Chapter Text
Life in the Armed Detective Agency's infirmary turned out to be more eventful than Hayashi had imagined, largely thanks to the owner of the place, with whom he was stuck within the same walls.
Several times he had heard Yosano at work using her ability on her colleagues to the accompaniment of their screams and sobs, as well as the growl of a chainsaw or the whistle of a cleaver cutting through the air. The choice of instrument depended on her mood, although Hayashi had noticed that she preferred the latter most of the time. All this was accompanied by her excited laughter, reminiscent of Death's glee in pursuit of another sinner.
The victims came out of the operating room on shaky legs, with eyes that had seen true horror but showered with gratitude and always completely healthy if you don't count the temporary tremors from the shock they had experienced. Yosano offered another treatment in response, but no one agreed, hastily running away from her. Then, disappointed by the refusal, she would catch the eye of Hayashi, her only regular patient, inquire about his well-being try to engage him in conversation, not even noticing the unwashed drops of someone else's blood that stuck to her neck like a fancy ruby necklace.
Yusuke didn't fall for the image of a caring doctor, no matter how much Yosano tried to put herself in a better light by speaking to him in a more polite tone than to the others. The only thing that kept him from harshly attacking her was the knowledge that, sadly, he was indebted to her and the Agency. Angel read Hayashi's open condemnation, snorted cheerfully, as if to tell him that she didn't particularly want to interact with him any longer than necessary and left him alone, thereby preserving both of their sanity from unnecessary quarrels.
Besides Yosano, Hayashi was visited by other detectives. They came less frequently, so Yusuke did not have time to quarrel with them as he had with her. Among them were the two young men who had participated in his rescue, Nakajima and Tanizaki. They had come to apologize for not being able to protect him. They were serious about preventing a similar situation from happening again.
"We will take revenge on the Mafia for you, Hayashi-san," Tanizaki promised.
"Without a doubt," Nakajima agreed no less passionately.
Hayashi wanted to wince at their bravado, but he remained outwardly unperturbed. The defeat at the hands of Michizou had dealt a significant blow to the pride of the entire agency. He didn't envy his son, who had made new enemies, but he was amused by the fact that the boys didn't seem to realize they were swearing vengeance in front of the parent of the object of their hatred. Either they hadn't realized that their client and the bandage-nosed mafioso were more than just namesakes, or Michizou hadn't previously distinguished himself enough to be remembered by his last name. Hayashi later overheard Naomi Tanizaki complaining about a certain Tachibana who dared to injure her brother, making the second version more likely.
After the apologies, Tanizaki and Nakajima only came to say hello and inquire about his condition. Sometimes they were accompanied by two teenagers who looked even younger than all the other visitors. It seemed that this was not a detective agency, but some kind of part-time daycare.
He was also visited by a blond man named Kunikida. After Yosano, he was the second most frequent visitor and Hayashi noticed that the young man was very responsible, which gave him some points of approval in the eyes of the general, especially when he doubted the competence of the rest of the Agency's motley members.
Kunikida mainly questioned Hayashi about the kidnapping, the time he spent in Mafia captivity. He also acted as a liaison between him and the police, regularly updating him on the progress of the case. In gratitude, Hayashi tried to give as detailed answers as possible, but thoughts of his son caused a vague sense of guilt in him, which is why some details were left unsaid.
Which was just ridiculous.
He was the victim, not the litthe brat! He, Hayashi Yusuke, who fell into the worst-case scenario and paid for their meeting with a bullet to the head. What could be worse than that? The correct answer is: nothing! He has every right to curse Michizou!
...But his awakened conscience immediately threw him an image of a child with an overly empty expression on his face, living his life in the likeness of the ideal that Hayashi had once embodied and tried to embody again in another person. The thought of what his son could have become if Yusuke had never put pressure on him did not leave him. Perhaps he would have grown up to be a completely different person - happier, more self-confident and free. Law-abiding at least.
He began to wonder constantly: which of all these images he had seen was the real Michizou? Was it the Child mimicking his father's every word and action as if he had personally lit up the night sky with stars? Or was it the Teenager desperately trying to prove himself to the world and in the process burning away the echoes of his childhood innocence? Or was it the a Nineteen year old young man, a year older than his brother could ever be, who had cast aside all previous versions of himself becoming someone Yusuke would never understand?
He thought about it for hours, filling the vacuum of doing nothing. But these thoughts did not lead to anything worthwhile. On the contrary, Hayashi only inevitably stumbled upon a new dilemma: was Shunzen, his ideal eldest son, whom he considered a model, really himself? Or was he just a talented actor, hiding his inner suffering in an attempt to satisfy his father's insatiable ambitions, like the younger one? The spiral of reasoning began anew. The boundary between Michizou and Shunzen was erased. Hayashi could no longer see where one began and the other ended, or whether there had ever been a difference at all. Alas! Ouroboros did not even notice how it swallowed itself up without a trace!
All these thoughts made his head spin, but despite his regret, Hayashi knew that the past could not be returned. He was too stubborn to wallow in it, so he was going to continue living, to try to justify the right to a second chance, as Yosano insisted.
He began to think about what to do next. Before the kidnapping, his home had felt like a cage. His colleagues at work considered him an oddball who should have retired long ago. As if agreeing with them, his age was making itself felt more and more – the crunching of his knees, the constant pain in his back and the aching joints in bad weather were becoming a daily reality. Now, on top of all this, he had acquired the status of a dead man and he would have to come to terms with it. Perhaps it would be best to lie low and try to restore relations with his family. Find a way to atone for his mistakes. And since his son was unavailable, Hayashi would switch to his ex-wife.
He also owed her a lot. Hayashi had never fought for her properly. He had done nothing at all to help Arumi regain a connection to reality that could have served as a support instead of escaping into a fantasy world. In the end, a ship without an anchor would wander until it crashed on rocks or was caught in a storm. Perhaps he had made her health worse by his inaction. He didn't know if Arumi would ever forgive him for it, or even remember, but it was worth trying. If not for himself, then for their shared past.
The idea stuck in his head and after another interrogation session with Kunikida, he asked the detective to help him arrange a meeting with his family, to which he agreed. They already knew he was alive. That was comforting.
Just a few hours later, Sabi and Arumi, disguised with completely inconspicuous sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats, entered the building, accompanied by a police officer in civilian clothes. Sabi brought Arumi to the infirmary and sat her down in the guest chair. His wife did not react to him, remaining silent as always. Hayashi asked Sabi to leave them alone, and when she reluctantly left, he began to speak.
He recalled the old days when everything was fine between them: their meeting, their dates, their wedding, and the birth of their children. At the mention of Shunzen, she raised her head, looking around but not seeing what she wanted, she returned to her former state of a weak-willed puppet. Considering that she did not mistake him for their dead son, this could be called progress. Hayashi continued speaking, not expecting immediate results. He knew that the process of restoring her mental health would require a lot of patience from him. He would try to cope with it. Now he had plenty of time.
A few hours later, Sabi came to take Arumi home. They couldn't visit him often for fear of giving the Port Mafia cause to suspect something was wrong. They probably wouldn't be able to meet like this again until the next stage of the investigation. Before the two women left, he called out to his sister-in-law decisively:
"Sabi, when this is over, I want to take Arumi with me. We'll leave Yokohama for some remote place or even another country, change our names, and won't bother you anymore."
"Are you sure?" she asked quietly, but with a hidden hope in the depths of her eyes.
He could see that Arumi's presence was a burden to her, but Sabi still pretended to be happy to help. That was just the way she was always seeking public approval. It was a trait of hers that disgusted him.
He never noticed that he was the same. Until today.
Lately, he began to notice too many things.
"Of course," he assured.
Sabi didn't argue, just nodded one last time before pulling the brim of her hat even lower over her eyes and grabbing her sister by the elbow, leaving the Agency.
***
As Jouno-san had predicted, panic soon broke out within the Port Mafia. Rumors that there was no spy spread quickly throughout the organization, leaving a wave of confusion and rage in its wake. The executives scrambled to comprehend how they could have fallen into such a trap, their anger spreading further up the chain of command, forcing the lower members of the Mafia to work without rest.
Despite his outward calm, Mori was clearly displeased. He broke the alliance with the foreign organization that had spearheaded this deception, raiding all of its branches in Yokohama and brutally dealing with the traitors. The streets were filled with their blood as a warning to others, somewhat reminiscent of the previous Boss's madness.
This ending was expected. The foreigners were idiots for not learning the one and only rule that matters in their field: you can't mess around with the Port Mafia. The consequences will never be long in coming.
Tachihara watched all this from the sidelines. He was glad that the truth had finally come out and his own position in the Mafia had become more solid, but he knew that this was only the beginning. He still had a lot to do to finally regain the trust of his colleagues.
He felt no remorse for Hayashi and didn't even try to feign suffering because he wasn't sure his father was truly dead enough to feel genuine grief. His indifference to the fact that he had effectively killed his own father for no good reason made it impossible for anyone to feel sorry for him or consider him a martyr. Everything that had happened, all his actions, were justified as a necessary sacrifice for the well-being of the Port Mafia. That suited him just fine.
But surprisingly, the Boss apologized to him.
In his own way, of course.
One day, when he was simply walking down the hallway, Elise appeared in front of him. The girl stared at him, causing him to stop. Then, without saying a word, she handed him a white envelope. Tachihara hesitantly took it and opened it, ignoring the burning gaze of her blue eyes.
There were several sheets of paper inside. The first one had just one sentence on it in a child's crooked handwriting. It was written in purple crayon. With glitter. That explained Elise's sullenness. She kept this crayons as her personal treasure, using them only in emergencies. The inscription read:
"Sorry I forced you kill your father :( "
Below that was a supposedly crying Tachihara, looking like a circle with orange sticks poking through it. Somehow the image had an ominous aura about it. Maybe this thing is also a sketch of his future voodoo doll.
"Um...thank you," Tachihara said. "That's very...cute."
Elise nodded, but didn't soften. She seemed to pout even more. Whatever.
Next came a letter, this time written by Mori himself. He also used glitter crayon, but this time in red. Each word was written casually but elegantly:
"Tachihara-kun,
I'll be frank: your conversation with Hayashi-san was bugged. In order to compensate for the inconvenience caused by this misunderstanding, I would like to give you the opportunity to fulfill your father's last will. In the enclosed envelope, you will find a letter addressed to the Presedent of the Armed Detective Agency, Fukuzawa Yukichi-dono, detailing your situation. I am granting you a day off so that you can visit the Agency and inquire about the whereabouts of the body. All funeral expenses will be covered by the Port Mafia.
Continue to serve the organization with the same dedication and diligence that you have shown so far.
Sincerely,
Mori Ogai
P.S. Elise-chan's gift is as adorable as always, isn't it? This time I'll let you keep the drawing."
Tachihara blinked in disbelief, unsure whether he was more shocked by the frankness or the fact that he was apologizing.
Then his brain began to process what he had read, paying attention to important details.
Were they bugged? It looks like it.
But how and when? He didn't know.
He began to feverishly recall the entire conversation with his father. It seemed that much had been said that was personal and humiliating, but nothing that compromised his position in the Mafia. That was good.
But what was Hayashi's last will? He couldn't remember anything for the life of him. His mind raced in search of an answer, but all that remained in his memory were fragments of phrases that didn't fit together into a coherent picture. He turned to Elise for help, who raised her eyebrows in surprise at his question, silently expressing her low opinion of his mental abilities:
"When I die, try to bury me and not just dump me in a trash can," the girl quoted.
"Oh, right."
This explained the rest of the contents of the letter.
"If you don't want to do this, I'll tell Rintarou and he'll think of something else," she suggested when he said nothing else.
Tachihara resisted the urge to agree.
He had a chance to finally find out if Hayashi was alive or not. To get closure. To close all the gestalts. But it seemed too generous an offer. What if there was some catch to this idea? Or was this a new sophisticated test?
He was tired of these mind games that everyone, including himself, was trying to drag him into. Life was so much simpler when orders made sense. He no longer knew what was right or wrong.
Come what may.
If Hayashi was truly dead, then he would fulfill his last request as Boss expected. But if not... Well, then that would be a problem for tomorrow's Tachihara. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"No need. I'll deal with it."
Hearing his confirmation, Elise disappeared as if she had never been there.
Tachihara, in his paranoia, quickly examined the letter addressed to Fukuzawa to make sure there was no hidden message in it instructing him to arrest Michizou (it was also written in glitter crayon. Elise would definitely get revenge on him for that someday). The letter contained only facts, light accusations, and veiled threats bordering on flirtatious. After finishing reading, Tachihara sealed the letter back into the envelope and carefully put Elise's cursed drawing and the message from Mori into his jacket pocket.
The Boss's letter hadn't specified when exactly Tachihara was to collect his father's body, but it was clearly meant to be done immediately. As ill luck would have it, he was free now. Black Lizard had a mission tomorrow, but all he needed to prepare was to be present. Circumstances had decided for him.
He walked out into the street with measured steps and along the road, heading towards a certain building. Tachihara felt the weight of the envelope in his pocket becoming more noticeable. It seemed to him that this piece of paper was weighing down on him more than any weapon he had ever carried. He tried to distract himself by concentrating on the surrounding landscape, but thoughts of his upcoming visit to the Agency did not leave him.
It was too surreal.
He was really going to do it. Willingly-compulsorily enter the Angel of Death's lair and come face to face with not only her, but also the maybe-alive-maybe-dead Hayashi.
Now, in the fresh air, Tachihara was sure: this was indeed a punishment. Mori had had enough of him, and now he was being sent to the Agency for execution. Without a call, without a guarantee of safety. Only with a piece of paper covered in crayon. He would be lucky if he wasn't shot the moment he stepped through the door.
Just to stall for time, he ordered coffee at the cafe on the ground floor of the building where the Agency was located. He seriously considered bribing the detectives with pastries for a second, but quickly dismissed the stupid idea. No way, he's not going to spend money on the stomachs of his enemies! He was behaving ridiculously. The coffee, no matter how divine it tasted, did not make things any easier. On the contrary, it made things worse. Michizou was too full of energy now. His nerves were on edge, giving insistent commands to move, move, move. His fingers began to tap the counter, unconsciously beating out a quick rhythm. His eyes began to glance more and more often at the exit.
He still had a chance to escape. In fact, this time the Boss had given him a choice, not an order. He could just go back and lie about how, yes, Hayashi was dead, that he had already been buried, and the whole incident could be forgotten. It was a very tempting thought. But he didn't want to live in regret anymore with the constant "what ifs" stuck in his head like gum in his hair.
He took a final sip and set down his empty cup with such pomposity as if he had just decided the fate of the world with that action. He paid the barista's bill, a white-haired man who ignored the strange customer, too used to dealing with unusual individuals. Tachihara absorbed that image of imperturbability and tried to replicate it on his face. He nodded to the man and headed straight upstairs. Finding the right office, Tachihara knocked and without waiting for an answer, opened the door to the Armed Detective Agency.
"Yo," Tachihara greeted in a relaxed manner, putting his hands in his pants pockets.
All heads turned towards him, instantly stopping all activity. He saw some civilian girls working for the agency start whispering anxiously in the corner. They clearly wanted to escape, but they did not dare move, fearing the unpredictable actions of the Port Mafia member.
Besides them, the only people in the room, by his bad fortune, were Kunikida and Tanizaki. They tensed up at the sight of Tachihara. Their hostility filled the room.
Before Tachihara could blink, he found himself face down on the floor, pinned by Kunikida, who had twisted his arm behind his back, holding him in an iron grip like a trained fighting dog biting into its prey.
"What are you doing here?" the blond asked, squeezing Michizo's hand tighter.
Damn, he's strong. At this rate, even his reinforced body won't be able to withstand the load, which will lead to microcracks or even a full-fledged fracture.
"Calm down, I come in peace," Tachihara squeezed out, trying not to hiss from the pain, but failing miserably.
Kunikida pressed his knee harder into Tachihara's back. Damn bastard with too long and pointy limbs.
"You? In peace?" Tanizaki asked him with disdain. "The Port Mafia only knows how to kill."
"Tanizaki, it's not the time," Kunikida scolded him. "Although he's right. I'll say it again: what are you doing here? And no jokes. One wrong word and I'll leave you without an arm."
"Come on, I wouldn't just come here without a reason!" Tahichara wheezed, feeling his lungs find it harder and harder to get the required volume of air.
His belly full of coffee wasn't helping. He could already taste the acrid taste of stomach acid on his tongue. If Kunikida didn't get off of him in the next five seconds, Tachihara was going to leave them a nasty present on the floor.
"What's going on here?" a new voice intervened enthusiastically.
Tachihara raised his chin with difficulty. Their fight had attracted attention. Michizou saw more detectives peering into the reception area. Among them were Atsushi and Kyouka, as well as Ranpo, the main threat and support of the entire agency. While the first two simply stuck their heads out of curiosity, Ranpo stood proudly at his full short height in front of Tachihara, who was prostrated before him. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, looking the immobilized mafioso up and down.
"Kunikida, let him go," Ranpo ordered.
"But..." Atsushi began to protest, but was stopped by Ranpo's hand, who made a "silence" gesture in his direction.
Kunikida reluctantly loosened his grip, letting go of Tachihara. He stood up, rubbing his arm to restore circulation. Silence fell over the room, all eyes on Ranpo.
"Y'all so fucking tense," Tachihara muttered.
Kunikida gave him an unimpressed look. Tachihara stared back.
"Are you really sure, Ranpo-san?" Kunikida asked disapprovingly.
"Yes," Ranpo nodded. "He's not a threat. At least not right now."
Tachihara's anxiety involuntarily eased when his fears were not confirmed. He had expected a more painful reception from the Agency after all. It was to be expected that the Mafia and the Hunting Dogs standards would not work for these Puritans.
"You better give me what you brought before I change my mind," Ranpo responded cheerfully, having already guessed the purpose of his arrival.
"Okay, okay," Tachihara said, taking an envelope out of his pocket. "I have a letter from my boss to yours. I'm just a courier, nothing more."
"Yeah," Ranpo easily snatched it from Tachihara's hands and immediately tore the envelope open with one movement, not caring about its safety.
"Hey!" Tachihara was indignant. "This is for Fukuzawa!"
"For you, Director Fukuzawa!" Kunikida was indignant with righteous anger.
"He's not here right now," Ranpo answered at the same time without looking up from his reading. "Hmm, so that's how it is. Well, that's what I thought. Boring."
"What's there?" Tanizaki asked.
"Nothing important," the brilliant detective waved it off.
Nothing fucking important. Just the lowdown on Tachihara. Michizou didn't know whether to be offended or relieved that Ranpo didn't think much of it.
"This is correspondence between the leaders of the two most powerful organizations in Yokohama. It can't be unimportant," Kunikida insisted.
Tachihara silently disagreed with him. The Hunting Dogs were clearly stronger than ADA.
"Bah, Kunikida, don't be so serious!" Ranpo whined, "It's about Hayashi-san."
Everyone except Tachihara and Ranpo froze for a moment.
"What about him?" Atsushi asked cautiously.
"Yeah, what about him?" Tanizaki repeated, swallowing nervously.
These two need to learn to lie better. Kunikida slapped his forehead and groaned in frustration.
Tachihara was becoming increasingly convinced that his father was alive and well and somewhere in the building right now. Otherwise they wouldn't be acting so suspicious and guilty. He took a step forward, frowning and looking straight at Ranpo.
"Is Hayashi alive?" he asked, trying to remain calm, but his voice betrayed the tension.
Ranpo lazily looked up from the letter, his eyes opening behind the lenses of his glasses and flashing a dangerous gleam.
"I think you know the answer yourself, don't you?" he replied, throwing off his carelessness.
Tachihara suddenly felt like a wounded mouse in the paws of a cat. Ranpo guessed. Of course he guessed Tachihara's trick. Michizou wasn't very subtle, was he?
The question now is how much information Ranpo got from that single bullet and what he plans to do with it.
Ranpo looked Tachihara in the eye, making sure he had received his message, and then, as if nothing had happened, he returned to his previous playfulness. The other detectives didn't even notice the small confrontation, too busy trying to come up with an excuse.
"What nonsense? Of course Hayashi-san is dead! You killed him!" Kunikida tried to save the situation.
"Then I want to see the body."
"No way! As if we would indulge the mafioso!" Tanizaki exclaimed.
"What are you yelling about?" a female voice said, causing Tachihara to freeze.
Slowly, he turned his head and saw Yosano Akiko, the Angel of Death, the one responsible for Shunzen's death. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow raised, her gaze sliding over the people present with displeasure, clearly indignant at the noise they were making. When her eyes landed on Tachihara, recognition flashed through them, but it was not reflected on her face.
Тhis is not right.
She saw him as a regular mafioso, not the younger brother of the soldier she had killed. Sometimes he regretted that he dyed his hair to look less like Shunzen. Maybe if he had left it as it was, she would have realized who he was right away. He wanted to see her face twist with realization, to see that the time for retribution had come, that revenge was inevitable. But instead, he saw only her arrogant indifference.
His mouth opened to say something, but Ranpo was faster:
"Nothing! It's just that another visitor has come to see Hayashi-san!" he chirped with a smile.
"Ranpo-san, no!" several detectives groaned in unison.
"A visitor?" Yosano now looked confused. "Him?"
"Yes, him!"
"Isn't he the one who..."
"You're right! But I have everything under control, believe me," Ranpo interrupted her. "He won't hurt Hayashi-san. He'll just talk to him."
There was a brief telepathic communication between Ranpo and Yosano, which resulted in the woman sighing and waving her hand, giving Ranpo some kind of permission.
"Well...If you say so."
Ranpo nodded several times without hesitation, still smiling smugly. The detective spent some time convincing the others to let Tachihara see Hayashi without any trouble, which he successfully did. Tachihara made a note not to mess with him in the future. It seemed he had more power in the ADA than he seemed to have at first glance.
"So be it," Kunikida sighed, giving in. "We'll show you where he is. But keep in mind, if you try to do anything suspicious, we'll stop you. And hand over all your weapons!"
"Understood," Tachihara responded, carefully removing the hidden knives and pistols from his clothes and handing them over to Kyouka.
The girl watched his every move closely, leaving him no chance to cheat. She even took his apartment keys to his indignant cries, which were happily ignored.
After that, Michizou was led through the office to where Hayashi was. Their procession resembled a convoy, with Tachihara as a dangerous criminal: Ranpo and Kunikida walked in front of him and Tanizaki and Yosano behind. The atmosphere was tense, as if everyone expected him to try to escape or attack at any moment. Tachihara followed the detectives, trying to keep a respectful distance so as not to provoke them unnecessarily.
He definitely didn't think about the fact that Yosano was only a short walk away, but still remained out of reach.
As they approached the infirmary, Ranpo stopped everyone in front of the door and turned to face his colleagues.
"Leave us," he ordered and added when three mouths opened to protest, "No, no, no. No arguments! We've been through this before. Get out of here!"
They walked away disgruntled, leaving Tachihara and Ranpo alone. They stood there for a few more seconds, silently, making sure no one was left to eavesdrop. Ranpo looked up at Tachihara and became serious again.
"You know, they still don't understand."
"Don't understand what? If you want to say something, say it directly," Tachihara snapped.
Ranpo chuckled and raised his palms in a reassuring manner.
"I'm just curious why a person with such a useful power as yours pretends that it doesn't exist."
Tachihara clenched his teeth, his jaw tensing. There was no point in denying it.
"So what? Maybe I just don't want my achievements to be attributed solely to ability."
"Explain this to your Boss when he asks why you hid such important information."
Thoughts of the consequences of revealing another secret flashed through Tachihara's mind. If information about Midwinter Memento were to be revealed, his cover would be completely blown. After all, his ability was perfect for espionage, and no amount of excuses would help, especially considering that Mori was no fool and Michizou was already walking on the edge.
"You wouldn't dare," Tachihara hissed.
"Do you think so?"
Ranpo was clearly smug, and for good reason: he was in complete control of this conversation. The little son of a bitch knew too much, and now he was going to use it against Tachihara. Michizou leaned back against the wall, furiously considering his options. This was why Fukuchi had always warned him to avoid Ranpo. Damn Super Deduction.
"What do you want from me?" he asked finally.
"Is it too much to ask to give up revenge?"
He wasn't surprised anymore. Knowing Tachihara's ability to easily track down Shunzen and his past, linking them both to the Angel of Death. But how could Ranpo even think of such a request, knowing all this? Regardless of whether it was blackmail or not, Tachihara wasn't going to give up on his plans for many years. It was the thirst for revenge that gave him the strength to continue what he had started. He couldn't lose this support either, especially now that his orders had failed him.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tachihara asked sharply, narrowing his eyes. "Do you seriously think I can just forget everything she did?"
"No. The only thing I ask is to think before you decide to do anything you have planned. She didn't come out of that war unscathed either, you know. Try to understand her," Ranpo asked surprisingly softly.
"No way," Tachihara immediately refused.
"Okay. It's your choice," the detective didn't press, "but know that Akiko is not alone. The Agency is on her side. I am on her side."
Ranpo spoke seriously, almost threateningly. Tachihara didn't think he could do that. It seemed Yosano was truly dear to the him. He nodded at the detective, acknowledging the weight of his words, but nothing more.
"Well, then, I suppose it's time to carry out your assignment!" Ranpo responded cheerfully again, but there was still a slight bitterness in his tone.
He energetically opened the door to the infirmary and unceremoniously pushed Tachihara inside:
"You have fifteen minutes before everyone gets too curious! Have fun there!"
The door closed, but through the gap below, Tachihara could see Ranpo's shadow, who had remained behind to watch him. It was hardly a distance that would have been considered sufficient to prevent eavesdropping, but the boundary between them gave the illusion of privacy.
Tachihara took a few steps, looking around the interior. During the raids on the Agency, they hadn't had time to study the enemy base in detail. Usually anything connected with hospitals didn't bring up any good associations, but this infirmary was quiet and peaceful. You could even say cozy. As if this place had its own character, its own history.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the back of the room, distracting Tachihara from his contemplation. He walked towards the source of the noise and froze when he saw his father sitting on the bed. Hayashi looked surprisingly well for a man who had recently survived a fatal wound.
"It's really you," Tachihara breathed out, not knowing what else to say.
"As you can see," Hayashi replied, adding with a soft laugh, "it looks like you weren't able to finish the job after all."
"I didn't come here to quarrel," Tachihara snapped, frowning. "I just wanted to make sure you were alive."
Hayashi looked at him strangely and asked:
"And what do you intend to do now that you know this?"
"I don't know. It would be easier if you died," Tachihara answered honestly, already starting to build a lie for Mori in his head. For this, he would have to cooperate with the detectives. Ugh.
Hayashi, meanwhile, wasn't particularly offended.
"Hmm, easier, you say? You were always so straightforward," Hayashi chuckled. "But you're right. If I died, it would save us both a lot of trouble. Sorry to disappoint you, son."
"You've always been a master of disappointment," Tachihara whispered. "Never mind, though."
Michizou sighed heavily, sitting down on the empty chair next to the bed. He pointedly did not look at his father, focusing on the opposite wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ranpo's shadow move closer behind the door.
"You never asked what I'm going to do. I want to try to start over. To correct the mistakes," Hayashi suddenly told him.
"Sweet," Tachihara replied sarcastically. "You've accumulated a lot over the years."
"Yes, that's true. I did a lot of things wrong. Especially with you," Hayashi admitted too easily. "I wasn't a good father. But when I said I wanted to start over, I meant you too. If you give me a chance."
Tachihara stared at him in shock. Hayashi's face was filled with too many emotions, but the most prominent was honesty and hope. Michizou examined his father's head more carefully, looking for entry wounds. Perhaps Yosano hadn't completely straightened his brains out. There was no other way he could explain it. However, Hayashi was serious. He truly believed in this possibility.
"I'm afraid there's something you don't understand," Tachihara explained slowly, as if to a child. "I didn't come to mend fences with you. I finished with you a long time ago."
"Then why didn't you kill me right away?" Hayashi continued to insist, full of genuine bewilderment.
"Because you're not worth it," Michizou said crisply. "This is the last time we'll see each other, father."
"But, Michizou!" Hayashi protested. "I know the past can't be fixed, but we can still have a future!"
"What future? You don't have one!" Michizou got angry. "You're dead! Or do you want the Mafia to start hunting you again? Do you want to set me up and drag me down with you?"
"Oh, come on!" Hayashi waved it off. "We can just run away. No one will find us, I swear. We can start over, do it right this time! All together: me, you and your mother."
Tachihara looked at his father as if he was crazy.
"Are you serious? There is no "we"."
"But..."
"No! Listen to me carefully. I don't know what you've imagined, but don't you dare drag me into it. What made you think I'd want to leave everything for you and your pathetic game of house? Open your eyes to the truth: you were and remain a stranger. You and I have nothing in common except blood, and even that doesn't mean anything anymore."
Hayashi froze as if he had been struck. His face was contorted in pain, but he did not argue. He simply looked at Tachihara, trying to find some pity in his eyes, some hint that his words could be taken back.
"I...Okay. I understand," Hayashi said humbly.
Regret was etched firmly on his face, but Tachihara didn't hesitate. Perhaps his father would really change after all he had been through, but Michizou wasn't going to stick around to check. His trust had been betrayed by this man too many times.
"Then," Tachihara said, getting up from his chair and heading towards the exit. "I have nothing more to say to you."
"Stop!" Hayashi shouted desperately, also jumping up.
Tachihara stopped. He didn't want to hear any more, but deep down he knew that this was the last chance to speak, not just for him, but for both of them. He turned slowly, meeting his father's gaze.
"What else?" he asked irritably.
Hayashi froze as if gathering his thoughts. His gaze was full of emotions that he rarely showed.
"I... I want you to know that despite everything, I'm proud of you," he finally said. "You've become a strong, independent person. Even if I didn't always admit it, I always knew you were capable of more."
Tachihara felt something stir inside him. These words were something he had craved his entire life - who knew he only had to shoot his father to get what he wanted? - but now that he heard them, they seemed hollow and insincere. He didn't know how to respond, so he simply nodded.
"Thank you," he replied dispassionately. "But it doesn't change anything."
He took the last step towards the door and placed his hand on the doorknob.
"Take care of yourself," Hayashi added in a whisper.
Tachihara walked out without turning around.
Ranpo met him silently in the hallway. Yosano stood next to him, impatiently tapping her foot. It seemed that even the greatests could be wrong: clearly less than fifteen minutes had passed. When Tachihara left the door, she immediately looked into the infirmary, as if she was rushing to check if he had destroyed her work station.
They then took Tachihara to the conference room to come to some kind of compromise about his report to Mori, since it was not to their advantage to admit that Hayashi was still alive. They had to wait for Fukuzawa to return to make a common decision. It was a long time, but the man soon arrived and calmly began to conduct the meeting.
After brainstorming, the four of them came up with a cover story that Hayashi's body had been taken by relatives immediately after the shooting and then cremated, so Mori's offer to cover the funeral expenses was no longer relevant. To add credibility, Yosano suggested getting samples of Hayashi's biological material to fake the cremation in case Mori doubted Tachihara's words and wanted to DNA test the ashes. Michizou, like everyone else in the room for the sake of their own sanity, didn't ask how exactly she was going to collect the required number of samples. He hated her enough already. She started explaining the mechanics of the process anyway.
He wasn't listening to her speech, but he nodded, agreeing with the plan. He had to not screw up the report and keep their shared secret for the rest of his life. The detectives and police would handle the cremation, the death certificate, and other details that would make the lie as real as possible without actually killing Hayashi.
Now he was free.
Ranpo and Yosano following him to the door. It was getting on his nerves. The other members of the Agency were trying hard to look busy typing on their laptops, but Tachihara could see that they were looking at him curiously whenever he passed their desks. Most likely the contents of the letter, carelessly left for the bored detectives to see, had become public knowledge throughout the office while he and Ranpo were alone. Remarkably, Kyouka and his guns were not among the crowd. It was to be expected that the sanctimonious detectives would not return anything to him. At least his keys were at reception. He did not argue with them about it. He was too tired for another confrontation, and he was sick of staying here any longer than necessary. Today had already been too busy. He had dealt with two major problems at once.
But one still tormented his mind.
He turned around one last time to look at his guides. Ranpo had taken a step back so as not to interfere too much with the upcoming conversation, but he was still close, like a guard ready to intervene at any moment. As if he knew that Tachihara would not be able to resist and would give in to temptation. Tachihara had no time for him.
He kept his eyes on Yosano, trying to see what Ranpo saw in her that was so worthwhile. To understand her, as he had so colorfully put it. He turned off his head, trying to objectively evaluate what was in front of him.
There was a woman in front of him. Quite pretty. Sharp-eyed. Confident. No remorse on her face. No pity, even when she was talking about how to dismember a man and still leave him unharmed. A true professional in the terrifying sense of the word.
Tachihara couldn't figure out what he was supposed to see. Maybe Ranpo was wrong. Maybe he was just trying to distract him from his revenge, to protect his colleague. All Michizou saw was a monster. A monster that justified hers atrocities by calling them salvation. Was this what his brother saw every day before he gave up? A being above human pain, above suffering, above death?
"What?" Yosano asked sharply, unable to bear his intense gaze.
Her head tilted slightly to the side, her hair bouncing with the action. Her hairpin glinted in the light of the bulbs. A sharp-winged butterfly. Metal. Gold-plated. Tachihara's fingers began to tingle, as if wanting to run their pads along the delicate edges of the ornament. He could have reduced the insect to nothing with a single squeeze of his fist, destroying its beauty, but he didn't, too mesmerized by the painfully familiar whisper of metal that only he could hear.
Was this butterfly, a work of art, just a trophy, treacherously taken from the body of a jeweler who had wasted his talent in a rope noose? Or had she found it by chance among the belongings of a nameless soldier and kept it for herself, proudly displaying it as if to mock its previous owner? Did Yosano even think of Shunzen when she looked at herself in the mirror, or was his face forever lost in her memory among the faceless mass of her other victims? Tachihara wanted to scream at her, to demand answers. What right did she have to wear the little that Shunzen had managed to leave behind? How dare she desecrate his memory in such a brazen manner?
But the imprints of Midwinter Memento, someone else's Midwinter Memento, gently, almost protectively enveloping the metal structure, holding it in place in the shape of the pin. As if the creator had poured a piece of his soul into this trinket. As if he had intended it to be a symbol of reverence, not a curse. Michizou remembered how Shunzen used to make him figurines out of pages whenever he was upset as a child. They were his way of showing support and concern. What did that butterfly in the killer's hair mean? Did Tachihara really misunderstand something?
He glanced at Ranpo. The detective opened his green eyes, narrowing them at Tachihara expectantly. As if he was telling him that he was going in the right direction and that he just needed to continue his thought. Tachihara looked back at Yosano. With each second of his silence, she was becoming more suspicious, even contemptuous. He still didn't understand what kind of revelation Yosano's understanding was supposed to bring him, but he felt an incredibly strong desire to wipe that patronizing expression off her face and prove to Ranpo that he was wrong about her.
He had one way in mind. He was saving it for the last moment. If it didn't work now, he would finally be convinced that he was right.
As if in slow motion, he pulled out Shunzen's dog tag and lifted it by the chain so that the front was roughly level with Yosano's eyes. A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips as her brain registered what she was looking at and her lips trembled and parted.
"This is..."
She fell silent, unable to finish. Her hand instinctively pressed to her head, covering the butterfly as if checking to see if it was missing. She kept her eyes on the dog tag, still twirling in the air, covered in evidence of her cruelty. Guilt twisted her features and her eyes watered with longing and pain, making her look vulnerable, younger. It was a strange sight - to see her so broken. He had expected resistance, rage, an attempt to justify herself, but instead he saw a woman who clearly felt deep remorse.
She didn't forget.
He looked at her, she looked at him. Neither of them knew each other, but their shared grief had woven their past and future into a single line. Suddenly the monster seemed as human as he was, with a bleeding heart, memories that could not be erased, pain that could not be silenced.
His resolve wavered. It didn't feel right. This wasn't how the famous merciless Angel of Death should look. Not so young, not so broken. How old was she anyway, back then? (He knows. He's always known. Deep down he knows that eleven is too young, too cruel, for a war that adults have started.)
Is this what Ranpo wanted Tachihara to understand?
"You..." Yosano tried again, but Tachihara shook his head, interrupting her.
"Don't"
Tachihara put the dog tag back.
She lowered her head, accepting his decision. Even in this state, she remained strong, refusing to shed tears. Ranpo still put his arm around her shoulders, comforting her. The other detectives also jumped up from their chairs and walked towards them, worried expressions on their faces. As Ranpo said, she was not alone. This sight made him feel a certain amount of envy.
Revenge, like acid, still continued to eat away at his insides. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse for his selfishness. Maybe he was just trying to fill the void left by the loss of Shunzen. But he didn't want to forgive her. He didn't want to see her as a person. He had to continue to hate her. Even if he knew that eliminating Yosano wouldn't bring him back his brother, that revenge wouldn't bring him true satisfaction.
But how to get rid of this feeling?
Perhaps one day he would be able to let her go as he had let his father go. But not today. Not a word was spoken as he left, and the dog tag and the butterfly on the two bodies felt like heavy shackles left as a legacy by a dead man.
***
The next day, Tachihara sat in the armory, lazily sorting through the bullets and putting them in a box. A swarm of thoughts tore him away from reality, leaving him distracted. His thoughts were heavy and his mood was depressed. Gin, sitting nearby and cleaning her knives, noticed his state.
"You're too quiet today," she finally said without looking up from her work.
"Yeah, well, I'm just tired," he waved it off.
Gin frowned, but said nothing. She knew that if she continued to press, he would only withdraw further into himself. At that moment, Hirotsu entered the room. His stern gaze immediately fell on Tachihara, and the old man frowned.
"Tachihara," he said, coming closer, "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"It's okay, Gramps," Tachihara replied, trying to display his usual grin. "Just a lot of work."
"A lot of work?" Hirotsu asked, unimpressed, raising an eyebrow. "You were just on vacation. Don't lie to me."
Tachihara sighed and looked down.
"Okay," he conceded. "It's just... a lot of stuff. Nothing serious."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hirotsu suggested softly.
Tachihara wanted to laugh at his tone. It felt like he was at a psychologist's office.
"It's complicated."
Hirotsu's face remained calm, but there was concern in his eyes.
"Is it because of your father?" he finally asked.
He didn't want to hear a word about Hayashi. Soon the police would finish setting up his witness protection program and he would disappear. And good riddance to that bastard. Tachihara hardly thought about him anymore. No, his worries had other reasons, much more personal ones.
He thought about Mori, who seemed to have calmed down about him, but also seemed to still suspect something. You could never be sure with this man. And not knowing was driving him crazy.
He thought about Yosano and the consequences of his waning hatred.
He thought about loyalty, about morality, about his identity, about orders, and so on and so forth. The list could continue ad infinitum.
No wonder he felt like shit.
"No, not because of my father," Tachihara finally answered, avoiding Hirotsu's gaze. "It's just a lot of things. Sometimes it feels like I don't know who I am anymore."
"You've always been confident in who you are. What's changed?"
Tachihara paused, collecting his thoughts. Hirotsu is wise. Maybe his advice would be useful. If not, at least he would be distracted.
"I thought I knew what I wanted," he began. "I thought my life had a purpose. But now... everything seems so pointless. I don't know what I want anymore. I don't know why I'm here."
The answer was not long in coming:
"It's normal. Each of us asks this question at least once. Even me."
Tachihara looked up at the old man.
"You?" he asked again, not hiding his surprise.
"Yes, I did," Hirotsu nodded, slightly offended by his disbelief. "There were times when I felt lost, too. When it seemed like everything I did was pointless. But you know what I realized?"
"What?"
"It's all nonsense. We're all searching for meaning, trying to figure out why we're here, but ultimately it all comes down to this: you decide what matters. If you feel like you've lost yourself, then you just need to find something new to hold on to."
"I don't know if I can find something like that," Tachihara muttered.
"You can," Hirotsu countered. "You already have it. You're just too dramatic to see it. You're alive, after all."
"Cool. Now my new meaning in life is not to die," Tachihara answered sarcastically.
"Considering your recklessness, it will be a miracle if you live to be thirty."
"Hey!" Tachihara was indignant.
"Fine. If you don't like it, at least take your job. If you keep whining, you'll get demoted, and I won't stop Gin from making you her errand boy."
Gin nodded, confirming that this was how he would end up under her command. Tachihara stuck his tongue out at her.
"It's not better at all. Not to fall under the command of a silent bastard? Seriously?"
"Why not? You like your current privileges as a commander, right? Then continue to do everything to maintain your position. Work for promotion."
"But that's stupid! The goal of life must be great, meaningful!"
He shouldn't have trusted the old man. He simply reduced all his suffering to a joke. Tachihara was even slightly disappointed.
"Today's youth do not value what they have at all," Hirotsu rolled his eyes. "Life is about small things, not about chasing after an ideal image. You are still young, Tachihara. First, try to live for yourself, and then think about a "great, meaningful goal."
Tachihara looked at Hirotsu, trying to process his words. Live for yourself? What did that even mean? It sounded simple, but it also seemed so out of reach. He was used to living for orders, for revenge. He did it of his own free will. No one forced him to choose this life. And what did it lead to?
He wasn't sure he could follow the old man's advice, but maybe it was worth a try. After all, he really was tired of constantly fighting - both with himself and with the world around him. Maybe he really should stop digging into himself so much. Just live. Just be.
"Okay, Grandpa," he finally said, trying to smile. "Maybe you're right."
Hirotsu nodded. His face remained calm, but a shadow of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
"That's great," Hirotsu said, straightening up. "Now finish up with the ammo. We're moving out in an hour and I don't want you to be sluggish."
Tachihara continued his task, this time with more focus. The repetition had calmed his mind a little. He looked around at the box of bullets that smelled of gunpowder. His hands covered in calluses. The scratches on the walls. The cobwebs in the corner of the room that no one could reach. Gin, whose face was always hidden by a mask, making him wonder what her smile would look like. Hirotsu, who, despite all the grumbling, managed to become the most reliable person in his life. Warmth spread in his chest at the sight.
His double life, Mori, Yosano and other problems still hung over his head like a black cloud, but he wanted to allow himself to enjoy this moment, their little bubble created in the Port Mafia's armory. Find satisfaction in the little things, live for himself - even if it was just for the tiniest moment.