Rentaro Satomi, Fugitive

by Shiden Kanzaki

  “…I’m sorry. My evidence got stolen.”

  “Stolen?”

  Suibara nodded grimly.

  “My place has been broken into a few times lately. A few things were stolen, including the evidence. The only option I got left is to appeal directly to the Tendo Group or Lady Seitenshi as a living witness. I mean, you’re about the only guy left I can trust.”

  This was no longer a friendly chat between old friends. Rentaro rubbed his fingers against his chin.

  He had no particular vendetta against Suibara, of course. He’d like to help make that request happen, as much as he was able. The problem was how. Not only was he no longer technically related to Kikunojo; they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since their somewhat…strained conversation after the Kagetane Hiruko case. He doubted Kikunojo wanted to see him much, and the feeling was absolutely mutual.

  But the Seitenshi? He literally had her digits. That connection, at least, seemed plausible enough.

  “Let me float up one condition. I want you to tell me beforehand what you’d say to Lady Seitenshi.”

  “Aw, c’mon, you don’t trust me?”

  “We’re talking about the head of state, Suibara. I gotta be careful.”

  “…Yeah, I guess so, huh?”

  Suibara seemed open to concessions. But then he looked around the office, his body language betraying his uneasiness.

  “…Hey, this room ain’t bugged or anything, is it?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, bugged. Like, do you trust the guys who live above and below you?”

  “Man, who knows?”

  Rentaro’s eyes followed his conversation partner’s around the room. The floor and ceiling were surprisingly thin in this building. Sound had a way of traveling around. The walls were plain mortar, too, and it wasn’t exactly a wide margin between this building and the adjacent one.

  In a rickety old dump like this, soundproofing would never be a priority. If someone had any sort of decent-grade listening device or parabolic microphone, Suibara’s right to client confidentiality would be worth about as much as a sheet of toilet paper.

  “Okay,” Suibara said. “Not here, then. Tomorrow night… You know where they’re building the new Magata City Hall, right? Let’s meet there. But lemme make sure we’re straight on one thing: Once I tell you, you’re in, got it?”

  The earnest truthfulness Rentaro saw in Suibara’s eyes made him shudder.

  After proposing an exorbitant sum of money for Rentaro’s services, Suibara stood up from the sofa and prepared to leave. Rentaro stood up to see him off, and they chatted about assorted silly little things on the way downstairs.

  It was completely dark outside, with women plying their trade and groups of drunken businessmen mingling on the congested city streets. The wind that beat against Rentaro’s skin bore the lukewarm heat of an August night.

  Right in front of them, Enju, Tina, and Kisara had returned, their arms laden with well-stuffed shopping bags. They were excitedly laughing and poking at one another as they meandered along, apparently enjoying their night out to the fullest as the streetlights lit them from behind.

  Suibara squinted, as if looking at a bright light, then slapped Rentaro heartily on the back. “Rentaro, I’m pretty sure they think you’re involved with me by now. Sorry I got you involved in this, but watch out, okay?”

  “They?”

  Suibara thrust both hands into his pockets and set off without another glance.

  Watching him go, Rentaro realized that he still couldn’t figure out how to parse this within himself—this old friend he just reunited with after so many years. He could practically see lines of depression emanate from Suibara’s back. If this secret of his had to do with that, he would be fine with trying to get it out of him so that they could shoulder the burden equally.

  Suibara tried to forget about his sister as soon as he could, way back when. Seeing him involved so deeply with the Cursed Children now was nothing less than astounding. Rentaro didn’t know what changed his mind about it all, but the Initiator taking the place of his sister… How did she feel about it?

  Either way, there were several terms Suibara bandied around that Rentaro could never let go unexamined. There was time until tomorrow night. He had some avenues he could research.

  “Mm? Did our client leave?”

  Looking down, Enju was right next to him, grinning from ear to ear as she held up the spoils of her big night out.

  “Look! We picked up all kinds of meats and vegetables on the pre-closing sales. Tonight we’re gonna have a yakiniku party with Kisara’s secret stash!”

  Turning his eye toward Kisara, Rentaro realized she was sizing him up at the same time. They turned their eyes elsewhere with near-perfect timing.

  Straining to keep the awkwardness from showing up on his face, Rentaro flashed Enju a smile. “Sorry, Enju, but I’m not hungry. You three can eat by yourselves.”

  “Ehh?”

  Enju’s expression froze. Gradually, it began to grow anxious.

  “Why…is that?”

  “Oh, no reason. It’s no big deal if a guy wants to eat by himself now and then, is it?”

  With that, Rentaro turned around and walked off, making sure he didn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of Kisara’s facial expression as he did.

  3

  The hollow bamboo tube, its head heavy with water accumulated inside, had its tail end struck against a nearby boulder. It was a shishi-odoshi, a traditional Japanese contrivance meant for scaring birds away from gardens, and the sharp clack it made could be heard from the balcony above.

  A beautiful sound, Kisara thought. Compared to that, the clamor from the equally traditional room she was sitting in, lined with tatami mats, was hard for her to stomach.

  “…And so, while our child was quite the handful back during his more rebellious years, he ultimately decided to follow the same path his father did a generation ago. In fact, at the police academy he’s head of the class—in the schoolroom, and out in the training grounds.”

  “Hey! You don’t have to embarrass me like that.”

  “…Ha-ha-ha! Ah, how wonderful. Almost too good of a match for my Kisara here.”

  The middle-aged man at the head of the table, mouth wide open in a hearty laugh, was face-to-face with Tadashi Hitsuma, police commissioner, the scar across his face giving him a decidedly gangster look. By his side was his wife, sporting a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. She raised a hand to her mouth as she tittered in agreement:

  “Oh, no, not at all,” she said. “Your young Tendo is as beautiful as a porcelain doll! Why, our Atsuro told me it was love at first sight!”

  There wasn’t a girl on earth who really liked being called “beautiful” by a stranger, but considering how much of a farce this was, Kisara doubted even less that she could take the compliment at face value.

  Kisara herself was currently ensconced inside Utoro, an impossibly fancy Japanese restaurant. Including her, there were six people seated around the table, participating in this omiai—an arranged-marriage meeting. Only about half of these six were active in the conversation, however. Rentaro, next to Kisara in his typical school uniform, sat there silently, his face inscrutable.

  When she first brought up the engagement offer with Rentaro, Kisara honestly thought he’d explode in anger. That was why seeing him give such a blithe okay disappointed her—and enraged her. She was hoping Rentaro would stand up right now and do something to ruin the proceedings for her.

  But why? She darted her eyes around the room as she pondered this, eventually settling on a mirror hung next to a wall scroll, the frame demonstrating the elegantly sculpted work of an artisan. She craned her neck to get a view of herself, only to find a Kisara done up in lipstick, blush, an elaborate hairpin, and a kimono, of all things. She was passing acquaintances with the daughter of Shiba Heavy Weapons’ president, a lover of traditional Japanese clothing, and while she was reluctant to go near one at first, she had
to admit—it suited her well, sitting here.

  She adjusted her head in the mirror, wondering how she’d look at a forty-five-degree semi-profile. But as she did, she sensed someone’s eye on her and turned around.

  It was the bespectacled man sitting face-to-face with her, smiling warmly. It made her cheeks redden. She hurriedly returned to her original posture.

  There was one other person in the audience left to describe. He was slender, even more so than in his picture; he hardly ever spoke at all; and he was more than a little handsome: Atsuro Hitsuma. He was seated in a formal kneeling position, the family crest clearly visible on his own traditional clothing. He had grown in the past five years, and it gave him a touch of masculinity that wasn’t there before.

  “Right,” said his mother. “How about us old fuddy-duddies leave the room and let these two lovebirds talk to each other?” She stood up before anyone could respond.

  “Oh, what, I gotta leave, too?”

  “Of course you do, you fool,” Senichi Shigaki said, pulling Rentaro up. “Come over here.” The Hitsuma parents followed them, pulling the sliding screen open and leaving the room.

  The only thing that remained was silence. Kisara emitted a light sigh as Hitsuma politely lowered his head.

  “I apologize,” he said. “My parents are getting carried away.”

  “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Mr. Hitsuma?”

  “Yes. Five years, I suppose?”

  Kisara had trouble figuring out how to interact with the man in front of her. She found it honestly bewildering.

  “Um… So you got promoted to police superintendent?”

  “Ha-ha! Yeah, the last time we met, I had just joined the force, hadn’t I? I hardly knew right from left back then. Now, five years on… Well, really, I mean, look at you. You’re a completely different person from five years ago. I still thought you were cute in a kidlike way back then, but now there’s no doubt about it. You’re beautiful.”

  “Oh, stop flattering me, Mr. Hitsuma!” She meant it, too. Kisara looked down, cheeks blushing. “But…why now, though? Out of the blue…?”

  “What do you mean?” he replied, smiling graciously at Kisara. It made her feel a bit guilty as she went on.

  “I mean that I feel bad for you, Mr. Hitsuma. I disowned the Tendo family by my own free will. That’s why you received the cancellation notice that you did. So…and I’m sure you know this already, but…I don’t think marrying me will help you make any inroads with the Tendo family. I’m fully separate from them now. They treat me pretty much like they’ve disinherited me. I still go by the name Tendo, but I don’t feel that I’m a Tendo at all. Not one bit.”

  If Kisara had it her way, she’d have all the Tendo blood flowing within her drained from her body and replaced with someone else’s. She opted against sharing that little tidbit out loud.

  “Well, it’s not that I made this request to Mr. Shigaki because I wanted to build a connection with the Tendo family.”

  “So why did you, then? Your dad’s police commissioner; you’re already a superintendent yourself… I’m sure you’d have no problem attracting attention.”

  “Is being taken with you at first sight a good enough reason?”

  Kisara blushed and turned her face away at this unexpected attack.

  “Oh, stop joking.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a joke.”

  “That makes it even worse… You’re embarrassing me.”

  She was willing to hear out Hitsuma’s sweet nothings, but a darker voice was making itself known in her heart. There was a time when even Kisara believed in Cinderella. That dream she had, of some Prince Charming falling in love with her and saving her from disaster, disappeared from her life the day her parents were killed by being eaten alive. If there really was a prince or a wizard or whatever out there, she’d want him to resurrect her parents right this minute, not marry her.

  Kisara urged herself to press on as she adjusted her posture. Then she decided to change strategies. She was getting sick of this whole arranged-marriage system—trying to make yourself out to be perfect while watching your partner like a hawk for any imperfections. It was time to buck the system.

  “The whole reason I’m alive is so I can take revenge on the Tendos.”

  “I know.”

  “What?” Kisara heard the shishi-odoshi clack against the rock behind her.

  “Of course. I’m fully aware of your circumstances, Ms. Tendo.”

  “And you went through with this proposal anyway?”

  “Yes. In fact, I think I might just be able to help you on that particular matter.”

  “…Um, how so?”

  Hitsuma briskly stood up from the table, a smile crossing his intellectual demeanor as he pointed outside.

  “Would you like to go for a walk while we discuss it?”

  Kisara nodded. It was the only thing she could do.

  The pair left the room, walking around the perimeter of a gravel-floored garden. A small pond lay in the middle of it, with an arched, bright red footbridge decorated with ornate, knob-topped guardrails crossing it. Kisara sprinkled some dry food from the bridge, marveling at the dazzling colors of the Japanese koi fish that gathered to lap it up.

  “So…?” Kisara began, not trying to sound too keen lest he was simply taking her for a ride.

  “I…will omit the details for now, Ms. Tendo, but we in the Hitsuma family do not have exactly a cozy relationship with the Tendos either.”

  Kisara’s eyebrows twitched. “That’s playing with fire, you know,” she said, eyes still focused on the koi she was feeding. “The Tendo clan is filled with financial giants. They train their kin from infancy to become full-fledged members of the political elite. Trying to resist them is like trying to resist the government itself. They would raze your family to the ground, just like all the other people who faded into darkness after opposing them.”

  “I imagine they would, yes, if we took a full-frontal approach. But even the most heavily guarded of fortresses can be conquered, if you just know which untended back door to strike at first. Someone like you, attempting to eradicate Kikunojo Tendo and his allies from the face of the earth, should know that all too well.”

  A koi leaped out of the water with a splash.

  “…How much do you know?”

  “Just what I’ve picked up through the grapevine.”

  Kisara turned around and looked at Hitsuma. “Well, I’m glad you’re offering to help me, but this is my battle to wage. I’m not interested in having other people use me.”

  “But you may feel free to use me all you like. I will not use you at all.”

  This made Kisara’s brows furrow. “You’re starting to creep me out. What do you want from me? Just come out with it.”

  Hitsuma put a hand to his chin, as if pondering over something. “All right,” he said. “Let me rephrase that, then. There is something I want from you.” Then he suddenly wrapped his arm around Kisara’s waist, holding her hand with his own. The presence of such a comely man at close range made Kisara’s heart skip a beat.

  “You’ve been making me go crazy, and it’s thanks to your beauty. If I ever do anything to make you dislike me, then by all means, take up your sword. But if not…”

  Hitsuma brought his face closer to hers. Kisara turned her red cheeks away.

  “You’ve been reading too much Shakespeare.”

  “I mean it.”

  It was a surprise to her, this man’s passion all but forcing her into his embrace. Satomi would never do anything like this for me, she thought.

  Searching around in his pocket, Hitsuma took something out and placed it in Kisara’s hand. Startled by the feel of cold metal, she looked down to find a disc-shaped object shining a golden hue in the reflected sunlight.

  “What’s this?”

  “A pocket watch. Open it up.”

  Following his suggestion, Kisara lifted the watch’s golden lid. Her mouth opened a little in sur
prise. The hour and minute hands were also done up in gold, and the fancy-looking clock face was lined with jewels, dazzling her with a flood of color.

  “This is so nice. Is it for me?”

  “I’d be glad if you took it. It won’t go to waste that way.”

  She was about to say thanks, but swallowed the word after realizing something. “But,” she said, “our old engagement was canceled.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I love you.”

  “…If I had someone like you whispering about love into my ear, maybe I’d start looking for a pair of glass slippers before long.”

  “Would you like to try?”

  Kisara watched as Hitsuma’s lips advanced upon her. Then she closed her eyes.

  Neither the beautiful white sand that extended out toward the right-hand side of the Japanese garden nor the sublime ephemerals of the rock garden’s dry landscape were enough to brighten Rentaro’s heart by now. He was walking down the wooden platform that lined the garden, in search of a bathroom as the anxiety began to well in his mind.

  What is Kisara’s problem, anyway? Getting all dolled up and putting on that nice kimono for his sake. She doesn’t have to act all preoccupied about how she looks. Around me, it’s been the exact same black school outfit, 365 days a year.

  The gloominess in Rentaro’s heart had, if anything, only been magnified by the five years that had passed since he last saw Hitsuma. He was, after all, the first real love interest in Kisara Tendo’s life—and the worst part was that she probably didn’t even realize it. He thought his shallow memories of that time would drift away over the years, but now that he saw Kisara dressed in her finest and discussing marriage like this, he wasn’t so sure that would ever happen.

  “Listen…Tendos aren’t like regular people. Don’t you dare catch yourself acting like you’re one of them.”

  What do I want Kisara to do here? Do I…?

  Just as he rounded a corner of the walkway, staring at the garden for lack of anything better to focus on, Rentaro stopped. Kisara and Hitsuma were talking on the arched bridge. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from his vantage point, but if Rentaro’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, they looked like they were enjoying themselves.