Chakra Wizard
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The next two chapters will return to a third-person perspective, just cause there’s some significant events taking place that Aito isn’t around to see. Just a heads-up. Anyways, enjoy
(I dunno how accurate Google Translate is, so don’t blame me if you speak Japanese and think the dialogue’s a little offxd)
Previous Chapter:
The morning following Yatsumi Ryokudan’s assassination was one of absolute pandemonium, which even Aito could not sleep through for very long. Armed men ran left and right, inspectors dusted Yatsumi’s office for prints of any sort, and techies looked over the video footage of last night’s events, which was nonexistent between the hours of eight and nine – just as Mao had promised. No matter how hard they searched, though, not one trace of evidence was gathered that hinted at the assassin’s identity. Forced to place their investigation on ice for the time being, Yatsumi’s three chief subordinates gathered in their late boss’s office to discuss their next course of action. Among them was Roku Denashi, who proceeded to kick over a large vase sitting near the doorway once everyone else had left the room.
“UNBE-****ING-LEIVABLE!! How the hell did this happen!?” he screamed in frustration, enraged by the lack of evidence. His tirade was answered by a man nearly three years his senior – a tall, considerably handsome man with green eyes and pale skin. His silky black hair – which fell past his shoulders – matched the color of his suit, and a red lollipop dangled from between his lips, taking it out before he spoke.
“Does it really matter now, Denashi? We’re not getting anywhere with this investigation and that’s not likely to change.” he said, placing the lollipop back in his mouth once he had finished speaking.
“Hei’s right, Roku. The sons-of-*****es dusted the place down top to bottom. Whoever did this didn’t leave a damn thing for us to go off of.” the third member of the trio said. Several years older than his two counterparts, he had the surly complexion to match – both his age and his attitude. His rough life had caused early graying in his black hair, which was short and spiked up slightly on either side. Beneath his brown suit was a blue dress shirt and striped tie – yellow with red, specifically – and his black shoes matched the color of his cold, lifeless eyes. …With such a lack of appeal, it was almost hard to believe that this was the chief “negotiator” of the Ryokudan family, but make no mistake – his social skills were virtually unrivalled.
“Rrrrgh, …fine. …It’s just hard to believe how easy it was for the bastard to just walk in and pop the big guy while we had the place surrounded, eh, Sesshoku?” Roku replied, his fists stuffed into his pockets as he rested his back against the wall.
“Which is why I think we can be fairly certain that this was an inside job.” Hei said aloud, immediately garnering the undivided attention of his two colleagues.
“You’re shittin’ me.” Sesshoku answered in near-disbelief.
“Kaozu, who among us would have the balls to pull something like this? And now of all times?” Roku inquired, all the while deciphering in his head which of his subordinates would have a reason – and the audacity – to murder their leader. Hei fiddled with the lollipop in his mouth a few seconds longer before taking it out and explaining himself.
“The list is short, …but I think we can narrow it down a bit.”
Midday was nearly three hours away when Aito finally decided to emerge from his room – much earlier than his usual routine would allow. Knowing the leading cause of all the turmoil taking place in the halls already, he didn’t bother showing any false concerns as he wandered through them, though he did take it upon himself to stop the first person to pass him by.
“Hey, what the hell’s going on out here?” he asked as he grabbed the man’s shoulder, prompting him to turn around with a look of worry and aggravation on his face.
“Boss man’s dead! Shot point-blank in his office! What, you hadn’t realized it yet?” he replied with deep breaths between each statement, resuming his scurry through the halls after Aito released his shoulder. He feigned a look of remorse as multiple others hurried past him, though in truth, it wasn’t completely an act. He returned to his room and locked it behind him, proceeding to press against it and slide down to the floor. He remained there for several minutes with his head buried in his arms, trying desperately to recall all the things that had provoked him to commit the terrible act from the previous night. At the time, it didn’t seem as though his life had undergone much change since Yatsumi’s heart stopped beating, but just realizing how short a time ago that was was enough to return the color to his face. Yatsumi was a devilish man, and deep down, Aito knew that he wouldn’t be the only one to benefit from his demise. It was only a matter of time before things began looking up.
“Well, …it can only get better from this point on.”
…That’s what he thought at the time, at least.
Aito remerged from his room shortly afterwards – now dressed in his standard jeans and dark sweatshirt – and made his way towards the front door. He hadn’t gone outside in what seemed like an eternity, and the occasion seemed to him like the perfect time for a change of pace. …Before he could taste the fresh Hawaiian air again, though, he would be forced to smell the foul Japanese stench of the one man he hated more than his father.
“And where the **** do you think you’re goin’!?” Roku called out as he entered the foyer, evidently on his way to see the young man, anyways. His exclamation was met with one of Aito’s fingers, held high for all the surrounding lowlifes to see.
“**** you, small-timer. I haven’t eaten in two days, so I’m headin’ out into town to grab something. …I think my appetite’s finally comin’ back to me.” he said sarcastically, though at the same time, it wasn’t very far from the truth. Roku, however, wouldn’t have anything of it.
“Like hell you are. You honestly think we’re just gonna let a prime suspect such as yourself walk outta this house whenever he ****in’ pleases?”
He reached into his shirt as a means of intimidation, but before his hand could disappear from view, Aito’s had already reemerged with his gun. He took a few steps forward until its barrel was pressed against Roku’s forehead, while everyone around them stepped back as they reached for their own firearms. Aito took no heed to their actions, though, his mind focused solely on the prospect of splattering Roku’s all over the walls.
“If you ever tell me what I can or can’t do in this house again, …I’ll kill you.”
He stopped reaching for his gun and returned his hand to his side, but Roku’s blank expression left Aito with the impression that he believed he wouldn’t dare pull the trigger. …He didn’t realize that the hitman was doing everything in his power to keep an enormous flurry of sweat from running down his face.
“Yatsumi’s the only reason you’re still alive, Denashi. You know that that’s true. …So, with him now gone, what the **** makes you think I won’t hesitate to end your pathetic life?”
As promised, the impending sweat quickly began to pour down from Roku’s brow, turning his caramel skin beet-red as he stood there, frozen with fear. Feeling almost embarrassed for him, Aito quickly retracted his gun and returned it to his pants before turning around and heading outside.
“And for **** sake, quit reaching into your shirt like you’re from Chicago in the Nineteen-Thirties! We all know you keep your gun in your pants, you stupid prick!” he shouted one final piece of advice before closing the door behind him.
The walk into Honolulu lasted nearly thirty minutes, but Aito paid no heed to the time – he needed some by himself, anyways. Being in the middle of February – during one of the coldest winters in recent years, no less – even Hawaii’s temperatures made wearing a sweatshirt justifiable, though it didn’t prevent Aito from noticing that only a handful of the people out and about that day were doing so. Not allowing this to bother him, he wandered along the side of the highway for another half-mile before cutting off into the parking lot of a long chain of shops, among which was a small café called Saimin Shop. A feeling of nostalgia overcame him as he stopped in front of it, staring blankly at the neon sign resting overhead before heaving a long and depressing sigh.
“Man, this brings back memories. …Wonder if the old man’s still alive.” Aito said to himself before walking up to the glass door. Peering inside for a moment, he took notice of the small amount of customers the shop had that day – and the metal detectors that awaited those who ventured in. Knowing full well that his gun wouldn’t allow him such easy access under these conditions, he strolled over to the adjacent window and proceeded to gently tap the glass with his knuckle, hoping to garner the attention of the tall, elderly man standing behind the counter. He did, and after recognizing who the shady fellow standing outside was, the old man walked over to the opposite side of the counter and pressed the small, gray button resting underneath it. Waiting for his thumbs-up, Aito headed inside – the metal detectors no longer activated – and sat down at the closest bar stool.
“Been a long time since I saw you walk in this place, Aito.” the elderly man said as he walked over to greet the new customer.
“Hey, Susume. …How’s business?” Aito replied in a tone as detached as his expression. He was much too busy scanning the shop’s interior, allowing all his memories of it to seep in.
“Same as you left it.” Susume answered him, already in the process of grabbing a bottle of mystery-flavored Ramune from the small fridge located beneath the short end of the counter – a regular order of Aito’s, who upon receiving it, proceeded to push down on the soda’s distinct marble seal with his thumb. Watching him with content as he threw back the bottle and chugged down a third of it in one gulp, Susume threw his own head back in laughter as Aito set the bottle down again and began coughing into his arm, cursing just loud enough for only the two of them to hear.
“What flavor was it?” Susume asked amusedly.
“Curry, I think.” Aito answered in between coughs, trying to expel the awful taste from his mouth with brute force. Continuing to chuckle softly to himself, Susume returned to the small fridge beneath the counter, this time pulling out a bottle of the soda in its original flavor.
“Well, that was probably unpleasant. Here, wash it down with this.” he told Aito, who didn’t hesitate to comply. Gulping half of it on the spot, he slammed the bottle back down on the counter and gasped a breath of relief, returning to his coughing shortly afterwards.
“Word certainly travels fast.” Susume said, grabbing a nearby glass and rag and proceeding to wipe down the former with the latter, hoping it might add some atmosphere to the moment. Not finding it very amusing himself, Aito promptly stopped his coughing and addressed Susume’s new topic of discussion.
“And what word is that?” he asked, already certain of what the old man was referring to.
“I heard about what happened to your fa-”
His speech was quickly halted by Aito’s outstretched hand, the owner of which was scanning the slowly expanding crowd of people eating and conversing around them.
“De wanai eigo de.” (“Not in English.”)
His mildly desolate expression assuming a more methodical look, Susume set the glass and rag down and propped his hands up on the counter, leaning in slightly to further conceal their discussion from potential eavesdroppers.
“Daijōbu. …Dakara, soreha hontōdesuka?” (“All right. …So, is it true?”)
“Ore ga sunde iru to kokyū suru yō ni.” (“As I live and breathe.”)
“Sōdesu ka. …Anata wa nani o shitte imasu ka-” (“I see. …Do you know what-”)
“Īe.” (“No.”)
At that point, Aito was no longer making eye contact with him, resting his cheek against his hand as though he was bored out of his mind. Certain that the young man was trying to hide his true feelings, Susume softened his tone in an attempt to entice him to make them known.
“Tada nani ga okotta ka o mitsukeyou to.” (“Just trying to find out what happened.”)
Contrary to the old man’s intentions, his friendly tone only served to further aggravate Aito, who glared up at him with intense fury.
“Ore wa amari ki ni shi...soshite nazebekide wanaidarou ka?” (“I couldn’t give a **** less…and why should you?”)
“…Watashi wa nagaiai no bijinesu ni atta, Aito. …Watashi wa chōdo anata no sofu no kōkei-sha ni naniwoshita ka shiritai, sore ga subetedesu.” (“…I was in the business for a long time, Aito. …I’d just like to know what did your grandfather’s successor in, that’s all.”)
Quickly realizing that he was out of place asking that of him, Aito crossed his arms and propped them up on the counter, resting his head on top of them for a brief fit of despair. Hardly affected by the harshness of his words, Susume paid no heed to them and continued to stare down at the back of Aito’s head.
“Watashi wa anata ga seikaku ni kare no shi ni yotte rakutan shite inai sore o toru.” (“I take it you’re not exactly disheartened by his death.”)
“Dōzo, ore wa zutto itte iru…de wanai koto wa.” (“Please, I've never felt happier in my life, …not that that says much.”)
Aito said this with a heavy level of sarcasm as he corrected his sitting posture, but Susume could tell from his tone and dismal expression that something was weighing heavily on the young man’s conscience. The question was what it was exactly, and since the chances of him saying what it was were slim, the old man dropped the subject completely.
“So, are you gonna have anything while you’re here, or are you just gonna sit there and take up counter space?” he asked as he returned to work. Coming back to reality, Aito suddenly realized that he had been interfering with the old man’s duties and proceeded to apologize, in the meantime deciding to order something, since he was already in the restaurant.
“Sorry. …The wonton still to die for?”
“Wouldn’t recommend doing so, but yes.” Susume answered sarcastically, even managing to get a small chuckle out of Aito. It seemed like he was just beginning to liven up after all.
“Alright. Two bowls of that, then. I haven’t eaten in days.” he requested, rubbing his stomach to highlight the latter statement.
“I could tell. They’re on the house.” Susume said as he wrote the order down on a small sheet of paper and sat it on the counter next to the kitchen entrance.
“That’s not necessary, Susume.” Aito insisted, but the old man merely waved him off as he began fixing beverages previously ordered during their conversation.
“Ah, forget about it. …I’m assuming you came here to celebrate, right?”
Aito thought about it for a second as he sat there awaiting his meal. He found this question odd coming from someone like Susume, but the longer he dwelled on the topic of Yatsumi’s murder, the more those sensations which he felt as he carried it out reemerged…and the more he realized just how much he had wanted it all along. Although disgusted with himself for a brief moment, the joy that he always believed his father’s death would bring him gradually began to surface – and he formed the first genuine smile he had made in over two years.
“Yeah, …I did, actually.”
The first bowl of wonton soup arrived within the next ten minutes – Aito never got tired of the restaurant’s quick service – and he quickly went to town on it, slurping the noodles and chugging down the broth in less than half the time it took to prepare it. As he patiently awaited the arrival of his second bowl, he took a moment to look around the restaurant a second time – his vision having been clouded by guilt until now. He had to admit, it had been well over a year since he was surrounded by this many people who weren’t carrying concealed firearms – and he also had to admit that it was a nice change-of-pace. As his eyes edged closer to the front entrance, he was forced to stop as something caught his eye – a young woman sitting at a small table with two others, friends of hers apparently. Her sun-kissed skin matched perfectly with her long, lustrous, black hair and bright-blue eyes – both equivalents in color, but stark contrasts in clarity to his own features. Her scarlet mesh shirt which revealed her shoulders matched the color of her sandal straps, while her long, red skirt was just a shade darker. Her wrists were decorated with bracelets of varying colors – one was also on her ankle – and to top it all off, she had the appearance to match her exquisite features. Her beauty was such that Aito couldn’t help but stare a minute longer before finally turning to his elderly acquaintance.
“Susume.”
“Hm?” the old man replied, having just set two drinks on the counter for one of the waitresses to come by and collect.
“Kanojo wa?” (“Who is she?”)
Susume followed the path of Aito’s gaze to the young woman, who seemed to be giggling softly at a joke one of her friends told just now. Catching on almost instantly, the old man was forced to suppress what was sure to be a particularly loud chuckle.
“Naze kanojo ni jimon shite ikimasen ka?” (“Why not go ask her yourself?”)
Aito made no response to Susume’s supposed mockery and looked back at the young woman, his expression slowly becoming more dismal with each passing second.
“…Ka no yō ni, kanojo wa imamade ore o okonau ni wa nani o shitaidarou.” (“…As if she would ever want anything to do with me.”)
“Tsuneni anata no mondaideatta koto o sanshō shite kudasai.” (“See, that was always your problem.”)
Taking offense to this claim, Aito turned back to confront him with a mildly scornful look on his face.
“Seikō wa, ore wa mondai o kakaete ita to nobeta hito?” (“Who the **** said I had a problem?”)
“Watashideshita. …Anata ga jōnetsu, Aito to anata no kazoku no kizuna o kirai, mada anata ga soto setsuzoku o okonau kikai o mitsukeru tabi ni, anata wa tsuneni kodokuna seikatsu o okuru tame no kōjitsu to shite sorera o shiyō shite imasu.” (“I did. …You hate your family ties with a passion, Aito, yet every time you find an opportunity to make an outside connection, you always use them as an excuse to lead a solitary life.”)
Seeing no point in arguing against this irrefutable truth, Aito lowered his head once again, prompting Susume to take a more friendly jab at him.
“Soretomo on'nanoko no mawari hazukashi hon'nosukoshida, sore tsumari?” (“Or maybe you’re just a tad shy around the girls, is that it?”)
His teasing was met with one of Aito’s fingers, kept out of sight so as to not draw attention to their conversation. Laughing softly to himself, Susume reached for a drink order just recently placed on the counter next to him by a passing waitress. Scanning it over real quickly, he proceeded to make the drinks written on it, meanwhile indulging Aito on the answer to his lingering question.
“Kanojo no namae wa Mahina. Kanojo wa anata no nenrei ni tsuitedesu, namae ga anata no tame ni sore o hanarete ataete inai baai wa, Hawaii no neitibu. Kanojo wa koko de, seiki no bittodesunode, watashi wa kanojo ni nando ka hanasa rete iru. …Hmhmhm, kanari seijin, sono ichi.” (“Her name is Mahina. She’s about your age, native Hawaiian if the name didn’t give it away for you. She’s a bit of a regular here, so I’ve spoken to her a few times. …Hmhmhm, quite the saint, that one.”)
Seeing nothing about her that contradicted Susume’s latter point, Aito proceeded to scoff at his childish aspirations – as he saw them.
“Hmph, ima ore wa, ore wa chansu o motteinai shitte iru.” (“Hmph, now I know I have no chance.”)
“Soshite, sore wa seikakuna riyūdesu. Aito, anata wa anata ga kontorōru no ue ni motteinai to iu sokumen ni watatte jibun jishin o yabutte teishi suru made, anata wa shiawase o mitsukeru koto ga dekimasen, sore wa jijitsuda. …Watashi wa sore o shitatameru koto o manzoku shite inai ndakedo, Yatsumi no shi wa, osoraku nagai jikan de anata ni okoru tame ni saikō no monodatta. Anata no hōhō de hōchi nanimonai-ji ni mōichido anata no jinsei o ikite kidō suru ni wa, kono kikai o muda ni shinaide kudasai.” (“And that’s exactly why. Aito, until you stop beating yourself up over an aspect of your being you have no control over, you will not find happiness and that’s a fact. …I’m not happy to admit it, but Yatsumi’s death was probably the best thing to happen to you in a long time. Don’t waste this opportunity to start living your life again when there’s nothing left standing in your way.”)
He took in every word Susume just said, but regardless, Aito still didn’t have the nerve to walk over and talk to her. Having already finished his meal, he saw no further reason to stick around and got up from his seat. Reaching for his wallet as he walked over to the nearby cash register, he quickly stopped as Susume’s outstretched palm entered his gaze.
“I told you, they’re on the house, Aito.” he assured him, placing one of the drinks he was preparing on the nearby counter as he spoke. His generosity was met with a gentle smile from his young colleague.
“…Thanks, Susume.” he replied. Finishing his last drink and setting it on the counter, Susume wiped his hands on his apron as he saw Aito off.
“You should come around more often, you know. …I miss seein’ you boys down here every now and then.”
Still standing by the register, Aito looked back over at the Mahina’s table one last time as she stood up to leave with her friends, their waitress having already come by with their bill.
“…Yeah. …I think I’ll do that.”
To Be Continued…
(I dunno how accurate Google Translate is, so don’t blame me if you speak Japanese and think the dialogue’s a little offxd)
Previous Chapter:
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- Fresh Air -
The morning following Yatsumi Ryokudan’s assassination was one of absolute pandemonium, which even Aito could not sleep through for very long. Armed men ran left and right, inspectors dusted Yatsumi’s office for prints of any sort, and techies looked over the video footage of last night’s events, which was nonexistent between the hours of eight and nine – just as Mao had promised. No matter how hard they searched, though, not one trace of evidence was gathered that hinted at the assassin’s identity. Forced to place their investigation on ice for the time being, Yatsumi’s three chief subordinates gathered in their late boss’s office to discuss their next course of action. Among them was Roku Denashi, who proceeded to kick over a large vase sitting near the doorway once everyone else had left the room.
“UNBE-****ING-LEIVABLE!! How the hell did this happen!?” he screamed in frustration, enraged by the lack of evidence. His tirade was answered by a man nearly three years his senior – a tall, considerably handsome man with green eyes and pale skin. His silky black hair – which fell past his shoulders – matched the color of his suit, and a red lollipop dangled from between his lips, taking it out before he spoke.
“Does it really matter now, Denashi? We’re not getting anywhere with this investigation and that’s not likely to change.” he said, placing the lollipop back in his mouth once he had finished speaking.
“Hei’s right, Roku. The sons-of-*****es dusted the place down top to bottom. Whoever did this didn’t leave a damn thing for us to go off of.” the third member of the trio said. Several years older than his two counterparts, he had the surly complexion to match – both his age and his attitude. His rough life had caused early graying in his black hair, which was short and spiked up slightly on either side. Beneath his brown suit was a blue dress shirt and striped tie – yellow with red, specifically – and his black shoes matched the color of his cold, lifeless eyes. …With such a lack of appeal, it was almost hard to believe that this was the chief “negotiator” of the Ryokudan family, but make no mistake – his social skills were virtually unrivalled.
“Rrrrgh, …fine. …It’s just hard to believe how easy it was for the bastard to just walk in and pop the big guy while we had the place surrounded, eh, Sesshoku?” Roku replied, his fists stuffed into his pockets as he rested his back against the wall.
“Which is why I think we can be fairly certain that this was an inside job.” Hei said aloud, immediately garnering the undivided attention of his two colleagues.
“You’re shittin’ me.” Sesshoku answered in near-disbelief.
“Kaozu, who among us would have the balls to pull something like this? And now of all times?” Roku inquired, all the while deciphering in his head which of his subordinates would have a reason – and the audacity – to murder their leader. Hei fiddled with the lollipop in his mouth a few seconds longer before taking it out and explaining himself.
“The list is short, …but I think we can narrow it down a bit.”
Midday was nearly three hours away when Aito finally decided to emerge from his room – much earlier than his usual routine would allow. Knowing the leading cause of all the turmoil taking place in the halls already, he didn’t bother showing any false concerns as he wandered through them, though he did take it upon himself to stop the first person to pass him by.
“Hey, what the hell’s going on out here?” he asked as he grabbed the man’s shoulder, prompting him to turn around with a look of worry and aggravation on his face.
“Boss man’s dead! Shot point-blank in his office! What, you hadn’t realized it yet?” he replied with deep breaths between each statement, resuming his scurry through the halls after Aito released his shoulder. He feigned a look of remorse as multiple others hurried past him, though in truth, it wasn’t completely an act. He returned to his room and locked it behind him, proceeding to press against it and slide down to the floor. He remained there for several minutes with his head buried in his arms, trying desperately to recall all the things that had provoked him to commit the terrible act from the previous night. At the time, it didn’t seem as though his life had undergone much change since Yatsumi’s heart stopped beating, but just realizing how short a time ago that was was enough to return the color to his face. Yatsumi was a devilish man, and deep down, Aito knew that he wouldn’t be the only one to benefit from his demise. It was only a matter of time before things began looking up.
“Well, …it can only get better from this point on.”
…That’s what he thought at the time, at least.
Aito remerged from his room shortly afterwards – now dressed in his standard jeans and dark sweatshirt – and made his way towards the front door. He hadn’t gone outside in what seemed like an eternity, and the occasion seemed to him like the perfect time for a change of pace. …Before he could taste the fresh Hawaiian air again, though, he would be forced to smell the foul Japanese stench of the one man he hated more than his father.
“And where the **** do you think you’re goin’!?” Roku called out as he entered the foyer, evidently on his way to see the young man, anyways. His exclamation was met with one of Aito’s fingers, held high for all the surrounding lowlifes to see.
“**** you, small-timer. I haven’t eaten in two days, so I’m headin’ out into town to grab something. …I think my appetite’s finally comin’ back to me.” he said sarcastically, though at the same time, it wasn’t very far from the truth. Roku, however, wouldn’t have anything of it.
“Like hell you are. You honestly think we’re just gonna let a prime suspect such as yourself walk outta this house whenever he ****in’ pleases?”
He reached into his shirt as a means of intimidation, but before his hand could disappear from view, Aito’s had already reemerged with his gun. He took a few steps forward until its barrel was pressed against Roku’s forehead, while everyone around them stepped back as they reached for their own firearms. Aito took no heed to their actions, though, his mind focused solely on the prospect of splattering Roku’s all over the walls.
“If you ever tell me what I can or can’t do in this house again, …I’ll kill you.”
He stopped reaching for his gun and returned his hand to his side, but Roku’s blank expression left Aito with the impression that he believed he wouldn’t dare pull the trigger. …He didn’t realize that the hitman was doing everything in his power to keep an enormous flurry of sweat from running down his face.
“Yatsumi’s the only reason you’re still alive, Denashi. You know that that’s true. …So, with him now gone, what the **** makes you think I won’t hesitate to end your pathetic life?”
As promised, the impending sweat quickly began to pour down from Roku’s brow, turning his caramel skin beet-red as he stood there, frozen with fear. Feeling almost embarrassed for him, Aito quickly retracted his gun and returned it to his pants before turning around and heading outside.
“And for **** sake, quit reaching into your shirt like you’re from Chicago in the Nineteen-Thirties! We all know you keep your gun in your pants, you stupid prick!” he shouted one final piece of advice before closing the door behind him.
The walk into Honolulu lasted nearly thirty minutes, but Aito paid no heed to the time – he needed some by himself, anyways. Being in the middle of February – during one of the coldest winters in recent years, no less – even Hawaii’s temperatures made wearing a sweatshirt justifiable, though it didn’t prevent Aito from noticing that only a handful of the people out and about that day were doing so. Not allowing this to bother him, he wandered along the side of the highway for another half-mile before cutting off into the parking lot of a long chain of shops, among which was a small café called Saimin Shop. A feeling of nostalgia overcame him as he stopped in front of it, staring blankly at the neon sign resting overhead before heaving a long and depressing sigh.
“Man, this brings back memories. …Wonder if the old man’s still alive.” Aito said to himself before walking up to the glass door. Peering inside for a moment, he took notice of the small amount of customers the shop had that day – and the metal detectors that awaited those who ventured in. Knowing full well that his gun wouldn’t allow him such easy access under these conditions, he strolled over to the adjacent window and proceeded to gently tap the glass with his knuckle, hoping to garner the attention of the tall, elderly man standing behind the counter. He did, and after recognizing who the shady fellow standing outside was, the old man walked over to the opposite side of the counter and pressed the small, gray button resting underneath it. Waiting for his thumbs-up, Aito headed inside – the metal detectors no longer activated – and sat down at the closest bar stool.
“Been a long time since I saw you walk in this place, Aito.” the elderly man said as he walked over to greet the new customer.
“Hey, Susume. …How’s business?” Aito replied in a tone as detached as his expression. He was much too busy scanning the shop’s interior, allowing all his memories of it to seep in.
“Same as you left it.” Susume answered him, already in the process of grabbing a bottle of mystery-flavored Ramune from the small fridge located beneath the short end of the counter – a regular order of Aito’s, who upon receiving it, proceeded to push down on the soda’s distinct marble seal with his thumb. Watching him with content as he threw back the bottle and chugged down a third of it in one gulp, Susume threw his own head back in laughter as Aito set the bottle down again and began coughing into his arm, cursing just loud enough for only the two of them to hear.
“What flavor was it?” Susume asked amusedly.
“Curry, I think.” Aito answered in between coughs, trying to expel the awful taste from his mouth with brute force. Continuing to chuckle softly to himself, Susume returned to the small fridge beneath the counter, this time pulling out a bottle of the soda in its original flavor.
“Well, that was probably unpleasant. Here, wash it down with this.” he told Aito, who didn’t hesitate to comply. Gulping half of it on the spot, he slammed the bottle back down on the counter and gasped a breath of relief, returning to his coughing shortly afterwards.
“Word certainly travels fast.” Susume said, grabbing a nearby glass and rag and proceeding to wipe down the former with the latter, hoping it might add some atmosphere to the moment. Not finding it very amusing himself, Aito promptly stopped his coughing and addressed Susume’s new topic of discussion.
“And what word is that?” he asked, already certain of what the old man was referring to.
“I heard about what happened to your fa-”
His speech was quickly halted by Aito’s outstretched hand, the owner of which was scanning the slowly expanding crowd of people eating and conversing around them.
“De wanai eigo de.” (“Not in English.”)
His mildly desolate expression assuming a more methodical look, Susume set the glass and rag down and propped his hands up on the counter, leaning in slightly to further conceal their discussion from potential eavesdroppers.
“Daijōbu. …Dakara, soreha hontōdesuka?” (“All right. …So, is it true?”)
“Ore ga sunde iru to kokyū suru yō ni.” (“As I live and breathe.”)
“Sōdesu ka. …Anata wa nani o shitte imasu ka-” (“I see. …Do you know what-”)
“Īe.” (“No.”)
At that point, Aito was no longer making eye contact with him, resting his cheek against his hand as though he was bored out of his mind. Certain that the young man was trying to hide his true feelings, Susume softened his tone in an attempt to entice him to make them known.
“Tada nani ga okotta ka o mitsukeyou to.” (“Just trying to find out what happened.”)
Contrary to the old man’s intentions, his friendly tone only served to further aggravate Aito, who glared up at him with intense fury.
“Ore wa amari ki ni shi...soshite nazebekide wanaidarou ka?” (“I couldn’t give a **** less…and why should you?”)
“…Watashi wa nagaiai no bijinesu ni atta, Aito. …Watashi wa chōdo anata no sofu no kōkei-sha ni naniwoshita ka shiritai, sore ga subetedesu.” (“…I was in the business for a long time, Aito. …I’d just like to know what did your grandfather’s successor in, that’s all.”)
Quickly realizing that he was out of place asking that of him, Aito crossed his arms and propped them up on the counter, resting his head on top of them for a brief fit of despair. Hardly affected by the harshness of his words, Susume paid no heed to them and continued to stare down at the back of Aito’s head.
“Watashi wa anata ga seikaku ni kare no shi ni yotte rakutan shite inai sore o toru.” (“I take it you’re not exactly disheartened by his death.”)
“Dōzo, ore wa zutto itte iru…de wanai koto wa.” (“Please, I've never felt happier in my life, …not that that says much.”)
Aito said this with a heavy level of sarcasm as he corrected his sitting posture, but Susume could tell from his tone and dismal expression that something was weighing heavily on the young man’s conscience. The question was what it was exactly, and since the chances of him saying what it was were slim, the old man dropped the subject completely.
“So, are you gonna have anything while you’re here, or are you just gonna sit there and take up counter space?” he asked as he returned to work. Coming back to reality, Aito suddenly realized that he had been interfering with the old man’s duties and proceeded to apologize, in the meantime deciding to order something, since he was already in the restaurant.
“Sorry. …The wonton still to die for?”
“Wouldn’t recommend doing so, but yes.” Susume answered sarcastically, even managing to get a small chuckle out of Aito. It seemed like he was just beginning to liven up after all.
“Alright. Two bowls of that, then. I haven’t eaten in days.” he requested, rubbing his stomach to highlight the latter statement.
“I could tell. They’re on the house.” Susume said as he wrote the order down on a small sheet of paper and sat it on the counter next to the kitchen entrance.
“That’s not necessary, Susume.” Aito insisted, but the old man merely waved him off as he began fixing beverages previously ordered during their conversation.
“Ah, forget about it. …I’m assuming you came here to celebrate, right?”
Aito thought about it for a second as he sat there awaiting his meal. He found this question odd coming from someone like Susume, but the longer he dwelled on the topic of Yatsumi’s murder, the more those sensations which he felt as he carried it out reemerged…and the more he realized just how much he had wanted it all along. Although disgusted with himself for a brief moment, the joy that he always believed his father’s death would bring him gradually began to surface – and he formed the first genuine smile he had made in over two years.
“Yeah, …I did, actually.”
The first bowl of wonton soup arrived within the next ten minutes – Aito never got tired of the restaurant’s quick service – and he quickly went to town on it, slurping the noodles and chugging down the broth in less than half the time it took to prepare it. As he patiently awaited the arrival of his second bowl, he took a moment to look around the restaurant a second time – his vision having been clouded by guilt until now. He had to admit, it had been well over a year since he was surrounded by this many people who weren’t carrying concealed firearms – and he also had to admit that it was a nice change-of-pace. As his eyes edged closer to the front entrance, he was forced to stop as something caught his eye – a young woman sitting at a small table with two others, friends of hers apparently. Her sun-kissed skin matched perfectly with her long, lustrous, black hair and bright-blue eyes – both equivalents in color, but stark contrasts in clarity to his own features. Her scarlet mesh shirt which revealed her shoulders matched the color of her sandal straps, while her long, red skirt was just a shade darker. Her wrists were decorated with bracelets of varying colors – one was also on her ankle – and to top it all off, she had the appearance to match her exquisite features. Her beauty was such that Aito couldn’t help but stare a minute longer before finally turning to his elderly acquaintance.
“Susume.”
“Hm?” the old man replied, having just set two drinks on the counter for one of the waitresses to come by and collect.
“Kanojo wa?” (“Who is she?”)
Susume followed the path of Aito’s gaze to the young woman, who seemed to be giggling softly at a joke one of her friends told just now. Catching on almost instantly, the old man was forced to suppress what was sure to be a particularly loud chuckle.
“Naze kanojo ni jimon shite ikimasen ka?” (“Why not go ask her yourself?”)
Aito made no response to Susume’s supposed mockery and looked back at the young woman, his expression slowly becoming more dismal with each passing second.
“…Ka no yō ni, kanojo wa imamade ore o okonau ni wa nani o shitaidarou.” (“…As if she would ever want anything to do with me.”)
“Tsuneni anata no mondaideatta koto o sanshō shite kudasai.” (“See, that was always your problem.”)
Taking offense to this claim, Aito turned back to confront him with a mildly scornful look on his face.
“Seikō wa, ore wa mondai o kakaete ita to nobeta hito?” (“Who the **** said I had a problem?”)
“Watashideshita. …Anata ga jōnetsu, Aito to anata no kazoku no kizuna o kirai, mada anata ga soto setsuzoku o okonau kikai o mitsukeru tabi ni, anata wa tsuneni kodokuna seikatsu o okuru tame no kōjitsu to shite sorera o shiyō shite imasu.” (“I did. …You hate your family ties with a passion, Aito, yet every time you find an opportunity to make an outside connection, you always use them as an excuse to lead a solitary life.”)
Seeing no point in arguing against this irrefutable truth, Aito lowered his head once again, prompting Susume to take a more friendly jab at him.
“Soretomo on'nanoko no mawari hazukashi hon'nosukoshida, sore tsumari?” (“Or maybe you’re just a tad shy around the girls, is that it?”)
His teasing was met with one of Aito’s fingers, kept out of sight so as to not draw attention to their conversation. Laughing softly to himself, Susume reached for a drink order just recently placed on the counter next to him by a passing waitress. Scanning it over real quickly, he proceeded to make the drinks written on it, meanwhile indulging Aito on the answer to his lingering question.
“Kanojo no namae wa Mahina. Kanojo wa anata no nenrei ni tsuitedesu, namae ga anata no tame ni sore o hanarete ataete inai baai wa, Hawaii no neitibu. Kanojo wa koko de, seiki no bittodesunode, watashi wa kanojo ni nando ka hanasa rete iru. …Hmhmhm, kanari seijin, sono ichi.” (“Her name is Mahina. She’s about your age, native Hawaiian if the name didn’t give it away for you. She’s a bit of a regular here, so I’ve spoken to her a few times. …Hmhmhm, quite the saint, that one.”)
Seeing nothing about her that contradicted Susume’s latter point, Aito proceeded to scoff at his childish aspirations – as he saw them.
“Hmph, ima ore wa, ore wa chansu o motteinai shitte iru.” (“Hmph, now I know I have no chance.”)
“Soshite, sore wa seikakuna riyūdesu. Aito, anata wa anata ga kontorōru no ue ni motteinai to iu sokumen ni watatte jibun jishin o yabutte teishi suru made, anata wa shiawase o mitsukeru koto ga dekimasen, sore wa jijitsuda. …Watashi wa sore o shitatameru koto o manzoku shite inai ndakedo, Yatsumi no shi wa, osoraku nagai jikan de anata ni okoru tame ni saikō no monodatta. Anata no hōhō de hōchi nanimonai-ji ni mōichido anata no jinsei o ikite kidō suru ni wa, kono kikai o muda ni shinaide kudasai.” (“And that’s exactly why. Aito, until you stop beating yourself up over an aspect of your being you have no control over, you will not find happiness and that’s a fact. …I’m not happy to admit it, but Yatsumi’s death was probably the best thing to happen to you in a long time. Don’t waste this opportunity to start living your life again when there’s nothing left standing in your way.”)
He took in every word Susume just said, but regardless, Aito still didn’t have the nerve to walk over and talk to her. Having already finished his meal, he saw no further reason to stick around and got up from his seat. Reaching for his wallet as he walked over to the nearby cash register, he quickly stopped as Susume’s outstretched palm entered his gaze.
“I told you, they’re on the house, Aito.” he assured him, placing one of the drinks he was preparing on the nearby counter as he spoke. His generosity was met with a gentle smile from his young colleague.
“…Thanks, Susume.” he replied. Finishing his last drink and setting it on the counter, Susume wiped his hands on his apron as he saw Aito off.
“You should come around more often, you know. …I miss seein’ you boys down here every now and then.”
Still standing by the register, Aito looked back over at the Mahina’s table one last time as she stood up to leave with her friends, their waitress having already come by with their bill.
“…Yeah. …I think I’ll do that.”
To Be Continued…
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Hope things work out for him though. Good, very good chap bro! I like Susume. He's a nice man.
