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Black and red splatter across the table, painting the dark wood an earthy maroon. Gargling, choked noises fade into the stunned silence around them. No one knows what to do, frozen as if Jadis herself had turned everyone to statues.
Shock.
Realization.
Terror.
Screaming echoes throughout the room as clambering footsteps fill the area around him.
“Someone call an ambulance!”
“Is anyone here a doctor?!”
Shouts for medical services overlap as men usher women out of the room. No one pays him any mind. Staff members rush to block the cameras broadcasting the entire incident to the world.
"Cut the cameras! Cut them now!”
Still, he stands there and stares, watching the ramifications of his choices pan out for all to see. Staring as the panic around him fades into white noise in the background. Staring as the man's pained gasps consume him until they slowly grow quieter and quieter. Staring as the man’s chest grows uneasily still. Staring as his already gray eyes cloud even more, the fogginess ushering the light away, leaving them cold and empty.
Even as the EMT arrives, even as women and men alike begin to cry, even as cloudy eyes are slid closed and the sheet drapes across his face, still he stands there staring, face unchanging.
Metal screeching across the ground—a chair pulled backward—draws Yusuke from his wandering thoughts.
“You know, when you asked me to meet you for lunch, I was under the impression you were referring to actual food and not just coffee.”
Yusuke looks up to see a brown-haired boy sitting across from him at the table. A pleasant look on his face though there is clearly a hint of judgment hovering in his eyes despite the wide, almost plastic-like smile. Yusuke’s eyes linger on the half-empty cup.
“Ah well, I forgot my wallet, unfortunately, and did not realize it until I arrived. The cafe owner was kind enough to grace me with a cup free of charge,” Yusuke explains.
“Just order something. I’ll cover for you today. I don’t need you passing out at a crime scene.” Goro sighs, shaking his head as he pulls out his wallet. “But do not get used to this. My wallet can’t handle supporting two people.”
Surprise flutters through Yusuke before the grumbling of his stomach catches his attention. “That would be most kind. You see, I actually didn’t eat dinner last night since I spent most of my last paycheck on art supplies. A new watercolor set came out, and I simply had to have it when one of the colors caught my eye and—”
“I understand, but you need to focus on your health more. Sae-san and I will be forced to pick up your slack otherwise.” While the words seem kind enough, the suggestion feels more like a threat.
Goro fidgets with his gloves as he watches passing customers, a look reserved for when Sae-san questioned things perhaps a little too personal for the other boy’s liking crossing his face.
“If you are feeling uneasy about making me wait, then I assure you it was no problem at all,” Yusuke tells the other boy. “You were only about 15 minutes past our original designated meeting time. I assure you, I have no intention of making this a quarrel.”
Deflating, Goro sighs as his gaze returns to Yusuke before rolling his eyes. “I had another interview regarding the mass psychotic breakdown phenomenon, and the interviewer had the audacity to sideline the conversation into my love life instead of focusing on the cases.” An explanation for his tardiness, perhaps?
“Do you and prosecutor Niijima still believe the sudden mental shutdown cases are connected?” Setting his pencil down on the table before reaching over to wrap his hand around his cold-to-the-touch coffee, Yusuke eyes the boy before him.
“It’s hard not to believe that. Though I know many have been crediting stress and an unsteady political climate to the reasoning each individual appears to be acting out, I do genuinely believe there is some underlying connection between each of the victims.” Goro frowns as he clenches his fist slightly. “If I could just find it…”
Yusuke hums as he observes the boy, noticing the small cracks in the perfect princely persona that the boy likes to present to the outside world. While Goro Akechi was a model student, an effective coworker, and a well-revered idol, it was also clear to Yusuke that there was something else to him. A piece of who the boy was kept under lock and key, carefully hidden away from the public eye but still existing, just below the surface. Small specks of it leaked out when he grew frustrated with a case or witnessed something he deemed an injustice.
“The world is filled with beauty and vice, don’t you agree Goro-san?” His own voice coming out inquisitive, though both boys know by now it was hardly a question.
“I told you to stop calling me that, Kitagawa.” Frustration leaked into the other boy’s voice momentarily, but it was quickly covered with a blinding, over-the-top smile, like a patch upon a leak. “After all, while we are colleagues, we still hardly know one another.” Ah, there it was again, that small spark of something , barely hidden away behind that plastic smile.
What the other boy could be hiding, he wasn’t sure, though he was sure it could be nothing like his own secrets. Being the individual behind the psychotic breaks and mental shutdowns, having more blood on his hands than he ever had paint, Yusuke’s past became a kaleidoscope of pain and heartbreak. A blossoming threat that lingered just on the edge of society, waiting patiently until the next order was given before washing over the canvas of someone’s life like a bucket of overturned paint.
Yusuke can feel Jadis growing restless in his heart at the thought of their nightly excursions into that restless pit of oozing darkness and of the countless faces that have burned themselves into his mind, only inches away from his own face in their final moments, pleading for forgiveness or mercy; watching as a person once so beautiful, so full of life, collapses and rots from within.
As their food arrives, Yusuke picks at it slowly as his free hand returns to his pencil once more. Intricate lines and shapes make their way onto his page as he recalls the scene.
Lights shining down upon the body, illuminating it for everyone to see. Microphones knocked haphazardly to the side as his body lost all strength. Splatters of black ooze lingering on people’s shoes from where they stepped in—
“Must you do that while we are eating?” Goro’s voice pulls Yusuke’s eyes from the sketchpad resting in his lap. Pencil freezing mid-stroke, Goro’s words settle heavily on his chest. Yusuke hesitates before his eyes slide back down to his sketchpad. A myriad of colors depicted the scene branded in his mind alongside the echoes of his previous contracts.
Nearly pearly white hair splayed around a pale face, ponytail holder long forgotten throughout the chaos. Silver eyes now eclipsed by the same black sludge that slowly leaks from the corners, mimicking silent tear marks, as if to signify the man showed some form of remorse for what he had done. Despite that, all Yusuke can see is the Shogun makeup bleeding from his face to the ground below. If he blinks too hard, yellow eyes stare him down tauntingly.
“That’s the crime scene for Ichiryusai Madarame?” Confusion and curiosity painted Goro’s words as he leaned over the table a bit to see the sketchpad at a better angle. “My apologies, but I was under the impression that you being a part of the case would make it a conflict of interests. You were his apprentice and ward before you joined the police force as a forensic artist, were you not?” Goro asks him though it's clear by his tone that Yusuke isn’t really meant to answer it.
He does anyway.
“I had no family when Madarame took me in and raised me into what you see now. The life I live now I owe entirely to him.”
Goro leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as he looks the other boy over, seeming to toss his words around in his mind. A hand rising to his chin as if contemplating a puzzle that even the greatest minds of the world couldn’t solve. Eventually, however, the look fades, and Goro returns to his food. If the boy had any intention of asking Yusuke about his past at the moment it seemed that it had passed.
“Ah, I do apologize. That was somewhat insensitive of me. I’m sure his passing came as a surprise to you more than anyone else.”
Yusuke’s hand clenches around his pencil beneath the table.
“My mother was just another piece of art that you disposed of when you tired of it, wasn’t she? The same way you shuffled me off the moment you could make more money.”
A sharp grin grew on Madarame’s face. “Both of you were far more valuable than I ever could have imagined. Your mother was already frail and weak. She just happened to have a seizure in front of me, and at that moment, I knew if I didn’t call for help, all of her art would be mine. The same way all of your art has been mine this entire time, Yusuke.”
Something inside him roars for this man's head, but he keeps his face passive as he asks, “If my art was so valuable to you, then why did you sell me to Shido?”
Laughter bubbles up from the man bathed in gaudy gold. “Sold is such a strong word, Yusuke. I simply handed you off to your next sensei .” The word comes out tauntingly as if he held no respect for what the word meant to Yusuke all these years.
Shaking his head as the shadow guards approach, Madarame continues. “In all honesty, you should be thanking that man for approaching me when he did. After all, your creativity hit a slump, and your usefulness to me had run dry. Being offered such a large amount of money for someone such as yourself, well, I couldn’t let an opportunity such as that slip away.”
Yusuke hardly listens as something else blooms alongside his anger—something that flowers and bubbles inside until he cuts Madarame off with his own laughter.
Oh, this was so amusing, truly! How poetic it would be to watch the light fade from this man's eyes, just like all those before him. The same way Madarame had stood over his own mother as she convulsed on the floor, desperate for help.
“I must thank you, Madarame.” Stepping forward, Yusuke slips his mask away. Jadis looms from behind, bloodlust oozing off of her waves. “ Knowing this, every reason for me to desire to keep you around has disappeared without a trace at this very moment.”
“Come! Jadis! Let us show him a breathtaking sight!”
“His death was not something I was prepared for.” Truth leaks into his words. Even if he had been the one there in his final moments, Yusuke found it hard to face the reality that the man he once revered was gone. Though the blood that now stained his hands forever remained, a piece of Madarame haunting him until his final breath.
“Life is never fair, I’m sure you’re aware of that. And death is never a fair trade for the life you build after. It rarely comes when expected and never leaves one without bruises,” Goro mumbles as he stares off towards the people walking nearby. “I only hope you can make peace with his death someday.”
Yusuke stares at the other boy in surprise.
“I appreciate the sentiment.”
Goro hums as he idly pokes at his food, pressing a ball of rice across his plate. Though their conversation ended, Yusuke’s mind remains trapped in those moments, memories bouncing around in his head as he recalls his final words to Madarame.
Stumbling backward until he trips, golden slides and yellow socks meet the air as the man’s ass collides with the ground. Fear— no, terror —stains Madarame’s face as he scrambles back as much as his constrictive clothes allow. As he desperately builds distance between them, Yusuke closes it with every step, staring down at the man who took everything from him over the years.
“No one cares for true art… All they want are easily recognizable brands! I’m a victim in this, too! Wouldn’t you agree?” Blubbering about his own victimhood when he left a woman to perish, had stolen Yusuke’s childhood, much like his artwork, alongside countless others.
Yusuke’s hand brushes his Katana’s pommel mindlessly. An icy cold anger fills his chest, his mind, his entire being.
“You regret nothing, even now?” Yusuke’s voice comes to him as Madarame's back slams into the wall behind him.
Trapped.
“The children who adored you as father, the prospects of your pupils. How many did you trample on? How many dreams did you exchange for riches!?”
“Being a poor artist is truly miserable, Yusuke! You must understand! Returning to that life, I simply couldn’t. All the things I did were in the name of art—”
Yusuke’s hand shoots from his katana to the front of Madarame’s shirt, yanking him harshly toward him until they are inches apart. Reaching up and pulling his black kitsune mask away, Yusuke stares into the man’s eyes.
“A fiend like you who only wears the skin of an artist to satiate his own greed has no right to speak of the world of art! You believe you know me because you raised me as your own, but you know nothing of who I am!”
The sound of metal slamming into the wall echoes throughout the room as Yusuke’s katana imbeds itself into the wall inches from the sniveling man, pleas for his safety and wellbeing falling upon deaf ears. Despite calling himself god-like moments before, Madarame places his trembling hands together in prayer to Yusuke. Looking up at the boy as he sobs, begging and praying for Yusuke to pardon him.
“No, please! Just… don’t kill me!”
Yusuke was not that benevolent, not anymore .
Tossing the man back against the wall, a moment of relief passes across Madarame’s face before the wet splat of something dropping to the ground fills both of their ears. Madarame’s relief morphs from shock, then panic, before finally realization and pain.
Upon the ground, still in the same prayer formation, were Madarame’s hands.
“Be gracious that I am being merciful enough not to cut out that lying tongue of yours as well.” Flicking away the black sludge from his Katana, Yusuke steps forward, kicking the hands out of his way as he approaches.
“Take this knowledge to your grave, Madarame.” The hilt of the sword feels heavier in his hand than it has in months. Hesitation during these moments was unfamiliar. As he stares down the quivering man, for a moment he sees a flash of the man who raised him. “Though the flowers of evil blossom, be it known. All abominations are fated to perish!”
Plunging the sword forward felt equally as captivating as it did liberating. The give of flesh under the metal felt just the same as always. The gurgling as the shadow tries to breathe even as Yusuke presses the sword deeper into the jugular, sounds no different than any other time before this. The sharp twist of the hilt before yanking his sword back is a practiced move he’d used time and again.
Where there is familiarity, there is something new. “A fine spectacle your life was,” Yusuke mutters as he slides his sword back into the safety of its sheath. “Taking something so dingy and using the polish of others to make it shine as brightly as you did. But now, the world will see you for what you hid underneath the surface—for what a cowardly man you truly were. Live your last moments regretting the decisions that brought you here.”
Taking one last look at the man in golden robes, an arm ending in oozing black slime reaching out to him while the other stump tried to grab at his throat with fingers that were no longer attached, Yusuke takes a deep breath before turning and walking away.
Once more it is the sound of a chair scraping the ground that draws him from his memories.
“We should get going. Sae-san will grow angry with both of us if we’re late and I have no intention of covering for you this time if you get distracted wanting to paint a flower again. You’re already on her bad side for rearranging her desk while she was in a meeting.”
“Some of Prosecutor Niijima’s paperwork had been blown off her desk by the fan nearby,” Yusuke points out. “I simply picked them up—”
“And then completely rearranged her desk afterward.” Goro laughs a bit as he stands.
“I simply moved a few things around to make her desk appear far more pleasing to the eye.”
Shaking his head, Goro doesn’t bother hiding his amusement as he picks his briefcase up from where it had been resting beside his chair. “Whatever you say. We really should be going. Getting an earful from Sae-san is hardly pleasant. I will meet you at the front once the bill is paid, then we can head to the office.” With that, he turns to head inside.
Staring down at the scene in his notepad; the final moments of Ichiryusai Madarame. A hand gently runs over the page as he remembers his resolve to cleanse the art world of such greed and devastation all the way up to the very top. Starting with Madarame and ending with the man that all the money flowed to: Masayoshi Shido.
Yusuke takes one last deep breath before closing the book. “Goodbye, sensei.”