’s fiance throw his arm around a woman’s shoulders and pull her close to him. He whispered something in her ear and Shinjiro watched a thin smile spread across her lips. Her back went stiff, as though she wanted to hide the urge to pull away.
Shinjiro tucked his chin slightly down toward his chest, his gaze even on Kirijo’s fiance and his hands.“What doesn’t he like about his fiance?”
“They’ve been engaged for like a million years,” she snorted. “Let’s just say she’s not a fan of his amorous attentions. Not that I blame her. I wouldn’t put out either.”Shinjiro traced the smooth rim of the glass under his thumb.
“Too handsy?”“Yeah, but also…” she paused. “I don’t know. I don’t like the way he looks at me.”
Shinjiro’s thumb continued circling the edge of the glass in firm, steady sweeps.She asked him again if he wanted to reserve a private room with her. Shinjiro declined. He deposited the money on the table and left without asking for change. Shinjiro made his way out to the street and lit a cigarette. The January air was conducive to his foul mood and he decided to walk home.
He’d keep a close eye on the fiance, but considered his due diligence complete. Shinjiro sent his background check to the back of the line. Regardless if the guy checked out, Shinjiro had gathered all the information he required to settle the matter of issuing him a key card.
The only soul in Port Island Shinjiro had unquestionably granted open access to Kirijo’s home was an immortal Shiba Inu. Kirijo was insistent Koromaru be allowed to come and go as he pleased and Shinjiro whole-heartedly agreed. Shinjiro had fitted his collar with a key fob (and snuck in more than one ear scratch) that automatically opened a newly installed dog door whenever he hovered over a sensor on the other side of the door.
Shinjiro intended to keep the key card access restricted to Koro-chan for as long as possible, until he’d had enough time to sniff out Kirijo’s contemporaries. He harbored no ill feelings toward Kirijo’s friends. He was certain they were all very good little boys and girls with very good intentions, but the more people with open access to Kirijo and her apartment, the more risk she invited upon herself. More risk meant less sleep for Shinjiro Aragaki.

Upon arriving home, Shinjiro made himself a mug of tea and delivered one of the protein shakes from his fridge to Aki’s altar.“All right, Aki?” he asked, unscrewing the cap of the protein drink. He gave it a sniff and shuddered.He’d already told Aki about Kirijo and Koro-chan. Over the last couple of months, Shinjiro had mused to him about the piano gathering dust in Kirijo’s apartment, about her stupid motorcycle, her planner, and her tell (not at all cute). Tonight Shinjiro wearily relayed the most recent information he’d obtained about the fiance.
“You’d have broken his nose by now.”Shinjiro picked up Aki’s wellness log and leafed through the pages. The logs detailed his diet, his workouts, sleep, mood, and any pertinent notes. Shinjiro stopped on one day in mid July. He’d eaten a solid breakfast, run a ridiculous 10k before school but he’d slept like shit. His notes provided a clear explanation.
Walked behind Mitsuru up the stairs yesterday. Can't remember what she was saying but I looked up to say something and accidentally looked up her–
Shinjiro allowed himself good chuckle. Akihiko couldn’t even write in his own personal health journal that he'd looked up Kirijo’s skirt.
“Scandalous, Aki.”
I don't think she noticed.
Not much sleep last night.

“No shit,” Shinjiro snorted.
Shinjiro bade him goodnight and closed the curtain over his altar. He went into the kitchen to deposit the empty mug into the sink, ensured the deadbolt was in the unlatched position, and had made it across the room to his futon when Mitsuru Kirijo burst through the door of his apartment.
She tore across the room and threw Shinjiro against the wall. Kirijo ripped the hem of his shirt up and covered his chest with her hands. Shinjiro shuddered and bit back a yelp;
Kirijo’s hands were two small blocks of ice.“What the hell–”Kirijo summoned her persona and the once-familiar plunge of Dia made Shinjiro’s head swim. He tried to speak when Kirijo summoned again and again and again–“Hey, hey, stop,” Shinjiro said evenly, taking her hands.
Kirijo’s eyes were red. Shinjiro covered one of her hands with his and placed it over his heart. She wilted at the knees, even as she looked prepared to summon her persona again.“Kirijo, stop. Look,” Shinjiro took her other hand and placed her fingers against the pulse in his neck.She craned her head back to look at him, her eyes large and red. A fresh wave of tears rushed down her cheeks. They stood in silence and Shinjiro watched Kirijo’s expression shift from terror to disbelief. Her hands were gradually warming from the heat from his body.

“See?” he said slowly. “I’m fine.”Kirijo still seemed unable to believe him. Her eyes searched him wildly before returning to scan his chest.
The adrenaline that had flooded his veins from her arrival slowly petered out. Shinjiro took a deep breath and assessed her carefully.
She’d run here. This idiot had run two city blocks in January, wearing nothing but a silk nightgown, a flimsy housecoat that had wilted down to the crooks of her elbows, and a pair of house slippers. Shinjiro felt a rush of irritation fill his throat.
Kirijo’s unguarded appearance allowed Shinjiro an unobstructed view of the locket at the exposed base of her neck. The pendant was silver and featured a crescent carved from an iridescent shell that reminded Shinjiro of the moon. The shell was surrounded by thick black stone.
“I was…” she said. “And then… I saw you. I watched you…”
The strap of her nightgown slipped down her shoulder as she spoke, leaving the plane of skin from the low neckline of her nightgown to her shoulder bare. Kirijo clearly wasn’t wearing anything underneath the thin material. A few depraved thoughts wormed their way into Shinjiro’s brain before he politely reminded himself that Kirijo was in distress and not available for miscreant ogling at the moment.
“You were…you…” she continued.Shinjiro swept the strap of the nightgown back onto her shoulder before tugging the housecoat snug around her neck.
“Bad dream,” he said groggily.
Kirijo shook her head, her eyes glassy and fixed on a spot just above his heart.
Shinjiro took her by the arm and guided her to the loveseat.
“Just take a minute, okay?” he said, setting her down on the cushion and pulling a blanket to her lap. He made his way into the kitchen to prepare a cup of hot tea for her hands and nerves. Kirijo was still staring forward when he returned, a haunted expression lingering in her eyes.Shinjiro joined her on the sofa and pressed the mug into her hands.

“You look like you’ve just seen a damn ghost,” he muttered.
Kirijo’s lips parted, her voice trapped in her throat.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

June 17, 2009

Breakfast: Egg whites, lean turkey sausage.

Workout: 3km run, slow pace; front loaded squats 15x/80kg

Sleep:
< 7.25 hours

Physical: Strong

Mental: Strong

Notes: Morning run with Takeba. She’s got strong muscle tone in arms and shoulders, but not much definition in the lower body.
Told her as much and gave her a few pointers on how to improve the muscle definition in the legs. Now Takeba’s not speaking to me. No surprises there; it's normal to be intimidated by the gym. Will write up a workout plan for her after school.

Kirijo sat on Shinjiro's decrepit couch in silence. Her gaze was lost in the cup of tea in her hands which had now grown cold. Shinjiro felt a nettle of self-consciousness rise up from the base of his throat.
The curtain was closed on Aki’s altar, but the fashion magazines that featured Kirijo’s name and photos were all well within her line of sight. He kicked them under the couch, though Kirijo didn’t seem to notice; in fact, Kirijo didn't seem to recognize anything around her.Kirijo surveyed the apartment, her brow furrowed. He watched her eyes scan the room as if she were looking for something to anchor herself to. Her gaze settled on him and then dropped down to her hands.“Oh,” she said, sounding marginally awake. “I... forgive me.”She passed her mug back to Shinjiro and stood quickly, her hand fumbling for the frame of the couch. She looked so unsteady that Shinjiro figured he could lay her out with one solid poke to the shoulder.
“Sit down,” he said. “You look like you could use something to eat.”“No, I- I’m sorry, it was just a bad dream," she said. “I’ll be going.”“You aren’t walking back. I’ll drive you.”Shinjiro found his heaviest coat and dropped it around her shoulders. Kirijo bent slightly under the sudden weight and Shinjiro offered her his arm. He led her downstairs and into the front seat of his car. Shinjiro considered turning on the heater, but the heat wouldn’t kick on for at least twenty minutes and Kirijo’s apartment was only two blocks away.
He explained this critical information in excruciating detail.
Kirijo sat quietly in the passenger seat, her hands submerged in the sleeves of Shinjiro’s coat and her long hair twisted over one shoulder. He caught her stealing quick, questioning glances in his direction.
“It’s beef,” he said.“I beg your pardon?” she asked, still not sounding quite back in the realm of the living.“The smell,” Shinjiro flicked his hand over his shoulder before rubbing the back of his neck. “I think it’s beef - I hope it’s beef.”“I see,” Kirijo said.Shinjiro Aragaki: Master conversationalist.
They sat in beef soaked silence for the remainder of the short drive. Shinjiro pulled up along the curb and the doorman gave both Shinjiro and his car a hard, disapproving glare from his station.
Shinjiro watched from the corner of his eye as Kirijo twisted and pulled at the hem of the coat sleeves.
“Aren't you… I suppose you're wondering how I knew where to find you.”Shinjiro put the car in park and unbuckled his seatbelt. He squeezed himself back against the door and twisted in his seat until he was facing her. He kept his gaze even and watched Kirijo struggle.Kirijo remained occupied with a spot on the dashboard.
"Sure, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said amiably, his voice like sandpaper in his throat. “How did you know where I lived?"Kirijo looked at her hands with a quick nod before meeting his expectant gaze. Shinjiro tipped his head back to rest against the window pane. The frosted glass elicited a slight chill over his skin."I'm not- I wasn’t intending to do anything,” she started. “I know you didn't, that you don't want to be…”She released a polite sigh of defeat.The gavel had fallen: Mitsuru Kirijo had confessed to snooping. Through some light detective work, she had obtained Shinjiro’s address from Kurosawa. It was an earnest and entirely redundant confession.Shinjiro nearly told her that yes, he had been well aware for many years that Kirijo knew where to find him in. Shortly after Shinjiro had returned to Port Island, Kurosawa had shared that Kirijo had enquired about his living situation. Shinjiro had insisted Kurosawa give her his address, much to Kurosawa’s annoyance.Kirijo was still studying the dashboard. Shinjiro allowed himself a fatigued smile.“Feel better?” he asked.“Forgive me. I should not have pried.”Kirijo engrossed herself with smoothing out the creases along the sleeves of the coat.
The lights illuminated the slender line of her cheekbones, rising just under the place on her skin where her sooty eyelashes remained lowered. Her complexion was still chalky and her lips were thin and pursed tightly together.
Were he a dumber, better man, Shinjiro might have leveraged Kirijo’s confession with one of his own.
The feeling had first slipped over him when he’d draped his coat around Kirijo’s narrow shoulders. It carried on as a steady, gentle hum when she’d walked beside him to his car; open, unguarded, and without hesitation.
The feeling, and confession, was a quiet sense of victory.
Not only did Kirijo know how to find him, but she had delivered herself right to him.
Knowing the darkness might betray him at any moment, Shinjiro cloaked himself with a soft gaze.
"Nothing to be sorry for.”Kirijo turned to him, her eyes large and inquisitive.

Shinjiro linked his arm with Kirijo’s and guided her to her apartment. As soon as they entered, Koromaru skidded toward them and assaulted Kirijo’s hand with licks and light nibbles.
“I’m home,” Kirijo murmured to him. Koromaru let out a distressed whine.
Koromaru bumped Shinjiro aside and took command of the situation. He positioned himself behind Kirijo and butted against her thigh, nudging her toward the bedroom. Shinjiro followed and stopped at the bedroom door. Koromaru nosed and nudged at Kirijo like a fussy maid until she slipped under the covers. Kirijo turned to Shinjiro’s place at the door, her voice watery and thin.
“Aragaki, I’m sor–”“Next time just call me, Kirijo.”Kirijo was quiet.
“Kirijo.”“I wasn’t certain you would answer.”Shinjiro peered into Kirijo’s room. His eyes were still adjusting to the dark but he could see that she had shifted onto her back and was gazing up at the ceiling. Shinjiro leaned against the door frame and shifted on his feet.
The honesty was fucking scalding.

Koromaru stood between him and Kirijo’s bed with a cool look.“Call me next time,” Shinjiro said. “And I’ll come.”Boy, that was some promise, wasn’t it? Who the hell was he to say something like that? Kirijo was silent. Shinjiro needed to turn the tables quickly.
“Say it, Kirijo.”Kirijo frowned at the ceiling.
“Say:
I, Mitsuru Kirijo, promise not to run out into the street in my underwear with no shoes at three in the morning if I have a nightmare.”“I’ll…I’ll call,” she murmured.“Yeah,” he said. “Good enough for tonight.”Shinjiro turned to leave.
“Aragaki?”“Yeah?” he paused at the door.“Why was your door unlocked?”Shinjiro thumbed a cigarette in his pocket.“I like to live dangerously, Kirijo.”“Oh,” she replied listlessly.“Go to sleep,” Shinjiro said.Koromaru left his post at that moment. He leapt to Kirijo’s side on the bed and paced before wedging himself into a spot at her side. He lowered hid head to her stomach and squinted at Shinjiro thoughtfully.“Stay,” he murmured to Koromaru.
Shinjiro tugged the door to a partial close, leaving enough space for Koromaru to nudge it open when he so chose.

Shinjiro did not immediately leave Kirijo’s apartment. Sensing an opportunity to scrounge up a little intel, he peered into the living room and scanned the floor. Shinjiro expected to see a heap of illegal drugs or empty liquor bottles, something to explain the bad trip or bad dream that had sent Kirijo sprinting through Port Island in terror.
There was nothing but a pile of books, an open notepad, and a spilled cup of tea.Shinjiro went into the kitchen and retrieved a dish towel to mop up the spilled tea. He picked the teacup and set it aright on the coffee table before pressing the towel to blot the wet spot on the rug.
The tea was a pale green color. It smelled lightly of damp earth, but Shinjiro couldn’t identify any other herbal ingredients by scent alone. He surveyed the books with a puzzled frown. An almanac lay open on the floor. The open pages contained information on the coming months, with a detailed list of times for the sunrise and sunset and moon phases for Amman, Jordan. Shinjiro didn’t touch the page. There was a thin hand-bound book beside the almanac, its pages gilded in a foreign language that Shinjiro deduced to be Arabic. The lettering was handwritten and upon close inspection, Shinjiro noted it was a photocopy of an original. The pages were worn with time and love, with several sections dog-eared or dappled with old coffee stains. He spared a glance toward the bedroom before reaching for a few loose papers tucked in the back of the hand-bound book.Shinjiro unfolded them and found a series of four letters, all in the same foreign script as the book. He reached for his phone and snapped photos of each, being careful to include the text in its entirety. He took a picture of the book cover and carefully tucked the letters back to their original spot.
Kirijo’s planner was among the mess of items. Shinjiro recalled Kirijo’s face when he’d implied about the possibility of a secret version.
He opened his phone and found photos of the version of Kirijo’s planner she had provided earlier. He compared it to the pages before him and smiled ruefully. Shinjiro hummed with vindication when he read the contents. Thank God for Kirijo’s little tell; this was not the same planner she had given him to copy.
Shinjiro made the distinction between the two immediately. The week in Dubai was listed as a week in Amman. Athens was Milos and London was Belfast.The mentoring sessions listed for the upcoming months were penned thick with details: Names (Narukami, Kurusu, Kujikawa, and - Amada), places (Amagi Inn; Inaba, Cafe Leblanc; Yongen-Jaya, and Yakushima Manor; Yakushima Island), details Shinjiro could finally sink his teeth into.Kirijo’s rest days were not filled in with such helpful intel. Instead, this version contained only minor supplemental information:
29ml, 44ml, and 59 ml. Units of measure, but of what?In the back of Kirijo’s planner, Shinjiro found a single envelope. Tucked inside was a typed letter, written in English or something like it. The paper was significantly more faded than the other letters. It bore a yellowish tint and smelled faintly of peat and woodsmoke. Two five Euro banknotes were tucked inside the envelope.

Dear gorl -

Dear Mitsy KOrojo-

MISSY:

The fecjkin cheek you have writing to me - an old witch who eats pretty, stubborn gorls for breakfast! I'll nae be saying this again: Your match is made. You have 2 optons.

1. Accept the match that's been made for yous and come back in SIX YEARS.

2. OR don't accept the match you've been given and DON'T COME BACK (unless you need a hot meal and a place to stay, you’ll no be staying with that fuckwit Carrigan and his wild pack of boys).

2. IF you come back to tEST my patience before the 6 years have passed,
I'll put a hex on you and your cows (i know you’ve got coos girlie).

What's for you won't pass you.

Blessings upon you,

-M

P.S. I
was utterly peshed when I wrote this, but you can bury me in these words. My decision still stands. SIX years, and not another word from yous before then.
P.S.S. I'm sending you a couple fivers. be a good girl and bring me more of those green biscuits for when you return (SIX YEARS). TERRIBLE things will happen to you if you use your own money - i'll KNOW if you haven’t used what I’ve sent!

Shinjiro took careful, deliberate photos of the letter and spent another ten minutes holding his breath in order to photograph his way through the pages of the planner. He returned the items including the teacup to the floor, making sure to arrange them in the same fashion that he'd found it along with the book and other letters. Shinjiro stood up and was immediately busted.
Koromaru had taken a brief break from his post and narrowed his eyes on him: Explain.
“Nothing to see here, Koro-chan,” Shinjiro said guardedly.Koromaru tilted his head.“Just doing my job.”This was deemed an acceptable defense. Koromaru closed his eyes and stretched his neck back exultantly. He let out a polite, patient whine.
“You hungry?” Shinjiro asked, making no attempt to hide his eagerness. “Where does she keep your food?”Koromaru stood up and nudged the handle of a drawer, his nostrils jumping with anticipation.
Shinjiro opened the drawer and pulled out a can of dog food. He read the list of premium ingredients on the label and shook his head.“So you eat like a king and she eats like a soldier, huh?”The poor dog looked ashamed.“Not your fault, boy. She’s right to spoil you,” Shinjiro said, giving him a thorough neck scratch. Koromaru’s spirits seemed to instantly lift at the remark. Shinjiro opened the can and emptied it into a clean bowl.
“Bon appétit.”

He took a moment to enjoy watching Koromaru devour his meal before clicking off the light and exiting the apartment. Shinjiro tested the door handle after he closed it behind him and made his way home.

He checked on Kirijo the next morning. She was apologetic about her sudden and inappropriate appearance at his apartment, but offered no explanation on her nightmare.
He wondered what she'd dreamed about that'd shook her up bad enough to tear through the city. Shinjiro didn't push the matter, only reminded her of her word to call him next time.His week resumed with blissful banality. He began his shift at The Obelisk with an unsuccessful bid to dissuade a woman, who stated she preferred her drinks on the sweeter side, from ordering a Bourbon heavy cocktail. He’d comped her tab with a nod when she complained it was too strong.
Shinjiro welcomed the dramas of the rich and bored with open arms. He was free of dirty cops and yakuza and could finally breathe a little.

January ebbed into February and the regulars carved their places out on the bar stools. They were executives meeting with their mistresses, playboys with too much time and money on hand, and the offspring of the wealthy who were looking to start a night of trouble off at a rooftop bar.
Shinjiro fell back into the quiet routine of filling their cups and listening to their woes. He’d learned over the years that every drinker needed a different type of therapeutic intervention from their bartender. Some needed quiet and others needed just a little eye contact. Some needed reassurance that they were not the villain of their own lives, and then there were those who needed to hit rock bottom.
Shinjiro pulled his hair back and wore his little bowtie without complaint. His customers kept his observation skills sharp. He knew when certain couples would leave together and when the date would end at the bar. He could clock the flirts and the troublemakers within minutes of their entering. He knew who he’d need to cut off and who he’d need to keep an eye on.
Overall, it was a good job with decently behaved customers. The bar closed at ten, which meant Shinjiro could usually get to sleep before midnight.He’d just finished closing and slipped into the alley behind the hotel. The evening night air was cold but he found it favorable for his pensive mood. Shinjiro decided to walk home.
He neared his apartment and came to the end of his cigarette. It was nearing midnight. He was exhausted, but now might be a good time to pop over to Kirijo’s for a visit to see if the cameras were functioning as intended. Shinjiro opened his phone to text Kirijo but decided to first check up on his brave little GPS tracker.
Shinjiro dropped his cigarette to the ground.Kirijo’s motorcycle was stationed at a bar on the other side of town.
“‘The fuck’re you doing?”

Shinjiro was knee deep in his foul mood by the time he arrived at the bar. Not only was the bar on the outskirts of town, but it was in a particularly rough area synonymous with petty drug deals and gang activity. The interior was primed for an all-night rave and the air roiled with restlessness.
Kirijo was not in the sea of people jammed onto the dance floor. Through a series of questions shouted at half-cognizant guests, Shinjiro learned that there were private karaoke rooms in the back and began running the gauntlet of drunk twenty-somethings.
He made it to the back of the venue and was met with yet another blockade of young people along the bar. Beside the bar there was a hallway leading back to the private karaoke rooms, guarded by a bouncer. Shinjiro narrowed his eyes down the corridor when his eye caught on a petite woman in a pink dress, her body against the counter of the bar.

Shinjiro crossed his arms and watched the back and forth play out between her and the bartender.
She pressed her chin against her fists, her cheeks red as she let out a crisp laugh. The bartender refilled two glasses: A pink daiquiri in one and Scotch, taken neat, filled in the other. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and paid for the drinks with a smile. The bartender’s face went crimson. Shinjiro would have normally docked the bartender points for his lack of a poker face, but decided to give the guy a pass. It probably wasn’t every day Feather Pink dropped by for a cocktail.
She turned away with her drinks and left the poor bastard starstruck.
She then bobbed toward the hallway, the drinks clutched precariously in her hands. The bouncer unhooked a red velvet rope for her and Shinjiro watched her disappear through a door at the end of the corridor.
Shinjiro reached into his pocket and offered the bouncer a hefty bribe, which was accepted with little more than a glance. The bow tie was nothing if not intimidating.
Upon entering the room, Shinjiro’s senses were assaulted by a combination of scents, sounds, and images that did not mix well together. The room was soaked in the smell of alcohol and some shrill, soulless pop song was blaring. Takeba was crooning along, her eyes fixed on the television and the daiquiri clutched in her fingers.
The room was equipped with a small platform with a rather suspicious looking pole fixed in the center.

Kirijo was curled up in the corner of the room surrounded by a pile of books and a notepad, like the karaoke room was her own personal library. Her button up blouse was loosely tucked into a black pencil skirt. Kirijo’s heels lay abandoned on the floor where she had kicked them off.
Her legs were tucked under her, layered in a pair of sheer, black stockings.Kirijo had just brought her Scotch to her lips when she met Shinjiro’s gaze. Kirijo’s features were relaxed from the alcohol, but the look of irritation was sharply pronounced along her jawline.
Shinjiro had never wanted his bed more.“What the hell is going on here?” Shinjiro’s question came out with all the fury of a weary, maternal squawk.
Takeba, blissfully ignorant of Shinjiro’s entrance until now, turned to face him with a bloodthirsty look.
“Excuse you!” she said, jumping down from the platform. “Who do you think you are, bringing all your negative energy in here? Oh–”She skidded to a stop, seeming to only recognize him when she was mere millimeters from slapping him across the face.
“Aragaki-san! Hi!” she beamed. “Mitsuru-senpai said you were–”
Takeba hiccuped hard enough to bounce back.
“So good to see you!” she warbled. “We met once a while back. I’m sure you don’t remember.”Shinjiro remembered. Before he’d learned their names, he’d passed by Takeba, Iori, and Minato Arisato in a hospital room after visiting Aki at his check up. It was May 1st, 2009, just weeks before Shinjiro had left Port Island.
“How are you?” she gushed, pressing her hand to her collarbone.“I’m fine, Takeba. I’m just here to–”“Great! Oh, that’s so great! Hey, listen could you just, you know–” Takeba put her lips to her daiquiri and made a graceful sweep toward the door. “Go away and leave? Like, right now?”“No.”Takeba’s smile sharpened. She enjoyed a long pull from her drink and gave it a look that signaled she was bidding it goodbye. The girl next door act dropped to the floor.
Shinjiro readied himself for a strawberry daiquiri to the face.
“Yukari?” Kirijo called from the corner. “I liked the melody of the last song. Could you find something similar?”Takeba hurled herself, with only a few stumbles, back onto the platform and Shinjiro was saved from the wrath of Feather Pink. He made a mental note to thank Kirijo for rescuing him, right after he finished throttling her.
Shinjiro dropped into the seat next to Kirijo with a world weary sigh.
“We talked about this. No social outings unless they’ve been cleared by me,” he said, watching Takeba grow frustrated with the lack of options for karaoke material.
“This is a business meeting,” she said mildly.“Getting blitzed like two teenagers in a run down karaoke bar is not a business meeting, unless I’ve received some seriously inaccurate information about the Kirijo Group,” Shinjiro said.He frowned at the books piled on the other side of Kirijo’s spot on the vinyl booth. Who brought books to a bar? He reached over and Kirijo seized his wrist in an iron grip.He raised his eyebrows. Hit a nerve there, did he?

Kirijo released his wrist and pushed it away in favor of her Scotch. Shinjiro captured it and downed the remainder. Kirijo spittled with indignance. Shinjiro offered her a mild shrug even as the alcohol scorched his tongue and throat. For a woman who’d been nearly kidnapped after drinking too much, Kirijo didn’t seem too concerned with overindulging in high point alcohol.
“Last call,” he said, clearing his throat. “You’re cut off.”“Boo!” Takeba managed to whine, maintain razor sharp focus on making a song selection, and take a drink of her daiquiri in seamless harmony.
“We’re leaving,” he said to Kirijo.
“She’s having fun,” Kirijo said. “Leave her alone.”“Don’t big time actresses like you have an early call time, Takeba?” Shinjiro asked.“Don’t you have an early call time, Takeba?” Takeba parroted Shinjiro’s voice, adding an unwarranted amount of doltishness to her tone. Shinjiro was simultaneously offended and impressed.
“She’s a delight,” Shinjiro said to Kirijo with a sneer.
Takeba snarled and tossed the remote to the booth with a resigned sigh. She dropped down unsteadily from the platform with Shinjiro in her crosshairs. She leaned over, hands on her knees, and squinted down at him with bloodshot eyes.
“Fine. You want her? I’ll let you have her,” she whispered. “But first you gotta give me something.”“I don’t sing.”“Oh, I don’t want you to sing,” Takeba produced a dark laugh. She took a sip of her daiquiri and pointed to the platform. “I want you to get up there and slut drop.”“I don’t follow,” Shinjiro deadpanned.“Slut drop.”
Takeba put her drink on a coaster and demonstrated the technique.“Excellent form, Yukari,” Kirijo remarked. She untucked her legs from under her and gathered her hair into a loose knot on the back of head. Shinjiro took a moment to study her carefully.The shadows under her eyes were clear under the lights of the room. Her mild intoxication only intensified the listlessness of her expression. When Kirijo had seized his wrist a moment ago, the emptiness in her irises had been consumed in a snap of cold fire. The spark had died quickly, just as soon as Kirijo had let go of his wrist.

Kirijo’s eyes narrowed on him and Shinjiro realized he was staring.He gave his shoes a perfunctory nod and pulled his hair out its ponytail. He shook it loose and without a word, stepped up to the small platform and swung around the pole with a fluid pivot. He pushed his backside to the pole, allowing Takeba and Kirijo a perfect view of his ass, before he dropped into a squat and shot back up, his clasped hands and forearms taut high over his head.Shinjiro had regularly tended bar for yakuza meetings that had bloated into full on ragers. He managed to keep out of the fray, but there were times where staying cool and under cover had required the occasional foray into unseemly behavior. While he'd never been required to slut drop before, the move was relatively tame compared to the list of similar scintillating behavior he’d performed and a piece of fucking cake.
Takeba cratered against the table.
“T…the e...execution,” she wheezed.“Show’s over, ladies,” Shinjiro swung around the pole and hopped down from the platform. Takeba convulsed in a fit of strangled giggling.Kirijo crossed her arms and settled back into the booth, appraising him with pure contempt.
“Look all you like, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said, gathering his hair back into an elastic band. “But touching will cost extra.”“I do not pay for overpriced goods,” she informed him. “Despite your innumerable talents with a pole.”
“Your loss,” he said, pulling on his coat and pointing to the door. “After you.”

They agreed that Feather Pink was soused to the eyeballs and not fit to be taken home via taxi. Shinjiro ferried them to Takeba’s apartment and loaded her over his shoulder while Kirijo unlocked her door. She expertly removed Takeba’s shoes and jewelry and tucked her into bed, promising to check on her in the morning.
They left and spent the journey to Kirijo’s apartment in thick, uneasy silence. Shinjiro had barely slowed the car to a roll when Kirijo offered a clipped thanks for the escort and reached for the door.
Shinjiro gave the lock two taps in quick succession.

Kirijo fixed him with a murderous look while she tried to shift the lock.
“I learned something very interesting tonight, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said.“Yes, Aragaki,” Kirijo muttered, now fully at war against the door latch. “We were all witness to your riveting performance. What is wrong with this insufferable lock? What sort of safety feature traps an inhabitant of a car from escape–”“Child lock.”Shinjiro met the withering glare with a smile.
In truth, the insufferable lock in question was one of many charming malfunctions Shinjiro’s car featured. If he gave the driver’s side lock two rapid taps, the passenger’s side door lock jammed and could only be released by inserting the key in the outside facing lock.
“What was I saying? Oh, right,” Shinjiro’s smile tightened. “I learned a little something about net worth. What would you say yours is?”“Well, I suppose it fluctuates, depending on the yacht I’m vomiting over in a given month.”
Though she attempted to sound glib, Kirijo continued to paw at the door like some sort of vexed cat. Shinjiro watched with disinterest until the puzzle became too much for Kirijo’s patience. Her nose scrunched and she let out a flummoxed scoff before dropping her hands into her lap. Kirijo looked at him as she might impale him with a single glance.
“Very well, Aragaki. You now have a captive audience. State your point.”“Thirty thousand yen is all it took to bribe the bouncer to get to you.”

Kirijo’s frown turned reproachful.
“Where did you obtain that kind of money?” she asked.Shinjiro twisted in the driver’s seat, his back and arms wedged painfully against the seat and the steering wheel. He wanted nothing more than to throw Kirijo in an heiress-sized bag before hauling her up to her apartment and barricading the door.
“It wasn’t a set up for some fucking punchline, Kirijo.”“I’ve managed my own personal safety well enough thus far,” she said deliberately. “Stop looking at me like that.”“Like what?” he asked.“Like you’re plotting to throw me in the trunk. I don’t need some sort of glorified nanny hovering over me at all hours of the night.”“Stop treating this like some game. There are active threats against your life. If someone is willing to drag you out of your apartment in the dead of night after you’ve had too much to drink, then they’d have no problem taking your life in public.”“There is no threat against my life–”“You’re not invincible. You can’t just run around like you’re untouchable like—”Shinjiro stopped himself. He shifted into a neutral position in the driver’s seat and stared out the windscreen with a contemplative frown. Kirijo looked longingly at the door.
“I don’t see why you feel the need to be so–”
“Because it’s my job,” Shinjiro snapped.The silence soured.
Aki would have said something here. He might have gotten hung up on a minor detail that was only tangentially related to Shinjiro’s point.
Kirijo would have called him a hypocrite. Shinjiro would have told them they were both terrible at gauging risk and then they’d go home. If Aki were here, Kirijo wouldn’t be the one in the hot seat for being a reckless idiot.
None of this would be happening if Aki were here.“I understand. You’ve made your point, Aragaki,” she said. “Let me out.”Shinjiro hesitated.
He needed her to take this shit seriously. If Kirijo could just wait a minute, Shinjiro could tell her all of the reasons why thirty thousand yen was such a sick insult, and how the only thing worse than that number was how she was treating it like a joke because that was fucking unacceptable and he couldn’t let it slide. If she just waited a minute she could sober up a little and maybe if she listened, she would understand why her life was worth more and why he’d–Shinjiro turned the key in the ignition.“You gotta be starving. There’s some decent places nearby.”“Aragaki,” she said, her voice small and resigned. “Please.”Shinjiro shut off the engine and shifted himself out of the car. He made his way to the passenger side door and inserted the key. He held the door open, watching as Kirijo unsteadily exited the car.

“You’re still a little drunk,” he said, taking her by the elbow. “Let me–”“No. Thank you.”The crisp fuck off, delivered with impeccable Kirijo precision, prompted Shinjiro to withdraw his hand. Kirijo made several confident strides away from him.
“Kirijo, wait.”
She stopped and turned in his direction, her eyes and jaw set.“I wouldn’t throw you in the trunk.”
Kirijo gave him a weary once over. The doubt rang clear in her gaze. She turned for the door and disappeared into the building.
Shinjiro leaned back against the car and fingered a loose cigarette in his pocket.
He pulled up the app on his phone and waited, lighting his cigarette only when Kirijo’s access key registered on the log.
He craned his neck back and closed his eyes.
Maybe Kirijo was right to not believe him.

Shinjiro arrived back at his apartment and dropped onto his futon with a moan. A little sleep was better than no sleep at all. He’d just sunk into the depths of a deep, dreamless void when a loud vibrating snapped him out of his slumber.Shinjiro lunged for his phone. There was no notification of manual entry into Kirijo’s home, no message from Kirijo or anyone else.
The buzzing came again.Shinjiro turned his head toward the closet.
“No, no, no,” he breathed. “No way, please no–”He padded toward the door and pulled back the curtain. From its place on the altar, Akihiko Sanada’s phone lit up the darkened closet with a dusty blue haze.“Come on, Aki,” Shinjiro said upon approach. “I thought we said no hauntings. Don’t fuck with me now.”The screen read: 2 Unread Messages. He grit his teeth and flipped the phone cover open.

I wish you could have seen his bow tie. It was adorable. He still has a wonderful smile.
His eyes moved down the message thread.

I understand why he hates me.

Stunned, Shinjiro watched another message from Mitsuru Kirijo appear on the screen.
Goodnight, Akihiko.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

August 14, 2009

Breakfast: Egg whites, shake with whey protein

Workout: 6km run, brisk pace; Bulgarian leg squats 10x/61kg;

Sleep: 7 hours

Physical: Strong

Mental: Strong

Notes: Morning run with Aigis and Junpei. Junpei said Aigis runs weird (don’t see it). Told him to focus on his breathing. Aigis is an excellent pacer. Iori’s stamina needs work. Good morning.

After discovering the planner and concealed letters in Kirijo’s apartment, Shinjiro had tried to use a phone app to translate the text he’d photographed, but the translations were piecemeal and broken. Shinjiro had obtained clearance from Kurosawa to use the translation service available to the police and had submitted the photos for processing. The service was short staffed, but informed him that they’d have the documents ready for processing as soon as possible.
A week had passed since the karaoke bar incident. Shinjiro suspected his sudden, unannounced arrival to Kirijo’s night out would be met with retaliation. Kirijo had already ferreted through the frame of the motorcycle and removed the tracking device (new guy two, may he rest in peace, had lasted longer than Shinjiro anticipated and would be remembered for his service) and Shinjiro was biding his time before replacing it.
Retribution came at four in the morning.
Shinjiro had closed his shift by getting into a tense verbal altercation with a customer, one that had nearly escalated into the physical variety. Half an hour before closing and then fifteen minutes before closing, and then again five minutes before closing, Shinjiro had reminded the guy to finish his drink. When this warning went unheeded and the customer tried to take the drink to-go, Shinjiro had confiscated it and poured the remainder down the drain.
Shinjiro encountered the unhappy customer in the alley behind the hotel after his shift where he'd been waiting for him. The guy had taken one look at him and had experienced a sudden, inexplicable change of heart about the quality of the service.
Shinjiro’s menacing bow tie had thwarted another incident.
Now finally home, Shinjiro basked in the dark. He’d just settled into the silence when a sharp vibration set off his phone.
Someone had entered Kirijo’s apartment through the manual lock.
Shinjiro shot up from bed and wrestled with his pants while simultaneously opening the camera feed on his phone. Shinjiro watched the figures ransack their way through the kitchen.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Shinjiro burst through the door of Kirijo’s apartment and faced the intruders.
The anti-shadow suppression weapon Aigis closed the oven door before turning her focus to Shinjiro. A long black wig was pooled on the kitchen counter beside her. Not far from where Aigis stood, Junpei Iori was plunged head first into Kirijo’s refrigerator.
He’d first met Iori at the same time he’d met Takeba and Minato Arisato in Aki’s hospital room, and then had only seen him after that through independent surveillance and archival videos. This was the closest Shinjiro had been to Iori since the day in the hospital room, which confirmed that Iori had developed from scruffy teenager to scruffy adult. He’d grown broad at the chest and shoulders and his arms had acquired the lean tone of an athlete.
Aigis was unchanged from what Shinjiro had seen in the archival footage; a lethal machine with a gentle and impassive expression. She turned to him with a curious frown.“Hello,” she greeted.

“Hi,” Shinjiro said shortly. “What the fuck is going on here?”“It’s boy’s night out,” Aigis said patiently. “You were not invited, Shinjiro Aragaki.”Flabbergasted, Shinjiro held his arms out to the apartment around him.“Why the hell is it happening here?”“The izakayas are closed,” Aigis explained.Shinjiro pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time in disbelief.
“It’s four in the morning, of course the izakayas are fucking closed!”“Do they still make that barbeque flavor?” Iori muttered, his torso disappearing into the freezer. Shinjiro nobly resisted the urge to shove him the rest of the way in so he could return home.“Dude! Senpai found the curry flavor, I thought they stopped making that one–”
Iori closed the freezer, his face falling.
“Ai-chan, you,” Iori looked to the frozen pizza box in his hands despondently. “You put the pan in the oven before I got the pizza on it…Again…”“Come, Junpei-san. Let us observe the pan.”Aigis and Iori leaned over the oven eagerly, their eyes gleaming with childlike wonder. Shinjiro, now officially delirious from lack of sleep, leaned over with them and watched as the first, heavy glob of the sheet pan dripped through the grates of the oven rack.
The two observed the ritual sacrifice of Kirijo’s pan with solemn reverence. This was clearly not the first incident of breaking, entering, and pan melting. Shinjiro shook his head and collected his irritation.
“Both of you,” he pointed to the door. “Get the hell out of here.”Aigis stood up.“Hold me back, bro,” she said to Iori. Iori took her arm with a limp grip, his eyes still glistening from the now dead promise of curry pizza.“Maybe if I just found another pan?” he said pleadingly to the box. “Or if I put it on the cardboard - would that protect it from the melty parts?”“Leave,” Shinjiro said.
“Wet blanket detected,” Aigis reported. “Increasing shit talk by 47%.”
“Huh? Just 47, Ai-chan?” Iori looked up.
“Any more would prove fatal,” Aigis replied. Her intense, unblinking stare on Shinjiro wavered with sudden concern.
“I do not wish to kill you, only severely burn you.”“Oh, man it’s hopeless!” Iori wept, his grip on Aigis’ arm forgotten. He clutched the pizza box to his chest as though it were a beloved but troubled child. “Why me? Why does this always happen when I’m starving?”“I'm not going to say it again,” Shinjiro said deliberately. “Get out or I’ll send you out the window.”“Come at me, bro,” Aigis said. “I'll make a crack in your punk ass.”Kirijo appeared, fully dressed in high waisted black pants and an oversized sweater.
“Iori,” Kirijo began quietly, politely covering her yawn. “We agreed no more foreign crime dramas. They are a bad influence.”She set about making her coffee as though this entire, baffling ordeal was part of her morning routine. Shinjiro began reconsidering his stance on the whole throw-Kirijo in-the-trunk-of-his-car matter.

“She loves them though!” Iori said in his defense.
“Come, Mitsuru-san,” Aigis linked arms with Kirijo. “The pan is nearly a complete work of art. Let us analyze it.”“No!” Shinjiro barked. Koromaru barked with mirrored enthusiasm. Iori continued his desperate rummaging through Kirijo’s cabinets with growing consternation before falling to his knees in defeat. Aigis pulled him back up. The mourning period for the pizza now complete, Iori finally took stock of his surroundings and determined now was a safe and appropriate time to recognize Shinjiro.
“Heh, how’s it going, Aragaki-san? Sorry, I’m kind of distracted when I’m hungry.”As wildly misguided as they were, Shinjiro couldn’t deny the man had his priorities.
“Uh, I think we met once–” Iori began.“Yeah,” Shinjiro said. “Been a while.”Shinjiro stared at him. Iori gaped back in awe.
“Whoa. Were you always so…scary looking? I-I’m not trying to be rude or anything, you just look a little different, that’s all.”“Based on my repository of archival photographs, this appears to be Aragaki-san’s normal expression,” Aigis helped.“Aigis is right,” Kirijo said. “The poor thing can’t help it. It would be best to come back another time.”“Don’t come back at all,” Shinjiro snapped.
“Let’s get your things, Aigis,” Kirijo said. She left the kitchen to retrieve Aigis’ belongings from the entryway. Kirijo examined the crocheted hat with a bemused frown. The item was woven with thick coils of blue and white yarn and adorned with a pale pink ribbon. She looked to Aigis inquisitively.
“Chidori-san crocheted it for me,” Aigis said.A smile flickered over Kirijo’s lips. She gathered the long black wig and tucked it in around the device covering Aigis’ head before delicately arranging the loose crocheted hat over Aigis’ head.“I can see she spent a good deal of time and effort making this for you, Aigis. I’m certain it would make her happy to see you wear it,” she said softly as she began to button Aigis into a large overcoat.
“I was wearing it,” Aigis said, somewhat defensively. “But Junpei-san said I was ‘killing the vibe.’”Kirijo sniffed at Iori with weary disapproval as she adjusted the overcoat against Aigis’ arms. Iori had finally accepted that there would be no frozen pizza this morning and carefully returned the box into the freezer with funerary tenderness.

“Iori, you are to ensure Aigis is dressed appropriately when you venture out,” Kirijo said.“She looks fine,” Iori replied with a shrug.“You were to ensure I had hand coverings, Junpei-san,” Aigis corrected.
“Crap,” Iori sighed. “I forgot! Ai-chan, why didn’t you remind me to remind you?”“Crap,” Aigis said abysmally.“Give me a moment to fetch you a pair of gloves,” Kirijo said. She left the room again and Shinjiro posted himself next to the door,
vowing if the two were not out in the next three minutes, he’d pull out the mean bartender card and give them the old drunk toss. His gaze settled on Aigis.
Now fully dressed in her oversized coat and little homemade hat, Aigis turned to him with a frown.“My name is Arisato Aigis,” she paused to look Shinjiro up and down. “We have not been formally introduced.”“And somehow you know my name,” Shinjiro said.“Yes. I am pleased to meet you, Shinjiro Aragaki,” she bowed.Shinjiro narrowed his eyes and did not reciprocate. Aigis assessed him with renewed scrutiny. Shinjiro was being analyzed and did not appreciate the feeling.
“What?” Shinjiro sneered.
“I am uncertain how to appropriately gauge your intentions," Aigis frowned. "You are a friend of my friend. This should logically make us friends. But…”“But?” Shinjiro repeated and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Approximately four weeks ago, Mitsuru-san informed us that she had renewed contact with you. One week after we were notified of this, Kurosawa-san contacted Junpei-san and the others. He stated that Mitsuru-san would be testing a new security technology for the Port Island Police which would require key cards to be issued to grant access. These keycards could only be granted pending the clearance of a criminal background screening.”Koromaru whined. Aigis gave him a gentle look and shook her head.
“We are not arguing,” she stated. “We are simply having a discussion.”Shinjiro had been in disbelief when he’d reviewed the archival footage, but at great length, he’d accepted the fact that Aigis could communicate with dogs. Shinjiro played dumb. Asking Aigis whether Koromaru had a favorite snack or food or if he had any dirt he’d be willing to give up on Kirijo would only show his cards.
“So what?” Shinjiro asked.“These occurrences are too unusual to be explained through simple coincidence.”“I understand your concern,” Shinjiro said deliberately. “Kirijo’s hired me on as her culinary consultant. I have my own key card and everything.”
Shinjiro paused and stepped toward Aigis with a muted smile.“Just curious, were you on the list of people to be screened for a key card, Aigis Arisato?” Shinjiro asked delicately.“I…” Aigis looked away.Iori sidled up to her and threw his arms around Aigis with a laugh.“Seems pretty cut and dry to me,” Iori said easily. “Mitsuru-san’s got a new security system, we’re going to get sweet access cards, and soon Aragaki-san’s going to be cooking us breakfast. What’s the big deal?”
“I do not know what kind of person Aragaki-san is,” Aigis answered.“The dog likes me,” Shinjiro said.Koromaru confirmed his approval with a sharp bark. Aigis shook her head and turned to Shinjiro with an imploring look.
“Koromaru-san approves of 99.2% of humans,” she frowned. “This could be a rare instance where Koromaru-san’s judgment is incorrect.”“I like those odds,” Iori said, his arms still hooked around Aigis’ shoulders.“I don’t trust you, Aragaki-san,” Aigis said remorsefully.
“Feeling’s mutual,” Shinjiro replied with a smile.
Kirijo returned with a pair of gloves. Shinjiro watched as she turned Aigis’ shoulders away from him before she helped fit the gloves over Aigis’ hands. As she worked, Shinjiro caught a glimmer of Aigis’ titanium fingertips before they disappeared into the fabric. He looked away with a sharp, nettling feeling in his gut and narrowly avoided Kirijo’s probing glance.
Once Kirijo was finished with the gloves, she gently pivoted Aigis around and faced Iori with a frown. The forecast called for an imminent lecture.
“Iori,” Kirijo began suspiciously. “Where have you been tonight?”Iori gave her an easy smile.“The batting cages, then a few clubs.”Kirijo narrowed her eyes. Iori’s easy smile darkened.“I don’t drink, senpai.”“We were blowing off steam,” Aigis said, laying her gloved hand on Kirijo’s wrist. Kirijo glanced down at it with a nod. She clearly had more to say to Iori, but the woman knew how to read a room.
She turned to Aigis with a severe look.
“Message as soon as you’ve returned home,” she instructed.
“Ai-chan, I’m so tired! Carry me home?”“Bridal or fireman carry?”“Neither,” Kirijo said. “Avoid drawing attention.”“Get out,” Shinjiro snarled.
The two filed toward the door. Aigis paused and gave Shinjiro one last analyzing look. Sensing Aigis was cranking up the shit talk from 47%, Shinjiro gave her a job.“Go feed your friend before he starts eating drywall.”Aigis gingerly pinched Shinjiro's nose between her index and middle finger. Stunned by the fucking balls of it all, Shinjiro watched her drag her hand back and wiggle her thumb between her gloved fingers.“I have your nose, Aragaki-san.”

Shinjiro shut the door and wheeled on Kirijo. She fixed him with a cold sneer.“Perhaps there’s something you’d like to say, Aragaki?”Kirijo crossed her arms, as if Shinjiro were the one needing to explain why a baseball coach and a robot had just invited themselves in to burn a perfectly good and clearly not oven-proof pan.
Shinjiro stood before her in all of his bedraggled fury and let his face do the talking. Kirijo was undeterred.“Certainly now we’ve established that the only threat those two pose is to my cookware. You can leave now.”Kirijo gave him a clipped wave toward the door and turned for the hallway.“We aren’t done here, Kirijo,” Shinjiro stepped after her. “No visitors, no social outings, nothing until I have those background checks in hand–”Kirijo came to an abrupt halt. She spun around and descended upon Shinjiro like a bird of prey diving after a rat.
“If you would simply expedite the process for that information, then you’d find that the only thing questionable about Junpei Iori is his early morning appetite for frozen food–”“I’m not here to expedite anything,” Shinjiro snapped. “I’m not some damn secretary. It takes as long as it takes and until then–”“The slightest, most surface level review of their backgrounds would be enough to mitigate any concerns,” Kirijo barreled on. “Even a child could order some minor paperwork more efficiently–”Oh good - they’d arrived at the “you’re a child” portion of the program.
“You’re forgetting the risk.”“Iori coaches youth baseball, Aragaki,” she said, her voice clicking over from piqued to pissed. “His wife volunteers her time to teach art to senior citizens.”“He could be solving world hunger and I wouldn’t give a shit,” Shinjiro hissed.Kirijo stepped closer. They had entered mutual throttling range.
“They are hard working, generous, caring people–”“That is my point,” Shinjiro squinted down at her and leveled a finger down at her nose. “How can you not see my point, Kirijo? If someone wanted to get to you, they could exploit all of that to their advantage–”Kirijo batted his hand out of her face.
“–There would be no opportunity for that to happen.”A molten bubble of dread expanded in his chest. The room fell silent until only the sound of their breathing could be heard. Shinjiro took a step toward her.“What does that mean?” he asked softly.
Kirijo stepped back uneasily.
“Aigis keeps an eye on Iori and his wife. She stays with them; with Yukari and Yamagishi too. She wouldn’t let–”Shinjiro covered his ears.“I did not hear that,” he moaned. “Fuck. I did not just hear that.”“Aigis?” Kirijo repeated. “Perhaps you’d like some context on the threat Aigis poses?”“Don’t get me started on–”“Our nature walks are all day events because she spends the duration singing to small insects and removing them from the path so they won’t be crushed,” Kirijo laughed incredulously. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone, she’s–”“She’s a killing machine that’s been hijacked before.”Kirijo jerked back as though she’d been slapped.
“How did you…”Kirijo’s eyes flashed with pain.How did you know? Shinjiro readied himself for that possibility. The archive records from November 4, 2009 were extremely detailed. He’d read over them at least a dozen times, and while Aigis had been an unknowing and unwilling accomplice, she had almost been used as a mass killing machine. Shinjiro remembered the context that surrounded this information too late.He’d lost his composure and showed his cards.Kirijo’s gaze sharpened with cold fury.
“How…”There it was. Shinjiro steadied himself for the true headliner of tonight’s program: How dare you.
Shinjiro rallied. This was going to be a good one; a real rager. He’d need six cups of coffee and full body contact gear if he wanted to survive past dawn, but he’d have to make do without either. Before Shinjiro could prepare a counter-offensive strategy, the flash in Kirijo’s eyes was extinguished and shadowed with fear.
The air shifted.Shinjiro took a half step back.There was a special arrow in his ex-con’s quiver that he held back for certain occasions. It was reserved for fellow bullies, for mean drunks and those who got what they wanted by pushing and pulling at the world. It was also strictly reserved for instances where Shinjiro needed information. That arrow was called height.
Shinjiro had been a gangly mess of arms and legs as a teenager. In his twenties he grew taller and in prison his arms, chest, and legs stretched with new muscle. Shinjiro’s cellmate Cheddarjack had once accused Shinjiro of trying to crowd him and fifty other men out of their cell. Shinjiro had tried to take up as little room as possible as a courtesy and had kept the habit after his release.His release from prison and return to Port Island was a reminder of how much he’d changed. People on the street veered away from him or waited for him to pass. Cashiers and clerks stuttered when they greeted him. Shinjiro had learned quickly that he needed to avoid eye contact and dial his body into a type of safe mode if he wanted to blend in and remain unseen.
Shinjiro did not leverage his height lightly. It was to be called upon sparingly and now he wondered if he’d accidentally nocked the arrow and aimed at Kirijo.
Kirijo’s fear-stricken gaze lingered. Shinjiro took another tiny step back. He ran a quick inventory and found himself objectively puzzled. His posture - tired, tense, and slouched slightly - was dialed into its safest mode.“It happened once, it could happen again,” Shinjiro said quietly. “Someone could tamper with her settings and use her to hurt your friends or Koromaru. Not that you seem to give a shit, but they could use her to hurt you too, Kirijo.”Kirijo’s hand reached for the pendant around her neck, carefully tucked under the neckline of her sweater. She checked the motion and dropped her arm back to her side. Kirijo studied the floor until her features had been polished with the veneer of a lifeless doll.
“You are right, of course,” she said. “I will exercise more caution going forward. This will not happen again.”
Shinjiro searched her carefully for the fragments of anger and fear. He found nothing but soft fatigue. A volley of self-loathing struck him in the back. Shinjiro ran his hand over his eyes.“We'll talk about this later.”He turned to leave and paused beside the oven. The remains of the weeping pan continued to pool at the bottom.
Shinjiro considered asking Kirijo if she had any oven cleaner on hand, and if she did, if she needed help tackling the mess.
If not, there was a convenience store nearby that stocked a brand Shinjiro used. He could get there in less than ten minutes, and he’d also have the opportunity to sneak a few shelf stable items into her kitchen cabinets–“It’s all right,” Kirijo’s voice was soft and sterile.
She nodded to Shinjiro and then to the oven.“I’ll clean it up.”

The following weeks were filled with uneasy nights and tedious days.
Shinjiro found a new rhythm juggling his jobs as bartender, valet, and Kirijo’s not-bodyguard.
The bow tie continued to keep bad customers in line at the Obelisk. Shinjiro was getting to know the regulars and their antics, although there were a few wild cards thrown into the mix. One memorable evening featured two girls who’d just hit the legal drinking age. They’d celebrated by playing truth or dare, neither of them picking truth and instead daring each other to order suggestively named cocktails. Shinjiro had derived minor amusement from the exercise and like a good bartender had played along with a straight face.
At L’Etoile Brasserie, Shinjiro had established a new standard for customer service in his capacity of valet.
His valet uniform featured a different, but equally intimidating bow tie as well as a red vest. He bore it with a smile. He held the door open for guests. He never changed the radio station between valets and certainly didn’t do donuts in the parking lot. He shot the shit with the other valets, bummed and loaned cigarettes in equal measure, and listened to their off color games about the female guests and their choice of clothing without providing specific input.
“That one would look great on the back of my sofa,” one of the younger valets said once a pair of women entered the restaurant.
“The girl or the dress?” someone else jeered.
“Aragaki, which one? Pink dress or blue dress?”
“I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy,” he said.
Shinjiro kept his eye on Kirijo’s fiance from the darkened corners of the city. Kirijo responded to his texts and tolerated Shinjiro’s requests to swing by and perform intermittent checks on the security system. She asked him polite and non-intrusive questions about his jobs and learned the difference between his bartending attire and his valet’s uniform. Shinjiro smothered the nagging urges to provide unsolicited culinary consultations. He picked up an extra can of oven cleaner and wondered how to slip it into her cabinet unnoticed. He had nightmares of the ration bars barreling out of the cupboard and attacking Kirijo.
After the Iori-Aigis incident, Shinjiro appointed new guy two’s replacement (welcome aboard, new guy three) to a different section of undercarriage on Kirijo’s motorcycle.
February slipped into March. Shinjiro tuned into the morning news to hear about an explosion at the Kirijo Group’s Tokyo Laboratories. The newscaster stated that the Group was investigating the incident as an act of vigilantism and would be working with authorities to apprehend those responsible.
Shinjiro checked the location log on Kirijo’s motorcycle. There’d been no movement on the bike that day but Shinjiro paid her a visit anyway.
He tested the security system and when he mentioned the Tokyo incident, Kirijo gave him a confident nod.“I assure you the company is investigating the matter,” she said.
“Think they’ll catch whoever did it?” Shinjiro asked.
Kirijo paused and peered up at him from behind her desk.“It's only a matter of time.”Shinjiro nodded and when Kirijo handed him her updated planner, he saw her palms were bandaged.“Blisters,” she said to her computer monitor when pressed. “From rock climbing.”

April arrived quietly.
The fiance, friends, ration bars, and other elusive threats that shadowed Kirijo remained at bay. Kirijo was cooperative and civil. New guy number three remained on active duty.

Shinjiro became increasingly on-edge.
With several hours remaining before his valet shift, Shinjiro glanced at the photos of Kirijo’s authentic planner, now printed in a pile on his counter. Today she was scheduled for a mentoring session in Inaba. The GPS pinged her motorcycle to the parking garage of her building.
Shinjiro called Kirijo’s driver. He wasn’t scheduled to take Kirijo anywhere for another month, when he’d take her to the airport for her chartered flight to Dubai.
He hung up and gave the planner pages a scowl.
With the motorcycle stationary and the driver on the sidelines, how exactly was Mitsuru Kirijo planning to sneak off to the sticks?The thug’s intuition buzzed.
A site visit was in order.

Shinjiro arrived at the parking garage under Kirijo’s building. The motorcycle was parked in the same stall he’d last seen on his previous check-in. He checked the log on the phone app. The tracking device had not alerted him to any movements or changes since he’d configured it.
Shinjiro looked under the frame.
He’d placed the tracking device under the frame toward the front-facing side of the bike. New guy number three was still in the same area, but close to the edge of the undercarriage. Shinjiro frowned. He would have placed it further in to avoid the magnet getting knocked loose. He rose to his feet and glanced at the tires.

A half moon of a yellow sticker peeked up from where the front tire met the concrete.
Shinjiro crouched to the ground with a frown and noted the yellow sticker was coated in a thick layer of dirt and grease.

Kirijo had marked her tires. Why on earth would a good girl need to mark her tires unless she needed her motorcycle to look like it had gone unmoved?Shinjiro rang up the police station for a plate check.
The operator confirmed the plates belonged to Mitsuru Kirijo and because Shinjiro was a suspicious little boy, he asked the operator if there were any other motorcycles registered to Mitsuru Kirijo.“I show six. Apologies - seven. Another was registered last week.”“Seven,” Shinjiro repeated cheerfully.Yes, the operator confirmed. Seven motorcycles, all black, all custom built, all registered to Mitsuru Kirijo.
Shinjiro thanked the operator and ended the call.

The motorcycle luxuriated in its parking spot, the chrome glimmering under the faint light. Shinjiro leaned against a wall and crossed his arms while the facts started dropping.
Kirijo had been playing the shell game with her motorcycles. She’d transferred the tracking device from one bike to the next and played Shinjiro for the short-con.
Kirijo had gallivanted off to unknown locations for unknown periods of time without any safeguards in place.Kirijo had gone into a fucking parking garage.

The motorcycle's delicate chrome winked at him. Custom bikes were fragile things, were they not? There were any number of tiny accidents that might befall such an item in a dark parking lot like this. Some clumsy informant-bartender-valet asshole could come along at any moment and knock it over, douse it in lighter fluid, and accidentally strike a match.
Shinjiro indulged in several fiery scenarios. He returned to his car without gratifying himself with any of them and began a thirty minute exercise of getting both his valet and bartending shifts covered for the next three days.
After several rounds of haggling, begging, and promising any kind of favor his coworkers needed (yes even that kind, so long as there were safe words), Shinjiro managed to find coverage for the next three nights.He thumbed a cigarette into his mouth and put the car in gear with a grunt.“Stupid Kirijo and your stupid fake planner and your stupid seven motorcycles.”Fine. Shinjiro was secure enough in his own delinquent behavior to give credit where credit was due. Yes, Kirijo had quite the pair of balls. Yes, Kirijo was crafty and yes, she was well resourced. Three gold stars for well-financed delinquent behavior was all Kirijo got, because she still had an obvious tell (not cute) and she still wasn't more diabolical than Shinjiro.

Two nights, three nights tops would be enough to get him the information he needed. He booked himself the cheapest room the Amagi Inn had to offer and collected a few essentials into a small bag when a notification buzzed his phone.Ogawa’s text prompted Shinjiro to check his email for a secure message. The translation service apologized. They’d been short-staffed and had inadvertently misplaced the items Shinjiro had submitted for translation. The service indicated the title of the hand-bound book was The Language of Birds. The service’s research on the book had turned up empty, but they promised they would keep looking. The translation for the four letters was also attached. Shinjiro leaned against the wall and opened the email attachments, starting with the first of the four letters.

July 19, 2014

Dear Mlle. Kirijo,

Per your request, I am writing to you via post. You certainly are an interesting person - I have not handwritten a letter since grade school. Are you certain you would not prefer to correspond via email or text message? Please let me know. Though I suppose if this is your preferred method of contact, my father will be delighted. He is incessantly going on about the merits of practicing my calligraphy!

I digress. I hope this letter finds you well. My family and I are most grateful for your patience while my grandmother considered your request. Please forgive the delay. Never before has a foreigner been permitted to participate in the tradition of our family. It was a matter that required deep reflection and prayer.

Your kindness, ferocity, and loyalty made a striking impression upon my grandmother. In speaking with you, she was reminded of Qamar.

My grandmother gently reminds you that the final decision is not hers to make. We invite you to return next year. Sahar will be your judge.

We eagerly await your response.

On behalf of my grandmother, our family, and myself, I wish you peace.

Mashallah,

Zainab

August 2, 2015

Dear Mlle. Kirijo,

I am still in a state of giddiness from your visit. Sahar is flighty and a terrible snob, but she is a shrewd judge of character and never wrong. Her endorsement of you was a divine moment. My sisters and I can speak of little else.

As my grandmother instructed you,
please return to our home in one year. If Sahar remembers you, Inshallah, you will be permitted to follow the passage completed by my mothers and sisters.

I cannot tell you how much delight your visit brought me and my family.
The treasures you brought from your country will be savored - though I fear my father’s sweet tooth has already severely depleted the store you brought. Would you possibly consider bringing more upon your return?

I pray that I am not crossing any lines of propriety with this request, but I dearly hope you shall allow us to call you sister.

Mashallah,

Zainab

June 30, 2016

Dear Mitsuru,

I am afraid I have terrible news. My grandmother has taken ill and we are not able to host your visit. To my utmost dismay, I must ask you to wait one more year to participate in the passage. Take courage, sister - I am certain Sahar’s faith in you remains true. Please keep my family in your heart and in your prayers.

Mashallah,

Zainab

December 9, 2017

Dear Sister,

When you are ready, Sahar will be waiting.

Mashallah,

Zainab

Shinjiro slipped his phone into his back pocket. He reached for the door and paused before turning back for the small closet in the corner of his apartment. He pulled back the makeshift curtain. Aki’s photo beamed up at him through the stream of golden afternoon light.

Shinjiro plucked a stick of incense and lit it before placing it in the recently purchased holder beside Aki’s photo with utmost care. The smoke drifted past Aki’s smile and wafted through the panels of sunlight washing against the walls.Shinjiro pressed his hands together. He drew in a grounding, enlightened breath and turned his gaze to the heavens. Shinjiro reached down deep and spoke from the heart.
“Aki,” he took another deep breath. “She's going to give me a fucking aneurysm.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

June 9, 2009

Breakfast: Protein bar

Workout: 10k run, strenuous pace; Skullcrushers 15x/30kg

Sleep:
Shit

Physical: Shit

Mental: Shit

Notes: Saw a locket at an antique store after running. Gave it to Mitsuru with the white feather Miki gave me inside. Could hear Shinji calling me a superstitious old woman the whole time. Mitsuru said she couldn't accept it but I told her I'd sleep better if she did, even if she didn’t wear it. Snapped at Takeba and Iori this morning; need to apologize to them tomorrow. I think I dreamed of Shinji again last night but it feels like I'm losing my mind.
Not a great day.

At four in the afternoon, Mitsuru fucking Kirijo walked into fucking Junes.
Shinjiro watched her pass through the sliding door and took a vindictive bite out of an innocent egg sandwich.
He chewed slowly from the driver’s seat of his car and waited.
He waited five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.Heiresses were allowed to walk into whatever department stores they liked. Hell, they could even get whatever they wanted at the food court. The department store privilege for this particular heiress had been rescinded. The intel he'd garnered in the last twenty four hours alone told him, among many things, that Mitsuru Kirijo wouldn’t walk into a place like Junes to check out the sales rack.
Shinjiro swung out of the seat and slammed the door.
Denied the pleasure of a slow, contemplative meal, he shoved the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth and dusted off his hands. He found a cluster of trees and tried to keep from pacing.
Twenty minutes.
There were places to hide in department stores. Aisles, racks, corners - but there were a lot of opportunities for exposure and a quick double take was all it would take for Shinjiro to be seen. He held off on going in after her.
Thirty minutes. He could be wrong. Maybe Kirijo had a hard time picking shampoos just like everyone else; maybe she’d finally decided to swap out the Victorian era torture devices for some decently comfortable furniture and had lost track of time. Maybe she’d tried the steak skewers and ordered more.
Forty five fucking minutes. After an hour, Shinjiro passed through the sliding doors of Junes. The speakers were playing an upbeat, perky song.
Shinjiro proceeded into the clothing section with stalwart professionalism and picked out a baseball cap featuring a blushing bear holding a cup of coffee. He made for the register where the cashier gave him a polite smile.“One of my friends got this for another friend of ours,” he said. “She said it’d help him look less threatening.”“Did it work?” Shinjiro mumbled, swiping his card.
“Heh, no. Not really.”
“Good," Shinjiro sneered.

The cashier looked from the hat to Shinjiro. Shinjiro heard him make an audible gulp like he was swallowing something the size of a fist.Shinjiro squinted at him. He was moderately tall and looked to be in his early to mid twenties. His features were striking and gentle, with brown hair fringed slightly over his eyes. He scanned Shinjiro with taut anxiety. His nametag read: Hanamura.“Thank you for visiting our Junes in Inaba,” he said, voice strained. Hanamura snapped forward in a tight bow. “Please come again!”

Shinjiro was nearing the corner of the aisle that led into the home electronics section when something hard cracked against the ground. He flattened himself against the shelves and peered around the edge of the aisle in time to see Kirijo skidding shoulder first against the floor. She came to a stop and curled onto her side.Twin streaks of drying blood ran from her nose to her mouth. She had a darkening lump on the underside of her chin and was cradling her left shoulder.

Shinjiro snatched his knife from his pocket and flicked open the blade. He armed himself and stepped out from behind the corner in search of Kirijo’s attacker. Kirijo writhed on the floor with dazed, uneven hisses of breath and remained unaware of Shinjiro’s presence.
He froze. Kirijo was alone. There was no assailant to be found, only a bank of television sets casting a flurry of static behind her.
Before Shinjiro could reach out to pull Kirijo to her feet, she pulled herself up with sounds that sounded equal parts incredulous and pained. He had seconds to make his next move; follow Kirijo or look for her attacker.
Just as quickly as Shinjiro had leapt forward, he slank back behind the shelves undetected.
Kirijo engaged her body in several agonizing stretches, each one eliciting a flurry of snaps and pops that sent ripples of nausea over Shinjiro’s stomach. At length, Kirijo limped her way to the end of an aisle and plucked a shopping basket. Shinjiro followed her to the beverage aisle, where he watched Kirijo use her arm to scoop two rows worth of energy drinks from the shelf. The cans tumbled into the basket. Kirijo wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her wrist.
Shinjiro headed off her route and slipped into an empty checkout lane. Kirijo approached, her back oriented away from Shinjiro’s hiding spot. His vantage point allowed him a clear line of sight on Hanamura the cashier, who was fixing Kirijo with a concentrated stare and tight lipped smile.
“Good afternoon,” Hanamura said in a pinched voice. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”Kirijo set her basket on the conveyor belt with a sniff.“Yes. Thank you.”Shinjiro crouched to the ground to inspect the row of magazines at the bottom.
He selected one and stood up, leaning casually against the stand. He thumbed through the magazine with feigned interest and kept watch on the unfolding transaction.

“Are you planning on drinking these by yourself?”Hanamura’s eyes darted from Kirijo to the back of the store and then back to Kirijo.“Perhaps. Though, I’m certainly not going to drink all of them at once,” Kirijo responded with trimmed pleasantness.Hanamura leaned in close to Kirijo with a loud whisper as he scanned each individual can.“Kirijo-san with all due respect, what the hell?”The beeping of the scanner paused. Hanamura gave his surroundings a furtive look before he fished a packet of tissues out of his apron with a blend of concern and indignation.
Kirijo accepted the tissues with a grateful nod. Hanamura resumed scanning and Shinjiro wondered how the hell the kid was so good at running the items through without even looking at them.
“Did you seriously just go in there by yourself? That’s so freaking dangerous–”Kirijo presented her credit card as a means of answering. Hanamura ran the card and leaned in to return it to her.
“Please, can you sit down for a minute? I’ll call Yukiko-san and–”“Now that you mention it,” Kirijo pulled out two of the energy drinks with a clipped smile. “I think I may have overestimated my needs after all. Perhaps you can assist me with the excess.”Kirijo pushed the bag holding the remaining heap of energy drinks into Hanamura’s arms. He looked down at the pile with an expression that was both annoyed and touched.
Kirijo thanked him and made her way toward the door.
“Have you visited Shiroku Pub lately?” Hanamura called out, cradling the bag of energy drinks with a pleading look.
Kirijo paused and turned around, an eyebrow lifted toward the ceiling.
“I heard someone famous is going to be there tonight,” he said. “Should be fun?”Kirijo gave him a curt smile, donned a pair of sunglasses, and left Junes.

Shinjiro spent no time searching Junes for whoever or whatever had nearly broken Kirijo’s arm and sent her sprawling to the ground. Shinjiro kept his sights trained on Kirijo, which proved challenging when he remembered she treated speed limits like minimum thresholds. Shinjiro had no doubt she’d shake him if he let up on her for a second, but he still kept a buffer of a few cars behind her. Kirijo departed from the road and into the parking lot of a local park. Shinjiro parked further away in a paid lot and caught up to her on foot.
He followed a stone path into a small wooded area. The park was deserted, but the echoes of children’s laughter could be heard from further away. Shinjiro spotted Kirijo seated along a stone wall in a shady corner, with the two energy drinks at her side.He slipped behind the bough of a pine tree and watched her take several, therapeutic breaths before snapping one of the cans open and pushing it to her lips. Kirijo managed two solid gulps before disgust took over. She paused for another round of deep breaths before taking another sip and at length, Kirijo coughed and sputtered her way to the end of the first energy drink.Shinjiro raised an eyebrow. Kirijo reached for the remaining energy drink and faltered. She shook her head at the can, giving it a look of resolute contempt, as if it were one move away from claiming checkmate or doing something nefarious. Shinjiro took note of the way Kirijo’s chin trembled and the way she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. She reached for the drink once more.Shinjiro pulled out his phone from his hiding spot.
“Truth or dare, Kirijo.”

Checking in, he texted. Anything I should know? Kirijo glanced down. Shinjiro expected Kirijo to read his text with a scowl or a scoff, but her expression remained chalky and flat. She paused and took a deep breath as she typed a response. Shinjiro eyed his phone and waited for her text to appear.

[Kirijo] No.
Shinjiro moved his head back and forth in a semi-circular fashion down at his phone.
All quiet? He tried again before glancing up.Kirijo’s fingers moved over the phone in her hand.
[Kirijo] Yes. Everything is fine.

Kirijo gave her surroundings a scrupulous check and placed her phone face down on the stone wall. She pressed her hands flat to her thighs.Shinjiro frowned.The late afternoon sun illuminated a line of silver along Kirijo’s pale throat. Kirijo reached a trembling hand into the neckline of her blouse. She retrieved the locket’s pendant in the flat of her palm, her thumb moving in tremulous, tender caresses over the jeweled crescent moon.
Shinjiro tried again:
Is there anything you need today? Kirijo ignored her phone. She reached for the drink again, this time with her eyebrows pushed together, her eyes screwed shut.Shinjiro pushed send on the follow up message: Kirijo? Kirijo buried her face in her hands and a muffled whimper escaped from behind her fingers, which appeared small and frail in the afternoon light. The locket’s chain captured a fleck of sunlight and glimmered against her throat.
Shinjiro stayed cloaked in the penumbra of the pines as she wept. He clung to their late afternoon silhouettes, his gut churning.

For several agonizing minutes, Shinjiro watched her weep. Even when she’d finished crying, Shinjiro felt no relief. She blotted her cheeks and tucked the pendant back under the fabric of her blouse with a resolute nod.
Kirijo then opened the beverage can and drained it like it was a foul but necessary dose of medicine. Kirijo summoned her persona and underwent two weak rounds of healing. She then swept up her phone and slipped it inside the breast pocket of her jacket.
Shinjiro followed her out of the park. He trailed after her steps and waged a silent war against the light. The weakening sun coaxed and taunted him, straining to reel him out of the shadows. The light compelled him to reach for her as it might compel a seed to unfurl from the earth, but Shinjiro fought it back and sealed himself further out of sight.
He found and maintained a clear visual on Kirijo as she made her way down the sun-dappled path back to her motorcycle. The cool mountain breeze covered the sound of Shinjiro’s footsteps in the foliage on the edge of the path.
He followed her back to the Amagi Inn, ensuring there were several cars buffering her from him the duration of the drive. Once inside, Kirijo disappeared down the hallway leading to her room and Shinjiro took refuge outside.He sat with his back to a limber tree trunk and shoved his sunglasses into his pocket with a weary sigh. His body ached for another hit of nicotine and a bed. Kirijo texted him a reply.
[Kirijo] No, there’s nothing I need. Apologies for the delayed response.

The setting sun adorned the river’s surface with beads of yellows and oranges. Shinjiro stared at his phone and waited for more; there had to be more.
[Kirijo] Thank you.
Shinjiro lit a cigarette. He retreated into the dense thicket of trees along the river. The sun dropped further toward the horizon and Shinjiro cursed the light for fading so quickly and for its attempt to lure him out.

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, miss.”Shinjiro looked into the face of a monstrous frog.
The statue provided a solid, if not unnerving, visual barrier between him and Kirijo. She’d entered Shiroku Pub twenty minutes ago and had perched herself at the bar and surprise surprise, she had her back to the door and been oblivious to Shinjiro’s entrance. Kirijo’s apathy for her surroundings was downright intentional at this point.
Shinjiro moved his chair slightly to the left of the statue’s gawping, unblinking gaze. A young man with sleek hair and chiseled cheekbones was leaning against the bar counter and smiling a little too eagerly at Kirijo.
It might have been the frog’s godlike ambivalence, or maybe it was Kirijo with her back defiantly to the door. It might have been the irritatingly good looking guy standing next to her, or it might have been all three that left Shinjiro stewing over his club soda.

“Have you heard of international singing sensation, Risette?”
He took a nonchalant sip of his beer and pointed to the corner booth.
“You may not have noticed, but she’s sitting in that booth over there. I have it on good authority that she wants to meet you.”Shinjiro had taken note of international singing sensation Rise Kujikawa shortly after he’d seated himself. He’d managed to remain starstruck for only a moment and had only briefly felt sorry for himself for not being able to get her autograph.

Kujikawa sat in the center of the semi-circle booth. She was flanked by a tall glass of muscle with a scar over his temple, and oh yes - a baseball cap featuring a blushing bear with a cup of coffee. Beside him sat a petite young woman salivating over a plate stacked high with steak. Also seated in the corner booth was a refined young woman with liquid dark eyes who Shinjiro recognized from the Amagi Inn. Last but not least, he recognized Hanamura; the Junes cashier who’d picked a bone with Kirijo at the checkout line.
None of the kids took notice of Shinjiro, whose presence was still warded behind the giant frog. He was a stranger, nothing but a forgettable tourist. People like him came through small towns and their respective small bars all the time. Still, these kids were obviously friendly. If any of them looked over and recognized Shinjiro, they could get chatty and draw attention to him and his frog guardian. Kirijo would be tipped off in seconds.
Shinjiro resolved not to worry. It was doubtful the limelight would stray from its position, currently pointed at the center of the group in the booth.
Shinjiro narrowed in on Kujikawa.
None of his regulars were pop idols as far as he knew, but Shinjiro knew Kujikawa’s type. He served at least three of them a week; sweet girls with bewitching smiles and a precarious halo over their heads. Kujikawa and her ilk were the kind of flirts who killed for sport, the kind of girls who’d pull a fire alarm just for fun. The pop idol before him was in no uncertain terms troublemaker in chief of the party. Any and all misdeeds planned for the evening would fall under Risette’s purview.
Kujikawa confirmed this status by fluttering her eyelashes at Kirijo with an angelic smile.“Another approach, one with candor this time,” Kirijo said to her Scotch before taking a measured pull from her glass.A copy of the Junes weekly flyer was lying nearby. Shinjiro picked it up and buried his face in the pages to better stifle the growl emerging from the back of his throat. That was not the rejection he had been hoping for.He lifted his gaze from the flyer. Casanova retreated back to the booth to his friends but did not sit down. The group leaned in for a huddle and once they had regrouped, Kirijo’s suitor stood up and gave his cheek a series of invigorating pats. He pivoted back to Kirijo’s spot at the bar.
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, miss.”He took a sip of his beer and pointed to the pop idol in the corner booth. Kujikawa’s smile stretched so wide it looked painful.
“Have you heard of international singing sensation, Risette?”Whoever he was, Shinjiro was starting to fall for him.
The suave delivery was abruptly shattered and he made a desperate grab for the barstool next to Kirijo.
Shinjiro lifted his drink and watched over the rim.

“She is relentless,” he said in a loud whisper. “Ever since you sat down, it’s been ‘Senpai, why isn’t Kirijo-san drinking with us? Is Kirijo-san mad at us? She looks so sad all alone over there, will you please bring her over here? Go make her smile, she’s so pretty when she smiles, senpai.’”“Narukami,” Kirijo began strictly.“She seems to think I’m charming enough that I can woo you into joining us, but do you know what my real charm is?”“It’s the hair, I believe,” Kirijo said after taking a sip from her Scotch.
Narukami responded by running a hand through his hair with a debonair laugh.
“Desperation. Kirijo-san, I am begging you, please - for my sake, the sake of the team, the sake of humanity - please join us.”Shinjiro took a sip of his club soda and glanced back over at the booth. Kujikawa was now leading the team in a coordinated effort of bowing their heads low, distraught and forlorn expressions on their faces.
The tall, beefy one (still quite threatening with his little hat) glanced up. He impishly cracked open an eye to see if their little drama was having the desired effect. Kirijo caught him peeking and he ducked his head down with a blush.Kirijo shook her head.“Another time, Narukami.”Narukami took another sip of his beer and did not retreat.“Come over and let us take a look at your shoulder.”“My shoulder is fine.”“You’re favoring it. And I’m also pretty sure you didn’t have that,” he pointed to her chin. “When we left this morning.”Kirijo said nothing. The ease between her and Narukami sobered. Shinjiro scanned the bar again. Narukami’s friends had drifted off into conversation and the patrons of the pub were smiling or preoccupied with their drinks.
“Yosuke said you went in alone,” Narukami said.“And now I’m here.”“I had a wise teacher tell me I’m only as good as the team beside me. She’d be pretty pissed if I walked into a dangerous situation by myself.”“Indeed, she would not be pleased,” Kirijo sniffed. “However, your teacher’s circumstances and experiences in these matters are vastly different, and only relevant to you in a learning environment. Focus on your team.”“I don’t think that excuse would work on my teacher,” Narukami said evenly.“Do not concern yourself with your teacher,” Kirijo replied and paused to sip her Scotch. “Return to your friends. Hanamura is looking at me as though I’ve stolen his favorite chocolate out of the box and I believe Satonaka is just now polishing off your steak.”A quick glance at the corner booth confirmed all of this to be true. Shinjiro restrained himself from giving the weekly advertisement in his hands a catty flick. Kirijo could be observant when she felt like it.
“Any unexpected visitors from the Group?”“One or two since your last visit, but Rise was ten steps ahead of them. We stayed low until they left.
The techniques Yamagishi-san taught Rise have been a lifesaver.”“What changes have you noticed elsewhere? Any discernible trendline?” she asked.“Nothing we can’t manage,” Narukami said with a reassuring smile.“Specifics, Narukami.”“What if Kanji put you over his shoulder and carried you back to the booth?” Narukami asked, propping his chin on his hand.“You would die.”“I said Kanji.”“I heard you quite clearly, Narukami,” Kirijo said patiently.
“No trendline that we can see,” he answered. “Take this morning for example. What you saw is how it should be; like paradise. Sometimes when we show up it’s chaos. Dark. Twisted. Like Mugatsu Inaba.”“That certainly corroborates with what I witnessed,” Kirijo said. “Has Shirogane any theories or noticed a pattern to the events?”
“As much pattern as Russian Roulette, but Naoto and Teddie should be here any minute,” Narukami tried innocently. “They both had a few questions for you. Work related, of course–”Kirijo emitted a sound Shinjiro hadn’t heard for almost ten years. Shinjiro froze; perhaps if he refrained from breathing he could hear her laugh once more. Her laughter faded and a sudden sense of loss scraped along Shinjiro’s throat and tumbled into the pit of his stomach.
“That’s enough business for now,” Kirijo continued. “This night is for you. You’ve all worked hard and are overdue for a celebration. Your teacher is simply here to cover your libations.”
“Rise said you were going to schedule another session with her. Now might be a good time to check in to hammer out the details?”“Good night, Narukami.”Narukami sighed and shuffled back toward his friends, his head hung low from the crushing weight of failure. The table, with Kujikawa on lead vocals, expressed shrill and immediate displeasure at his empty handed return. The relative peace of the pub was disrupted by a sudden volley of straws, napkins, and cocktail swords hurled in Narukami’s direction.
Kirijo deposited enough cash to cover another two rounds of drinks and the hostess promised she would ensure everyone returned home safely.
Kirijo pulled her jacket on, her features twisting in a wince. Shinjiro felt a buzz of irritation and shook his head behind the weekly ad. After a brief struggle, Kirijo successfully closed the front of her jacket. She turned to the group in the corner booth and raised her glass with a conservative smile.
The table raised their glasses back in solemn deference.
Shinjiro dipped his head down as she passed. Once he was certain Kirijo had left, he took a drink of his club soda and finally gave himself permission to partake in an extended and long-overdue eye roll.

Ensconced in his room in the quiet Amagi Inn, Shinjiro settled under the dim lamplight and pored over Kirijo’s transcripts from Oxford University. Ogawa had been able to procure the necessary permissions and expedite the request before the time difference delayed communication with the student records department.
The room attendant had just cleared his dinner and had laid out his bedding. Thick clouds filled the night sky and glowed a sleepy yellow from a half veiled moon. The water burbled, obscured only by the occasional surge of wind in the ash trees along the banks of the Samegawa River.
Shinjiro pulled his tea to his lips.
Kirijo’s records reflected perfect grades and course hours scattered over a span of six years. She had graduated from Oxford University with a degree in French and was a simple, straightforward, if not lethargic, student.Shinjiro clicked out of the email and pulled up his text thread with Kirijo.“Truth or dare, Kirijo,” he challenged his phone.

What’s in Dubai?
Kirijo took five minutes to respond to his text.
[Kirijo] I do not have a set itinerary when I visit.

Since when are you spontaneous?

[Kirijo] I have provided Kurosawa the details of my travel and have hired a reputable independent security company to escort me. It is of no interest to you.

Can’t an average guy be let in on the lifestyle secrets of the rich and famous?

[Kirijo] You are not invited.

“Oh,” Shinjiro murmured to his phone with a rueful smile. “Oh, I don’t need to be invited.”
I’m hurt, Kirijo.

[Kirijo]
Shopping, designer fittings, perhaps a day or two yachting with friends. Dubai is exceedingly dull.
Shinjiro set his phone on the desk beside him and crossed his arms behind his head. The quivering maple outside his window pane flickered against the light of the moon and danced as shadows on the ceiling of his room.
“Dare it is, Kirijo.”Shinjiro input directions to Yongen-Jaya and set his alarm for early the next morning. He needed to scope out Kirijo’s activity and he needed to do it without Kirijo distracting him by getting thrown around in the electronics department. Kirijo was set to return to Port Island tomorrow. While the risks around her had been low in recent months, Shinjiro was hesitant to stray too far from her. He paused before texting her again.
I need to leave town for a couple nights. Anything I should know before I go?

[Kirijo] Where are you going?

Worried about me, Kirijo?
She didn’t respond.
Shinjiro’s jaw dropped at his own audacity. Nothing like cracking a joke about disappearing to the one person who’d bothered to answer your calls from prison.“Fuck. Dumb,” said Shinjiro Aragaki; King of the Dumbfucks.He shook his head and typed out an attempt at damage control.
You may recall I sometimes confuse being cute with being an asshole.

[Kirijo] No confusion at all, Aragaki. I’ve only ever defaulted to one of those options.

Yeah, you were always the brains. And sorry - for being an asshole and that I can’t say much. It’s work related.

[Kirijo] Valet symposium?
Shinjiro hummed.

Looks like we’ve got a mole in our midst. All valets were supposed to sign non-disclosure agreements.

[Kirijo] As I suspected. There is an uprising in the works.

You’re no match for us, Kirijo. We’re two dozen strong, can parallel park, and we are fiercely polite.

[Kirijo] Formidable as you may be, I hazard to guess the attendees won’t even make it to the keynote speaker.

You dare question our power?

[Kirijo] I do indeed. You and your co-conspirators will be caught in an endless loop of attempting to valet each other’s vehicles. Parking will prove futile.

Shinjiro snorted. He tapped the screen impatiently before setting the phone down. He drummed his palms against his ribs, looking over every few seconds for another message from Kirijo. Shinjiro sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He picked up the phone.

Can you stay out of trouble for a couple nights?

[Kirijo] You have my word.

Sleep tingled in the distance. It seeped closer and closer as the shadows played their way from the ceiling to the walls. The moon dipped out of sight and plunged the room into the deep black silk of night.
Shinjiro kept his eyes open and his arms crossed behind his head.Soon Kirijo would be traveling to Amman, not Dubai. Shinjiro reached for his phone again. He conducted a quick internet search for photos of Kirijo with the keyword Dubai. The search fed him a predictable spate of results that included photos of her on the beach, in nightclubs, and engaging in loosely defined cultural activities in the desert. Shinjiro shuffled through each.
He paused on a photo of Kirijo taken at Jumeirah Beach last spring.
“Holy shit.”Shinjiro widened the search parameters to just Kirijo’s name, swiping through the photos with rising urgency.
He squinted at the paparazzi photos, clicking through each with a methodical and disbelieving eye.
The woman in nine out of ten photographs he perused was dressed in pieces straight off the runway, in bold swimsuits, in extravagant ball gowns or curve hugging cocktail dresses. The woman in nine out of ten photographs sported Kirijo’s hair, her facial structure (always partially covered by sunglasses, a hat, or scarf) and ostensibly, her height.
Shinjiro recalled the photos he’d seen of Kirijo pictured with the Faraglioni Rocks and how her locket had been obscured under the neckline of her dress or poorly edited out.
In nine out ten photos from the last five years from Dubai to Phuket, from Paris to London, from Los Angeles to New York, there was one accessory that remained conspicuously absent from Kirijo’s meticulously maintained appearance. The antique locket with the obsidian pendant and mother of pearl moon, the locket that Shinjiro had seen her wear every day without fail since he’d started working with her again, was nowhere to be seen.Shinjiro placed the phone face down on his chest.
“Maybe you are just a little more diabolical than me after all.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

To:
Shinjiro AragakiFrom: Akihiko Sanada
Date: September 2, 2009Subject: Where are you???? / Amada / Read immediatelyPriority: High !Ken Amada joined our team.
You need to come home. I’m not asking this time.
Call me when you get this. Mitsuru and I will get you home but we need to know where you are. Call me.

A coffee grinder whirred from the far away corners of Shinjiro’s awareness. His consciousness was elsewhere, steeped in a warm sea of flavors and spices.The curry’s roux base was a puzzle, an almost euphoric maze. The more Shinjiro meditated over the soft, tender morsels of beef, the more the curry revealed: whispers of coffee, a chocolate footprint, concluding with a tart, ephemeral twist of apple.
He was the sole customer and seated near the back of the restaurant, just close enough to the edge of the counter to peek back into the kitchen. The radio station warbled with a brief weather update warning that Tokyo should expect to see inclement weather through to the end of the week.
Outside the rain pelted the sidewalks and stirred the latent scents of the city.
Shinjiro had entered the cafe about twenty minutes ago but LeBlanc’s hypnotic calm made him feel like he’d been here for hours. Shinjiro had spotted the empty tables when he’d first arrived and had started to back out, afraid he’d come in at closing. The lone worker behind the counter had ushered him in.“We’re open,” he’d greeted, dusting his hands on his green apron.Shinjiro had been granted permission to seat himself and had been promptly attended to.“Something to drink other than coffee?”
“Water, please.”"Water," the waiter murmured with an attentive nod.“No ice,” Shinjiro added.
"No ice," the waiter repeated gravely, shaking his head.The cafe’s sleepy, low lights lulled him into a bewitched state. Shinjiro found himself under Cafe LeBlanc’s beguiling spell and he strained to uphold a sense of vigilance. Shinjiro took another bite of curry and followed the meandering path of the unhurried jazz tune in the background.
Between bites of the curry and sips of his coffee, Shinjiro slipped in and out of observing the young man behind the counter. He was bent over, drumming a pen against a notepad, a hand carded in his dark, wavy locks. His eyes were sharp on the paper and radiated pure gravitas.

He looked up at Shinjiro without warning."Can I get your opinion on something?" he asked.Shinjiro set down his spoon and touched a napkin to his mouth.“Sure.”"Is four backflips too many backflips or not enough backflips?"Shinjiro took a sip of his coffee and another mollifying bite of curry before answering.
“Sort of hard to say without any context.”“It was a tryout,” the waiter offered.
“Gymnastics team?” Shinjiro asked.The waiter blinked at him.“Yep.”“What are you working on over there?” Shinjiro asked between bites. “Your application?”The waiter shook his head, still bent over the counter, and let out a restless sigh as he gathered another fistful of his hair in his hands.
“An appeal for another tryout. I’m not sure how to go about addressing the feedback I got.”Shinjiro nodded encouragingly, scooping up another chunk of beef and tucking it in his cheek.
A choir of clove, cumin, and cardamom sang together in harmony.“Might help you to read it out loud,” Shinjiro suggested.“Sorry, I better not,” he said. “It’s sort of private.”“Fair enough,” Shinjiro said and held up his hands in deference, his eyes fastened to the curry.
How much of the stuff did the kid have in the back? Would he give up the whole batch if Shinjiro asked politely? If he would, were there enough takeaway containers back there to hold all of it? Shinjiro felt a hard pang of loss not unlike what he’d felt when Kirijo’s laughter had slipped away in Inaba.
Shinjiro stared at his remaining curry. LeBlanc’s soft atmosphere only amplified his sudden sorrow. He missed making curry from scratch. He missed cooking.
Shinjiro had always enjoyed cooking more when it was done with or for someone else. Even if he had someone to cook for, Shinjiro was old and had let his skills atrophy. The only thing he could confidently cook was an egg.“Could I give you an abridged version?” the waiter asked.Shinjiro re-engaged himself in his original reconnaissance mission.
“By all means,” he replied, picking up his spoon.

The waiter stood up, cleared his throat, and began to read the letter with a noticeably somber pitch.
“Thank you for the detailed notes and scorecard you provided during our recent mentoring session. I am grateful for the time you have invested in me, as well as the feedback the other team members have provided. I am committed to being a reliable member of your team. The work is important and I think you can agree I am more than qualified to contribute to the group’s efforts.”The waiter began to pace the narrow space behind the counter and continued to read from the paper in his hands.“I am writing to appeal your decision to waitlist me. I realize my style may be unconventional and that this role would be a shift from my previous role as a leader. However, I think you will agree that each of us is unique and these differences only underscore how our varying, intrinsic talents can work in harmony. I am humbly requesting another opportunity to demonstrate my skill set at the next training event at Yakushima. Since we last met, I have spent time training with the other team members and both have told me they are dedicated to helping me succeed. When you visit Tokyo next, I hope we can discuss the matter of Yakushima Island in greater detail.”A small hum made its way out of Shinjiro’s chest.
“Didn’t want you on the team, huh?” he asked.
The waiter folded his arms into a basket against the countertop and buried his head into his forearms. He produced another long, weary sigh from behind his arms.The sweet and bitter notes danced over Shinjiro’s palate and coalesced into a warm undertone. Shinjiro permitted the warmth to lift the corners of his lips into a nostalgic smile.
He gazed into his coffee with a nod.“Let me guess,” Shinjiro said. “She said she didn’t know enough about your background, potential, or your style.”The waiter raised his head, eyes narrowed into a squint. He pulled back further into a slightly raised posture.Shinjiro met the justly suspicious look with a casual shrug.
“Come on, kid,” he said amiably. “Think you’re the first person to get rejected?”The waiter matched Shinjiro’s shrug and Shinjiro took two generous bites of curry to keep himself from eliciting further suspicion. The waiter picked up the letter again and rubbed his cheek. He resumed pacing behind the counter with a muted sigh.“The thing is, I really have been working with the other team members. They’ve been helping me train and they think I’m ready. She interviewed my old teammates, Sojiro, and well - basically everyone I know in Tokyo. They all vouched for me. I can’t say I have a pristine record–”Shinjiro made sure to make a note of that little comment for further inquiry. The waiter began to wipe down the counter with doleful motions.
“But she said she wasn’t concerned about any of that,” he continued. “I don’t know what her beef is with me.”The mention of beef put him in the mood to order a second bowl of curry. Shinjiro gently moved the spoon along the curve of the bowl, careful to keep the edge of his utensil from scraping against the side.
“She the intimidating type?” Shinjiro asked quietly.Outside the rain picked up in both speed and volume.“Yeah,” the waiter said, moving to check the window and doors were secured against the stormwater. “I’ve met people like her before.”Shinjiro sincerely doubted that.
“That so?” he asked.“I think she’s softer than she lets on,” the waiter nodded, returning to his station behind the counter.Shinjiro tucked the spoon into his mouth and deployed the restraint of the monk by not licking the bowl clean.
He cleared his throat and looked longingly to the kitchen.
The waiter followed his gaze.“Would you like a bowl to go?”Shinjiro wanted the whole pot. He shook his head and pushed the bowl back as a final preventative measure against his urges to engage in socially unacceptable behavior.
“Can’t speak on the backflips, but I can say rejection is tough,” Shinjiro said, reaching for his wallet. “Write the letter if it helps you figure out your thoughts, but if this is really important to you, tell her your reason for wanting to join and don’t walk in wearing a mask.”The waiter tousled his hair with a slight tilt of his head.“Mask?” he repeated puckishly.“If you’re the kind of guy who does four backflips, then do four backflips,” Shinjiro explained. “If you do twelve, do twelve. What matters is the reason you’re there and that you’re committed to the team. She’ll see right through you if none of that is solid, no matter how many backflips you pull out.”Shinjiro placed the money on the table.
“Don’t budge. Don’t apologize and don’t be afraid to stand up for yourself.”Shinjiro slipped out of the booth. The waiter stroked his chin and the serious, pensive gaze returned. He studied the letter in his hands again, this time with an air of a detective who’d just been handed a clue.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”“That’s a good recipe you’ve got,” Shinjiro said, looking to the kitchen behind the waiter. “Make sure you take care of it.”“I will,” the waiter smiled.
Shinjiro pulled his jacket over his shoulders with a gentle tug and made for the door.“Wait, let me get your change–”Shinjiro waved him off. He reached for his umbrella in the bucket by the door.
He turned over his shoulder and gave the waiter a pressing half smile.“You got a name, kid?”“I'm Kurusu Akira,” he replied. “Thank you for visiting LeBlanc. I hope to see you again.”

Shinjiro’s next target was in Ogikubo.
Shinjiro had yet to release access cards to Kirijo’s friends, even though each of them had cooperated with the steps needed for the requisite background checks. Everyone except Ken Amada. The kid's distrust of the police was justified. Though the Kirijo Group had covered up what Shinjiro had done to Amada’s mother, the police records showed that Amada had attempted to find out the truth and hadn’t been believed. After peering into a few ramen places, Shinjiro found Amada in a quiet booth in the back of a bustling corner joint that specialized in Tsukemen ramen.
A sour feeling swirled in Shinjiro’s gut. He hesitated to enter. He didn’t normally take risks and had previously made an effort to keep his distance from Amada, but the opportunity to drop in for a casual check-in was too good to pass up.
Shinjiro stepped through the door and dropped his umbrella in a bucket. Shinjiro went unnoticed and found a table in the corner that allowed him a clear vantage point of Amada.
Pictures of Amada told one story. Now that Shinjiro was seeing him in person, he was taken back by how much lean muscle the kid had thrown on and how long his hair had grown. Even though Amada was seated, Shinjiro guessed he was now nearly as tall as Aki. Amada was concentrating on an open book in front of him, his unkempt hair long enough to necessitate a small elastic band. His fingers twisted nervously in a patch of fringe at his temple. He was bouncing his foot and he kept eyeing the door.
Ayame entered and slipped into the booth across from Amada.
“Hey,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “So glad you said something about food, I’m starving after class today.”Amada put the book away and cleared his throat. He took a pull from the glass of water beside him and filled a glass for Ayame from the carafe.“Thank you for meeting me,” Amada said.Shinjiro grimaced. This was bad.
Ayame frowned.“Okay, what’s with the stuffy greeting?” she asked with a nervous laugh. “You haven’t been responding to my texts and now you’re being weird.”Amada pulled back into a stiff posture and smiled.“These past few weeks have been really great,” he said.
Shinjiro suppressed a sigh. Let the girl eat first, for fuck’s sake.
“I’ve really appreciated the opportunity to get to know you,” he continued.
Ayame slumped back into the booth. The kid hadn’t even gotten a chance to remove her coat. Shinjiro rubbed his chin and watched the car crash unfold.“Are you breaking up with me?” she asked.
“You deserve someone who can fully commit to you,” Amada said. His delivery was straight-faced, but he was tugging at his fingers.
“I don’t want commitment, Ken,” Ayame said abruptly. “I just want to be with you. I like spending time with you, even if we’re just messing around. I don’t need anything so serious–”“You should be with someone who knows how to do that; someone fun.”Ayame shook her head with a look resembling incredulity diluted with pity. Amada stared at the table.
Futami had been feeding Shinjiro intel on Amada for years now. Shinjiro had a feel for his habits, his likes and dislikes, and generally the type of people he hung out with. Ayame was Amada’s first serious girlfriend and even though it was second hand knowledge, Shinjiro had it on good authority that Amada was head over heels in love with her.
Shinjiro studied Amada’s expression. His eyes were cold but Shinjiro could feel the indecision rolling off his shoulders in waves. Amada’s doubt was tangible and Shinjiro could see the inward twist of self-loathing, of someone who was trying to override intuition with pride.
Shinjiro had worn the same look, now almost eight years ago on a May afternoon outside of Wild Duck Burger. The cherry blossoms had spiraled down from the trees. Mitsuru Kirijo had looked at him with heavy eyes and soft lips, her hair catching the wind. Shinjiro had wondered what she tasted like;
if she would soften against him if he captured her against his chest and crushed his lips to hers.
He’d tried to keep a safe space between himself and her that day. It was the day Shinjiro had told her that he was leaving. It was the day she had asked him not to go.
“So that’s it?” Ayame murmured.“I’m sorry,” Amada said.
“I feel sorry for you, Ken,” Ayame said, her voice wavering. She pulled her purse into her lap. “I hope you enjoy yourself a little longer before sabotaging your next relationship.”Ayame stood up and breezed out the front door. Shinjiro watched her leave, his heart sinking.
Amada dropped his forehead to the table with a loud thunk. His phone buzzed and sent the cutlery on the table rattling. He patted his hand around the surface and answered the call with his forehead still glued to the table.
“Jackass speaking,” Amada moaned. He waited before letting out a long sigh.
“Hi Mitsuru-san. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Shinjiro returned to his car in an abysmal mood and texted Kirijo.

Anything I should know about?

Shinjiro drummed his fingers against the center console of his car while he waited for Kirijo’s response.He was further away from her than he should be.Shinjiro weathered through the sense of unease by reminding himself that he was scoping out any threats to her safety.

[Kirijo] Everything is quiet here, Aragaki.

Shinjiro frowned. He still had no idea what had happened to her in Junes. He wondered what she’d tell him if he asked her point blank. She texted him again before he’d gathered his response.
[Kirijo] I trust the symposium was illuminating.

Still waiting for someone to bring back my car.

He waited and disappointment sat heavily in his gut when she did not respond. Disappointment festered into something more insidious. Sometimes this feeling would creep up on Shinjiro when he was driving a car - his car, he reminded himself. It often struck when he was wiping down the bartop, scooping rice into the rice cooker, or reading a book. He was no longer in prison. He was free to microwave his own meals, walk down the street, visit a park, or sit down in a restaurant.
Seven years out of prison and freedom was still a terrifying and disorienting state of being. This world, with its open roads and streets packed with strangers, ran wild with variables. It was too open, too vast, too unstructured and unpredictable and there was no Aki running through it, no Aki to keep him moving.
Shinjiro found a rest stop and parked under a buzzing street light. It was a weekday and the only other drivers on the road were truck drivers or single commuters. He reclined back in the driver’s seat lowered his eyes to a half-open gaze on the stray drops of rainwater on the windscreen.
The shortness of breath passed before the nausea. Shinjiro dialed into the sounds he could decipher; the flicker and click of a streetlamp, the weary phone conversation of a man outside the restroom, the idle of a car engine, the muffled sound of a song playing from a stereo two cars away.
He botched his return to Port Island shortly after Aki had reached out and informed him Amada had joined S.E.E.S. When news of Aki’s death had reached him in Suang Si Daeng, Shinjiro figured three years in prison was just the start to his career as a convict. He’d planned to live the rest of his life in one type of cage or another.
One year into that three year sentence, Kurosawa had appeared in the visitor’s room of Suang Si Daeng. He’d slipped the official police report of Aki’s death on the table and left the room.
Shinjiro had left Suang Si Daeng in Kurosawa’s custody that day. When pressed, Kurosawa had informed him that a new foreign prisoner release program had been established between Thailand and Japan. A few forms with the Japanese Embassy in Bangkok was all it had taken to spring Shinjiro’s release and initiate his parole on home soil.
Shinjiro hadn’t pushed the subject, but Kurosawa’s explanation had seemed piecemeal. There were more serious crimes than shoplifting, but it wasn’t something that merited just a slap on the wrist. Bribes in Thailand were fairly standard practice. In addition to the paperwork, Kurosawa would have had to shell out a hefty amount of bhat to bail Shinjiro out of prison.
Shinjiro flipped an unlit cigarette through his fingers and didn’t make an effort to light it.As if sensing that somewhere, someone was questioning the motives of a puritanically by-the-book
police officer, Kurosawa’s call lit up Shinjiro’s phone.
“Why is Ogawa telling me you went to Tokyo?” Kurosawa asked.

“Because I went to Tokyo,” Shinjiro said, rubbing his eyes.
“You run these things by me first, Aragaki.”“It was intel gathering for Kirijo,” Shinjiro said. He returned the driver’s seat to an upright position and turned the key in the ignition.“Run it by me first,” Kurosawa said.“All right, I’ve run afoul of the law. You want to tell me why you’re suddenly mad about me taking a few days to sightsee?” Shinjiro asked.“You hadn’t pissed off the yakuza’s number two man in Tokyo before,” Kurosawa countered impatiently. “There’s a certain Port Island yakuza you helped land behind bars. His uncle in Tokyo is apparently very put out about a certain trusted bartender who played a significant role in getting his nephew in prison.”“Ah,” Shinjiro nodded. The windscreen was clear but he flicked on the wiper fluid and wiper blades for a cheap distraction. “Well, Tokyo’s a very big city, sir.”“It’s the biggest small town for the yakuza. They’ve got networks and brothers who are far better at hiding than you. The yakuza activity here is child’s play compared to Tokyo. Don’t get cocky and assume you’ll be able to disappear in a crowd.”Shinjiro was silent.“Aragaki.”“I’m not cocky,” he said defensively to the phone.
“Stay out of Tokyo.”Kurosawa ended the call.

Shinjiro had just one more stop to make before returning to Port Island.
While the visit wasn’t going to land him any good information on Kirijo, it was a visit Shinjiro had avoided since he’d returned to Japan. His destination was only an hour out of the way of Port Island and when he arrived, Shinjiro approached the door with his heart in his throat. He raised his hand to knock and vowed to let honor, not cowardice, determine the amount of time he allotted to the visit.
Shinjiro knocked.
In the precarious seconds that ticked by, Shinjiro revisited the whole honor over cowardice policy. It was late. He hadn’t been invited. It’d been too long since he’d been a welcome visitor here; his presence would only be upsetting. Shinjiro was preparing to dive back into the shadows when the occupant of the home answered.
She wore a lavender yukata with embroidered lilies. She squinted into the darkness and adjusted a thick pair of glasses over her nose.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t see you from here. Could you come forward a little?”
Shinjiro stepped forward to a small square of concrete cast by the porch light’s nostalgic orange-yellow hue.
“Sorry to inconvenience you, Sanada-san.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... Do you copy?”
Akihiko’s arms and legs were filled with ice. He turned his head and surveyed the back alley of Port Island Station, his brain working to find purchase on an image or memory. He heard the hail for his radio number crackle through the radio.

“Do you copy?”
Akihiko reached a stiff arm across his chest with a grunt and pressed the call button on his radio. He dipped his head toward his chest and responded.
“All clear,” he grunted. “On my way back.”
“Copy that.”
Starting his graveyard shift out on a K.O. was one thing, but Akihiko would have appreciated a solid opponent to blame. Akihiko clambered to his feet, his limbs slowly refilling with sensation. He checked his watch and flicked it; dead. He hesitantly reached into the pocket of his slacks, recalling the pain that had hit like a freight train when he’d touched the locket. Akihiko readied himself and ran his finger along the seam of the locket frame.
It was cool to the touch.He shook out his arms and legs before he composed himself enough to confront the owner of Que Sera Sera. Akihiko made no effort to rein in his salty mood but thankfully the bartender provided him with some decent information. Rather than spend his shift looking for punks who’d stolen a child’s bike for a cheap laugh, Akihiko resolved to enlist the help of his electric lockpick. The bartender offered his assistance with a flashlight while Akihiko prised the bike from the lock.

He arrived back at the station, pink bike in hand.
No one said a word. None of his colleagues seemed eager to try their luck with giving him shit tonight. Akihiko stowed the pink bike behind his desk and went into the tech department where he asked the technicians to pull his bodycam footage for the night.
Akihiko watched the screen playback his steps down to Port Island Station, his uneven strides toward the pink bike, before static swarmed the screen. No replay of Mitsuru in the black nightgown. No grisly memory of one of the worst nights of his life. Akihiko was not relieved.
“These new ones can be a little glitchy,” the technician said with a frown, setting Akihiko’s vest up with the replacement bodycam. “Keep an eye on this one and let us know if you have issues.”Akihiko’s salty mood eventually lifted as the night progressed with its tedious paperwork and minor dispatch calls. His spirits were redeemed entirely when Shimuzu returned in the morning with his little sister.“It’s pink!” She said emphatically while pushed up to her tip-toes against Akihiko’s desk, her nose barely clearing the edge of the desk.
“Can you provide a little more information?” Akihiko asked, tapping against the frame of the bike concealed behind his desk.

Shimuzu’s sister went on to describe the bike using sharp hand gestures.
“It’s got a purple basket shaped like a cat!”Akihiko handed over the bike, a new bike lock tucked away in the basket. Shimuzu’s sister shrieked with delight before jumping on the seat and pedaling around the lobby. Akihiko walked them both to the exit. He stood next to Shimuzu, his arms crossed over his chest, as Shimuzu’s sister pedalled circles around the small parking lot.“Are you okay, sir?” Shimuzu asked.“Yeah,” Akihiko said with a tired smile. “Just a long night.”
*Akihiko returned home around midday. He’d be needed back at the station for his next graveyard shift around ten o’clock, which gave him plenty of time to rest and recover.
Akihiko noted Mitsuru’s attaché and shoes at the entry before helping himself to a glass of cold water. He then wandered toward the bedroom, listening for a time to the gentle cascade of the shower, before he sat down on the edge of the bed beside his nightstand.
He retrieved the locket from his slacks, running his thumb over the outline of the mother of pearl moon. Akihiko deposited the locket into the drawer of his nightstand and decided to make a nuisance of himself by waiting for Mitsuru in her office.
Akihiko dropped into the seat and waited. He glanced at the monitor and then combed the surface of the desk with a thoughtful look. A set of architectural plans for a children's treatment center caught his eye. He peered over at it with a wistful frown.Mitsuru had gathered their team together months ago to get their vote on her idea to repurpose the Iwatodai Dorms into a children’s rehabilitation center. Although the former members S.E.E.S. had unanimously celebrated the idea, they’d each expressed a sense of sadness.
“Nothing is ever truly gone,” Aigis had reminded them with a rallying smile.
The dormitory had been fenced off in anticipation of the first phase of renovation. Akihiko made a mental note to swing by on his next shift when Mitsuru walked in.
In place of the black silk nightgown, she wore a simple black skirt and matching blouse. Her hair was wet and coiled into a thick twist against one shoulder.
Her expression was neither sallow nor sickly, but rosy and flush from the hot water. A rush of relief hit him; she was his Mitsuru.
The surprise on her face was almost a reward in and of itself.
“Step into my office,” Akihiko said, beckoning her over.
She gave him a smirk and sauntered to his place in her chair. She leaned against the frame of the desk, her knees touching his as Akihiko gently swiveled side to side in the chair.“How late did you work last night?” he asked.Mitsuru’s eyes flitted to the monitor.
“Not late,” she said.
The corner of her lips quirked; liar . Akihiko felt a rush of exhilaration he often experienced when squaring off against an adversary. This was going to be fun.
“Care to explain why you’re in my office?” she paused. “In my seat?”“Seemed like the fastest way to get your attention.”“You certainly know how to get results,” she responded with a raised eyebrow.
Akihiko leaned forward and hooked his hands around the small of her back. He tentatively inched her closer to him and peered up at her with a hungry look.“I have a few questions I’d like to ask you,” he said, easing a hand up her thigh and under her skirt. “Only if you’re up for it.”“What sort of questions should I expect?” Mitsuru emitted a soft laugh.“The nice and easy variety,” Akihiko said. “You don’t like the direction it’s going, just tell me.”
“Is that the only rule?” she smiled.“Plus any other ones you want to lay on me,” Akihiko said. He started to pull the tips of his gloves away from his fingers when Mitsuru clasped them in hers.“Keep them.”Oh. No playing it safe today.

“You sure?” he asked.“I have nothing to hide,” she said.Akihiko dropped his hands to her hips and twisted her around. Mitsuru let out a surprised scoff that was abruptly cut short when he pulled her onto his lap. The trick to an early lead over Mitsuru was to catch her off guard. While acting quickly was a surefire method to gaining an advantage, persuasion was the true artform.
Akihiko banded his arm across her stomach and put his other hand to the task of tracing the neckline of her blouse. Mitsuru inhaled, slow and measured.“Relax,” he said, feeling his own voice vibrating against her back.
“Make me,” she whispered defiantly.
“Dangerous talk,” he smiled, following the line of buttons from her throat to the hem of her blouse. He left them unpicked, but was careful to count each one. He’d get to those later.
Akihiko’s teeth scraped against her neck, growing quietly more urgent as he worked down to her shoulder. Her breaths tumbled out, indicating the mask of nonchalance that she was so determined to wear even here was splintering. Typical - always setting some damn challenge for him to break. He buried his face against the column of her neck and inhaled, her pulse quickening against his lips.
Mitsuru melted back against him, her neck arching against his ear.
“I’d ask what you’re smiling about,” she whispered, her voice stuttering with her breath. “But I’m not certain I want to know.”Akihiko swept a hand to her forehead and gently eased her deeper into her arched position against his chest. He breathed against her cheek, the hand around her waist skimming to the hem of her skirt and disappearing under the fabric. Mitsuru’s breath hitched and Akihiko snatched up the opportunity to glide his finger down from her forehead and down to her mouth.
“Akihiko,” she breathed against the finger feathered along her lip.He studied the rise and fall of her chest as it quickened with the upward migration of his hand. Watching her react to him and seeing the instantaneous effect he had on her body created a pit of fire in the base of his stomach. Akihiko shifted his hand to her breasts and hiked her closer against him before slipping under her blouse and cupping her breast in his palm. She shuddered, a tiny and deeply arousing hiss slipped out. Once he’d spent some time massaging her breast, he migrated his hand so that he was gently cupping her chin, his thumb sweeping against her bottom lip.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said against his thumb.Akihiko’s hand hiked up the fabric of her skirt and came to rest against the hem of her underwear. She sucked in a sharp breath.
“What am I doing?” Akihiko breathed his question into the nape of her neck.
“Trying to extract a confession. It won’t work.”“That’s big talk for someone in a compromising position, Mitsuru,” he said. “Just a minute ago you said I knew how to get results.”“Through devious tactics. I know all of your dirty tricks.”Akihiko released a growl behind the back of her ear, his fingers tracing circles against the dampening fabric of her underwear.“It’s not that different from negotiation. It’s all about contrast and pressure–”Akihiko slipped his fingers under the fabric and pushed two fingers in. Mitsuru arched back and Akihiko pulled her harder against him, pressing his arousal to the small of her back.“Good cop, bad cop,” she accused.“If you like,” Akihiko offered against the shell of her ear, his hand now thoroughly and steadily at work under her underwear. “Which one do you want me to be?”He drifted his free hand down the line of her throat picking the buttons of her blouse open until his hand stepped freely over the delicate line of her ribs. He yearned to feel the gooseflesh rise on her skin, but the gloves weren’t coming off yet.

“You forgot your lunch and you were working late. You’re on a damn crime spree, Mitsuru.”“You’ll have try a lot harder than that to extract a confession–”
“What makes you think I’m after a confession?” he asked.
“What do you want then?” Mitsuru laughed. Akihiko didn’t.
Akihiko cupped a firm hand around her breast. He found the target spot under her skirt and brushed his thumb against her. Mitsuru squirmed and exhaled a curse, her head dropping back against the crook of his shoulder.

“I want you speechless,” Akihiko said.
He curled his fingers and twisted his wrist. Her first climax brought him a wave of exhilaration, her body tensing hard against the strain in his pants before she relaxed against him, boneless and out of breath. He shifted to release her from his lap and was sharply reprimanded with the clench of her hands over his, her tongue flashing over his lips. So it was going to be like, was it?
Akihiko sent the pencils, pens, books and other heavy sounding objects scattering to the floor before pressing Mitsuru back against the cleared surface of the desk.
Having her under him like this was a reward in and of itself, but tonight Akihiko couldn’t deny that it gave him a pang of exposure. If she looked into his eyes when they were making love, she might see the residual fragments of fear that Akihiko still hadn’t fully shook off from his shift. Had it been a normal night, he might not have been so greedy to feel her around him as she came, his hands may not have been nearly so possessive against the rise of her hips, but there was a lingering unrest that laced his need for her tonight. He had seen Mitsuru, or someone like her, pass through a door that he could not follow. He’d woken in the spot where Shinji’s eyes had closed forever with nothing but the cold shadow of dread.

He hooked her knees close to his arms so that there was no space between their bodies. Mitsuru made a surprised sound.
“Is this–” he breathed.
Mitsuru paired her scowl with an impatient roll of her hips and Akihiko temporarily felt the air wrenched from his chest. Right; Whatever Kirijo wants, Kirijo gets.
Akihiko gazed down at Mitsuru sprawled underneath him on the desk. Her gaze was heavy and half lidded, her hands curled around the edge of the desk to steady herself.
He sank deeper into her and released a sharp groan. She was soaked enough for him to increase his pace without discomfort and the sense of refuge both in body and soul enveloped him wholly. Mitsuru’s climax sent him over the edge and once he was spent, Akihiko lifted her from desk. He crushed her to his chest, tasting the salt of her in every kiss he pressed against her neck and shoulder. Mitsuru circled her arms around his neck and slid her mouth to his, her breath returning to its normal cadence.
“Are you all right?” she asked against his lips, still slightly winded.
“Getting better by the minute.”She wiped the sweat from his forehead. His words were spoken in jest, but there was no fooling Mitsuru. She examined his expression, her eyes keenly searching for a sliver of false confidence. Akihiko made no effort to hide from her. Mitsuru said nothing. Instead, she led him to bed where she straddled his waist and ran her hands through his hair, her most effective tactic in helping him fall asleep. They spoke little. Akihiko’s eyelids grew heavy and Mitsuru curled against his side, her head on his chest.
“You were quite forward today,” she remarked, feathering her fingers into the groove of his ribs. Akihiko shivered and snatched her hand away.“That tickles,” he frowned, struggling to speak through his fatigue. “And was that okay with you?”
“I always appreciate your candor.”Akihiko smiled at her choice of words. Nice try. Nothing to see here, Mitsuru. Akihiko hummed and made no further bid to continue the conversation.“Are you all right?” she asked again.“Getting better by the minute,” he replied again, his hand turning lazily around a ringlet of her hair. She sighed and began to coax the gloves from his hands.
“I was thinking about the wedding,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed with concentration as she worked.“Too late to run now, Kirijo,” he sighed. Akihiko trapped her against his chest.Mitsuru responded with a low laugh. She pushed back from him and set the gloves on the nightstand. Mitsuru sat back on her heels beside him and ran the pads of her fingers against his jaw.
“I had an idea,” she said. “I’d like us to see each other before the ceremony, before anyone else. I thought it might be nice to mark the beginning of a new chapter. Just you and I, before we gather before our friends and loved ones.”Akihiko thought of the locket sitting in the drawer of his bedside table. A pre-ceremony meeting, just the two of them, would be the perfect opportunity to give her the necklace he’d obtained all those years ago with her in mind. Earlier he’d been eagerly envisioning giving it to her on their wedding day, but now the item seemed poisonous and too dangerous to touch her skin.
“That’s a great idea,” he said.
“But?” she smiled at his tone, lifting an eyebrow.
“Ah,” he hesitated. “It’s just…You don’t think it’s bad luck or tempting fate?”
She laughed again.“I apologize, Akihiko,” she said, crawling against his chest. “It’s too nuanced a subject to raise before sleep. You’ve had a long shift. We’ll discuss this later.”
Mitsuru rose from the bed. She drew the curtains closed, sealing out the afternoon light so that the room was dark as pitch. Akihiko was mostly asleep when he felt Mitsuru’s weight press against him.
“Rest, Akihiko,” she said, pressing a kiss to his lips.Sleep came swiftly and led him into a long, dark corridor that opened into a vast abyss.

The sky turned.
Swells of dunes rose and fell into the horizon in tides of burnt umber and pale gold.
He stopped and beheld a universe of stars overhead. The Milky Way stretched like an eternal band and rendered him smaller than a mote of dust. Akihiko was threaded forward and as he walked, images passed by him like leaves drifting from a tree. There was a fire surrounded by laughing women. There was a home with an old woman reading to a child. There were horses nickering while a man’s spiraling voice sang them a lullaby.
The images settled.
Akihiko was nudged forward just a little.There were two canvas tents in the courtyard of the desert home. Shinji stood a short distance away.Akihiko took up a place beside him. He traced a silver strand in Shinji’s hair while simultaneously devouring every detail of his body. He’d grown taller, his arms and shoulders thick with muscle. His eyes were dark, almost black in the darkness. There was a scar hugging the corner of his mouth and another against his open palm, partially obscured by a pendant. Akihiko placed his hand on his chest and felt him rise and fall with breath. Tears sprang to Akihiko’s eyes.Akihiko traced his jaw.
Shinji…
Shinji remained focused on the pendant in his hands. The locket with the pendant made of obsidian with a mother of pearl moon was cupped in his open palm, the chain swaying between his fingers.

“Help a guy out, Aki. Be my moral compass. Drop me a hint.”A microchip, no bigger than his thumbnail, was pinched in Shinji’s other hand.
Akihiko drifted his hand over the pendant in Shinji’s palm. A volley of images clicked by with the cadence of a ticking clock.

An ocean wave spilling over a barricade. Mitsuru; flat and lifeless on the ground, her face bloody, her hair, clothes, clinging to her soaked skin.
Shinji; cut and bleeding in the driving rain, looming protectively over Mitsuru's prone form, an open blade loaded in his fist. Shinji; face gaunt, fringed with slick, unkempt hair. Shinji; eyes black and burning with rage– Do it already. Akihiko spoke but his lips did not move.
Akihiko could see the open path and all of the ensuing events unfolding from this single delicate motion. All Shinji had to do was this one thing and if he didn’t, a fragile ecosystem of events would collapse.
Do it, damn it! Akihiko snapped.“Something else then,” Shinji resolved.Akihiko reached over. He focused like he would focus on fitting a fine thread through the eye of a needle and successfully squeezed the side of the locket.
The frame clicked open.
The stars spun, wheeling into a spiral before he was ripped from Shinji’s side. Akihiko reached for him, his flesh burning from the brand of the locket–

An empty sidewalk. Late night, early morning.They were running. Shinji was lagging behind but Akihiko could feel him throwing his entire body forward as fast as he could, he just needed to get there. Lay off the cigarettes and cheeseburgers, Akihiko snapped from his leading position, his strides clean and exact.The pavement cracked under his feet and Akihiko felt himself lifted up, pulled away like a puppet on a string–

The scene spun and shifted, spiraled up and down, back and forward and then spat him out in a labyrinth of side streets.
Mitsuru was turning down a dark alley. Shinji was disoriented, panicked, and going in the opposite direction.
“Kirijo, stop!”The air was boiling from the climax of a fight.“Leave me alone!”The distance between them grew and more images crashed over Akihiko harder and faster than a trainwreck. A smoky room: Shinji’s bruised and swollen face with Mitsuru cleaning the blood from his eyes. Shinji; opening the door of a hotel bathroom. Mitsuru; scared and hiding in the tub, her clothes drenched. Shinji; leaning over her. Mitsuru; pressed against white linen, haloed in blue city lights. Shinji’s arms framed around her, pressing Mitsuru’s hand to his lips–Akihiko hooked Shinji by the back of his collar. Good - he was getting better at threading the needle.

Wrong way, damn it!
Akihiko gave him a hard shove in the right direction.
Shinji pitched forward. Akihiko stumbled back—
~Time was looping back in on itself, undulating like a kite in the wind. Maybe this was how ghosts moved; traveling through space and time without agency or thought, but dispatched from one destination to another.

Mitsuru stood motionless beside him, the locket pendant a beacon against her chest.
“Your wretched dead father…”Someone was advancing toward her, his expression twisted in a drunken snarl. Akihiko stepped closer to get a clear look.
“After everything I’ve done for you and this company…”This guy. Akihiko knew this guy.
“You still refuse me–”He stank of booze, his eyes were red and unfocused. Akihiko heard a growl closeby; a warning rising to a vicious snarl. Wake up, Akihiko said. Mitsuru, you have to wake up! Mitsuru remained wooden, her eyes far away.“You should be on your knees thanking me.”He hurled a glass against the wall behind Mitsuru. It shattered, the fragments exploding against her hands and face. She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, like she couldn’t hear or see or feel anything.
Akihiko swung between Mitsuru and her attacker, focusing on grabbing him, punching him, somehow getting space between him and Mitsuru, but he was formless and couldn’t leverage his body.
The man took a step toward her, his hand opening for her throat.
Inertia. Akihiko had developed a tolerance of most everything thrown his way, but no fucking way he was being benched or held back here, ghost or not.
Akihiko called in every favor from everything and anything good that could hear him. He funneled every ounce of focus in visualizing his enemy slammed into the ground. Akihiko took it all and distilled it into a fist and a command–
“Caesar!”

Tingling along the ridge of his left knuckles.

“Akihiko.”Akihiko shook out his hand.“Akihiko.”He heaved out a sigh, sucked in as much air as he could, and let it out again.
“Akihiko?”Akihiko glanced up. He was drenched and the hair on his skin raised high. The room was completely dark except for a thin light touching down from the outside the window. A panel of white light crossed Mitsuru, illuminating a diagonal line from her temple to her collar bone. She wore a white nightgown, her features solemn.
“Hey,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. Akihiko tried and failed to suppress a shiver. His hand trembled as he dragged it over his head and he angled himself away from Mitsuru, trying to hide the quiver in his arm.
“Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.“The power is out.”“Ah.”“Are you hungry?” she asked.“Always.”She smiled at his response. Tight, but relieved, as if Akihiko’s answer was mostly correct and he was on the right track. Something loosened in her expression but Mitsuru’s posture remained rigid and alert. Akihiko had been standing still so why the hell was his heart pounding like he’d just been thrown off the treadmill? Sure, Mitsuru had certain effects on him, but there was something else gnawing at him, like he’d just barely outrun a train.
“Something wrong?” he asked. “You look a little tense.”
Mitsuru shifted and moved to the sofa. Akihiko’s eyes adjusted to the dark enough that he could detect the subtle shift of her weight on the sofa. She pulled her legs up and tucked them under her.
“I’m fine, Akihiko.”He'd seen enough guilty criminals try to act relaxed, like they hadn't a worry in the world. Mitsuru wasn't convincing him tonight.“Sit with me?” she asked.“Absolutely.”“May I touch you?” she asked when he sat down beside her.
Akihiko laughed. A frown pressed between Mitsuru’s eyebrows.“The door's always open for you, Mitsuru,” he said, cupping his hand over her knee. She covered his hand with hers, her deft fingers gliding up and down the outline of his wrist. Akihiko shivered; not a bad feeling at all. She gave his hand a squeeze.
“Your hands are cold,” she said.“Thanks for warming them up for me,” he said. “What's got you so tense?”“I'm... worried about you.
The phone call today and now… You seem stressed. Perhaps we should postpone–”“Why do you think I'm stressed?”His heart was still racing. Akihiko settled into the solidity of the sofa behind him and the graze of Mitsuru’s hand against his, still ghosting along the line of his hands.

“What were we doing a few minutes ago?” she asked. “Before we were talking?”Akihiko frowned.“I had a rough dream.”“Perhaps you want to–”“I’d rather not,” Akihiko paused and surveyed the living room. “I... how did I get in here?”“Let me make you something to eat.”Mitsuru stood up. Alone on the sofa, Akihiko sat back with a weary sigh, his hands aching. He frowned and inspected the purple and black spots flowering on his knuckles.
Where had that happened? He’d kept his hands wrapped at the gym yesterday.
The lights flickered to life and illuminated the room. Akihiko looked at the wall in front him and spotted a freshly crumbling hole the size of his fist.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

> . . . > . . . >

2/7/2009 00:14:17

Beginning Playback

> . . . > . . . >
“Should we call it a night?”“Mm?” Mitsuru turned over her shoulder. “Oh. Go on ahead. I’m going to stay here a while longer.”Akihiko dropped back into his previously vacated seat with a scoff.“You’re always on my case about pacing myself, but here you are going on three hours glued to the monitors.”To emphasize his point, Akihiko nudged Mitsuru’s foot with his own.“Mental endurance and physical stamina are two different things,” Mitsuru bobbed her chair toward him.
“But not mutually exclusive,” Akihiko rocked side to side in his chair with a thin laugh. He crossed his arms. “If I need sleep, you need sleep.”A slow, almost proud smile softened Mitsuru’s expression.Akihiko ceased his rocking.“What?” he asked, face contorted with a playful scowl.“How shall I put this?” Mitsuru touched her index finger to her chin. “Your attempt to scold me is rather precocious.”Akihiko snorted with feigned offense.“Well if you’re not going anywhere, then I’m not going anywhere.”“Don’t feel obligated to stay on my behalf,” she smiled in response, mimicking both his crossed arms and slow rocking.
They swiveled in their chairs, their knees two sets of pendulums keeping time and counter time with slow, steady beats. Akihiko stared at her with amusement. He leaned back in his chair with a cocky look while Mitsuru tried to keep her lips cemented into a frown.

“How about a rematch?” Akihiko offered abruptly.Mitsuru’s chair stopped rocking. She pushed away and created a buffer between her and Akihiko.“Akihiko, no.”“Come on, Mitsuru. It’s just the two of us and,” Akihiko cleared his throat. A sudden flash of red filled his cheeks. “You’re wearing pants. So, it should be fine, right?”“Someone could see,” she glanced up at the cameras nervously. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”Akihiko followed her gaze and looked into the camera. The light of his eyes traveled the ocean of time like the light of a star and arrived at its destination as a ghost.
“Who cares?” he laughed.
“Akihiko–”Akihiko dug his heels into the floor and dragged his chair closer to hers.
“Do I scare you, Mitsuru?”
“You're being childish,” she scoffed.
“Maybe. Still, not like you to be nervous.”Mitsuru leaned back in her seat but didn’t inch away.“Are you teasing me?”
“Loosen up a little,” he said, nudging her with his foot again. “Everyone needs a break now and then, including you.”“All right,” Mitsuru’s smile prevailed over her sense of propriety. Akihiko looked like he’d won the heavyweight championship of the world.
They dropped onto the floor, their heads positioned in opposite directions. Akihiko shifted closer to Mitsuru until their hips were aligned on the floor.
“Ready?” he asked solemnly.
“Ready.”
“One.”Akihiko’s eyebrows were knit in grim concentration. He kicked up his left leg; Mitsuru kicked up her left leg.
“Two,” Mitsuru echoed him, pumping her leg fiercely next to his. Their battling legs drew momentum, swinging up in synchronicity.“Three!” they called out in unison. Their legs tangled. Akihiko bent his knee, but Mitsuru hooked him first. Mitsuru’s laughter triumphed.
“You’re cheating!” she declared, gasping between breaths.
“Your left is your dominant leg–”Akihiko’s ear to ear grin said everything. With one hard jerk, he flipped Mitsuru over onto her side, narrowly avoiding pulling her directly on top of him. They erupted in a fit of laughter that crescendoed and then faded.Akihiko and Mitsuru remained on the floor for exactly six and a half minutes, their limbs stretched out like starfish on the floor, their chests rising and falling in syncopation, and their smiles waning as the hour deepened.“All right,” Mitsuru sighed, her neat and perfectly brushed hair now a tangled mask over her face. She pushed it out of the way with a weary sigh.
“Let’s call it a night.”
< . . . < . . . <

End of playback

< . . . < . . . <

Sanada-san’s hands shook when she set the teacup before Shinjiro. She had pulled out the lacquerware with an almost giddy excitement, despite Shinjiro’s protestations that he wasn't worth the trouble. He watched her work and persevered against the urge to sweep out of his chair and tackle the task of serving tea. Sanada-san lived alone now. Shinjiro was saddened to learn her husband had passed away several years ago from a sudden heart attack. Little else had changed about her since Shinjiro had last visited.
Sanada-san was still soft-spoken, fiercely attentive, and she still took delight in serving guests of all varieties, expected and unexpected. Her hair was neatly tied into a bun and her face pleasantly round.
Shinjiro took his tea in both hands and sipped after expressing his gratitude. Sanada-san sat across from him on the other side of the kotatsu and watched with her hands folded across her lap. Shinjiro sensed she was staring.“Oh, I’m sorry!” she laughed. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just… you’ve grown so handsome!”Shinjiro felt a modest rush of heat fill his cheeks. He studied the table with a reluctant smile.“I am terribly sorry, I wasn’t expecting a visitor,” she continued on. “I usually have a better selection for my guests.”“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Shinjiro said, cradling his teacup in his hands. “I didn’t give you notice I was coming.”“Did you receive the box I left for you at the station?” she asked.“I did. Thank you.”“I’m always happy when Aki’s friends remember me,” she nodded. “Are you hungry? Shiori-chan made nikujaga before she went home.”“I appreciate it,” Shinjiro nodded. “I’m glad to hear you have someone to help you.”“Oh yes, she has been a loyal presence. I thank Mitsuru-chan every day for finding someone so dependable to help me with the more difficult tasks.”Shinjiro paused, the teacup almost to his lips. He gave Sanda-san a puzzled frown. The side-trip suddenly took on a business purpose.
“Kirijo?” he asked. “Mitsuru Kirijo?”“Yes. I don’t see her much these days, but she calls once or twice a month to see how I’m doing. Last year she introduced me to Shiori-chan to help me with the cooking and cleaning.”“Are you two close?” Shinjiro pressed evenly.“I like to think so. I helped her… with Aki’s room at the dormitories,” Sanada-san adjusted her glasses. “After her father passed away, I came to visit her and then again when her mother passed, poor woman.”Sanada-san frowned at the tea in her hands before continuing.“I was always struck by how mature Mitsuru-chan was. She lost so many important people to her in a very short amount of time. No one that young should have to deal with so much grief all at once.”Shinjiro traced the floral pattern of the cup with his thumb.
“She even stayed in Aki’s old room during some of her breaks at Oxford,” Sanada-san said with a cheerful smile.“She stayed with you?” he paused. “Mitsuru Kirijo?”“Yes. I think she needed some time away from the spotlight. It must be so difficult for her, living with such a name.”“What did she do while she was here?” Shinjiro asked.“Oh, she was like a monk up in that room,” Sanada-san said laughingly.
“Always writing and studying. Though she always came down to help me with dinner and watch television with me. We watched quite a few shows together. She always had the most peculiar observations about the characters.”Shinjiro studied the fine spirals of sediment in his tea. He tried to imagine Kirijo staying in a humble house and growing close to Aki’s mother. It became more difficult when Shinjiro tried to picture what she got up to while she was here. Kirijo had become many things since their days at Gekkoukan and despite her efforts to present herself as such, idle was not one of them.“There was one night I don’t think I’ll ever forget. She came home with blood on her chest, soaked to the bone in rainwater. I’d worried she’d been hurt.”“What happened?” Shinjiro asked, narrowing his eyes.“She’d found a mother duck who’d been hit by a car. Two of her ducklings had been killed, but there were four still with her. She’d scooped them up and walked to the nearest animal hospital.”Sanada-san stared wistfully down at the kotatsu and adjusted the blanket. Her eyes and lips were lifted in a ghost of a smile and yet the imprint of the memory was heavy on her expression.
“She asked me what happens to a life when it’s taken so suddenly, so violently.”Shinjiro felt the floorboards shift. An iron knot appeared in his throat and the beast stirred; Not now, he told it. Another time. “I didn’t understand what she meant. She explained something about the law of thermodynamics and that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred. I’d never seen her so agitated.”“What did you do?” he asked.“What would any mother do,” Sanada-san answered. “I made her a meal and sent her to bed. When she came down the next morning, I insisted she come stay with me during her breaks.”“Did she?”
“Yes. She called a few weeks later from Oxford. I gave her permission to use my name if she promised to return back to Japan and stay with me for a week or two.”Shinjiro set his tea down and licked his lips.“Sorry. Your name?”“Yes, dear,” Sanada-san said proudly.“Why did she want to use your name?”“To audit courses,” Sanada-san smiled at Shinjiro’s consternation. “At Oxford, dear.”Shinjiro’s head swam.“But she was already enrolled in French classes,” he said, shaking his head. “As Mitsuru Kirijo. Why would she need to audit courses?”“She said she was interested in rounding out her education with a few additional courses,” Sanada-san said, carefully filling his cup. “But didn’t have the time to fulfill the schoolwork. I think she was hoping for some discretion. She struggled with maintaining privacy from the company.”“And she come back?”“Of course!” Sanada-san said, sounding pleased. “She kept her end of the agreement and returned for a week or so during her summer and winter breaks. Each time she came back she seemed more determined and focused than when I last saw her. I was glad to see she’d found some sort of direction.”Shinjiro mulled this information over and watched Sanada-san refill her own tea in silence as a stony frown crept across her expression.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.“It's only…” she said.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Told me what?” Shinjiro smiled over his teacup.“You rascal!” she laughed.
They finished their tea in silence. When Aki’s voice filled this house, a chorus of laughter was never too far behind. He was easy to tease but also a good sport, as his father called him. Whenever Shinjiro visited Aki, they’d spent only the bare minimum amount of time indoors and had chosen to explore the floodplain nearby or walk to the corner store. Shinjiro had trailed behind with Aki guiding his path like a beacon. If not for her… A voice whispered from the shadows. Shinjiro had not heard it for years.Shinjiro set his teacup to the kotatsu and waited for it to speak again in that same low and sweet voice.
Shinjiro lowered his gaze and dragged the edge of his fingernail over the scar etched on his palm from end to end. The memory of blood on his tongue and Cheddarjack’s lilting voice in his ear brought him back to safety. That demon is part of you, Artful Dodger, Cheddarjack purred. But he is not all of you. When he demands to be fed, shine a light upon him. He has no power in the light. Shinjiro closed his fingertips against his scar.“It was kind of you to let her stay here,” he said. “Thank you for being her friend.”
Sanada-san set her teacup down, her back pulling into a straight posture.“Aki didn't speak about the club he was in but I know this,” she said gently. “He chose to give his life to protect Mitsuru-chan and that boy.”The rain simmered against the windows. The warmth of the kotatsu and the walls of the room filled Shinjiro with nausea. He returned to walking his fingers along the broken white line against his palm.“Mitsuru-chan is more than a friend. She is a part of my family and so are you, Shinjiro-kun,” Sanada-san continued. “I am forever grateful to you both for the love you gave my son.”Shinjiro shook his head.“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He rubbed his hands down his thighs. “I should have been there. If I had just come home sooner–”She reached across the table and clamped a hand over his wrist. She said nothing, only squeezed his wrist.

Shinjiro left a clean plate and asked for the nikujaga recipe. Sanada-san wrote it down for him and walked him through it step by step before leading him to the door.
“Are you sure you won’t stay the night?” she asked. “The bed in Aki’s room is quite comfortable.”Shinjiro declined, the idea striking enough terror into his heart that he almost fled out the door.“Oh, before I forget!” Sanada-san said, tugging Shinjiro back before he reached for his shoes. “I know it’s unbecoming to ask a guest, but could you help me with something?”“Anything,” Shinjiro answered.“Mitsuru-chan asked me to hold on to a box for her while she was traveling last year. Research from her university days, I believe. She mentioned she’d take it to get destroyed the next time she visited but it seems like so much trouble for her to go through. Could you be a dear and bring it down for me? I keep forgetting to ask Shiori-chan and I have such trouble with these stairs.”

Shinjiro stepped over the threshold.

He faced Aki’s room head on and somehow, still stabbed in the back.
Everything was just as he remembered it. A punching bag was hung in the corner and on the opposite side of the room, a speed bag had been installed from the ceiling. The walls were lined with shelves piled high with medals and trophies, the gold reflecting loud and bright even in the modest light of the room. He’d slept over a few times here, before Gekkoukan and S.E.E.S. but after Aki’s adoption.
Shinjiro waded into the room. He knelt to the floor and found the box Sanada-san had described for him. He called downstairs to her and asked her if he might have some time alone with Aki’s things. She agreed and instructed him to call out should he need anything.How had Kirijo spent weeks up here? How had she opened her hand to it all, how had she let it slither into her palm? The idea of spending an hour, let alone a whole night, with Aki’s belongings chilled him to the bone. The beast closed in around him and Shinjiro pushed it away. He was working. Kirijo was up to something and he wasn’t going to turn tail and run until he found out more.The box in question was large and appeared made to hold reams of copier paper. Shinjiro lifted the lid and found a mass of papers, notes, and files in disarray. He selected one at random.

August 14, 2011

Miss Sanada,

I am writing in regards to your most recent translation of the Bedouin folk story The Language of Birds. I must inform you that you have put me in a terribly unjust position. Stories such as this are simple in prose and yet are deceptively complicated to translate. You have provided a translation that is one of the most faithful I have seen. However, as you are not a credit-seeking student, I cannot assign your translation a mark. If I could, it would have been first class. Your grasp of languages is a rare talent. I urge you to reconsider transferring out of the online programme and enrolling as a degree seeking student.

You could have a bright future, but you must actively choose it.

Sincerely,

Professor Darwish

Shinjiro returned it to the box. He excavated more homework assignments and research papers, each drafted for a slew of courses including enough languages to make his head spin: Arabic, English, Russian, Spanish, Mandarin, and Italian. Other assignments pertained to courses in Game Theory, Botany, Mythology, Anthropology, and Linguistics.Shinjiro passed over a large manila envelope. He opened it and found a thick set of notes bundled inside. He peeled off the top sheet of paper.

November 17, 2013

Hanae Sanada

Elementary Game Theory

Prisoner’s Dilemma

Cooperation is most advantageous when both parties respond in conformity. The highest payout is yielded from…

if i could put time

in a bottle

the first thing that i’d…

Shinjiro pushed the papers back into the envelope and continued rummaging.
He pulled out a pile of newspaper clippings all centered on the Kirijo Group.

2013; Kirijo Group's Osaka research facility hacked, company reports massive loss in research records and data repositories.

2012; Kirijo Group dismisses antitrust allegations as unbased and vows fierce legal battle in Brussels.

2012; Kirijo Goup's Asahikawa Labs burglarized. Company reports significant losses.

2011; Kirijo Group's Sapporo Subsidiary vandalized. Company reports negligible fire damage.

2010; U.N. representative accuses Kirijo Group of human rights violations.

Shinjiro set the articles aside and unearthed a stack of letters, some of which were printed on humble letterhead with flower emblems. The remaining correspondence was embossed with the official seal of the Japanese Embassy.

December 14, 2009

Dear Miss Kirijo,
Attached please find a transaction confirmation letter for your recently initiated recurring transfer. Your transfer of 15,000 THB will occur every fifth (5) day of the month and will be deposited into the Suang Si Daeng account for inmate [redacted]. You may change your monthly elections at any time. The deposit will remain anonymous, as per your request.

With kind regards,

The Foreign Prisoners Fellowship

January 21, 2010

Miss Kirijo,

Thank you for your inquiry. There are currently no programs or legal instruments to facilitate the compassionate release or transfer of Japanese nationals incarcerated in Thailand.

Regards,

Ambassador Tanabe

April 10, 2010

Miss Kirijo,
I thank you for your letter and your continued interest in prisoner transfer programs. As of current, there is no such program available to Japanese citizens incarcerated in Thai prisons. I understand you wish to endow funds to implement such a program. I am sympathetic to your cause, but the bureaucracy of the Thai government will make this endeavor untenable. I encourage you to invest your capital in other human rights campaigns.
Regards,

Ambassador Tanabe

July 1, 2010

Miss Kirijo,
At your continued encouragement, I have spoken with the Ministry of Justice about developing a transfer program for Japan’s foreign prisoners. With your generous endowment and the cooperation of a regional NGO specializing in compassionate release of foreign prisoners, I believe we now have the mechanisms in place to facilitate the transfer and/or early probation for non-violent offenders on a limited, case by case basis.

I am hopeful this happy news implies you will cease your correspondence to my office. Quite frankly, your constant phone calls and letters have become such a nuisance that my secretary has started blocking out two hours of my schedule each week to discuss these matters with you.

Should you have any questions or concerns about the program, kindly take them to the NGO partner in Bangkok who will now serve as the official liaison between the Ministry of Justice and the Japanese government. They will administer your endowment funds and field petitions for prisoner transfers.

Regards,

Ambassador Tanabe

September 14, 2010

Miss Kirijo,
We have received your petition regarding an inmate currently incarcerated at Suang Si Daeng Prison. We have reviewed the file for [redacted] and believe the inmate is eligible for early release and probation in Japan under the guidelines of the joint Prisoner Release Program implemented by the Thai and Japanese governments earlier this year. We will keep you apprised of the results.
We are grateful for the continued support your endowment brings.

Warmly,

The Clemency Project of Bangkok

September 20, 2010

Miss Kirijo,
Per your request, we have made your endowment anonymous. We will update you on the status of the prisoner release petition for inmate [redacted] shortly and in a separate correspondence.
Warmly,

The Clemency Project of Bangkok

Shinjiro slipped the papers back into the pile, his hands trembling. He opened the window and lit a cigarette. Once he finished, he lit another and then another, before returning back to the box and grabbing a fistful of letters.

December 18, 2012

Mitsu-chan,

If you’re going to sulk, then come sulk next to me on board Peter Cardiff’s horrendous yacht. Tragically, the old pig’s gone off cocaine and is back to good, old wholesome gin like a proper Englishman. Of course this means our Peter will be enlightening the lucky few of us with tales of his most recent spiritual awakening at an ashram in the Sunda Islands before gracing us with his attempts with trap, darts, or croquet (God forbid we are subjected to all three, and if so, I’m demanding a reasonable accommodation and require the presence of my guide-heiress).

I shan’t even complain when you stuff your nose in those dusty books of yours and ignore me (pitiful creature that I am). You can let out all those tears and I’ll cradle you to my bosom and pat that angelic little bottom of yours until you feel better. You needn’t worry about untoward advances from suitors as I’ll be there to ward them off with my dazzling charms (i.e. leave the fuck boys to yours truly).

Gin makes for a wonderful mascara thinner.

Bring snacks,

Takeshi

TM:mm

January 4, 2013

Mitsu-chan,

I trust a night in my arms has you feeling tended to. Should you require more of my affections, you are always welcome in my bed, day or night.

Our Peter seems quite humbled after your performance at trap shooting. Rumor has it he threw quite the conniption after anchoring in Korčula and ordered his staff to remove the shooting stations from the yacht. Apparently, he’s also forbidden any mention of trap shooting in his presence.

Kindly best him at croquet next. Even though you’ll ultimately stand in for this poor fool again, I cannot possibly be expected to suffer another game without consuming copious amounts of rum. My liver’s career peaked ten years ago and simply wishes to retire to the countryside.

To your question: No. I’ve not apologised to Peter’s unsporting associate nor do I intend to, no matter how you try to scold me with your precious schoolmarm letters.

Accidents happen, Kirijo – and it turns out the bloke could swim after all. No harm no foul, all’s well that ends well, c’est le vie, carpe diem, etc. etc.

Don’t be a stranger.

Kisses,

Takeshi

TM:mm

December 4, 2013

Mademoiselle Kirijo,

The lighthouses of New England were enchanting, but yielded no sightings. I will continue my efforts.

On an unrelated matter, I am curious to learn something about your musical range. I suspect your proficiency with the piano extends also to the harp. There is a private room in the Vermillion Lounge, located just outside Kanegawa, with this instrument. Would you care to indulge my curiosity on this matter? It would be my pleasure to meet you there on New Year’s Eve.

My standard fee applies.

Yours in service,

–T

A few deep breaths and his pulse returned to its normal cadence. Each item presented a jungle of facts and emotions, questions and answers, calls and responses. He’d opened a box he’d not been ready for, one that took him places he’d not been prepared to visit.Shinjiro sat down on Aki’s bed with his thoughts in free fall.
His anger returned and blurred. When Shinjiro had stepped out of Suang Si Daeng that morning, was Kirijo there? Was she prepared for what she saw? Where had she hid herself? Had she fainted? If she had, was someone there to catch her?The room took on a drunken slant. Shinjiro’s thoughts turned over to the other letters from TM; Takeshi.Somewhere, not long ago, this person had held Kirijo. Somewhere on some fucking yacht in the middle of the ocean, in an isolated and dangerous environment, someone Shinjiro had not met, whose actions had not been observed or inventoried, had held her while she was vulnerable.

Did Kirijo know who her friends were? Did she care to separate good intentions from bad? Did she care if anything happened to her?
He fell back to the bed and imagined Kirijo– Mitsuru in this bed. Mitsuru learning Arabic. Mitsuru, scouring prison records. Mitsuru transferring money to a commissary account. Mitsuru writing letters to charities and ambassadors on behalf of a coward. Mitsuru and the law of thermodynamics. Mitsuru arranging meetings with strangers in bars, men on yachts with unknown intentions. Mitsuru with wet hair and clothes stained with death. Mitsuru clutching the locket around her neck.
He imagined Aki in this bed too. Aki lying awake after dreaming of burning orphanages and screaming children. Aki flexing and bending his hands, hearing the air pop from his joints like pops from a toy gun. Aki squaring off against the punching bag and thinking of his next match. Aki thinking of Shinjiro, remembering where Shinjiro’s hands yielded and asserted.
Aki running his fingers over a locket’s pendant, tracing the crescent moon carved from mother of pearl with a white feather in his hand. Aki thinking of Mitsuru and where her body might soften against his.
What would it be for Shinjiro to have both of them? What would it be to have his own grain of perfection in such an imperfect world?
Like the greedy snake that he was, Shinjiro let himself imagine just that. Shinjiro imagined Mitsuru shifting herself onto his lap, her knees snug against his hips as she lowered her lips to his.
Shinjiro’s hand might settle against the small of her back, teasing up the hem of her blouse while his hands learned the firm lines of her back and waist.
He imagined Aki pushing him to the bed with bold, innocent hands; his weight blanketing Shinjiro through the night. He imagined the curve of Mitsuru’s lips pressed against his chest, waking up to her smile while the thunder of Aki’s voice quaked against his back.
He imagined them here, together, quietly shifting underneath the sheets with and without Shinjiro tangled between them.
The last decade of Shinjiro’s life had been spent waking in a cold sweat of dreams, but now there was the nearly lucid presence of Aki’s breath against his ear, the hard outline of his muscles clenched around Shinjiro’s waist, and Mitsuru’s lips parting against his and now in this bed, Shinjiro could feel their breath in perfect syncopation. Aki would make the world feel safer, smaller, and more alive with the effortless rise and fall of his chest. Mitsuru would comb her hands through Shinjiro’s hair and tame him into something softer.Each of them had laid in this bed and Shinjiro could confidently guess that each had held the other in intimate thought, perhaps even fantasy. Each of them, a point in a triad constellation, each scattered through time and space, each burning with intense light in imperfect harmony.Shinjiro closed his eyes only to be hunted by the beast under the floorboards. Not now, he told it. Another time.
He sat up, gathered the box of files, and left without looking back.

Shinjiro greeted Sanada-san with a wry smile and glanced down at the box when she asked him to set it on the kitchen table.
“Why don’t I take this off your hands?” He offered, his voice tired. “She’s busy.”Sanada-san looked uncertain.“That’s generous of you, but are you sure it’s all right? Mitsuru-chan said…”“Just tell her it’s been taken care of,” Shinjiro said encouragingly. “It’ll be our secret.”“Ah, a secret!” Sanada-san clapped her hands with delight. “Very good.”He bid her goodbye and promised that he would visit again soon. She stood under the porchlight waving. Shinjiro pulled away and watched her grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

~It was half past three when Shinjiro cleared the Port Island city limits. Shinjiro’s fantasies of his bed and a long, dreamless sleep were bordering on delirious when the loud ping he’d assigned to Kirijo’s alarm notification dragged him back to reality.
He pulled over and reached for his phone.Who knew, maybe Shinjiro would be in time to catch a glimpse of Aigis and Iori melting another pan before he descended upon them and chased them out of Kirijo’s apartment. There was also the likelihood that Takeba would make an appearance, dragging a karaoke machine behind her. Perhaps even Yamagishi would manifest and do her part to burn down a small part of Kirijo’s apartment. Whichever plucky sidekick appeared on tonight’s feed would be ruthlessly ejected.
Shinjiro pulled up the camera feed and watched Kirijo’s fiance shut the front door.“Shit.”He put the car in gear and pressed the accelerator flat against the floor.
Kirijo stood stationary near the door. Her fiance’s mouth was moving. He drew closer to her, unsteady and visibly intoxicated.
Shinjiro cleared an intersection without stopping.
“Kick him out,” he muttered, glancing down at his phone, shifting into a higher gear in order to beat the next light. “Come on, Kirijo. Tell him to leave.”Another light forced Shinjiro to a stop. He was still too far from Kirijo’s place to get there quickly on foot. The feed showed Kirijo unmoved from seconds ago, her fiance raking his hands through her hair.Shinjiro slammed his foot on the pedal and tore through the red light without looking for cross traffic. He was still ten minutes away. How much could happen in ten minutes? Could Ogawa or Kurosawa get there in ten minutes?

Shinjiro looked down at the screen just as Kirijo’s fiance pressed himself to her lips. Shinjiro almost took a curb. The colors of the traffic lights posted at the intersection ceased to register.
This had to be it, the moment where Kirijo would break free from the mold and snap the guy's neck. This had to be the part where she dropped the good girl act and drew the whip out from behind her back.

“Come on, Kirijo. Smart money’s on you.”The seconds ticked by.
Kirijo’s spine looked frozen solid, her eyes downcast and unfocused. Kirijo was far away, still asleep or in a state of paralysis. Whatever it was, it had her immobilized and defenseless.Shinjiro had cut three minutes off the route to her building, but he was still minutes away. The pedal was flat against the floor. Shinjiro glanced at the phone and then back to the road.
Kirijo’s fiance pulled away. His back was to the camera, his shoulders tensed and fists clenched. He returned seconds later, armed with a highball filled with translucent liquor.
He started waving his hands, motioning to Kirijo with increasingly emphatic gestures. Kirijo’s expression was statuesque and drawn. Shinjiro didn’t have the guts to turn on the volume because there was no way he could handle hearing what was being said to her, not when he was still minutes away from reaching her.
Shinjiro needed Kirijo to wake up and start executing. He needed her to walk away or run or do something resembling fight or flight until Shinjiro arrived.
“Wake up, princess,” he hissed at her.
“Wake up and kick his teeth in, please–”Shinjiro pulled over to the curb without any fucks given for painted lines or meter warnings. He stepped out and slammed the car door just as Kirijo’s fiance hurled the glass in his hand.Shinjiro watched the tumbler sail through the air and shatter against the wall just millimeters shy of Kirijo’s head. She didn’t blink.“Piece of shit,” Shinjiro snarled, throwing his whole body into a sprint. “You’ve fucking done it now, asshole. Now you’re–”He glanced down at the screen and watched Kirijo’s fiance take a step toward her, his hand outstretched toward her throat.
Shinjiro lengthened his strides, each breath like a knife in his chest as he ran. He held the phone screen up to his face just as a blur of white shot across from the edge of the frame. The screen filled with a pop of light and then settled into blackness.
Shinjiro stopped in his tracks and pursed his lips down at the blank screen. His skin went cold before it burned white-hot.
“Now you’re a fucking corpse.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

2007

“She’s going to live, Shinji.”The carpet in the living room of the dormitory shifted and twisted in serpentine threads. Shinjiro narrowed in on one square, the pattern multiplying in his head.“Shinji.”The rest of the living room carpet, the rest of the universe, rippled out from that one, set pattern on the carpet. Everything else was in its place. Everything else was in order. Everything except Shinjiro.“Would you look at me already?”“What?” Shinjiro snapped.Aki’s bottom lip twisted. That telltale scowl he’d worn as a kid had hardened as he’d grown older and was currently set in frustration.
“It’s going to be fine,” Aki insisted. “She’s recovering in the hospital. Mitsuru’s talked to the staff. She’ll be released in a few days.”“She had a kid with her,” Shinjiro said.“Yeah, he’s okay too. Someone’s looking out for him while she recovers. Everything’s fine. It was a blip–”A biting, caustic laugh broke free from his throat. Aki pressed on, his voice on the verge of a full on tantrum.“It was an accident, Shinji. Mitsuru said she can teach you some techniques to help–”“I don’t want her help,” Shinjiro said.“Sulking about it isn’t going to change anything.”
“Tch. Listen to yourself, Aki,” Shinjiro said. “You’re trying to rush by this and drag me with you.”“Everything is going to be okay.”“Stop saying that.”“But it is,” Aki said, reaching for him. Shinjiro shoved him back.
“You didn’t almost kill someone,” Shinjiro seethed. “You didn’t almost orphan a kid. You don’t get to say that, not to me.”“Shinji, we’ll talk to Mitsuru when she gets back, all right? We’ll get through this. Together.”Shinjiro searched for the initial square of pattern on the rug under his feet. As soon as he found it again, his vision swam. Was that the same pattern on the rug he’d first settled on? The spiral threads were too many and had multiplied since he’d looked away. Shinjiro was too disoriented to locate where the rippling pattern had started.
Shinjiro stood up and left through the front door, Aki fast on his heels and calling his name. Shinjiro shook him in less than a block.
Aki knew speed. Shinjiro knew shadows.

2008

He took to arches and awnings, to floors and couches and corners. He idled in the backstreet where Castor had forever changed the lives of a mother and son, where Shinjiro had nearly ended the lives of one, two, three, four–Aki’s footsteps chased him through the dark, corralling him, forcing him up from the bowels of the city and into thin stretches of light. One night, while being pursued by the sound of Aki’s brash footsteps, Shinjiro came to a halt, twisted, and swung at him.Aki hadn’t been ready for the hit. He fell back, his elbow smacking against the concrete. Shinjiro backed away without tearing his eyes from him. They stared at each other, both stunned, both frozen.“Stay away from me,” Shinjiro said.
“Shinji,” Aki wiped his nose and then swiped the tears from his face. “Why can’t you just…”Aki pulled himself up and reached for him.
“Just let me be there for you.”Aki reached for him. Shinjiro let him close enough that he could make out the stitching on Aki’s gloves before he flinched. He dove back into an alleyway with a warning.
“Don’t follow me.”

He knew he needed to start taking suppressants when he started feeling Castor’s lance drilling slowly into his chest while he slept.
Shinjiro found himself unable to wake; a hostage in his own body while Castor squeezed the air from his lungs, all while pleading for Shinjiro’s help. He started finding darker places to hide, where there were no crowds or strangers that might end up impaled on Castor’s lance. Castor’s cries echoed in his mind: Please don’t forget about me. Please don’t leave me alone– Where Aki feverishly pursued him, Mitsuru kept a quiet distance.
It was good, Shinjiro knew. It was good that she didn’t follow him the way Aki followed him. Nothing good would come of it. Still there were times where he imagined he heard her retreating footsteps disappearing down the end of an alley, seconds before he rounded a corner. There were times he swore he felt the heat of her palm still branded on the corner edge of a building where he’d been standing. Her watchful gaze would press between his shoulder blades before he dipped into the shadows. He always turned around too late and soon, he stopped trying to catch her in the act.
One night while he was wrestling with sleep, Shinjiro was approached by three strangers. They looked like something out of a fever dream, a motley crew of a girl dressed head to toe in gothic clothes, a tall, shirtless man, and a man with glasses and a sour look. They told him they knew all about what he was going through, could help take some of the pressure off, take the fever down a notch. Whatever they were selling, Shinjiro wasn’t in the position of saying no. After all, Castor had snapped free from Shinjiro’s control for seconds; it had all happened in mere seconds. Shinjiro had almost killed a woman and orphaned her kid. What else was Castor capable of? Who else could get hurt?The suppressants did their job. Shinjiro vowed to never summon his persona again and deepened his talent for disappearing. Aki’s pursuit became less fevered, but more dogged and more rigid.“She’s awake,” Aki would tell him. “She’s recovering. The doctors are saying she’ll be released any day now.”Shinjiro reverted to the shadows. Aki’s voice called out his name and somewhere, from a vantage point he could not locate, Shinjiro felt Mitsuru haunting his footsteps.

The girl in a white gothic dress arrived with his suppressants on a warm spring night. By then it had become clear the suppressants would rot him from the inside out. After Shinjiro fatigued himself with an extended coughing fit, she dropped the pills in Shinjiro’s open hand.“I hear animals go off to die alone,” she said tonelessly. “They know when it’s time.”“What did you say?” Shinjiro asked with a glare, too sick to move.“You can die here,” she explained. “Or you can disappear and die. Either way, the end is the same.”Her words echoed in Shinjiro’s mind long after she’d slipped into the night. He’d learned to disappear fairly early in his childhood but after the incident with the Amada woman and her son, Shinjiro had become a master in the art of shadows.Perhaps it was time to do what Shinjiro did best.

2009

In May, Aki summoned him to the hospital to discuss what Shinjiro knew about Apathy Syndrome. Aki had earned a nasty injury with a predictably ill-advised encounter with a shadow and had just been given the green light to return to training.
Amada’s mother was in a long-term rehabilitation facility. Aki reported that she was learning to walk again.
“Any day now,” he promised Shinjiro. “She’ll be released any day now.”Shinjiro had been ready to break the news when three of Aki’s Gekkoukan peers had arrived.
He called up Aki the day after and met with him outside of Umiushi Beef Bowls. Rather than go inside, Shinjiro informed him that he’d bought a one way ticket to Bangkok and would be leaving before the end of the month. Shinjiro’s diplomacy earned him two black eyes.“Why are you punishing yourself like this?” Aki spat, tears forming in his eyes. “It’s been two years. It’s time you moved on, pull yourself together and make use of your power–”“My power ain’t worth shit,” Shinjiro replied, wiping the blood from his nose. “And it doesn’t change anything.”Aki stormed off; he’d get over it. This was better for everyone. Shinjiro needed to get away from Port Island, from shadows and Tartarus, from Amada and her kid, from Mitsuru and Aki. Shinjiro could afford to find a cheap place to stay and get a little work. He could try and figure out how to control Castor or die trying.

Animals loped off to die alone. Why shouldn’t he?

Now, running down a deserted street at the ripe age of twenty-six, Shinjiro Aragaki was in the same peak physical condition as an elderly, tubby street dog.
In a splinter of light, Shinjiro saw Aki racing ahead of him, telling him to pull the lead out and stop fucking around with cigarettes and cheeseburgers.
Shinjiro's brain was starved for oxygen, but he obeyed the hallucination and bolted down the pavement as fast and hard as his legs could carry him. The sidewalk was completely empty, allowing Shinjiro an unobstructed path to Kirijo’s apartment. Three minutes on foot, the same amount of time it would have taken him to get to Kirijo if he’d stuck with the car. Despite being in piss poor shape, there were advantages to running, including giving Shinjiro time to prepare a few talking points: He’s dead, Kurosawa. Yes, the poor fuck took a tumble out of Kirijo’s plate glass window. Description? Well he was an average sized piece of shit when he was alive and now he’s a shorter piece of shit on the concrete. Of course I did it. Well, obviously you have to send me back to prison. No, I don’t need a lawyer, thanks. Oh yes, sir. I feel just awful, sir.
Chest aching, mouth filling with the cloying, metallic taste of blood, Shinjiro nixed the elevator and opted for the stairs. He reached Kirijo’s floor and found the door unlatched.
Shinjiro stepped through.
The power was out.The apartment was shrouded in darkness. Static crackled at the back of Shinjiro’s mouth. The glow of the city seeped in from the windows. Intertwining curtains of mist and smoke rose in spectral sheets from the floor.
The scent of ozone mingled with drenched earth stung Shinjiro’s memory. This was how the floors of Tartarus smelled after Aki had unleashed a storm of electricity.“Kirijo?”
Shinjiro ventured further in, pushing against the frigid, almost palpable wall of air that grew more and more dense with every step.
Something sharp crackled underfoot; glass and something else. Shinjiro’s eyes took in the darkness. The walls and floor were plated in thick sheets of ice. There was a chance the fiance was still here. He reached into his pocket and formed his palm to the handle of his knife. He’d deal with that if and when it came, but first he needed to find Kirijo.
A muted hum reached through the mist. Shinjiro shivered.
“Kirijo?” Shinjiro’s breath condensed and whisked before him in soft puffs.
He followed the quiet melody into the kitchen.
Kirijo was seated on the floor, her knees tucked to her chest. She continued humming quietly to herself, a glass of Scotch pressed to her temple with one arm and the other loosely draped across her knees.
Her eyes were distant and unfocused. Several tracks of blood, frozen and dark purple, ran from her palm down to her elbow.Shinjiro loomed over her, every corner of flesh and bone filling with liquid rage. He needed to know what the hell had just happened here. He needed to know what he’d done to her. He needed this information now so he knew just how deep to cut–
Shinjiro reached for her.A deep, guttural growl rumbled from the other side of Kirijo’s place on the floor.
A pair of ruby eyes penetrated the mist.
Koromaru stepped forward, hackles raised. His lips were pulled tight against his bared teeth that glittered like pearlescent daggers.
He stalked Shinjiro with premeditated murder in each silent step, his body low to the ground.
The Shiba Inu appeared before him not as mild-tempered Koro-chan but as an apex killer on the tundra.Shinjiro retracted his hand. He realized his mistake immediately; he’d come in too fast and hot. Shinjiro had reached for Kirijo with one hand but had forgotten to release his grip on the knife in his pocket.
Koromaru emitted a deep frothing bark, his eyes teeming with a clear warning: If Shinjiro reached for Kirijo again, the sweet dog would rip his throat out.“Yeah, okay. Read you loud and clear,” Shinjiro said. “Good boy, Koro-chan.”
Shinjiro deliberately retreated until he was a safe distance from Kirijo. He lowered himself to his knees. Koromaru continued to snarl and foam, his eyes unflinchingly trained on his every move.Shinjiro took a deep breath and nodded.“Looks like we're both out for blood, huh boy?” he smiled ruefully. “Good boy, Koro-chan. Good boy."Koromaru’s hackles lowered slightly.
Kirijo sat unmoved, still humming a soft tune under her breath.
“See?” Shinjiro murmured to Koromaru, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt her. Just lost my mind for a second there. I’m sorry. I need to help her now, okay?”Koromaru’s lips quivered and then relaxed. He then padded toward Shinjiro and gave him a final compulsory sniff before coating him with remorseful licks.“You did great, boy,” Shinjiro whispered, scooping him into his arms. “You’re a legend, you know that?”He gave him a squeeze and planted a kiss on his head, which Koromaru returned with thick, wet laps at Shinjiro’s chin.
“Aragaki.”Shinjiro set Koromaru down. He pulled himself closer to Kirijo’s spot on the floor and tugged the glass of Scotch from her hold. He took her hand in his, the thick strands of frozen blood on her palm pressing against his skin.
“Come here, let's look at you,” Shinjiro took a shaky breath and pressed his other hand to her cheek, pushing the hair from her neck and face in search of any other points of injury. She met his gaze and searched him with detached curiosity.
“You okay?” he whispered, the tips of fingers trembling over the curve of her jaw. “Come on, talk to me.”Kirijo blinked at the cut on her palm and then looked toward the front door.“I tried to clean it up,” she said.“It’s okay,” Shinjiro said. “Just leave that to me.”Kirijo nodded mildly and assessed him with a bemused squint. Shinjiro searched her dark eyes for a trace of lucidity.
“He was here,” she said. “He was calling my name. Did you hear him?”Kirijo’s eyes waxed clear but her voice was eons away.

Shinjiro secured the ends of the wrap around Kirijo’s palm.

She fidgeted on the sofa while Shinjiro cleaned and bandaged her hand. The cut wasn’t deep. This fact did not entitle Shinjiro to any sort of relief.

After Shinjiro had helped her off of the floor, he’d pulled up the most comfortable looking chair in the living room set and had parked Kirijo across from him on the sofa. It had taken almost half an hour before Kirijo started talking. When he’d asked about her state of paralysis, Kirijo had struggled to reply before she ultimately claimed she’d been in a state of shock.
Shinjiro left it for another time.
Kirijo then put up a mild argument about how she was fine, which Shinjiro extinguished with a single look.
Koromaru remained pressed against Shinjiro’s leg, his eyes set with dutiful vigilance while Shinjiro worked the bandage around Kirijo’s hand. Shinjiro glanced up, fully intending to look Kirijo in the eyes, but his gaze hitched on the red flecks of blood drying
on her neck.
Kirijo pulled away and drew the collar of her old housecoat up around her throat self-consciously. Shinjiro realized he was glaring. He located a more deserving target for his ire and focused on the space in his palm where he’d held her delicate wrist.“You look exhausted,” Kirijo said, folding her hands in her lap.

Shinjiro carefully stowed the antiseptic, swabs, and bandages back into the first aid kit.
“I’m fine,” he said.There were puddles of melting ice on the floor. The power was still out. The place smelled like chlorine and sulfur. Kirijo’s fiance had thrown glass at her head.
Of course Shinjiro was fine.
She fiddled with the collar of the housecoat again and crossed her arms.“I understand it’s not, that it doesn’t look…” she trailed off. “I can assure you, it’s not a common–”Shinjiro’s eyes locked on hers.
“Don’t.”Kirijo cinched her lips into a thin line and looked away. Koromaru whined.“Will you go home and try to get some rest?” she asked.
Shinjiro shook his head. Kirijo rubbed her collarbone idly, her fingertips fluttering close to the locket’s thin chain.“I’m all right, Aragaki. You needn’t feel compelled to stay. You really ought to–”“Cut it out. If anyone needs to sleep, it’s you,” Shinjiro said. “Go to bed, get some rest and take Koromaru with you. Sorry, but I need to use your office for a few minutes.”“Why?”“I need to make a few phone calls,” Shinjiro said.Kirijo’s expression became sharp with terror.“You mustn’t tell Kurosawa,” she said quickly.
Kirijo wore the same look of fear that had appeared when Shinjiro had called out Aigis, when he’d dredged up a piece of the past and incriminated himself. Shinjiro furrowed his brow but Kirijo’s defiance knew neither fatigue nor fear.
“He would overreact,” she added hastily. “I refuse to subject myself to further meddling or scrutiny.”“Oh no, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said gently, the venom thick in his voice. “That’s not how this works.”“I’ll settle the matter myself,” she insisted. “I just need to speak with–”“No,” Shinjiro said, utterly uninterested in hearing the end of that sentence. “No deal. I get paid to root out slimeballs and this particular slimeball is going to be the highlight of my fucking career.”“I know how to manage these issues, Aragaki.”It took all of Shinjiro’s dwindling self-control not to glare at the now-concealed flecks of blood on her neck.
Kirijo seemed to realize that was a poor start to a compelling argument and started scanning the floor for a trap door.
Where the hell to begin with that statement? What did she mean by managing and just what kind of issues was she referring to now? Shinjiro glanced down at Koromaru who gave him a forlorn expression. Shinjiro mulled his tongue between his teeth.He wanted to nip this in the bud and inform Kirijo that there was no way she was going to be managing any more issues with her fiance from here on out, not without Shinjiro or one of Kurosawa’s officers present. With great effort, Shinjiro kept his silence. Kirijo was being polite in referring to him as exhausted. He felt like he’d been hit by a freight train and could do without the mirror check to confirm he looked like it.
His emotions were too hot and his stamina too low to tackle this with her now. This would have to be a battle of attrition, starting with a small attack on Kirijo’s resolve.
“Can you tolerate me being around for a few more hours?” he asked.Kirijo gave a weak shake of her head.
“Because I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you let me hang out,” Shinjiro pressed on. “You’d be saving me a trip in case you have any more uninvited guests.”“Aragaki…”“I’ll be as quiet as a little mouse, Kirijo. Though I can’t promise I’ll stay out of your cabinets. I’m sworn to keep vigil over your pantry as your culinary consultant, after all.”“I’m all right,” Kirijo whispered pleadingly. Shinjiro could see her confidence flagging.
“If you let me stick around for just a little while longer, I might even relax enough to take a nap on this inquisition style sofa.”Kirijo looked mournfully at the sofa.“I didn’t choose it.”“I know.”Kirijo studied her hands.Shinjiro lavished Koromaru with idle ear scratches, his gaze cool while Kirijo calibrated her next argument.
“There’s a guest bedroom that would be more comfortable,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.Shinjiro allowed the corner of his mouth to lift for a fraction of a second.
“I’ll be just fine out here, thanks.”“The situation is rather delicate,” she said hurriedly. “Perhaps you could let me speak to Kurosawa before you–”“We’ll talk about all of that later,” Shinjiro said.
He returned to the kitchen to wash his hands and make Kirijo a cup of tea. He spotted a cup of pale green tea settled near the sink. It looked to be the same kind that Kirijo had been drinking the night she’d appeared at his apartment in a panic.
Shinjiro glanced up to assess Kirijo’s visibility of him from her spot on the sofa. Shinjiro turned his attention back to the cup. Beside it was a narrow blue vial that Shinjiro quickly discovered to be empty. He recalled the dosages listed in Kirijo’s planner and chewed the inside of his cheek.
Shinjiro cobbled together a quick and dirty scheme.“Hey,” he called out, holding up the teacup.
Kirijo looked up at him from the living room. She stared at the teacup in his hands with a stricken expression.
“You don’t mind if I pour this out, do you?” he asked.
A heat of panic flashed over her eyes. Kirijo blinked it away and shook her head.“Of course not,” she murmured, pressing a smile to her lips. “It’s grown cold.”Shinjiro poured the tea down the drain, lifting his eyes just enough to catch the grim clench of Kirijo’s jaw before she looked to Koromaru, who was nosing her fingers with an urgent look. Kirijo stroked his ears with a quiet expression of guilt and concern.
Shinjiro handed Kirijo a cup of herbal tea and watched her retreat down the hallway; his thug’s intuition growling.

The bedroom door clicked shut.
Once Shinjiro was sure Kirijo was not coming back out, he allotted himself a single, muted sigh. He found a broom and dustpan in the closet and swept up the remaining pieces of glass and mopped up the melting ice. He found the breaker box near the entrance and flipped the switches until he confirmed the power had come back online.
Next, Shinjiro made good on his threat to rummage through Kirijo’s cabinets. He compiled a shopping list purely for the purposes of maintaining his cover as a culinary consultant and not for any other reason. He opened the cabinet door and discovered the ration bars were still stacked inside.“Maybe not today,” he murmured to the bars. “Maybe not tomorrow; but someday I’m going to get my filthy little hands on you and drop you in the trash where you belong.”The ration bars taunted Shinjiro with their bricklike stoicism.
“Watch your fucking back,” Shinjiro whispered to the bars before he shut the cabinet door.
The general state of Kirijo’s home now somewhat improved, Shinjiro glanced at the time. He left a message on Ogawa’s work voicemail with another set of instructions and decided to hold off on the next phone call until after sunrise.
Shinjiro turned out the lights, except for one small overhead light in the kitchen. He then selected the least torturous looking chair from the living room. He hoisted it off the ground with a muted grunt and positioned it close to the door. Shinjiro slumped into the seat, his back meeting the cushion with a crack.
Shinjiro parked himself by the door and waited for the sun to rise.

As soon as the sun was up and the risk of Kirijo’s fiance’s return had faded, Shinjiro drifted into Kirijo’s office.
His first call was to the management of Kirijo’s apartment building. The building supervisor was perplexed when Shinjiro asked about the status of the power. No outages had been reported anywhere else in the building, but the maintenance supervisor on duty would be on site shortly to check the breaker.
Shinjiro steeled himself for his next phone call.Fuuka Yamagishi picked up after the first ring. Shinjiro introduced himself and was met with her abrupt and defiantly gentle response.“I know who you are.”He stated the purpose for his call and asked Yamagishi several questions. Shinjiro anticipated their talk would be brief and would require the pitch he reserved for talking to small birds and mice.
He’d been wrong on the first account, but had kept the even-keeled voice for the duration of their discussion. For each question Shinjiro asked, Yamagishi provided clear, concise answers before countering with at least two follow up questions. The interaction left Shinjiro feeling like he was having a phone conversation with a ten-headed hydra who grew two heads for each one Shinjiro lopped off. Despite Yamagishi’s soft spoken and polite manner, she was an iron bulldog in her intellect and perception.
He knew she was sharp, but Shinjiro was still taken back by her clipped tone. He’d only met Yamagishi through the one-way lens of old recordings, but this Yamagishi was not the same mousy, diffident second-year who’d occupied the Iwatodai Dormitories almost ten years ago.
The reason for the call, and the questions, was very simple. After a tense twenty minutes of examination and cross-examination, Yamagishi agreed to help and promptly delivered one final throat punch.“I’m sure you’re a good person, Aragaki-san. But I need you to know that if anything happens to Kirijo-senpai or any of our friends, I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand what I mean by that?”Yes, Shinjiro had spent enough time in prison with the quiet, shy ones to know exactly what she meant by that. The gentle creature known as Fuuka Yamagishi would come for his head when he least expected it.
“I think I do,” Shinjiro smiled and rubbed his eyes.The line crackled with Yamagishi’s faint, sharp breaths.“I’m glad we understand each other.”She ended the call. Shinjiro pulled the phone back from his ear.“Unreal,” he muttered, just as Ogawa’s call lit up his phone.

Shinjiro passed by Kirijo’s door. He paused briefly to listen before making his way into the kitchen.
She was still sleeping, which meant he had a few minutes to slip out to the corner grocery store. The whole trip would take less than twenty minutes and he’d only be a minute or two away if the fiance decided to come back for round two. The thug’s intuition crackled, but Shinjiro pushed it back; it was only a few minutes.
Shinjiro penned a quick note and left it on Kirijo’s kitchen counter. He’d nearly made it out the front door when a soft, accusing whine stopped him dead in his tracks. Koromaru plopped down in the foyer, his ears wilted miserably and his little eyebrows pushed together in absolute devastation.
Shinjiro’s heart broke. He rushed to the dog immediately and dropped to his knees.“Come on, Koro-chan,” Shinjiro said, finding the special spot under Koromaru’s chin. “Just picking up a few things from the corner store. You know she eats like shit, right?”Koromaru agreed with a yawn that ended with a muted yowl.“I’ll be back soon,” Shinjiro promised. “You got a handle on things for a bit?”Koromaru laid a thick, wet kiss on Shinjiro’s nose. His grocery trip officially blessed, Shinjiro reached for the note on the kitchen counter and secured it under Koromaru’s collar.“Deliver this when she wakes up, okay?”Koromaru, ever the considerate companion, did not bark in the affirmative. Instead he stood on all fours and smiled at Shinjiro, tail furiously cutting the air.Shinjiro gathered the grocery bags from the counter and opened the door.“Good boy, Koro-chan.”

Shinjiro slipped through the door and noiselessly set the groceries on the counter. His jaw clenched when he surveyed the room. Kirijo was not alone.“I understand how terribly selfish I’ve been,” Kirijo said.
Kirijo was standing in the center of the living room. Koromaru was glued to her leg, staring up at her and licking his lips anxiously.
Shinjiro vaguely recognized the woman as one of the Kirijo Group representatives he’d seen watching Kirijo at the equestrian park. She wore a crisp black blazer and matching skirt and her features were set with a pageantish smile and listless eyes. She looked like she’d dropped hot out of the Kirijo Group’s Public Relations cookie cutter.
It was difficult to see them both clearly through the monstrosity atop the long side table separating the kitchen from the living room. An assortment of long-stemmed red roses jutted out from a vase the size of Shinjiro’s head. Shinjiro glanced down at the floral arrangement and found no note enclosed. He shifted around the roses and leaned back against the kitchen counter. Kirijo’s glance flickered over to him for a fraction of a second. The woman seemed not to notice.
“Yes, Mitsuru-sama,” the representative responded, sounding exultant.
“I will of course apologize to him directly,” Kirijo continued.
“Good, Mitsuru-sama,” the woman nodded, her painted-on smile turning smug.“I’m prepared to do whatever necessary to make this right.”The steady drum of anger quickened his pulse. Shinjiro kept his eyes on Kirijo.
“Excellent, Mitsuru-sama,” she said again. “We’ll start with procuring you a new pet. Now, there are several smaller, more well-behaved breeds that would complement your lifestyle. I have arranged for you to meet with a breeder.”Kirijo’s chin jerked up.
“What?” she asked.“You will have your choice between a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel or a Maltese,” the representative explained. “You’ll be featured in dozens of articles and I’m certain you’ll fuel the next lifestyle trend in pets.”Kirijo shook her head and rested her hand on the back of Koromaru’s neck.“I don’t want another dog.”The Kirijo representative’s smile did not falter.“Mitsuru-sama, as you noted just moments ago, you are being quite selfish,” she said, jabbing a finger at Koromaru. “That dangerous mongrel attacked your fiance.”Koromaru’s ears wilted with dejection. He cast a pleading gaze up to Kirijo, who looked back at him with an equally beseeching expression.

“Your fiance adores you,” the representative went on. “He would move heaven and earth to make you happy. Don’t you think you owe it to him to be more accommodating?”Shinjiro’s pulse roared in his ears.
“He is willing to reconcile just as soon as you dispose of it,” the representative continued.Koromaru shifted restlessly on his feet. He nosed Kirijo’s fingertips with a soft whimper. Kirijo shook her head down at him, her fingertips grazing the back of his head.
“Please,” Kirijo looked desperately at the woman, her eyes glistening. “He was just trying to protect me.”“Protect you?” the woman repeated with a shrill laugh. “Must you always be so dramatic, Mitsuru-sama?”
Barbed silence cut the room. Shinjiro remained slouched against the counter but the edges of his composure were slipping away like snakeskin.

“Mitsuru-sama,” the woman cajoled, her smile growing more and more tenuous by the moment. “I sincerely hope you are not implying that your fiance would ever raise his hand to you.”“No, that’s not what I meant–” Kirijo said quickly.Koromaru dragged his paw against Kirijo’s shin with an urgent whine. Shinjiro’s gaze traveled from Kirijo to Koromaru and then to the representative.“Because falsely accusing your husband-to-be of something so serious would have a disastrous effect on your family’s prestigious reputation, not to mention the name of a good man.”
“Of course, but please - this isn’t Koromaru’s fault.”Kirijo’s eyes shone with naked terror.
Shinjiro was astonished that it had taken him this long to see it. Now that he was on the edge of Kirijo’s fear instead of engaging it head on, he could see the thread so clearly.
Kirijo was terrified of what could be taken away from her.
In this moment, it was this horrible woman trying to take her cherished friend. In the living room just hours ago and before that, their confrontation around Aigis; Shinjiro had unwittingly threatened something else precious to Kirijo. Whatever it was, Kirijo was willing to wilt into a demure, meek girl to keep from drawing suspicion and she was even willing to put her own life on the fire for it.“Is this your most recent attempt to stall your wedding plans? As a wife, you will be expected to put your husband’s needs first. You mustn’t deny him anything he rightfully deserves.”Shinjiro silently seethed.
“This was just a misunderstanding. Please, I only need to speak with him in private–”The thug’s intuition hit the boiling point.“No.”The air was quashed from the room.

The representative pivoted over her shoulder and pinned Shinjiro under a surprised glower. He settled into the comfortable center of her crosshairs, inordinately satisfied that he’d pulled her attention away from Kirijo.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked with a breathy smile that did not reach her eyes.
“No,” Shinjiro repeated. “She’s not talking with him in private.”Kirijo looked ready to fly across the room to execute him.
“And the dog stays,” Shinjiro added.“Forgive me, but who are you, exactly?” the woman said.
“Her culinary consultant,” Shinjiro smiled back.“Mitsuru-sama has a chef,” she tittered. She cleared her throat and took a step toward Kirijo. “You have a chef.”Kirijo’s homicidal expression turned desperate. She waved her hands at the woman in a bid to recapture her attention.
“He’s–”“I didn’t say I was a chef,” Shinjiro said slowly. “I said I was a culinary consultant.”“You don’t need a culinary consultant,” the representative sneered at Kirijo.
Shinjiro let out a soft chuckle. The woman’s smile grew thin.
“That’s what I told her,” Shinjiro said. “I’m an old acquaintance from school and was in a tight spot. Kirijo threw me a bone and gave me a job.”The Kirijo Group representative paused and then made a slow amble toward him. Shinjiro met her gaze evenly, his arms still loosely crossed over his chest. Shinjiro watched her approach, still quite relaxed against the kitchen counter. The representative stopped inches from his place at the counter. Her eyes sparkled like a cat who’d just caught a rat.
Shinjiro suppressed a grin. Oh yes - and what a large rat he was; it would take more than an angry little kitten to drag him out the door.
He provided her with a polite, schoolboy smile. The Kirijo Group representative was attempting to fool him into thinking she could raise herself to his height. Shinjiro didn’t feel the slightest inclination to pull himself off the counter.
Her smile cut wider.“Are you trying to intimidate me?”Shinjiro let out a deep laugh. Her thin smile flickered.“Not trying at all,” he replied.A series of professional knocks came at the door.Shinjiro looked up and found Kirijo as white as a sheet, her fists clenched at her side.“You want me to get that?” he asked softly.
Shinjiro’s question seemed to thaw some of the fear in her eyes. Kirijo looked at Koromaru and then back to Shinjiro, searching for a shred of something to spark confidence. Shinjiro offered his own imploring look.He gave her an encouraging nod. Kirijo closed her eyes and took a deep breath.“Yes, if you’d be so kind,” she said.Shinjiro carefully navigated around the Kirijo representative and opened the front door. Ogawa stepped into the room in full uniform.Whatever fragments remained of the Kirijo representative’s smile shattered. She whipped her chin to Kirijo with a snarl.“What is the meaning of this?”“I asked this fine officer to consult on the process for a restraining order,” Shinjiro said while Ogawa reached for a series of forms, followed by a notepad and a pen.
“A restraining order?” she spat. “How dare you–”“Hang on,” Shinjiro said innocently. “I just wondered what kind of evidence he’d need to have in hand before someone theoretically decided to file a restraining order with the district court.”“Indication of physical violence,” Ogawa recited with the personality of a textbook. “Evidenced by a medical certificate that injuries were sustained as a result of physical violence, a photo, or an audio or video recording of the threat.”Ogawa proceeded to shuffle through the forms, taking time to summarize each in a nasally, professional tone.
The representative’s eyes were cagey. She glanced nervously to Kirijo’s neck.
“You don’t have any of that,” she snapped.“Theoretically, officer,” Shinjiro said evenly. “If someone did have that type of evidence, what then?”“Then they would file a petition for a restraining order with the district court.”“You can’t be serious. Mitsuru-sama, how could you insult your family’s legacy like this–”“I was the one who called looking for information,” Shinjiro interrupted the representative. “Anything else that happens is up to her.”The woman rounded on Kirijo.
“You would be betraying your father.”Shinjiro made a large stride to come between them when Kirijo shot him a look that bolted him to the ground. Shinjiro searched her eyes for a scrap of something; courage, fear, resolve, fucking anything that would help him plan his next move. Her expression was relaxed, amicable, and completely devoid of fire.
Shinjiro suppressed the budding snarl on his lips into a pinched frown. Fight, he wanted to scream. Fuck whatever you're scheming or plotting and fight–Kirijo’s focus clicked over to the representative.
“I won’t.”Her feathery response sent Shinjiro’s gut plummeting.
His brain started churning out possibilities; this was going to be a logistical nightmare. No way in hell was Kirijo going to be in the same city block as that guy without Shinjiro or an officer around, but how was he supposed to discreetly manage that while working two jobs–“Provided that man never steps foot in my home again.”Shinjiro’s heart soared.
The representative stepped back, her face contorted with rage. The saccharine voice she’d used earlier was replaced with a snarl.

“You have been a wild, petulant child for far too long, Mitsuru-sama. It’s time you grew up and accepted your place in this company as a wife and mother–”“Thank you for visiting,” Kirijo said. “I want you to leave now.”Shinjiro kept from clicking his heels and turned to the representative with a helpful smile.
“Looks like we’ve got a deal. You keep the guy, she keeps the dog.”“This is not over,” the woman turned her nose up, her lip curling with disdain. She swept toward the door so fast Ogawa practically had to dive to get out of her way. Shinjiro followed her to the door.She paused abruptly and turned over her shoulder.“Mitsuru-sama,” she said quietly. “There is a certain unit that has still not been recovered from the break-in at the Asahikawa Labs from several years ago. Perhaps you have remembered some information regarding this incident?”Kirijo looked the woman in the eye, her expression composed.“Of course not.”Shinjiro, accustomed to throwing out unruly individuals who’d stayed past their welcome, chivalrously opened the door for the representative.

Shinjiro was prepared to throw the roses down the garbage chute, but Kirijo managed to twist Ogawa’s arm into taking them away. Ogawa handed Shinjiro an envelope and let himself out.
Kirijo shut the front door and turned to face Shinjiro.Oh, he’d stepped in it all right.
Shinjiro stood in wait and readied himself for the inevitable conclusion.
Kirijo’s eyes were red and puffy but steadily focused on him. He drew himself up, still not to full height, but tall enough to hold his ground against the coming storm.
Kirijo’s lips trembled and he could see her breath quickening by the rise and fall of her chest.
The clouds gathered. The air grew still. He could see it unfolding all so clearly. First the scolding, then accusations of recklessness, meddling, backed up in full by declarations that she’d had a handle on all of it and didn’t need him getting in the middle of her affairs–Kirijo rushed into his chest and instantly soaked the front of his shirt. Shinjiro swayed slightly and instinctively wrapped his arms around Kirijo’s shoulders, taking care not to crush the side she’d injured in Inaba.As Kirijo unleashed a wave of tears into Shinjiro’s chest, two equally potent urges pulled him in opposite directions - to keep his hands steady on her back until she wore herself out; just another moment or two. This was the professional option. The second less professional option was to pull her closer and grant permission for maybe just one hand to wander upward, over the delicate line of her neck, and slip through the soft length of her hair before reassuringly cupping the crown of her head.
Kirijo trembled against him, her shoulders stiff from her sobs.
“Come on, you’re okay,” he sighed. “You’re okay.”She showed no signs of letting up; fuck it. Shinjiro swept a hand into Kirijo’s hair and cupped her head against his chest, his other hand professional and steady between her shoulder blades.“Thank you,” she choked against his chest, pulling him tighter to unleash another wave of hot tears against his shirt.
Why the fuck was she thanking him? Shinjiro hadn’t been remotely close enough to reach her in time to be of any use. Even after he’d arrived, it’s not like he’d done anything useful other than snitch.
Kirijo shook with another poorly muffled sob. Shinjiro’s brain clicked over to informant mode.A normal, decent person would not even consider using a situation like this to their advantage. A good person would patiently let Kirijo drench their shirt with her tears until she was finished, without a hint of an ulterior motive.
The Artful Dodger did not belong to this class of citizen. Kirijo was vulnerable. This was the perfect moment to seize something from her; the truth about her planners, the letters, the secret travels, how she’d managed to get her shoulder nearly dislocated in the Inaba Junes, what had paralyzed her when she’d been physically threatened - all of it was fair game for the informant. If Shinjiro asked Kirijo for the truth now, she would be too fragile to lie.
Shinjiro took in a deliberate breath.“You really want to thank me?”Kirijo nodded into his chest.
“Okay,” he exhaled.
“I’m an asshole on a good day, Kirijo. Getting my beauty sleep is a matter of national security. So if you really want to thank me and protect society at large, please no more karaoke bars or surprise visitors after midnight.”She sniffled into his shirt.
“Yes.”Shinjiro pulled back and gave her good shoulder a squeeze. He reached back to the counter for the envelope Ogawa had handed him and opened it with a bone weary sigh.“Iori Junpei,” he placed a blank key card on the counter. “Takeba Yukari, Yamagishi Fuuka.”Kirijo tracked his movements as Shinjiro placed each keycard from the envelope to the counter, her eyes dancing between bemusement and hope.
Shinjiro pulled out another keycard and leveled it at Kirijo’s nose.“Arisato Aigis, on the condition that she meets weekly with Yamagishi for a systems check to make sure she’s not compromised. Got it?”
Kirijo nodded and looked at the envelope with growing anxiety. There were no keycards remaining. Shinjiro frowned at her while she searched for him, her translucently hopeful gaze turning to betrayal.“Kirijo,” he sighed. “We need to talk about Amada.”“What do you need to know?” she said eagerly, wiping her face with the back of her wrists. “I can tell you anything you need–”“That’s not how this works.”“He’s studying law and he plays soccer. He’s living in Tokyo,” Kirijo went on. “He’s in love, or rather, I think he’s in love. It’s so difficult to know with Amada–”“He’s not cooperating,” Shinjiro said carefully. “He’s avoiding calls from the station. I can’t give him a card.”Kirijo looked at the counter despondently and said nothing. Shinjiro despised that look. That look of helpless entrapment and dismay, as if everything she loved was being taken away from her and nothing she could do would change that.

Shinjiro rubbed his face and felt the last three days seeping out of every pore.
“Look, the faster Amada calls Ogawa and answers a few questions, the faster he can wrap up the last pieces of his background check. If you talk to him, have him call the station. Okay?”Kirijo swallowed and nodded at the empty envelope on the counter. Despite the bad news that Amada would not be joining the brigade of home-invaders and karaoke deviants, Kirijo looked hopeful. She looked like she might even smile.
Kirijo’s friends were strange, but they were good people and the risk was negligible. If having them around, burning her shit and dragging her to karaoke made her happy, then maybe she’d take better care of herself.
“I’m supposed to be keeping an eye out for threats around you, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said. “You want Kurosawa off your back, then I need your friends’ help with that. I could really use yours too. So if there’s any information you can share on the topic of threats to your safety, I’d really appreciate it.”
Kirijo nodded and even though she said nothing, Shinjiro enjoyed a fleeting sense of peace from her nascent smile. That peaceful silence floated between them and lasted precious seconds before the long-promised knock down, drag out fight finally began.
“You need to eat something that hasn’t been in a cupboard for forty years,” Shinjiro grunted, reaching for the grocery bag. “You look half dead.”“Don’t concern yourself,” she snapped, back in full Kirijo armor. “I can take care of myself–”“Huh,” Shinjiro interrupted her with a curt laugh. “You look like you’re going to pass out. When was the last time you had an actual meal?”Kirijo opened her mouth only to bite her lip.
Shinjiro froze. Holy shit, he was winning? He was winning. Still got it, Aragaki, still got it–“Sit down,” he said. “This should only take a few minutes to whip up.”“Enough of the culinary consultant ruse, Aragaki. Go,” she thrust her hand toward the guest bedroom. “Sleep. Don’t come out until you’ve rested. You look dreadful.”Koromaru barked with whole-hearted agreement – and that just plain hurt Shinjiro’s feelings. He soldiered on.“The sooner you eat, the sooner I sleep.”Kirijo glanced down at the groceries. Shinjiro’s victory was nigh, so close he could taste it. Sure he looked like shit, but food was a more basic need than sleep, even Kirijo couldn’t argue with that. She’d just have to deal with him uglying up the place for another twenty minutes.“Aragaki,” she said softly to the bag. “What were you planning on cooking?”Shinjiro sensed a trap.
“Kinpira Gobo,” he answered warily. “It’ll go well with most things and keeps well in the fridge.”“I see,” she nodded. “And, will you be using a recipe for your version of kinpira?”“My version?” he parroted, reaching into the grocery bag. His hands snatched at the empty corners.He went rigid.Fuck.
Shinjiro had picked up sesame oil, mirin, sesame seeds; everything he needed. Everything except the main fucking ingredients. He’d forgotten the carrots and the gobo.
Shinjiro Aragaki: Culinary failure.He met Kirijo’s pitying stare.
“There are extra blankets in the closet,” she said patiently.Shinjiro only lived two blocks away and could easily return home to sleep. The mere idea of returning to his car and driving home loomed before him like some supernatural task. Shinjiro had funneled every remaining ounce of his thug prowess and cunning with the Kirijo representative. He was running on fumes and when it came down to it, he knew he wouldn’t feel entirely at ease about leaving Kirijo alone until he’d had a few hours of shut-eye to reset his brain and cortisol levels.
He trudged down the hallway like the loser he was.Shinjiro paused outside the guest bedroom. Kirijo stood with her arms sternly crossed and Koromaru a wagging, panting fixture at her side. They stood in silence at opposite ends of the hallway.“I'm sorry I didn't get here on time,” Shinjiro said. “That I wasn't here when…”Shinjiro curled his fingertips to the thick white scar against his palm. Kirijo slowly uncrossed her arms. Her expression shifted.“You don't need to–”
“It won't happen again.”Shinjiro was tired and still pissed and the thick, gravely tone of his voice was proof. Kirijo's expression slackened with surprise. He gave her a hard look and waited for her to speak.
“Thank you for coming back,” she murmured.Shinjiro hesitated to enter the guest bedroom. He stared at the door in resignation.“Do you really have a chef?”
he asked.Kirijo shifted on her feet.“Yes.”Shinjiro nodded at the door handle.“You like what they cook?”“No,” she answered.Shinjiro frowned.“Why not?” he asked.“It lacks warmth,” Kirijo answered.

Koromaru nipped at his heels and ushered him into the bedroom like Shinjiro was a rebellious sheep in need of herding. With Koromaru tucked against him, Shinjiro dropped to the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep whisked him away as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Shinjiro slept for an unknown amount of time.
A dreamy song emanated down the hallway and trickled over Shinjiro’s senses. Distant piano keys thrummed out a pliant, slightly out of tune song. The notes gathered, rising lightly with joy and then falling just as softly in sorrow.

Shinjiro listened to the song in the blurred and timeless space between sleep and waking. This space had been preceded by dreams ever since Aki’s death. Rich, deep dreams steeped in the flavor of Aki’s lips, the dryness of his hands, the thrill of his voice in his ear - and then it would be snatched away. Aki’s touch would go cold. The abyss of waking waited for him always, and there the austere grief would rush over him like a waterfall and leave a lingering cold in his bones for hours on end.
Now in the space of Kirijo’s home, warm under the covers, the line between sleep and waking was different.
Koromaru snored softly and Shinjiro carefully turned onto his side and listened as Kirijo weaved out an undulating melody, never falling or rising too dramatically.
Outside, the light was shifting. Shinjiro imagined the world below Kirijo’s apartment building. He imagined the sounds of people walking to the train station, their shoes clacking along the sidewalk. He pictured bikes whirring by. He imagined the plain songs of the forever nameless little brown birds perched on the trees, now exotic and new with mystery.

The piano, bewitched by Kirijo’s nimble hands, tumbled out another velveteen verse.
The song stopped for a single, aching moment before Kirijo began playing once more from the beginning.
Mid-morning gave way to a rich, maple light. The piano continued its haunting melody under Kirijo’s touch. The afternoon sun poured into the room and Shinjiro sensed the world outside not as an endless void but as an unlocked and open door. He closed his eyes and with nowhere to hide, allowed himself to be warmed.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

May 4, 2009

“It’s good to see you.”Mitsuru offered Shinjiro a muted smile as he approached. Shinjiro greeted her without returning the smile.
The air was light with the hum of spring. Shinjiro had formulated his opening line when the wind shook a flurry of cherry blossoms loose from the trees.
A cluster of blossoms fell into Mitsuru’s hair and without thinking, Shinjiro reached over and pulled them out.
A slight blush swept over Mitsuru’s cheeks and Shinjiro realized that when autumn came, he’d miss seeing the way her hair danced in the breeze, how the color seamlessly washed into October’s regal spectrum of golds, greens, and yellows.“Thank you,” she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and tried to smooth away the wind’s wild influence. “The weather has been rather unpredictable lately.”Shinjiro nodded. He selected a spot on the opposite end of the bench and placed a generous distance between himself and Mitsuru.

The trees rattled beside them, the birds warbling out their secretive songs from the branches. Wild Duck Burger was unexpectedly closed. Mitsuru was disappointed that they wouldn’t be having lunch together but seemed glad to see him. What better way for Shinjiro to improve the mood of the situation by informing her that he’d be leaving Port Island without any set plans to come back.
Shinjiro waited for her to absorb the information. He set his gaze to watch the cars passing by on the road.“Have you told Akihiko?” she asked.Shinjiro raised his eyes, pointing to the twin black circles under his eyes.“What does it look like?”“Where will you go?” she asked, twisting toward him urgently.“Bangkok, then somewhere else. Don’t know yet.”“What will you do for money?” she asked, moving closer to him.
“Cook. Clean. Whatever I can find.”Mitsuru paused, her eyebrows pushing closer together. She was going to give herself a headache looking like that. She shifted closer to him. Shinjiro’s shoulders drew tense.“Where will you stay?” she asked.“Hostels, at least for a little while,” Shinjiro answered.“Is that safe? How will we get in touch with you?”“I’ll figure it out. It’s what I do.”Mitsuru moved closer to him on the bench.“What if I could assist you somehow?”“Here we go,” Shinjiro chuckled at his feet. Mitsuru moved closer and pressed her hands to her thighs.
“I know that I haven’t reached out and for that I apologize. I didn’t want to push you, considering everything that’s happened,” Mitsuru rubbed her hands together. “This isn’t the only path forward, Shinjiro. The woman - Amada - she’s recovered quite well. She’s progressing through physical therapy–”“I don’t want to hear it.”“It was an accident,” she murmured.“It doesn’t matter.”“So you’re just going to exile yourself? Throw away your future to punish yourself? What about school?” she asked, sliding closer to him. “What about our–”“Things change,” Shinjiro said, standing up and stepping away from the bench. “Shit happens. Look, I just need to figure some things out. I can’t do that here. I can’t hear my own thoughts in this city.”Kirijo’s hair drifted in the wind. She drew in a deep breath, her eyes flitting to his.
Shinjiro looked away, unprepared for the sudden, unexpected pain in her expression. His eyes drifted to the ribbon tied at the base of her throat. Sometimes when they’d studied together, he’d envisioned taking the ends of that ribbon between two fingers and slowly unraveling it from its knot. He’d memorized the number of buttons on her blouse: there were six. He’d imagined nudging his fingertips against the curve of each one with unhurried, deliberate movements. Shinjiro imagined her eyes heavy with desire. He conjured visions of her breath and how it might rise and fall and quiver with each loosened button.There was such little time remaining. This could be the last time he saw her. Rather than a slow daydream of her, Shinjiro was filled with a pang of urgency. He could reach her so easily from here. Shinjiro could lift her to her feet and pull her against him, rush his lips and tongue to hers, take her by the waist and the back of her neck and curve her body to his and not let go–
“Please don’t go.”Shinjiro frowned at his feet, his breath catching in his chest at the sound of her voice. He tried to stamp out the sudden flush of heat in his stomach and ground himself back to his initial intention. He needed to leave Port Island but the sorrow in Kirijo’s voice gave him pause.
It was strange. Mitsuru Kirijo wasn’t the type to inject feelings into a conversation. She’d been a persona user long enough that she’d developed a robust intuition for battle, for a good plan and a bad plan. Shinjiro chalked her feelings to the ambushed delivery. Over time she’d see this was the best way forward for everyone. She’d forget him. Soon, Shinjiro and the nightmare he’d created would be nothing but a bad dream.
“Look after Aki for me, will you?” Shinjiro asked.“He doesn’t listen to me,” she countered. “Not the way he listens to you.”“Sorry I couldn’t buy you lunch,” Shinjiro said. “Another time.”Mitsuru gazed up at him in response, her confusion pressed between her eyebrows and eyes wet with unfallen tears.
“Come on, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said quietly. “Don’t give me that look.”

Shinjiro held the paper thin disc in his palm.
The item was roughly the size of a coin and lighter than a paperclip. Ogawa joined him in gawking at the device, looking as mystified as Shinjiro felt.
“So…” Ogawa began.Shinjiro’s eyes narrowed on the object, a spike of annoyance filling his throat. He kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t Ogawa’s fault.
The slightest shift in the breeze would’ve sent him spitting this morning.
Two days ago, Shinjiro had received copies of Hanae Sanada’s course summary from Oxford. The documents confirmed that Kirijo had collected a smattering of languages under her pseudonym as well as several specialized courses.
Kirijo was due to travel to Amman in two days and apart from a few letters, Shinjiro hadn’t obtained any intel on why she’d opted for Jordan, where exactly she was going, who she was meeting with, or what she was planning on doing.
Shinjiro shifted his glare to the technician and commanded him to reveal the secrets of the disc. The tech smiled cordially back at him.
“There’s an adhesive on the other side,” he explained. “Once you’ve found a fixed target, just peel off the back here and attach it. You’ll be able to activate it using an app.”Shinjiro muttered a less than sincere thanks and made his way to Kurosawa’s office.As if the old fashioned peel and stick was the hard part.
Kurosawa rubbed his eyes with a long sigh and reached for the antacid drawer. Not even eight in the morning and Shinjiro had already put Kurosawa in a piss poor mood to match his own.
Kurosawa freebased his coffee and reached for the phone, the shut the fuck up and sit still writ large in his scowl.
Shinjiro had informed him that Kirijo was pulling the bait and switch, traveling to Amman and not Dubai, without a clear handle on who she’d be meeting there and what sort of mayhem she’d be orchestrating. Kurosawa took the news just about as well as expected and began making arrangements for Shinjiro to tag along.
Shinjiro witnessed the phone calls his handler made to both employers, feeling a blast of second-hand ass clenching as Kurosawa relayed that Shinjiro needed to be excused from working for the next week in order to assist on a critical police matter. Credentials were provided as a matter of procedure. Follow up questions were not provided or invited. Kurosawa dropped the receiver back to the cradle with a grunt.

“Your priority is to watch her back,” Kurosawa leveled a finger at him. “Got it?”“She’s up to something,” Shinjiro mused, rubbing his chin.Kurosawa slammed the desk drawer close and aimed his finger at Shinjiro, this time with homicidal enthusiasm.
“Watch. Her. Ba–”“Watch her back, I will,” Shinjiro said. “Obviously I will but–”Kurosawa stood up, presumably to run and hide in the evidence room and never come out.
“Look, if you get some intel while you’re there, then I expect you to loop me in, but your priority is Kirijo’s safety. You won’t get fired from your other jobs and I’ve got my assistant working on your travel details. Just do what you do best.”“Disappear.”Kurosawa nodded and pointed to the door.“Get to it, Artful Dodger.”

Shinjiro texted Kirijo and received a prompt response.
She greeted him with some obligatory teasing about which little tie and vest he’d be wearing for their meeting today and then granted permission for him to come by for a few checks on the security system.
She opened the door for Shinjiro shortly after he’d knocked and immediately disarmed him with a smile.
Shinjiro’s stomach twisted in on itself with a hard clurk. He cleared his throat to cover the sound and offered her a disinterested nod.A month had passed since the incident with Kirijo’s uninvited fiance. Shinjiro had lingered in her apartment until the locksmith had arrived and had watched him change the locks before he’d reluctantly returned home. Since that day, not much had transpired. Shinjiro had picked up an old prison favorite from his bookshelf. He’d kept his regulars happy at the Obelisk and carefully parked customers’ cars at L’Etoile Brasserie.

Kirijo’s fiance had not come back.
This, as well as the access cards granted to Kirijo’s friends, had resulted in cooperation levels reaching an all time high since Shinjiro’s assignment. Of course, the key cards meant an increased exposure to risk and Shinjiro was naturally required to check in on Kirijo more frequently. It was his job.
He’d drop by two or three times a week. After some time, Shinjiro noticed the cramped and uncomfortable Victorian furniture slowly being phased out and replaced with chairs upholstered with soft, plush velvet that threatened to swallow Shinjiro whole.
A sofa was soon added, and while it complemented the chairs, Shinjiro had been astonished that it wasn’t from the same matching set.
The piano cover was almost always open and Kirijo would play while he tested the security system or asked questions about any unusual activity or persons she’d noticed when going about her day to day activities. Sometimes Shinjiro would be too lost in the melody of her playing to ask any questions.
Kirijo would play one song more than others. It was the piece she’d played the morning he’d stayed in her guest room and as much as he enjoyed hearing her play, he enjoyed telling her to learn a new song more.Kirijo would stand up from the bench and inform Shinjiro that he could only complain about her playing if he had an alternative suggestion or request for a song.
She would stretch the long column of her neck back and then push her head side to side with an almost sleepy smile, leaving Shinjiro mute and unable to think of a counter-remark until three in the morning, which was when he often found himself awake and replaying their last meeting.After completing the regular task of putting Shinjiro in his place, Kirijo would carefully close the cover to the piano and move into the kitchen or her office. A glow would follow her from room to room, from sentence to sentence. It haloed out and absorbed Shinjiro in its path, soothing him from the inside out long after he’d returned to his apartment.
He’d test the security system and sometimes, when he’d reserved enough mental acuity to ask Kirijo his questions, Shinjiro would go about his task of rifling through Kirijo’s cabinets. He had to be judicious about what and how much he snuck in. A bag of rice here, a can of vegetables there.
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when Shinjiro opened the cabinet door and found the ration bars still at their post.
“Clock’s a ticking,” he’d muttered to his nemesis.“Did you say something?” Kirijo had called from the living room.“I said I need to use your kitchen,” he’d responded. “Lots of shifts this week. I could use a little space to meal prep. You don’t mind, do you?”“Of course,” she’d said over her playing that same goddamn song.He’d prepared bento meals consisting of karaage, rice, edamame, and miscellaneous fruit for the week. Half of it was placed in Kirijo’s refrigerator. Shinjiro reserved a defensible portion for himself and invited Kirijo to share the remaining fixings with him for dinner.
Kirijo took a greedy bite of a piece of chicken before Shinjiro could warn her that it was still hot from the frying pan. She began flailing her hands around her mouth in distress.
“Water, Kirijo, water,” he said and absolutely did not laugh.
She’d choked back a terrified squeal. Shinjiro had watched her down an entire glass of ice water, her cheeks flushed and her eyes full of mirth when he was hit with a sudden and terrifying realization. Shinjiro had begun looking forward to their check-ins.
He crushed the sentiment with logic. It wasn’t anything to do with Kirijo herself. It was his job to make people comfortable. It was his job to disarm, infiltrate, listen, and snitch. So what if he enjoyed his job?
Any prior sense of job satisfaction tanked the second Kirijo opened the door to her home.
Today Shinjiro was here to serve in the capacity of an unpleasant informant. Kirijo was opening up in some ways, but not in the ways he needed. He’d need to make one last ditch effort to pry the truth about Dubai and Amman out of Kirijo, which meant not only risking the good will they’d built up but any progress Shinjiro had made figuring out what the hell she was up to.“Tending cars or bars today?” she asked blithely, moving aside for him to kneel down and thoroughly work Koromaru over with head and neck scratches.“Neither,” Shinjiro said abruptly.
“All work and no play,” she smiled. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be in my office when you’re ready for our check-in.”“Thanks,” he muttered.
Koromaru whined with concern.
Stupid Kirijo and her stupid earnest hospitality.
Shinjiro went about his work and once finished, he knocked on Kirijo’s office door unassumingly. She beckoned him to enter and he sat down carefully across from her.
“I’ve set the cameras to stay on while you’re gone,” he said. “Any movements that get picked up on the motion sensor will ping both of us.”“Very good,” she responded to her planner, turning a page before pivoting back to her computer.
Shinjiro did not excuse himself. Kirijo leaned back in her seat and folded her arms against her chest.“You busy?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“All work and no play makes Kirijo a dull girl.”“Since when does Shinjiro Aragaki play?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.“I’ve been inspired by my customers,” he said. “Got a few regulars who like to play truth or dare. Thought I’d try my hand at it. Indulge me in a round, Kirijo.”She scowled with immediate suspicion.“Unless you’ve got something to hide?” Shinjiro added.Dare, Kirijo.Kirijo held her palms out, her features softening with an easy smile.“If it will amuse you,” she paused. “I choose truth.”“How’d you hurt your shoulder last month?”“My…” Kirijo crossed her arm to her shoulder with a contemplative frown. “Tennis.”
Shinjiro tilted his head in consideration.
Kirijo awarded him with a freshly minted blank stare. Her eyes swept over him, trying to gauge him without looking like anything less than a woman sitting before an idiot who liked to waste valuable time.
Shinjiro gave her a bland smile, his eyes crinkling. The cigarette he smoked outside was fresh on his lips. He ran his tongue over his teeth and wondered if Kirijo could smell it on him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Shinjiro asked; low, quiet, and still friendly.
Another turn of the page.
“Play truth or dare?” Kirijo said to her stupid fake planner, unbothered. “Clearly, I don’t have anything better to do, now do I?”“No, Kirijo. Are you sure you want to go to Dubai?”“Is this part of the game?”“Depends on how you answer,” he said.“Why wouldn’t I want to go to Dubai?” Kirijo asked with a tepid laugh. She tapped the tip of her pen against her planner and leaned forward with a reassuring smirk. Her skin was gaunt, her cheekbones cutting a sharp line in the afternoon light.
“A lot’s happened,” Shinjiro explained. “Seems like you could use some time away from the limelight. Maybe rest up.”“I agree,” she smiled thinly.
“Which is why a week in Dubai is precisely what I need. Quite frankly, I’m not the only one in need of a reprieve.”She arched an eyebrow: Pivot. Shift. Saw that one a mile away, Kirijo.Shinjiro nodded.“Was reviewing your planner before I came over. You’ve got a nail appointment today.”“I do,” she nodded.“What kind?”“French tip,” she replied. “Classic. Easy.”“Truth or dare.”“Isn’t it my turn?” she laughed.“I didn’t say truth or dare,” Shinjiro said mildly. “That was just friendly chit-chat. Wasn’t part of the game.”Kirijo crossed her arms on top of the desk.
“Truth.”Dare, Shinjiro corrected. Kirijo wore her competitiveness differently than Aki. Hers was refined, quiet, but just as reckless and hot under the encouragement of a little friendly fire. Just like Aki, Kirijo couldn’t resist a dare, even in the form of a juvenile game.
“How many times did you beat Aki at leg wrestling?”Kirijo’s lips turned upward. Not a tell this time, but an attempt at a smile. She stared at her planner for a moment and then nodded.“More than five, but less than ten. Truth or dare, Aragaki.”Another flick of the wrist, another page turned.“Truth,” Shinjiro wagered.“What are you reading?” she asked.“The Count of Monte Cristo.”Kirijo’s wrist stilled, just for a moment. Her smile flickered into a grim frown and faded too fast for Shinjiro to gauge.
“A classic tale of revenge,” she said evenly.
“Among other things,” Shinjiro replied; low, quiet, less friendly.
“Your favorite?” she pressed, her pen an even metronome against the planner.“Not so fast,” Shinjiro shook his head with a smile. “It’s your turn. Truth or dare.”“Dare.”“Leg wrestle me,” Shinjiro said.
Kirijo closed her planner.“Truth,” she said.“What happened to your shoulder?” he asked.“You asked that already. Your turn.”“Truth,” Shinjiro shrugged.“How did you obtain access to the Kirijo Group archives?”“I’m an informant,” Shinjiro held his hands out innocently. Kirijo shook her head with a mirthless smile.“I think you could endeavor to be a little more transparent, Aragaki.”“Likewise, Kirijo.”“Answer the question,” she said softly.“I have connections and if I don’t, I make them. Your turn.”“Truth,” she said, voice dark.Dare, Shinjiro corrected with a relaxed smile. Dare, whether she knew it or not.“Were you at Suang Si Daeng the day I was released?”Kirijo pulled away from the planner as if she’d touched a hot stove.
Dare: Look at me when you lie, Kirijo.
Kirijo’s eyes settled on her desk. She turned the page of her planner and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. Her lips quirked. Shinjiro clocked each movement, each consuming only fractions of a second. Kirijo glanced up and ran him through with an unflinching stare.“No.”Shinjiro nodded and excused himself to perform an extra check of the security system. Once complete, he let himself out without saying goodbye. Shinjiro exited the building and unearthed a fresh cigarette from his pocket. He craned his neck back up at the high-rise and covered his eyes with his sunglasses.
Kirijo was losing her touch.

Shinjiro secured his hair into an elastic band to keep it out of his face. He donned his sunglasses and stepped onto the tarmac a few paces behind the third party bodyguard Kirijo had hired out.He stopped a short distance from her and gave her a succinct once over.
“Aragaki,” she sighed, all boredom and disappointment. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”“Came to see you off.”
“Thoughtful of you,” she sniffed.Shinjiro assessed her meticulously through his tinted sunglasses. The wind lashed around them, sending Shinjiro’s ponytail whipping against his neck and face.
In contrast, she wore her hair under a silk black scarf, tied around her chin in the vintage style. There wasn’t a stray hair or flyaway in sight. She wore a thin pair of opera gloves that were pulled into the loose sleeves of her green silk dress.Behind her, several attendants ascended the ramp to the modest jet, their arms heavy with suitcases.
From what little Shinjiro could see of her face, her cheeks were lightly dusted with rouge, her mouth tinted with matte lipstick the shade of red wine. She wouldn’t be removing her sunglasses, but if she did Shinjiro was sure he’d see the rest of her makeup was just as immaculately applied.
This woman would stop traffic as soon as she arrived in Dubai.
Shinjiro smiled down at her gloved hands.
“How was the nail appointment?”
She executed a scoffing noise.
“What do you want?” she said languidly, crossing her arms.“Just a little friendly check-in before your big trip. Wanted to see how you were doing,” he paused. “If you had any pre-flight jitters.”“Of course not, Aragaki.”Her security detail was positioned nearby, looking like a kid on his first day of school with no parent in sight. Poor bastard.“You sure you want to do this?” Shinjiro asked her, nodding to the jet.“Don’t be absurd,” she replied. “You know I’ve been looking forward to this for months.”“Right,” Shinjiro took a moment to readjust his hair out of the elastic band before coaxing it back in. “Take it easy on your security detail, all right? Seems like a good guy.”“It won’t be an issue,” she said crisply. “So long as he stays out of the way.”“Is there anything I should know before you get on that plane?” Shinjiro asked once more.“Yes. You’ve outstayed your welcome,” she said shortly.
“You can resume dispensing your inane questions once I’ve returned.”“Well put,” Shinjiro smiled.Without another word, she scaled the ramp to the private jet, her security escort and cohort of assistants trailing behind her. The afternoon sun caused Shinjiro's sunglasses to slip down his nose slightly.
She paused at the jet door to throw one more withering glare over her shoulder; sunglasses, hair, dress, and lips set with practiced aplomb. Shinjiro pushed his sunglasses up his nose. He offered her a loose two-fingered salute and paired it with a polite smile.“Bon voyage.”

Shinjiro tapped his first class ticket to his thigh. First on, first off, Kurosawa had grumbled. He'd made it clear that the travel arrangements were a strategy play and Shinjiro wasn’t being rewarded for being such a good rat. Shinjiro had accepted his lot in life with grace.He set himself apart at a nearby gate, watching the other passengers congregate in the waiting area until the boarding door opened. The announcement for the flight was issued and Shinjiro surrounded himself with a flock of travelers and slipped onto the plane.
Once Shinjiro was ensconced in his first class seat, he adjusted the brim of the baseball cap over his forehead and settled a different pair of sunglasses over on the bridge of his nose. Shinjiro completed the look by dropping his chin against his neck pillow and comported himself into the form of a drooling, exhausted traveler. With his gaze partitioned behind the tinted lenses of his sunglasses, Shinjiro situated himself into a position that allowed him a clear view of the aisle. His line of sight now open, he shifted his focus to the boarding door.

The remaining passengers slowly boarded, including a woman in a simple three-quarter sleeve shirt, large framed glasses, and a loose fitting hat.
She filed by and sorted herself into coach class.
He indulged in a wry smile once she passed, his head still limp against the neck pillow. Shinjiro Aragaki was flying first class and Mitsuru Kirijo was crammed back in coach; what a world.

Shinjiro cleared customs without trouble. He purchased himself a cheap cup of coffee and waited in a crowd of tourists flocked around baggage claim. Kirijo joined the herd and removed her hat, smoothing out her hair and attempting to put herself together after a fifteen hour flight. In typical fashion, she seemed completely unimpressed and apathetic toward her surroundings, a fact that had once annoyed him was now starting to genuinely piss him off.
The carousel lurched to life. Shinjiro ambled toward her, waiting just a few steps to her left.
Kirijo spotted her luggage and loped toward the carousel; dazed, weary, and ripe for the kill. Shinjiro stepped forward. He reached around her and plucked the bag from the conveyor belt.“Here, let me help you with that.”“Thank you, but I can manage–”Kiirjo reached for the handle and froze. Shinjiro set the suitcase on the ground and removed his sunglasses. Kirijo fossilized before his eyes.

Shinjiro smiled and carefully wheeled the suitcase to his side.
“I insist.”“Ya, Miss Kirijo!”
A tall, thin man emerged from the crowd of people, waving at them with a large grin.
His face had been soaked by the sun, deep lines around the corners of his eyes and mouth from smiling and laughing. His eyebrows were thick and dark, with a matching thick mustache. He squinted at Kirijo with a wave and offered Shinjiro a polite, confused smile.Shinjiro smiled at him and then smiled at Kirijo expectantly; good-natured, happy smiles for all.
Kirijo plastered a thin look of cheer over her panic. Shinjiro watched as her attention snagged between the man before her and Shinjiro. She offered her host a warm, but clearly nervous greeting. The man frowned at her reaction and turned to Shinjiro with a bemused look.
Shinjiro didn’t know a word of Arabic but he knew the signature disquiet of being in the spotlight.

Kirijo began gesturing to Shinjiro uncomfortably, her gaze switching between the ground, Shinjiro, and the man who’d come to receive her. Each time Kirijo looked at him, Shinjiro caught a new emotion passing over, though each one was rimmed with bright anger.
A sudden light crossed over the older man’s expression. He reached into his pocket and fished out a pair of glasses and then reached into another pocket for a small handheld device. He pushed a button and spoke into the device before showing Shinjiro the screen.

Peace be upon you. I am Amir Al-Tamimi. I did not know Miss Kirijo was bringing a guest! Welcome.

Mr. Al-Tamimi pushed the translator into Shinjiro’s hands. Kirijo re-fossilized. Shinjiro took the pocket translator and spoke into it.“Sorry for the inconvenience.
It's nice to meet you. I’m Shinjiro Aragaki.”Mr. Al-Tamimi nodded good naturedly.

Her bodyguard?

Kirijo’s eyes narrowed at the word. She opened her mouth to deliver what promised to be a less than succinct no, but didn’t arrive in time to either language.

“That’s right,” Shinjiro responded into the translator. He paused and locked eyes with Kirijo before putting on a different smile. “Here to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.”Mr. Al-Tamimi listened to the relay and bellowed out a laugh before responding.

You have your work cut out for you, poor man. Follow me. Everyone is waiting.

Mr. Al-Tamimi began walking toward the exit. Shinjiro turned to Kirijo and graced her with a smile.“Shall we?” he held his arm out of her.
Kirijo lifted her chin slightly. Her assessment indicated that she viewed Shinjiro as an oversized troglodyte that had suddenly crawled into her path and made itself comfortable. It was an accurate assessment. Shinjiro had pinned her two choices: incite an international incident or go along to get along.
Kirijo fell in line and took his arm.
The two followed Mr. Al-Tamimi out of the terminal while Shinjiro kept Kirijo’s luggage a careful hostage at his side.

A private car was waiting outside. The heat and noise and traffic slammed over him all at once. His grip on Kirijo’s arm tightened on reflex. She squeezed back, though Shinjiro wasn’t sure if it was “ease the fuck up on my arm” squeeze or “don’t you dare pass out because I’m not going to catch you” squeeze.
Shinjiro tried to relax while Kirijo conferred with Mr. Al-Tamimi without the use of the translator. Shinjiro went into observation mode. He detected nothing in Mr. Al-Tamimi’s tone other than a genial line of questioning. His gestures and the way he maintained space between himself and Kirijo was nothing if not fatherly.
It should have been reassuring. The thug’s intuition stirred from its brief respite.A man twice the size of Mr. Al-Tamimi appeared and transferred Kirijo’s luggage into the trunk. He opened the door and ushered Kirijo into the backseat. Sensing the grim climate he was about to step into, Shinjiro considered asking Mr. Al-Tamimi if he’d consider sitting between them.
The driver then opened the passenger side door for Mr. Al-Tamimi, who gave Shinjiro another wave before stepping into the vehicle. Shinjiro’s opportunity to request protection came and went.Shinjiro slipped into the backseat and immediately noticed Kirijo had raised the partition between the driver and backseat.
The door shut.
The sound of the lock engaging rang out like a death knell.“Uh oh.”Kirijo gripped him by the back of his neck and bent him forward, twisting his arm back with one sharp movement. Shinjiro’s back cracked from the sudden pressure, and he almost thanked her for the complimentary spinal adjustment.
“You cannot begin to fathom what it’s taken for me to reach this day,” she whispered against the back of his ear.
Kirijo was pressed close to him, her lips just shy of grazing his ear. Shinjiro’s tangled hair fringed over his eyes and obscured his face. He took the sudden mask as an opportunity to indulge in a smile. The firm, terrifying grip on his arm and neck assured him, yes a shred of Mitsuru Kirijo remained, and that little piece was still not to be trifled with.
She leaned in closer and the press of her cheek against his temple only marginally contributed to the warmth growing in his chest. Her hair tickled his cheek. Muted traces of eucalyptus and wisteria wafted over him and Shinjiro experienced the path of a robust shiver that went from the top of his spine straight to his groin.“No one, not even you, is going to ruin this for me,” she breathed into his ear. “Know this, Aragaki: If you get in my way, I will bury you in the sand and leave you to the vultures.”“Might be nice to know what I’m not supposed to be getting in the way of,” he slurred against his knee, still smiling.Kirijo released him and sat back in her seat.

“Here,” she said, reaching into the seat pocket. “One of the children left this behind. I’m certain someone with your creative predilections will find it quite diverting.”Kirijo dropped a barnyard animal coloring book in his lap. Shinjiro picked it up, leafed through the pages, and tossed it back on her lap.“Don’t patronize me, Kirijo,” he said. “All the good pages are already colored in.”“Then look out the window,” she snapped.
“After you tell me what you’re doing here.”“It’s none of your business. You have no right to–”“You can tell me or I can find out on my own,” Shinjiro said. “One is faster and friendlier.”“I’m not speaking to you,” she said. “The fact that you’re here means you’ve been prying and sneaking around–”“Yes, it’s my job. Remember? I pry, I sneak around, and I weasel my way into other people’s business. We just went over this a few days ago.”“You also leak information–” Kirijo snapped.
“I’m not offended by the word ‘snitch’–”“–So why on earth would I provide you anything willingly?”“That’s fine. I’ll get the conversation going,” Shinjiro pulled out his phone and began scrolling through the pictures he’d downloaded from the hotel room in Inaba.
“Mitsuru Kirijo, spotted shopping in Versaille. Mitsuru Kirijo, spotted in a daring red bikini in Turks and Caicos. Mitsuru Kirijo,” he scrolled down, taking note of Kirijo’s souring expression. “Spotted in a bar in Gran Canaria. Mitsuru Kirijo, spotted cozying up to a Korean heartthrob in Bora Bora.”Kirijo clenched her arms harder against her chest.
“None of these pictures are of you,” Shinjiro said. “The woman who landed in Dubai yesterday is your decoy.”Kirijo settled her hands on her knees. Her reflection on the glass revealed she was crunching the numbers on the situation. The car rolled by towers of palm trees on both sides of the road, which were gradually replaced with thick stands of trees.

“How did you find out?” Kirijo asked quietly.
“Pretty easy to spot the difference in the pictures if you know what you’re looking for.”“No,” she turned to him. “How did you find out I was here?”“You left your planner - your real planner - out the night I drove you back to your apartment.”Kirijo uncrossed her ankles, clearly at the limit of performative ladylike behavior. Another swell of anger blustered over.
“You - you rifled through my personal belongings,” she crossed her arms with a snort, looking more alive than she had in weeks. She looked ready to slide across the seat and pitch him out the window.Shinjiro held his hands up with a coy smile and said nothing.
Kirijo let out an aggravated sigh.“What do you want me to say, Kirijo?” he laughed. “You know what I’m going to tell you.”
“An apology might be nice,” she snapped.
Shinjiro twisted in his seat and pressed his hands together in his lap. Kirijo’s anger had come and gone. She waited for Shinjro’s heartfelt plea for forgiveness with a regal sneer.“I’m sorry,” he said.Kirijo issued him a surly look.“You’re not.”“Not even a little,” Shinjiro shook his head. “How long have you been using a decoy?”
“Since University,” she answered tersely.“Did it keep the Kirijo Group off your back?”
“To an extent,” she said.“Where’d you pick up Arabic?”“Oxford. I audited a class or two.”By audit, of course, Kirijo meant she’d enrolled under a pseudonym and by a class or two, she meant enough to establish a foundation for fluency. Shinjiro let the silence grow while he fought to make sense of the information before him. His brain was still fizzling from the close contact they’d shared and was prioritizing how the scent of her hair was not unlike the way flowers smelled after they’d thawed out from under a long frost, how the warm curve of her hand lingered on his skin, and her how her breath had been both soft and sharp against the shell of his ear–Facts, he reminded himself.

The facts were that the real Mitsuru Kirijo had audited classes at Oxford under a pseudonym. The real Mitsuru Kirijo had been taking day trips to Inaba, getting the shit beat out of her, and limping back to Port Island with a jacked up shoulder. The real Mitsuru Kirijo had been chatting with college kids over 900 yen curry in Tokyo. The real Mitsuru Kirijo had been going to karaoke bars with a binder of research.
The facts were high in quantity but garbage in quality. The only way to reconcile one with the other was a throughline, earned through patience and trust.
“Why are you fighting me?” Shinjiro asked softly.Kirijo’s gaze lowered to her lap. Shinjiro expected her to snap at him but she merely gave him a resigned look.

“I don’t have the luxury of privacy,” she said. “You seem to have made it your personal mission to eliminate what little I have remaining.”
Shinjiro sighed.
“Yeah, okay. I can see that’s important to you,” he paused. “Try and see it from my perspective. Kurosawa wants me looking out for you, which means if I stumble across information that will help with that, I’m going to use it. But it’d be a whole lot easier if we both cooperate, yeah?”Kirijo turned to him, her arms slackening a little against her chest.
“What do you mean by cooperate?”“Just tell me what we’re doing here,” Shinjiro went on. “It’s understandable you’d want to shake me and keep me off your back. But I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. Why don’t you give me the benefit of the doubt, Kirijo?”She shook her head.“I’m simply here to visit old friends and enjoy a little privacy,” she said. “The Al-Tamimi family has rich ancestry tied to this area. I came in contact with them when I was studying at Oxford and asked if I might stay with them and conduct research on Bedouin horse culture.”“Why?”“Self-enrichment,” Kirijo said quickly.
Shinjiro raised his eyebrows. Kirijo paused.“And I…” she continued. “I think I can make the world a better place.”He examined her expression closely. Kirijo was fatigued, irate, and definitely hungry, but she was not lying to him.
“Okay. You’ll have your self-enrichment. I’ll stay out of your hair, but it’ll be easier for both of us if you stop trying to shake me while we’re here,” Shinjiro held his hand out to her. “Deal?”She eyed him suspiciously.

After two hours, the car pulled away from the main road and approached an elegant set of gates that Shinjiro had to crane his neck to see the top of. The gates pulled open with the swipe of a key card.
Cypress trees shifted stiffly in the breeze to the right of the long driveway. To the left was a lush courtyard, dotted with a string of thick olive trees that lined the length of the road to the three storied home. Kirijo informed him that the Al-Tamimi family had operated the stables for generations and had consistently produced world renowned dressage champions.

The Al-Tamimi home came into view while Kirijo filled him in on the family’s rich equestrian history.
Home was perhaps too cozy of a word - the Al-Tamimi residence was a palace. Shinjiro marveled at the towering marble columns lining the facade of the Al-Tamimi’s stately residence as the car slowly drifted closer. They came to a stop just before a massive white marble staircase that led from the driveway into the interior of the Al-Tamimi home.
Five women, each dressed in a variety of colors waited outside along the base of the staircase. They were flanked by dozens of attendants, each looking prepared to receive the guests with diligent hospitality.
“Follow my lead,” Kirijo said when the driver opened her door.
Shinjiro stepped out and flattened himself to the car to avoid being run over by a girl cruising by on a skateboard.
The kid couldn’t have been a day over eighteen. The sleeves of her baggy shirt drifted past her wrists. A streak of neon green raced from root to tip of her wavy black hair.

She rolled by with a devilish smile on her lips, her long hair ruffling in the breeze. Mr. Al-Tamimi emerged from the passenger seat and watched her pass with a beleaguered sigh. He uttered a few words of mild admonishment to her as she curved around the front of the car. She responded to him with a kickflip, flawlessly executed with a cocky grin. A chorus of what Shinjiro interpreted to be familial annoyance resounded from the women on the steps. She paid them no mind and rushed to greet Kirijo in a warm embrace.
Where was the damn helmet? Shinjiro glowered at her and then at Kirijo, who clearly shared in his disapproval.Kirijo looked down at the teenage girl’s head with a frown and in lieu of a greeting, offered a few stern words of her own. The girl turned and gave Shinjiro a sharp, respectful nod without meeting his gaze.“Wahida,” the oldest woman called out in a fatigued trill from the steps. This was presumably Mrs. Al-Tamimi, a regal and sleepy looking woman who wore a dark blue dress.
Wahida collected her skateboard and skipped up the steps and joined the women, each doling out their fair share of scolding looks and shaking heads, each one reaching out to neaten her hair or smooth out the sleeves of her shirt.
One of the women had a small child on her hip and was heavily pregnant. She wore a simple black dress. Shinjiro learned her name was Zainab. Beside her was Omideh, who wore a cheerful shade of pink that she matched with a cheerful smile. Eshaal stood beside her in a pair of glasses and a conservative beige dress. She blinked at the ground. The remaining sister was named Nagheen. She wore her hair in a thick messy braid along her shoulder and gave Shinjiro a mild nod before she returned to texting on her phone.
Each of the women had striking hazel eyes.
Shinjiro focused his features into professional stoicism and harbored a secretive giggle. Before him stood the residents of Longbourn: Mrs. Bennet, her five sprightly daughters, and one very tired, overtaxed Mr. Bennet standing nearby with hapless adoration. If Cheddarjack had been here, he would have squealed.
An old woman presumed to be the matriarch of the Al-Tamimi family emerged.
She leaned heavily on her female attendant and took small, deliberate steps down the stairs, her small frame bent in the shape of a question mark. The family watched in silence as she disengaged herself from her attendant and hobbled her way toward Kirijo. She smiled up at her and with great effort, uttered a few words of greeting and then craned her neck up at Shinjiro.
One eye was cloudy and strayed a little to the left, but the other was acutely assessing him. Shinjiro wondered what would happen if this woman didn’t like what she saw. The functioning eye roved over him.
She looked to Kirijo and then back to Shinjiro and drew a vaguely box-like shape in the air with her hands. She began speaking to Kirijo with passionate hand gestures.
Whatever was spoken incited a flurry of reactions from all present.
“Mami, ” Mrs. Al-Tamimi sighed drowsily.
The five sisters choked and squealed, some reacting with delight while others looked utterly appalled. Two of the sisters buried their faces in their hands. The remaining three shoved their noses against each others’ shoulders.
Mr. Al-Tamimi smiled weakly at the ground and rubbed his cheek with a wince.
Shinjiro turned to Kirijo for guidance and found that she’d turned a grim shade of white. Kirijo continued to listen to the elderly woman’s rapid words with funereal deference.
The display did not end there.
Kirijo grew paler yet as the elderly matriarch continued her gesticulations, shelling out what must have been excruciating detail on the topic at hand. She continued to motion to Shinjiro emphatically, pointing between Kirijo and himself and redrawing the same boxlike shape with increasing excitement before Mr. Al-Tamimi interceded. He coaxed the elderly woman back inside their stately home.
The daughters fanned out, their secretive laughter growing louder as they fled to the sanctuary of the stables.
Shinjiro turned to Kirijo for an explanation, but she too had disappeared into thin air.

Shinjiro stayed close to Mr. Al-Tamimi so that they could pass the translator back and forth. Mr. Al-Tamimi assured him Kirijo would be safe with his daughters and that he’d see her shortly. In some ways we are a very traditional family. Other ways not so much, Mr. Al-Tamimi relayed as he led Shinjiro down a path.
This was as much explanation as Shinjiro would be given for the exchange in the courtyard. Shinjiro’s curiosity raged but he knew better than to press the matter.
Shinjiro looked over his shoulder and watched a man transfer their luggage from the car and into a thoroughly abused looking truck. Mr. Al-Tamimi nodded.
You will eat and sleep in our home in the desert tonight.

“I thought this was your home?” Shinjiro gestured to the palace behind him.

One of them, yes. Our ancestral home is the desert. Some ways we are very traditional. Other ways, not so much.

Mr. Al-Tamimi led him through a gate and into a sprawling pasture. The path was separated from the pasture with a low gate. Half a dozen horses were milling around an assortment of different enclosures. Shinjiro followed Mr. Al-Tamimi down the path toward a series of paddocks. The horses gathered in the field began to trot toward them as they made their way further in, some of them breaking out into a brisk canter.The horses crowded against the fence and matched their pace to Shinjiro’s. He stopped. The horses stopped.
Shinjiro requested permission to touch them.
Mr. Al-Tamimi laughed.
They’ve given it.

Mr. Al-Tamimi came to stand beside Shinjiro and tousled the mane of one of the horses, cooing and praising as he ran his hands through the long locks. Mr. Al-Tamimi directed Shinjiro to note their dished faces and explained how the raised bump on the forehead helped their sinuses regulate the intense desert heat. He went on to explain how all of the horses of the Al-Tamimi stables were show horses, with one exception. The blood of the Arabian horse was inextricably tied to the desert. He described their history as battle horses and how the mares would take their riders into battle.“Mares?” Shinjiro asked. “Why not stallions?”
Too noisy!
While Mr. Al-Tamimi provided a thorough background of the Arabian horse, three of the mares crowded around Shinjiro. Two of them explored and tested the fabric on his shoulders, while the third pushed her face into his hands. Shinjiro traced the velvet of her muzzle, following the dramatic curve of her face to the top of her mane while she assessed him with her large, black eyes.
Shinjiro looked up to find Kirijo staring at him. She was mounted on a dappled gray mare just feet away, a testament to the stealth and quiet that Mr. Al-Tamimi had just described. Behind Kirijo and her horse, three of the Al-Tamimi sisters frolicked from the backs of their respective mares. They laughed and goaded each other, their horses' tails held high in the breeze as they played.The horses continued to nuzzle Shinjiro’s hands and nip lightly at his shoulders and arms.
Kirijo sat rigid in the saddle. She appeared to have stopped breathing.
Mr. Al-Tamimi called out to her with an amused laugh.
Kirijo looked like she was about to be violently ill. Without responding, she flicked the reins. Her horse pivoted in the opposite direction and broke into a full speed gallop away from Shinjiro.
“What did you say?”Mr. Al-Tamimi shook his head in bewilderment.
That you have a way with horses.

The tour of the stables concluded at a large paddock where Kirijo and the five Al-Tamimi sisters were gathered. In the center of the paddock was the most beautiful horse Shinjiro had ever seen.
She was almost translucently white, except her large black eyes. She sauntered around the edge of the enclosure before snapping her hocks up into a light and frothy run, her tail swishing high in the air. The girls tutted and rolled their eyes. Mr. Al-Tamimi translated:

Show-off.

Shinjiro approached the edge of the paddock and asked why she was kept separate from the other mares. Across the length of the paddock, the Al-Tamimi sisters hovered their hands over Kirijo’s arm and waist as she swung over the edge of the fence. Shinjiro’s gut twisted with a sour feeling. Mr. Al-Tamimi began speaking in a low voice.

Not a show horse. Too temperamental.

Upon hearing this information, Shinjiro put his hands on the fence and started to climb. Mr. Al-Tamimi pulled him back with a firm grasp and shook his head quietly.“Is it safe for–” Shinjiro began.
Watch. Only this.

Before Shinjiro could protest, the mare approached Kirijo with light, bold steps. She nuzzled her hand and then her shoulder, and then finally Kirijo’s cheek. Kirijo murmured a few words to her, caressing her jaw and then giving her a few through scratches behind her ears. The horse tossed her head impatiently. Kirijo set off to the opposite end of the paddock.
The horse followed at her heels.Kirijo began to run along the side of the enclosure. The horse mirrored her pace, still close at her heels and when Kirijo stopped, the horse stopped alongside her.
The five sisters watched in total silence.
Shinjiro looked to Mr. Al-Tamimi for help. He responded by patting Shinjiro on the back and spoke into the translator.
Sahar never forgets a warrior.

Shinjiro sat beside Kirijo in thick silence in the backseat of the rusted truck.
Mr. Al-Tamimi rode in the front seat beside the driver who spoke in one word responses to Mr. Al-Tamimi, occasionally patting a spot just above his left ribs. Shinjiro suspected an old injury or a concealed weapon. Shinjiro did little to feign motion sickness and when the driver pulled over, Shinjiro took the more exposed seat and corralled Kirijo into the seat directly behind the driver. They resumed the agonizing roll and tumble over the dunes.
The driver did not speak, though Mr. Al-Tamimi occasionally turned over his shoulder to address Kirijo or Shinjiro with polite remarks about a landmark or point of interest. Several horses, including Sahar, were being transported behind them. Just ahead, the Al-Tamimi women were riding in a black SUV that looked infinitely more comfortable than the backseat of the truck Shinjiro was packed into.
The scent of farm animals drifted in from the back and Kirijo explained that the vehicle was used to transport goats to and from the desert home. The constant climbing and falling over the sand dunes churned his stomach and left him too light headed to respond.Kirijo gave his back a pat and abruptly withdrew her hand.

“Not far now,” she said stiffly.

The drive through the desert lasted several, gut heaving hours more. They arrived at their destination as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the endless stretch of dunes in dazzling strokes of blue, orange, fuschia, and lavender.
Shinjiro stumbled out of the truck feeling like he’d been thrown in a barrel and rolled down a cliff. He shamelessly leaned the entirety of his upper body on Kirijo, who kept a rigid lock on his arm. One of Zainab’s children streaked by in hot pursuit of a goat.
The driver swept by with a menacing look, patting his left ribs as he conferred with Mr. Al-Tamimi. Zainab was helped out of the vehicle by her mother. Nagheen and Omideh bickered while Wahida and Eshaal helped the elderly Al-Tamimi grandmother into the home.
The matriarch spotted Shinjiro and gave him a wave and once more, drew a boxlike shape in his direction.
Shinjiro lowered his hands to his knees and took a few deep breaths before waving back.
Kirijo steered him into an outside enclosure adjacent to the camp and sat him in a chair. In minutes, she’d placed a mug of tea and a cold bottle of water beside him.
Another goat approached and fixed his sharp, oblong pupil on Shinjiro, his jaw moving with angry twitches. Shinjiro had cut off enough bad-tempered drinkers to know the guy was plotting.As soon as Shinjiro had regained his center of gravity, Mr. Al-Tamimi provided a brief tour of the family's desert home which included a large room for hosting guests, a small space for preparing food, a storeroom, and special quarters for the women of the household reserved for occasions when male guests were present. A solar panel provided electricity to the home. The Al-Tamimi domicile was a striking contrast from the family's palatial rural home and stables and while the space was simple in design, it was opulently adorned in the scent of earthen spices and bread, the laughter and chatter of the Al-Tamimi women, and the occasional sigh of the wind against the sand.
Mr. Al-Tamimi referred to their home as a bayt al-shar. It was perched near a gorge and after touring Shinjiro around the home, Mr. Al-Tamimi led him to a nearby overlook that revealed the gorge’s deep scar against the open desert, fortified by towering cliff walls. Mr. Al-Tamimi handed him a pair of binoculars and from his place on the overlook, Shinjiro could easily trace the wide path of gold and amber sand as it weaved through the gorge like a river and led to an escarpment.
“Must be beautiful at dusk and dawn,” Shinjiro said.Mr. Al-Tamimi hummed with pride.
Like another world.

He was led into the home and left to his own devices. Shinjiro was admiring the array of pots and pans against the wall of the kitchen space when he spotted Kirijo roughly pulled aside by the elderly Al-Tamimi. Despite relying on a cane, she managed to drag Kirijo into the courtyard where two canvas tents were pitched. Shinjiro followed, watching Kirijo’s chest fill with a deep breath before she sat on the ground. The elderly woman gathered a palette of fine black powder.
Before Shinjiro could ask questions, the old woman took a pencil, dipped it in the powder, and with the steady hand of a surgeon, ruthlessly swiped against the bottom line of Kirijo’s eyes. Kirijo wrinkled her face in intense discomfort, but held still for the old woman to finish.
Her work done, the matriarch turned her good eye to Shinjiro and beckoned him over.Shinjiro used his face to translate his answer:
Fuck no, no fucking way, no.“Tell her I prefer the natural look,” he said to Kirijo.“Unacceptable,” Kirijo smiled.
The matriarch rounded on him with a frightening grin and wasted no time brutally applying the liner to Shinjiro’s eyelids. Bitter tears of pain sprang to the corners of his eyes. The matriarch patted him on the head and trotted away. Shinjiro made sure she was out of earshot before dropping his face into his hands. His eyes were on fire.“Wha… wha…?” he gasped.“Kohel,” Kirijo placed her hand to rest heavily between his shoulder blades.
“Made from stibnite to line the eyes.”“Why…?”

“To make the eyes appear larger and more appealing. It’s also said to protect your eyes from the desert sun and improve your marriage prospects, bleak as they are.”Mitsuru Kirijo: Destroyer of men.
Shinjiro removed his hands from his face and turned to face Kirijo.
“Well,” he grunted, blinking the tears from his eyes. “Am I beautiful?”Kirijo scanned him, her shoulders sagging slightly as she took careful inventory of him. The kohel offered her eyes a smoky depth and an unexpected darkness that cut the breath from his throat. Kirijo’s lips parted just as her gaze slipped to his mouth.
“As a desert rose,” she answered.Her eyes flickered to the ground. Shinjiro was left with a sudden hunger pang that resided somewhere other than his stomach.
Kirijo traced a half circle against his back with the tips of her fingers before she reached into her pocket and retrieved a scarf. He accepted it and blotted the tears from his face. Shinjiro attempted to push it back in her hands. Kirijo nudged it back to him.“Would you like to come inside?” she asked.“In a minute. Need to scope the area for threats. There's a goat around here with questionable connections.”Kirijo stood and Shinjiro smothered another moan when her hand left his back. She disappeared inside and then, like the vigilant bodyguard he was, Shinjiro curled into a fetal position in the sand and waited to be summoned inside for dinner.The asshole plotting his murder shuffled up to his ear and bleated.

After dinner, Kirijo opened her suitcase and revealed enough candy, most of it different varieties of Pocky, to fill a convenience store. Mr. Al-Tamimi swept the gifts up in his arms with childlike glee. Shinjiro thought he’d fall to the ground any second and start rolling around on his back in delight.
At long last, the Al-Tamimi family retired for the evening. Shinjiro followed Kirijo back outside to the courtyard, where he’d been given a tent of his very own beside hers.
The night sky was veiled by thick clouds that packed the silence in and down around them.
Shinjiro found a chair and parked it outside of his tent. A dim light silhouetted Kirijo as she quietly arranged her bedding for the night. Shinjiro watched her move through the thin canvas and looked away when she slipped out and into the interior of the main home. She emerged a few minutes later with two mugs of piping hot tea.
Kirijo offered him a mug. Shinjiro looked at it with bitter exhaustion before shifting his gaze up to her.“Who are you and what have you done with Mitsuru Kirijo?”
Shinjiro bit his tongue as soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth. He detected a flash of pain in her eyes.
“Did you know her well, Aragaki?” Kirijo asked, still holding the mug out for him.Shinjiro sighed and accepted the tea. The clay was absolutely scalding in his hands. He made no effort to set it down.
Kirijo sat down beside him and crossed her legs. The temperatures had dropped slightly and she hugged the edges of her cardigan closer together.
“I just never thought I’d see you doing this type of thing,” he said, not expending the effort to tack on the implicit apology.“What type of thing?” she asked.“Camp. Stay off the grid…” Shinjiro said and refrained from listing off the other activities he’d discovered from his recent fact-finding missions. “It’s surprising, that’s all.”Kirijo nodded.
“This must be quite a jarring experience for you,” she said softly. “You certainly have a litany of questions.”“And you’re not going to answer any of them, are you?” Shinjiro asked.Kirijo sipped her tea.“How are you feeling otherwise?” she asked as a means of confirming the answer to his question.“Like I’m the weird cousin who’s arrived at Longbourn,” Shinjiro paused. A round of fierce giggling echoed from inside the home. “And the Bennet sisters are roasting me from the comfort of their needlework.”The explicit reference to Austen and the Bennet family was unexpectedly rewarded when Kirijo smiled into her tea.“I cannot say I see the similarity between you and Mr. Collins. Though, I will give you credit for a mostly astute comparison to the Bennet family.”“Mostly?” Shinjiro groused.“There are some slight faults in your assessment,” she said carefully.Shinjiro set his mug into the sand and prepared for war.
“You can’t win this one, Kirijo. I was educated by a man known only as Cheddarjack; master of classical literature and a fervent Jane Austen acolyte. Duel me at your own peril.”“There’s no need for hostility,” she said. “I agree with your observation, with a few revisions.”“I’m listening,” Shinjiro said.She turned her chair toward him and pondered the night sky with a thoughtful smile.“Let’s begin with the eldest. Zainab is a perfect contemporary for Jane Bennet; the eldest of five vivacious sisters. A classic beauty, gentle, and soft-spoken. Reserved in a manner that may give the impression of coldness–”“But she’s just a wallflower,” Shinjiro finished.Kirijo nodded and continued on.“The similarities to the Bennet family structure ends there. Nagheen is the second eldest, but she is no Lizzie. She can be quite impulsive and is known to torment her family with her infatuations, which change by the minute.”“Lydia Bennet would be proud,” Shinjiro said.“They’d be fast friends,” Kirijo laughed. “Omideh is eager, impressionable, and prone to jealousy very much like Kitty. Eshaal is pious and strict, in the fashion of Mary Bennet. That leaves us with the youngest, Wahida.”“Let me guess,” Shinjiro sighed. “Headstrong, prefers the company of books, and always ready with an incisive observation.”“A veritable Elizabeth Bennet,” Kirijo smiled.“What are you doing here, Kirijo?”
Kirijo looked at him. Despite the smile that lingered on her lips, the hesitation in her eyes cut clear through the dim filter of light that passed through the canvas of her tent.
A glimmer of sincerity shone from under the surface of her irises, something that desired to be opened and seen. Shinjiro waited, despite wanting to reach out and coax that openness to pass from her eyes to her lips.

“I…” She touched the outline of the locket’s pendant underneath her shirt. The glimmer of hope that promised openness vanished.
“I hope you sleep well, Aragaki.”“You too, Kirijo.”The desert was endless in its silence and stars. The night should have brought him peace, but it only deepened Shinjiro's sense of dread. He’d need to keep his eye on the driver, but the Al-Tamimi family posed no threat to Kirijo. Once he was assured Kirijo was asleep, Shinjiro retired to his tent. His unease and severe jetlag left him unable to sleep except in fitful, thirty minute stretches. Between shallow dips into sleep, he’d peel back the flaps to Kirijo’s tent and find her curled up in her blanket. Each time he checked on her, he watched her chest rise and fall for a minute or so, before he slowly lowered the flaps and returned to his own tent with an unresolved sense of foreboding.Shinjiro reached into his backpack and pulled out a few loose papers from Kirijo’s box of research he’d found in Aki’s room.The deeper into the box of Kirijo’s files and correspondence, the deeper into the past. The top third of the box was correspondence including letters from the man named Takeshi, whose letters had bumped him to the top of questionable persons in Kirijo’s circles. Takeshi’s letters were included in the pile Shinjiro had brought along. Shinjiro set them aside. He’d learned by now not to read these letters before attempting to sleep.
The middle section of the box consisted of copies of Kirijo’s homework assignments from her days as Hanae Sanada.
Shinjiro had grabbed a handful of documents from this Oxford section and brought them along. Among the stack were two pages of something written in Arabic. He’d gotten a rough translation of it on his phone, but like the letters from Zainab, the translation was broken and Shinjiro had little faith that what he could parse into the phone app was reliable. He’d meant to take the documents into the station before he’d left but had been consumed with the logistics of following Kirijo.
Shinjiro marked the time and unfolded the two pages along the well-creased folds. It was nearly dawn and soon he would have the opportunity to earnestly play dumb, pitiful foreigner. Shinjiro had started plotting how to covertly take the pages to Mr. Al-Tamimi for translation when he had the revolutionary idea to turn the pages over.
He swallowed back a miserable groan.Shinjiro Aragaki: Boy detective.The translation he’d been searching for was cleverly hidden on the backside of the paper, where no idiot with half a brain would ever suspect to look. Shinjiro began to read.

Translation Selection: The Language of Birds

Course: Arabic: Advanced Translation (online)

Translation by: Hanae Sanada

Period: Islamic Golden Age

Origin: National Library of Jordan; Cultural Archives

Author: Unknown

There was once a girl born under the old moon in the new moon’s arms.

She was beloved by all in her tribe, but especially dear to her mother. One terrible night, a fire swept through their home. Qamar’s family was lost and only the young girl survived to see the dawn.Alone and afraid, Qamar wandered for days. Her feet burned and blistered from walking atop the sand, and her skin was raw from the harsh winds. Just as she was about to succumb, a sparrow led her to a lush oasis. Child, said the sparrow while Qamar drank from the spring. Seven moons ago, you rescued my nestlings when they fell from the cliff walls. You climbed the rocks and returned them to me. In gratitude for their lives, I offer you a choice. I will grant you riches and power or I will grant you the language of birds.
Qamar had heard of the language of birds from members of her tribe, said to bestow universal wisdom to those fearless enough to accept its power.
The sparrow flitted to Qamar’s finger and said:
Our songs are forbidden to humans, for they are written in the secrets of the dead and hold the power to shift the sands of time. Once you learn the language of birds, you can never return to this world.
Qamar thought of her beloved mother. She would give anything to see her again. Perhaps she could even shift the sands of time to change the fate of her family.

Qamar wanted to wield the language of the birds.
Child of the moon, the sparrow wept. You must understand the true cost of this power. Is this truly what you seek? For I see a path for you as queen of the desert; feared, loved, and powerful. You would have a long life, rich with laughter and song, fortified by the protection of those who adore you, a home filled with spices and silk, a love of your choosing, and an endless sea of stars every night.
Qamar thought carefully.
“I choose the language of birds.”
Very well, child. To do this, you must find the desert’s most fearsome raiders.

With the sparrow guiding her way, Qamar found the tribe of raiders. She stood outside their encampment with the sparrow on her shoulder.
“What must I do?” Qamar asked the sparrow.
You must outrun the rising sun on the sheik’s war mare.

Qamar entered the encampment of raiders and demanded an audience with the sheik. She declared herself the daughter of the moon and refused to leave until she was allowed the opportunity to speak with him. The sheik, amused by the orphaned girl’s fiery, strong willed nature, granted her an audience.“To plunge into the fire of battle requires fearlessness from both mare and rider, child. Do you have the heart of a warrior?”“I do,” she answered. The sheik smiled and shook his head.“My war mare will decide.”
Qamar was told to stand across from the sheik’s mare and wait for a short duration before walking away. Qamar waited while the mare examined her with her large eyes. When Qamar turned her back and walked away, the mare followed her footsteps, stopping when Qamar stopped, running when Qamar ran.The sheik was a wise man who knew not to question the wisdom of his war mare. He told Qamar to return in a year. If his war mare remembered her, he would allow Qamar to take his cherished horse to race the rising sun.

With the aid of the sparrow, Qamar weathered the harsh desert sands. Again and again, the sparrow asked: Child, is this truly what you wish?
Again and again, Qamar whispered: “I choose the language of birds.”Qamar returned to the sheik’s bayt al-shar after a year. The sheik’s war mare remembered her instantly. The sheik honored his promise and gave Qamar his blessing.
The next morning, on the cusp of dawn, the sparrow led Qamar and the sheik’s mare to the top of a wide valley. Darkness lifted at the edge of the sky and just before the sun began to rise, the sparrow gave the signal. Qamar nudged the war mare with a gentle tap of her knee.
They plunged down into the valley. The war horse galloped with ferocious speed while the light sliced through the valley, chasing after Qamar in relentless pursuit.
The war mare took Qamar to victory against the light, just before it touched upon the edge of the cliff. The race was won.
The sparrow met Qamar at the cliff’s edge.“What must I do?”
You must ascend to the cave of sparrows.

Qamar scaled the cliff using only her bare hands. She ascended to the top, her hands bloody, and met the sparrow at the entrance of the cave.“What must I do?”
Take this feather, child, and with it be blessed with the language of birds.

Qamar took the feather and ventured into the cave of sparrows.
On that very same morning, some claim to have seen a sparrow emerge from the cave, her wings dusted with colors like the shades of the moon.
Some claim to have seen her lift from the cliff edge and vanish into the sky, blessed with the language of birds and never to be seen again.

Shinjiro rushed out of his tent and pulled the flaps back from Kirijo’s tent. Her bed was neatly made and empty. He swept into the Al-Tamimi’s home and found it deserted. He ran outside and spotted several figures assembled at the edge of the gorge.
Shinjiro sprinted out of the courtyard toward the figures, the dawn knifing along the horizon. Mr. Al-Tamimi was situated on the edge of the gorge while the daughters, mother, and grandmother were assembled atop a rounded rock dome several meters above him.
Each of the women were dressed in black robes hand-sewn with intricate and colorful geometric patterns that leapt and frolicked in the breeze. Shinjiro noted that each of the Al-Tamimi sisters wore a belt equipped with varying styles of curved daggers.
Their solemn gazes were pointed to the top of a dune that opened into the valley below.
Shinjiro ran to Mr. Al-Tamimi. Lacking the wherewithal to access his own native tongue, Shinjiro gave his hair a dramatic flip and pointed to Kirijo’s tent. Mr. Al-Tamimi frowned and then mirrored Shinjiro’s hair flip with a quizzical expression.
Shinjiro could have wept. He found his voice and bombarded Mr. Al-Tamimi with questions about Kirijo’s whereabouts. Mr. Al-Tamimi waved his hands, signaling for Shinjiro to lower his voice and be calm. Mr. Al-Tamimi patted him on the shoulder and produced the translator.

Watch. Only this.
Shinjiro shook his head and this time had the presence of mind to repeat his questions into the translator. Mr. Al-Tamimi patted him again and pointed down into the valley and slowly drew a line with this finger from the top of the dune, its dramatic descent into the valley, and finally to an outcropping of jagged rocks at western most edge of the valley.
He spoke softly and slowly as he moved his finger and then directed Shinjiro’s attention to the eastern sky. Mr. Al-Tamimi handed Shinjiro a pair of binoculars and with a hushed and focused voice, spoke into the translator.
It's very important. Watch. Only this.

Shinjiro peered through the binoculars just as Sahar cleared the crest of the steep dune. Kirijo was perched on her back atop a simple saddle.

Sahar tossed her head impatiently. Shinjiro watched Kirijo reach out, her lithe arm stroking Sahar’s broad neck. Sahar paced, throwing her long mane into the wind.
Mr. Al-Tamimi pointed at Kirijo and said:
Watch.

A sensation not unlike rotten fruit settled in his stomach. Despite the desperate urge to pull away from the binoculars, Shinjiro watched.
A sliver of sunlight emerged from behind the dune.
It was just a fairy tale, Shinjiro told himself. It was nothing but an old folk story parents told their children. It was just a homework assignment Kirijo had aced.
The light touched down on the dune’s thin crest.
Kirijo and Sahar plunged over the steep edge and into the valley at breakneck speed.
Shinjiro tried to keep the viewfinder steady on horse and rider, but they were moving too fast and Shinjiro was shaking too hard to focus the lens.

Shinjiro managed to locate Sahar’s large, dewy eyes, now wild with ferocity as the dawn nipped at her hooves. The line of communication between Sahar and Kirijo was concealed in a segment of time and space that Shinjiro could feel but not see. Sahar surged forward. The froth spilled from her mouth as she sprinted at full breakneck speed across the desert floor.
The light narrowed to a sharp point into the gorge and relentlessly pursued horse and rider.Shinjiro reached for the courage to shift the viewfinder. Kirijo’s expression turned his blood cold. A grim smile was set firmly on her lips, and in her eyes was a cold fire that paralleled Sahar’s ferocity. Kirijo was lifted in the saddle, absorbing each of Sahar’s gallops with expert training and poise.
For a fraction of a second, Shinjiro looked up to rock above him. The Al-Tamimi women watched Kirijo’s path with solemn indifference, the hems of their robes dancing in the breeze.
Shinjiro followed Kirijo’s path and cut it into three separate parts. In her wake, the past:
Pillars of churning sand, shattered grief, and years cloaking knowledge, power, and ambition behind the shield of a false persona.
In the center, the present moment: A girl in the desert, a war mare, and the rising sun driving them to the edge of the gorge.The light touched down on the tip of the escarpment at the edge of the gorge. Sahar’s tail slipped behind the rocks and out of sight. Shinjiro looked up and found grim smiles on the faces of the Al-Tamimi women. His eyes returned to the desert floor in search of Kirijo.
On the other side of the rocks and unseen, the future: A cliff, a cave of sparrows, and the power to shift the sands of time.

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The phone emitted two rings before the door swung open. The camera tracked Mitsuru’s path as she darted across the room. She lunged for the phone, hips slamming against the back of the chair with a pained smack.“…Shinjiro?” she asked breathlessly. She pulled the receiver from her ear and looked at it with a frown before pushing it back to her ear. “Shinjiro? Please…”Mitsuru’s expression shifted. She didn’t speak into the receiver again nor did she return the phone to the cradle.“He hung up on you, didn’t he?”Mitsuru turned to the door. The camera panned over as Yukari stepped into the control room. Mitsuru gave the receiver a fleeting, crestfallen nod and hung up. Yukari padded toward her and pulled up a seat at the console. Mitsuru sat down in the chair beside her without answering.“You don’t owe him anything. You know that, right senpai?” Yukari asked delicately, pulling her chair closer to Mitsuru.
Mitsuru’s gaze was fixed on her thumbs, drawing half circles over the top of her knees. Yukari moved her chair closer to Mitsuru. Yukari stacked her elbows on her knees before leaning in with a sigh. She pulled Mitsuru's hands in hers, her face obscured from the camera. Mitsuru's voice was drowned in the ambient hum of the heater and the thrum of the consoles.
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“It’s important he knows where to find me.”

The Al-Tamimi’s driver took the truck on a steep descent into the open gorge and came to a stop at the base of a towering cliff wall.
The black SUV carrying the Al-Tamimi women had arrived scant minutes ahead of their vehicle. Shinjiro was livid. Those were Shinjiro’s minutes; minutes he needed to intercept Kirijo before she did something insane. While in transit, Shinjiro had repeatedly told Mr. Al-Tamimi’s driver to hit the gas. Mr. Al-Tamimi had patted Shinjiro’s shoulder and assured him there was nothing to worry about; there was plenty of time.Shinjiro lurched out of the backseat seconds before the truck came to a full stop. The Al-Tamimi sisters encircled Kirijo and Sahar while Mrs. Al-Tamimi and the family matriarch stood back a short distance. The women’s voices were encouraging but not jubilant. Kirijo swung her leg over the saddle, her waist and chest slipping against the leather as she dropped to the ground. Kirijo and the sisters venerated Sahar with strokes and murmured awe.
The Al-Tamimi sisters guided Kirijo away from Sahar and to the base of the cliff wall. There was no victory hair flip; Kirijo still had work ahead of her.
Shinjiro hurtled toward them, the heave and pitch of rolling over the sand dunes making him drunk on his feet. Shinjiro tore past the sisters and hooked Kirijo by the collar of her shirt, hauling her back with a victorious grunt.“Oh no you don’t–”

It was then that Zainab; eldest of the five Al-Tamimi sisters, kind, gentle, and extremely pregnant, dropped Shinjiro to the sand like a bottle of bad tequila.
Shinjiro clambered to his feet. He could outrun a pregnant woman, right?As soon as he stood, Shinjiro experienced a new iteration of the Al-Tamimi family’s non-traditional side. He found himself at the edge of not one, not two, but five daggers; two at his neck, one threatening to drive between his ribs, one at his thigh - a bit too close to a rather sensitive part of his anatomy - and another aimed at his liver.
All previous lines of cultural propriety had been erased. The Al-Tamimi sisters had transformed from Austen to assassins in a matter of seconds.
The dagger pointed between his ribs belonged to Wahida. Shinjiro had still not picked up any Arabic, though Wahida’s teenage outrage required no translation:“Baba!?” (What the hell, dad!?)“Mneeh, mneeh–” Mr. Al-Tamimi approached slowly and waved his hands with a flustered and forced smile (Don’t mind the jackass, darlings)“Baba,” sighed Zainab (Control your idiot friend, old man!)“Baba!” Nagheen snapped (‘The fuck is this shit?)
“Okay, okay,” Mr. Al-Tamimi leveled with his daughters.The Al-Tamimi matriarch chimed in with a gleeful laugh and politely applauded the show. Mrs. Al-Tamimi yawned and patted the elderly woman’s hands with her own.Kirijo looked twelve shades past livid, and yet underneath that was an overriding expression of panic.
Shit was going down fast. Kirijo’s eyes flitted from the daggers, to Shinjiro, to Mr. Al-Tamimi, and back to the root problem of Shinjiro. Kirijo was doing the calculus of the situation a little too fast without Shinjiro’s input.“Kirijo,” Shinjiro said deliberately, hands up in the air. “You’re not going up there. Tell these nice people you’re not going up there.”“You’ve insulted their family’s sacred tradition,” Kirijo gritted through her smile, her gaze trained on Mr. Al-Tamimi.
Mr. Al-Tamimi responded with a pissed off smile of his very own.
Shinjiro took a shallow breath to avoid slicing himself open on Wahida’s dagger.
“Okay. Tell them I’m very sorry and then tell them you’re not going up there.”Kirijo shifted into Arabic, eliciting harsh replies from both Mr. Al-Tamimi and his five daughters, who were visibly losing patience with the situation at hand. For a man whose life was about to end in five separate but equally unpleasant ways, Shinjiro felt a little left out of the conversation.
“Kirijo–”“Be quiet. I'm bartering for your life.”“What are you saying?”“That you're a well meaning idiot who was swept up by an antiquated sense of chivalry.”“I don't have chivalry, I have a job,” Shinjiro said. The edge of Nagheen’s dagger pressed firmly to his throat, drawing a sharp grunt from his chest.
“Make sure you tell them the job part.”The conversation took off at light speed. Kirijo seemed to be balancing three lines of communication, one with Shinjiro and then two separate hostage channels with the Al-Tamimi sisters and Mr. Al-Tamimi, who appeared to grow less and less interested in advocating for Shinjiro’s life as the conversation wore on.
The Al-Tamimi matriarch inserted herself into the conversation by drawing the requisite box outline with her fingers in reference to Shinjiro. She then gestured to Kirijo and began a detailed lecture.

Kirijo’s expression iced over with resignation. She closed her eyes and nodded.Whatever the elderly woman said seemed to sway the Al-Tamimi sisters. She wagged her finger at her grand-daughters and delivered a final edict on the whole ‘to gut or not to gut’ situation.
The Al-Tamimi sisters withdrew their blades and stepped back, except for Nagheen, who drove Shinjiro to his knees to better leverage the dagger against his throat.“Good news, Aragaki,” Kirijo said. “Your life is spared, for now.”“Wonderful,” Shinjiro spat. He eyed the woman at his shoulder without moving. “Did Lydia Bennet not hear the happy news?”Kirijo’s eyes flickered to Nagheen before she indulged in an abrupt and weary sigh.“I’m afraid it’s one of the terms of the compromise.”“One of the terms?”“Don’t move,” Kirijo said, turning away from the base of the cliff.
She hooked her hands to the rock and began to climb; no rope, no mat, and no one to spot her at the bottom.
Shinjiro’s stomach boiled as he watched her go. Kirijo’s ascending movements were too sharp, too abrupt, and too defiant for anyone without an anchor. With each upward pull at the rock, Kirijo loosened showers of pebbles and dust.
She pushed upward. Kirijo’s movements were undeterred by the unstable rock surface or a reasonable sense of fear or inhibition. Her wrist stretched higher along the cliff wall, every hand and foot hold a hasty cost benefit analysis. With each advance upward, Kirijo found purchase on a new eggshell thin shelf of rock and paused only to assess the next hold in her route.
Kirijo reached, the sunlight filtering through the thin flesh of her palm with every upward advance against the sandstone wall.
His terror soared with every movement she made higher and further out of his line of reach.
Shinjiro gnashed his teeth. He sat pinned under the edge of a blade with grit in his teeth and nose. Once more, he was fucking useless.
What if she slipped? Could Shinjiro make it in time to cushion her fall? Or would Nagheen flick her wrist and end his life before he could blink? If Shinjiro managed to avoid the blades of the Al-Tamimi sisters, would it matter? What was he supposed to do if she fell?The demon that had been carved out of him and buried in Suang Si Daeng Prison answered: rejoice. Shinjiro clenched his fist, fingernails clawing into the faded white line running the center of his palm. Blood rushed underneath the scar tissue. The demon was sent back to its grave.
Kirijo arrived at an overhang. Shinjiro sucked in a breath and exhaled a curse upon her name as she began to swing, scissoring her legs and gathering momentum to propel her body higher. Shinjiro fought the urge to close his eyes.
Each kick and swing that Kirijo made knocked a year off of his life, but Kirijo had a seemingly eternal spring of energy and recklessness at the tips of her toes. She cleared the sandstone overhang and disappeared over the crest of the cliff.
Nagheen retracted the knife from Shinjiro’s throat and stepped back.
Shinjiro rose to his feet and waited. Several minutes passed and Kirijo did not reappear. Shinjiro traded one terror for another.
It was a story. Kirijo was chasing a myth. She wasn’t going to fly into the morning light never to be seen again. A disquieting sense of doubt prevailed over his sense of reason. Story or not, Shinjiro couldn’t refute the presence of the fiery-hearted Al-Tamimi women, the war mare Sahar, and the race against the light. His thug’s intuition told him that somewhere over the cliff’s edge, Kirijo sought a cave of sparrows and a forbidden secret therewithin.An eternity later, Wahida let out a joyful laugh and pointed.Kirijo appeared at the cliff’s edge. The Al-Tamimi family murmured their quiet words of approval. Shinjiro’s bones turned to hot wax and he allowed himself a shaky smile. His relief was violently revoked when he realized he was going to have to watch her descend.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Kirijo picked a different route for her descent, one that tested the limits of Shinjiro’s blood pressure just as much as the initial ascent had.
Kirijo was nearly at the bottom of the cliff.

Shinjiro shuffled through the sand to the base of the cliff, outlining in great detail his next steps. Behind them, the five Al-Tamimi sisters collectively reached for their daggers. Mr. Al-Tamimi motioned for them to wait.
Shinjiro was grateful. The ladies would simply need to wait their turn to disembowel him. Just a couple more meters before Kirijo’s feet touched solid earth, and the second she came within reach, Shinjiro was going to throw her over his shoulder and drop her in the trunk of the next car he came across without an ounce of regret–Kirijo’s foot slipped against the flat curve of rock.
A gut wrenching gasp, paired with the sound of cascading pebbles.

Shinjiro filled the space between her and the ground in seconds. Kirijo dropped into his arms with a soft grunt, falling hard enough to almost drop Shinjiro to one knee. Shinjiro coiled one arm behind her thighs, the other snared around her back.
Whatever Kirijo saw in his eyes stiffened her spine. Shinjiro was close enough to see the wild, wind-swept strands of hair curling at her temple and clinging to the nape of her neck and smell the salt of her sweat and the dusty perfume of sandstone on her hands.Kirijo’s eyes drifted to his lips. Unable to break away from her gaze for fear of dropping her, Shinjiro set her on her feet, keeping his arm behind her back until she was safely settled back on solid earth.
Shinjiro spotted the cuts on her hands. He reached for her, his palm swallowing her sparrow-boned wrist. Her pulse thrashed under his touch but Kirijo did not flinch or recoil. She held her chin high and waited. Shinjiro released her wrist and snatched her fingers in one hand and applied firm, grounding pressure.
“Stupid,” he exhaled.
Shinjiro reached into his pocket in search of the scarf Kirijo had given him. He snapped it free from his pocket and shook his head.“That was so stupid–”The scarf trembled in his hands as he worked. Shinjiro applied pressure to the places where the unforgiving cliff wall had pocked and dug at her flesh.Kirijo’s body went from rigid to boneless in seconds. She tilted slightly on her feet, her features darkening.
“Appreciate you waiting until you were off the cliff to pass out,” Shinjiro muttered, guiding his free hand to the small of her back.“I’m not going to–” she began.
“No, you’re not. Sit down.”Shinjiro helped Kirijo to sit in the sand without yielding her hands from his grip. He continued to run the scarf over her skin.
“Shallow cuts,” Kirijo murmured, dazed. “A little water will do the trick.”“That was so stupid,” was all Shinjiro could say in response. “That was so stupid.”

Both Shinjiro and Kirijo were given a few moments to calm their nerves. Shinjiro was nearly ready to begin executing his plan of throwing Kirijo in the back of the truck when Mr. Al-Tamimi approached with a soothing smile. He waved at Shinjiro like he was a naughty little scamp and released a soothing laugh.

Very good! Now it’s time for the duel of sparrows!
Shinjiro turned to Kirijo.“That’s a translation issue, right?”Kirijo stared at him.“It’s a translation issue, right Kirijo?” he pressed.“Yes, I suppose the more literal translation is sparrow’s honor.”“And who arranged this duel?”“She did,” Kirijo said, opening her hand to the Al-Tamimi matriarch. She waved at Shinjiro and crowed with laughter, using her hands to once again draw a box shape in his direction. Shinjiro shook his head.“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”“You insulted a sacred rite of passage,” Kirijo reminded him patiently.
“The hell I did.”“You should be grateful that I was able to negotiate a fair resolution to the matter.”“A fair resolution?” Shinjiro said. “Mitsuru Kirijo’s fair resolution is a duel?”“It’s their family’s tradition,” she explained. Kirijo covered his hand with hers. “I will ensure you don’t suffer.”
“I’m not going to fight you, Kirijo.”“No,” Kirijo said with prim disappointment as she stood. “Though, the Al-Tamimis were amenable to the proposition that I elect a champion to fight in my place.”Kirijo summoned her champion with a sharp and authoritative tone.“Azim.”The family’s intimidating driver went deathly still. The gruff scowl the man had worn since Shinjiro had arrived melted into an expression of terror. He patted the same spot against his left ribs, his lips quivering.The Al-Tamimi sisters exchanged apprehensive looks before flocking to Kirijo. They pulled her away for a clandestine meeting, their whispering growing sharp and tense before it bordered on combative. Shinjiro tracked Kirijo’s cold and unruffled expression as the Al-Tamimi sisters’ whispers took on a pleading tone and became more and more desperate.
She shook her head coolly at each of their pleas. Shinjiro overheard her repeat one name over and over again: Azim.The sisters glanced fearfully between Shinjiro and the family driver.

Mr. Al-Tamimi cocked his head, looking like he too was inordinately displeased the unfolding situation.The driver looked at Shinjiro, his chin trembling. He shook his head and turned to Mr. Al-Tamimi with
unabashed terror before dropping to his knees and pleading with him. Even on the ground, the driver was a skyscraper.
Shinjiro was positively baffled. Sure, he wasn’t easy on the eyes, but he sure as hell wasn’t as intimidating as this guy. The family driver was nearly as big as Cheddarjack. Shinjiro wanted to reach over and pat the guy on the back and reassure him: You're gonna be great buddy. You’ve got this. “I’ve chosen Azim,” Kirijo said flatly, looking down at Shinjiro while Mr. Al-Tamimi helped steel Azim for battle.
“Yes, I can see you’ve chosen Azim,” Shinjiro snarled through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to kill a man for you, Kirijo.”“Of course not,” Kirijo said. She clapped a hand on his shoulder and squinted down at him with a portentous nod. “Die quickly, Aragaki. Die with honor.”Shinjiro stood up. The family gathered around them in a half circle.
The Al-Tamimi women settled themselves near the cliff wall. Each of them glared at Shinjiro with boiling hatred, their hands gripped on the hilts of their sheathed daggers as if they were just waiting for Shinjiro to blink wrong before they gut him like a fish. The sisters murmured amongst themselves, each appearing to openly regret not carving Shinjiro to pieces when they’d had the chance.

Mr. Al-Tamimi scowled at Kirijo with unabashed disapproval while Azim openly wept in terror.
The only person who wasn’t weeping or on the verge of slitting his throat was Kirijo herself. If anything, Kirijo looked slightly bored.
“How do I…” Shinjiro patted himself. “Do I at least get a…?”“Weapons are for the weak,” Kirijo snapped, joining the Al-Tamimi women along the base of the cliff. “Die with honor. Die quickly.”Fucking perfect.
Azim took a quivering breath and knelt to the ground across from him. Shinjiro mirrored his stance and shook his head at him. A part of him raged, echoes of the old demon again whispering insidious thoughts of Mitsuru Kirijo and the shameless way she sent unsuspecting men to their deaths.“Azim,” Kirijo snapped at Shinjiro’s opponent. She pushed her palm under her left breast and signaled him to move.Azim shuddered and fixed Shinjiro with one final look of despair. He reached into a hidden pocket inside just above his left ribs.Shinjiro tensed his shoulders, watching for the flash of a blade to catch the sunlight.Azim pulled out a ball of orange fur and set it upon the ground. The sisters all drew an inch of steel from the sheaths at their hips.A pair of green eyes squinted at Shinjiro from across combatant lines. The beast had been stirred from its slumber. The kitten let out a sharp yawn and shook itself awake. He opened his mouth and let out a tiny battle cry before initiating a clumsy and fearless ambush toward Shinjiro, his cries growing more wrathful with each tumbling step.
“Azim,” the driver whispered to the tiny kitten, tears beading in his eyes. It was too late to intervene; Kirijo’s champion had been dispatched.Shinjiro gawped.
He held his hands out in exasperation and looked at Kirijo for guidance. The kitten tottered closer. The Al-Tamimi sisters watched Shinjiro, their eyes narrowed and their hands clenched on the hilts of their daggers.
Kirijo was gazing softly at Azim.
“Kirijo,” Shinjiro murmured. The orange kitten began to clamber up his thigh.
Azim’s tiny claws sank into the fabric of his pants. His battle cries intensified and he continued to advance up Shinjiro’s torso, his pudgy body dangling loosely from the front of Shinjiro’s shirt.
Shinjiro made another bid for help through a glance over at Kirijo. She looked back at him with the stone cold disinterest of a judge before issuing him a ruthless nod.
Die quickly. Die with honor.
Comprehension dawned over him. Thoroughly engaged in a death match he never stood a chance of surviving, Shinjiro nodded and drew his last breath.
He engaged his opponent with a cupped hand. The women stirred but Kirijo held her arm out to stop them.
Shinjiro struggled valiantly but to no avail; he was hopelessly overpowered. Azim let out a fearsome mewl. Shinjiro cradled Azim to his chest, uncurling his hand and surrendering his opponent only after he’d been knocked flat to the sand.
Now unquestionably dead, Shinjiro stretched his arms out into the sand and let his head fall to the side.
Azim took a tottering victory lap around the expanse of his enemy’s chest before curling into a ball and returning to his slumber.The Al-Tamimi family roared with laughter.

Azim the Undefeated was balled into an orange loop in Shinjiro’s palm. The driver for the Al-Tamimi family, whose name was Sadiq, tended to the horses, singing to Sahar as he ran a brush over her exquisite coat.
The Al-Tamimi family was gathered around a nearby fire. From his spot in the courtyard, Shinjiro watched Nagheen, Zainab, and Wahida as they rolled bread dough onto the charcoal and buried it with sand, taking it out to smack and break away at it before drizzling the bread in honey. They arranged the bread into a basket before passing it to Kirijo.
Nagheen gestured over her shoulder to Shinjiro’s spot. She said something that caused the entire family to peal with laughter.
The chorus of giggling followed Kirijo’s approach to Shinjiro’s seat beside his tent.She offered him the basket. Shinjiro balanced the sleeping kitten in his left palm and carefully selected a piece of bread with his right hand. He had questions about the cave of sparrows, about the folk tale, and what the fuck it all meant to Kirijo and her self-enrichment. He had questions about the cooking technique for the bread. Shinjiro kept his questions to himself and ate in silence.The demon with a voice of loathing, regret, and anger that was eternally hungry for vengeance was gone again, but earlier that demon had clawed up from the earth and aimed its sights on Kirijo. The memory from hours earlier made Shinjiro so ill he had to set down the remainder of his bread.
Shinjiro thought of the video footage of Kirijo the night of her father’s death.
The date November 4, 2009 was not remarkable to Shinjiro. He'd been in prison. It was before he'd met Cheddarjack. It was before he’d read The Count of Monte Cristo and before he'd read A Tale of Two Cities, when the demon had been so loud that it turned Shinjiro's brain to ash every time it whispered from the shadows.It was only years later, after Shinjiro had returned to Port Island and bought out the former Kirijo Group employee that he'd learned the truth behind Takeharu Kirijo's death. Shinjiro had read the archived reports from November 4th, 2009 before he'd seen the footage of the Iwatodai Dormitories from that night. Later, Shinjiro had come across the footage and observed how that night had unfolded for Mitsuru Kirijo from behind the safe, sterile lens of an old recording.
On November 4, 2009 Mitsuru Kirijo climbed the stairs to her room alone. The shadows of her teammates were not far behind her but not at her heels either. Shinjiro had watched them fret about whether or not she should be left alone. He had watched them pace the hallways and common room for thirteen minutes before they ultimately returned to their beds.
The camera in Mitsuru’s room had picked up where the hallway camera had stopped. Shinjiro had watched her enter her room and had nearly turned it off out of respect for her privacy.Shame had compelled him to continue watching.Kirijo had stood motionless in the middle of her room, her back to the camera. She’d turned away and again, Shinjiro had tracked her from the girl’s floor to the boy’s floor where she made her way into Aki’s empty room.
She stepped inside and stood facing the bed. There was no indication that she was breathing. It was as though Mitsuru Kirijo had been transposed into the footage without actually being there. The only proof that she was alive came when she turned around and turned off the light.The camera clicked back on in the morning to reveal Kirijo lying on Aki’s bed, face down, her hair splitting a small window to reveal her swollen eyes, open and vacant.There was only one person who’d earned the demon’s ire; and it wasn’t the girl in that footage.
If Shinjiro had been in Port Island that night, would he have carried her home when she couldn’t walk? Would he have stayed at her side and slept beside her on Aki’s bed? If Aki had been there, would he have done the same?

Shinjiro watched Azim’s plump stomach rise and fall in his palms. He marveled how something so small and fragile could so fearlessly take up space; how the simple act of breathing could be both effortless and radical.
Sadiq approached Shinjiro with a smile and held his hands out to receive his friend. Azim protested with a sleepy mewl when Shinjiro carefully transferred him into Sadiq’s waiting palms. The transgression was quickly forgotten and Sadiq began warbling a different lullaby to the kitten, this one a softer, lighter tune than he’d used to serenade Sahar.
Shinjiro’s hands were still tingling from where Azim had warmed them. Shinjiro looked at the scar scrawled on the center of his left hand. All of the promises he’d broken lived there. All of the vows he’d made to the living and the dead resided there too.
Kirijo sat down beside him.
Mitsuru Kirijo had intervened to save his life twice now, two times that Shinjiro knew of anyway. He’d hoped to gain just a scrap of intel from her about her so-called self-enrichment, but now Shinjiro was too exhausted to do anything other than sit outside her tent and make sure she didn’t ride off into the desert without him again.
From a distance, they watched the Al-Tamimi family around the fire, their voices rising and falling in laughter, in beats of silence, in weary sighs and mellifluous singing voices. The Al-Tamimi matriarch was laughingly dragged inside by Zainab’s little boy, a toothy smile on his lips and a storybook tucked under his arm. At length the rest of the family retired to their home to sleep. Kirijo stood up and bade him goodnight.
Shinjiro responded in kind.
Kirijo frowned down at him.“What are you doing?” she asked. “Go into your tent, Aragaki.”
“Night watch,” Shinjiro said, cupping his hand around his lighter as he lit a cigarette. “Sahar's got a shifty look.”Kirijo let out a heavy sigh and crossed her arms.“Go to bed.”“Oh no,” Shinjiro said. “Not falling for that again, Kirijo. This time I’ll be ready for you when you try to sneak out.”“Aragaki, I’m exhausted. I’m not going anywhere. Even if I had the stamina, you’re clearly unraveling before my eyes.”“Rude, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said mildly.“My point is that you’d be too fatigued to do anything.”Shinjiro shook his head.
“I’d trip you.”“You–” Kirijo paused. “You would.”“Back to your tent, little sparrow,” Shinjiro rasped.“You need to sleep at some point,” she insisted.“When I’m dead,” Shinjiro paused. “You're up to something.”“Yes,” Kirijo admitted. “I'm trying to go to sleep.”“Then sleep, Kirijo. I’m not going anywhere.”“I can’t sleep while you’re just sitting out here. It's unnerving.”Shinjiro shrugged and said nothing. Around the fire, Sadiq took his time extinguishing the embers and took long breaks to pace in the sand. He craned his neck up at the night sky while he patted Azim’s spot in the left side of his pocket, the lullaby on his lips now meant for the stars and planets above them.Kirijo sat back down next to him.
“Fine. I’m ready to negotiate.”“Good for you,” Shinjiro said. “I’m not.”“I’m willing to offer collateral in exchange for your trust. I’ll give you my passport.”“Oh, your fake passport?” Shinjiro tapped the excess ash from his cigarette and cleared his throat. “Do better, Kirijo.”“Name your price.”Shinjiro paused. He peered through the darkness and into her eyes before he pointed to the locket around her neck.“That.”Kirijo’s fingers drifted to her locket and through the heavy lid of night, her eyes glittered with sudden fear. Shinjiro’s mouth filled with an acrid taste unrelated to the cigarette.“I’m happy to sit out here tonight, Kirijo,” Shinjiro added quietly. He tried to backpedal further, but Kirijo beat him to it.“It’s not that,” she said. “I’d also like some degree of reassurance.”“All right,” Shinjiro conceded with a sigh. “You want my passport?”“I want those,” Kirijo pointed to his cigarettes.
“You’d deny a man his creature comforts?” Shinjiro accused.“You’ll be sleeping,” Kirijo said dourly. “What will it matter?”Shinjiro strained in his seat and reached into his pocket with a defeated grunt.“You ever get sick of being one step ahead of every other idiot?” he bristled through his cigarette.“You’re stalling,” she said bluntly. “The cigarettes, Aragaki.”Shinjiro handed Kirijo the pack. She accepted it and carefully reached behind her neck and unclasped the locket chain. Her fingers hitched in the space over his palm before she slowly pooled the chain into his hand. She reluctantly let the pendant drop into the soft hollow of Shinjiro’s hand.“Please,” she whispered, closing Shinjiro’s fingers into a gentle fist around the pendant. “Please don’t break it.”Shinjiro opened his fist and cupped her hand in his, the locket pressed between their palms.
“I won’t.”

Shinjiro stepped outside the courtyard so that he was still within view of Kirijo’s tent, but far enough away to not be seen.In one hand he held the small tracking device. In the other hand he held Kirijo’s locket.
Shinjiro carefully opened the locket, expecting a photo of Aki or something. Instead he found two feathers wound along the edge of the picture frame. One was a dusty brown feather. The other was a white feather. Shinjiro recognized the latter immediately. It was the same feather Miki had given Aki. She claimed to have found it outside her bedroom window, saying it came from an angel and that carrying it would protect him.
The sight made him sick.
On the back of the pendant, Shinjiro made out three interlocked spirals joined at the center. He ran a finger along the curve of the pattern before closing the locket with a sigh.
“I’m just doing my job, I’m just doing my job, I’m just…shit.”Shinjiro took a deep breath. He quit his attempts to reason with the locket and instead looked into the abyss of stars above.“This is fucking dark,” he said before pausing. “This is next-level fucked up, right?”The heavens cast nothing but cold judgment upon him.This was it. Kirijo had just handed him a golden opportunity. Peel and stick, and he could find her anywhere. He wouldn’t have to tease out the real planners from the fake planners, he wouldn’t have to bury and re-commission a new guy every week, wouldn’t have to sort out if Kirijo was getting her ass kicked in Inaba or Yakushima, and he wouldn’t have to figure out what fucking motorcycle she’d taken. If she got herself caught up in some trouble, he’d know where to find her. He was well within the jurisdiction given to him by Kurosawa to keep tabs on her whereabouts, but like this?
“Help a guy out, Aki,” he said to the locket. “Be my moral compass. Drop me a hint.”Nothing.Shinjiro sighed.Under the vibrant starlight, the locket gleamed in Shinjiro’s perfectly still palm. He studied it a moment longer before giving it a nod. His thoughts turned to sleep. Shinjiro shifted in the sand.

“Something else then,” he said to the locket.
The locket frame popped open with a resolute flick.

Kirijo was waiting for Shinjiro outside his tent in the morning.
A short distance from the courtyard, four of the five Al-Tamimi sisters were back on their horses. Nagheen's horse was turning circles around Omideh and Eshaal’s mares, who were lazily nipping at each other’s ears. All three were keening with laughter.
Wahida was saddled comfortably upon Sahar and draped forward against Sahar's broad neck while pretending to be fast asleep. Zainab laughed at her sister’s silly antics. The eldest Al-Tamimi daughter stood beside Sahar’s flowing mane and attempted to tease her with an apple, though Sahar was far more interested in nuzzling Zainab’s outstretched stomach.
Kirijo stood up from her chair and greeted Shinjiro with a nod.
“Aragaki.”“Kirijo,” he nodded back.Kirijo held out her hand. Shinjiro shook his head.“Cigarettes first,” he said.Kirijo pressed the pack into his palm. Shinjiro retrieved the locket. He glimpsed down at it with a frown and then stretched his hand out to her.
“Need a hand?” he asked.A touch of scarlet filled Kirijo's cheeks."Y-yes. Please."She turned around and gathered her hair to the crown of her head. Shinjiro took the ends of the chain and gathered them at the smooth base of her neck. Shinjiro’s fingers brushed the nape of her neck, spooling dangerously close to a soft curl of hair. His stomach responded with a hard clench. The flash of her bare skin against the pads of his fingers was at once electrifying and soft as silk.
Shinjiro fastened the clasp.
The sound of Shinjiro swallowing the lump in his throat was deafening. Why did the desert make his mouth so fucking dry? Shinjiro drew in a short breath and realized he had left his hand lingering against her skin too long.
“All set,” he rasped, pulling away.
Kirijo released her hair from the top of her head and adjusted it against her shoulders. She turned around, her thumb brushing against the pendent. The cold fire in her eyes was replaced with a soft, open flame.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him.He produced a thin smile.
“Anytime.”Shinjiro Aragaki: Snake in the sand.

At Wahida's request, Kirijo took Wahida's place in the saddle. Sahar’s temperament shifted from sleepy to feisty in seconds.
Shinjiro watched Sahar’s tail flick in the breeze as she opened into a spritely trot. Kirijo twisted in the saddle and threw Shinjiro a furtive glance while the Al-Tamimi sisters called her over to play their game.Alone at last with his cigarettes, Shinjiro flipped open the lid to the pack.
Inside the cigarette box were several neat rows of Pocky sticks. The Pocky was trimmed to even, uniform lengths and color coded by flavor. Strawberry at the top, matcha in the middle, and chocolate at the bottom.
Shinjiro puckered his lips.
After giving his options their due consideration, he selected a fine strawberry number from the top row. He placed it between his lips and glanced up at Kirijo with his most stern face.
Kirijo bravely bit her lip before the wiley, gleeful grin gave way.

The muscles in Shinjiro’s face fell slack, weakened by the heat or jet leg and not anything else. The Pocky went limp in his lips and nearly dropped from his mouth.
Shinjiro gripped it in his teeth and gave Kirijo an indifferent nod.
Her eyes cinched with mirth. Her laughter was a far away but clear melody and Shinjiro’s ears were filled with slow, thoughtful piano strokes and suddenly, the perpetual heavy feeling loaded like a rock on his back lightened.

Kirijo’s attention was captured by the five Al-Tamimi sisters, each gracing their own unique and carefree smiles upon her. From her place in the saddle, her hair tangled and wild as she rode, Kirijo rivaled the blazing sun as it rose, her cheeks aglow with exhilaration.
She'd replaced his cigarettes with candy.
He'd put a tracking device in her locket. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad tradeoff. Maybe Shinjiro wasn’t that sorry.
Kirijo looked over her shoulder, searching for him again. She found his gaze and the world became watercolor soft.
The Pocky wobbled between Shinjiro’s lips.Maybe he'd try kicking the smoking habit, once and for all, when he got home.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Suang Si Daeng

1,062 days of prison sentence remaining

11/29/2009

Outgoing call initiated… The call is waiting to be accepted… The call is waiting to be accepted…
“Pick up. Pick up. Shit, please just pick up–”The ringing stopped. On the other end, Shinjiro heard the receiver clip away from the phone cradle.“…Shinjiro?”
“Hey! ‘The hell you think you’re doing, inmate?"
“Wait, they said I could–” he let out a strangled breath, struggling against the growing number of hands at his arms and shoulders. “I gave you what you wanted god damn it, I’m not finished here let me go, let me go–”

Shinjiro set the steaming pancakes before Aki’s photo and slathered them in butter and syrup, his unlit cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth.
He’d infused the batter with chai and had whipped up a strawberry compote at the last minute.
After lighting the incense beside Aki’s smile, Shinjiro took a bite from the modest stack of pancakes.
The spice was slightly overpowering. Nothing he couldn’t fix next time.
He chewed and checked the weather report. A typhoon was set to make landfall in a few days time and Shinjiro made a shopping list to help fill Kirijo’s refrigerator. Maybe he’d sneak in when she took off for her next equestrian lesson. Either that, or he’d need to confess to being a jackass.

Shinjiro shoved a glob of syrup soaked pancakes in his mouth and let out a heavy sigh.Spring had stretched and pooled into long summer days. The trees held the thick July heat in boughs brimming with spectrums of greens and dark yellow while Shinjiro boiled in his respective bartender and valet uniforms.
His young, affluent customers at the Obelisk stayed until closing and ordered cocktails fragrant with lavender and honey. Shinjiro found himself masking more and more smiles at their antics and looked forward to sharing them in detail with Kirijo when he met with her.
Up until last week, his visits with Kirijo had been going well. Shinjiro arrived at her apartment in his bartender’s bowtie and regaled her with the dramas of the young and tipsy while he checked the security system. Kirijo listened while leaned back on her plush sofa, one knee hugged to her chest while her other stocking clad foot dangled loosely from the edge. She’d open the piano cover and invite him to stay for tea while she played the same sad song over and over again.
Sometimes, Shinjiro changed out of his bartending uniform and into his valet’s uniform in the comfort of her guest bathroom. Whenever he did he faced the mirror’s reflection with a sneer; someone like him was grossly out of place in a setting like Kirijo’s apartment. How the hell did she tolerate him in her home?Every time he left, Shinjiro imagined he saw a sadness in Kirijo’s eyes; a lingering desire that she aimed at the ground before she bid him goodbye and slowly shut the door. He knew he was imagining it, that he'd have to be delusional to believe she'd want him around messing with the security system and grilling her about any suspicious activity. Still, it drove him crazy when she’d leave the door slightly ajar and foist the task of firmly closing it to Shinjiro.It had been three months since they’d returned from Jordan. Kirijo had been selective about what she’d revealed regarding her trials in the desert. She’d shared the story of the mythical cave of sparrows and the language of birds with academic disinterest, referring to it as research for self-enrichment purposes.
Shinjiro pressed Kirijo for more information, starting with what the Al-Tamimi matriarch had said about him (Kirijo had left the room in response to the question). Shinjiro had asked how she was intending to enrich herself with Bedouin folk tales.
Kirijo was withholding and somehow earnest; she told him she was going to use the story to make the world a better place.
Kirijo’s starry-eyed optimism raised Shinjiro’s hackles and cranked the thug’s intuition to its highest voltage.
Over the years he’d spent watching, waiting, playing dumb, and playing smart, Shinjiro had learned there was more than one way to get a target to reveal information. The first was to offer up just a little information, lure the target in by showing you knew enough to be dangerous and could be trusted with a secret. The truth or dare method had yielded less than fruitful intel from Kirijo and couldn’t be drawn upon again unless Shinjiro had something concrete to build his leading questions around.

The second tactic was to play the role of dumb, slack jawed moron who couldn’t be trusted to absorb anything. Under this premise, Shinjiro just needed to wait for Kirijo to slip up. Kirijo either didn’t see him as a dumb slack jawed moron, or saw him as the type that could put two and two together.There were more effective and unpleasant ways to get information. Those methods were not on the table.
Shinjiro settled on a third strategy of combining tactics one and two: Wait Kirijo out and note every scrap of information she yielded. This was the method Shinjiro had deployed in his most recent stint with the Port Island yakuza. It required patience and subtle deception. This strategy, combined with the last-resort tracking device in Kirijo’s locket would have to do for now.

Shinjiro polished off his portion of the pancakes and made short work of the post-meal clean up. Aki kept him company while Shinjiro pulled up the video logs from the security system in Kirijo’s apartment.

Last week, he’d dropped by to test the security system after two soul-crushing back to back shifts at the Obelisk and then at the valet station at L’Etoile Brasserie. Shinjiro had been on his feet for nearly twelve hours when he’d sat down on Kirijo’s sofa and accepted a cup of hot tea from her hands. Kirijo had opened the cover to the piano and before he knew it, Shinjiro was waking up on her plush velvet sofa with a blanket tucked to his chin and Koromaru snoring at his side.
Shinjiro had fled in a panic.Kirijo did not pursue him for an explanation. Shinjiro had texted and informed her that he would conduct their next check-in over the telephone and assured her that he’d monitor the security system using his phone.

Kirijo had agreed and Shinjiro’s chest had buzzed uncomfortably the rest of the day.
Kirijo was his principal. Grimey thugs did not fall asleep on their principal’s sofa. Shinjiro was losing sight of his priorities; watch Kirijo’s back and uncover the threats surrounding her. He needed to double down on his job, which meant teasing out what she was doing, maintaining a professional distance, and not falling asleep on her couch.
This stalwart dedication led Shinjiro to his current cross-legged seat in front of Aki’s altar. He retrieved the security camera footage on his phone and began reviewing from the day the cameras had been installed. There had to be something there, a piece of information, a hint that he could use to drive a wedge into Kirijo’s scheme.

Shinjiro replayed the footage from May the week he’d followed Kirijo to Jordan. He spotted Yamagishi and Takeba, bringing in mail and watering Kirijo’s plants. He saw Iori and Aigis, swinging by to collect gourmet food for Koromaru that had previously been forgotten - and oh yes, destroy another piece of cookware (now featuring Kirijo’s microwave and a vibrant fireworks display).
Shinjiro had seen each of these instances back in May when the motion sensors had originally alerted both himself and Kirijo to the activity. The replay offered no additional information.Shinjiro’s finger stumbled on the screen. The footage wound back to the night Kirijo’s fiance had come by.
He turned the playback off, took a deep breath, and put it back on. There might be something useful in the playback, a hint that might explain Kirijo’s disassociation that night.
Shinjiro watched. He watched the absence of light in Kirijo’s eyes. He sat back and watched her fiance reach for her throat and finally the pop and flash of light that killed the feed; there–He stopped the playback.
He’d seen something. He was almost sure of it, but he’d have to watch the fucking thing again to confirm it. Shinjiro rubbed his face, stood up, poured himself and Aki a glass of cheap whiskey before he threw it back and returned to the footage. He started the playback from the beginning despite desperately wanting to hurl his phone against the wall.

Kirijo’s fiance reached for her throat.

Shinjiro’s teeth cracked.

Koromaru leapt to her defense–
Shinjiro paused the footage and stared down at his now empty glass.“Bad whiskey,” he said to Aki. Aki smiled back in silent judgment.Shinjiro blinked and dialed back the footage.
Shinjiro caught the replay on a splinter of a second. The flash that preempted the power outage blinded him temporarily but soon Shinjiro’s eyes adjusted.
“‘The hell?”The explosion of light illuminated a spector looming over Kirijo. In one hand it held a globe and in the other, a broadsword leveled on Kirijo’s fiance.

Shinjiro was preparing for his valet’s shift at a special event when Kirijo texted him.
[Kirijo] I will be traveling to Tokyo next week.

Shinjiro nearly dropped his cell phone.
Obviously he was aware of Kirijo’s travel plans - her authentic planner pages were still neatly printed out on his kitchen counter - but Kirijo was openly communicating her travel plans with him. Kirijo was informing him of her travel itinerary.
Was Kirijo aware she was texting him? Was it a mistake? Had she meant to text someone else?
[Kirijo] That is all.
Shinjiro mustered a response. He kept it brief, though he contemplated asking if Kurusu had rented out a gymnasium for the meeting or if he was planning on showcasing his four backflips in the alley of Yongen-Jaya.

Why are you telling me?

[Kirijo] I was informed I had no other option.

Since when do you listen to me?

[Kirijo] Since I learned you obtained unauthorized access to my planner. Considering the wealth of information you now have at your disposal thanks in part to your unique skill set, I thought it prudent to give you the courtesy of a notice.

Is that an olive branch in your hand, Kirijo?

[Kirijo] I will meet with a mentee of mine at a cafe in Yongen-Jaya for an hour or less. I will be staying overnight. I will send you details of my accommodations, though you can be assured they are highly secure.

Give me the names of the horses who will be there.

[Kirijo] I owe you notice and nothing else.

Notice received. When are we leaving?
[Kirijo] There is no we. Your presence is neither requested nor required. The fuck off express had arrived a few minutes later than anticipated. Shinjiro could have pointed out that it wasn’t up to Kirijo to request or require his presence. He opted for a softer approach.
Tolerate me, Kirijo.

The minutes oozed by. Kirijo didn’t take the bait. Shinjiro texted again.
Tolerate me, Kirijo.

No response. Shinjiro chose the path of unholy obnoxiousness.

Tolerate me.

Tolerate me.

Tolerate me.

Still nothing. Shinjiro opted for a more enticing lure.

I can be ever so good or I can be a pain in the ass. I’m going to be there either way.

[Kirijo] Don’t make a spectacle of yourself. Keep your distance. You have been warned.
Shinjiro smiled as he typed out his response.

You won’t even know I’m there.

The valet line up outside the 1920’s style European mansion was backed up by several car lengths. The black tie soiree was held in an upscale and semi-rural part of Port Island. Shinjiro was on loan to the event organizers as penance for one of the last minute shifts he’d foisted on his coworkers during Kirijo’s trip to Inaba; one of the many favors his coworkers had cashed in.
The July heat was rising and the scent of the grass that had been cut earlier in the morning lingered in the air. The chorus of cicadas had not yet crescendoed and gently persisted over the sounds of evening merry-making.
Shinjiro overheard his colleagues and several attendees discussing the impending typhoon set to make landfall over Port Island when a sleek black car pulled up to the valet’s station.
Shinjiro ambled toward the car, fresh from his cigarette break. He approached the door and opened it, his eye drawn to a slender leg draped in black. He glanced up from his moment of pure professionalism and extended his hand to the driver.Mitsuru Kirijo took his hand and stepped out of the driver's seat.Kirijo fixed him with a coy and somewhat surprised stare. Her eyes were lightly shadowed with a smokey hue, resembling the kohel she’d worn in the desert. Her surprise was soon consumed with a self-assured look. She smiled pleasantly at Shinjiro, the smart shade of lipstick sharpening the curve of her lips.
Shinjiro dislodged his voice from his ribs, his brain working out how to inconspicuously shove Kirijo back in the car.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said very nicely.
“I think you may be lost–”Kirijo tossed the keys up in the air for him. Shinjiro caught them with a blistering scowl.“I'd park it myself, but I'm afraid I've been given strict guidance to utilize the valet service,” she said.
She drifted by with a daring smirk. Shinjiro shifted from outraged to dumbstruck when she sauntered up the mansion steps. Kirijo's backless dress plunged to her waist, revealing the lean plane of skin and taut muscles along her shoulders and back.
Kirijo’s maddening backside disappeared into the mansion.
A fellow valet appeared beside Shinjiro.
“Man, I'd give my left nut to have that one over my–”Shinjiro accidentally shoved his elbow into his coworker’s ribs.

The next valet scheduled to go on break was just shy of nineteen years old. Shinjiro ambushed him and nearly pre-empted the attack by pulling out the thug posture card. Shinjiro allotted himself two minutes for the nice thug route before resorting to the next best arrow in his quiver.“Hey,” Shinjiro said. “Switch me, I just need ten minutes.”The kid eyed him suspiciously.
“What’s in it for me?”Spoken like a true snitch. Shinjiro produced his best customer-service smile in response.
“Anything you want,” he said.His coworker grinned.“Take my sister out on a date.”“How old?” Shinjiro frowned.
“Old. Like super old.”“How old?” Shinjiro repeated and took a tiny step closer. His coworker took a stumbling step back.“L-Like thirty one?”“Fine. Sure.”“Oh man,” the valet squealed. “She’s gonna flip when she sees you! I can’t wait to see her run in the opposite direction!”Shinjiro moved into the foyer of the mansion and flattened himself to the wall in time to see Kirijo glide up to the top landing of a grand mahogany staircase. There were two security guards posted at the base of the staircase, each checking credentials and invites and eyeing guests with wary looks. Shinjiro searched for his next target when someone grunted at him.“Door!”

Shinjiro reached his hand out and held the door. A girl emerged from the kitchen with a silver platter on her shoulder laden with cocktails.
“Thanks,” she mumbled without looking at him. She sighed at the stairs. “I hate these houses. Would it have killed them to put in an elevator? Oh hey, Shinjiro-san.”She shifted on her feet. Her name was Sumi. She was the hostess at the L’Etoile Brasserie, but jumped on table service when the restaurant was short-staffed.
She didn’t drink and complained that her boyfriend always complained about the fact that she didn’t drink. Shinjiro had invited her to the Obelisk while he was on shift and made her a gin and tonic with non-alcoholic gin the night before her boyfriend dumped her. She’d complained it had been too strong.
Shinjiro shifted the tray from her shoulders to his.“Hey! Come on, I had it just fine!” she whined.“Switch me ties. I need to borrow your job for ten minutes.”“Why?” she narrowed her eyes. “What’s in it for me?”“Anything you want.”Sumi led them to a small servant’s nook. She removed Shinjiro’s valet tie and vest with light humming that only a calculating villain executed when they were scheming. Sumi removed her own tie and Shinjiro leaned down so that she could better adjust it around his neck. She seized the ends of the tie and pulled him down to her.
“Go on a date with me.”Shinjiro laughed so that he would not cry. Once he spared a moment to mourn the fact that he’d clearly chosen the wrong service industry, he declined.“You’ve got a boyfriend. I don’t need that kind of trouble.”“He dumped me again!” she moaned. “I want him to see that I've upgraded.”“Fine,” Shinjiro snapped. “But if he tries to fight me I get to kick him in the back.”“Deal!” she grinned.
Sumi did not release him. Her grin turned sinister. Shinjiro sighed and dropped his head.
“Is that it?”“I need you to help me move my couch.”
“Sumi-san, I will be on call to move your couch for the next ten years if you will just please help me with god damn tie – You’re so short it’s messing up my back to lean down like this.”Sumi knotted his tie. She put Shinjiro’s valet vest over her shoulders and shoved his tie in her pocket before giving him a salute. Shinjiro stood up, his back cracking loud enough for him to feel it in his jaw. Now wearing the invisibility cloak worn by all those in the service industry, he filed past the security guards, the tray of cocktails steady over his shoulders.
A crowd of men and women were filing into a large banquet room, each an assortment of shimmering sequin, pressed linen, polished leather, and well-lined pockets.
Kirijo was not among the crowd. A smaller crowd was gathered in a room labeled The Aviary. Shinjiro peered in and spotted Kirijo at the piano bench. A closer inspection of the room revealed a small alcove that had been situated for the evening’s event to prepare food and drinks. Shinjiro dipped through the bodies in the room, adjusting his posture so that he didn’t stand apart and lightened his load by palming cocktails into people’s hands. He made it to the serving station and slipped through a web of short leafy trees until he found a decent view of Kirijo seated at a luxurious piano.The room was set with wall to wall glass and topped with a domed ceiling that offered a pristine view of the stars and moon. The corners of the room were overrun with orange, banyan, and banana trees as well as an assortment of trees featuring thick, ropey branches and weeping boughs. The branches were jeweled with vibrant yellow throated birds flitting from tree to tree and their trimmed and burbling voices echoed against the panes.
The crowd continued to thin out while Kirijo sat contemplating the ivory keys. Shinjiro watched her for several minutes and just when he was convinced she was merely here to make an appearance as her alter-ego heiress persona, someone approached.

His dark navy suit offered a muted splash of color in the thinning crowd of black and white affluency. As guests continued to trickle out of the room, Shinjiro was afforded a better look. His platinum hair was slicked back and he was so unjustly handsome and well-built that Shinjiro determined he’d been created by a consensus of Greek gods as means of torturing and/or seducing mortals.

He stopped just behind Kirijo. Shinjiro toed his way along the shadows and poised himself to tackle him if he took another step.“Perhaps they are inviting you to join their choir?”Kirijo turned around. From his place hidden behind the exotic palm leaves, Shinjiro’s knees buckled at the sight of her beaming smile.“How could one compete with such inimitable talent?” she asked.“Mademoiselle Kirijo,” he bowed and opened his palm to her.
Kirijo placed her hand in his, her cheeks popping with a sudden shade of rose when he pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Shinjiro leaned back and crossed his arms, stomach churning.“Theodore,” she said. “Formal - and punctual - as ever.”Theodore retained her hand until she’d drifted up from the piano bench.“How long has it been? Weeks? Months? Years?” Theodore asked, offering her his arm.“For you? Days, perhaps,” she laughed, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm. “It’s been five years on this side of the door.”“You are timeless, Miss Kirijo.”The compliment socked Shinjiro straight in the gut. This stranger with his stupid chiseled jaw and his dumb breathy bedroom voice was getting a little too hands on for his liking. Shinjiro hardened his gaze on Theodore and began his analysis.
Shinjiro was more than familiar with the varying methods of seduction deployed at the bartop. He’d seen them all. There were benign strategies, born from good intentions and a desire for human connection; wholesome small talk, a compliment here or there. The vast majority of his customers fell into this category.
Others poured on the compliments with reckless abandon, with little or no time spent on tailoring their flattery to their intended target and were left frustrated and puzzled when left alone. This manipulation was less benign but also less effective on a shrewd target. There was at last the master manipulator; the rare, elusive shark who observed and adjusted their words and compliments based on non-verbal feedback from their target. The charm was laid on in conservative layers, the bait doled out in mysterious and tantalizing morsels, and before the target knew it, they’d been reeled in for the kill.
Shinjiro’s annoyance was whetted by a snap of frustration. He needed more information; context, intent, desire, but with less than ten minutes left on borrowed time, Shinjiro wouldn’t be getting much of anything. He reached for the gut feeling and the telltale discordance between mind and body and heard roaring silence.
The thug’s intuition told him nothing. Shinjiro went from annoyed to pissed.

“May I?” Theodore opened his palm to her. Kirijo opened her locket and carefully retrieved the dusty brown feather from the frame.
Theodore accepted it and held it up to the dim light of the aviary.“Wondrous. Those who have this in their possession are said to be gifted access to secrets of the universe.”Theodore held the feather in his right hand and whistled a loud, warbling tune at an orange plumed bird perched on a snarled bough of a banyan tree.
The bird dropped down to a lower branch and appraised Theodore with a bob of his flamboyantly feathered head. Theodore whistled the bright tune again and the bird, having heard just about enough of that, ended Thedore’s audition and alighted to the banyan tree’s loftiest branch.
“As I suspected,” Theodore mused to the feather in his hand, stroking his chin. “It seems the language of birds is purely metaphorical and not a literal gift. I am humbled.”Kirijo smiled and said nothing.“Thank you for letting me hold it,” he said, giving it back to her. Kirijo returned the feather to her locket while Theodore produced a small vial from his breast pocket. “The elixir you requested.”Theodore snatched it away when Kirijo reached for it.“I believe I gave you a generous supply when last we met,” he said lowly.“Yes,” Kirijo said, lowering her hands. She looked away.“Was I not clear about the dosage?”“You were,” Kirijo said, sounding chastened. She paused and looked up to him hopefully. “Your standard rate?”“Unfortunately, my standard rate has increased since we last met,” Theodore said, drifting to the record player.

“I see,” Kirijo said carefully. “State your price.”“In addition to one song,” he said, selecting a record and carefully positioning the needle. “I require one dance.”Theodore held his palm out to Kirijo.“I find your fee reasonable,” she responded.
Kirijo took his hand and Theodore led her to the center of the now vacant aviary. He gave her a gentle spin and settled his hand on the small of her back. The shadows squeezed Shinjiro and compacted his heart into a clenched fist.
He watched them move. The orange trees should have offered him safety and objectivity, but instead Shinjiro felt he’d been imprisoned again. The shadows were his home. He belonged here and yet, he envisioned himself leading Mitsuru Kirijo to the center of a secluded dance floor, a ballroom of their very own under the gaze of the stars and the birds. He envisioned the firm and supple feel of her lower back under his palm and imagined her arms draped along his shoulders, pressing herself closer to him as he lowered his gaze and his lips–A crooning song played at a low volume from the speakers. The French singer warbled a song of sorrow, and though Shinjiro didn’t understand her words, her melancholy reverberated through time and space in the single universal language of loss.“Have your travels taken you to happy places?”“No.”“May I ask why?”“Such places serve little purpose,” Kirijo replied quietly.Theodore emitted a sound resembling disapproval.
“An intriguing hypothesis, though in need of substantiation.”The song concluded. Theodore leaned forward in a somber bow to which Kirijo responded with a playful curtsy. Shinjiro’s annoyance and frustration were joined by a sudden hunger. He slunk back, watching as Theodore led Kirijo to the piano bench. She sat down and began to play the singular melody that seemed pre-programmed into her hands.
“I so adore listening to you perform. You play piano as though you are weaving gossamer.”“You are too kind,” Kirijo smiled.“Do you know any other songs?” he asked.“I’m out of practice.”“Won’t you try?” Theodore said, joining her at the bench.She looked at the piano hesitantly and then shook her head and began to play the song from the beginning. Shinjiro clenched his jaw. Theodore nodded and rose from the piano bench. He circled to the other side to face Kirijo, his palms to the piano's black surface.“I’ve been experiencing certain side effects from the elixir,” Kirijo stated over the mellifluous sound of the keys. “I would like to discuss these with you.”Theodore shifted to the edge of the piano, watching Kirijo weave her gossamer song with a devouring look that made Shinjiro’s trigger finger itch.“I am eager to be of assistance,” he said.“There was a recent surge of shadow activity in Inaba; a location users confirmed to have been previously cleared suddenly experienced a spike of erratic and unpredictable shadow activity. This anomaly is disturbing in and of itself, but I’ll confess, when I engaged my enemies in battle, I found I was severely diminished and fatigued after even a moderate amount of combat. I was unable to heal myself as thoroughly as I once was.”Kirijo paused.“I… I’ve become weaker.”Theodore absorbed the information with a patient nod.“Please,” he said. “Go on.”Kirijo filled the room with her playing.
“Secondly,” she said. “I’ve recently begun experiencing increased disorientation and paralysis after returning from my travels. Sometimes I don’t know which door I have passed through and other times I don’t know where I am at all.
Recently, this led me to making quite an embarrassment of myself.”“Embarrassment. I understand that can happen among mortals,” Theodore said with rapt fascination. “How would you describe the sensation?”Kirijo let out a dry laugh.“Excruciating.”“May I ask the circumstances?” Theodore pressed.“While recovering from the elixir, I intruded on someone at an inopportune time. I was extremely underdressed,” Kirijo said stiffly.“It sounds exquisitely painful.”“In another circumstance,” Kirijo continued after clearing her throat. “I found myself completely paralyzed and unable to move. It was as if I was trapped in my own body. This leads me to my third side effect.”“I am listening,” Theodore urged.

“While under duress and unable to defend myself,” she continued. “Artemisia appeared without being summoned.”Kirijo’s playing became timorous and uncertain.“I also experienced a familiar presence. It was similar to a persona whose presence that I have not experienced for nearly ten years. A persona belonging to someone who…”Kirijo's playing was interrupted with a discordant tumble of notes before her hands fell limp against the keys. Seconds after she stopped playing, the haunting melody echoed throughout the room and even the songbirds fell silent.“I see,” Theodore nodded. “These are all symptoms of destabilization. A spill over, if you will, between doors.”Kirijo looked up at him, her expression anxious.Theodore helped her from the bench once more and escorted her to the window. Shinjiro skirted the periphery of the room, soundlessly pulling and tucking branches in and out of the way as he shifted vantage points.“Imagine you hear a bird outside,” Theodore began. “You want to appreciate his beauty. You open the curtain. You use the window to observe the bird, but when you do so the sparkle of your jewelry touches the pane and reflects the light. The bird is startled. He flies away. I believe there is a name for this phenomenon in your world.”“The Observer Effect,” Kirijo whispered.
“Once a door is opened,” Theodore continued. “There will always be a degree of cross contamination to manage. If your travels are conducted in moderation and the dosage is taken in small amounts, any intrusions should be minor. However, if you have been taking an excess of the elixir, then you may experience an amplification of otherwise mild side-effects.”
Kirijo’s eyes were transfixed on a point outside. Theodore took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.
“Let us examine the first side effect: The shadow activity in Inaba. This cross-contamination between doors can lead to disruptions in the collective unconscious. The spike in shadow activity you encountered was likely a ripple effect of this temporal intrusion.”Kirijo looked stricken. Theodore began a slow trot, glancing over his shoulder while he circled Kirijo.“Moving on to your second side effect. If you have been taking an excess of the elixir I provided, then you presumably have been traveling more than I advised,” Theodore said, the pitch of his voice curving down in subtle disapproval. “This can result in a feeling I believe you call “jet-lag”, where your body experiences a type of temporal confusion. In such cases, one may lose control of their persona. Your reports of depleted physical strength after battle are also a result of overusing the elixir.”Theodore led Kirijo back to the piano bench. She sat down, her hands hovering over the keys.“Regarding the third side effect,” Theodore said. “I confess I am not familiar with the anomaly you have described. Though if I may offer a theory, I hypothesize that this is yet another intrusion between doors, one amplified by an encounter with a shared talisman.”“Talisman?" Kirijo repeated.Theodore sat down at the bench, extending an elegant hand toward Kirijo’s throat.“Your locket, Miss Kirijo,” Theodore said. “Where did you get it?”Kirijo touched the pendant concealed under the front of her dress, her eyes glittering.“A friend. He was a boy that I… A boy that I…”Theodore issued a contemplative hum.“I see,” he said. Theodore stretched his fingers over the piano keys and began to play. “Was this perhaps the same friend who wielded a persona not unlike the one you encountered under duress?”
Kirijo’s gaze drifted down to the keys.“The same.”“And did you encounter this friend on a recent journey?”“I...” Kirijo paused. “I believe I did.”Theodore nodded at her response, chin and lips set with concentration. His hands elicited a pacifying tune from the keys at the bottom end of the piano’s octave.
“And was he holding this same locket?”“I’m not sure,” Kirijo shook her head. “I don’t understand. I realize I’ve not taken the elixir as prescribed, but I’ve been careful. I’ve remained a bystander. I haven’t touched or spoken or intervened. I’ve only observed. I’ve done everything your sister instructed.”Theodore ceased his playing. He reached over and tilted Kirijo’s chin toward him.
“Were you seen?”
Shinjiro’s fingers twitched. He focused on Kirijo’s body language. She remained at ease. Shinjiro determined not to act, though if Theodore put his hands anywhere else, the guerilla warfare tactics were coming out.
Kirijo looked away guiltily. Theodore rose from the piano bench with Kirijo following his movement with anxious consternation. Theodore turned to her and Shinjiro saw the detached expression in his eyes intensify with passion.“You must know by now the depth of my respect for you,” Theodore said, his strange eyes searching hers. “It is this sentiment that compels me to warn you: I can no longer be a part of your ambitions. I will always respond to your summons, but I cannot continue to supply you with the elixir. I fear your grief blinds you from seeing the true cost of this endeavor.
I beg of you; Pause. Reconsider this course of action.”“I’m close–”Theodore dropped his hands to her arms and pulled her up from the bench, his hands clenched desperately against her shoulders. Shinjiro picked up a serving spoon and took aim at Theodore’s flawless cheekbone, ready to execute the classic toss and duck.“The Norns are dangerous,
Miss Kirijo.”Shinjiro lowered his throwing spoon, just a little. Theodore was giving up information. He looked down at Kirijo, his gaze set between desperation and sadness.“Please do not become lost in their web,” Theodore whispered, pulling her closer. “Do not be seduced by their promises. Do not suffer the same fate as…”Theodore’s hands fell slack on Kirijo’s shoulders.“What would you have me do instead?” Kirijo asked.Theodore released her and looked to the piano.“Learn a new melody.”Kirijo was silent. Theodore reached for her wrist and pressed a parting kiss to the back of her hand.“May the pendulum swing softly until our next dance,” he said.

Theodore drifted toward the door. He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and turned over his shoulder.“When you see my sister, could you please relay a message from me?”“Certainly,” Kirijo said, her hands clasped against her waist.
Theodore held his hands up in the shape of two claws and let out a vicious hiss.

Shinjiro watched Kirijo saunter down the mansion steps.
He gave her a tight smile as she cleared the final step. Shinjiro didn’t trust himself to speak without throwing up.
He’d nearly bowled Sumi over in his efforts to get his tie back and had narrowly avoided running into his boss in his efforts to make it back to the valet’s station before Kirijo. Thankfully, Kirijo made no effort to speak to him. She appeared distracted and her eyes were clouded with detached anxiety. Shinjiro went to retrieve her car and once he was in the driver’s seat, Shinjiro caught his breath and rolled the window down.
Kirijo waited with crossed arms and only vaguely registered Shinjiro when he pulled up to the valet station.
He held the door open while she gave him a weary look and held her hand out for the keys.“Nice evening?” Shinjiro asked, dropping the keys in her hand.“Very pleasant, thank you,” Kirijo answered in a trimmed voice. “Good night.”She slipped into the driver’s seat. Shinjiro shut her door.“Kirijo,” Shinjiro said, placing his palms down on the door's open window frame.
“Yes?” Kirijo arched an eyebrow at him. Shinjiro leaned in close to Kirijo’s shoulder.“Truth or dare,” he said, eyes narrowed.
Kirijo’s eyes flashed.
His dare to Kirijo was simple: Perform six donuts in the parking lot of an abandoned building on the outskirts of Port Island. Unsurprisingly, Kirijo had to be briefed on what a donut was and had granted Shinjiro permission to demonstrate in her car. Shinjiro had executed four, breaking down each step in the maneuver while Kirijo grasped at the dashboard and observed through periodic fits of light-headed laughter.

He’d brought the vehicle to a stop and relished in the stunned, flushed look on her face. She’d accepted the dare to perform six donuts with an eager smile and Shinjiro’s dizziness from the demonstration donuts persisted long after the car had stopped moving.Now back in the driver’s seat, Kirijo cranked the wheel with a grin.“Clutch out,” Shinjiro said through gritted teeth, grasping the passenger side handle attached to the car ceiling. He put another hand firmly on the dash. The rear of the car came around, the tires squealing against the pavement.“Good, good,” he coached with a mutter. “Countersteer, let the steering wheel go–”The rear of the car whipped around, the air cooking with smoke and burnt rubber.A girlish, wild squeal of delight lept from Kirijo.
"I'm doing it!"Kirijo’s triumphant trill of delight caused Shinjiro to grit out a smile, even though his stomach was still sliding somewhere in the backseat. She hit the brakes with an airy laugh and looked at Shinjiro anxiously.“How did I perform?” she asked breathlessly.“Let’s take a look,” he said.They stepped out of the car and used the flashlights on their phones to inspect the tightly wound circles burned into the pavement.“Top of the class; you’re a true menace,” Shinjiro said. “We'll move to figure eights next."Kirijo beamed down at her vandalism. Shinjiro stole another quick glance at her back and shrugged off his valet’s jacket. She accepted it over her shoulders without protest.“Truth or dare, Kirijo.”“Dare,” she answered defiantly.

“Let me buy you dinner.”

After their vandalism, Kirijo called one of her staff to collect her vehicle and return it to storage before they made the switch to Shinjiro’s car in order to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention.
Shinjiro pulled up to the curb outside Wild Duck Burger and put the car in park. He eased back in the seat and assessed Kirijo. She wore a half-cocked smile while the sleeves of Shinjiro’s valet’s jacket hung over her wrists. She used her finger to scroll through Wild Duck Burger’s menu on her mobile and bit her lip.
She stole a glance at him. Shinjiro felt the heat rush into his cheeks.
“I want,” she whispered, as though asking for forbidden fruit. “I want a cheeseburger.”“You want a cheeseburger,” Shinjiro repeated.
“That one,” she said boldly. She pointed to a picture on her phone screen.Shinjiro mulled over Kirijo’s cautiously hopeful expression. Nothing wrong with the classic cheeseburger, but if Shinjiro ordered her the midnight special, Kirijo would get two cheeseburgers, extra fries, and extra sauce.
“You trust me?” he asked.
She nodded.
Shinjiro exited the car and ambled toward the entrance of the restaurant.“Wait. Aragaki–”He stopped and turned around, flicking the last of his cigarette to the ground.“May I please have fries?”Shinjiro wrinkled his forehead and stamped the cigarette under the ball of his foot.“I look like an amateur to you?”

Mitsuru Kirijo sat in the passenger side seat of Shinjiro’s car in her black, designer dress and a greasy cheeseburger in her hands. Shinjiro basked in the sight as much as he could without openly staring. His elation lasted into the first few bites of their meal, until common decency demanded that Shinjiro put his foot down.“You’re committing a crime against that poor burger, Kirijo,” Shinjiro said before taking a modest amount of fries from the bag.“What do you mean?” she asked, looking horrified at the accusation.“You're trying not to make a mess,” Shinjiro said before he impersonated her timid, mouse-like nibbles on her burger.
“I do not eat like that,” Kirijo said, an appalled laugh lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Commit to the attack, Kirijo.”Kirijo looked at her burger with a sulk.
“Show me,” she said.Shinjiro gathered his hair into an elastic band and cracked his neck. He took his pristine burger in two hands and shifted his chin to a slight angle. Then without ceremony, Shinjiro sank his teeth into his burger and committed his entire face to the attack.
He chewed triumphantly at Kirijo’s shocked reaction.

“Fear ish for the weak, Kirijo,” Shinjiro articulated through the mash of burger in his mouth.
Kirijo narrowed her eyes. Shinjiro narrowed his, still noshing his burger with deliberate arrogance. Kirijo turned to her burger with re-invigorated outrage. The match had been lit, the challenge accepted. Like the diligent student she was, Kirijo mimicked Shinjiro’s pre-attack ritual and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She stretched her neck and angled her chin before launching her assault on the burger in her hands. She took a massive bite and froze, the juices and condiments slathered on the corners of her mouth.
“‘...do I do?!” she panicked into her burger.
“Chew, Kirijo!” Shinjiro ordered.
“Ssho messy–” she said, her cheeks as full as a greedy chipmunk’s.
“Chew through the shame,” Shinjiro urged. Kirijo did as she was coached and began to deliberately chew. She swallowed a massive lump of burger and breathed a sigh of accomplishment.
“There you go,” Shinjiro snarled with laughter and handed her a napkin. “There you go. I’m proud of you.”Kirijo’s cheeks shimmered with obvious pride.

Shinjiro drove them to a secluded spot in the forested hills outside of the city limits. From there they could see the inky pool of Port Island’s harbor, the tree crested hills on the city outskirts, and the lights of the neighboring cities. Shinjiro suggested they enjoy the summer heat by reclining back on the hood of the car and had felt a giddy feeling pour into his stomach when Kirijo agreed.They lay with their backs against the windshield. Kirijo wore Shinjiro’s valet’s jacket to protect her back and shoulders from the frame. Kirijo’s heels were stacked neatly beside her waist, a few inches below the bag of fries that seemed too large for them to finish between themselves. They stared up at the night sky, listening to the deafening sounds of cicadas fill the air.“How are you enjoying The Count of Monte Cristo?” Kirijo asked solemnly, picking up a handful of fries. She turned to him with an easy smile. Shinjiro crossed his hands behind his head with a sigh.
“Taking a break,” he said. “I’ve picked up Persuasion.”“I haven't had the pleasure of reading it.”“Sorry,” Shinjiro cleared his throat. “I think I just heard that I’ve read a book that Mitsuru Kirijo hasn’t.”Kirijo shifted her shoulders, and Shinjiro stole a glance in her direction that confirmed she was settling deeper into the folds of his valet’s jacket. A warmth spread over his cheeks and conjured a half smile on his lips. Shinjiro turned back up to the sky.“I’m waiting for you to provide a synopsis,” Kirijo said impatiently.Shinjiro plied himself with another small handful of fries and chewed deliberately. He swallowed and gave the sky a nod.“It’s about second chances,” he said.“How so?” Kirijo asked with an intent look.

“This girl falls in love with a penniless sailor,” Shinjiro began. “She gets some bad advice and is told not to marry the guy since his lack of wealth and title will ruin her. He sets sail and heads off to war, rejected and brokenhearted. Eight years later, she’s a spinster and he’s a wealthy big shot in the navy. Making matters worse, her family is broke. This guy’s relatives are moving into her family’s house since her relatives need the money.”Kirijo idly picked a small heap of fries from the bag.
“They reunite, I presume,” she said.

“Yeah,” Shinjiro nodded. “It’s just as uncomfortable as you can imagine.”“In what way?”“Well, she’s a doormat and he’s a resentful jerk.”“And… what happens next?” Kirijo asked, once more nibbling at her food like a mouse.“Eventually she learns to stand up for herself and he stops being in denial about his feelings toward her,” Shinjiro said. “But even when they work on their own baggage, you get to the end and you think ‘there is no way these two can turn this around’. But–”Shinjiro paused to take a sip from his soft drink before continuing.
“Then he writes this grand letter confessing his feelings, how he never stopped loving her even though he tried to convince himself he didn’t. A lot of people like that part of the story, because there’s so many things people would kill to hear.”Kirijo curled onto her side, gathering the edges of the valet jacket around her as she turned.“Such as?”Shinjiro let his eyes fall close. He remembered Cheddarjack’s low, lilting voice reciting the words like they were holy scripture. He hummed with a smile.“You pierce my soul.”He sensed Kirijo shift beside him. Shinjiro cracked an eye open and ran his eyes over her features. Her hair was elegantly twisted along the side of her face, the tips secured in the folds of the jacket. She was still facing him, but her gaze was lowered and her hands busy twisting a napkin.“I see,” she said aloofly.
“Not bad, huh?”“Not bad at all,” Kirijo replied. “What else does he say?”“I am half agony, half hope.”Kirijo rummaged around in the basket of fries, despite there being none left.
“Did you really commit an entire letter to memory?” she asked, sounding irritated.
“My cellmate insisted,” Shinjiro said. “Said it was the only way I would ever get laid again.”“Charitable soul.”Shinjiro nodded and even indulged in a light laugh. The silence drifted between them until Shinjiro requested the cigarettes from the pocket of the valet jacket. Kirijo uncovered the box and pulled it out of reach when Shinjiro put out his hand.“Was there…” she paused, fiddling slightly with the lapel of his jacket. “More to the letter?”

Shinjiro’s skin was swathed in goosebumps. His stomach plummeted in a way that was not unwelcome nor unlike free falling over the edge of a cliff. Shinjiro steadied his breath and turned to her, his voice scratchy.“I have loved none but you,” he said to her. “Unjust I may have been. Weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.”Kirijo’s eyes shimmered, dark and acutely patient.“Another,” she whispered.
Shinjiro emitted a raspy hum. Kirijo’s voice sent the warmth in his face spreading to all corners of his body. He closed his eyes and repeated his favorite passage of Wentworth’s letter.
“You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others.”Shinjiro started slightly when Kirijo shoved the cigarettes into his hand. He blinked down at the box, his desire for the nicotine replaced by something more ravenous and pained.

Shinjiro peered over. Kirijo pulled the edges of his valet’s jacket together over her chest, the material protecting the bare skin of her back against the cool surface of the frame. She was still curled on her side with her arms folded over her chest.
Her knees were pulled slightly up toward her chest and her sheer black stockings outlined the sharp, delicate ridge of her ankle bone. Shinjiro’s gaze walked where his fingers could not; along the smooth line from her calf to her knees. He stopped at the hem of her dress and looked away.
“Your favorite book?” she asked, her eyes set on the stars above.“It’s up there,” Shinjiro admitted.
Kirijo bit her lip and Shinjiro waited for her to gather the courage to say whatever she seemed to be struggling to say.“I’d like to read it.”Shinjiro felt his heart lift into his throat.“I’ll bring you my copy tomorrow,” he said evenly.“Thank you,” Kirijo smiled.Shinjiro tapped the cigarette box but abstained from pulling one out.
“Plans for the typhoon, Kirijo?” he asked.“No plans,” Kirijo said and shook her head with a satisfied sigh. “I am endeavoring to stay put.”Shinjiro searched her for a flash of deception and found there was none.

“Glad to hear it,” he answered.

After seeing Kirijo back through the front door, and spending a far too short an amount of time awarding Koromaru with ear scratches, Shinjiro returned home.
He was exhausted. He was full. He was apparently going on two dates and moving a couch. He was smiling like an idiot.
So what? It had been a rough evening working valet, waiter, and informant, but the night had ended on a high note. He’d finally made good and taken Kirijo to Wild Duck Burger. He’d finally fed her a decent meal, she’d enjoyed hearing him recite Wentworth’s confession letter and had even agreed to read one of his favorite books, and most importantly: Kirijo hadn’t lied to him.
All things considered, it was a good night. He was overworked, apparently moonlighting as a premier escort, there was a typhoon about to hit, and Shinjiro felt like skipping around his apartment. He was planning on ending his night by flagging a few pages of Persuasion for Kirijo when his good mood was punctured by a buzz from Aki’s phone.
Shinjiro collected the phone from Aki’s altar and grimaced at Kirijo’s name.

Why now?
Shinjiro’s thumb brushed against the keypad.
I’m close. I’m going to make this right, I promise.

Goodnight, Akihiko.
Shinjiro flipped the phone shut with a satisfying snap.“Damn it.”In the course of one night, Kirijo had terrorized him by waltzing with some stupid breathy voiced good looking stranger in some stupid romantic starlit aviary, sent his mood soaring by doing donuts in the parking lot with him, eating dinner with him and listening to him talk about Austen, and then tanked all of it by sending a cryptic text message to Aki’s phone.
It was unlikely Kirijo had suddenly patched up the weaker spots in her deceptive skills in recent months. Shinjiro still believed her about not having anything in store for the typhoon. Yet the thug’s intuition screamed words that were quickly becoming synonymous with Kirijo’s behavior: Reckless. Stupid. Dangerous. Shinjiro chewed the inside of his mouth and reached for the phone in his pocket. First, he called Ogawa and within hours Shinjiro had a live feed of the parking garage cameras situated in Kirijo’s apartment building.
Shinjiro turned his eye to the security system in Kirijo’s apartment.He was already going to hell for sticking a tracking device in her locket. What was an additional eon on top of eternal damnation?
Shinjiro hesitated but ultimately committed to the attack.
The only settings out of the question were leaving the cameras permanently on or adjusting the frame of reference; Kirijo still deserved respect and as much privacy as reasonably possible, even if she was on the verge of something unspeakably stupid. Shinjiro settled for mid-tier villainy and set the cameras to turn on whenever the front door opened; regardless of which side opened it.

The stupid, reckless incident transpired the morning the typhoon made landfall against Port Island.Shinjiro’s depraved plan unfortunately proved to be well worth the cost of eternal damnation.
Shortly after Shinjiro had dressed and put on his morning coffee, his phone buzzed.
He opened the camera feed to see Kirijo opening the door of her apartment. A man with yellow eyes wearing a vest and tie tipped his bowler hat to her with a smile.
A boom of thunder shook the panes of Shinjiro’s apartment window. The camera feed stuttered.
Shinjiro bolted from his apartment and dialed Kirijo. The call went to voicemail. He was halfway down the stairs when the feed caught up and showed the man handing Kirijo a note.
Kirijo unfolded it, read it, and placed it on the counter. The man presented Kirijo with a small vial.
Another lag, this one for an incendiary duration of three and a half minutes. Shinjiro had run to Kirijo’s apartment and had torn through the lobby by the time the feed caught up to Kirijo unscrewing the top of the bottle.
“Don’t you fucking do it,” Shinjiro seethed to his phone, rushing up the stairs. “Don’t you dare–”Kirijo tipped the bottle to her lips.
He flung open the door to Kirijo’s apartment. Koromaru barked from the adjoining room and rushed out with a terrified whine when Shinjiro opened the door for him. Shinjiro surveyed the apartment as he swept through: Empty. No struggle.
Shinjiro pulled up cameras to the parking garage and found Kirijo trailing after her visitor before disappearing around a darkened corner and out of the camera’s frame of reference.
“Wonderful,” he growled. “So helpful, Kirijo. You opened the door for your kidnapper, saved them the work of drugging you, and followed them into the fucking parking garage!”The storm was interfering with the feedback, causing another discernible lag between his phone and the feed from the parking garage.
Shinjiro pulled up the corresponding phone app for the tracking device. The device in Kirijo’s locket showed her steadily moving northbound along a major route out of Port Island.
Shinjiro snatched the note from the kitchen counter and read it on his way out, the words like a knife to the throat:

Join me on the widow’s watch.

The rain lashed so relentlessly at the window that the windshield wipers struggled to keep pace even at the highest setting. Motorists had been advised to avoid travel and stay off the roads. What Shinjiro gained from less traffic he lost from shitty weather. He depressed the accelerator, feeling the tires whisk and lift as they hydroplaned intermittently. Kirijo’s kidnapper was taking the main route out of the city. The fact that Shinjiro had nearly caught up to him indicated Kirijo’s kidnapper wasn’t feeling any sort of urgency and appeared to be driving at a far more advisable speed than Shinjiro.
Shinjiro exited the city limits and was flagged down by a traffic officer who advised him to turn back. The waves were growing higher, even breaching the barricade. Shinjiro thanked him and proceeded, glancing at his phone.
The sea was boiling over the concrete breaks and onto the road when Shinjiro caught up to a black luxury car. It was the only other vehicle on the road and Kirijo’s locket was pinned to its location.
Shinjiro tried to call Kurosawa but there was no signal. It was impossible to tell where Kirijo was in the vehicle. His options for safely disabling a vehicle in a typhoon were limited. Shinjiro opted to stay back when the black car suddenly sped up.
“Shit.”He was the only other motorist on the road during a typhoon. Of course he’d been noticed. Shinjiro dampened the accelerator in pursuit, the ocean bursting over the rim of the road divider. Shinjiro shot ahead and discovered the luxury car windows were tinted.
Once Shinjiro had taken a lead over the vehicle, he apologized to his car and slammed on the brakes. The brakes screeched through the rain. The black vehicle swerved hard to the right and spun.
Shinjiro backed up and rammed the tail end of his car into the front end of the black car, pinning it against the guardrail.
The driver emerged armed with a cane. The man with a bowler hat was tall, barrel chested with a thick sandy brown mustache and piercing yellow eyes.
Shinjiro retrieved his knife.
The driver brandished his cane and pulled the handle to reveal a long narrow sword.
Shinjiro flicked open his knife and loaded it in his fist.
Kirijo had once praised his attacks as straight-forward and direct. Life on the streets and prison had changed his body, his mind, and consequently Shinjiro’s fighting style. He’d learned to fight with a knife well before prison. It had been a necessary survival skill on the streets and while Cheddarjack had been many things; Austen acolyte, Dumas disciple, and Dickens devotee, he was also a ruthless master of the knife who had helped hone Shinjiro’s skills. Shinjiro could probably still pick up an ax, but he wasn’t the same fighter he’d once been.Cane Sword struck just as a wave leapt over the side of the guardrail. Shinjiro flipped his knife into a forehand grip position. The sword came down, the blow aimed at his left shoulder. Shinjiro spun and swept his knife in an upward diagonal. Another stroke of the cane sword, but this time Shinjiro’s attacker cracked Shinjiro over the head with the guard.The road darkened and tilted.
Shinjiro heard the sound of the trunk flipping open. His vision was partially obscured by a viscous substance over his left eye and through the dim lens of his good eye, he watched Cane Sword lift Kirijo out of the trunk. Shinjiro grimaced and shook his head in an attempt to straighten his sight. He used the roar of the ocean as cover and crawled for his knife.
A door with glowing blue seams appeared suspended above the road.

Cane Sword shifted Kirijo over his shoulder and hastened toward the door. No more kid gloves; Shinjiro was finished with the fair play.
Shinjiro launched up from the ground. He lunged and planted his knife in Cane Sword’s exposed shoulder. He pitched forward with a strangled cry. Shinjiro retracted the knife and pulled Kirijo from his shoulders, tripping over himself in the process. The knife clattered to the ground. Shinjiro twisted so that he hit the ground and cushioned Kirijo’s fall.
Kirijo dropped against his chest hard enough that it should have roused her. She didn’t move. Shinjiro’s chest clenched.
Shinjiro eased her to his side before shifting himself on to his feet.
Cane Sword collected his weapon and said nothing, his eyes narrowed on Kirijo.“What’re you looking at her for?” Shinjiro growled. He found his knife and loaded it in his fist, his left eye squinting from the warm, wet intrusion.
“Come on, I’m right here,” Shinjiro said, still looming over Kirijo's prone form. He stepped over Kirijo, ignoring the pang of fear that came from the sight of her unmoving body, and blocked her from Cane Sword’s view.
Cane Sword rushed in. Shinjiro blocked the guard with his left forearm, arcing his knife hand in an overhead sweep. He stepped back, his face coated in a mixture of warm and cold liquid.
Cane Sword held his weapon in a defensive position, the guard on the ground. He cupped the bleeding wound on his shoulder with a grimace.
“Come on,” Shinjiro rasped.Cane Sword dropped his weapon and retreated, his hands up. He turned for the door and ran. Shinjiro watched him disappear through the door and didn’t wait for him to change his mind. The sea was hurling itself over the barrier, the waves rolling over the pavement and nudging at Kirijo’s lifeless body. Shinjiro dropped to his knees and turned her over.
She was dead weight.“No, no, no,” he breathed, still winded. “Come on princess, please–”Shinjiro snarled his hands through the hair clinging to her neck and found a pulse; quiet, lethargic, but steady.
There were no bindings on her hands or legs, only several thick branches of dried blood reaching from her nose to her chin. The rain was hardening and Kirijo’s clothing was already soaked through. He needed to get her out of here.
Another wave rolled over the barricade and tried to push them off the road. Shinjiro reached down and shifted Kirijo into his arms just as Cane Sword returned through the blue door.
Shinjiro lowered Kirijo back to the road and stepped over her. Cane Sword collected his weapon. Shinjiro flicked his knife open and reloaded it into his fist.
“Back for more?” he asked.
Cane Sword didn’t answer. Instead he tossed a large stone in Shinjiro’s direction. Shinjiro tracked its arc through the air through his peripheral vision, his gaze trained on the man before him. The rock clattered against the road.
Cane Sword tipped his hat to Shinjiro with a grim smile and stepped backward through the doorway. The door swung shut and sealed with vibrant blue light before it vanished.
Shinjiro waited until he was certain no more doors were going to appear. He retrieved the rock and found a note wadded against it with a string. Shinjiro unfastened the note from the rock and tucked it in his pocket.
He gathered Kirijo into his arms and carried her to his car, glancing over his shoulder every other second. He retrieved a blanket from the back and arranged it in the passenger seat. Shinjiro set Kirijo down, tucking the edges of the blanket around her and pulling her wet hair back and away from her face. He reclined the seat back as far as it would go before finally returning to the driver’s seat. He cranked the heat up as high as it would go and pulled away. His car made a slight crunching noise as he pulled off of the only slightly damaged ruined black car.
Shinjiro followed the signs back toward Port Island for twenty minutes before he pulled off on a dark, forested road for a cigarette.He locked the doors and opened the note.The lettering was crisply penned in velvet blue. The lines of the paper ran from the rain but the words held fast, as if the letter had been written in some sort of other-wordly ink.

Dear Miss Kirijo,

It seems we are in need of a raincheck. At your convenience, please indicate your availability. I will dispatch my associate to collect your response at a designated time and place of my choosing. Please have your response prepared in advance.

In solidarity,

–E

P.s. Do invite the tall, handsome, frightening man who attempted to murder my associate. Please note any dietary restrictions.

He was alive.Kirijo was alive.
Everything was fine. Shinjiro dug into his pocket for a cigarette and brought it to his lips. One cigarette and he’d be fine, one to calm him down. He dropped the lighter twice before getting it close enough to the tip.
The lighter quaked violently in his grip. Shinjiro gripped it harder, fuck why couldn’t he feel his fingers?“Aragaki.”His fingers panicked on the starter, the flesh in his hands drawn white. He choked and a cascade of hot
tears shot down his face, his breath sputtering and catching in his throat. Shinjiro squeezed his eyes shut.
A cold hand pressed against his chest, just over his heart. She reached over him and pulled the lever to recline his seat.“Shinjiro,” she said. “Shinjiro, you’re safe. It’s all right.”He didn’t give a shit about that right now, did she not get that? Fuck, fuck, why couldn't he just–“It’s all right.”No, it was not fucking all right. She'd been thrown in the back of a trunk, had blood all over her face and she was the one comforting him and none of that was all right. Shinjiro’s voice became glued to his throat.
The beast he kept caged emerged behind him. Another time, he promised the beast. Not now. Another time but the beast would not be caged again. It slipped over his shoulder and punctured his chest.A sob clawed out of Shinjiro’s throat.
Kirijo pressed her hand closer to his heart and pressed her head into the dip between his shoulder and neck.“It’s all right,” she whispered.
Shinjiro’s breath unwound into another sob.

The rain lashed against the car roof.

He felt someone reach for his face.
Shinjiro seized his attacker’s wrist with a forceful squeeze, eyes snapping open. Kirijo blinked down at him, her wrist clenched in his fist. She twisted over him at an awkward angle from the passenger seat. Shinjiro slackened his hand so that his grip was just a whisper against her skin, but he did not let go.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice corroded. “Old habits die hard.”Kirijo shook her head.“I overstepped.”Shinjiro held on to her wrist and searched her face. Her nose had stopped bleeding. The blood on her face had mostly been cleared by the rain, leaving a few thick spots pooling at her chin and lips. Shinjiro searched her for cuts or bruising.
“Did he hurt you?” he whispered, squeezing her wrist.She shook her head again.“It’s a side effect,” she said.Kirijo glanced down and before she could slip away back to the safety of the passenger seat, Shinjiro glided his hand up her wrist and slipped his thumb into the center of her palm with a gentle press. Kirijo watched the motion unfold, her lips pursed.
“You warm?” he asked.Her eyes swept back to his, her lashes fluttering slightly. She nodded.“Yes, I’m warming up.”Shinjiro reached his other hand to her face, his fingers swiping over damp patches of blood and sifting through the drying locks of her hair.
He examined her expression and thought about every dirty trick he’d pulled on a target. He thought back on every sleight of hand, every cloak and dagger plan, every underhanded ploy he’d used to get what he wanted, what he needed– Kirijo’s eyes were fawnlike.He curved his palm to her face. She leaned into his touch and Shinjiro felt like he’d plunged over the edge of a cliff in free fall.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he murmured, running his thumb along the rise of her cheekbone.
“What the hell’ve you got yourself into?”Shinjiro waited for the averted gaze, the quirk of her lips, and the fidgeting. He anticipated her pulling away. If she did, Shinjiro would release her from his grip. He would drive her home, help her get warm and make something hot and comforting to fill her stomach.The rain crashed like gunfire against the car roof.
Kirijo didn’t pull away.
She glanced down somewhere between his shoulder and the seat. Using the sleeve of her shirt, Kirijo wiped the blood from Shinjiro’s temple and left eye. She met his gaze, her eyes searing with the same cold fire Shinjiro had seen the morning she and Sahar had outraced the rising sun.“I’m going to take down the Kirijo Group.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Officer Sanada?”Akihiko held his breath.The lights came on. They were the old, yellowing bulbs that flickered and stuttered before coming to life. Several officers swore the Records Department was haunted just because of those damn light bulbs.When Akihiko had sought refuge here after tonight’s graveyard shift, he’d made a note to change the bulbs after tomorrow’s shift. For the moment he was pleased they lended the room an off-putting quality that would deter unwanted visitors.The light bulbs were dead in this particular corner of the office, leaving Akihiko’s hiding spot completely dark. Akihiko was concealed under an old desk topped with documents destined for the shredder. He listened as the timid footsteps drew closer. He’d just felt the edges of sleep crest over him when the intruder had interrupted him. If Akihiko could avoid detection, he could probably get back to sleep without issue.“Officer Sanada?”
I am not home, I am not home.
A junior officer crouched on the ground on all fours and peered over at Akihiko. Akihiko cracked an eye open at him; glaring would accomplish nothing. Instead Akihiko closed his eyes and indulged in a sigh. He smelled a rat.“Officer Sanada, sir,” the intruding officer continued. “I have a message for you from Inspector Kurosawa.”“I’m not here,” Akihiko grumbled listlessly.“Yes, sir. Kurosawa-san said you’d say that. He has a message for you.”“Yeah?”“Go home.”“Message received,” Akihiko said. “Hit the lights on the way out, will you?”Akihiko rearranged the jacket of his uniform that he’d stuffed behind his head as a makeshift pillow and closed his eyes.The junior officer cleared his throat. Akihiko cracked an eye open.“He has another message for you, sir,” the officer continued.Akihiko rubbed his face and resisted the urge to scream into his hands.“Hit me.”Into oblivion, he thought. I promise I’ll go down nice and easy. The officer cleared his throat again.“Well, sir. He said you wouldn’t listen to his first message and ordered me to escort you to Nakano-san’s office.”Akihiko let the air escape from his chest with a slow, sizzling hiss.“You the bribable kind?” he grunted, turning to the officer.“Afraid not, sir. You’re busted, sir.”“To the shrink I go,” Akihiko grumbled.

With his police escort remained glued to his side, Akihiko made a short detour to the break room on the way to the psychologist’s office. He filled a cup with water and checked his phone.There was a message from Mitsuru asking what time he’d be home and if he’d like to meet for coffee. Akihiko swiped the message away.Two nights ago he’d put his fist through the wall of their living room. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep since. Mitsuru had revealed that she’d been asleep when she’d heard Akihiko leave the bedroom. She’d followed him into the living room and spent several minutes calling his name and attempting to wake him. In addition to throwing a left hook into the wall, Akihiko had summoned Caesar and knocked out the power.Once Akihiko had returned to his senses, Mitsuru had insisted Akihiko take a personal day and rest. Akihiko had determined the safest place for Mitsuru was somewhere far away from him. He’d discreetly transferred the locket from his bedside table to his pocket before leaving. He’d assured Mitsuru he’d shake it off and had reported to the station despite her pleas for him to stay home - and her subsequent threats to report his lack of sleep to Kurosawa. Akihiko hadn’t returned home since.Akihiko stepped into the warmly lit room with plush furniture. He spotted Nakano-san in the corner, watering a large leafy plant with a mug of tea. Akihiko nodded a dismissal to his police escort and raised his eyebrows at the psychologist.“It’s bad,” Nakano-san said in his defense while the tea trickled out of his cup. “It’s really bad. Want to taste it?”Nakano Yuichi was the Port Island Police Department’s resident psychologist. He was several years Akihiko’s senior and could often be found loitering near the vending machines, attempting to lure station employees into his office with the promise of herbal tea, comfortable furniture, bad jokes, and relaxing music.Akihiko accepted the bad tea challenge and soon joined Nakano-san in watering the plant.“Do you know how much work it took for Kurosawa-san to get the police commission on board with an in-house psychologist?” Nakano-san asked, taking Akihiko’s empty mug. “I’ve been treading water since the day I came here, Sanada-san. I can’t be giving people bad tea. Who will trust me with their troubles then?”“Fair point,” Akihiko said and settled himself on the couch. “Your secret is safe with me.”“Heard you got busted sleeping in the records department,” Nakano-san said from the other side of the room as he prepared a different batch of tea.“Yeah,” Akihiko said. He rubbed his eyes. It was still early. Sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. He might be able to squeeze in a run.“I’m a little offended you didn’t come hide here first,” the psychologist sighed, adjusting his glasses.Akihiko squinted back at him with a red-eyed and unamused look.“Come on!” Nakano-san protested. “It would have been the perfect hiding spot! No one comes here and I have snacks.”“Sorry,” Akihiko said. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”“All is forgiven,” Nakano-san said benevolently. “Word has it you’re getting married next week. Congratulations.”“Thanks,” Akihiko said. He averted his gaze to the window.“Look, you’re obviously exhausted if you’re sleeping in the records department. You shouldn’t sleep there, it’s absolutely haunted,” Nakano-san said frankly.“So why am I here?” Akihiko finished the psychologist’s thought, his eyebrows pushed to the ceiling. “That’s what you’re asking, right?”Nakano-san dropped into a large armchair with a heavy sigh. He reached for a stress ball resting on a side table and hurled it at Akihiko’s head. Akihiko caught it in one hand and gave it a remorseless squeeze. He was left unsatisfied and hurled the stress ball back at Nakano-san, who lacked the same reflexes as Akihiko.“Sorry–”“Nice shot!” Nakano-san said while he collected his glasses off the floor.Akihiko apologized again.“Most people would return home given the option between coming to my office or going home. Not complaining,” Nakano-san said innocently, rubbing his nose where the stress ball had hit. “Just doing my job.”The traffic outside percolated into the room with a steady buzz. There was just an hour or so before dawn. Akihiko had already filed his reports for his shift. Mitsuru would be home sleeping and if he got back in time he could make sure she brought her lunch to work this time.“Sanada-san,” Nakano-san began coolly. “Why haven’t you returned home yet?”Akihiko frowned at his hands before looking up to Nakano-san.“I’m afraid I’m going to hurt my fiancée.”

Nakano-san’s expression remained steady throughout Akihiko’s account. The only shift in his demeanor was his jestful voice, which had leveled off into a more clinical tone the moment Akihiko finished speaking.“Have you had a history of sleepwalking?” Nakano-san asked.“No.”“There are a couple of options,” he said, nodding to Akihiko. “I can set you up with a sleep specialist. They can diagnose any sort of REM disorder. They may even recommend working with a prescriber. There are some pills–”“No pills,” Akihiko said abruptly.“Sure,” Nakano-san nodded. “Have you talked to your fiancée about the dream?”“No,” Akihiko said. “She’s got enough on her plate, except a decent lunch.”Nakano-san laughed and Akihiko allowed himself to crack a smile.“You’re clearly very fond of your fiancée and want to protect her. It’s not surprising you had such an intense experience when you’re on the verge of a big change. You’re getting married!” Nakano-san explained with a good-natured laugh. “Your body and mind have to process that stress.”“I exercise every day,” Akihiko countered. “I eat well and I normally sleep a decent amount. Isn’t that enough?”“Those things are important and do help,” Nakano-san agreed. “But this is a significant threshold you’re passing through. It’s understandable your body is doing some weird stuff. Get to a sleep specialist and try sleeping in a different room in the meantime. That way you can feel more comfortable knowing your fiancée has some space and we can figure out if this is a recurring issue or pre-wedding nerves.”“It didn’t feel like a dream,” Akihiko paused. “It felt like reality. Like I was there.”“I see,” Nakano-san said. He stood up to dim the lights and began to scroll through his phone. “Why don't we try a guided meditation?”Akihiko responded with a dubious look.“The worst that happens is you fall asleep,” Nakano-san said, adjusting his glasses. He covered his hand over his heart with a solemn look. “And if that happens, I promise not to draw on your face.”Akihiko settled back to the sofa while Nakano-san took a moment to connect his phone to a set of small speakers.Soon the office was filled with the sounds of ocean waves. The initial second-hand embarrassment of being stretched out listening to nature sounds while in full police uniform was swept away by memories. Akihiko cast his mind back to the summer he, Shinji, and Mitsuru had gone to the beach and of the time he and Mitsuru had returned two years later with the second years. In a week Akihiko would be there again. Mitsuru would be there in her wedding gown and their friends would be at their side, except for those whose presence would be held through their photographs.Akihiko closed his eyes, the waves of Yakushima Island rushing over the sands of past, present, and future.“Imagine you’re…”

Rocking.
A dense bank of white hung overhead.Akihiko was reclined back in the hull of a small black boat. He sat up slowly. The fog rolled over him in thick pockets and revealed nothing but gray water under the hull of his boat. The boat bobbed and when Akihiko looked over the edge, he realized he’d drifted close to a shore.He swung over the hull, preparing to drop into ankle-high water and–Akihiko stepped onto a cracked tile floor.He raised his head and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. He heard dim laughter and glasses clinking together. Akihiko’s eyes cleared and he saw–Dancing.Shinji and Mitsuru were dancing.Akihiko’s eyes continued to adjust. He scanned the room.There were vintage Christmas lights pinned along the wall. The blue and white tile on the dancefloor was thick with old stains and the whole place smelled of sea air, mildew, and beer. The walls were resonant with the laughter of old men, the crisp and punchy consonants of a foreign tongue, and billiard balls clacking.Shinji and Mitsuru moved together in slow, unhurried swaying motions. They were the only couple on the dance floor. Akihiko moved toward them. Shinji was wearing a black shirt and black slacks. His hair hung loosely over his ears and eyes. Mitsuru wore a high-necked olive sundress with a billowing skirt that reached just above her knees. Akihiko stepped closer, his heart soaring.Shinji; his eyes narrowed on Mitsuru and filled with fierce, almost possessive, tenderness. Mitsuru; her smile broad and cheeks flushed. She dropped her head against Shinji’s chest and elicited a deep, throaty laugh from Shinji. He drew her close while the music drifted over them; words that promised to catch someone if they fell, clocks unwinding, and suitcases of memories.Akihiko watched them move for an unknown amount of time before he was nudged with a sudden urge to leave.A door opened behind him.Akihiko stepped through. The music followed him through a bank of fog.The rumble of the ocean and the cadence of the tide returned, though Akihiko couldn’t place the location of the water’s edge.Akihiko walked forward and the texture of sand hardened to concrete.A pulse of light flashed from the lamp as he stepped into a modest lantern room. To his right, a railing enclosed around a spiral staircase. He remembered thundering up those rickety stairs, chest burning and out of breath, with Shinji stepping on his heels and almost tripping him.Akihiko had been the first to clear the landing and had won the race to the top of the lighthouse that day. Victory paired with a view, Akihiko thought nostalgically.The music trailed after his footsteps.A pulse of light revealed another person on the other side of the room. She was dressed in a simple long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. She was wearing the locket with a mother-of-pearl moon set in black obsidian.The locket was nearly obscured by an unzipped burgundy sweatshirt that seemed several sizes too big for her. The light flashed and Akihiko noticed the sleeves were thinned at the elbows. Akihiko glanced further down and spotted a vial in her hands.Unlike the last time he’d seen her, Mitsuru was flush with color. Her cheeks were fuller and though her eyes still held the same heaviness, they appeared rounder and more clear.Their eyes met. Mitsuru retreated to the edge of the room with a gasp.Akihiko put his hands up.“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s just me, it’s okay.”The trickle of rain against the lighthouse window faded. The light flashed, illuminating Mitsuru’s terrified expression.Akihiko stepped toward her.“Are you all right?” he asked.“You shouldn’t be here,” she breathed. Akihiko caught a glimmer of light reflecting off the vial in her hands as she slipped it into the pocket of the oversized sweatshirt.Akihiko inched his way toward her spot along the wall, taking the lantern room’s small circumference with slow, deliberate steps. She didn’t back away but the look in her eyes was still barbed with fear.“I was worried about you,” he tried.Mitsuru did not answer. She was looking him up and down, examining every detail of him with an almost greedy look of disbelief. The longer he stood next to her, the more her breathing intensified until the tears openly began to flow. He fought the urge to draw her to his chest.“Come on,” he said. “You’re killing me with that face, Mitsuru.”She shook her head. Despite whatever reservations she held, Mitsuru stepped forward and hovered her hands over his chest. She looked up at him unsurely.“Can I touch you?”The fear lacing her request caused a knot to form at the back of his throat. Akihiko took her hands and guided them to his chest.“Door’s always open for you, Mitsuru,” he said.She embraced him with a startling amount of force. Akihiko circled his arms around her shoulders and Mitsuru pressed herself harder against him, her body wound tight from the effort of holding him and restraining her tears. A duet of scents drifted by him. The fragrant notes of wisteria and eucalyptus from Mitsuru’s hair were joined by the scent of cigarette smoke, cedarwood, and the faintest trace of soy sauce.Akihiko ran his hands over the threadbare sleeves; he knew the person who filled this sweatshirt.“I was worried about you,” Akihiko tried again.Mitsuru shook her head against his chest.“…You shouldn't be here,” she said and sucked back a sob.“Why not?” Akihiko asked.Mitsuru peeled herself from his chest and said nothing; only stared at his uniform. Mitsuru swallowed and looked at him in wonder. She dragged the back of her wrists against her cheeks and while her breathing steadied, the tears continued to coalesce in her eyes. Akihiko covered her hands with his own as she flattened her palm to the spot just above his heart.“You’re a policeman?” she asked. Akihiko took her face in his hands and erased her falling tears with his thumbs. Mitsuru’s breath hitched as she leaned into his hands, fitting her fingers over his knuckles.“It's not as exciting as you think,” Akihiko said with a smirk.“What else?” she asked eagerly.Akihiko released his hands from her face and let them fall to her waist.“I'm getting married next week,” Akihiko replied readily.A pulse of light revealed Mitsuru’s averted gaze, lasting only seconds, before she looked back at him with a weak smile. She made a soft choking noise.“Congratulations,” she stuttered in a watery voice.Akihiko drew her back in and wrapped his hand against her head. She didn’t break away. Another flash of light pulsed across the room. Akihiko realized he was moving her across the cramped space of the lantern room, swaying her to the rhythm of the song still looping in his mind.“Will... will I be there?” she asked into his chest.Akihiko let out a full and robust laugh. Mitsuru gripped him harder.“You’d better be,” he said. “Won't be much of a wedding without you there.”Mitsuru froze. She pushed away from his chest.“You mean…” she began, her eyes large with disbelief.Akihiko cocked his head at her and gave her a hard squint.“No,” she said breathlessly with another step back. “Certainly, you don’t mean that… that we–”“Hey now,” Akihiko laughed. “Is it really so hard to believe?”Her gaze sharpened. Akihiko readied his stance; a Kirijo Inquisition was imminent. Mitsuru stepped back into range. The song played steadily in his ears. He wondered if she could hear the music too. Akihiko gingerly guided Mitsuru’s hands back to his shoulders.“What was our first date?” she demanded.“Well, we disagree about that,” he explained. “According to you, it was the summer after our first year away from Port Island. I said we should catch up. We met up at Hagakure and ordered the special; I bought,” Akihiko noted gravely.“And you don’t count this as our first date because…?”“You were dating someone else,” Akihiko said and wrinkled his nose for dramatic effect. “Someone French.”Mitsuru bit her lip, but the reserved smile was revealed by the flash of the lantern.“And according to you, our first date was…?”“That’s obvious,” Akihiko snorted. “A stakeout in Sapporo.”“Stakeout?” she asked eagerly.“Shadow Operatives,” he nodded. “Training day for the newest recruit. We’d heard reports of shadow activity at an abandoned lo… uh, abandoned hotel. Hell of a mission; both of us were in rough shape - you especially.”Mitsuru offered him an affronted sulk.“Our navigator was new, but solid,” Akihiko assured her. “She got us out safe and sound. We missed the last ferry back to Port Island because she got adopted by a troupe of drag queens.”“D-drag queens?” Mitsuru repeated back listlessly.“Drag queens turned professional wrestlers,” Akihiko amended. He continued on despite the look of absolute confoundment on Mitsuru’s face. “They put on a hell of a match. We ended up staying in this tiny room above a bar. They served us drinks with booze too strong not to be illegal.”“And why do I not consider this our first date?”“Well… we uh,” Akihiko cleared his throat nervously. “We did things that a lot of people don’t do on their first date.”The color drained from Mitsuru’s face.That night was forever seared into Akihiko’s memory. They’d left Sakura in the care of the fierce platoon of drag queens in the bar downstairs, each of the ladies vehemently ready to sacrifice life and limb to protect their ‘little sis’. The troupe had dispatched Akihiko and Mitsuru upstairs to the room above the bar with a round of Singapore Slingers and orders to get some shut eye. The sounds of their revelry were muted and joyful and they’d both been at ease knowing the ladies would escort Sakura back to the room adjoining theirs before midnight.Akihiko had sat on the edge of an old bed while Mitsuru had looped a fresh bandage around his hand. Four rounds of Caesar’s healing and the multiple stab wounds on her shoulder had finally healed. Mitsuru was teetering from the Singapore Slingers and had given him shit about how much better she was at piecing him back together than he was. Akihiko matched her wit by leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers.They’d both sobered up in seconds. Before he knew it, Mitsuru was straddling his lap with her hands raking through his hair and his hands under her shirt and slipping up over her breasts. He was a mess but she didn’t seem to care. She’d rushed her mouth against his, her tongue diving past his lips.Akihiko had been thinking about kissing her ever since they danced. They’d danced in the bar downstairs, even though it was just slow unrefined shuffling on the dance floor. Akihiko had held her, his hand fanned against the small of her back while Mitsuru had draped her arms around his neck and shoulders.They danced. Even when the drag queens had handed Sakura an old baseball bat and the tiny navigator had single-handedly obliterated the troupe’s old decaying mirrorball with one swing; they’d danced. They’d swayed together with fragments of aluminum and plastic raining down on them, their eyes locked on each other. Mitsuru was pressed so closely against Akihiko that he’d been afraid she’d feel his heart trying to rip free from his chest. It reminded him–“I saw you dancing,” Akihiko said.The music playing in his ears was fading.“When?” she asked.“Just now, I think… It’s been sort of hard to pin down what I’m seeing; when it’s happening. You and Shinji. You were smiling and Shinji was looking at you… like…”Like he was afraid to blink, like he was in the presence of someone as rare and precious as a birdsong that could disappear any moment. Akihiko smiled, running his thumb the length of her jaw. She tipped her cheek into his palm, her eyes wrenching shut. Her expression was torn between anguish and pleasure. Akihiko pulled away but she covered his hand with hers.“Please,” she said. “I know it’s selfish to ask, but please stay. Just a little longer.”At that moment, Akihiko understood; he no longer held a place in this world. The thought made Akihiko draw her closer and though all he wanted to ask was what the hell happened here, what could have possibly happened to take him away from her side, Akihiko only ran his hand over her back.“I’m right here,” he said. “I’m right here, Mitsuru.”Whatever or wherever this was, Mitsuru existed here. Right now, he held her in his arms and if there was ever a world where they shared the same space, even for a few minutes, she was his Mitsuru. For whatever amount of time he was allowed here, it was in Akihiko’s power to be at her side and that would have to do.They swayed in silence. Akihiko ran his hands against the pilled surface of Mitsuru’s borrowed sweatshirt and gathered the hood in a tender, greedy fist.“Are you happy?” she murmured into his chest.“Right now?” he said, shifting their shared weight with their slow, unhurried steps. “Right now I’m afraid.”Mitsuru lifted away from his chest, puzzled.“Of what?”Akihiko reached down and tapped the hard outline of the glass vial in Mitsuru’s pocket.“What’s in the bottle?” he asked.“Nothing,” she murmured. The corner of her lips quirked.Akihiko scowled. He pushed away from her slightly.“Now I’m even more afraid, Mitsuru.”She peered up at him, a bemused frown pushed between her eyebrows.“Of what?” she asked.“Of what you're not telling me,” he said. “And that I don't have enough time to figure out what you're up to.”Her eyes turned hard and defiant and oh, Akihiko knew that one.“Do not concern yourself with matters of mine,” she said coldly. “Focus on creating the life you want; the world you want. I have mine under control.”Akihiko cocked his head at her, a cold smile pinching his mouth.“You used to keep secrets from me when you were in over your head,” he said, contemplating a strand of her hair in his palm before he spooled it around his finger.The lantern shone across her expression, now calm. She gazed out the window and into the fog before looking back at him. The rain slammed against the pane in a sudden violent gust.“Perhaps I'm different?” she offered.Akihiko traced the corner of her lips.“Not that different.”The music stopped.The ground underneath shifted and reshaped into sand.Mitsuru vanished.

The fog consumed his vision and surrounded him on all sides. Akihiko searched for Mitsuru and glimpsed the lighthouse blinking in the distance, where seconds or aeons ago, Akihiko had danced with Mitsuru across the lantern room at the top.“Hello?”A voice, muffled through the fog and there; Shinji. He emerged from the fog. Akihiko followed the defined line of his arms to his broad shoulders and kept going until he found that penetrating dark gaze, fringed slightly by his wet and unkempt hair. He was here. He was really here.Akihiko ran toward Shinji.“Aki?” Shinji called.Akihiko reached through the fog–

Akihiko dropped shoulder first against a soft, spongy surface.The air was plugged in fog and through the banks of white, frothy air he heard a croak. Unlike the temperate ocean air of Yakushima, the air here held a bitter chill and smelled of stale blood.Akihiko surveyed his surroundings and found skeletons in various states of decay strewn across the damp, green earth. A labyrinth of swords jutted out of the earth, each buried in the ground at different angles and coated in dark rusted shades of red and brown. Through the fog, Akihiko saw several distant poles with black flags sagging in the air. Other fragments littered the battlefield; shattered helms, broken pieces of armor, and bones, hundred of bones–
So sorry for the mess…
Akihiko narrowly avoided crushing a skull under his heel. He covered his mouth with the back of his wrist and clenched his eyes shut through the ill feeling brewing his stomach.
Remnants from the last girl’s night out… You understand how it gets, don’t you?
Akihiko searched for the voice. A raven dropped to the pommel of a nearby rusted sword and issued a scolding cry.The air split with laughter.
Well get on a move on, I don’t have all day.
The raven alighted from the sword and lifted into the fog. Akihiko followed her to a black shore where the same black boat bobbed in the water. The raven perched on the prow and issued a fresh series of impatient squawks. Akihiko stepped into the hull of the boat and searched for a pair of oars.The boat tugged free from the sand and glided into the water.
You don't need to row.
The raven bobbed her head with encouragement. The sea became an even black sheet under Akihiko’s boat and remained quiet as it pulled further and further out to sea. Akihiko stood alert in the hull and peered through the mist. The fear of the open ocean was upon him just as the mist parted and revealed a narrow island of jagged black rocks. Akihiko traced the path of a steep and crumbling set of stairs to a dense forest at the top of the rocky island where he saw a tendril of smoke rising through the trees.The boat thudded against the rocks.The raven swept up from the prow, its wings exploding into flight toward the top of the cliff. Akihiko scaled the stairs. The steps crumbled around Akihiko’s feet with every step, but the foundation was solid and he never tired or became out of breath as he climbed.He reached the top of the stairs and discovered a dense wall of thick strings hung between a corridor of towering pines. The strings were all various lengths, colors, and sizes. The web was so thick that Akihiko could barely make out the small cottage with a thatched roof on the other end.Akihiko hesitated to pass through the web, sensing the strings were important and fragile.Do not be afraid, the voice laughed. You cannot hurt them, but do be careful - they are quite sensitive. Akihiko gingerly stepped through the web, stretching and crouching his way through the gaps and carefully using his fingers to part the strings to clear the way.A gathering of half a dozen or so deer awaited Akihiko when he cleared the web of strings. They gazed back at him with soft, fearless eyes before ambling away at an unworried pace. Not wanting to startle the deer, Akihiko proceeded softly. He arrived at the cottage threshold and noted the windows flickered with a soft orange from a fire inside.A large ginger cat with tufted ears idled at the door.Akihiko leaned down to pet him. The cat flicked his tail at Akihiko and sauntered inside.“Don’t mind him,” the voice called, this time from inside the cottage. “He’s just doing his job. Come inside.”The interior cottage was crammed with pots, pans, copper tea kettles, and a table piled high with pots of stew and plates brimming with cheeses and fruits. Casks of wine or port were stacked in a corner and beside that a large bucket that held a variety of swords as if they were nothing more than umbrellas. A faint mildewy scent permeated the walls but a distinct warmth extended to all corners of the cottage.There was an enormous fireplace that reached nearly the entire length of one of the cottage walls. From inside the hearth, the wood cracked and split from the intensity of the flames. The large orange cat with tufted ears narrowed his eyes on Akihiko before perching with regal vigilance on the edge of the stone hearth, his eyes contemplating the fire.A massive tapestry was set on a loom on the wall opposite of the fire. Akihiko stepped closer to examine it. He feasted his eyes on an epic story; swarms of warriors locked in battle, sweeping castles with windows filled with clandestine lovers’ meetings, minstrels with lutes, and children playing. Far below the castle walls there were sheep, wolves, horses, and forests. Akihiko stood in awe of the tapestry for what could have been hours before a gentle humming pulled him away.He looked over his shoulder. Set before the fire were two chairs with backs that towered over Akihiko’s head.One of the armchairs was occupied by a tall woman. She wore a heap of black and gray furs that outlined her rigidly framed shoulders and arms. A curtain of wild black curls tumbled over her chest and down to her waist. Her high set and sharp cheekbones gave her the appearance of a marble statue, but her meadowy green eyes erased that aloof image. Her blood red lips turned upward in a wolfish smile.“Oh ho ho hello…” she openly guffawed in a strange lilting voice.She beckoned him to sit in the armchair across from her. Akihiko sat down and watched her lean back into her enormous pile of furs. She took a long pull from a bottle of golden liquid at her side, smacked her lips, and set it down with a snort.“The lion steps forward from the light.”“Sorry?” Akihiko asked.She rolled a long stemmed cigarette holder into her tapered fingers. Akihiko noticed her pale hands were stained with ash and mud. She ran her tongue over a set of imperfect teeth.“Check this out.”She exhaled a plume of smoke. Akihiko watched the smoke ring break off into two different spirals. One tendril formed the shape of a wolf while the other coalesced into a lion. The shapes whirled together before they branched off into three smaller spirals and disappeared.“Pretty cool, huh?” she wiggled her eyebrows expectantly.“Uh,” Akihiko said. “Very nice.”“Eh, who needs ya?” she waved him off. They stared silently into the fire. Some time passed before Akihiko noted a cup filled with dark tea was perched on his left thigh while a plate with a thick slice of pie rested on his right knee.“Where am I?” he asked.“Off the grid,” she replied hoarsely. “A little home away from home.”“You speak my language?” Akihiko pressed.“We speak in the language of dreams,” she clarified and placed her cigarette between her lips, her eyes intent on the fire. “The soul’s native tongue.”Akihiko said nothing.“It’s not decorative you know,” she nodded to the pie and tea in his lap.Akihiko took a hesitant sip of the tea. The liquid slid down his throat and left a pleasant warmth in its path. He took a bite of the pie and was soon looking down at an empty plate.“Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t realize I needed that.”She nodded and stared off into the fire. Akihiko glanced over at the tapestry.“How long did it take you to weave that?”“Many years,” she crooned sleepily to the fire. “Many, many years.”“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Akihiko breathed, his eyes roving over it with a renewed sense of awe.“Aye, it’s a rare thing isn’t it?” she hummed. She took a long, reflective drag of her cigarette before she pitched the smoldering butt over her shoulder and onto the loom.The ornate tapestry burst into flames.“Holy shit!” Akihiko cried. He leapt to his feet and frantically scoured the small cottage for something to douse the flames. He found a large pail of water and hurled it on the loom, but it was too late. The flames had devoured the tapestry leaving nothing but a pile of ash.Akihiko stared down at the black pile of cinders. He looked to the woman in the armchair who looked mildly amused at Akihiko’s panic. The orange cat on the hearth gave Akihiko a lethargic look of contempt.The woman beckoned Akihiko to sit back down. Akihiko shakily returned to his seat and shook his head.“Aren’t you upset?” he asked.She pinched her lips.“Each time I weave it, a new story emerges,” she said to the fire and paused to sip from her glass. “It is never finished; it cannot be for that would be the end of the world. So I get good and grogified before starting over with a new story.”“I don’t understand,” Akihiko said.“It’s not for you to understand,” she said.“Why am I here?”The woman turned to him with a devouring look. Akihiko sensed a profound darkness in her eyes and considered the possibility that he was in danger.Akihiko startled when the woman appeared over him. She waved a slender hand over his eyes and the world turned to darkness.

Akihiko sat at the edge of a small white table inside a sleepy cafe.The cafe windows were tangled with verdant plants that hung from the ceiling in a variety of pots. The light was fading from the late afternoon sun and there were several customers, most of whom were women who were gazing in the direction of Akihiko’s table with coy giggles and whispers.Their smiles and shy glances were aimed at Shinji, who sat to Akihiko’s left and was facing the door. He was wearing a simple dark blue shirt that reached past his wrists. His hair was gathered back into an elastic band. Akihiko ran his hands over the soft wave of muscle that rose and fell from Shinji’s elbow to his shoulder. A shiver ran over him.Shinji’s gaze was alternating between the person seated across from him and the door. A young woman sat to Akihiko’s right. She was pretty and exuded an eager demeanor. Her physique was fairly average and she appeared healthy. Every time Shinji threw a glance at the door, she strained in her seat to remain in his field of view.More whispers and giggling emanated from over Shinji’s shoulder. Shinji remained unaffected.“Unbelievable,” Akihiko snorted. “Can’t believe I’m the one who gets shit for being oblivious.”“My brother said you work at the Obelisk,” the young woman across from Shinjiro began. “I’ve always wanted to go there, it looks so elegant.”Shinji’s gaze lightened when a woman with long reddish hair entered the cafe. His tangible swell of hope quickly darkened and became downcast. The stranger joined a friend at a table and Shinji lowered his eyes to the table and shifted his shoulders. Akihiko could feel his energy tank.“Do you see any famous people there?”“No,” Shinji said softly.Akihiko felt the kitchen draw him in. He stood up and wandered toward the back, where a cafe worker was frantically trying to catch up on a backlog of orders. Akihiko surveyed the tickets on the counter and continued past into a small office.A black cat was waiting for him on top of an old stereo.She chirped at his arrival and batted at the dial on the stereo. Akihiko automatically reached for the knob and began to carefully click it forward. The music playing through the speakers shifted as Akihiko skipped over radio stations. The cat observed the tuning of the dial with a patiently twitching tail.Akihiko continued to comb through the stations when the cat suddenly gave his wrist a swift and clawless swat.“Well, excuse me,” Akihiko replied testily and drew his hand back. The black cat jumped away from the stereo and disappeared through a backdoor. The music carried over the cafe, the words lost in the gentle din of clattering plates and chatting customers.Akihiko returned to his seat between Shinji and the young woman.“Aragaki-san?” she asked.“What?” he asked curtly and appeared instantly regretful. The young woman frowned at him, her eyes still bright. He sipped his coffee, checked the door, and looked back to her.“I asked you how long you’ve been working as a bartender,” she said.“Sorry,” Shinji said, making an effort to focus on her. “A few months.”“Do you like it?”“It’s fine,” Shinjiro answered with a shrug. “What about yourself?”A hypnotic thrum of guitar notes wound through the speakers. Shinji’s expression darkened again, this time in a way that Akihiko recognized as deep concentration. The guitar continued and was joined by a man’s singing. His words were different from the song Akihiko had heard earlier; slower, but filled with the same melancholy. Like the song from earlier, he sang about time.Shinji frowned.“Is something wrong?” she asked.“I know this song,” he murmured to the table.Akihiko was hurled forward like he’d been launched straight out of a slingshot.

A dark room with the light of a nearby hearthfire licking up the walls. Shinji; hands snarled in Mitsuru’s hair, pulling her deeper, harder against his swollen lips. Mitsuru; her hand up Shinji’s shirt while her other hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.Akihiko felt the desire in the room like a pot boiling over. Shinji’s hands were steady and his fingers slipped over each button of Mitsuru’s cardigan with meditative devotion. He wasn’t unpracticed, but between his need and restraint, there was no mistaking the latter controlling the former. He was going slow despite a clear urge not to. His first concern was Mitsuru’s comfort, but his restraint was also selfish; he’d been waiting for this moment and planned to make it last as long as possible.Mitsuru’s hands suddenly turned shaky. Shinji detected her hesitation immediately. He pulled away but didn't get far. Mitsuru fisted her hand into the front of his shirt and mumbled something indistinguishable to the floor.Shinji said nothing. He waited a beat before he leaned down and slipped his hands under Mitsuru’s thighs and picked her up. He carried her to the bed, his gaze unblinking and wholly trained on her reaction.He laid her down to the bed and braced his arms around her shoulders.“You’re in control, princess.”

Akihiko lurched backward; back to sand under his feet, back to the ocean waves but this time there was more. There was the open eternity of the night sky illuminating the ocean’s surface and the smokey aroma of burning wood.He looked down and found Mitsuru and Shinjiro laid out on a blanket beside the fire. A bottle of wine was wedged into the sand while the flames burned low through a steeple of logs and twigs.Mitsuru was burrowed against Shinji’s chest. She wore an oversized burgundy sweatshirt that swallowed her shoulders and the hood of the sweatshirt was drawn slightly over her head, pushing her hair into a makeshift scarf around her chin. Her eyelashes fell loosely against her skin and Akihiko watched her shoulders rise and fall with deep sleep while Shinji peered up at the sky with a tired half smile. He had one arm curled around Mitsuru, his strong fingers curved around Mitsuru’s delicate shoulders while his other hand toyed with a strand of her hair.Akihiko tried to drive himself into the sand; anything to make this moment last longer–

Akihiko tripped forward.He stood beside a car. He couldn’t see anything else, couldn’t hear or smell, and he realized he was being pulled away before the scene had fully come into view. The passenger side door opened.Mitsuru tumbled out and hit the pavement.Akihiko’s stomach churned. He stood anchored to the ground beside her, unable to move. The chilling sound of footsteps drew closer.No, Akihiko pleaded. Stop–

Akihiko dropped back in the armchair beside the fire. He clutched at his chest and came up for air like he’d been at the bottom of the ocean.The black-haired woman was seated across from him in her massive pile of furs, appearing as though she hadn’t moved at all. She took a small puff of a fresh cigarette and chased it with a sip from the glass of amber liquid. Akihiko looked over his shoulder and noticed the beginnings of a new tapestry on the loom.His stomach roiled with nausea.The orange cat circled around Akihiko’s ankle and offered him a thoughtful chirp. There was a fresh cup of tea on Akihiko’s knee.“Drink,” said the woman to the fire.“What the hell is happening to me?” he gasped. “Shinji, Mitsuru–”“Drink,” she commanded.Akihiko drained the cup of tea on his knee.“I keep seeing them, but I can’t make sense of what’s happening, what I’m supposed–”She ruthlessly extinguished her cigarette on the table beside her.“There are those who seek to subvert the threads of fate,” she said. “Grief and desperation have galvanized them. They are not afraid to reach through the veils of time and space to satisfy their ambitions. They must not succeed.”“What does this have to do with them? What about Shinji and Mitsuru?”“You must protect them. Watch over and guide them.”“Guide them where?” Akihiko asked.She smiled in a way that Akihiko did not entirely trust.“There's a saying that I've always quite liked,” she said. She repositioned the table and kicked her feet up. Her boots were heavy soled and caked with mud. “Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.”“Enough games,” Akihiko barked. “Tell me what I need to do.”Her emerald eyes darkened to black, colorless irises. A dull, insidious fear permeated through Akihiko’s chest and he felt as though his soul was being stretched out of him and laid bare before her.“Does the heron ask how his wings lift in first flight?” she growled, her voice perilously low. “Does the mountain ask how the earth will carve her bones?”“I–”“They are not beholden to such questions,” she continued deliberately, her tone mild once more. “Their wisdom is deeper; your wisdom must be deeper.”“I don’t understand,” Akihiko murmured.“It’s not for you to understand, eejit,” she grunted softly.Akihiko pried his eyes away from her penetrating gaze and stared down at his open palms. She leaned back against the mass of furs piled over her shoulders, her lips puckering around the cigarette while she fixed Akihiko with a scrutinizing squint. Her irises had returned to their vibrant green hue and the danger was gone from her eyes but not forgotten.She lifted the cigarette away from her mouth and pointed to the locket concealed in the front pocket of Akihiko’s vest.“Chop wood. Carry water,” she said sternly. “Pass through the doors that open for you. Keep that locket close, for your path will be protected for as long as you carry it, and when I see you again know this–”She dropped her feet to the ground with enough force to rattle the cottage walls.“You are welcome in my home, Akihiko Sanada.”“Who are you?” Akihiko breathed.“Off you fuck,” she trilled, returning the cigarette to her lips.“W-wait–”She snapped her fingers. Akihiko’s vision was filled with a burst of light before he hit the floor of Nakano-san’s office with a crack.

Akihiko accepted the cup of tea from Nakano-san and studied it in his hands.The total lack of sleep from the past two nights had been erased in the span of an hour. Akihiko felt rejuvenated and thoroughly lost. He relayed pieces of his dream to Nakano, who confirmed Akihiko had been out like a light and assured him that Akihiko had not been sleepwalking nor violent.“It feels like puzzle pieces have been dropped and I don’t know what I’m looking at, how it all fits together. There’s no sequential logic,” Akihiko paused with a frown. “Am I crazy?”“You have an extremely stressful job and are going through a significant life change,” Nakano-san reminded him. “You’re under a lot of pressure. Like I said, it’s reasonable that your body is reacting in different ways.”“It’s more than that,” Akihiko said. “The woman in my dream guided me to Shinji. It felt like when I was led to him from my dream two nights ago. It feels like… Like I’ve been trusted with some kind of power.”“What kind of power?”Akihiko rubbed the outline of the locket in his vest.“The kind that puts me in the right place at the right time.”

Akihiko changed out of his uniform and moved the locket from his vest pocket to the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He felt rested when he started the timer on his wristwatch and took off at a brisk pace down his usual route around Port Island. His body was agile this morning; stronger than it had felt since before the incident in the Port Island Station backstreets. His head was finally starting to feel clear.Akihiko turned the corner.Mitsuru turned her head and smiled. She stepped away from the rail overlooking the harbor and held out a cup of coffee to him. Akihiko suppressed the urge to turn and run. He killed the thought; Mitsuru was wearing heels and a skirt but Akihiko still didn’t put it past her to outrun him.“Step into my office,” she said, a mischievous smile on her face.Free to exhibit all the unprofessional behavior he’d pent up over the course of his shifts, Akihiko threw his head back with a sharp inhale and then dropped his head forward with a defeated exhale. He found a place beside her and dropped his elbows to the rail.“So,” he said, accepting the coffee. “Ambushing me in my spot now, Kirijo?”“Your spot?” Mitsuru repeated with a sniff. She sipped her coffee and shook her head. “This is my spot as much as it is yours.”“Yeah, that’s fair,” Akihiko grumbled. “Remember the first time we came here? You were too scared to stand on the rail.”“I remember,” Mitsuru said haughtily. She stepped up and stacked her feet between the bars. “It doesn’t seem so frightening any more.”They stood in silence. Akihiko sipped his coffee and scanned Mitsuru. She wore a trim plaid vest with gray tones over a white blouse and gray pencil skirt. Sensible heels, sensible jacket. No locket – simply a humble diamond ring on her finger. He wondered about the other Mitsuru he’d spoken to in the lighthouse in Yakushima, the one who wore the crescent moon locket against her throat with hurt and loneliness in her eyes.“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, the locket heavy in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.Mitsuru– his Mitsuru– nodded, her eyes trained on the horizon.“I understand the difference between a secret and something private, Akihiko,” Mitsuru said, her voice rising slightly against the water hitting the concrete underneath. “You need space. Allow me to impose on you for just a little while longer.”The sun began to climb. They sipped their coffee and listened to the sounds of Port Island coming to life.“What are you thinking about?” Akihiko asked.Mitsuru shook her head, the corners of her lips lifting as she traced her index finger along the circumference of her coffee cup.“Club Venus,” she answered simply. “Ladies night.”Akihiko stood straight-backed and cleared his throat with academic authority.“Technically, Mitsuru – it’s always ladies night at Club Venus,” he said and elicited a light peal of laughter from his fiancée. He took a triumphant sip of his coffee; any day he could make her laugh like that was better than winning a title match.“Yes, so I’ve learned,” she smiled, her laughter fading.“I was thinking back on that night too actually,” Akihiko said. “Sakura still owes me a new shoulder.”“I do not feel sorry for you,” Mitsuru shook her head without the mercy of even a slight pause. “You were easily lifting her weight and then some. Carrying her on your back was no more difficult than carrying a mouse.”“That mouse tried to send me ziplining through a plate glass window,” Akihiko rubbed his shoulder with a frown. “Tried being the operative word there.”“If it’s any consolation, I’m still finding pieces of the mirrorball in my wardrobe,” Mitsuru nodded.“Did I mention the plate glass window came after she had me break down a door?” Akihiko paused and nudged her with his shoulder. “With this shoulder?”“Poor darling,” Mitsuru said.She humanely left it at that. They watched a ship pass through the harbor and took turns guessing what it was carrying. It disappeared from view and soon the air was filled once more with the sounds of seagulls crying out over the water.“Was there anything else memorable about that night…?” Mitsuru took a delicate sip of her coffee.Akihiko’s neck burned and his knees suddenly became untrustworthy.“You’re treading dangerous waters, Kirijo.”She hummed with laughter, her cheeks perking with a sudden rose blush.The sun drenched everything in peach-gold. Behind them, they heard the shuffle of Gekkoukan High School students rushing to get to their classes. Mitsuru’s face was cast with pale pink light, anointing her with a fresh dewy light that hastened the blood in Akihiko’s veins.“May I ask you a rather personal question?” Mitsuru asked. “Please, tell me if it’s too intrusive.”“More personal than what you said to me in Sapporo?”Now it was Mitsuru’s turn to look chastened. Akihiko sipped from his coffee and released a loud, satisfied exhale; another fantastic victory.“When the Kirijo Group developed the Theurgy equipment,” she began seriously. “You volunteered to have it tested on you. I asked you why. You told me your reasons were selfish.”“It was selfish,” Akihiko said, squinting over the water while a pair of seagulls squabbled from atop a harborlight.“You didn’t specify what made it selfish.”“Didn’t want to get my ass kicked that day,” Akihiko muttered and paused. “Today’s not good either.”Mitsuru lifted an eyebrow and waited. Akihiko mulled the words in his mouth. She wasn’t going to like the answer, but it was clear Akihiko wasn’t getting out of this one. Nakano-san was right; Akihiko was more than a little fond of his fiancée. He was also more than a little trigger happy when she got caught up in something that didn’t sit well with his gut.“I didn’t want you anywhere near that lab, Mitsuru.”She gave him a puzzled frown.“I just assumed that you did so to…” Mitsuru trailed off.“Get stronger?” Akihiko nodded with a laugh. “Yeah, safe assumption. But that wasn’t what made me almost bowl you over when they asked for a volunteer. I didn’t want to see you go through that, knowing what you’d already been through. Enough was enough.”The water lapped against the concrete wall below. Mitsuru’s hands curled around the rail, the diamond on her ring finger bending and refracting the light.“I could have–”“It wasn’t a question if you could have,” Akihiko said. He peered into his now empty coffee cup, the fatigue thinning his voice. “I’ve never questioned what you can do, Mitsuru. Only whether or not you should do something. You don’t need to carry the world on your shoulders alone.”She fixed him with an ironic smile. Well, he’d walked straight into that one, hadn’t he? Akihiko waited for Mitsuru to repeat his last sentence back to him. She didn’t, only smiled at him.“Be home for me tonight, before our ships pass again?” she asked, nudging her shoulder to his. “We’ll keep the conversation light, unless you need assistance remembering something about the night at Club Venus.”Akihiko brushed the back of his hand against the pocket of his sweatshirt. The pendant’s firm outline responded from its resting position against his stomach.Akihiko heard the soul’s native tongue murmur in his ears. He heard whispers of chopping wood and carrying water while memories unspooled like threads in a tapestry not yet woven. Flashes of lighthouses and dancing and making love and songs about time filled his head before falling away.“I’ll be there,” he promised.

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5/14/2009 22:24:57

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The door opened.Mitsuru stepped through. Akihiko sat with his back to his bed. He ran the back of his wrist against his nose and looked at the carpet between his knees.Mitsuru’s gaze skipped over Akihiko to a fresh dent in the wall beside the punching bag. Her expression shifted.“He left this morning,” Akihiko said.Mitsuru disappeared from the door frame.She returned four and a half minutes later carrying a box of bandages and antiseptic serum. She sank to the floor beside Akihiko and slipped her hand under his. One by one, she tugged each individual finger of his gloves until they came free, her brow knit with fastidious concentration. She applied a thin layer of antiseptic fluid to the bruising between his knuckles. Mitsuru looked as if she wanted to take him to task, but she remained silent and Akihiko allowed her to work without protest.“I thought I could convince him not to go," he said to his hands. "I didn’t make it to the bus station in time to…”“He’ll come back,” Mitsuru said quietly.“Fuck him.”Akihiko’s voice was strung tight as a bow.“You don’t mean that,” she said.He snorted and pulled his hand free. Mitsuru paused and retrieved it again, her fingers working the antiseptic gel into his skin even though it appeared to have been completely absorbed.“I know it’s none of my business,” she continued. “I know what you have is–”“Nothing,” Akihiko snapped. “It’s nothing.”Mitsuru released his hand and returned the items to the first aid kit.“He stayed with you?”Akihiko produced a bitter laugh.“Going to lecture me about having unauthorized visitors? Not in the mood, Mitsuru.”“He came to you before he left,” she said, shaking her head at the contents of the first aid kit. “Can you really say that’s nothing?”Akihiko remained focused on the wall across from him.“Did he… did he say goodbye to you?” he asked after nearly a minute of silence. Mitsuru closed the lid to the kit and twisted her hands in her lap.“A week and a half ago,” she answered.“Before your birthday?” he murmured.Akihiko's voice was barely audible, but the track relayed his incredulous tone. Mitsuru forced a smile and squeezed his wrist in response. She pulled her hand back to her lap. Akihiko’s face darkened.“I’ll kill him.”“It’s nothing,” she said.Akihiko turned to her and pulled his knees to his chest. He nudged her shoulder with a weak smile.“What sort of nothing?” he asked.“The literal kind,” she smiled, nudging him back.“French club goes late on Wednesdays,” Akihiko stated.“I beg your pardon?” Mitsuru shook her head.“There were nights when you had French club and it got dark early. He wouldn’t go to bed until he heard you come up the stairs.”Mitsuru reached for Akihiko’s hand once more, not to examine her work, but simply to contemplate it in hers. Her fingers feathered over his knuckles.“Did you ever notice how he’d make a little extra food those nights?” Akihiko continued.Mitsuru searched the lines of his palm with a frown.“He said he’d made that for both of us,” she said.“He lied,” Akihiko smiled wryly.Mitsuru shook her head.“He would make me some,” Akihiko elaborated. “But the extra he saved for you; said if I ate your share he’d rub my face in dirt. Drove him crazy every time he’d find your half in the refrigerator the next morning. One time he told me I’d better do something to make sure you ate because he was only going to carry one of us out of Tartarus and it wasn’t going to be me.”The timestamp on the playback rolled forward through a minute and two seconds of silence.“He asked me to look out for you,” Mitsuru said.“He told me he’d kill me if anything happened to you," Akihiko said.“I think perhaps he got his messages crossed,” she rubbed her arm and emitted a dark laugh. “If anything ever happened to you, I think he’d–”“Will you stay tonight?”Mitsuru turned to him with a cautious look that compelled Akihiko to inch closer to her.“I’m not your medicine,” she said quietly.“Of course you’re not,” he breathed, sounding hurt.Akihiko raised his hand and cautiously traced the contour of her jaw. Mitsuru didn’t pull away or move to leave. She looked back at him, the trepidation in her eyes fading with every passing second that Akihiko’s touch lingered over her skin.“How would he–” she looked away, her gaze nervous.“I don’t need you… I don’t want you to be like him,” Akihiko whispered, unwinding his knees from his chest and swiveling toward her. He parted the hair from her face with a look of unyielding tenderness.Mitsuru’s eyelashes moved as she studied him. Without speaking, Mitsuru pulled Akihiko up from the floor and guided him to sit on the bed. She sat with her palms facing the ceiling and placed them on Akihiko’s knees.“How would he hold you?” she asked.Akihiko laid back. He drew Mitsuru to his chest and wrapped his arms around her back and shoulders.“Like this,” he said.Akihiko reached up and turned off the light.
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Shinjiro spent the duration of the drive back to Port Island with his gaze alternating between the passenger seat and the road.Each time he looked to the road the rain had pivoted directions, pushing and driving against the car at different angles. Each time he glanced over to the passenger seat, Kirijo was in a different state of consciousness; shallow sleep alternating with shallow consciousness.His car was a little worse for wear, but still an overall tank that managed to navigate the inclement weather. By the time they’d exited the coastal road, the waves had reached the hillside and Kirijo was awake.They stopped at a convenience store to pick up a few provisions for the storm, though it was really an excuse for Shinjiro to shake the white knuckle tension from his hands.Kirijo insisted she tend to the cut on his forehead. Shinjiro obeyed her instructions to recline as far back as the driver's seat would allow and remained still while she worked. He tracked Kirijo's expression through the movement of her hands and the cloth she'd found in the glovebox. Her eyes were dark with focus and the blood hadn't completely dried from her face.She had to be starving.Kirijo borrowed his phone to make a brief call before they continued on the road. By the time they returned to Kirijo's apartment, it was two in the afternoon and the sky outside was dark enough to give the impression of late evening. A man was waiting outside Kirijo's door with a department store bag. Shinjiro fixed him with a hawkish look and thrust his arm out to keep Kirijo back.Kirijo nudged Shinjiro out of the way. She took the bag from the courier and thanked him before handing it to Shinjiro.Shinjiro looked into the bag and discovered a blue long sleeved shirt and slacks. He frowned at the items, then at Kirijo who cast a guilty look at his chest. Shinjiro followed her gaze and discovered his shirt was splattered with darkening streaks of red.

The storm shook the walls while Shinjiro fried the pork cutlets. He kept an eye on the curry simmering on an adjacent burner and while the coffee steamed in its carafe.Kirijo had insisted Shinjiro shower first. He didn't put up a fight, but he'd showered and changed quickly, worried that the power would go out or the hot water would turn cold before Kirijo could take her turn. The lights were still on when Kirijo stepped out and sat down at the dining room table. Shinjiro observed her through his peripheral vision and didn't fully focus back to the task at hand until he heard Koromaru settle with a grunt at her feet.The waves of crackling rain rose and fell with the sharp, wheeling gusts of wind. The crisp pop of fat against oil remained steady on medium heat.Shinjiro set the plate in front of Kirijo; katsudon, piled on a bed of rice with a side of curry and a hot cup of black coffee. She stared at it with an expression of guilt and hunger. Shinjiro took the seat next to her at her dining room table. His feet were promptly warmed by Koromaru, who relocated himself from Kirijo’s ankles to Shinjiro’s. He sprawled himself against Shinjiro’s feet and was soon snoring.Shinjiro studied Kirijo while she ate. Her skin was lightly flushed from the hot water but there were still flakes of dried blood near her nose and chin. She finished eating and left an acceptably clean plate.“Thank you,” she said.“You’re welcome,” Shinjiro answered evenly. He raised his coffee cup and relished in the press of hot porcelain against his lips. His gaze remained trained on Kirijo while he sipped.Shinjiro set the coffee cup down.“Talk.”A roar of wind sent the window panes trembling in their frames.

Prior to his death in 2009, Takeharu Kirijo sold one hundred percent of his then teenage daughter’s shares of the Kirijo Group.He took the proceeds and re-invested those funds far from the reach of the company, yielding generous returns for his daughter to live prosperously; enough for several opulent lifetimes. His will outlined the state of these funds with his clear desire for his daughter to pursue her own path away from the Kirijo Group. In his will, he ordered the dismantling of the Kirijo Labs at Yakushima Island and bequeathed Yakushima Manor to Mitsuru Kirijo.The elder Kirijo left his daughter a home and a bountiful nest egg. Upon her father's death, Mitsuru Kirijo remained an heiress, but was no longer a shareholder. The Kirijo Group was left in the hands of a small group of men, each of whom Kirijo believed to be trustworthy, competent, and far-sighted.These men would soon form complete dominance over the Kirijo Group's operations.Kirijo's palms were flat against the table. She stared into the well of black coffee with a faraway look.“After my father's death and before I’d graduated from Gekkoukan High, I had information that suggested the Group had reopened divisions that my father had worked tirelessly to dismantle. Research involving human subjects, movements toward the collection and study of volatile shadows, and pharmaceuticals that altered a persona user's mind and body. I knew I had to put an end to that work as quickly as possible.”When Kirijo graduated high school, she approached the executive leadership about assuming control of her family's company. The men leading the company were left with a predicament. What to do with the former executive’s headstrong daughter? The company needed a male heir. Kirijo's daughter, stubborn and unwilling to step away from the company despite her father’s wishes, entered negotiations with the company executives."Those men were like relatives to me," she explained to Shinjiro after he'd refilled her cup to the top. "At that time, I had no reason not to trust them."Kirijo cast her eyes away and shook her head with a cold, prescient smile."How could I have been so naive?"The Kirijo Group's executive leadership determined that Mitsuru Kirijo could be allowed some executive responsibilities - if she agreed to certain terms. The fiancé she had once spurned was placed before her as her price of re-admission into the company."The agreement I signed contained an obscure clause prohibiting me from claiming ownership of the company or pursuing legal action against the Kirijo Group."Kirijo signed the agreement and agreed to the engagement only to be shut out of the board room.Shinjiro collected her empty plate and soundlessly deposited it in the sink.He began to scrub, the muscles in his face drawn taut as he sawed at the grime on the pots and pans. Shinjiro ran the last of the pots through the faucet, scrubbing at the stubborn remains of sauce and pork bits. He startled slightly when Kirijo appeared at his side with a dish towel and gently pulled the pot from his hands.

Once the dishes were put away and the kitchen had been wiped down, Shinjiro followed Kirijo into the living room. Kirijo seated herself on the sofa as though she'd been pulled into an interrogation room. Shinjiro scoffed lightly and pulled a heavy blanket from a nearby chair and dropped it onto her lap."Relax," Shinjiro grumbled.He joined her on the sofa without making any additional attempts at reassurance. She was nervous enough as it was. If Shinjiro fucked up with his words now, he'd only add to her distress. Kirijo unfolded and adjusted the blanket with a muted word of gratitude.By 2011, the Kirijo Group had become a full-fledged oligarchy.The Group continued to consolidate power and while Kirijo was barred access to information about the company’s doings, Fuuka Yamagishi was able to hack into the Kirijo Group’s servers. It was here that Kirijo uncovered the extent of the group’s corrupt intentions.The company was moving full sail back to the ideologies of Kouetsu Kirijo. This included expanding the Kirijo Group’s laboratories, experimentation on both shadows and human subjects, buying up pharmaceutical companies, adding military contractors to its payroll, developing massive data centers that consumed natural resources, and dabbling in transactions on the black market."They lobbied foreign governments, surveilled and threatened smaller start up companies into criminally unfair arrangements," Kirijo said, tucking her legs under her.She shifted positions and erased several millimeters of space between their places on the sofa. Her tone was conversational and seemed less nervous. Shinjiro considered making more coffee to help put her at ease."They used the term acquisition but it was outright theft using street intimidation tactics. Anyone who tried to stand against them was subject to ruthless and swift litigation that left the opposition bankrupt."The Kirijo Group's list of sins went on: intellectual property infringements, anti-trust violations, and environmental degradation."I put together binders of proposals and strategic plans; I showed the company how much profit and social capital the Group could gain if they pursued technological advances in cooperation with start up companies and governments, rather than antagonizing potential allies."Kirijo tempered her breath, her anger stirring."I set up meetings with NGOs and banks that offered more just and sustainable methods of procuring technological advances, but no matter what I presented or how much I threatened or pleaded with the group's leadership to re-evaluate their policies, I was labeled a nuisance. Security was to escort me out unless I was in the company of my fiancé."Kirijo stopped trying to negotiate with soft skills and turned to the Molotov cocktail method of inciting change. In 2011, Kirijo hit Kirijo Group's Sapporo subsidiary with a little light fire damage."If I was going to be labeled a nuisance, I was determined to be a full time nuisance," she said."You never half assed anything in your life," Shinjiro laughed. Kirijo's smile ignited a warm cascading feeling at the back of Shinjiro's throat.Kirijo began gathering intel. Fuuka Yamagishi lended her skills and the two got serious in their efforts to surveil the Kirijo Group's activity. They discovered new, aggressive shadow suppressing machines were developed to harness and entrap shadows for research while older models with human characteristics were sought out, dismantled, and destroyed.The following year, Kirijo and Yamagishi discovered the company’s plans to recapture Aigis.Kirijo rubbed her wrists and averted her gaze. A thin film of tears formed over her eyes. Shinjiro's body outpaced his brain. He placed his hand over her ankle, still covered by the blanket. Her gaze softened and instantly turned cold when Shinjiro pulled away."Time for a break," he cleared his throat and nearly tripped when he stood up. "Coffee?"Kirijo's gaze shifted to the floor."Something stronger," she murmured. "Please."

Kirijo's liquor cabinet was just about as well-stocked as the Obelisk's. Shinjiro sorted through the cabinet, the bottles tapping and clinking together as he pulled them out for inspection. Shinjiro finalized his selection and offered Kirijo a serious look when he caught her gaze mid-pour."No peeking," he warned.Kirijo dipped her chin behind the sofa back. Shinjiro felt her eyes upon him while he worked and tamped down on the smile budding on his lips.He crossed back into the living room and handed Kirijo her cocktail."Boulevardier," Shinjiro said when she gave him an inquisitive look. Kirijo sipped, her eyelashes pressing softly down while she considered the flavor."Oh," she said, blinking down at the drink."What is it?" Shinjiro pressed his palm against the single cushion separating them on the sofa and leaned over for the glass. "Too strong?"
Kirijo sucked in a breath and drew the glass close to her chest."I like it," she whispered. Shinjiro slunk back to his side of the sofa.They listened to the sounds of the storm raging woven in with the sounds of Koromaru snoring in the center of the living room. Kirijo turned to Shinjiro with a frown."Aigis," he reminded her quietly.Kirijo gave her drink a dutiful nod.
“By the time we discovered their plan, we were too late.”While on a nature walk by herself, Aigis was lured away and taken by the Kirijo Group.“Scrap,” she laughed bitterly, tears pearling in her eyes. “The researchers referred to her as scrap metal in their instructions. They were going to take her apart. They were going to erase her memory.”Kirijo flexed her hands around her glass.“They were going to take away everything she’d been through. With us, with him–”A clap of thunder shook Shinjiro in his seat. Kirijo remained motionless beside him. She traced the rim of her glass with her index finger. She shifted her gaze from the window to Shinjiro, a hard flint of anger in her eyes.“None of us were going to let her go without a fight.”The glass made a hard clink when she set it on the table.

S.E.E.S. swiftly gathered at a clandestine location outside of Asahikawa where Aigis was being held. With Kirijo leading the charge, Ken Amada, Fuuka Yamagishi, Junpei Iori, and Yukari Takeba pulled together a detailed and brash plan, not as S.E.E.S., but as the Shadow Operatives.Under the cover of darkness, the Shadow Operatives broke into the Kirijo Group’s Asahikawa Laboratory.They infiltrated several levels of the facility, bypassing alarms and security guards, and rescued Aigis. The Shadow Operatives escaped with their friend unscathed, but their victory was short-lived. The mission put them on the radar of the Kirijo Group, who dispatched spies to surveil them.“We had to take our operations underground.”They led lives of normalcy to avoid arousing suspicion.In 2014, after a long battle with a rare form of brain cancer, Ken Amada's mother passed away. Despite her desire to serve as guardian, Kirijo ultimately agreed that taking custody of Amada would expose him to increased scrutiny from the Kirijo Group. Iori and his wife obtained legal guardianship of Amada until he was old enough to graduate high school and enroll in Tokyo University. Iori continued to coach baseball. Takeba became a television sensation. Yamagishi broke barriers in the nanotechnology field and was offered a prestigious teaching position. Aigis rotated through their care, wearing disguises and laying low. Each of the Shadow Operatives knew the Kirijo Group was watching; waiting for one of them to inadvertently reveal Aigis’ location. After several years, the Kirijo Group deemed the group a benign threat, though they remained vigilant in their search for Aigis.Shadow activity persisted, however, and new persona users were emerging throughout the country. Kirijo was fearful that the Kirijo Group and its agents would find these young, impressionable and inexperienced users.“We feared for their safety.”In 2013, Yamagishi hacked into the Kirijo Group's Osaka research facility and confirmed the Shadow Operatives' worst fears. The company had names of the Inaba team as potential research subjects. Yamagishi seized the files and purged them all under ten minutes. It didn't stop the Group, but it did slow them down and bought Yamagishi and Kirijo time to intercept the Inaba team and train them against incoming threats. Kirijo trained the leader of the Inaba team on managing the skills of his teammates and ensuring their safety.After gaining the trust of the Inaba team, Kirijo and Yamagishi scoured the country in search of others with the potential. In 2016, they discovered other gifted persona users in Tokyo; hackers, healers, and muscle. Each team had access to their own repository of tactical weapons dealers, apothecaries, and other forms of support.Yamagishi trained the navigators in various tactics including stealth abilities that not only cloaked the presence of persona users against shadows, but against Kirijo Group spies.Kirijo connected individuals from Tokyo, Port Island, and Inaba and facilitated the underground exchange of information, materials, weapons, and skills. Kirijo offered them her assistance, resources, and training.Despite Kirijo’s attempts to keep the Shadow Operatives' official ranks small, the underground network of persona users grew."There are those who have exemplified exceptional leadership abilities. My goal is to set these leaders up for success, when they're ready for the challenge."“Including your mentee in Tokyo?”Kirijo paused.“I want to empower them,” she said, her voice full of conviction. “I also want them to have the life my father wanted for me. Young people like him deserve a normal life.”Shinjiro ran the edge of his knuckles against his lips. He reached for a cup of coffee on the table and considered it in his hand.“Young people like him deserve a say in how they live their lives,” Shinjiro said before taking a sip.The rain pelted against the windows. Kirijo's expression waned and threatened to grow distant."May I make you a drink?" Kirijo asked.

Shinjiro used the remote to switch off the weather report just as Kirijo slid a reddish orange cocktail against the counter.Shinjiro raised an eyebrow at it."Manhattan?"Kirijo's mischievious smile wilted slightly."Seems I can't get anything past you," she said, her voice dimmed from fatigue."Don't like surprises," Shinjiro said apologetically.Kirijo excused herself and began to prepare the guest bedroom for Shinjiro's stay.She returned to the living room and sat down at the piano bench. Shinjiro settled on the sofa and gave the Manhattan in his hand an exploratory sniff before taking a sip; it was strong enough to peel paint.Shinjiro felt inclined to arrange his other arm along the back of the sofa and resisted the urge to get comfortable. He comported himself to take up as little space on her sofa as he could and watched her play. Shinjiro didn't breathe a word about Kirijo playing that same damn song.The notes tapered away. Kirijo hovered her hands over the keys, ready to start the song anew—"Where do your doubles fit into this?" Shinjiro asked.Kirijo smiled secretively at her sheet music."That was Takeshi's idea."Shinjiro refrained from curling his lip and instead threw back three quarters of the potent Manhattan.When Kirijo enrolled in Oxford University in 2010, she not only made a friend but also discovered an effective method to delay her marriage.Takeshi Mikitani was the heir of a Japanese seafood distributor. His father was one of the wealthiest men in Japan and his mother was the daughter of a British real estate mogul. Takeshi was a sickly child who’d been raised in Kyoto but had spent much of his young adult life lounging in his mother’s home in the English countryside or basking on the decks of mega-yachts in warm seas. As a child Takeshi was a gifted polyglot, though his innate talents were not enough to keep him from being a blight on his family name. Takeshi’s chronic health and physical disability rendered him a nuisance and a burden in the eyes of his family.In the press, Takeshi had a reputation for indolence, flamboyant displays of wealth, and a generally cavalier attitude.“And in private?” Shinjiro asked.“Indolent, flamboyant, and cavalier,” Kirijo nodded from the piano bench. “Though he is also deeply introverted.”Shinjiro didn’t ask if this man also held an appreciation for Kirijo’s angelic little bottom.Takeshi and Kirijo were fast friends after meeting in an introductory French course. On the weekends and holidays, Takeshi whisked Kirijo away in his private helicopter to his family’s estate in the Scottish highlands. Kirijo took to studying in the Mikitani family’s many libraries alongside Takeshi, with his family’s servants, an old piano, and the lonely moorlands for company.Safe from the prying eyes of the press and their family’s spies, Takeshi taught her the art of using spectacle as a sleight of hand. The eccentric billionaire playboy showed her the proper way of living a double life and helped her recruit competent doubles.“A troublesome heiress is an asset to the company,” Kirijo explained, closing the cover to the piano. “She requires an exceptional amount of public relations management, but the spectacle she causes provides a compelling distraction for a corrupt company to conceal illicit and repugnant activities.”Kirijo shuffled the sheet music into a neat pile and slipped it into a folder. She stowed it in the compartment of the piano bench before joining Shinjiro on the sofa.“As long as you were parading around as a self-absorbed shallow rich girl, you could stay unmarried," Shinjiro said.Kirijo placed herself in a cross-legged position on the cushion beside him. Shinjiro felt his heart race from the sudden proximity.A pained, self-aware look consumed Kirijo's expression. She edged back to the far end of the sofa. Shinjiro sent the empty space between them a look of half-mourning and half loathing.“It could only last so long," Kirijo said. "I’m coming to the end of my twenties. The company wants an heir. Soon, they’ll put an end to Mitsuru Kirijo’s foibles.”Shinjiro traced the rim of his cocktail glass, the sweet vermouth turning rancid on his tongue."Another?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.Shinjiro handed her his empty glass. She padded into the kitchen. Shinjiro rose to his feet in pursuit and felt the room slant; Kirijo's Manhattans were deadly. He steadied his hands on the kitchen counter in an attempt to mask the wobble in his step.“Weren’t they suspicious?” he asked slowly.“At first," she replied against the aggravated sound of ice crashing into a glass. "After several years of inciting headlines, they ultimately bought into the ruse I created. I owe a great deal of debt to Takeshi, but also to my doubles. They have gone above and beyond to keep my name steeped in chaos.”“Owe them?” Shinjiro repeated. “Seems like they’ve been decently compensated with luxury travel, designer clothes, and men.”“Men and women,” Kirijo corrected easily.“Busy girls,” Shinjiro said, a nascent smile creeping along the edge of his mouth.Kirijo smiled back weakly. Her eyelids looked heavy over her downcast expression. The storm raged against the walls, reminding them of the violence outside. Shinjiro leaned over, his hands brushing against hers when he tugged the glass from her hand.He fixed her with a dark look which he tried to temper with a small smile of encouragement."Break time," Shinjiro said.

Shinjiro watched Koromaru enthusiastically devour his dinner with a smile before returning to the living room. He found Kirijo sitting cross-legged on the floor with a deck of cards in her hand. Shinjiro joined her and tracked the smooth motions of her hands as she sorted and shuffled the deck.Kirijo explained the rules for King's Corner. Shinjiro tolerated almost four full minutes of playing before he dropped his cards and unwadded the letter from his pocket.Shinjiro handed it to Kirijo and watched her expression shift with consternation as she read."Who is 'E'?" Shinjiro asked.

In 2011 during her second year of Oxford, Kirijo was visiting Tokyo en route to stay at Sanada-san's house for the holiday break. She'd stopped at a cafe for lunch when she learned her fiancé had been apprised of her presence.Kirijo contemplated the cards in her hand. She shuffled the deck mindlessly, her eyes downcast with guilt."I’ve never prayed before,” she said quietly. “But when I saw him walk into that cafe looking for me, I prayed for a different fate; for myself, my friends, and the company.”Kirijo fled out a back door and into the maze of Tokyo's side streets. Unfamiliar with the city's layout, she became disoriented and lost. She turned down an alley and encountered a tarot reader stationed outside a blue door. The tarot reader introduced herself as Elizabeth and invited Kirijo in for tea and a complementary reading. All that was required from Kirijo was to drink from a vial that would allow her to pass through.“I know it sounds absurd. Mad, even,” Kirijo said. “But I felt as though someone had heard me. I required very little convincing to drink from that vial.”Shinjiro took another pull of his Manhattan, eyes narrowed on Kirijo: Stupid. Dangerous. Reckless.“It’s difficult to describe what I saw when I woke up. She called it the widow’s watch.”“Fucked up way to invite someone for tea," Shinjiro said and flicked the letter next to Kirijo's knee."I wasn’t in any danger,” Kirijo said sheepishly. She frowned at the letter. “As a result of her situation, she has a poor sense of time and place. I believe she asks for an RSVP out of politeness rather than practicality. Her invitations are rather… abrupt.”“Abrupt,” Shinjiro repeated shortly. “Like, looks a lot like kidnapping, abrupt?”“Yes,” Kirijo said. “We were slated to meet that day the police were called. Elizabeth's associate arrived and provided me with the elixir. The mistiming of the dose was one issue, but Elizabeth's skill in drafting such elixirs has deteriorated due to her situation. The elixirs she creates can carry rather volatile side effects,” Kirijo touched her face, as if to remind him. "Her courier determined it best to forego the meeting."“Why the fuck does she have to drug you?” Shinjiro asked, his mood darkening with every new piece of information.“The widow’s watch exists in a temporal space. I cannot access Elizabeth without calibrating my body to her dimension."Shinjiro glared.“I agreed to it,” Kirijo said impatiently.“You get how that’s worse, right?”Kirijo scoffed. She took a short break and returned to the living room with a fresh round of drinks.

During their first meeting, Elizabeth told Kirijo of her encounter with the Norns.She explained that she had attempted to rescue someone precious from his fate. Her bid for this person's freedom had led her to challenge the Norns for control of the threads of fate.Elizabeth lost the duel.Her battle had left her scarred and imprisoned in a realm between doors, where she now lived in servitude as punishment for her arrogance and impetuousness.Elizabeth offered her services to act as an emissary between Kirijo and the Norns, thinking Kirijo's bid would be more successful if she pursued a different strategy; one of cooperation."Elizabeth suggested I obtain offerings," Kirijo said, placing the cards face down on the living room rug.If Kirijo could find the right offerings, Elizabeth could facilitate a meeting with the Norns. There, Kirijo could persuade them to use their divine powers to shift the threads of fate and divine a more harmonious future; a future with a substantially crippled Kirijo Group.Shinjiro's mind reeled. He stared down at the pile of cards abandoned on the floor."You're enlisting the goddesses of fate to take down the Kirijo Group," he said listlessly."I'm leveling the playing field," Kirijo countered lowly.Up until this point, Kirijo's attempts to dismantle the Kirijo Group's operations had been piecemeal. With the other Shadow Operatives under strict guidance to lay low, operations were restricted to Kirijo and Yamagishi. The two were able to take the wind out of the Kirijo Group's sails but with marginal returns and temporary results but they couldn't keep pace with the speed at which the Group was spreading operations.According to Elizabeth, the Norns could help reset the balance.In exchange, Elizabeth requested only the opportunity to learn if there was another way to change the fate of the person she held dear.In order to gain the support of the Norns, Elizabeth informed Kirijo that she would need to be extremely judicious in her choice of offerings. The Norns were particularly interested in keys that opened doors to the more than human world.Elizabeth warned that before a meeting was scheduled, Kirijo needed a clear vision of the future. To do this, Kirijo would need to pass through different doors while asleep. Each door would open to a different past formed by a different course of fate. By observing past events from different lines of fate, Kirijo could identify pivotal turning points that could be used to guide her to the future she envisioned.The information dropped like a stone into the space between them."You mean…" Shinjiro began. "You've seen… other worlds?"“The past only,” Kirijo paused. “Except for a recent event.”Shinjiro's chest grew numb. The bourbon's warmth turned sickly and unwelcome.“There are certain events that occur no matter what door I open,” Kirijo looked away. “No matter how many times I see it, how the details change, I always–”The thunder startled them in their seats.

Their next break spanned nearly forty five minutes long. Shinjiro sat on the guest bed and watched the rain streak against the window.Kirijo had stepped through portals into other worlds. She had seen the past unfold in an unknown number of ways. When Theodore had asked if Kirijo's travels had taken her to happy places, was this what he'd been referring to?What else had she seen? What other paths had she followed? Had she seen a past where Aki hadn't been killed? Had she peered through time and seen a world where Shinjiro hadn't fucked everything up as badly as he had in this world? If Kirijo had seen such things, would she tell him?Koromaru's concerned expression remained glued on Shinjiro's face, his head resting on Shinjiro's knee. Shinjiro rubbed the space between his ears, his gaze distant.What kind of consequences came from holding knowledge like that? Shinjiro didn't know, but he had learned one thing from his work as an informant: Good information always came with a hefty price tag.Shinjiro was pulled from his thoughts when the room became shocked with white. A crack of thunder followed seconds after and killed the lights. Koromaru licked his hand and Shinjiro gave him a thorough ear scratch before he left the guest room in search of Kirijo.The hallway was completely dark. He followed the sound of soft shuffling into Kirijo's office. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and barely made out the slope of Kirijo's shoulders in the center of the room."Kirijo," he said softly.She let out a startled gasp. Shinjiro heard something knock against the ground. Kirijo tripped over one of the massive islands of books cluttering her floor and stumbled forward with uncharacteristic clumsiness. Shinjiro reached his arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest before she went sprawling face first into the corner of her desk.The office was filled with the sound of Kirijo's erratic breathing. She was tense in his arms."You have too many books," Shinjiro muttered.Kirijo shivered against Shinjiro's chest like a bird that had just been stunned after slamming into a window. His words did not seem to put her at ease."Kirijo.""I didn't hear you come in," she breathed.

They found a set of emergency candles in the kitchen drawer. Shinjiro used his lighter to light each one, his body aching for nicotine every time he struck the ignitor.He passed the candles to Kirijo for her to take into the living room and watched her arrange them on the coffee table. He joined her on the sofa and noted the way the warm, flickering light washed over her face while she studied the flame.Shinjiro sensed a chasm growing between them. He reached for her wrist and gave it a squeeze. Kirijo turned to him, her eyes narrowing as they roved over his face."Tell me about the doors," he said.

Kirijo handed Shinjiro a fresh Manhattan before she joined him on the sofa.Shinjiro forced himself to listen through the malaise of dissonance plaguing his mind.Elizabeth stated that a simple elixir, taken before sleep, was all that was required to grant Kirijo the means of accessing other worlds. Once asleep, Kirijo’s dreams would present doors, each leading to a different past.However, Elizabeth's freedom of movement was limited due to her imprisonment. She could not craft the elixir that would grant Kirijo access to the doors leading to different realms.While Elizabeth’s ability to reliably concoct such elixirs had deteriorated, she relayed to Kirijo that her siblings held a similar skillset and might be convinced to create the elixir.She told Kirijo her little brother was often found in spaces where the nexus between doors was tenuous. Elizabeth’s brother was not as talented as she, according to Elizabeth, but he was proficient enough to compound the right materials without outright killing her.Elizabeth had it on good authority that her brother was traveling along the western coast of the North American continent. Her brother had become an avid appreciator of lighthouses around the world.Kirijo developed a means to search for Theodore without raising suspicion from the Kirijo Group.For the obscenely wealthy, Colatura offered a luxury yacht dining experience and the pleasure of dining with a famous heiress. For Kirijo, it provided an essential means of covertly searching for Theodore along the Pacific Coast of North America.“It took me a year to find him.”The moon was rising just as the sun was setting along the ecliptic when Kirijo met Theodore in the lantern room of the lighthouse on La Isla de San Benito.Theodore was surprised by her presence, but welcomed her company. He told her his obsession with lighthouses had been born of a myth: If one waited for the sun to set in the lantern house on a misty day, one might catch a glimpse of their loved ones on the other side of the ocean of time.It was here that Kirijo made her request for the elixir."And?" Shinjiro pressed."Theodore refused.""Someone said no to you," Shinjiro laughed down at his drink. "Would've loved to have seen it."Kirijo nudged him with her heel. The candlelight betrayed the smile on her lips.Theodore knew all too well the consequences of interfering with the threads of fate. His foolish sister had involved herself in the affairs of deities and was now trapped in the Norn’s prison. He wanted nothing to do with the Norns. He had been ready to vanish through an ethereal portal when–“I challenged him to a feat of strength of his choosing.”Intrigued, Theodore entertained her challenge with a gauntlet of tasks. Shinjiro thought of Kirijo’s race against the rising sun on the back of a war mare in the Jordanian desert. His imagination spun vivid images of—“The Kingda Ka.”“The hell is a Kingda Ka?”The Kingda Ka was the world’s most terrifying roller coaster – allegedly. Featuring stomach twisting turns, perilous climbs that dropped the passenger from careening heights at terrifying speeds in a matter of seconds, Theodore was absolutely certain that no mortal who stepped foot on such a journey stood any chance of survival. Theodore stated that any person who could survive such a death machine would be able to withstand his potions.“And… you survived Kingda Ka.”“Yes, though just barely.”Theodore, suspicious of her miraculous survival, demanded she re-take the challenge, this time with him as company to ensure she was not cheating. After twelve consecutive runs on the Kingda Ka, Theodore was persuaded of Kirijo’s strength. They retreated to an upscale bar atop a rooftop garden and traded songs and stories over a piano and more than one Brandy Alexander.Theodore warned her to take the the elixir sparingly and ensure she planned full recovery days after the dosages to combat any residual side effects of her travels.“Your rest days on your planner.”Kirijo pulled her feet under a blanket.“Yes,” she said. “Days I spent traveling and… recovering.”They parted ways, with Theodore gallantly pressing a kiss to the back of her hand and agreeing to provide Kirijo with the elixir for the standard fee of a song on the piano.

Shinjiro excused himself to the balcony for a quick and miserable cigarette break.He returned, ensured he was still mostly dry, and took up his position on the sofa. Kirijo tucked her legs under her and met his gaze through the dancing shadows cast by the candlelight.Kirijo drew her knees to her chest, her back against the arm of the sofa. Shinjiro sat opposite her, his back to the armrest with one ungainly leg propped up on the cushion and the other hanging over the edge. Koromaru paced several laps around the living room before Shinjiro convinced him to settle back against his foot.In 2011, Kirijo had enrolled in Oxford’s online program for non-credit seeking students as Hanae Sanada while concurrently pursuing her French degree as Mitsuru Kirijo.She doubled down on coursework such as languages, linguistics, mythology, anthropology, botany – fields that would lead her to a meeting with the Norns.Takeshi Mikitani not only assisted Kirijo with recruiting doubles, but connected her to individuals that could facilitate creating false vital documents for Hanae Sanada.Takeshi Mikitani was clearly an informant's dream connection. Shinjiro's loathing for him remained unchanged though his respect for him grew - marginally.By 2012, Mitsuru Kirijo was causing waves in the headlines and had officially been labeled an out of touch heiress and international nuisance. She had solidified her name as a paparazzi darling and had secured a means of concealing her research.The same year the Shadow Operatives rescued Aigis, Kirijo had identified her offerings to the Norns. She began combing the world for the knowledge keepers, those who would need to be persuaded to grant her access to keys to the more than human worlds.First, a feather that unlocked the language of birds. Kirijo sought the ancestral daughters of a Bedouin family with a mysterious connection to horses and who guarded over the mythical cave of sparrows; the Al-Tamimi family.Second, Kirijo sought to obtain a key purported to have been crafted by the goddess Ariadne to assist a grieving widow navigate her way out of the catacombs of Milos. To secure this offering, Kirijo leveraged her connections to the wealthy elite and learned of a young social media influencer who allegedly kept an inventory of stolen Grecian treasures.“And how exactly are you going to get that?” Shinjiro spat incredulously. Whatever it was, it'd better not involve sprinting horses and climbing up a godforsaken cliff without a rope.Kirijo stood up. Koromaru’s ears swivled upward. Shinjiro tracked Kirijo's path into the kitchen and watched as she poured herself an impolite amount of Scotch from the bar. She threw the liquor back like it was tap water; cocktail hour was apparently over and Kirijo was well on her way to becoming over served.Kirijo resumed her line of thought with the bottle of Scotch swaddled against her chest.For the final offering, Kirijo would gather water from the sacred well of Inish Bhéara. The waters were believed to have been blessed by the mythical Cailleach who carved the mountains and reigned over winter. To obtain this item, Kirijo journeyed to Ireland and spent a month with the Matchmaker of Inish Bhéara who guarded the location of the sacred well.The Matchmaker did not grant Kirijo permission to collect from the source."Why?" Shinjiro asked.“I did not accept the terms of her blessing,” she mumbled from the kitchen. Shinjiro stood up from the sofa and came to stand across from her at the counter.“Which were?” he pressed.Kirijo paused. Without releasing the bottle of Scotch clutched to her bosom, Kirijo selected a different bottle from the cabinet. She poured herself a shot, paused, and then poured a second tumbler of gin.“Fucking hell—" Shinjiro reached for the bottle. "Don’t mix Scotch with–”Kirijo rapidly fired back the two shots of gin. Shinjiro confiscated both bottles while Kirijo returned to her seat on the sofa. Shinjiro followed her with a stern tut of disapproval. At least she’d had a decent meal beforehand.The Matchmaker instructed her to return in six years, prepared to accept the terms of the blessing.

Shinjiro watched the soapy water fill into the glass and swept the sponge around the rim with careful, methodical movements.Everything Kirijo had told him reeked of Aki’s absence.No Aki to persuade Kirijo from going back to her fiancé. No Aki to cover Kirijo’s back. No Aki to rescue Aigis, raise Amada, or train the next wave of persona users. No Aki getting lost with Kirijo in Tokyo. No Aki to stop Kirijo from making back alley deals with gods. No Aki anywhere.Shinjiro added his own absence on the scale.Could Shinjiro have convinced Kirijo to advocate for herself when under pressure from the company? Could he have covered her back, even half as well as Aki had? Could he have done anything remotely fucking useful for her at all? Now that Shinjiro was back, now that he was here, what could he possibly offer her? What power did he hold?Kirijo placed a freshly dried glass in the cupboard before she turned to Shinjiro with a frank and tired stare.“How did you find me?”Shinjiro set the clean glass to dry on a towel, his shoulders tensing. He dried his hands and pivoted his back to lean against the refrigerator. Shinjiro faced her head on and pointed two fingers to the locket around her neck.
Kirijo reached for the pendant, her gaze distant.“Oh.”Shinjiro disclosed that he'd adjusted the cameras to turn on whenever the door opened in her apartment and then confessed to fitting the tracking device inside her locket while they'd been in Jordan.The storm rippled against the windows. From Kirijo's office, a radio churned out more updates on the storm.Kirijo seemed too fatigued to muster her counter-offensive, but Shinjiro could see it simmering through the flickering light of the candle. She marched into the living room, her fists clenched."I'm not some kind of pet for you to manage," she snapped over her shoulder."Pet?" Shinjiro repeated back with a biting laugh. He peeled himself away from the refrigerator and shadowed her into the living room. Shinjiro advanced on her, not at his full thug's height, but marginally close."Kirijo, you're a fucking nightmare.""A nightmare?" she repeated, affronted. "I'm not a—"He began to list off the preponderance of evidence, each one punctuated with a step toward Kirijo."You're drinking out of vials handed to you by strangers in alleys, getting your hands fried trying to blow up a different Kirijo Group lab every week, traveling under false documents—"Kirijo crossed her arms and retreated each time Shinjiro advanced, looking thoroughly annoyed at the charges levied against her rather than intimidated."That's…"Shinjiro crossed his arms and waited for Kirijo's terrible counterpoint with a wide-eyed look. He gladly resumed his line of thought when Kirijo's protestation went unfinished."Where was I?" he smiled and took another deliberate step forward. "Let's not forget the shit you're not telling me about your plan to get these other two offerings - all so you can make a deal with some goddesses who, according to you, have a history of imprisoning anyone who pisses them off.""Those are spurious conclusions," she countered, standing firm. "There's absolutely no—""Kirijo," Shinjiro said. "You are a plague of risk."Now it was Kirijo's turn to advance on Shinjiro."That doesn't excuse what you did," she said quietly."No, it doesn't," he said with a sharp look. "But I'm not saying any of this as an excuse, Kirijo. I'm begging you: I need a way to watch your back. I can't do that if I don't know where you are."He couldn’t do his job otherwise. He couldn’t make good on his promise otherwise. Shinjiro gave her a pleading look.Kirijo touched two fingers to her locket before reluctantly meeting Shinjiro's gaze."I'm open to suggestions."

Shinjiro remained wide awake on the bed in Kirijo’s guest bedroom. The flame stretched long on the candlewick beside him. Koromaru's gentle snores hummed against his side.They had made a list of concessions before retiring to bed.The device in Kirijo's locket would remain but would only be accessed in case of emergency or if Kirijo didn't respond to calls or texts within twenty minutes.Kirijo agreed to stop sitting with her back to the door if Shinjiro returned the security system to its default setting. Shinjiro would retire the latest new guy from the undercarriage of her motorcycle if Kirijo conceded to avoiding parking garages. Shinjiro reaffirmed his vow to purge the ration bars from Kirijo's cabinet. He sought no concession on this matter and kept his nefarious plans to himself.Shinjiro blew out the candle on the bedside table.He contemplated the quality of the intel Kirijo had provided him while he carded his hand through Koromaru's fur.Shinjiro revisited the last several hours with Kirijo. He matched her words with every shift in her posture, how she’d pulled her legs under her on the sofa, the way she’d held her arms when she poured from the bottle, the way her eyes had remained soft and unguarded in the candlelight.Kirijo had not lied to him tonight. This might have been a promising development, but deception and omission were two vastly different skillsets separated by a thin, watery line. Shinjiro squelched the pang for a cigarette and rolled over, being careful to adjust himself without disturbing Koromaru.He had not pushed Kirijo to elaborate what she meant by leveling the playing field. His brain was still making sense of Norns, doors to other worlds, and more than human keys to fate.The world threatened to engulf him with its openness. He held Koromaru close and closed his eyes.Shinjiro revisited the core tenets of the informant's code: Patience and trust. There were multiple paths to getting the truth from Kirijo, but what mattered was time. Shinjiro needed more time.By early morning the gray clouds had softened but still not opened to blue skies. Shinjiro rose with the sun and prepared breakfast. He greeted Kirijo with a kind word and nodded to the dining table where he gestured for her to seat herself.He furnished her with a plate of tamago kake gohan and a cup of black coffee. Kirijo thanked him.Shinjiro watched her eat, his eyes shifting from her face to the locket that she still wore openly against her throat.

One week later, Shinjiro found himself surveying the interior of Cafe LeBlanc.His entrance was clipped, causing Kirijo to bump into him from behind with a short scoffing sound. Shinjiro remained unmovable while he continued to search the restaurant for any potential issues. The once sleepy cafe was now abuzz with a pair of customers. Shinjiro scanned them before turning his attention to the counter.A girl wearing a crisp white apron and thick glasses was pouring coffee directly on the counter while scrolling on her phone.An older man with a goatee and a slumped back emerged from the kitchen and without a word, guided his employee’s arm so that the coffee flowed into a mug. He swiped the mess from the counter without batting an eyelash and began busying himself with drying a pile of coffee mugs.Shinjiro determined all present to be a negligible threat, though the waitress gave him the impression of a cyclone with a ponytail.Kirijo introduced the two individuals behind the counter as Futaba Sakura and Sojiro Sakura, noting the latter as the owner of LeBlanc.The elder Sakura and Shinjiro took a moment to appraise each other.Shinjiro gazed back at Sakura with a blank look but his insides were liquifying. He was in the presence of a culinary genius. It took Shinjiro a heroic level of effort not to assail Sakura with questions about his produce or praise him for his witty and well-rounded selection of spices.Shinjiro made do with unspoken reverence. Sakura’s appraisal of Shinjiro was offered much more readily.“You the boyfriend?” Sakura asked.“Absolutely not,” Kirijo snapped.Kurusu emerged from the back. He wore the same green apron he’d worn the first time Shinjiro had visited LeBlanc. A black and white cat with striking blue eyes and a yellow handkerchief around his neck was curled in Kurusu's arms. The cat offered Kurusu a long, sleepy yowl and a series of chirps."Thanks for the vote of confidence," Kurusu replied to the cat.The cat then leapt from Kurusu's arms and curled up on a nearby stool and fixed Shinjiro with a dour look. Kirijo went about making introductions, noting to Kurusu that Shinjiro was her colleague but would not be a part of their conversation.Kurusu smiled at Shinjiro with a blessedly vacant expression.“Have we met?” Kurusu asked demurely.“We haven’t.”Shinjiro took a seat at the counter, his vantage point equally divided between the door and the back booth. The two elderly customers paid for their meal and bade Sakura a warm farewell before stepping out into the evening. Shinjiro put his order in with the younger Sakura. Shinjiro trained his focus on the door. He picked out threads of Kirijo and Kurusu's conversation as Kurusu began a calm appeal at another shot to train with Amada and Narukami at Yakushima.After forty five minutes, Sakura flipped the closed sign. Shinjiro made eye contact with Kirijo and gestured toward the door. She scowled, issued him a dismissive shake of her head, and made no effort to conclude her conversation with Kurusu. With the door closed and the back entrance secured, Shinjiro decided to wait for her outside.

Sakura greeted Shinjiro with a nod and loaned him a cigarette.“Good kid,” Shinjiro said, gesturing over to the restaurant over his shoulder. “He yours?”“Yeah,” Sakura said without hesitation.A pair of housewives passed by, trading gossip in low voices. A cyclist zoomed past and the narrow street returned to relative silence.“Mentioned he had a record,” Shinjiro said, tapping his cigarette.“So what?” Sakura growled.“Meant nothing by it, just that I know what that’s like. If he needs help or anything, I might have some ill-gotten wisdom to offer.”“You got a record?” Sakura mumbled through his cigarette. “What, you try to kill someone?”Shinjiro coughed with laughter and shook his head. He released the cigarette smoke with a long, contemplative exhale. He preferred not to tell this story, but he sensed an ally in Sakura and those were few and far in between.“Made a few bad choices. Ended up in Thailand,” Shinjiro said. “It wasn't working out so I worked my ass off to save up enough money to come home. I was getting ready to book a flight back. Police detained me for shoplifting when I was grocery shopping. Showed me a CCTV video it and everything – except it wasn’t me.”Sakura handed him a fresh cigarette. Shinjiro accepted it and nodded his thanks when Sakura offered him a light."You're joking," Sakura said.Shinjiro shook his head.“They held me for hours and I started to panic. I had no idea what was going on, didn’t speak much Thai. Second biggest mistake was not having enough baht on me to buy my freedom.”“What was the first mistake?” Sakura asked.“Signing the piece of paper they put in front of me," Shinjiro smiled ruefully. "Hard to retract a confession and once you’re in the system, it’s all over. I got three years, only served one.”"Sounds absolutely criminal," Sakura said mildly. "Glad you got out early."“Me too.”Sakura turned over his shoulder.“Don't tell me you're leaving already?”Shinjiro turned around. Kirijo was stationed outside the entrance of LeBlanc, her features icy.“Sakura-san,” she said steadily. “Thank you for allowing us to utilize your cafe as an impromptu meeting location once again. I appreciate your discretion.”Kirijo’s voice was robotic. She looked past Shinjiro like he was made of air; like she was looking at nothing.“Don’t be so formal,” Sakura grumbled, putting out his cigarette. “You’re welcome here anytime. Don’t go anywhere just yet, let me get you some curry to go–”“My apologies," she said primly. "My appetite seems to have soured.”Sakura’s gaze flickered between Shinjiro and Kirijo. He nodded his farewell and returned inside. Kirijo waited for the door to shut before turning on her heel and veering down an alley. Shinjiro hastily put out his cigarette, jogging slightly to catch up to her before he carefully took her by the arm.“You needed money?” she snapped, pushing on tip toes to get in Shinjiro's face as much as possible. “That’s why you didn’t come home? Because–”Kirijo ripped her arm free and took off.“You expect me to believe you didn’t know about my charges?” Shinjiro said, matching his stride to hers.“Of course I knew the details of the charges,” she snapped, her pace quickening. “But I couldn’t understand why; what had led you down that path. I thought you’d just been vulnerable to the wrong people, that you’d fallen prey to bad actors. To think you got caught up in some sort of scheme, that you hadn’t come home sooner because of something so frivolous as money–”Kirijo attempted to pivot down another alleyway.“Hey, hey, hold on damn it—"Shinjiro twisted into her path and blocked her escape route.“You make it sound so simple–” he started.“You ignored our letters!” she fumed, the watery rage in her voice nearing a boiling point. “You ignored our phone calls, all because you were too proud to ask for a little help?”Kirijo dipped under his arm with the speed of a bird darting under a wire. Shinjiro stepped after her, his heart racing. She was smaller than him, he reminded himself. She couldn’t outpace him as long as he kept tight on her heels.“It wasn’t just a little help," Shinjiro said, his voice rising. "I had to debts to pay, shit I’d gotten myself into that I had to get myself out of–”“It's just money,” she laughed acridly. Despite the urge not to, Shinjiro snapped back with a counter argument.“It's not just money, princess. Not to me and the billions of people in this world.”Kirijo dragged to a halt and whipped around with the expression of a tortured, caged animal. Shinjiro stumbled back. Kirijo leveled a finger at his chest, her lips twisted back in a grimace.“You can make this about privilege and power all you want,” she said quietly. “It won't change the fact that you–”Kirijo’s index finger pointed at his heart like a knife. She paused to gather her words, the tears glistening against her expression of abject disgust. Shinjiro felt the pull of the dark alcove. He took a half-step back into the safety of the shadows. Kirijo took a hard, rattling inhale.“You are a coward.”Her voice stripped him down to a skeleton.Kirijo turned down the alley and ran.Shinjiro remained frozen for an indeterminate amount of time. Shinjiro pitched forward with a hard stumble that he took into a run. Shinjiro laughed at his own stupidity, how he’d managed to be taken off guard by the most basic, straightforward observation, how the fuck he’d almost let her slip away after he’d vowed–“That’s it?” he called after her incredulously.The thug’s intuition called for him to lower his voice, to pursue in silence. Shinjiro ignored it and bolted for Kirijo just as she slipped around a corner.“Kirijo, stop!”Kirijo was in far better shape but Shinjiro leveraged his stride. Kirijo swept down another long alley plunged in darkness.“Leave me alone!” she shouted.He’d lost her. Panic set in. Shinjiro took his best guess and set off down the closest side alley–
“Wrong way!”
He felt a brush of leather against the back of his neck, followed by an iron-muscled hand curled around the back of his collar. Shinjiro was hauled back, spun around, and shoved down a dark alley. He looked over his shoulder to see who’d thrust him hard enough to eat concrete and found no one.Shinjiro stumbled into a run. He needed to get back in range of Kirijo's stride but he needed to reel her back in first. He retrieved an arrow from this thug’s quiver: This one was sharp. This one was dipped in poison. This arrow was called truth – and it was going to hurt him a lot more than it was going to hurt her.“That’s the worst you have for me, princess?” Shinjiro called after her, his voice high strung and curdling with cold laughter. “You don’t think I wake up choking on worse words?”Kirijo darted down a narrow street.“Shit,” Shinjiro snarled. He bumped shoulders with a man and spotted a tattoo poking out of his shirt collar. He glared at Shinjiro as he tore by. Shinjiro’s intuition crackled at him to shut the fuck up.“You think I don’t look at myself in the mirror every morning and see every fucking way I could have stopped–”“Go away," she called back.He stole a glimpse of Kirijo's ankle as she took off down another shadowed alley. Fucking hell, was she even looking where she was going?“God damn it, stop Kirijo!”Shinjiro passed a group of three men huddled over a lighter, each of them with unconcealed tattoos, each of them wearing a familiar wary scowl. The voice screaming at him to shut the fuck up started screaming at him to get the fuck out out. Shinjiro careened around a corner and miraculously caught up to Kirijo.She whipped around, looking ready to backhand him and before she could raise her hand, Shinjiro hooked her by the waist and clamped his hand over her mouth. With Kirijo in a vice, he pulled her into a darkened alcove.Shinjiro took an inhale and huffed it out through his nose. The voices drew closer.
“You see that guy? He looked like–”
A slick tendril of fear coiled in his stomach. He wrenched his eyes shut with a grimace. Shinjiro pulled Kirijo harder against him, compressing his breath into short, silent gasps.Yakuza to the left. Yakuza to the right; they had marched into a nest of pit vipers.
“He’s around here, I swear it. I’d know that ugly face anywhere–”
Shit shit shit. Kurosawa had given him one fucking job: Stay out of Tokyo. Tonight Shinjiro had swept the world championship of fucking up, winning in every category imaginable and there was only one thing he could still salvage.Shinjiro glanced down.Kirijo’s breathing was as shallow as his and her eyelashes were lowered against her cheek. The moment he’d pulled her into the alcove she’d all but wilted against him, as though one touch from him was enough for her to give up her will to fight. She’d be getting an earful on where the hell that fighting instinct had gone, if they managed to get out of this alive anyway.Around the corner, Shinjiro detected three voices; one to the left and two more to the right. If Kirijo remembered her nimbleness better than her fight instinct she could dodge him. Shinjiro leaned over and gave her a tiny squeeze.“Take a hard left and run,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure you're not followed.”Kirijo shivered against him.“Hey, he's over here!”Shinjiro swung around the corner. He braced Kirijo to the wall and lunged for the single yakuza member on the left. Shinjiro fisted his hand around his shirt and threw him to the ground.The path was clear for Kirijo.Shinjiro seized her and gave her a hard shove down the alley before he stepped between her and two yakuza on the right, one of which he recognized from the Port Island bust.The first launched his fist into Shinjiro's nose. Shinjiro crashed back against the wall and readied himself for another hit when he watched the other man fly back and hit the ground with a sharp, high-pitched whine.Shinjiro and the last standing yakuza looked over with matching looks of shock.Kirijo shook out her bruised hand with a look of pure premeditated murder; the idiot was definitely not running away.Shinjiro opened his mouth to scream at her to run and was interrupted by a mouthful of pavement.

A blur of color and shapes melted over his vision.Slowly, the shapes and items in the room came into focus. Shinjiro spotted a spotlessly clean bartop and a piano covered with white linen. He was in a basement suite with shitty lighting and the room was filled with old furniture, cigar smoke, and a poker table.Shinjiro knew exactly where he was, despite having never been to Sugiyama’s Tokyo den.“Old man,” Shinjiro crooned, his voice rusted to his throat. “Where’re you old man?”“Right beside you, my boy.”Sugiyama’s face appeared from the shadows.Shinjiro licked his lips. He swallowed and was met with a brand of pain in this mouth.He released a grunt when he failed to muster his voice. Sensing he’d already been labeled an unwelcome visitor, Shinjiro disregarded table manners and spat the blood from his mouth so that he could speak. He was proud that he didn’t spit out any teeth.“Where’s the girl?” Shinjiro grunted. He sucked back a wad of blood and felt it slither down his throat.“I'm here, Aragaki.”Shinjiro choked, his neck twinging as he lifted his gaze.Kirijo was seated diagonally across from him, her gaze pinned to Sugiyama. Her hair was slightly tousled and her expression drawn tense as though she’d just sprinted through a spat of bad weather. Shinjiro shook his head and executed an excruciating twist to face Sugiyama.“Get 'er out of here, old man,” Shinjiro moaned, his head as heavy as a bag of sand. “This s’got nothing to do with her. S'between you and me.”Sugiyama released a frail sigh and removed his glasses.“Nearly my exact words. Unfortunately, the matter has become somewhat complicated.”“Complicated?” Shinjiro coughed. He took a moment to clear his mouth again. He couldn’t keep up with the blood running down the back of his throat and from his nose.“What happened to your code, old man?" Shinjiro droned through the blood in his mouth. "What happened to no women, no kids?”A sorrowful smile danced on Sugiyama’s lips. He sighed and said nothing.There was shuffling behind the low lit table. Shinjiro picked out somewhere between half a dozen to a dozen different silhouettes shifting behind Kirijo. Sugiyama cleaned his glasses and replaced them on his nose. Shinjiro tested the bindings on his wrists. Thin material, not well knotted, as if the guy assigned to restraining him had been distracted.Shinjiro snapped one of the bindings free with a well-placed hack and snarl.“Miss Kirijo," Sugiyama began. "Could you kindly repeat what you said to me when my men attempted to release you and escort you out the door?”Kirijo leaned forward, her hands gripped around the edge of the table. She leveled her gaze on Sugiyama Nobu, notorious yakuza leader and the country’s most feared criminal and said:“Return my culinary consultant or face the consequences.”Shinjiro boiled.He opened his mouth, ready to eviscerate Kirijo for setting a new fucking standard of recklessness, but his mouth was too full. He tried to do it with his eyes, but Kirijo wasn’t looking at him and it was getting hard to focus. The room was shifting hard enough to make Shinjiro wonder if they’d been taken out to sea."Miss Kirijo’s unladylike conduct has left me with little recourse,” Sugiyama said.A half shadowed figure emerged behind Kirijo.“As loath as I am to do so with a woman, I must resort to a more official means of resolving this unpleasantness."The figure hovered over Kirijo's shoulder and adjusted a glove over his hand. Shinjiro reeled in a rattling breath and snapped the other layer of binding from his wrist.I am a reformed member of society, Shinjiro reminded himself.Shinjiro watched him pull on another glove. He couldn’t see the guy’s face, only his hands as he fanned and flexed his fingers, the leather gloves crunching like a whip mere inches from Kirijo’s ear. She stiffened in her seat, her jaw set with determination.
I am a reformed member of society.
Shinjiro swallowed the lump of blood in his mouth and licked his lips clean. He pulled himself up.
I am a–
Shinjiro collected his most casual voice."You touch her and I'll break your fucking neck."Kirijo turned to him, her eyes dewy with confusion. The gloved hands hovered over Kirijo’s shoulders, waiting. The room collectively turned to Sugiyama, who hummed and then tipped his chin in a nod.The gloved hands gently moved Kirijo's hair away from her shoulder and pulled her into the shadows.Shinjiro’s vision flickered red–

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

September 21, 2009

Breakfast: Nattō with rice and whey protein shake

Workout: 8k run, brisk pace; bench press 15x, 61 kgS

Sleep: 8 hours

Physical: Strong

Mental: Strong

Notes: During the storm last night, Mitsuru invited me to watch a recording of some circus performance (French?). If there was a plot I lost it. Not that it mattered - the athletes were the best part. Mitsuru seemed to really like the trapeze artists, even though one of the moves was scary enough for her to grab my hand. We talked about training for something like that. Crazy to think about how they perfected the timing of their catches. Seems like the trickiest part is letting go at the right time. Even though those athletes started working together as strangers, they had to trust each other for that first catch.

At the end there was some line about running away to the Circus of Dreams. Mitsuru said the line was preposterous; said she'd run away to somewhere quiet. Went to bed and had a dream that Mitsuru and I were trapeze artists. I caught Mitsuru but she slipped out of my hands and fell.

"Call."A hot brand of sensation filled the space between Shinjiro's eyes. The sounds of the adjoining room were muffled. He was curled on the floor. It was dark and everything from the neck up hurt. He blinked but his eyes refused to focus. His face was warm and wet and his limbs were sluggish and heavy; very heavy.Shinjiro's labored breathing filled his ears. He tried to run his hand over his face but his shoulders and wrists shook from the effort."Bet.”A loud pop echoed from the adjoining room and was followed by a woman’s startled gasp – Kirijo.A twisted chorus of male laughter followed.Shinjiro inched forward on his chest and elbows toward the sound. Blood and saliva seethed from his mouth with every crawling motion.Shinjiro's limbs were like bricks, but they hadn't been bound. He shook from the strain of crawling forward, the pain ramping up with each crawling motion but that pain only stoked his bloodlust.Shinjiro heard chairs pushing back and shuffling feet, accompanied by more ribald laughter.Every man in that room was going to die tonight, just as soon as Shinjiro could get to the fucking door, just as soon as he–

"Shinjiro."The warm voice was joined by a soft pair of hands.Shinjiro sucked back a mouthful of blood. The room shifted from black to gray. He made out the outline of someone crouching over him. She was soft and flowy and Shinjiro instantly knew who she was: She was an ethereal being who had come down from another realm on urgent business.This was no dull, harp playing angel before him. Her severe expression was a clear indication that this creature was part of the highest echelon of angels. She was the kind of angel who came soaring down from heaven on the back of a winged horse with a flaming sword and helm. She was the sort of angel who made the skies weep with fire and brimstone. She was the kind of angel who plucked the souls of mortal men from the battlefield and delivered them to Valhalla.She was terrifying. She was beautiful. Shinjiro wanted to touch her.“Valkryie,” Shinjiro said. The word sluiced out of his mouth as fart tree.He reached for her.“Don't move,” she said, softly clasping him by the wrist. “You’re hurt.”The valkyrie’s hair breezed over him and teased against his cheek.Shinjiro tried to catch it, but to his dismay his hands had become two meaty blobs and the valkyrie’s magical hair shifted and danced out of his reach so that catching it was like catching water or wind or a forbidden fiery cloud.The valkyrie gathered her magical hair into a magical bun on her head before Shinjiro could make another attempt to caress it with his meat blobs. He protested with a sharp whine.His avenging angel conjured an enchanted cloth and worked it over his temple and delicately touched it against the bridge of his nose. Her touch was warm and soothing. The look the valkyrie gave Shinjiro made him feel very special but also very worried.“Not safe…” he garbled. “Gotta get you away from here…”“Don’t speak," she said sternly, stroking the washcloth over his eyes.Shinjiro reached one of his meat blobs to stroke her face.He smiled through a flash of agony when he saw all five of his fingers cup her cheek. Good, he had fingers. Those would come in handy. He would need them to loosen that blasphemous bun on her head, and then he could run those fingers through her hair, and then she’d fall in love with him and then and then—“Hold still, beautiful,” he said, reaching for her hair.“Aragaki–”He found the cursed pin and removed it before she could stop him. The valkyrie’s red hair tumbled down past her shoulders. Shinjiro let out a victory snort and spooled a forbidden lock of her hair around one of his meat blobs.“Now’ve got you…" he growled triumphantly. "Can’t get away now…”The valkyrie overpowered him and moved Shinjiro’s hand against his chest.“No…” Shinjiro whimpered. His chin quivered as a deep, eternal sadness washed over him.The valkyrie turned to someone with a bone-chilling look.“I understand you had to subdue him, but sedating him was excessive.”“Easy for you to say, lady! He didn’t try to snap your neck!” came an affronted response from the shadows.The valkyrie’s touch returned, her washcloth moving from Shinjiro's temple to his lip.“Com’ere,” Shinjiro slurred authoritatively.Shinjiro’s hands found their way back to the fine silk tresses of hair and this time the angel did not push him away. She continued to move her healing washcloth over his cheek with a concerned look. Shinjiro cupped her face urgently.“Stay close to me," he instructed her with a reassuring nod. "Keep you safe."Shinjiro's avenging angel pushed his hands down.“I have no doubt.”The valkyrie graced him with a kiss to the forehead. Shinjiro hummed. This was good; very angel-like behavior. Shinjiro nodded in approval, but quickly moaned in agony when the valkyrie patted his head and stood up.Shinjiro swiped for her ankle–

Loud, almost animal-like shouting ripped him awake.“Time for the duct tape!”A frenzy of hollering ensued.Fuck.Shinjiro rolled onto his side, gnashing his teeth with revitalized rage.Crude laughter shook the walls of the adjoining room.Shinjiro wormed toward the door with fury and adrenaline fueling his clumsy movements.“Blindfold her!”“W-wait, I–” she cried."Hold still!"Shinjiro heard a strip of tape rip apart from the roll. Bile filled his throat.The room was a little clearer now and there was no longer a sticky residue on his face. He could get to the door. He’d tear every one in that room apart limb by limb just as soon as he figured out how to open the fucking door.The packlike howling and laughter intensified and doused Shinjiro's rage like gasoline on a fire.Shinjiro reached for the door handle with a grunt, his side splitting with blinding pain. He grasped the handle and twisted. The door pushed open. Shinjiro dragged himself through the opening.The jeering in the room came to an abrupt pause.Shinjiro stared out at the room.The room stared back.Kirijo stood with her back to him. She turned slightly in his direction. Kirijo was blindfolded, a pair of throwing knives in one hand and an open bottle of champagne duct-taped to her other hand.A short distance away, one of the yakuza was pressed against the wall, his arms and legs splayed out in a star position. A can of beer was perched precariously atop his head.The remaining yakuza had formed a narrow corridor between Kirijo and the brave starfish man. Shinjiro felt woozy from the lights. His head dropped to the floor and before he closed his eyes, he heard Kirijo’s concerned voice.“Hmm?” Kirijo asked the room. “Has the poor thing gotten cold feet?”

“One, two, three!”Shinjiro woke in a fetal position with his cheek pressed to the floor. He caught the fleeting scent of wisteria and eucalyptus. Kirijo's jacket was folded under his head.He squinted and caught a flash of Kirijo's stocking clad leg swing up. In one seamless motion, she hooked her opponent by the knee and cut him down.“Wee!” the yakuza shrieked as he flew off to the side.Shinjiro’s depth perception was trash, but the guy was easily twice Kirijo’s size.A cacophony of shouting ensued as dozens of paper bills rained down from above. One of the men dropped to his knees and beat his fists against the floor in despair.Shinjiro's vision adjusted and he picked out faces from the crowd; yakuza exchanging money and yelling through the cigarettes in their mouths. Each of them were considerately circled around Kirijo's neck and shoulders and away from any risk of indecent glances around the hem of her skirt.Shinjiro pivoted back to Kirijo.Kirijo adjusted her hair and propped herself on her elbows.“Kirijo-san, I got you a ribbon for your hair!” A man said and presented Kirijo with a plush velvet blue bow.“How very thoughtful,” Kirijo smiled and flipped her hair. “Would you help tie it for me?”“Of course, Kirijo-san!”The yakuza busied himself with deliberately looping the ribbon in her hair, his expression not unlike a man who’d been tasked with braiding the mane of a unicorn.Another yakuza generously fanned Kirijo while she took a sip of something dangerously opaque from a martini glass. Shinjiro watched her polish it off from his forgotten place on the floor. Someone stepped over him and sloshed their drink on his head.Kirijo licked her lips and handed the empty glass off before settling back into a starting position.“Now," she began. "Who will dare to step forward?”The men's voices clashed and sent Shinjiro crashing into darkness.

Shinjiro stirred to the sound of an old record scratching to life. His pain was still numbed, now just a fuzzy, distant thrum of discomfort. He suddenly found himself grateful for the shitty basement lighting.Shinjiro blinked. He discovered himself alone and slouched in a corner booth against the back of the room. He'd been propped up and his cheek ached from where it had been pressed against the cold grain of the brick wall.The room came into focus.A blur of figures swept around the room in steady, clockwise patterns. The yakuza had been paired off and were whirling around the edges of the room to the melancholic waltz carried by the intertwining melodies of a cello and violin.Shinjiro watched Kirijo weave through the couples, her gaze apprising each pair with nods of approval while she kept rhythm with her hands.“One, two, three; one, two, three," Kirijo counted the music out for her students.She paused and tugged one of the couples away from the main formation."You must always stay in frame, gentlemen,” Kirijo said, elongating her arms in demonstration. “The Viennese waltz is equal parts sensual and whimsical; I’m not feeling enough whimsy from you, Enokida-san.”“How am I supposed to be whimsy when this fucker is always two counts ahead of the music?” spat her student.“If you’d just fucking lead like you’re supposed to, I wouldn’t have to pick up your slack," rebutted his partner.“Gentlemen,” Kirijo said, her voice laden with disappointment. “Kawanabe-san and Obayashi-san have partnered beautifully, despite their recent knife altercation at the gentlemen’s club two weeks ago. Certainly you two can rise above your differences?”The two eyed each other guiltily, their bodies still locked together in a staunch ballroom hold. Kirijo picked up a martini glass filled with a reddish-orange drink and touched their elbows, compelling them both to lift higher and tighter in their frame.She sipped from her glass and circled around the couple with a nod of encouragement.“You both have crisp clean lines and a certain je ne sais quoi. I refuse to allow you to squander your gifts over petty squabbling.”The two men broke apart from each other and bowed.“We’re sorry!”

The room burbled with weary, conversational laughter and the soft keystrokes of a piano.Shinjiro opened his eyes. He strained to move his head, his neck and chin filled with hard, painful knots. He discovered he'd been relocated to a booth adjacent to the piano. Kirijo was seated at the bench and encircled by starry-eyed yakuza.“Can you sing, Kirijo-san?” asked an eager voice.“I can," Kirijo answered carefully over her playing. The notes of the piano were lacelike and threatened to carry Shinjiro back to sleep. "Though it would be unjust to subject good company to such torment.”“She's so modest!” someone wailed. Shinjiro heard the sound of a body collapsing to the floor.“Won’t you sing for us?” another pleaded.“I couldn’t possibly,” Kirijo said quietly.“Please!”“Really, I couldn’t–”“Please, Kirijo-san!” answered a sloppy chorus.“Ask her a third time!” someone shrieked. Shinjiro’s eardrums threatened to burst.“Yeah, she can’t refuse to sing after the third request!”“Oh, I’ve been found out!” Kirijo gasped. The piano continued its soft song under the sweep of her fingers, uninterrupted by the frenzy of yelling and hollering.“You are a crafty lot,” she sighed. “I shall have to keep my eye on you in particular, Senzo-san. Another round of Manhattans?”The room vibrated with enthusiasm.“I feel classy as fuck drinking these Manhattans!”“Vermouth is some urbane shit!”“I’m pleased it caters to your tastes,” Kirijo hummed with low, coquettish laughter.“Where’d you learn to play poker, Kirijo-san?”“Please leg wrestle me again, Kirijo-san!” a man howled from a distant corner. Shinjiro heard the sound of fabric ripping in half. “My body is ready - Don't hold back!”“Kirijo-san, tell us the story about the Arabian horses again—"“Kirijo-san, look; look what I can do!”“Oh my, that’s very dangerous Haruto-san— I insist you teach me immediately.”Shinjiro took stock of the room as best he could.Eight or so yakuza remained in varying states of cognitive functioning, each of them in positions somewhere between standing and crawling.Several bodies were strewn face down on the floor. Some of the victims had been divested of their shirts. Others had their faces and heads obscured by various objects; a giant paper bag, a bucket, and even a glittering rhinestone tiara.Others still were slumped back in chairs or folded over the sides of the booths in various states of repose.Shinjiro’s double vision made the official body count difficult to assess."So what're you going to do with your winnings, Kirijo-san?" someone laughed.Shinjiro felt the room collectively turn toward him.A cold silence permeated the air before the room was plunged into chaos."You can't ask a lady that, stupid!""How 'bout I teach you some fucking manners!""Gentlemen," Kirijo said with a quelling laugh. "He meant nothing by it. Please, won't you allow me to play for you?"The man who'd first posited the question stepped forward with a whimper."F-forgive my insolence, Kirijo-san," he pleaded.Shinjiro watched the man fall to his knees. He did not get back up.“You need to get out of here,” Shinjiro said to the room, straining to remain focused on Kirijo at the piano bench. “Not safe…”“Would someone be a dear and get him a blanket?”“I’ll do it!”“No, I’ll do it!”

The piano keys fell deathly quiet.The room edged into silence.Shinjiro peeled his eyes open. The number of conscious yakuza had dwindled to five. The remaining few sat like nursery school children with their legs crossed surrounding Kirijo's place at the piano.“Know this,” Kirijo’s voice warned. “Once you have come to hear this story, the image you hold of the man beside you will be forever changed. The reputational damage may prove irreversible. It is not a tale for the faint of heart.”Shinjiro was vaguely aware of a strand of drool gathering at the corner of his mouth.“We’re willing to take that risk," offered one of the men who swayed like tall scaffolding in a storm.The keys of the piano carried the soft melody of a song that Shinjiro sensed to have been playing for time and eternity, on an endless loop.Sensing something was about to happen to his good name as a thug and lowlife, Shinjiro mustered a protest.“Hrursshhh.”Shinjiro's objection fell on deaf ears.“We had just entered high school," Kirijo said. "I’d become quite taken with enjoying a London Fog at the time. As my birthday approached, I noticed my supply of Earl Grey tea was being consumed by someone other than myself. My dorm mates were non-compliant with my attempts to extract a confession, so I simply assumed they were taking my tea but too ashamed or shy to admit it.""The bastards!" proclaimed one."Shut the fuck up and let her tell the story!""I doubled the stock of Earl Grey tea and thought nothing of it," Kirijo said. Shinjiro could hear the smile in her voice. "My birthday arrived and I unfortunately fell ill. I spent the next two nights in my room when Aragaki and our…”Kirijo’s hands stalled over the keys for a moment. The room clenched in fear.“Our Aki."Shinjiro's husky voice carried through the silence.He sensed the eyes of the room staring at him.“Yes," Kirijo whispered to her hands. "Our Aki.”Kirijo resumed playing."They presented me with the most elegant cake I’ve ever seen. I knew when I saw it that Aragaki had spent hours putting it together, and more time still in preparing the design.”“What kind of cake was it, Kirijo-san?” asked one of the yakuza as if seeking the answer to life.“It was a simple vanilla cake," she said, her voice wistful. "But Aragaki had infused the milk as well as the cream for the crème au beurre in Earl Grey.”“So that’s what happened to all your tea!” exclaimed one.“Yes,” Kirijo laughed. “Aragaki was the culprit and Akihiko his cunning accomplice. Aragaki had decorated the edges with lavender flowers. It was so beautiful that I was afraid to cut into it. It was like defiling a piece of art.”“Lumpy,” Shinjiro moaned miserably. “That crème au beurre was lumpy and you know it, Kirijo.”“The crème au beurre was smoother than silk,” Kirijo rebutted gently.“Shut up and let her finish, dirtbag!”“Later, I learned that Aragaki spent months practicing and perfecting the crème au beurre, fine tuning the ratio of tea to cream. They both sat with me in my room that day with tea and cake. I can’t remember our conversation, but I remember not wanting our time together to end. None of us were particularly adept with expressing our feelings, but I learned that Aragaki conveyed his through his cooking, his baking, and through food.”“Did he ever make that cake for you again? The one with the flowers and Earl Grey?” someone begged.“No.”Kirijo’s hands danced over the keys, a far-away smile on her face.“But he’s your chef!”“Yeah, do your job!”“Now, now,” Kirijo chided them gently. “If one thing is certain in life it is change. Our relationships change, our circumstances change. No matter what happens, I will always treasure the memory of the day my friends brought me tea and cake, and spent time with me on my birthday when I wasn’t feeling well.”Kirijo continued to play the sad song. Shinjiro wanted to request something else - something that didn’t grate against the sharp feeling that lived in his chest.“I hope you all treasure the bonds you have with those you cherish," Kirijo said, the music under her fingers building into a cresendo, one that swelled up from the piano's lower octave."Tell the people you love that you love them," she said, her voice deepening with conviction. "Hold them close and enjoy every second you have with them. Life and the bonds we make change so quickly. You don’t realize how much memories like that will come to mean to you in the future. Keep that in mind, won’t you?”The room was filled with sniffling, misty-eyed yakuza members.“Yes, Kirijo-san!” the room sobbed.Shinjiro weighed in by crashing forward against the table.

Shinjiro was slouched against a booth, a blanket pulled up to his chin and secured around his shoulders.Empty martini glasses were sprinkled on the ground.The last vestiges of the Tokyo yakuza members were littered about the room. Some face down on the ground, others curled in fetal positions, others still flung back in chairs, their jaws hung open and emitting deafening snores.The only man left standing was the boss.Kirijo remained seated at the piano. She began to play that sad song from the beginning again. Shinjiro moaned in misery.“Play something different, Kirijo,” he said, the words sloppy and stuck to the roof of his mouth.“You may suggest a song if you wish to hear something different,” Kirijo replied trimly, her playing unbroken.He had no suggestion to make and so Kirijo continued playing.“This song fills me with the most peculiar feeling,” Sugiyama sighed. “I feel joy, but not happiness. Do you know that feeling, Kirijo-san?”“I know it very well, Ojii-san.”“Please, won’t you remind me of the name?”“Yes, it’s called–”

“Sit beside me, Kirijo-san.”Shinjiro’s eyelids pulled back, his cheek flat to the surface of the table.“No,” he snarled into the table. “Absolutely fucking not.”“Perhaps you’d feel better if you sat between us, Aragaki-kun,” Sugiyama laughed and slapped him on the back. Shinjiro choked. “That way you can be involved in the conversation too!”“I’d feel better," Shinjiro paused to swallow. "If you’d go fu–”“I think that’s a splendid idea, Ojii-san,” Kirijo said.Kirijo rose from the piano bench. She carefully picked her way over three yakuza on the floor and soundlessly slipped into the booth beside Shinjiro.She eased Shinjiro off the table and adjusted him back against the booth, guiding his head to rest against the sloped cushion of the booth edge. Shinjiro breathed her in and realized he was just inches from the delicate line of her throat. He turned toward her warmth, seeking the safety of her presence. She smelled like smoke and bourbon, like the mahogany chairs in this horrible room.“Something troubles you," Sugiyama said, his voice fraught.“I’ve had a wonderful evening, Ojii-san," Kirijo said graciously. "I do not wish to burden you with my troubles. It would be unbecoming of a guest.”“Ah, but we are friends now!" Sugiyama protested, pressing himself closer to Shinjiro in an effort to lean toward Kirijo. Shinjiro's upper lip curled back, his anger piqued."As your friend, you must tell me what weighs on you," Sugiyama insisted.Kirijo rubbed her upper arm with a conflicted sigh.“The truth is, I have quite a craving.”“Tell me at once,” Sugiyama said gravely. “What are you hungry for? I’ll have whatever you want brought to you.”“Ojii-san is generous, but it’s impossible. You see, our talk of joy and memories from the cake from my birthday all those years ago… It’s put me quite in the mood for a childhood favorite; karume-yaki.”“I’ll have some made at once for you.”“Ojii-san is so considerate…” Kirijo trailed off.“And yet?” Sugiyama pressed.“I’m afraid I’ve become quite spoiled," Kirijo said earnestly. "I can only have karume-yaki if it’s prepared by Aragaki. No one else has mastered the texture quite like him. It was the reason I wanted him to be my culinary consultant.”Sugiyama stiffened with militant authority.“Aragaki," he barked. "Are you still with us, you punk?”“Getting there,” Shinjiro confirmed with a moan.“I will let you go, granted you abide by a few conditions. The first, is that I never, ever see your ugly face in Tokyo again. The second is that once I release you, the first thing you must do is prepare karume-yaki for Kirijo-san. Then, you must make the London Fog cake again for her birthday.”“That it?” Shinjiro asked.
“No! Be quiet and let me finish, punk! You must live up to your potential as a chef. If I hear of you rotting away in some half assed job, I’ll send my men after you and torture you within an inch of your life. When you know you have the talent to bring joy into someone’s life, it's shameful to withhold it. Do you understand?”“You got it boss man," Shinjiro pledged with a determined drool. "One karume-London-yaki cake coming right up, I’m gonna whole ass it this time–”“I forgive you, Aragaki,” Sugiyama said. “The truth is, my nephew belongs in prison. Jiro was acting shamefully - harassing widows, hiring punks who had no idea what the brotherhood really stood for. You’re a lost soul, but a good boy at heart. Stick by Kirijo-san and you’ll find your way again.”Shinjiro turned to Kirijo with a confident nod.“I’m a good boy, Kirijo.”Kirijo patted his knee.“May I offer you one of my men to escort you to your accommodations?” Sugiyama asked.“If you’d be so kind.”
“Certainly.”

Shinjiro veered and lurched against Kirijo’s shoulder, dragging her into narrow walls more than once. Shinjiro tried to help her by keeping his weight somewhat centered, a task he found next to impossible since he still had the sensation of being on a rocking ship.Kirijo paused to tighten his arm around her shoulder. She took a stout inhale and began climbing the steps leading out of the basement with Shinjiro's weight splayed against her side.“Stop being so dainty,” Shinjiro reproached her. Kirijo worked him up the steps with an exasperated and prudish sigh.“I’m not dainty,” she said. “You’re the one with an indefensible amount of muscle mass for a valet.”“And bartender,” Shinjiro corrected her just as he missed a step.Kirijo pulled him against her to stop his fall. She made a soft grunt when Shinjiro’s weight knocked her to the wall. His gaze narrowed on her parted lips and soft, full eyes.His head buzzed with static. Shinjiro envisioned letting his body rest here for another minute.From here, the flow of events was simple. Shinjiro would slip his hand over her jaw and cradle her head. With the wall behind her and Shinjiro against her, Kirijo would fold against his chest.He'd taste her unapologetically, but slowly and carefully enough to savor the way she cut the rye bourbon with her sweetness. She deserved deliberate, deft attention and Shinjiro would give it to her. Shinjiro would taste her the way she deserved. He would stroke and chase every note of her lips and mouth with his tongue until she pulled away or told him to stop.Shinjiro's hands itched like they were drug-addled. He flattened his palms on the wall beside Kirijo's head and pumped the brakes before he did something stupid, something he couldn't take back.The motion stopped Shinjiro from crushing her but also checked his hands from weaving into her hair, from tucking and sweeping the soft red locks from her face before he opened her lips with his—“Kirijo,” he sighed. Shinjiro paused to catch his breath, which involved inadvertently pushing his nose close to her hair and inhaling deeply.Shinjiro angled his face toward Kirijo's.Kirijo studied him intently. Shinjiro watched her swallow nervously, her eyes openly searching his. She bit her lip and her cheeks were flushed. He didn't know what he looked like at this moment, but he couldn't have been pretty. Did he repulse her?"Focus," she murmured under her breath, her eyes trained on his."I'm trying," Shinjiro said, his gaze roving between her eyes and her lips.Kirijo's eyelashes wavered."I..." she shook her head as if she hadn't been anticipating a response. "I need to get you out of here, Aragaki."“Stairs are hard," he breathed, the desperation thinning his voice.“I know, Aragaki. You’re doing well. Keep going.”Shinjiro nodded.They cleared the landing. The metal door whipped open and clanged against the side of a building.Sugiyama’s driver was stationed outside a black car, finishing off a cigarette. He was the designated survivor of the evening’s debaucheries. Shinjiro eyed him. He was a blur; a blur that was not to be trusted. He spotted the look on the driver's face and instantly appreciated the shared distrust.The blur-man turned to Kirijo.“You want me to throw him in the trunk? He looks like he could get handsy.”“I’ll show you handsy,” Shinjiro said, see-sawing menacingly on his feet. If he was going to be so top heavy he was going to use it to his advantage.“The backseat is fine,” Kirijo said, pressing her hand to Shinjiro’s chest to support him. “I assure you he is well-behaved.”“I’m a good boy,” Shinjiro informed him smugly.The little man eyed him suspiciously and then pulled out a roll of duct tape, presumably from his ass, and held it out to Kirijo like a bouquet of roses.“You want me to shut him up for ya?”Kirijo gave his offer a just amount of consideration.“That’s all right. Though perhaps you could let me hold the roll, in the event I change my mind.”Shinjiro presided over the exchange with a glare. The driver was losing his blurriness and becoming a more coherent shape. The man stamped out his cigarette and reached for his phone.“Listen, if you ever want someone to show you a good time in Tokyo, let me know. I know all the classy joints.”“Thank you,” Kirijo said, shifting Shinjiro against her shoulder. “I will remember that-”“Here, put your phone number in," Sugiyama's driver said abruptly. "I’ll give you a call sometime.”He presented his phone to Kirijo.“Bah!” Shinjiro smacked the phone out of the driver's hand.The phone cracked against the concrete. Shinjiro looked at the broken screen with a nod of approval.“Come on man, that was new!”“That was new,” Shinjiro squeaked back. “S’what you sound like.”“That was very rude, Aragaki,” Kirijo said. “Apologize.”Shinjiro shuffled forward and placed his hands over his heart.“I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”Kirijo slowly pulled him back to her side and reached into the small purse slung across her shoulders. She handed the driver a roll of cash.“Please forgive him. He is still a bit sedated and generally cantankerous after nine o’clock. This should help replace the old one.”

Shinjiro’s vision segmented and clicked through a progression of surfaces. The cushioned seat in the back of a car. The cold wall and unsteady floor of an elevator. The hardwood floor in the main suite of a vaguely familiar hotel room, and finally a bed. He dropped back against the soft, warm surface and when he opened his eyes, he sensed Kirijo arranging the covers around him. She wedged a pillow behind his head. Shinjiro took her wrist and narrowed his eyes to locate her in the darkness.“Kirijo,” he whispered.She leaned forward. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, but she didn’t pull away. Shinjiro shifted his hand to sift through her hair, his thumb curling around a slender lock against her temple. There was certain to be some amount of the drug still running in his veins, right?“I’m here,” she said.“Did you just win me in a yakuza poker match?”She cupped her hand over his, still combed in her hair, and didn’t push him away.“If you wish to be specific, it was a poker match followed by a six hour drinking game, but yes Aragaki; I won you in a poker match.”Shinjiro nodded, but still didn’t remove his hands from her hair and Kirijo didn’t pull away. She stared down at him and waited. Even though she must have felt like death after hauling him back here, after six hours of outdrinking, outplaying, and outsmarting a dozen yakuza and saving his fucking life for the millionth time, she was still waiting for him.“Kirijo,” he whispered. It was the drug that emboldened him to trace the tips of his fingers against her cheek, and certainly, it was exhaustion that caused her to lean into his touch.“I’ve never made karume-yaki in my life," Shinjiro said.Kirijo gently removed his hand and slipped it under the covers. She pulled the blanket to his chin with a nod.“I know, Aragaki. Go to sleep.”

When he woke, it was still dark outside. Shinjiro stirred, his joints cracking and popping as he sat up and freed himself from the covers. His head was screaming and his hands and face were throbbing slightly, but he could walk just fine again.He exited the bedroom and entered the sitting room of the hotel suite with a swell of irritation.He was a thug and the only acceptable sleeping arrangements for thugs in order of suitability, were floor, chair, and couch tied with a mattress on the floor. A bed? The only person who deserved a bed was the woman who had spent the last six hours entertaining yakuza members and saving his life.Shinjiro set out to rebalance the universe.Kirijo wasn’t in the main room of the hotel. He turned for the hallway and heard the sound of water running. He pressed his ear to the door carefully and knocked. A choking sound rose above the sound of the water.“Kirijo?"His knock was met with silence. Shinjiro held his breath and waited. There was a soft, gasping sound, muffled by the water.“Kirijo, I’m coming in.”Shinjiro opened the door. The shower curtain was drawn.“Kirijo?” Shinjiro gingerly pulled back the curtain.Kirijo stared up at him, her teeth pinning her lower lip to trap the sob from boiling out. She cupped her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on for the last twenty four hours, her makeup running slightly, and her hair clung to her face and neck while the shower faucet rained over her.“I’m–” Kirijo was interrupted by a hard sob. "I'm s-sorry. I'm fine— the cold water h-helps me—"Shinjiro turned off the faucet and leaned over her.“After you left… ” she trembled. "He tried to hide it, but I always knew when he was angry because he would disappear. I'd find him by the harbor, standing on the rail where we'd looked into the water."Shinjiro gathered a towel around her shoulders and squeezed sections of her hair between the fiber, patting it dry section by section. Kirijo didn’t push him away, nor did she meet his gaze."Even when he was angry," she continued in a frail voice. "He'd let me stand by him on the rail. Sometimes we'd talk and sometimes we just watched the birds, but he always let me bring him home."Shinjiro set the towel on the floor and arranged Kirijo's hair over her shoulder. He folded his arms on the edge of the tub and dipped his chest toward her. He waited for Kirijo to speak again.
Kirijo lifted her gaze to meet his, her chin quivering slightly."I wanted to bring you home too, Aragaki."Shinjiro told her to wait while he fetched her a change of clothes. He set the fresh change of clothing on the bathroom counter and closed the door behind him. He sat down on the floor, watching the lights of Tokyo flicker outside the window while listening to the soft shifting on the other side of the door.“I had to come back on my own terms," he said to the door.The shifting on the other side of the door went still.Shinjiro dropped his head back against the wall.“I get how it sounds. Who gives a shit what it looks like? But it mattered to me, at least then it did. I needed Amada and Aki to know that I chose to come home and that I wasn’t being dragged back.”Shinjiro looked over his shoulder to the closed door.“I needed you to know that, Kirijo. I needed you to see–”The door opened.Shinjiro’s eyes followed her as she stepped through.Kirijo put her back to the wall and slid down to the floor. The opulent windows of the suite left little in the way of darkness, and yet Shinjiro steeped himself in the scant shadows he could. The lights seemed uninterested in pursuing him. Instead, they skipped over his place on the floor and dressed Kirijo in the velvet, sleepless blue dawn.They sat facing each other, their feet almost touching. She was close enough that Shinjiro could still smell the bourbon and mahogany of the lounge on her damp hair. There was heaviness in her eyes and the sorrow stuck to her like an arrow.“I would have sent an army for you,” she said.“I would have run," Shinjiro replied.Kirijo looked away."I know why you’ve returned," she whispered to her knees. "And I promised myself that I..."Kirijo's sentence went unfinished. Shinjiro’s gaze hardened."I still have work to do,” she said with a crestfallen look.Shinjiro rose to his feet and stood over her with a frown. She tensed slightly but offered no protest when Shinjiro leaned over and slipped his arms under her knees and back.Kirijo encircled her arms loosely around his neck and buried her nose in the junction between his neck and shoulder.Shinjiro’s surprise was washed away by a sudden sense of warmth, one that gave way to a twinge felt deep in the scar tissue of his heart. Every time he touched her, that scar tissue stirred. Every time he thought about the dangers around her, it throbbed with fear.Shinjiro stepped lightly down the hallway and through the main foyer of the hotel room, Kirijo’s breath warm against his neck.He allowed himself to imagine this night as a different thread, one where they weren’t walking over the shrapnel of the past.He imagined a world where they were just two normal people. Maybe in this world, Shinjiro had just ordered groceries to be delivered with a note for the courier not to knock. There would be tea steeping in this world, music playing, and dishes soaking. In this world, they were together under one roof, and in this world, Shinjiro was taking Mitsuru to his bed.Shinjiro shifted her under the covers and adjusted the pillow behind her head.Kirijo scanned him with confusion.
Shinjiro framed his arms around her face.“Sleep," he said. "Don’t come out of this room before noon.”“Or else?” she challenged.“Or else I’ll rub your face in dirt.”Kirijo’s lips quivered with a watery smile.“You would,” she let out a whisper of laughter.Shinjiro gathered her hair back into a loose pile against her pillow, his hands drifting down and pausing to linger on her cheeks. He held her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. He idly plucked the hair from her eyes while he worked soft strokes along her jaw.“I wouldn’t,” Shinjiro decided. “But I would get stern with you, Kirijo. I might even play dirty.”Kirijo said nothing. Shinjiro pulled the covers to her waist before framing the pillow behind her head with his arms.“I’m going with you,” he said.“To Yakushima?”Another strand of hair lured his hand back to her temple. He brushed it aside, his touch drifting down the length of her face and sweeping against her throat. He felt her pulse leap under the pads of his fingers.“Greece and Ireland too. You got a problem with that, princess?”Kirijo gazed back at him with a heady look, her eyes glittering.He thought then of what might happen between two normal people sharing a bed. Shinjiro might lean in just a little lower and press lips to hers, and maybe he’d pause to make sure she wanted more, where Mitsuru would pull him closer and open her lips to his.Here and now, Shinjiro could feel the soft weight of her body under his. His imagination stole him away and asked him to contemplate the crush of her lips; soft, tender, and sweet.He would slide his fingers against hers, lace them together, and press them evenly into the linen.From there, Shinjiro envisioned tasting the curve where her neck and shoulder met, tracing a path with his mouth along her collarbone, where he’d sweep up the locket around her throat and hold the pendant that held traces of Aki in supplication, all while he worshipped her.He pictured her hands curling in his hair, her body rising and curving into his. He imagined the soft swell of her breasts against his chest and how he’d shift his hand to the small of her back and pull her tighter against him, erasing the distance between them.Shinjiro watched her with intense focus. Kirijo matched his gaze. She took his hand and opened his fingers to reveal the scar cut across his palm.“Who did this to you?” she asked, her eyes clouding with a sudden, unmistakeable darkness.Shinjiro closed his fingers around her hand and pushed it into the pillow beside her head.Kirijo didn’t try to pull free. With her free hand, she traced the scar curved against the corner of lips; touched the violence on his body. Her touch was laced with bold tenderness that rocked Shinjiro with a sudden sense of exposure - one that was not at all unwanted.“Did they do this?” she murmured.Shinjiro imagined taking her hand. He imagined pressing her palm to his lips.The demand to separate this world from all possible worlds where he took such bold action evaporated.Shinjiro took her hand and kissed her palm. Kirijo shifted under him, as though she might rise up.Shinjiro guided her wrist to her chest and pressed her back to the bed.“A mouse pulled a thorn from my paw.”