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“Are you interested in a job, miss?”
One of Shinjuku’s endless rotting insects reached toward Akechi. In most situations, a pleasant smile from Tokyo’s relevant celebrity, the Detective Prince, would be required as dismissal. In this scenario, however;
“Did I look interested?”
The words cut with no smile on her face. If she were not wearing sunglasses, the fleshbag of walking garbage would see the bored contempt of her gaze. Said human refuse paused in slight shock and Akechi went on. Individuals like that were a dime a dozen, but they would be unlikely to chase a potential mark down when dozens of easier targets milled the streets. Akechi’s boots clicked along the asphalt. The Detective Prince would never be approached in such a way. But of course that was the case, when said Detective Prince would never walk through Shinjuku on a Friday after dark. A stray hair made its way into her face, quickly swept back behind her ear, and closer to the carefully crafted makeshift ponytail it had been pulled into. Her fingers glanced past clip-on earrings, tasteful and subtle, something that adjusted the shape of her face to be wider rather than narrow. She wasn’t one of the dolled-up okama or drag queens that ran bars or talked on the streets. Goro Akechi had a good reason to dress in such a way. She was a detective in any guise, regardless of whether she wore that stupid celebrity mask. This was not about identity or personal expression, as she had no need for such soft-brained and pointless ideals. This was about her job, her work, her fucking goals. It just so happened that she enjoyed reveling in her own talent.
And of course, it was enjoyable to antagonize the disgusting men who littered the district. Carry a taser and the courage cowards had would cut to zero. Akechi could bring a gun. The hands of men meant little against a bullet. But only one person was going to die by her hand in the supposed ‘real’ world.
No other person’s blood was worth that effort.
Private investigations brought her to Shinjuku semi-regularly. Plenty of Shido’s targets had their own seedy business within the district. The hotels, the bars, the hosts – thus, Akechi had guises to manage them all. Today, it was a matter of investigating a journalist. The bastard was getting agitated about a woman who seemed to be fixating on his history. Her editor was meant to keep her in check, but apparently the message had failed to get through. The usual menu was up for grabs, but considering the woman’s existing investigations on Shido, it was ill-advised to drive her to a psychotic breakdown. Too many of those and you would get rats ambling for flesh. While there was a catharsis in gutting shadows, Akechi took personal satisfaction in her own skill for emotionally destroying people. The Prince was a mockery of a detective. She, however, was not.
The journalist didn’t have a palace. That was always the first check. If they passed that low bar, then the target wasn’t complete scum and she could take time to enjoy the hunt.
Ichiko Ohya. Her old partner-in-crime had disappeared in the midst of an investigation. Said partner, of course, had won the lovely prize of life-time institutionalization. Presumably, Ohya was trying (and failing) to find her with obsessive dedication. Ohya didn’t have the tools or skills Akechi had. Yet Akechi did admit the matter had an air of tragic romanticism to it. Shido, by comparison, doubtlessly saw both women as pathetic dykes who couldn’t get a man to fuck them. She huffed.
Of course.
Of all places, the woman frequented Crossroads. Ohya wasn’t a coward and Akechi could appreciate that, stupid as she knew it was to fight back. Ohya had a woman she loved and fought to find. She had principles, goals, standards. If any rumors about Ohya were true, Akechi would gladly use them for her own goals, yet the little things she had heard here and there seemed facetious at best. Adults were rotten, worthless existences. They were something Akechi had already planned to never become, but at least some of them had –
“Come ooooon,” was the first thing Akechi heard upon entering. A woman flopped her arms around the sixteen year old sitting in the booth beside her. “You could at least kiss me a little bit.”
[The teenager] said something inaudible, but visibly, clearly, leaned close to kiss Ichiko Ohya at the line of her jaw, just below her ear. Ohya’s face flushed as she was pulled onto [the teenager]’s lap.
“Morals,” Akechi murmured. “Of course.”
“What was that, honey?”
The proprietress appeared behind the bar, giving a hearty smile.
Akechi didn’t smile back. Sitting down, she said, “I’d like a drink.”
She looked Akechi up and down. Lala was her performance name, according to her intel. “Have an ID, sweetheart?”
“Not on me today.” At least the owner wasn’t an idiot. “You have virgin drinks, correct?”
Lala gave her a grin. Not unlikable, Akechi figured. But –
“Noooo, not there , I meant here.” Ohya’s voice cut her thoughts short.
After an autopilot conversation, Akechi was served a grenadine and seltzer. Sugar syrup, probably a hint of lime, and fresh pomegranate – more expensive than most drinks on the menu even without liquor. Akechi recognized each ingredient even as she failed to taste it. Ice did nothing to cool the heat rising in her throat. Seltzer did not quench her dry mouth, clamped tight.
So she did what she does best. “Ma’am,” said Akechi. “You seem very slow tonight.”
“Sundays tend to be our bigtime hours, honey. If you were interested in meeting anyone, I’d say come by then.”
“So not Friday nights?”
[The teenager] and Ohya were several feet away, Ohya mumbling something. Lala brought a glass around and to their table, saying something about cutting you off for evening. Funny. Hilarious. Fucking fantastic goddamn joke.
When Lala was back to her spot, she answered, “Dead as a doornail.” The elegant paint of her lips quirked into a sardonic smile. “Just the usual, her kid, and me.”
“Her kid?” Akechi made a show of glancing towards [the teenager] and Ohya. “Do parents always treat their children like that?”
Lala waved an exhausted hand. “Best I’ve tried to manage her with. Don’t know what they get up to when they’re not here, but at least she holds back a bit when I’m around.”
“Oh,” Akechi said. There was something meant to be a smile in the back of her head. The false smile of the Prince was her response when annoyed by the stupidity of the world around her. Trained so carefully to never show real spite, she almost forgot.
She was currently not the Detective Prince.
“Oh,” she said, now curt and accusatory. “So, no issues with a child walking into your club to fuck a woman old enough to be their mother?”
Lala raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Fantastic,” she grunted. “You know, I almost thought it was nice you actually asked for my ID. But apparently you’re all lip service.” Akechi flashed a toothy grin. “Don’t tell me that brat works here on top of everything else.”
The proprietress sighed. “Honey. You shouldn’t be in this part of town. Neither should they.” She looked away. There was shame on her face, but that only increased the manic scream of laughter in Akechi’s mind. “It’s not your business.”
“I shouldn’t?” A hint of feminine hysteria was in her voice now and she giggled. “I know this hellish city better than the godforsaken bastards who built it.” She stood, slapping her palm down on the counter. “And that self-destructive child over there is my fucking business.”
At that, Akechi spun around toward [the teenager] and the filth curled up in their lap. The light jacket Akechi wore swirled out around her waist, cream colored tights over an elegant black skirt, boots just below her knees. There was no denying her vicious excitement.
“You’re cheating on me with a harlot like that, Akira?” Akechi slammed her hand into her hip. The sunglasses came off, thrown at their face. “I come here for a pleasant evening and find you cozying up to…” She didn’t go on. The disparaging wave of her hand said enough.
For all her words, the world slowed as Akira Kurusu’s gaze met hers. Arteries strangled her inside out. Did they recognize her? Did they know? When had they realized? Now? From the moment she walked in? Were they embarrassed? Mortified?
She hoped they were furious with her.
That thought kept scorned-lover contempt on her face. The journalist was a non-entity at this point. Not only was she effectively turning her back on her own adult lover; she was pathetic enough to get handsy with the first needy teenager that turned her way. Akechi scoffed.
The woman looked to Kurusu, drunken haze dimming what intelligence remained in her dull eyes. All Akechi could see was puppy dog sadness.
“Oh?” Akechi tilted her head. “Or maybe they’ve been cheating on you with me? I’m not sure which makes you look worse, auntie.” Glasses of drained beer littered the table. She pushed her hands between them, fingers stretched, seeking, stopping. “Some teenager picks up an older woman and then she isn’t even enough to satiate them? Good god, you’re pathetic.”
No response showed on Kurusu’s face. What they did – Kurusu picked up Akechi’s sunglasses to spin by the temple tips. Waiting for her next move. They’d taken theirs, or perhaps they conceded their own turn, or maybe her turn was not yet over. Her eyes vibrated as though there had been gin in that drink.
The stalemate was broken by Ohya’s sudden gasp.
“You have a girlfriend, Akira?!” She gave them a smack on the shoulder and laughed. “You’re such a player! I should have figured.”
“This isn’t a joke, woman.” Akechi leaned closer, glaring. “If this gets out, you lose everything.”
Ohya went on giggling, sliding out of Kurusu's lap, around the table, to her feet – she didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, maybe just couldn’t stop. She was a drunken adult without a hint of shame for what she did to anyone else, no different from –
“Ichiko.”
Kurusu stood.
“You should stay here and sober up. Lala, I’ll head out.” They gave a slight bow before wrapping their arm around Akechi’s shoulder. She maintained an annoyed glare at Ohya. Letting her focus shift could lead her to inadvertently snap off Kurusu’s arm and turn all her hard work to nothing. “Let’s go,” and they looked at Akechi as they said, “Honey.”
I’ll rip off your nails, I’ll tear your teeth out with my hands, I’ll cut off your ears, I’ll fill your skull with lead, I’ll bite out that silver tongue –
“Lead on,” she answered. “Dear.”
Ohya flopped onto the booth sideways, legs hanging off the side, half-conscious. Kurusu angled Akechi down the room and out the door, giving the proprietress one last wave. On the street again, Akechi felt naked. She pulled a surgical mask from her bag and hooked it around her ears. Walking the streets around strangers without a smile was fine. Walking the streets with her nemesis was different – Kurusu was a menace, a nightmare, someone who noticed too much. She couldn’t show the Detective Prince in Shinjuku, but she couldn’t allow them the space to draw conclusions about her either. This stood as the most reasonable compromise. Her outburst could easily be framed as a ‘necessity’ for the situation. Nothing else. Nothing more.
“You’ve got a good look today.” Annoying as ever. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“My work demands flexibility and travel,” she answered, closing her eyes in the classic smile. She couldn’t let her guard down. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I’d hate for my methods to be compromised out of a simple misunderstanding.”
Kurusu pressed a finger to their lips. A trap, clearly. They wanted to force her to look at the gloss there, the soft curve, the slight part. Grotesque. Akechi withheld a shudder.
“With that said. Why were you being so intimate with a considerably older woman?” The two began walking at the exact same time. Regardless of her best attempts, any change in rhythm was met with precision, perfectly matched, to drive her mad.
Kurusu took their time to answer. “She was having a rough day.”
“A rough day,” Akechi repeated.
“Yep.” They spoke as though that was all they needed to say.
“You realize that ruins people’s lives,” said Akechi. “You’re underage. As a detective, it’s relevant to my work to ensure the safety of my peers.”
Kurusu flashed a smirk. “Turning her in?”
“I believe in justice, Kurusu-kun. I don’t want people like that roaming the streets and targeting teenagers.” Lip service. She barely cared. But Kurusu was supposed to be different. Untouchable. Like herself.
“It’s a good thing I’m the only one, then,” they answered.
“And you know that for a fact?”
The two stopped at the same time. Infuriating. Kurusu leaned against a wall, away from the main street. Akechi leaned against the opposite. “I’m a special case.”
Of fucking course you are. She withheld a twitch. “Now, now. You are very likable, but you do yourself a disservice, Kurusu-kun.”
“I’m sure.”
I hate your confidence. I hate how sure you are. I hate your self-sacrificial nature. It won’t save you. It’s going to kill you. It’s better that I kill you and let you be a godforsaken martyr to those fucking sycophants than allow you to live being drained by their parasitic natures.
She smiled. “Then if I were to investigate her, I’d find no one else? You’re an exception the courts would never consider?”
Akechi realized her mistake as the words left her mouth. Kurusu said, “Yep,” and gestured at themself. “Delinquent. They’d never take it seriously.” The crinkle of their eyes betrayed their hidden bravado.
The day you die will be the greatest until the day I ruin Shido. I’ll savor the light leaving your eyes, Kurusu. I’ll imprint the image into my mind so I can remember I took everything from you till the day I die.
Never mind how soon that would be.
“Once again, a true miscarriage of justice. I apologize, Kurusu-kun. I failed to consider your unique circumstances.” She closed her eyes and did not smile.
“S’all right.” Their casual response made the flame of indignation burn brighter between her ribs. “Ichiko’s nice. She’s just got problems.”
“Well. Regardless, I cannot help but recommend that you end that particular affair.”
Kurusu’s eyes narrowed. “Affair. Right.” A hum vibrated in the hollow of their throat. “That was an interesting way of interfering. I didn’t realize you were such a good actor.”
“Well, as I said previously. Sometimes my work demands adopting certain personas.” She watched in vain for a flicker of acknowledgement in their eyes. “And when I realized you were in the midst of intimacy with an older woman, I couldn’t help but interfere. Ideally, she’ll keep in mind that you are a teenager in the future.”
“A teenager dating you, apparently.”
Akechi laughed. “She saw an angry girl confronting her. You and I are both aware that is very much not who I am. I played the role of scorned lover to force the woman to back down. I know people of her sort dislike being told they’re committing criminal acts.”
“Yeah,” they said. Kurusu smiled. “Well, I still mean what I said. You’re good at the jealous lover bit.”
I was not jealous. I was annoyed that you would debase yourself to the point of eyefucking a 30-something year old woman.
“I’ve witnessed several unpleasant divorce and infidelity cases in my line of work. I know the lingo, as it were. Though I’m pleased to receive such a compliment from you, Kurusu-kun.”
“Of course,” they answered.
She couldn’t ask if there were any other women. It was clear they weren’t dating their peers. But if they were going out with one older woman, it was a reasonable conjecture that there would be more. Akechi recalled seeing one of those gimmick sex maids in Yongen-Jaya once.
“I must apologize for intruding upon your space. I assume it was a shock.”
Kurusu stepped closer and she backed up on reflex. Further up the wall. In heels, she was another four centimeters taller than them. It was to no avail against their confident swagger. They reached into their pocket. Akechi braced herself and –
“I wasn’t kidding earlier.” Her sunglasses held between their fingers – “I like this look.” Gently, they slid the arms back over the helix of her ear. It hurt like little else. It was hard not to flinch as the pads of their fingers pushed through her hair. Only when her hair fell down around her face did she realize they had pulled out her hair tie.
“Kurusu-kun, I realize you enjoy your pranks, but –”
“Turn around.”
Eyes closed, gritting her teeth behind the mask, she conceded. If nothing else, Akechi had to admit; Kurusu was quick with their hands. Her hair was pulled into a much nicer hold than before, feeling them twirling it around their finger to give the ponytail a slight curl.
“This is the second time you’ve played with my hair,” said Akechi. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you enjoyed it.”
When she turned around, all she could see was the glint of light off their glasses, barely hiding the way by which their dark eyes were wide with some emotion she refused to name.
“I thought I’d make up for last time,” they answered.
“Thank you,” she replied.
They continued standing, staring. Slowly, Akechi felt something like victory. Deft fingers and the mask was gone from her face as she flashed them a brilliant smile.
“I’ll see you around, Kurusu-kun.”
They nodded but made no move to leave. Akechi gave one more soft laugh and made her way out of Shinjuku. She’d remember that dumbfounded look on their face. For now, she would imagine that rather than the image of their death behind her eyes.