6/1

Yusuke finishes packing, and places his sole bag at the top of Akira's stairs. "Well then," he says. "I suppose that is it."

Akira isn't sure what to say. Akira had mixed these last few days of Yusuke with the others, and Akira never got the chance to discuss Madarame's death and its impact on his friend, one on one.

Yusuke hefts the Sayuri and extends the painting towards Akira. "Here."

Akira reaches without thinking, and only after he holds Madarame's Treasure does he ask, "What're you doing?"

"I would like you to have it," Yusuke replies.

"Yusuke, come on. I can't-"

Yusuke raises a hand, and Akira stops talking. "Please. It deserves a place of honor. And I can think of no better place than the headquarters of our little group of troublemakers." His hand drifts over to his shoulder, which he rubs. "Besides, were I to hang it in my new dorm room, it would draw regrettable attention, given the 'Great Sayuri Scandal.'" Yusuke grins. "It will be enough to see it when we convene to plot thievery."

Akira's eyes wander to the now empty space on the wall. "You know, you don't have to just come for that."

"Yeah," Morgana says, from the bed. "You're welcome here, anytime!"

"Thank you," Yusuke replies. "I am aware. Boss stated that seeing as I was the one-millionth customer of this establishment, I would have a year's worth of free curry."

Akira opens his mouth and begins to say, "That's-" but he shuts it and says instead, "Cool." He regards the Sayuri, particularly the baby in the corner. "But I'm just going to hold this for you, got it?"

"Of course," Yusuke says, and shoulders his pack. He looks back at the other paintings, rescued from the Metaverse's gallery, and shoved behind Akira's dresser. "I shall endeavor to soon relieve you of those, as well."

Akira nods.

Yusuke hesitates before he descends. "I felt helpless, you know," he says.

Morgana hops off the bed and trots over until he's alongside Akira. The two say nothing.

"When Madarame kicked me out and got me expelled all in one stroke of villainy. I felt utterly hopeless. And yet, here I am. I have come out the other side, not unscathed, but whole." Yusuke beams. "So, thank you, my friends."

Akira returns the smile. "You know, I'm gonna miss having you as a roommate, Yusuke."

Yusuke shakes his head. "I'm afraid I do not feel the same way. As I've said, you snore." He nods to Morgana. "You have my sympathies, Morgana. Farewell."

Then, he turns and walks down the stairs.

#

The room stinks of recycled air and stale sweat. There's a bare amount of sunlight, but it inches in from a window Ohya barely sees through the small observation window beyond the room's glass. No one watches her. It hadn't been easy to arrange this meeting, and despite the expediency, it required committing to more favors than it called in.

She wants a drink, but any suspected inebriation would result in a boot in her ass. The day lengthens, and Ohya's thirst deepens, but she chalks it up to the atmosphere. This place gives me the creeps. Journalistic endeavors rarely land her in this place. Most times, if a piece required an interview, Ohya managed to arrange one over the phone. But this time, Ohya's gut tells her she needs to look this man in the eyes when he speaks.

As if by some supranatural prescience, Ohya straightens in her chair a moment before the door beyond the glass opens. Two figures enter, one leading the other. The first, a corrections officer, looks around as though surprised to find the room absent save for Ohya. The second is Daiki Aoe.

The officer shoves Aoe toward a chair on the opposite side of the glass from Ohya. The table at which Ohya sits extends through the divider, with a chair at both ends. The young man drags himself forward, eyes blank and staring at the ground. This room has no phone, but a few holes in the glass permit sound to travel.

"Move it," the officer growls, pushing the prisoner forward. Aoe staggers forward, and his hip connects with the chair's iron frame.

"Take it easy, Hondo," Ohya spits.

The man spares her a glance. "You know what this guy is capable of, Ohya," he replies. "I'm doing a lot for you, here. But if he's not gonna cooperate, it's not gonna go well for him." He reaches out and taps a knuckle against the glass. "So long as he's on my side, he's in my world."

"We're not filming a drama here," Ohya replies. "How's he supposed to talk to me if you rough him up?"

Hondo doesn't reply, but with the same hand he rapped the glass, forces Aoe into the chair, secures him, then takes a few steps away. "I'll be outside," Hondo says and turns his back on the two. "Shout when you're done." At the door, he pauses. "You better not forget about this, Ohya."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ohya replies, and waves the man away. The door shuts, and Ohya sits alone with Madarame's murderer. "Sorry about him."

Daiki Aoe shrugs. Ohya studies him. His hair hangs in long clumps before a drawn face. He's very thin, evident even in the oversized charcoal jumpsuit. When he lifts his head to look at her, Ohya sees a black ring surrounding his left eye socket.

"Did they do that to you here, or did it happen during your arrest?" Ohya asks, removing her notepad and recorder from her pocket.

"Does it matter?" Aoe asks, his voice as thin as him.

Hollowed out, Ohya thinks. "Not if it doesn't matter to you," Ohya replies. "I won't ask again if you don't want me to." She slides the recorder closer to the holes in the glass partition. "Do you mind if I record you?"

"What for?" Aoe asks.

Ohya sighs. Of course. They didn't even tell the prisoner why he was coming to meet me. He probably doesn't even know my name. It wasn't as if they gave him a choice. "I'm Ichiko Ohya. I'm a reporter."

"I don't think I'm supposed to talk to the press," Aoe says, and as Ohya prepares to respond, he nods toward the recorder. "It's fine. Go ahead."

"You consent to this interview?"

"Sure."

Ohya activates the recorder. Hardly any animation, she thinks. Guess it's natural. He did kill someone. He's probably worn out from all this. Ohya anticipated her research's lack of yields. When a story involves murder, nothing replicates talking to a primary source, the doer of the deed.

"If you can, think of this as an opportunity," Ohya says. "You can share your side of the story. About why you did what you did."

Aoe's lips haltingly stretch away from his dirty teeth. "I don't think I have one."

Ohya leans back in her chair, and brings her pen to paper. "Everyone has a story. We can start with the reason if you want. Why did you kill Ichiryusai Madarame?"

Aoe shrugs. "I don't know."

Ohya regards him. "You don't know? Witnesses heard you shouting, 'Remember me?' as you attacked. Seems pretty cut and dry to me, no?"

"I guess."

"Do you remember shouting those things?"

"I don't remember any of it," Aoe replies, sighing. "After, when I came to my senses, I was in the back of a police car. I asked the officers to tell me what was happening, but they wouldn't say anything until we reached the station. That's when I knew what I'd done."

Ohya takes notes. Poor bastard. Maybe he was whacked out on drugs. Still, it'd have to be powerful to blot out a murder.

"What's the last thing you do remember?" Ohya asks.

Aoe frowns, and lifts his eyes to Ohya's. "I had a shift at my part-time job. It's a convenience store in Shibuya, near the Cerulean Hotel. I, uh, was there, and then..." Aoe stares at the wall behind Ohya, brows furrowed. "I don't know. I don't know what happened. Then, I was in the car. The police car."

"Alright," Ohya says. "Do you recall taking anything?"

Aoe's genuine smile still lacks humor. "You mean drugs?" He shakes his head. "No. I didn't take any drugs."

Something underlines his voice that stops Ohya's pen. Iron. Conviction. "You didn't take drugs?"

"No. I didn't. I wouldn't."

Ohya chooses her next words carefully. "But you do have a history of drug abuse, yes?"

Aoe scowls. "Yes. I know that. But this time was different. I'd been going to rehab. You can call and check with them." He rattles off the name of some clinic, and Ohya's mind snaps to the card Takemi provided. "I was clean—thirty days last Monday. I haven't been clean in years. I wasn't going to mess that up. Nothing was going to mess that up."

Ohya begs a moment to jot down the name of the clinic. "Alright. I can understand that. But when Madarame confessed, did you feel anything? Joy? Frustration? Anger?"

Aoe stares at Ohya, and his following words hammer her chest. "What do you mean, 'he confessed?'"

A few thoughts slide through Ohya's mind, and it takes her a moment to reply. Then, leaning forward, Ohya says, "Madarame's confession. The televised one. Surely you heard it."

"No," Daiki Aoe replies, straightening. His eyes dart around, and his limbs animate. "What are you talking about?"

Ohya shakes her head. "Your lawyer must've-"

Aoe barks a laugh. "My lawyer spent five minutes with me and got my name wrong twice. They didn't tell me anything except how things would go for me, and how to streamline the whole thing. Why would they bother telling me anything else? I did it, didn't I?"

"You really don't know?" Ohya asks.

"You're the first person who's said more than a few sentences to me. No one's told me anything. Just that I did it. What did Madarame confess?" Aoe's wrists jerk up, and the chain clangs against the table's restraint.

Ohya sucks her lips and rolls her wrists before she says, "All of it. He confessed to all of it. To stealing his students' art. To turning them out on the street. The Sayuri. He confessed to all of it be-" and she stops. A reference to the Phantom Thieves would derail the conversation.

Aoe slumps in his chair, the abundant energy now drained. "He did?" His eyes plead with Ohya when they reach her. "He actually admitted to it?"

Ohya nods. "He was in police custody when you attacked him. He'd turned himself in."

Aoe opens his mouth, then closes it, and is silent for a time. When he speaks, he appears shrunken. "He found me after I won an art contest at my middle school. My parents were deadbeats and didn't really look after me, so he did. Took me in. Put me up. Worked with me. I thought I'd won some lottery, and the house... well, the house wasn't any worse than I was used to." His eyes squint as if trying to recall something. "High school was a blur between class and the work I completed for him. I must've done eight or nine paintings he claimed as his own. The rest weren't good enough for him to display. I asked if they could be released under my name, but he said I wasn't ready. I think he didn't want to draw any attention to the similarities between 'his' work and mine. And then, one day, it was over. I was out on the street. My parents were no help. I was done. In every sense."

"Is that when you started using?" Ohya asks.

Aoe nods. "It's not a dramatic story. I used drugs because it was an easy way to make things simpler and less bad. I know how that sounds, believe me."

Ohya feels very uncomfortable for several reasons.

"But one day, I ran into someone I knew from school. They saw my state and let me crash at their place. I haven't seen them in a while. I kept trying to get clean, but it didn't work. But this time..." Aoe trails off, and his face contorts. "This time was going to be different. Was different." His voice shudders, and Ohya expects tears to fall. They don't. "That's the story. But I hadn't blamed Madarame for... no, that's not true. I always blamed him, but it's my life, you know? My responsibility. That's what you learn, what I tried to internalize. I got a job, not much, but it's a job. And I even started to think about painting again, just for myself. I don't know what happened."

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"The theory," Ohya says, slowly. "Is you saw the broadcast of Madarame's confession, and it pushed you into using drugs, which, combined with your hatred for him, caused you to go and murder him."

Aoe lowers his head and places it on the table. "But I don't even remember seeing the confession. And I don't remember taking anything. I haven't seen my dealer in over a month. I was at work!"

"When was your last shift?" Ohya asks.

"Sunday," Aoe replies. "The 29th, I think. Yeah, it was the 29th."

Madarame was killed on the 30th. Daiki Aoe took drugs during his last shift on Sunday and didn't come out of it until directly after his murder of Madarame?

"That's... strange," Ohya says. "You didn't kill Madarame until the next day. Did your, I don't know, sessions usually last that long?"

"No," Aoe says, panic creeping into his voice. "No, I've never passed out for that long. Never." He whispers his next question. "What happened to me?"

Ohya does not know how to answer. The hints and suggestions in Aoe's story raised new and terrifying potential scenarios. "I don't know," she replies honestly. But something did. "You should-" She snaps her mouth shut. No. No suggestions. If there's more to this story, you don't want to let on that you suspect.

Ohya's phone vibrates, and she excuses herself from Aoe to check.

AKIRA: I need your help with something.

Ohya stares at her phone, then returns it to her pocket with a reply.

#

"I trust," the woman says. "This won't happen again?"

Rin's father nods. "Of course, Niijima-san. Please, you and yours at the SID need not trouble yourselves."

Sae Niijima stands. "I'll take my leave, then." Her eyes flash across the table and regard Rin's. His throat constricts at the look she provides him, and the shame infuriates.

Rin stands, along with his father. They go through the proper motions until the woman leaves.

Rin Sugimura sits as his father does. The old man doesn't look at him. Instead, he stares at the door through which Niijima exited. "How many times?" He asks.

"Sir?" Rin asks.

"How many times have I had to tell you to keep yourself in check?"

"I didn't know she was the sister of-"

"That's not the point," His father's voice is quiet, but it silences Rin. "The point is that your little activities have landed me on the radar of the SID, which is a place I do not wish to be."

Rin shakes his head. "What do we care? We've our protections and-"

"Protections can be lifted. They can go away. If we become a liability." He turns to Rin. "I do not wish to become a liability. You do not wish to make me a liability."

Rin scowls. "How was I supposed to know Haru had-"

"What? Friends? She's the daughter of a rich man. Powerful people come with powerful friends."

Rin's eyes narrow. "I thought you said Okumura was a jumped-up peasant who didn't know his place?"

"That doesn't mean he isn't powerful. He thinks he'll gain political clout by joining us. He doesn't foresee that we're using him as much as he's using us. Or maybe he does and doesn't care." His father shakes his head. "That's not something you need to concern yourself with. The point I am making, son, is that you need to keep your proclivities private. I don't care what you do to the Okumura girl so long as she can marry at the appropriate time. But keep it out of the spotlight."

Rin wilts beneath his father's gaze. Beneath the table, his hands curl. If that bitch Haru hadn't made such a scene, none of this would've been necessary. He'll remind her when next he sees her.

#

Juni raps his knuckles on the door. The sound echoes out into the pale, silent night. The noise skitters away like a spooked intruder into the always-quiet district.

The door opens, and Akio studies him. More casual clothes adorn his friend, a t-shirt and jeans, as Aki never adapted to the high life.

"Well?" Juni asks, as the moment stretches. "Are you waiting on a bouquet or something? Let me in."

Akio mumbles something but slides to the side. Junichiro slips inside and moves with purpose down the dim hall, deeper into the repurposed warehouse. Tucked into the ceiling's shadows, wrap the silhouettes of dozens of wires. The perceptible hum of electricity weighs down the air.

Akio keeps pace behind.

"Have you seen it?" Juni asks.

"Oh, I saw it."

"And?"

Akio laughs. "You'll just have to look for yourself."

"C'mon, give me a synopsis."

"The short version?" Akio asks, as they near Dunk's door. "It's pretty fucking weird, Juni." He steps around Juni and shoves the door handle down. The door swings open.

Blue light burns his retinas, and Juni squints until his eyes adjust.

Numerous computer systems, modems, servers, and all the other high-tech machines Juni pretends to understand encompass the left side of the large room. Dunk refers to the setup as his 'workshop,' and as Tatterdemalion's resident hacker and tech expert, the location serves well.

The right side of the room is a gym. Dunk lies on a bench and shoves the bar into the air, grunting with each rep.

Juni approaches and stands over the mountain of a man. "You know," he says. "It's dangerous to do this without a spotter."

Dunk's face doesn't belong behind a computer screen. Too many street fights slanted his nose and cauliflowered his ears. He scowls at Juni, and hisses, "Then help a guy out!"

Juni grips the bar, and Dunk lets some strength escape. Juni nearly topples forward. "Goddamn," Juni shouts, and Dunk laughs. The big man reestablishes control over the bar and eases it down.

Dunk rises. "You need to learn to enjoy the weight."

Juni shakes out his arms. "I get enough enjoyment out of life. I don't need to add 'lifting heavy things' to my repertoire."

Dunk snatches a towel off the ground and wipes his face. Juni isn't sure why Dunichi calls himself Dunk, and the big man has never explained. So Juni chalks it up to another example of Dunk's contrary nature.

"So," Dunk says, walking over to one of his computers. "You ready to take a look? I already showed Aki." He glances at the door. "Are the others coming?"

"They're out and about," Juni replies, grabs a chair, and pulls it up alongside Dunk's as the man sits. "I'll fill them in."

Dunk shrugs. "Alright." His fingers scatter across the keyboard. "Let's talk Phantom Thieves."

Aki crosses his arms and leans against a table behind them. "Do you think they killed Madarame?"

"It makes sense," Juni replies. "In a messed-up kind of way. They make him confess and then shut him up. They're heroes, and Madarame can't do anything against them."

Dunk smirks. "But there's always a 'but.'"

Juni slaps him on his shoulder. "But," he says. "How did they do it? How'd they change his heart while we're on the topic of impossible shit?"

"No one knows," Akio says. "Plenty of speculation online, though."

"Sure, but we know a bit more than most folks. At least where Madarame's concerned. What makes more sense? Did the Phantom Thieves magically get Madarame to confess and then magically get this Aoe kid to stab him to death un-magically, or did the yakuza group that runs Natsuki Storage get sick of the old painter's shit and solve the problem themselves?"

Dunk frowns. "I could buy the yakuza angle, but how would they have gotten Aoe to stab the guy?"

"Drugs can make you do crazy things," Juni replies. "The right ones can make you strongly susceptible to outside influence."

"That's some high-precision chemistry for a bunch of gangsters," Akio says. "It is possible that the kid just offed him on his own. Unprompted."

Juni rolls his eyes. "You've got no imagination, Aki."

"Well, here's where things get a bit weird," Dunk says, then laughs. "Okay, not here here, shit is already pretty weird. Did Akio tell you what we saw?"

"He said it was-"

"Weird," Akio says. "It is."

"Enough with the suspense," Juni says, and spreads his hands. "Just show me."

"Right," Dunk replies, and queues up a video file. "First, I went back a few days. I found this." He hits 'Play.'

An image of Natsuki Storage's main hall appears. The angle evidences the thumbnail-sized camera Juni installed weeks earlier. The footage shows a static image, until a door near the back of the hall opens, and a black speck appears.

Juni squints. "What's that?"

"That would be a cat."

The cat approaches the camera, oblivious. Its head swings back and forth as it walks the hall length, eventually out of sight.

"Wow," Juni says. "A cat snuck into a building. Stop the presses."

"Juni-" Dunk starts.

"Call the police."

"Juni-"

"Alert the SDF. We have to do something about this cat-filtration menace."

"Juni," Dunk growls. "Shut up and watch the freakin' screen."

The cat appears on the screen and walks in the opposite direction toward the exit. It grasps something in its mouth.

"Is that a... file?" Juni asks.

"Mmmhmm," Akio replies. "It's rolled up in its mouth."

Juni leans back and frowns. "Okay. That's weird. But I'm not getting it. Cats don't have respect for human property. Ask any cat owner."

Dunk nods. "Sure. I thought so too. A call walks into a building, then walks out with something. Who cares? But check out this footage from a few days later. Before Madarame received his Calling Card from the Phantom Thieves."

Dunk hits another button, and the hall appears again. The same door opens.

The same cat enters.

Juni isn't sure what to say. Held aloft in the cat's tail, dangles a manila folder. In the cat's mouth hangs a thin piece of plastic, and a small orb balances on the cat's head.

The cat stops alongside Madarame's door. It sets down the folder and piece of plastic. Then, it rolls whatever's on its head into its paw, takes a running start at the opposite wall, leaps, and smacks the orb against the wall at approximately human eye level.

The cat picks up the plastic, jumps onto the door's card reader, and fiddles. The cat returns to the floor only after inserting the plastic into the card reader. Lastly, it picks up the file and darts out of sight.

"Holy shit," Juni says.

"Just wait," Dunk replies.

A few moments later, the cat reappears and rushes down the hall and out the door it entered.

Dunk speeds up the footage, and Madarame arrives. He rushes to his door, slides his card into the reader, and opens it. He stares but never enters, then shuts the door and vanishes off-screen.

Moments after that, the cat reenters the hall. First, it jumps onto the card reader and extracts the thin plastic. Next, it retrieves the orb from the wall, darts to the exit, and doesn't return.

No one says anything.

Juni leans forward and dips his head toward the floor. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Breathe it in. Breathe it in.

"Told you it was weird," Akio says.

"This is nuts," Juni blurts and stands. "Unbelievable, even."

"I did some thinking," Dunk says. "And that little thing the cat shoved onto the wall? It has to be the camera that took those photos. The ones on the 'Devil's Dispatch' site.”

Juni pulls at the strands. "Okay. The cat filched a file. Then it returned and installed what looked like a card skimmer and a camera. It waited until the appropriate time, leaving Natsuki Storage undetected with the skimmer and camera. After having returned the stolen file." Juni looks at his friends. "That's one well-trained cat."

"What do you think this means, Juni?" Aki asks.

Juni grins. "I've got no idea. But if this cat is connected to the Phantom Thieves, they're much more interesting than I gave them credit for." He blinks. Frowns. "I wonder what that file was. And why would they need to simulate Madarame's pass card and know the PIN?"

Dunk bites off a laugh. "Know what else is weird?"

"What?" Akio asks.

"Juni riffled through Natsuki's files when he snuck in there weeks ago. There was nothing in there about Madarame, right?"

Juni nods. "Nothing I recognized."

"But the cat still took that file and brought it back before anyone realized it was missing. If that file had something to do with Madarame, and we can all agree it did, then these Thieves knew something about Madarame we didn't." Dunk stiffens. "Holy crap."

"What?" Akio asks. Juni's eyes narrow.

"It doesn't mean only that," Dunk says. He shakes his head. "But nah, that's ridiculous. That can't be right."

"What?" Aki asks, impatient.

Juni understands. "There were no pictures in the files. No labeling system, color or otherwise. Nothing aside from some standard forms. If the cat stole a specific file and didn't grab one at random, but chose Madarame's, then not only did the cat know something we didn't, but the cat can also read."

#

The room smells of cologne. Iwai never touched the stuff, so whether or not he's no idea if the brand's cheap.

Three men sit in the room if he counts himself. Two others stand near the door, silent and still as boards. They vibrate with a violent energy familiar to Iwai.

Tsuda sits to Iwai's left, ramrod straight, face guarded.

Across from Iwai, the third man, Junya Kaneshiro, regards him.

His rolled-up sleeves showcase his tattoos, but Iwai gets the impression Kaneshiro doesn't peacock. The room is just a little warm.

A pair of glasses and a dark, muddy bottle of whiskey stands guard on the table between them.

"How old is he?" Kaneshiro asks, voice soft and smooth.

"Thirteen," Iwai answers, throat dry.

Kaneshiro smiles. At first glance, the smile appears genuine. But keep staring, and you'll soon see what's looking back. Kaneshiro leans forward, unscrews the bottle, and fills each glass with a healthy dose. "Should drink to that. Thirteen's a good age."

Iwai shrugs. "Any age is good when you're above ground."

Kaneshiro slides one of the glasses toward Iwai. "That's funny." He doesn't laugh.

Iwai lifts the drink. "You're gonna make me remember my drinking problem," he growls, trying to sound at ease.

You're overdoing it.

Kaneshiro laughs this time. A low, deep chuckle. The man raises his glass and tilts it in a toast. "To being above ground, brother."

Iwai nods and takes a pull. The whiskey bites his mouth like a razorblade, but he's drunk worse.

Kaneshiro sips and sets the glass down. "Tsu-chan here tells me he seems like a good kid. Capable."

"Actually," Iwai replies. "Kid's a klutz."

"Not a nice thing to say about your own."

"Not like I called him retarded. Kid's smart. Just not very coordinated. He's got a head for books." He rolls his eyes around the room, confident Kaneshiro understands the look. "Not for any of this shit."

Kaneshiro's silence stretches. Then, he replies, "I'm sure we could change that."

Iwai fights to keep from swallowing. To buy time, he takes another drink.

"Look," Iwai says, and holds his free hand up, palm out. "He's not in this world. I left to make sure he wouldn't be. No offense, but I don't want him to have any part in this."

Kaneshiro's light shrug is almost playful. "I'm not offended. You want what's best for your son. So do I." Iwai opens his mouth, but Kaneshiro shakes his head. "Don't misunderstand me. You seem to think I'll treat him like one of those bozos we recruit from the high school." He spreads his arms wide. "But the son of Munehisa Iwai? I'd take him under my wing. He'd be my..." He snaps his fingers a few times, then glances toward the two men by the door. "Nanashi, what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Ward?" One of the men suggests, without moving.

Kaneshiro snaps a final time and grins. "That's it. He'd be my ward. Under my protection. I wouldn't expose him to any danger."

And Iwai knows that even were this not an elaborate game for Kaneshiro to take his son hostage, he'd still rather stuff the kid into a box and toss him out a plane than let him learn one thing from this man.

He'd heard the stories. Seen some of their truths written across Shibuya's streets. Kaneshiro infects the town like cancer. And like any cancer, every day, he expands.

"I'm sorry," Iwai replies. "But no."

Kaneshiro's smile never flickers. Instead, he takes a deep breath. "You know, I think you've lingered too long on the outside, brother. You've forgotten just what you can have."

Kaneshiro lifts his gaze back to the two men by the door. "Muzaki," he calls.

The second man turns, opens the door, and steps out. Ten seconds later, he returns.

His hand grips the forearm of a girl, maybe seventeen. Maybe. Black hair is done up in some style Iwai assumes is modern, but it feels very haphazard as if done by someone who hadn't quite known how to do it. A pink bow wraps through.

Her clothes are typical of the sexy schoolgirl uniform. Dark plaid skirt yanked higher than necessary. White blouse, tied rather than buttoned, revealing cleavage. High heels clickclack their way across the floor.

Iwai looks into the girl's eyes. They swim in a foggy pool, faint and far away. He knows these eyes well. These eyes only know how to look for one thing.

The next fix.

As if the track marks on her arm weren't a dead giveaway.

"What's your name?" Kaneshiro asks.

The girl sways in Muzaki's grasp, then answers dreamily. "Eiko."

Kaneshiro turns back to Iwai. "What'd you say, brother? Maybe giving Eiko a spin will change your mind."

Iwai doesn't let himself glance at Tsuda, who remains silent. He hopes Kaneshiro isn't as familiar and cunning as he seems because Iwai can almost feel the disgust bleed off his friend.

"As a general rule," Iwai says. "I try only to bang girls that know what planet they're on."

Kaneshiro's smile fades. "Each and owns, I suppose." He glances back at Muzaki and jerks his head toward the door.

Wordlessly, Muzaki drags Eiko out. He returns a few moments later and resumes his post.

"I think we're in danger of not settling this," Kaneshiro says, and his voice runs an octave deeper. "But let me be clear. All these things you're talking about. All the reasons you've listed. I fail to see how any of them are my problem."

Iwai sighs. "I can't give you Kaoru, Kaneshiro." He wishes for all the whiskey in the world to keep his tongue behind his teeth, but he plays his only card left. "But, I know this other kid. He may be more of what you're looking for."