Chapter Text
Bzzt-bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt-bzzt. Bzzt.
You stare down at your phone.
“If it’s bothering you that much, maybe you should just pick up. It’s been ringing nonstop all night.”
Kokonoi rolls his eyes as he fidgets with the popsicle stick in his hand. You ignore him.
“You have some persistent friends.”
“They’re not my friends,” you snap, “they’re my brother’s friends.”
Kokonoi looks like he has plenty to say, but merely shrugs. As the convenience store comes into view, he hurries forward, taking the popsicle stick in his hand to exchange for a new one. Lucky brat.
You wait outside, leaning against the bike rack in the parking lot, staring down at your phone, watching as the words Imaushi Wakasa flash. You still remember the slurred voice and the weak words that came out of the speaker when you picked up the first time, just moments before you left for Kokonoi’s place. You still remember the crack in his voice, the shakiness of his tone - as if he was crying, asking for comfort.
You remember what he said, the word that made your blood run cold.
A part of you feels guilty for ignoring his calls, the other part of you feels resentful and you watched your phone vibrate for hours. Yet, you never silenced it completely - much to Kokonoi's dismay.
You sigh, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth, your finger hovering over the red button.
Shinichiro’s shop is the same: musty, smells of gasoline and filled to the brim with delinquents.
The RZ350 sits in the middle of the shop in all of its glory. It’s no CB250T, but it doesn’t stop the stares of awe and admiration from the other delinquents in the store. It’s not the model of the bike, it’s who the bike belonged to.
Koumei of Black Dragon. A legend, like the rest of his gang mates.
His plates are well-known, the intricate white detailing on the black plates almost glows in the night, and the distinctive sound of his modded engine a warning to those who stand in his path. Officially, Akira was the vice-captain of the Commando Unit, but many gangs and delinquents, hearing the soft purr of the strategist of Black Dragon’s RZ350 was much, much more ominous than the inevitable attack.
“What do you think?” Shinichiro asks as he stands up, cracking his shoulders. “I think I fixed it up pretty well.”
“I can’t tell. It looks good, I think.”
Shinichiro laughs, “Where’s Waka? He’d be happy to see this.”
“Waka? He’s in the alley, sulking,” Benkei booms from where he lounges on the couch, laughing, “because someone ignored his calls last night.”
You look away, guilty. The quantitative proof sits in your phone logs. 13 missed calls in the span of three hours. Wakasa is surprisingly clingy.
“I picked up, ” you murmur indignantly, “he was drunk . And he’s annoying when he’s drunk.”
“A-ah, he’s gonna sulk even more if he heard that.”
“Well, Waka is something else when he’s drunk. But I’m surprised he called you and not Shinichiro,” Takeomi chimes in, taking a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers.
You want to argue that Wakasa wasn’t calling you - or at least his intention wasn’t to call you. Wakasa was calling for someone else, someone that he can no longer reach.
But you don’t want to bring it up, so instead, you stay silent, keeping head down, your eyes focused on the RZ350.
“Hey… you finally picked up…do you kn-know how long I’ve been trying to re-reach you… Akira…“
The cacophonic amalgamation of machine jingles hurt your ears. You’re not one to visit the game centre much, deterred by the loud and noisy machines, preferring the quiet solace of your bedroom much more. You’re not here by choice - you promised to make it up to Wakasa, and the game centre was his pick.
You stare, watching as Wakasa hunches over a crane machine, licking his lips as he steers the mechanical crane with the joystick. You watch the stuffed toy slip through the crane, landing in a worse position than when he started.
The phone in your pocket vibrates, a new message that you respond to quickly, muting it and shoving it in your bag after.
Wakasa chews on the toothpick between his teeth, biting down as the toy slips through the crane again. He curses loudly, drawing stares from the high school girls several machines away.All you did was randomly point at a machine when Wakasa asked, and now you regret it.
“Maybe if you tried aiming for the head instead of the torso…” you suggest, deducing based on the way the toy falls from the claw.
Wakasa scratches his head, watching as the toy slips through the claw again. “Koumei would’ve gotten it easily…”
You tilt your head at Wakasa but you don’t say anything. Your brother was always good at the most random of things. Crane games was one those things- the array of stuffed toys on your bed is the testament to his proficiency.
“I’ll go get some change.”
Wakasa walks away, leaving you by the machine staring at the stuffed toy in the case. It’s cute, you admit, some sort of deformed lion with wings. It comes from a popular children’s anime about a girl and cards. You’ve seen it on the television a couple of times.
“Excuse me.” A boy walks up. He looks around your age, with short curly blonde hair and a bored expression on his face. “Can I use this?”
You hesitate. It is a public machine, but knowing Wakasa’s temper, he’s going to throw a fit if someone else wins off of his progress. The boy stares at you, a blank look in his eyes. You wonder why Wakasa is taking so long.
The two of you stand there for a brief moment.
What the boy says next surprises you. “Do you want this?”
“Yes,” you reply dumbly.
The boy raises an eyebrow at you before moving over to the machine. You want to stop him but he ignores you and puts his coin in the machine. It takes him two tries before the stuffed toy drops through the prize hole and the machine jingles again.
“Here,” the boy shoves the stuffed toy at you before flagging down an employee to replace the prize.
You stare down at the oversized stuffed toy in your arms, lamenting Wakasa’s thirty minutes of wasted effort. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” the boy says before turning back to the machine and murmuring under his breath. “Now… finally……dumb Koko……gift…”
You don’t catch what he says but you watch as he wins another of the same prize within three tries. When he turns around, he seems surprised you are still standing there. He merely nods, and shrugs, walking away with the toy. You stand there, staring at him.
Eventually Wakasa comes back, and almost yells when he sees you holding onto the prize. You tell him someone else came and helped you get it while he was away. He says he bumped into a junior and they had a quick chat. He seems dejected as he looks at the prize in your hands.
“Waka-kun, I’m hungry.”
Wakasa’s gaze lingers on the toy for another second before pulling out his phone. “Alright, let me give Benkei a call. Let’s go get dinner.”
As you walk with the stuffed toy in your arms, you realise you forgot to pay the boy back.
The summer heat is sweltering. You sit on the engawa, staring out at the Sano estate garden, licking the dripping strawberry flavoured popsicle in your hand. Summer holidays have started, and already, you’ve been ambushed and kidnapped to spend your days at the Sano household. It’s unfair that they went straight to Hagiwara.
You can feel the buzzing of a phone, but you ignore it, trying to enjoy the moment now that you are here.
The wind chime rings and you close your eyes. You feel the tresses of your hair tickling your forehead, the soft breeze caressing your skin. The stifling hotness fades around you for a brief moment.
“Oi.” You open your eyes. Manjiro stands over you, staring down. “Have you seen Haru?”
“I saw him with Keisuke,” you think back to the two boys you heard running across the garden moments earlier. “Over there.”
Hearing your answer, Manjiro walks away. Something about him is off. The way his shoulders slump, the slow sway of his arms as he moves towards the garden - almost like a zombie.
“Hey, Manjiro.” You call after him but he ignores you, his gaze fixed on the two boys yelling at the other end of the garden. “Hey!”
It’s as if he doesn’t hear you.
“Manjiro! Manjiro…Mikey!”
You have a bad feeling about it. You hop to your feet, following after him, the popsicle still in your hand.
But you’re too late.
As you round around the big tree, you’re frozen in place. Keisuke is on the ground, Haruchiyo is on his knees and Manjiro is standing with a vacant look, red dripping from his hands.
Red. Red like the popsicle that fell to the ground. Red like the flowers dotting the bush. Red like that day trapped under the car; your mother’s face swimming in front of your vision. You see it vividly, the way her red hands reach out to you, the red liquid dripping onto your face as you stare up, watching the red burn through her skin.
You still remember, as they dragged you out of the wreckage, the image burned into your mind, as you screamed and cried and called for your brother.
“Onii-chan!”
“Onii-chan!”
The voice in your mind overlaps with the yell next to your ears. You snap, watching as Ema peeks out from behind the shoji. You’re quick on your feet, blocking her sight with your hands, pulling her close to you and blocking the scene with your body.
From over your shoulder, you watch: as Shinichiro and Takeomi rush out to the garden, as Senju peeks from inside the house, as Haruchiyo looks up at Manjiro, laughing, as Manjiro stands there, a dark shadow looming over him.
Haruchiyo gets sent to the hospital. Naturally, the summer festival plans you all had are cancelled.
You stay over at the Sano household for the night, holding tightly onto Ema as she whimpers in your arms.
2000/8/XX 13:25
From: 繧ｷ繝｣繝ｳ繝?ぅ
Sub: No Subject蜈ｭ譛ｬ譛ｨ鬧?〒縺雁ｾ?■縺励※縺翫ｊ縺ｾ縺吶?ゅ＃蛻ｰ逹?縺ｮ髫帙↓縺秘?｣邨｡繧偵＞縺溘□縺代∪縺吶→蟷ｸ縺?〒縺吶?ゅ＃螳牙ｿ?￥縺?縺輔＞縲∝す繧偵▽縺上ｈ縺?↑逵滉ｼｼ縺ｯ閾ｴ縺励∪縺帙ｓ縲 ※
Your phone buzzes as you step off the Hibiya line, arriving at Roppongi station. You glance at the screen before sending back a reply: H04. ※※
As soon as you exit the ticket gates, you see them approach. Three men, dressed in suits, almost exactly what you would expect out of a movie.
“Please allow us to escort you upstairs, Koumei.”
You snort at the theatrics, but you raise your hand, signalling for them to lead the way.
The windows overlook a construction site.
“That’s the Roppongi Hills. They’ve just started construction with an expected completion date in three years. On the highest floors of the building, there is more than one unit already under Koumei’s name.”
You stay silent, watching as the workers scramble about the site under the blistering sun. From your height, they look like ants. You turn, stepping away from the floor length windows, the curtains falling and blocking the sunlight from reaching inside the room. With the curtains down, the only light source comes from the chandelier hanging off the top of the two-level penthouse.
You stare at the figure sitting on the black velvet sofa, arms crossed. There are other men standing around the room, each of them staring at you, hands behind their backs. A penthouse, decked out in luxurious furnishing, black wallpaper, a pricey crystal chandelier and lined with intimidating looking men. The pressure standing in the middle is smothering.
You feel the pins in your throat as you swallow. You feel faint. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, steadying yourself. They promised they will not harm you - but you don’t know how much of those words you can trust.
It makes you wonder how your brother felt, when he stood where you stood. Everything here, everything that he created, amassed, from zero. You struggle to understand the motive behind it. This is much more than just hotheaded brawls between teenage gangs. What did Akira want?
“This is all yours.” The figure says, his tone is calm, casual, almost indifferent. “All you have to do is take over the name of Koumei. We are your pawns.”
“Why? Why did you give me his phone?” The phone lays on the table, the white plastic reflecting off the chandelier, making it the brightest object in the room. “I’m not my brother.”
He laughs. “My lady, everything Shanti has done has always been for you. Shanti has always been yours.”
