Phew, this was a difficult chapter to write. Every time characters started to argue, Kateracks and Arait got mad also. High tensions! It took traveling to the same state and sitting in the same room for a week to eventually make progress. No apology will make up for this delay; although it may be worth mentioning that both Kateracks and Arait have been working really hard to edit original story ideas lately also. If anyone wants to help Arait out and has a scribophile account, PM her and she'll send you a link.


Normally Yata would have been nervous and stumbling over himself in the presence of someone wearing a skirt accompanying such a frilly top and flamboyant amount of makeup. The reason for that being that usually such an ensemble was worn by a girl, but in this case, the muscular figure and square jaw along with Yata's prior knowledge of the character assured him of otherwise.

That's not to say he wasn't a bit uncomfortable in the surrounding environment. There were countless men in this joint, and a good many were dressed as the opposite gender. Yata may as well have been wearing a bright LED sign the way his clothes stood out. More than a few of the patrons had hit on him as he waded through the perfumed, sweaty sea of bodies gyrating under bright, technicolor lights on the dance floor; some had even followed him to an area where there were couches and low tables until the person he was supposed to meet shooed them away. He was really out of his element here.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to be hearing from Homra anytime soon."

Yata blinked, realized he'd been staring entranced at the blinking, rainbow mini lights the man wore as a necklace, and forced himself to look up past the layers and layers of bright designer clothing to the bespectacled face. Likely, they were for aesthetic purposes, but it didn't matter—they were still less distracting than his outfit, and Yata couldn't handle anymore distractions.

"Yeah, it's, uh…weird circumstances," the skater replied. That was for sure. He wasn't even supposed to be tracking Hayashi down at all, let alone using Kusanagi's connections to do it without the bar master's permission.

The contact in question put a finger to his chin and hummed in intrigue. "In that case, what can I do for you?"

"I need to find someone," Yata replied. "She's a f…an ally. She's hiding somewhere in the underworld, and I think she might be in trouble."

The man smiled a little at the Red Clansman's flustered appearance and nudged him on, saying, "Oh dear, we can't have that when the vanguard is on duty, can we? Why don't you tell me who you're looking for?"

"She was a, uh…" Yata made sure to put a little more emphasis on the past, but it still took him a moment and a hard swallow to come up with the least offensive phrase he could think of. "…an escort—years ago."

"Ah." The informant withdrew a handkerchief from somewhere within the frills and shined a smudge from his glasses as he considered the sensitive subject matter. "Those girls often times return to their former handlers when they come back here." Yata nodded. Those had been his thoughts, too. "So we just need to find out who her handler was."

"You've been around here a while. I figured you'd be the one to know," said the skater.

A bit of pride shone in the informant's eyes right before he replaced the glasses and got down to business. "What can you tell me about her specifically?"

"Name's Hayashi," Yata opened with this time. The man tapped his chin, repeating the name to himself as if it sounded very familiar, so Yata tried to add more specifics. "She's got brown eyes and black hair…"

He rubbed his neck at that since he had just described a good portion of girls in Japan. He should have prepared more for this after his encounter with the psychic where he had struggled with describing her. Hayashi didn't have many distinguishing features except for the tattoo and affinity for neon color, which she wouldn't have had back then. The facts drove him to press on with what he supposed was the most unique (and most uncomfortable) detail.

"She started really young to pay for a drug addiction—after her brother died."

The man's mascara-bearing eyes widened, and he murmured something Yata couldn't really hear over the thumping of the music, but it sounded like "Mel"-something. After the utterance, though, his eyes squinted at Yata suspiciously.

"You didn't add that she was a part of Jungle." The Red Clansman straightened in his seat, not sure if he should be ready to defend himself or what to expect. "Cyber pranksters like that are enemies to informants like myself. It's bad for my business."

Yata didn't think that JUNGLE was good for the business of any sort of information broker, and nobody outside of the Green Clan and ignorant people using the app liked them. Hayashi, though, was different. It seemed that by some miracle she had been kept in the dark about JUNGLE's true, volatile nature and, instead, made her own rules. She viewed herself as a journalist of sorts and considered the information she gathered and helped distribute as a public service, much like the news media. That uncanny stroke of obliviousness in her made her a relatively innocent party, even though it was trying to get her killed.

"She's probably pissed at them right now, too," he admitted to the informant. "They tried to kill her. That's one of the reasons she's hiding. She's not a bully like the rest of them are."

The man took this in, his serious face gradually softening as he realized a young girl's life hung in the balance. After a moment, he scoffed. "That's just like them to give information away for free and with no ethics and then just throw their informants away."

Yata stayed quiet, not sure how to react to the outburst even though he agreed.

Some time passed between them again and then came the answer, "Yukio—that's who her handler was. He's dead now, though. She wouldn't have gone to him."

Yata's face fell, and he slumped back on the couch, his head falling with a heavy thump on the back. He winced. That wouldn't help his impending headache or his frustration. There was a beat where he stared hollowly at the pulsing ceiling and tried to form thoughts for a Plan B that just wouldn't come. Then there was a gentle hand on his knee, and his head jerked up again to look at his host.

The man smiled kindly. "Don't give up yet. I'll ask around to my people and see if anyone else knows about her and where she might have gone. Relax. I'll be right back."

The vanguard managed a tiny, grateful smile, but he didn't offer any words as the host disappeared into the throng on the dance floor. His head was beginning to pound to the music, and he was growing irritated that he couldn't enjoy the awesome bass like he knew he would under different circumstances. His imagination, too, was running unchecked, giving him unbidden glimpses of a girl in neon green dancing to the beat, bright spikes of hair glinting in the strobing lights, a huge grin on her face. He didn't shake it off because seeing her that way was a lot better than envisioning her the way they'd been discussing her—the way his forced, drug-induced hallucination had portrayed her.

Then again, Yata had always thought he had a good intuition about things. What if his instincts were trying to tell him that Hayashi was indeed in trouble? What if she had gone back to her previous life, dancing for the entertainment of others and the like? Would she even want to see him like that?

He shook his head and mentally slapped himself. Hayashi regretted her past decisions; he could see it the night she told him about what she'd done, and he knew she would never go back to that destructive lifestyle. She could be cocky and stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.

"Good news and bad news, sweetie," said the club owner as he returned in Yata's peripheral vision. "Bad news is: none of my contacts know where she is." Yata visibly wilted, but perked up when the man held up a finger to signal that there was more to follow. "The good news is that one of my employees here is friends with a dancer at a club where she used to hang out, and there's a new person working there."

Well, he'd been wrong before…


Kusanagi was quite literally to the point of dragging his feet, and while he was really glad that the atmosphere of his bar was slowly recuperating to the dull roar it was before difficult times fell, the volume was beginning to grate on his nerves. He spared a sidelong glance at Chitose and saw that his work partner was in a similar state of exhaustion.

After the two had been up late bartending at a high-stress and very loud event, they had finished off their night—not sleeping—but dealing with harried Scepter 4 agents on the hunt for their missing clansman. Logically, Chitose was slouched, half-dozing in a booth along the back wall in a way Kusanagi envied but couldn't indulge. He still had a business to run. He was getting too old to do this anymore.

Thus, when the bar phone rang, he made a few honest yet half-hearted attempts to hush some of the noise. He didn't want to converse at the moment either, but the two evils compounded could prove to be too much if he didn't at least try to quiet them. His effort was mostly unsuccessful.

"Hello, this is Homra."

"Am I speaking to the second-in-command of Homra?"

Kusanagi cocked an eyebrow. Clearly this was not going to be any ordinary business phone call. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Sato—the current head of Ichiban."

Now the bar master frowned. That was quite a bomb to drop right off—and a weird one, too. Why would this man be calling him out of the blue?

"I've heard of you," he acknowledged. "To what do I owe the 'pleasure'?"

"You and I have a matter to discuss concerning your vanguard."

His eyebrows peaked now. "Ah? About Yata?"

"That's right. You see, I was called away from a rather enjoyable party last night because he's developed a bad habit of wandering into my streets as of late. He makes a bit of a mess."

Kusanagi smirked a little in spite of himself. He certainly did, as per the norm. That's why he got the job. Yet, how strange…the bar master knew of no reason why Yata would be in that vicinity. His patrols didn't take him over there. Unless…

"I hate to ask, Sato-san, but what are you into these days? Yata wouldn't cross borders like that without a good reason."

"He was demanding an audience with my own second-in-command about a recent shipment I lost and a certain young woman involved."

"Hayashi, Azami," Kusanagi supplied since it was obvious in his tone that Sato already knew. "He thought you might be doing her harm."

"Your vanguard seems very insistent on keeping her alive and well, which is quite the mystery to me. He could just as easily find another cheap whore on the corner if he needed a lap dance rather than going to the trouble of disrupting my operations."

Kusanagi scowled. "Yata's not like that—"

"That's what they all say."

The scowl on HOMRA's veteran deepened and he pressed on, "—and neither is Hayashi-san. I'd thank you not to talk about her in such a way again."

There was a bark of laughter on the other end of the line, and the ember in Kusanagi's cigarette blazed, consuming more of the smoke than a normal breath would have. HOMRA's number two had always had the job of being a calm and level-headed strategist, so it wasn't common for his temper to flare, but for some reason this man was starting to get his dander up.

"Perhaps you should do some investigating about who it is you're keeping in company with, Kusanagi-san." Sato chuckled a little to himself again and then confessed, "Unfortunately, I haven't found her yet, but perhaps that's fortuitous, hm? I had planned to make a bit of a mess of my own, but after his visit, I had the thought that perhaps such a drastic conclusion was not needed. As one businessman to another, I'm sure we could reach a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I only ask for repayment of what I'm due: loss of property and wages. Hayashi was in the car when the product was lost, and whether she personally disposed of it or not, that means she is partially responsible. Her blood needn't be part of the equation, but someone still has to pay, and being that replacing my employees wounded by your man takes away time from making money…"

Kusanagi hummed and took another drag from his cigarette. All Ichiban was concerned about in the end was their finances. After all, money was power to people like them. Apparently, revenge on Azami was not exactly the top priority for them since their leader's own words suggested he viewed her as nothing more than expendable entertainment. If they could find a way to satisfy him without bloodshed, that would be one target off of her back.

"We may be able to reach an agreement, but I prefer to make those kinds of negotiations in person, Sato-san."

"I expected as much. Glad to hear it. Tell you what, I'm going to have this conversation with the commander of Scepter 4 next—"

"Scepter 4?!"

"Yes, yes, his third has been causing headaches for me as well. I'm beginning to think Hayashi is more trouble than she's worth. At any rate, once I'm finished with him, I'll call you with details for a meeting. Ja ne."

Kusanagi was left staring at the receiver and listening to a dial tone for several long seconds after the sudden signoff. Then he hung it back on the wall with a little more force than was necessary. All eyes were on him now, but he didn't meet any of them.

"Kusanagi-san…?" Shouhei ventured after a moment.

"Has anyone seen Yata-chan lately?" the bartender asked, removing his PDA from his pocket.

The boys looked between each other and took turns shaking heads. No one had seen him in days. It was Dewa who answered after a confirming glance to Chitose.

"The last time we saw him was when we saved that strain girl from the rebellion. He left after we turned her over to Scepter 4. What's up, Kusanagi-san?"

"He's in big trouble."

"We followed the trail through the streets of Sakuraya to an alley where a scuffle had obviously taken place."


Awashima reported the findings of the previous night later than normal. Her extraction team had searched every possible lead before returning to base empty-handed. She barely had time to take a quick nap and change into her uniform. Informing the captain of Fushimi's plight was of utmost importance.

Munakata sat at his desk, regal as ever. He listened to her report with a keen mind and an unwavering gaze. If the news she shared was at all surprising to the captain, he showed no sign. He did treat the matter with a certain gravity.

Awashima continued through the shame of failure with stoic formality. "We detected trace amounts of green aura at the scene."

Even though Munakata had long ago paused his work on a puzzle of a fog-laden ocean, upon hearing that statement, he set the grey piece he held back in the pile. "You suspect users of jungle were involved in this 'scuffle' just as they have been causing troubles for the Black Dog and the female strain."

It wasn't a question. He knew that was her thought before she could voice it. If it was a conclusion he had reached, he would not have said you suspect. For this reason, Awashima faltered unsurely.

Her back stiffened, and she straightened with pride. Their reasoning may not be as insightful as the captain's, but their logic was sound. "Without a doubt, users of jungle were involved in the scuffle. The possibility that their intentions were aggressive is unknown but likely enough that it warrants further investigation. There is a chance that—"

The captain's PDA vibrated.

Awashima silenced immediately and stood at attention, awaiting instruction.

At first, Munakata did not move from his contemplative position, as if he might ignore the phone call. On the third ring, he excused, "I believe this may be relevant to our situation."

Sometimes Awashima wondered if he could sense who was on the line even when an unfamiliar number called. The ID read, "Private." Whoever it was had blocked the number. Still the captain answered like he already knew.

After a wordless moment, he replied, "This is he."

A brief flash of curiosity sparked in his eyes, but his voice was level as usual, giving no hints as to his thoughts. "Oh?"

"Is that so?"

While the caller spoke, Munakata took up his puzzle again, arranging a disconnected cross shape in the middle of the ocean.

"Yes. I see."

The captain maintained a detached vagueness. Other than his expression darkening in a frown, Awashima had nothing upon which to base a theory. The conversation was serious. That was all she knew.

"It is our duty to investigate matters regarding all special foreigners, as you are well aware."

He was prying. A statement such as that could only be a disguised request for more information. It apparently worked, as Munakata laid a puzzle piece just inside the frame and stretched his free hand out to Awashima in expectation. She took a moment to realize he was asking for her tablet and handed it over.

He pulled up a file from the Scepter 4 database of young woman named Hayashi, Azami and skimmed through it while he listened to the caller. From across the desk, Awashima caught glimpses of what he read: Green Clansman, record of interfering with ongoing investigations, a police report that required clearance.

Leaving that for another time, Munakata continued.

The finger he was scrolling with hovered over one line as he paused to give the caller his attention. "I understand."

This Hayashi had had a run-in with Fushimi in an arcade almost a year ago. There was a connection. Before she could read more, Munakata turned off the screen. He had seen enough, and the conversation was coming to a close.

"Yes, thank you." With these words, Munakata ended the call and looked up at his lieutenant. "Cancel all of my appointments this afternoon. I have an important meeting to attend."

"Captain?"

Picking up one final puzzle piece, he connected the cross shape with it and stood to his feet. "Fushimi-kun is indeed an interesting conundrum."


The trek back to the parking garage seemed infinitely longer than the outbound had been. In part, this may have been because he had accomplished his goal. The rush of motivation had worn off, and his feet dragged. Additionally, having Hayashi following behind him put his senses on high alert, second guessing every passerby and every look. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that drew out seconds like a stretched coil. Any moment, it could spring back into place and snap him in the face.

That was just his toe catching on a curb he thought he had cleared. Stumbling forward a few steps, he brushed a hand along a building to reorient his depth perception. Hotaru looked back at him with a concerned expression. Since when had she gotten in front of him?

Walking all over town in search of Hayashi had given him a headache. Never mind the hilt to the temple he had taken; annoyance was definitely the reason for the pounding behind his brow. Another block later, his chest burned also. Inhaling drifted from a subconscious to a deliberate action. It felt like a harness had come undone and one of his knives was stabbing between two ribs. Where was his harness? Probably in the same place his shirt was.

Time was distorted so badly he could feel Earth rotating. No, scientifically that was impossible. His vision was swimming for some other reason. Maybe his glasses were damaged in the fight. That could explain the lightheaded wobbling but not why he was so out of breath.

When a hand held him up from behind because a raised corner of sidewalk nearly caused him to faceplant, he acknowledged the probability that these were symptoms of the beating he had taken. Most likely, he had been standing for too long for someone with bruised ribs and a concussion. With one hand on a knee, he leaned against a wall with the other, just for a moment. He only needed to catch his breath and restabilize his equilibrium for a moment.

He thought maybe he heard voices calling his name, but they were drowned out by a much louder critic. Pathetic monkey can't even walk. You blaze in there acting the hero. Who are you going to save in this condition? This is what you're asking her to rely on? Send her back to that shorty with the temper.

"Fushimi, give me the keys." Finally, a command reached through the fog when Hotaru put her face inches from his and held out her hand in expectation.

Even that they wanted to take away. He wasn't even fit to drive her.

"Just give me a minute," he grumbled, intent on proving the voice wrong.

"Fushimi, a minute isn't going to help you," Hotaru insisted. Her calm, concerned tone felt condescending, like pity. He hated pity. "You need to rest. Really rest. Let me go bring the car back for you. That's what teammates are for."

Her sympathetic smile and mawkish perspective of companionship churned his stomach. Obstinacy compelled him to attempt to continue, but he was unable. She was right. This was the limit of his stamina. That day only she would win the staring contest. Steadying himself so he could balance without the aid of the wall, he dug into his pocket to retrieve the key and slapped it into Hotaru's still outstretched hand.

Impressed by his concession, she patted his shoulder lightly. "I'll be right back. Hang in there."

Falling back into the wall for support, he glared after her departing figure, the evidence of his inability. Once she was out of sight, though, he decided his knees wouldn't hold him upright much longer, and he used the wall to lower himself into a sitting position so he didn't merely collapse.

Azami reached for him, but didn't actually make contact since, judging by the glare he gave the other girl for trying to help, he probably wouldn't appreciate it from her either. Instead, she took a seat beside him and observed him anew; she didn't like the pallor of his skin nor the shallow breaths he was taking.

"Are you gonna make it?" she asked in a low tone.

"I'm fine. I just need a minute."

When it became apparent that that was all he'd offer, her eyes narrowed in speculation. The other girl was right—a minute wasn't going to be enough. What had happened to him? If he'd been Yata, she would have just jabbed him in a sore spot to make a point, but with Fushimi that would go over about as well as spraying a cat with a garden hose. She'd have to use wit instead.

She glanced down the street in search of the car and briefly wondered how far away they parked and if they should have let that girl go alone. She didn't exactly look like she knew how to throw a punch...but Fushimi wouldn't have brought her along to this place unless she could at least defend herself. ...right?

She bobbed her head in the direction the other female had gone. "Alright, so...who is she? And why do you look like you were shaken down for lunch money by a sumo wrestler?"

He deliberately answered only the first question, snipping at her because he was annoyed with himself. "She's a colleague from the Intelligence Division."

"Ah...and you thought she was the perfect candidate to...infiltrate the underworld with you in a covert grandma sweater?"

"I didn't choose to bring her along."

"Oh, so she was the one who beat you up—to convince you to let her come along."

"Tch." His head hurt too much for jokes. It wasn't funny. Nothing that had happened since she called him from the forest had been funny: not falling from the obstacle course, not reading the captain's description of undergarments, and certainly not spending the journey with Hotaru—or her sisters. The girl before him had once again led him on a chase all over town, and she teased him like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't rejected them the week before for this crummy neighborhood he had collapsed in.

Azami's lips quirked at the typical Fushimi answer that she hadn't heard in a while. Despite apathetic, it felt familiar, and she looked to him with the intent to show that in her smile. She immediately jerked back, confusion creasing her brow in response to the heated glare he was giving her.

"What's that look about?"

"Don't smile like being in that place was no big deal."

He'd said already how he felt about her choice of leaving Homra and her next choice of hiding spot, but he was making it more obvious just how upset it had made him. "It's not like it was an easy decision. But I thought it was the right one."

"Running to shady clubs that sell people for spare change is never the right decision. Didn't you learn that the first time?"

"The first time?" The words caught her attention. How did he find out? Just from tracking her down? Is that why he was glaring? Was he disgusted by her? Well, only one way to find out…first things first. "How much do you know?"

"I obviously don't know you."

She was momentarily taken aback by the coldness in that statement. "You know the me I am now—that's the only me that matters. How did you find out where I'd be?"

"It wasn't that hard to follow your trail."

Azami scoffed and gestured at his condition. "Oh yeah, I can see that, tough guy."

"This is your fault you know?"

"My fault? Why is it my fault?"

"You're the idiot who ran away from safety."

That was kind of true, but with good reason. She knew Anna was strong, but doing makeovers with her a few days prior had also reminded Azami of how young she was to be given the burden of a King. And being in that bar again, she had couldn't help but think about…

She exhaled a puff of vapor into the cool air and decided to try a different tactic. "It's the time of year again…when they were killed…"

Fushimi knew who she was referring to. Suoh, Mikoto and Totsuka, Tatara. "So you decide to disappear on them, too? Do you want Anna to think this is the time of year people leave her?"

"Of course not! I didn't want Anna to be in danger. Think about it—the last time a conflict between Kings was brought over borders, even someone as powerful as Suoh, Mikoto got killed."

"No one killed Suoh. No one ever could have. He self-destructed." Fushimi's tone was level, matter-of-fact, and missing his typical bitter disdain.

Azami shook her head. "Not true. They killed his damper and that killed him."

"That guy was living on his last thread, looking for a chance to implode. If it wasn't that day, it would have been another."

She gave him an incredulous look. "Are you saying I should have hung around because if Anna doesn't implode fighting a King for me, she'll just implode another day?"

"No, because she isn't trying to fix everything alone. She knows who's on her side, not running away to strip clubs and bumming rides from drug runners." Fushimi made it clear he was talking about Hayashi rather than Suoh by poking her in the chest.

Azami flinched, not from the poke, but from the implications that she had more faith in acquaintances in the seedy underbelly than her friends. It's not like she had tried to get herself hurt. "My ankle was busted up. What was I supposed to do?"

"You should have called me first."

Fushimi's grumble was quiet enough it could have been muffled by a passing metro train. Hayashi heard it, or at least enough of it to be startled.

"Am I your last resort?" he asked, louder and more confrontational. "You have to be thrown off a second cliff by another fake friend before you even think to call?"

"I did call you first! You're the only one I called."

"Before you got into the car!"

Finally, reaching a level of exasperation by his continuing and seemingly unwarranted hostile attitude, Azami threw up her hands a little with her next reply, "I was drugged! I didn't even remember putting the phone into my pocket until I found it by accident."

While Hayashi's words were intended to be reassuring, what Fushimi actually heard was that she never even thought to call him. Finding the phone was an accident. His was probably the only number in the contacts list.

Looking away, Fushimi flicked his tongue in annoyance. "Don't call me for help next time if you're going to throw it away like this again."

She frowned a bit and narrowed her eyes at him. "If I'm such a pain in the ass, then why did you come after me? Why are you so upset?"

"Aren't your type of people supposed to rely on bonds and have each other's backs and all that nonsense?"

"My type of people? You're the one who came after me, but didn't you tell me not too long ago that ties are a hollow pretense? So what does that say about our friendship?"

"This is business."

The lies and cover ups were sneaking back into Fushimi's replies as he switched between answering with an unnatural passion and no emotion whatsoever. At this point, Azami saw right through it all and knew that there was a deeper underlying cause. "Right…Well, thanks for taking the job even though my past is kinda gory."

"Everybody has a past. You don't go looking for powers without something you're trying to escape."

She blinked at what she sensed was a modicum of reassurance slipping through. Might as well throw him a bone, too. "I was trying to escape reality. But I didn't go looking for powers. They found me."

"Jungle has a habit of doing that."

She gave a half-hearted shrug, followed by a nod, then admitted, "So I'm finding out that the King I thought I was serving was just a stand-in so the other guy could fly under the radar. But if it hadn't been for Souma-san that night I'd be dead."

Fushimi frowned. "Souma? That's your King?"

Azami snorted. "It sure as hell ain't the other guy. Why so surprised?"

"Never heard of him."

That admission was unexpected, and Azami threw up a hand as if to halt the conversation while she mulled this over. "Wait a minute. How can you claim you know so much about the Green Clan and not know who he is? Where do you get your information?"

His hesitation was obvious before replying sarcastically, "You mean, aside from being Scepter 4's lead intelligence officer?"

His change in demeanor again allowed for Azami's witty nature resurface. "The lead intelligence officer who didn't know about the stand-in Green King who was recruiting people and giving them powers?"

"Giving powers?" Fushimi repeated in disbelief. "You mean creating missions?"

She shook her head, their mutual confusion putting a crease in her brow. "No. Well, yeah, he gave us missions, too."

He mumbled to himself as if taking notes to add to Scepter 4's database later. "Like some sort of moderator, passing admission down to users approved by the admin…"

"I guess so…" There was a lengthy pause between them while Azami made notes of her own which reminded her that he hadn't answered her question. "So are you gonna tell me how you know so much about the Green Clan?"

"I told you. Everyone used jungle in junior high. But…" He hesitated again. "Met him twice. Hisui, Nagare. Once as the admin of jungle. Once as the Green King."

That was more than she could say for herself. "I only met him once. Well, didn't really find out much about him, but got a really creepy vibe. Like one of those quiet kids at school who's always hiding something inside and then becomes a serial killer…or, you know, pays virtual currency to have some kids be his assassins. Am I in the ballpark?"

"Malice." Fushimi only responded with one word, but it was a summary of everything he thought about the king and stated with a correspondingly hateful snarl.

"Worse than trying to kill one of his own?"

"Fits right in with his M.O."

"Which you experienced how?"

"In your little, offline division, did anyone ever talk about the airship?" Fushimi seemingly changed the subject.

Azami decided to allow it for now. "Yeah, sure. Everybody knows about the Silver King's domain."

"No, really talk about it. Routes and candles and stuff?"

She thought back to times before she was being hunted when she would go on missions, to times before the Colorless King took over the Silver King and set into motion events that would change all their lives. "Sometimes on quiet nights, some of us would be assigned to follow its path and see if it deviated to pick someone up. You know the legend."

"It was 'The Mission' to beat, a long string of code. This annoying girl was so determined to reach the top of jungle. Always, 'Michaki-byun! Will you, like, come with Aya to get on the airship?'" He raised his voice an octave and spoke as irritatingly as possible, but in his eyes remained the same icy hatred.

"And you and Red were friends back then, right? So…you decided to go along?"

"They were both so impressed how she decoded the route. Except she didn't, and we were in the wrong place. Jungle missions were always suspicious like that. 'Get on the airship. Take pictures of the red monster.' Did you know about the surprise party?"

"I hadn't joined the Green Clan back then. I went to some parties, but I doubt any of them were the one you're talking about."

"It was kind of a big deal. Hundreds of kids in masks shooting party poppers and fire crackers at Homra. Misaki and I had this foolish delusion that we could take on the world—starting with Jungle. I launched a virus into their SNS, and Misaki went through the crowd telling everyone jungle got hacked."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and this is just a guess, but that probably didn't go over too well?"

"It worked. For a few minutes. Until Hisui's own avatar walked out of my computer, told me we lost, threatened Misaki, and cut off my communication with him. I ran down to the bar where he was, and jungle sent out a new mission for everyone to shoot their firecrackers at us."

She scoffed again. "Jeez, he really is a malicious bastard, isn't he? Can't believe he'd use his clansmen like that."

"That's not the worst part. Or the only time he came to our apartment."

"So…what happened the second time you met him?"

"He tried to threaten me to become a clansman. The Captain and the Red King both showed up for his display of power. It was annoying."

"Then…the look you and Red had at the hospital—that's what it was all about?"

"Misaki doesn't know about that." Fushimi darkened his tone, almost as if giving her a warning.

"So…Hisui was head hunting you, he threatened you, and he wanted you to leave Homra…and you didn't tell him?"

He shrugged. "What good would that do?"

Azami fixed him with a blatantly sarcastic look accompanying the reply of, "Oh, gosh, I dunno, maybe he'd understand some of why you left instead of cluelessly labeling you 'a traitor'? You guys were friends! He'd want to know."

"Do you think Hisui scared me out of Homra?" he asked, arrogance showing through in his scorn. "I am a traitor."

"Knowing now that all this time he's been working in the background and I've been in the dark…I bet having him get inside your head for a while didn't help, even if I believe you had your own reasons for leaving."

"Tch." Fushimi rejected her perception, as if the suggestion was stupid, and deflected the attention away from himself. "Besides, it's not like you've told him about all this."

"I did tell him."

His mouth fell ajar, but he covered the surprise with mockery. "And he didn't have an aneurysm?"

"Well, it was right after I almost smashed his face into the bar floor for making fun of my tattoo…oh, that's right. You had already gone outside after I used you as a shield against Anna. Anyway, it sounded like he got scolded by Kusanagi-san and Totsuka-san, so maybe he was emotionally tapped out by then." She shrugged, not really sure where the skater's sudden stroke of bravery came from. "He said he wanted to hear it, but he did look like he might puke on himself by the end."

Fushimi nodded. He remembered the day well. "Tattoo?"

She shrugged one shoulder out of her hoodie and pulled back the side of her sleeveless shirt underneath, revealing the top joint of one feathered wing. "I got it after I joined the Green Clan—to remember my brother."

"Katsu? The one who died in the shooting?"

Her eyebrows shot up under her bangs, surprise that he knew the reference evident in her brown optics.

"Read it in a newspaper trying to track you down. Met some guys who trained with him."

"Oh…" She almost asked who he had talked to, but decided that discussing Katsu might be too much for the moment. She pulled her hoodie into proper position and tucked her hand under the collar of her shirt to rest on the wing while she continued with the current topic. "I got into drugs after that. At first, it was just taking them to escape the nightmares. After that, everything was about feeding the addiction, and the kid at school who gave me my first hit introduced me to his handler. I already knew parkour by then, so it wasn't hard to get a job as a runner. That's how I met Kenji."

"So Kenji got you in with Ichiban?" Absentmindedly, he reached for his throbbing side and massaged it.

"No, he was just another runner under my handler, and sometimes we'd team up. He's a dumbass, but he was a pretty good partner, always watched my back. Neither of us were on Ichiban's payroll at the time, though. If they had me, it was on a per night basis."

Confused, Fushimi asked, "Not Ichiban…?"

She shook her head, a wry smile working its way onto her face. "No, not Ichiban. Stayed away from them as much as I could. They paid well, but they're a bunch of twisted bastards."

"Then why is Sato after you? And why did Kenji say Torou's his handler?"

"Torou is Kenji's handler. Now. We got out of that world at the same time, and he went back to America. Apparently, he was stupid enough to come back and choose a worse employer. They're after me because…" She paused, sighed, then confessed, "…there were drugs in the car, and I was the last one to see them."

Speaking of cars, it was then that the vehicle they had been waiting on pulled up to the curb, thus interrupting their conversation. Azami stood and offered her hand, aiding Fushimi in his climb to his own feet. She allowed him to walk himself to the front passenger door, and she slid onto the back bench behind him, then a moment later, after a brief feeling of unease about being seated near the door again, she scooted over to the middle cushion.

Once the two were settled in the car, Hotaru put it into gear and glanced at the female in the rear-view mirror as she pulled out onto the street. "So...you're Hayashi?"

Azami met her curious eyes with a grin through the reflection. "So you're Intelligence Division Girl..."

"Hotaru, Akihime," she introduced herself. Her head swiveled to Fushimi and then back to the mirror. "How do you two know each other?"

Azami considered her answer a moment. Would Fushimi have told his partner—forced, temporary, or otherwise—about his history with the Red Clan? Surely most of the Blues knew about it by now. If it hadn't been for Yatagarasu and HOMRA, Fushimi and their clan never would have met, let alone him and Azami. If those of Scepter 4 didn't already know about the connection from their dealings with HOMRA before he joined, then it probably would have been passed around through the office grapevine by now, right?

Then again, Fushimi had been more touchy than normal. Maybe it was better to leave that out?

"We worked together to track down a girl abducted by the Black Clan."

Even though she was driving, Hotaru looked away from the road to frown at Fushimi. "What Black Clan? There is no Black Clan."

Fushimi lifted his throbbing head from his hand and grumbled a brief answer. "There is a beta-level strain with the ability to share her power with others. She called herself a king and had enough strength to deceive most people."

"Whoa, wait! You mean there never was a Black Queen?" Azami cried and leaned forward to look at Fushimi who she couldn't see in the mirror. The look he gave her in return plainly said that he wasn't joking, and she dropped back into her seat with a wild grin on her face. "No way! As strong as she was—she even held her own against the Red King. And everybody believed her! Why didn't the Gold King say anything? He would have known. That is a huge scoop! I can't wait to tell—oh..."

That's when her train of thought derailed. Tell who? The clan who was trying to have her killed? She didn't even have that job anymore. Who knew if she ever really did?

Sensing the change to Hayashi's demeanor, Hotaru desperately searched for words to improve the mood. The air was too tense to let the conversation end. Flustered, she blurted out whatever came to mind.

"So you don't know his family?" Fushimi's back straightened, and he stopped searching the glove compartment for Aspirin. Azami furrowed her eyebrows at the rearview mirror as confusion overtook her. Hotaru wasn't sure what the change was about. "Where we've gone, everyone seems to know his dad..."

The sudden silence in the car was stifling. The tension could have been cut with a feather. Fushimi was still stiff, and Azami was beginning to get a hunch about something. No good family man would have been around those parts enough that 'everyone would know them'.

"Fushimi," she ventured, her voice low. "Your dad hangs around Eijiro's club?"

"That man hung around a lot of shitty places." Fushimi's tone was devoid of emotion, but his actions said otherwise. The glove compartment he had abandoned hung open, and he slammed it shut, hard enough to bust the latch and dent the dash.

That man. A moron could hear the detest in his response, even if he hadn't defaced government property. Suddenly, pieces began to fall into place—why he was so adamant about getting her out of there right away. Why he was so upset about her hiding in that particular establishment in the first place. Why the talk about trying to escape the past. Past, right...'hung around'...

"Past tense," she acknowledged.

"He died five years ago."

Doing the math, Azami was able to make a vague timeline of the events of their pasts. There was no correlation there. Maybe that'd give some relief.

"I see," she said quietly, her voice sounding dull in the heavy atmosphere of the car. "Must've been before my time then..."

Fushimi looked back at her as if checking that her expression matched her tone. Realizing that she must have hit near the mark with her assumption, she met his skeptical gaze with steady eyes. She hoped that conveyed how much it meant to her that he had just shared an important piece of himself, too.

Her assurance must have soothed his doubts enough because, after a moment, the glare that hadn't cracked since he found her softened, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. Facing forward again, he settled back into his seat and closed his eyes to rest. Azami smiled to herself while she and Hotaru let a more comfortable silence sink in.


Yata was pacing. He had made it all the way to the front door of the club that Kusanagi's contact had told him about, and then he froze. He'd been doing such a good job of not letting his feelings about the whole situation overrule his actions, but now, hand hovering just above the handle, he saw the sign listing the entertainment during business hours, and he suddenly started thinking in hyperdrive. If he went inside, he would see the women—they'd be dancing—likely not wearing clothes! His brain short-circuited, and he jerked backwards from the door as if it had shocked him.

Now here he was, pacing just outside, and his thoughts were all rushing in on him at once. There was a good possibility that Hayashi was in there; he was so close to finding her—if he could just go inside! Then he'd tell her off for being such an idiot and just leaving without saying anything and going to such a dangerous place.

But what if she wasn't safe? What if she wasn't inside, and he'd have to keep looking? How would he find out if he didn't go inside?

But what if she was inside? What if she was one of the dancers? Could he really stand to see her like that?

So he talked himself in circles while he continued to wear a hole in the sidewalk in front of the windows of the establishment where he tried to catch a glimpse of Hayashi but also not see anything inside. His face was on fire, and he felt like he wanted to throw up. He wished he hadn't lost his skateboard so he could work off steam another way, but the skate park wasn't even nearby anymore if he wanted to just be in a familiar place to think. Instead, he clenched his fists and growled curses under his breath.

He was startled by unexpected chiming as the door opened in front of him on his way back around, and someone leaned against the frame—a blonde guy in a grey vest over a dark shirt with black slacks. The thumping bass drifting out from the building behind him calmed Yata's nerves just a tad, and he ceased pacing to face the stranger.

"You lost, kid?" the man asked.

"I'm looking for somebody," Yata answered and nodded his head toward the door, "in there."

Junko took in the kid's beanie, punk clothes, and skater shoes with a growing sense of understanding. The boy's expression was stressed, and he blushed a bit as he looked through the door Junko stood in. He was too naïve for this scene—didn't really belong there. He wasn't a threat.

"That right? Got a few people working tonight, but we don't open for a while. Who is it?"

"She's got black and green hair, my age, mouthy, likes parkour…"

The guy's face lifted a little at his words. "What's your name, kid?"

The skater straightened his posture and proudly put a fist to his chest. "I'm Yatagarasu of Homra."

A smirk crossed the other male's face right before a second guy stepped into the doorway. This one looked too big for his shirt and had a nasty scar on the side of his face. "Got a problem out here, Junko?"

The blonde shook his head. "This's Yatagarasu from Homra. He's looking for our stray."

The buff guy cocked a brow, and then pinned Yata under his gaze. "First that Scepter 4 kid and now Homra? She's got some friends in high places, huh?"

"Scepter 4?!" blurted Yata.

Junko and the other guy shared a look, and then nodded agreement to each other. Homra was well-known for their opposition against drug lords, so with them and the officers at Scepter 4 looking out for her, she'd be safe.

"Temperamental guy with glasses. She left with him not too long ago."

Yata gave them a hasty thanks and then jogged back toward the side of town that would lead him to Shizume. Fire was pumping through his veins again after so long. He was relieved that he now knew for sure where she was and that she was safe, but at the same time, he was furious. She left the comfort and safety of their bar to go hide out with the Blues?! What the hell was up with that? Now he was going to give her a piece of his mind for sure!

"Hey! Hey, Yata-san!" a young, cracking voice called, and he stopped short, recognizing the teens he had helped at the skatepark. How long ago was that?

It took him a second to realize that the older one was carrying something long in his arms and it had wheels. His skateboard! "We were walking home yesterday, and we found this in an alley."

A grin split the vanguard's face as he once again held it in his arms. "Thanks guys!"

The younger one said, "Nobody's come after us since we started carrying it around. We thought you might be looking for it."

Yata's newfound happiness dimmed just a little. "Really? People have been bothering you?"

The older teen stood up straight and rubbed his nose. "He's just scared of bullies is all. Nothing we can't handle."

Yata frowned then. "Yeah, but…you shouldn't have to…"

His thoughts drifted back to the club where he'd just come from and how younger kids like these and a teenage Azami had gotten into drugs because of their rough life. He thought maybe he understood a bit more of why Mikoto-san had done so much to keep the yakuza out of his territory and rescue teens like Yata and Fushimi, if not only for the reputation of the Red Clan.

He nodded to himself as he dropped his board to the sidewalk and gave them a firm look. "If they keep bothering you, you come find me at the Bar Homra."

They balked a little at the resoluteness in his eyes and nodded their understanding. As he turned to go, though, the older boy spoke up one last time, "Hey, Yata-san, if you start doing skateboard lessons, will you come find us?"

The question caught him off-guard at first. That was a possibility he had never considered, but then he grinned and kicked off, calling over his shoulder, "I'll catch you guys later!"

He'd barely gotten around the block when his watch signaled he was getting a call. It was Kusanagi-san.

"Ah, Yata-chan! Where are you? We need to talk."

"O-Oh, Kusanagi-san. Sure, what's up?"

"Haven't seen you around the bar in a while. Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah…Just been busy, that's all."

"So I've heard…"

"A-Ah…?"

"I just had the most interesting conversation with Sato of Ichiban. He claimed Homra's vanguard was in his territory shaking down his men for information." The extreme calmness and nonchalance in the voice of the Red Clan's second-in-command spoke of his hidden fury, and Yata felt sweat collect on the back of his neck. Good thing this was just a phone call or he'd really be in for it. "I told him he must be mistaken because our King specifically told our vanguard not to go causing trouble."

Yata scrambled for an excuse, but he really couldn't think of anything. It was true, he had gone against Anna and, although it ate at him, he couldn't just sit and do nothing.

"Yata-chan?" Kusanagi prodded at his silence.

"I was trying to find Hayashi," he mumbled in response.

"After Anna told you she didn't want to be found? Now because you went off on your own—ah?"

There was a rustling from the other line, and then Kusanagi's grumpy tone was replaced by a soft, "Misaki?"

"O-Oh, Anna…"

"Are you okay? I couldn't see your red this morning."

"My red? Oh…"

That morning had seemed like so long ago, but now he remembered waking up in a frigid meat locker. His fire had been barely enough to keep him from freezing to death; no wonder she hadn't been able to sense him.

"I'm okay. I was just tired is all."

"I was worried. I thought maybe something happened."

His stomach plummeted. Her voice betrayed that there was something else on her mind, and he was pretty sure it was what was on his mind lately as well—the anniversary of Mikoto-san's and Totsuka-san's deaths was coming up sooner than they were ready for. Yata had disappeared without a word and had also gotten himself into a bad situation. Anna was going to think that everyone she cared about left around her birthday. He cursed himself internally. He was supposed to be her knight; he was supposed to protect her, not have her worrying about him!

"I'm sorry, Anna. I was trying to find Hayashi."

There was a pause, and then his King asked in her small voice, full of genuineness and free of accusation, "Misaki, was my decision not to look for Azami a bad one?"

His heart broke, and he choked on his own guilt. "N-no! No, no, no, Anna, your decision was right! I just…" He sighed, caught between his loyalty to his King and the Green Girl from another clan who had somehow found her place with them. "There are bad guys looking for her, too, and somebody was gonna find her—better me than Ichiban or the rebellion. I couldn't just let her get herself killed…"

There was a longer pause, and then Anna decided, "Misaki…please be careful."

"H-Hai! I will! Don't you worry, Anna! I'll be back soon!"

She made a noise of agreement, and then another rustle along with a deep sigh revealed that Kusanagi-san had regained his phone.

"We'll talk more about this later. Right now, I need you to meet me at this address, so we can decide how we're going to help Hayashi-san out of this mess."