Judge by the Cover: High School, Drama & Deadly Vices (Hafu Sans Halo Book 1)

by Melissa Abigail

  Ryu's cheek pressed against the ground, its enduring coolness leaving a certain numbness to his flesh. He'd been lying there for what felt like ages. He knew he was there and yet he felt nothing, like his inner-being was somewhere else. Everything was quiet. Everything was still. He thought maybe this wasn’t so bad, this enduring silence. This silence was peace.

  “Ryu-kun! Ree-you-kuun!”

  The voice was familiar. Soft. Warming. Her voice reminded him of song birds or of playing outside in the fresh air or those pink cherry blossom petals that would sometimes get stuck in his hair. Her voice was pretty. But it sounded kind of different at the moment. It was like the sound of something wounded, the bleat of a lamb or the petrified cries of a lost kitten.

  “Ryu-kun, please wake up! Wake up, Ryu-kun!”

  Her screams grew louder and more desperate. Ryu could feel his body as his again, and he could feel himself stirring. Her cries came to an obscure, abrupt end—like it had been cut off. Ryu opened his eyes, feeling too weak to move but just strong enough to turn his head. He saw shoes level with his face, a pair of oily-looking snakeskins in brown. The man’s voice was a grating hiss floating overhead, his words spoken with a thick, Japanese accent:

  “It’s him.”

  Ryu felt something hit him in the face like a punch.

  He surged upwards, his breaths uneven and shuddering, his muscles tense. He spun and watched the pillow bounce to the floor. It took a moment to register what had happened, his mind a dense fog between sleep and wake.

  "YO, WHAT THE HELL?" Ryu hollered, his eyes sinking like daggers into a seething, glaring, upside-down Tyler who hung over the side from the bunk above. “Nani sun da yo?”

  "Your alarm, asshole! It's been ringing for, maybe like, ten minutes? Why the fuck is it even set so early?"

  Ryu scowled, only then hearing the alarm's piercing, intermittent beeps. He got up and walked to his dresser about a metre away and shut off the clock. He stared thoughtfully at its face. It was Sunday morning, and it was now 8:12, set for yesterday morning. He wondered with feelings of bitterness why he had been so stupid as to put the setting on repeat. Turning his head, Ryu refocused, grasping at fragments of the dream that stained his memory; the dream where he was laying unconscious beside a deserted building and heard someone screaming. Then the man spoke. It had been the second time in two days, the last day being Friday, his birthday, that he had had a dream like this one. The more he tried to think about its details, the more they seemed to slip away into the recesses of his mind as though the dream had never manifested at all.

  Ryu gave a sigh. He raised his head, casting a cold glance back at Tyler who had pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to go back to sleep.

  Well, up this early… might as well be productive.

  Ryu's first stop was the bathroom. Afterwards, he bounded down the staircase. With no one in sight, he realised no one else had woken yet. He continued onwards to the basement where their training room was located. He relished the thought of having the space to himself, no interruptions.

  No such luck.

  As he turned the corner, he was met by someone just coming up the basement staircase: Claudia. Ryu stared coolly for a minute as she stared back in her usual aloof manner. She was dressed in a sweat top and yoga pants, and from her shallow breaths it was obvious she had just been working out herself. Catching himself after a moment, Ryu dipped his head as a show of respect and edged back slightly.

  "Aneki, ohayo," he muttered.

  "Good morning," she replied, a metal water bottle clamped in her hand as she continued to stand there, not moving an inch. "Up early?"

  Ryu nodded slowly before answering shortly, "Yeah. Just thought I'd get some training in."

  Ryu didn't wait for her response as he walked by and made his descent. Before he had gone even two steps he heard her voice over his shoulder: "So you know that girl?"

  Ryu paused, hand tight on the railing.

  That girl.

  Why did she constantly become a topic of discussion?

  "We're classmates. That's all," Ryu grumbled.

  "Sou ka," he heard Claudia say. Not convinced, obviously.

  Rolling his eyes, Ryu continued onwards to the depths of the basement. The room greeted him with the musk of stale perspiration and the cool breeze of a fan. Wasting no time, he started with a series of jumping-jacks. Then he followed with push-ups, planting a medicine ball on the floor and gripping it as he raised and lowered his body.

  His thoughts drifted.

  Ever since the latest "visit" from "that girl," it was all anyone seemed eager to talk about. The only ones to stay silent on the matter had been Tyler and Katsuo, and until that moment, Claudia as well. Ryu recalled that around this time yesterday he had to meet with Haruna, something he debated not doing at all. The way she had promised she'd return to the house again if he bailed on her, however, was enough to help him make up his mind. Ryu could still vividly remember the late, dark, foggy afternoon when he had walked onto the lot only to see her standing there staring back at him.

  "What are you doing here?"

  It was all he could say, out of all the range of emotions, shock being the greatest of them. Then he was speechless—for the first time ever. But he had choice words for her on the second visit. He didn't allow himself to be so speechless again.

  All of that was suddenly eclipsed by the memory of being booted in the sack, the worst kind of pain he'd ever felt in his life. Which was really saying something because Ryu knew many different kinds and levels of pains—many. And in that moment his head was in orbit, seeing the bright white lights like he was about to meet his maker, his core reeling like Edward Scissorhands had personally wrenched Ryu's stomach clean from his insides, pain that shot throughout his whole freaking body. It took everything he had to hold back from retching all over the pavement.

  To think that kind of brutal agony could be delivered to him from none other than that twiggy, high-strung girl he'd gone years deliberately ignoring. A simple slap to the face. That was the worst he'd expect from a girl.

  But Haruna wasn't most girls.

  And there were many things Ryu hadn't anticipated that had happened that Saturday. He hadn't expected her actually apologizing, her buying him coffee, or her actually being interested—in a good way—in his reasons for keeping Tengoku connections under wraps. He didn't expect her to actually hang up on her jerk-off of a boyfriend. So she wasn't so predictable, was she? Maybe he had underestimated her.

  On the flipside, there was that jerk-off boyfriend.

  Ryu knew that guy to be Emmanuel Vangelis, a guy who carried all the vanity typically reserved for the cover of Teen Vogue or GQ. Ryu had never had the displeasure of meeting him before, but he knew about him. Everyone did. He was the son of a big-time city councillor father and a nouveau riche, socialite mother. Emmanuel was also the nephew to one of the top cops in town. Ryu had to admit that it was a bit of a surprise, that Emmanuel and Haruna were together at all, but then again, it made sense. Campbelton West Enders were birds of a feather. Seeing her with that blockhead reminded him of one thing: she was Shady Glenn, West Campbelton epitomised. Superficial and pretentious as they came.

  Ryu leapt to his feet and turned to face his full form reflected in the dojo's wall of mirrors. Exhaling deeply, he began to practise a series of routine kata. As he struck his invisible foes and pivoted on the balls of his feet, he thought about Saturday morning when he had awoken to meet at Vangelis Diner for ten, only to have Katsuo stop him with a firm grip on his shoulder.

  "Father would like to see you. He would like to extend his birthday wishes, personally."

  Father, Shin Matsumoto.

  A solo invitation to meet him was not something to take lightly. No sooner than Katsuo had spoken did Ryu see the dark car waiting for him in the driveway. He had been invited to a private breakfast at Matsumoto's home. Naturally, a man like him lived on the West Side,
in a spectacularly large house in one of the developments a step above Shady Glenn Estates, complete with spacious gardens and the coveted view of coastal mountains. Ryu could still remember when he was seven, the first time he had been inside and the first time he'd truly seen what that part of town had to offer.

  It was still impressive.

  That Saturday morning, Ryu had made his way through the grand foyer, guided by Matsumoto's wife who had been the one to greet him at the door. When Ryu arrived at the dining hall, Matsumoto was waiting at the head of a large table, dressed in a silver pinstripe suit. Emotions were hard to gauge on his aged face, not made any less intimidating by his neatly parted black hair with streaks of grey. As Matsumoto stood to receive him, Ryu bowed deeply and in turn Matsumoto gave a slight nod. Then, the two sat amid a deafening silence. Ryu paid no mind to the five men who guarded the door, dressed in black suits, some with dark shades that hid their eyes.

  "Long time, no see," Matsumoto said openly, his hooded eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. Ryu had felt himself mesmerized for a moment by the crookedness of his front teeth and the gleam of gold on one of them.

  "Good to see you," Ryu said, robotically reaching for the tea and pouring for the Elder, noting his empty cup before then pouring for himself.

  "I should be pouring for you," Matsumoto remarked, his grin still evident as he gestured for Ryu to eat. "Why, it's your birthday. Such a milestone."

  Ryu hadn't bothered to remind him that his birthday was actually the day before, on Friday. He had then watched as Matsumoto snapped his fingers and one of the men in suits hastened over. The man provided Matsumoto with a cigarette and lit it for him. Matsumoto regarded Ryu slyly before blowing the smoke off to the side.

  "Ah, my boy. Still too young for this, I'm afraid."

  Ryu hadn't replied, pretending his mouth was too full with food to do so adequately. As if the man truly had a moral compass to care that he was underage. The least Matsumoto could have done was offer him one. At the moment Ryu really couldn't understand what the purpose of the meeting even was or why they were doing it so early in the day.

  Several minutes of silent tea drinking and eating went by before Matsumoto finally explained.

  "I hear you've been moving around with public transit. How about I give you a slight upgrade?"

  Ryu looked up suddenly, eyes rounded. Matsumoto held up a key that he then placed onto the table between them. Ryu lowered his hand and gawked. He was going to get a car?

  "You've taken on a lot in silence, especially at such a young age," Matsumoto continued, abruptly shifting to Japanese. "You are still my favoured son, Ryu-kun. Besides sending you to one of the best schools, I believe it is also time I've given you a better way to move around. You have your licence, so I trust that Katsuo-kun has taught you the basics."

  Ryu lowered his eyes, too much in disbelief. He bowed.

  "Father, I don't know what to say… thank you."

  "Don't let it get to your head. I'm rewarding you for doing a good job, and I see you will go even further than your father had."

  Ryu slowly raised his head and studied the man carefully, noting the way he had brought his hands together and rested his chin on it. He looked at Ryu thoughtfully, eyes obscured behind the sheen of his eyeglasses. This wasn't just a birthday gift. There was something else.

  "You will also need an upgrade for another reason. You'll be working big jobs." Matsumoto paused, perhaps searching for a reaction which Ryu was careful not to show. "A top-level assignment awaits. This time, it's personal."

  Ryu swallowed hard on a bite of omelette. He nodded, his grip tight around his utensils.

  "I never turn down a job."

  Matsumoto leaned back in his chair and ground his cigarette in a conveniently placed gold-encrusted ashtray. Its smoke wafted into the air and at the time, smoker's cravings had sent off alarms in Ryu's brain.

  "Pleased to hear it," Matsumoto had replied. "You are embarking on a new rank among the White Flower Syndicate. I trust that your Glock is in working order."

  Now finished with his kata, Ryu got to his knees, and assumed the seiza position to meditate. No longer would his handgun be for last ditch self-defence, pistol-whipping or taking out low-level street thugs. He was in the big leagues now.

  A personal job was his test.

  Afterwards, third-party assignments.

  Thinking about it, he didn't know whether to rip his hair out or to celebrate. He was going to go further than his father, but being like his father meant he could end up like his father: dreaded, respected… six-feet under and a pile of ashes.

  But that was his life, and it looked like this was going to be his year. Ryu was seventeen. A high school student. A White Flower assassin.

  CHAPTER eight

  fear is fowl

  We are the Lost Boys and this is our Neverland; our escape from everyone else's reality.

  A place where good is bad and bad is necessary.

  A place where the only identity that counts, is the one we give ourselves.

  «

  They say heaven is where gods live. But what is Heaven? Some mystical paradise in the sky? Nirvana? A state of mind? Or is it just a place to go when someone’s dead? And if something other than ancestors, God or many gods live there, do they ever reach out to mere mortals? Is there even such a thing as angels, or is it all a bunch of lies people tell to feel better about how empty their lives are?

  Maybe Heaven isn’t even real.

  But Heaven Home for Boys was real.

  From the outside, it was a rustic Edwardian estate, with a century’s worth of history behind it. A score of old money lived there once, including some relative of the town’s founder and namesake, Sir Herbert Graves-Campbelton. The property may have been as old as the town itself. Like all things old and historical, it wasn’t without controversy. The landmark once considered the town’s pride later became its curse, an expensive liability in a state of disrepair, doomed to be torn down and lot sold to the highest bidder. It was of no benefit that it had the misfortune of being situated in the East. No self-respecting middle-class Campbeltoner wanted to fund that sinkhole, even if they simultaneously didn’t want it gone either.

  The city could raise taxes. But nobody would want that.

  A funny thing happened, though.

  The highest bidder turned out to be a Japanese businessman and financier by the name of Shin Matsumoto. He'd built a fortune in real estate, contracting and through investments. At first, the locals hated that their small piece of history was to be auctioned off to some foreigner as though their souls too had been parted with. But Matsumoto didn’t destroy the house at all. In fact, he invested in it and turned it into what some saw as a safe space for abandoned kids. Which was perfect for those who ran the city and those who lived in the west. Because the east was nothing but trouble, mostly because of those East Side kids, and a place to throw them away so that they were out of sight and mind was a solution. Sort of. At least it looked good. It looked good to the public. It looked good for the mayor and city council. It looked especially great for Matsumoto who went from suspicious, capital-stealing foreigner to town legacy saviour. How wonderful, that the city would no longer have to spend huge amounts of money in policing. They would no longer have to plead with the provincial government for more funding for halfway homes and social programs for the wayward youth that never could behave and properly assimilate anyway.

  To those who lived within the walls of the building, behind the iron fence in gunmetal-grey, this place was “Tengoku House”—a home with a promise of holistic awakening and a strict, uniquely Asian-inspired approach to living—whatever that meant. When child welfare teams paid their occasional visits they saw a place that lived up to that promise: stretches of intricate gardens and an outdoor pool that sparkled in the summer; an interior decorated with antique fixtures that brought out the charm of its architecture; subtle reminders of culture
in the form of paintings of exotic birds, landscapes, brave warriors and women in kimonos; a basement with highly-polished wooden floors and training equipment so the boys could have a sound body to match a sound mind. The sleeping quarters left a lot to be desired with their simple beds and plain walls—but that was to be expected. This place survived on public money and donations, after all.

  And, of course, with that delightful couple as stewards, Katsuo and Claudia, the boys had kind of a family thing happening.

  How could anyone not be happy there? Certainly, the boys looked rested and well-fed. They attended their schools as usual. So when the social workers left, smiles plastered on their faces and checkmarks ticked on forms attached to clipboards, Tengoku was given the seal of approval, as always.

  But strangely enough, no one ever bothered to check the attic.

  Ryu stared out the window, sitting backwards on a wooden chair flipped around with its back propped against the windowsill. From there, he could see the two women get into a grey sedan, then reverse out the driveway.

  Not interesting in the least.

  His gaze returned to the gleaming black beauty parked permanently on their lot. His own car. He was still trying to process that the thing really was his. A big deal considering he didn’t own much. The reaction from his brothers, on the other hand, had been of two extremes: fascination and envy. Tyler had been the one to wisecrack in his typical way, “What is it? A Hyundai? No wait, I bet it’s a Civic."

  “It’s a Mazda 6,” Bradley corrected, having always been fiercely passionate about cars he could never hope to actually own or operate.

  Ryu could still remember the way Katsuo gave an impressed whistle when he noted observantly: "We can't have you among the West Side elite driving a measly Honda Civic, can we?"