Renji could feel the cold creeping throughout his skin despite the delivery jacket he wore. While he helped Tetsuo load the last paper bag into the thermal cargo box strapped to the back of the scooter.
"Yo, Renji, you're good to go. That's the whole batch," Tetsuo said, shutting the lid.
Renji recounted all the paper bags and realize. "Hmm? Where's the one with the red ribbon?"
"Ah, it's still inside. Miss Reika said she'd send one of her people after this to pick it up here."
"…Huh? Why? Isn't that—wait…" A couple of reasons ran through his mind, but none of them exactly reassuring.
"She didn't say much," Tetsuo replied, wiping his hands on his apron. "Just that she wanted to minimize any unforeseen problems. You know… like thing's that just happened to you…"
"Ah… right…"
Renji's expression tightened, not because the considerate explanation from Tetsuo, but as he recalled words that he says to her yesterday.
It's not because I said that stuff, right?
"If you know you've got enemies… why the hell do you act like nothing's wrong??"
"Excuse me?"
"You're loaded, right? Hire a private chef. Don't eat like a normal person if you know it's going to cause trouble for other people."
Words he never meant to hit as hard as they did.
But she still chooses to keep eating from this place… heh…
"Don't worry about it," Tetsuo added, a bit more cheerful. "Checked your bike already. No weird packages or shady tape anywhere."
"Guess I should thank you…"
"You should." Tetsuo jokingly winked at him.
I'll tell him about the driver thing later… when I'm back.
"Okay then. I'm off."
"Be careful Renji!"
The first stop was always the same. A small apartment complex. Outside, a man in sweatpants with two toddlers hanging off his arms stood waving. Two more kids peeked out from behind the door.
Renji handed over the 'family set' with a warm nod, watching the man juggle the wallet and children with tired efficiency.
Next was the college loner—Then came the elderly couple. Several blocks later, he rolled up to a cramped bookstore with faded awnings. Then, the women's sharehouse. For the two sisters orders. One of them waved and said thanks. The other just yawned. And last came the health therapy center—another loop. Another morning.
And sometimes, as he turned a sharp corner, the scooter gave a cough like an old smoker fed up with winter. Renji muttered to it under his breath.
"C'mon, buddy… Don't die on me…"
Back at Waragyo, Renji leaned against the stove, sipping water, and feeling his hands still half-numb from the cold.
He glanced toward Tetsuo, who was scrubbing the wok. "Hey, old man."
"Hm?"
"So… last Saturday. That woman—Miss Reika—she asked me to be her personal driver."
Tetsuo paused, eyes glancing up with mild curiosity. "Oh?"
"… It's just another part-time."
"That's a good thing, isn't it? You're not refusing it, right?"
Renji rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually… I already driving for her since yesterday. I just… Just thought… No, I'm sorry, I should've told you first."
"Hah. Don't worry. I can always find another part-tim—"
"I'm not quitting," Renji quickly interrupted Tetsuo. "The driving gig starts at 5pm. I can still help you in the morning as usual."
"Oh-ho, going for that double income grind, huh?" The old man let out a hearty laugh. "Hustling like a real adult now."
"Wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but… anyway, I'm lying if I said it's not because the pay..."
"Then why do you look like someone just burned your room?" Tetsuo put his cleaning sponge into the sink, and look properly at Renji's face. "Something bothering you?"
Renji hesitated for a moment. "It's just… who is she? This Miss Reika. She looks… I dunno. Off?"
"Hmm. From what I remember… since she started ordering here months ago… She's quite normal to me…"
"You never got suspicious of her?"
"Suspicious how? I mean... I think that's just how rich people are. And I've met worse rich people. At least she's not pretentious."
"I guess…" Both Renji and Tetsuo stared at the ceiling.
"Besides, I believe someone that choose to eat from this rundown place for almost a year is not a bad person." Tetsuo smiled wryly. "Weird, yeah. Dangerous? Not so sure."
"…True that," Renji muttered with a dry chuckle. "Anyway, just wanted to let you know."
Tetsuo wiped his hands on his apron again. "Well, you're clocking in at five, right? Then go rest now. Don't mess up your second job."
"I will." Renji tugged his scarf back into place and stepped out of the shop.
He glanced up toward the clouds.
Guess I'm overthinking it… right…?
--------
Suwabe watched from his parked sedan, engine still warm. Inside, smoke from his half-dead cigarette curled in the stale air. His eyes locked across the street, the rundown dumpling restaurant, WaraGyo.
And right on cue—the man he's tailing, Renji Tohara stepped out from the front door, no longer wearing his yellow delivery jacket, instead his casual attire.
"Still on the same routine just like his records..." He muttered to himself, voice raspy from too many smokes and not enough sleep. "… Sooner or later…"
He'd been watching since the day he walked out from the prison. And every day since, Suwabe had followed him—quietly, deliberately. Always a few streets behind. Never close enough to be noticed. But always close enough to know where the boy went.
'Morning, food runs for that old man at Waragyo. Evening, a different suit, a different ride. A black car this time.'
Suwabe wrote a lot on his notebook, but this one he wrote with multiple red line dashed under the letters.
"Always arriving for the same person. Reika Hiraga. The woman with the cold stare and invisible armor."
And Renji? Suddenly her driver, right after the incident?
"Or is he always been her driver…? Just acting clean before?"
Nothing makes sense… yet…
Suwabe sat back and let the thought settle.
"No one gets wrapped in shit like that by accident. Especially if she's involved…"
His eyes moved back to the dumpling shop, Tetsuo already gone back inside the restaurant after seeing Renji off.
"Tetsuo... huh."
The name lingering in the air like another key piece that he could use, or force to be useful.
If someone was feeding the kid a cover, it'd be him.
"Old men who smile too easily always had something tucked behind their teeth. Ain't no way she's frequenting order at this place without reason…"
Either Tetsuo… or that Reika… has to got some deals under all of this shit.
"I'll do my own justice."
He repeated it like scripture. He flicked the cigarette stub out the window gap and stared across the street one last time.
"I should find a chance," he muttered under his breath, "where I can ask Tetsuo a lot... of questions."
The way he said it wasn't gentle.
It wasn't inquisitive.
It was the kind of voice someone used when they'd already decided they weren't asking—they were digging, with or without permission.
Reflected in the snow-covered windshield, Suwabe faintly caught his own expression. Blank, unblinking, but something behind the eyes burned like dying coals. A man tired of pretending to play fair.
Then he turned the ignition, let the engine alive and left his parking spot.
--------
Renji still getting used to the car, and under his grip, he could feel he almost get used to the driving. Then he checked the time on the dash.
6:11 pm
The address Shira had handed him yesterday led to a clean, sleek building behind unpopular commercial strip. The plaque out front read something generic—'Hibana Strategies Inc.'—but the armored sedans out front and the subtle presence of security suggested something more sensitive.
Just as he stepped out to take a better look, the glass doors slid open.
A pair of familiar silhouettes emerged—Reika, and Shira. They walked out flanked by a small entourage, men and women in suits, with earbuds and serious faces. One of them he recognized from a televised cabinet session months ago.
Government…? Some meeting with bureaucrats?
Straightening his collar, he smoothed the front of his new black suit and stepped around the car, pulling the handle with a soft click. The back door swung open just as the two women approached.
"Good evening," Renji said with a slight bow.
Neither of them returned the greeting. Reika slid into the back seat first, followed by Shira, who gave a passing glance that felt like being weighed. As soon as the doors clicked shut, the bubble of silence closed in around them as usual.
Renji took his place behind the wheel.
"Alright. So, where to—"
"Shinagawa wharf, Asagiri Dock, Gate Seven."
Shira's voice cut through him, clear and concise.
Aight…
He reached for his phone, while keeping one hand on the steering wheel steady, thumb clumsy against the screen as he opened the map apps. Again.
Behind him, Shira let out a small, pointed sigh.
"You don't know the road?"
Renji didn't look back. "Cut me some slack. I've never had a yacht to park down there."
"Fair enough, yesterday we're just circling around Tokyo, and you still need your phone to drive. Same excuse? delivery boy?" Shira fires back with another evaluation at him.
"… Never delivered dumplings around that area before, and I've always failed the interview at those fancy spot, so yeah, I don't know places that I've never been…"
The GPS chimed. 'Route calculated. Estimated time: 54 minutes.'
"Heh, Haha." A suppressed laughter flicked from the rear seat. Reika's eyes, half-lidded in her usual detached calm, curved slightly. She didn't say anything, but the hint of amusement danced at the corner of her lips.
"Are you sure you don't want to hire someone else? He's a waste of space." Shira murmured beside her, voice just soft enough to sound private—but loud enough to make sure the man in the driver seat heard.
Renji began his driving, gripping tight on the steering wheel to redirecst his embarrassment.
If you're gonna throw shade, at least don't let me hear it, ladies...
--------
The snow didn't fall tonight—but a thin layer of snow already filling every gap of the streets. One man muttering as he trudged along the icy sidewalk. Cigarette between his lips, he breathes out the smoke into the cold wind.
He walked past the 24-hour convenience store, bathed in its harsh blue light. A group of women stood near the entrance, laughing too loud, cheeks red from alcohol. Probably just got back from some company party. He slowed his steps just a little—eyes openly leering across their legs and body, their tousled shirt and dress, their flushed faces. One of them noticed, whispered something at each other's, and they all moved a little closer together. He whistled and kept walking, with a dirty grin still on his face.
Few steps ahead, quiet again. Behind him though, something moved. Not even loud—just a faint crunch, like a misstep in the powder. He paused and turned at the sound slowly. Nothing but dark storefronts. He chuckled nervously and picked up the pace. Still, his shoulders refused to relax. He could feel the weight of the night pressing against his back, like something just barely out of sight.
He cut through a side road, slipping through a rusted fence, between two buildings and into the kind of alley that never felt safe, even during the day. The snow was deeper here. No tire tracks, no footprints. His boots sank into the slush with heavy steps. Wind howled somewhere behind him, bouncing between the brick walls.
Few steps away from him, after making sure that the man walked away far enough until his suspicions gave out, Shira continues her pursuit under the shadow.
Once again, the man in her field of view glanced over his shoulder several times before entering into a rundown warehouse far at the edge of the commercial district, with flaking paint and a crooked roof. Waiting several minutes, Shira circled the building until she found a crack in the wall, a jagged break near an old ventilation panel. Cool air leaked through. So did voices.
"—yeah, this is the stuff."
"Rest'll be in six days, bank on it."
"Hey, we can take more of these, got some new customer, give him a holler."
"The softie mistress won't notice. Ha! Let her keep playing boss."
"Glad that bitch's mom is dead. Now business smooth again."
"You talk to the others yet? We should rope in more hands—"
Her eyes scanned the room thoroughly from the gap, counting the silhouettes.
Three, four men.
One voice among them she recognized.
"...Filth everywhere…" she muttered, almost too tired of the sight.
The conversation continued, bloated by the cash in front of their eyes, they turn euphoric.
"Kokuren just a shell now."
"And that's perfect time to rake in some fine cash."
"Think I'll hit the district later—Heard new stock coming in the other day, you're with me?"
"Screw that, man. District girls? I'd rather scam some clueless uni bitch. Way better."
"You sick fuck, haha!"
"Yeah, yeah—cheers to that, fuckers!"
Four bottles clinked together in a lazy toast, enjoying their fleeting minutes basking in profit. But their laughter was short lived.
The lights inside died with a faint click. Darkness swallowed the room. A split second of silence, then chairs scraped. "What the fuck—?!" All of them readied their gun.
"Blackout?!"
"No, there—"
Before one of them could finish his words, a slicing sound. Then a thud. Heavy. Like a sack of meat hitting floor.
"Hey—!"
Another slice. Another thud.
"You BASTARDS!! GahhhHHH!!!!!!!"
Panic bloomed and one of them fired blindly. Muzzle flashes strobed the room in quick bursts. In that brief illumination, a blur moved between two panicked men. A woman. Expressionless. Long ponytail swinging. Blade already traveling fast toward one of them—then darkness again.
SHIT!! It's her!!
The last man standing decided to run. He scrambled through the darkness out of the room, almost tripping over his dead friends. His fingers fumbled at his phone, already dialing.
"Shit, shit, SHIT—"
As he reached the exit—A sharp gunshot rang out.
He screamed, collapsing as a bullet tore through his thigh. His phone clattered beside him as he grabbed the wound, blood seeping through his pants.
The sound of heels clacked along the floor deliberately, walking closer to him like a countdown and stopped in front of him. In desperation, he lift his gun, shaking fingers aimed forward to darkness—another slice from a blade. His severed hand falls together with the weapon.
"AAAGHHHHH! F-FUCK!!"
Then the backup power kicked in. Low yellow light washed over the carnage.
She was standing like an executioner—a blade covered with blood in one hand, a gun in the other. Her ponytail swayed behind her like a snake.
Her eyes looked down without emotion.
The man's face twisted.
"Shira, Shira—wait! Wait wait wait wait!! Please! Listen to me!!"
"…Go on," she said in a bored tone.
"Why are you against this?? We're just doing what we always did—!"
Shira tilted her head in an innocent manner, clearly a mocking gesture to him.
"—FUCK!! You're a goddamn Kurosawa! Since when did you become a lapdog for some whore?!"
A pause. Then a dry, humorless smirk.
"…Yeah. I hear that a lot."
"Come on!! H-help me out—we'll make sure you get what you really deserve, the recognition!!"
Still standing over him, she moves one of her hands pointed the gun at his forehead slowly the more he let his mouth run.
"SHIRA, LISTEN DAMN IT—!!! I know you realize that she can't lead Kokuren!!"
Click. The forgotten phone on the floor finally connected.
"Yo, sorry, I'm busy earli—"
The man on the floor screamed into it with bloodshot eyes.
"TELL HIM—SHIRA'S ON OUR TA—"
*BANG*
The bullet tore through his skull. Half his head disappeared in a splash of red across the concrete floor. Shira didn't blink as blood spattered across her cheek. She lowered the gun.
--------
Across the city, in a red-light motel, the man on the other end of the call froze. The scream, the gunshot—it said enough.
"Shit. We're blown! Gotta tell him!!"
He bolted, stumbling out the door, grabbing for his keys. He got in his car while dialing another new number.
Then— the last thing he see was blinding headlights like a flashbang, engine roared into his car.
*CRASH*
With a sound that was like thunder snapping steel. A dump truck slammed into him at full speed. The car crumpled between the parking lot wall and the impact like a tin foil.
--------
Back at the rundown warehouse, Shira stepped out into the night.
A black van waited outside. Several men in dark overalls stood nearby. She didn't look at them.
"Clean up," she said, while wiping her blade with a cloth.
She checked her phone. A message blinked back at her.
'Truck parked.'
She stood still for a moment. A moonless night. Only the distant hum of leftover traffic, and the smell of blood following her.
Her dark eyes stared at the empty sky.
"…Hnh."