A few days before Akane and Ruby returned to the site of the ritual.
"If anyone ever finds this recording, then I am probably dead or at the very least have gone missing. In case of this occurring, I would kindly ask you to forward this recording device to the police forces." It was a silent night, with just a single rather short but fit-looking man standing hooded and engulfed by darkness inside an alley. His eyes were fixated on the glowing windows of a house on the opposite side of the street.
"What I am about to do is not right, and I am aware of said fact. However, the last month was the worst month of my life. I cannot go on like this. The pain I felt back when my parents died pales when compared to what I am feeling right now. I need answers." He tried to keep his voice as cold and professional as possible, but small crackles could be heard regardless.
"I cannot take the pain of this lingering uncertainty any longer. I always believed that every human deserves kindness, but apparently some people are so cruel that only death and pain serve them right. I do not want to be the one to inflict this death and pain upon them, but what I want is not of priority." The man stopped the recording and slid the device into his pocket. He stood still for another few minutes before he determinantly walked towards the house.
Judging from the narrow roads and silent ambience, he was probably in the outskirts of Meguro. It was definitely not the north bordering Shibuya nor the west bordering Setagaya — though it seemed to be closer to the second than the first. A chilly wind that made a shiver run down his spine blew through the utterly deserted roads of the late-night residential area as he took the first out of the alley and onto the almost as dark main road.
I have to do this…
I don't deserve any of this, and even if it kills me, I have to go through with it.
He used thoughts like these to justify his mind and soothe his soul. The path from the alley to the house felt like an eternity. The street he had to cross to get there alone felt like it was a solemn believer of Zeno's paradoxes. But eventually he still made his way over the street and up the driveway, ringing the doorbell just once.
He waited patiently. Sluggish steps and loud thumps could be heard through the paper-thin walls of the house, coming ever so closer to the door. The man grasped his hand tighter inside his pocket. His rather confident-looking frame from back in the alley crumpled even further. Then the door opened.
"What do you want?" the man who just opened the door growled. "How did you find this house?"
"E-Excuse me." The hooded man looked up as he spoke, light befalling his face for the first time. Surprisingly, he was no man at all. He was still a boy. He was probably in his late teens, but his face looked younger, with his features almost feminine. "My phone is dead, and I need to call my mom to pick me up. Could I use yours, sir?" Not only were his features feminine, but his voice was almost like a girl's too. It contrasted his colder voice from just minutes ago strongly.
"Use my phone? Is that why you are here?" The man replied. He was far taller and a bit bulkier as well — still rather thin. His face was covered by the stumbles of a beard that hadn't seen a razor in at least two weeks. Said bulkier and taller body he used to completely block the boy from even glancing into the bright house behind his back.
"Uhh, yup, that's why I'm here?" He said, though it sounded more like a question.
The homeowner looked around for a moment, distrustingly peeking his head out into the cold night to get a better view of the surroundings. This allowed the boy to glance past him for a second, something that was of no matter since not even a moment later the man made way and stepped aside. "Alright, you can call her, but just one short call and then you'll leave me alone again."
"Thank you very much." He bowed down just slightly before entering the house, where a nauseating stale odor mixed with the intense smell of strong liquor hit him head on. He always hated it — liquor. Legally speaking, he would definitely not even have been old enough to drink it, although who really knows these days. He tried it on various occasions regardless, but it was always so bad he couldn't even swallow.
I didn't know that he's an alcoholic…
I suppose this could make things easier.
But I still need to be careful.
This man is dangerous, vile, and deceptive.
If I slip up even a bit, he'd definitely try to kill me.
Together, the two of them walked into the rather spacious living room of the place. The ground was covered by empty bottles of alcohol, while every other surface was subjected to already molding fast food. "Here, just make it quick," he said as he handed his phone over and stepped out of the room to give the boy a bit of privacy.
He grasped the phone tightly in his palm. But rather than actually calling anybody, he just put it down after a moment and began inspecting the room closer. Apart from the trash that clearly took it over, the room looked quite luxurious. The couch was leather and the TV at least 75''.
"I expected something nicer than this. Why would a man like him live under such filthy conditions? And why would he willingly show me all of this? Something is seriously wrong here. I need to be more perceptive… That's one of the things he always preached to me."
About two minutes after the two had separated so he could make a call, he left the living room and returned back to the hallway.
"Did she pick up?" the man asked as he took his phone back.
"Yeah, she'll pick me up in a-" While speaking, the boy put his jacket, which he had taken off as he entered the house earlier, back on. However, he was clumsy by nature, and it showed.
*Krrrsshhh.* His sleeve hit over a vase that shattered into a thousand pieces once it hit the floor.
"Are you insane?" The homeowner gasped out, almost shrieking as he turned his back and knelt over the broken pieces of ceramic. "Do you even know how much this thing was worth?" he added, not looking back.
He was vulnerable and distracted. The hooded guy, who saw his opportunity, pulled his hand out of his pocket. In it, glistening due to the bright overhead light, an empty glass bottle. The man was still kneeling, oblivious to his unexpected guest slowly and silently raising the bottle far over his own head.
"Goddamnit… Fuck…" He muttered silent curses to himself as he picked the larger pieces of the broken vase up with his bare hands.
The man's eyes sparkled with murderous intent, while his bottle remained raised far above his head. Then something else shone through. Pity? Doubt? Fear? Perhaps it was a mix of all. Just as quiet as he raised it, he lowered the bottle again, sliding it back into the spacious pocket of his jacket like nothing had ever happened.
"I-I'm so sorry. I will obviously pay for it," he stuttered, his eyes back to normal with the bravado in his voice still there.
The kneeling man sighed and shook his head. "Don't bother. Mistakes happen," he mumbled.
"I-I'll pay for it regardless."
A small smile tugged at the lips of the knelt man. Even though they shouldn't have gotten dirty, he dusted his hands off on his pants before he got back up. "That's nice of you… but I believe it's really just better if you'd leave. Money isn't a problem for me as things are right now, so don't worry."
"Well then, could I perhaps use your bathroom? My mom won't be here for another 30 minutes, and I really don't think I can hold it for that long."
The man sighed. "Just be quick with it."
"Goddammit," the hooded man pulled his hood down for the first time that night, letting his shoulder-long black hair fall freely down his head. "Why did I hesitate?" He splashed his heated face with cold water from the bathroom's sink. "I can't allow myself to hesitate like that. Like it or not, if I want the truth, then it's eat or be eaten."
Meanwhile, just outside the bathroom, the homeowner just started to scoop up the rest of the shards he didn't get before — this time with a broom rather than his hands — when his phone rang.
"Who'd call me at such an hour?" he mumbled, leaning his broom against the wall. "Who is this?"
"It's just me… I wanted to know if our dinner in two days is still happening."
The worry that had edged onto the man's face evaporated. It turned into something else. Something that's not easy to tell. His forehead wrinkled and his eyes fell. It almost looked like, even though he acted like he wouldn't expect a call, he very well did. "Actually, something came up… I'm sorry." His eyes glanced over to the calendar that hung just a few feet away. It was empty. Utterly and completely. Matter of fact, the front page was still clearly displaying last month. "Let's eat dinner and talk about… you know… some time next week… Promised."
The woman on the other end of the line sighed loudly. "No… No, we won't talk some time next week. Why did I even believe you'd ever change? My schedule is packed to the brim. Do you even know how many things I had to rearrange just for you to cancel on me over and over again? Saturday next week… 9:00 pm at the bar… This is your last chance at this, otherwise I'll just do it myself… again."
"I- Uhm- Uhh-" he stammered, wanting to reply, but the bit of alcohol in his system mixed with the unexpected barrage of emotions sedated his brain just long enough for *beeeeeep* the call to end. "I should've picked a woman with less temper…" he mumbled, his right hand falling away from his ear down to his side.
The running water in the bathroom was probably the only thing that kept him from fully indulging in his brain. 'Why do I always do that kind of thing?' He thought, his eyes distant as if they had already searched nearby and were now looking for the answer to his question in some faraway city.
'Am I scared of seeing her again?' The screen that shows when a call ends was gone again. Instead, his hanging phone was now in the second-best screen, his call log. 'We made up months ago… But I can't go see her, not even for something like this. The things I said to that boy back then showed me I'm just not worthy of her forgiveness…"
He brought his phone up to his face, just staring at his screen. He wasn't crying, yet his screen was blurry regardless. It was almost like he had a far more serious case of astigmatism than normal.
'But I have to do this. We'd lose so much money if I keep delaying this. It's just business. I have to go see her, and it shouldn't have to wait until Saturday next week.'
He blinked the blurriness around him away and locked onto his phone. Just when his finger hovered over the call back button, he froze. He scrolled up and down his chat log, each scroll making more cold sweat run down his forehead and back. He stopped only when he was sure his imagination wasn't playing tricks on him. "He said he'd call his mother… But if that's true. Then why is there no mention of this call in my history?" he mumbled.
A shiver ran down his spine as the faint noise of the running water inside the bathroom disappeared. "Something is really wrong here," he mumbled, grabbing one of the many empty bottles off the floor and placing it where the vase stood moments ago.
The bathroom door at the end of the hallway creaked open louder and slower than ever before. The man grasped the cabinet to his left tightly. The bathroom was far too dark for him to see anything. Then he came out, his hood back over his head and his hands tugged into his pockets. With slow steps, he came closer, not looking up so his face was obscured by shadows. The hooded man stopped abruptly just 2 meters away from bumping into the home owner. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved. One did not even look up, but the other was staring intently, trying to analyze the other's posture for any sign of hostility. There was none. The hooded man's body looked completely relaxed, even peaceful — at least as far as one could tell through his many layers of clothing.
However, this was a charade… a trained con that he perfected. Even with said perfection, it was hard for him to keep it up. The intense silence of uncertainty of how much the other knew frightened both of them to the same level.
'He knows something is off.' It was a terrifying revelation for the hooded man. His eyes, well hidden behind his medium-long hair, glanced at the homeowner's hand, which was basically drilled into the cabinet by now. 'Then it's time for plan B.'
"I-I'm sorry." The man pulled his hood down and bowed. "I lied to you, sir." He still didn't raise his head again. He was silently praying to every god out there that the dangerous home owner, the man who took it all away from him, wouldn't just strike him down while he was this vulnerable. "I am not here because my phone died… I do actually know who you are…" He looked back up. "I am a huge fan of yours and wanted to ask for an autograph."
"You're lying again. You look barely old enough to have been alive back then. How could you be a fan?" He replied, his grasp on the wood not loosening.
"B-But I'm telling the truth," the once hooded guy stuttered. "I was a huge fan of the new B-Komachi, but eventually I wanted to see more and began watching tapes of the old B-Komachi. You have to believe me… Ichigo Saitou."
"Prove it to me," Ichigo said.
"How?" the hooded man asked.
"Come up with something."
Both men silently stared each other down for a moment before the hooded one slowly began to pull his hand out of his pocket. Out came a pinkish photograph. "Here," he mumbled as he held it out for Ichigo to see. "I came so you could sign this for me… Please."
Ichigo's hand fell away from the cabinet and reached out for the picture. He looked at it closer. It was old, really old — and just as it was old, it was also valuable. It was no doubt a 1/1 booster card of the legendary idol Ai. Back then, now 15 years ago, each of the members of the original B-Komachi had exactly one card that was signed by hand in circulation. And here was the most valuable of them all, something collectors would definitely pay millions of yen for, right in Ichigo's shaky hands.
"W-Where did you get this?" He stuttered before shaking his head and regaining his composure. "Why would I sign this after you lied to me?" he asked.
The man looked down. "I'm sorry, I was just so nervous."
"Just being nervous is no excuse for lying to your elder," Ichigo retorted.
"I know… but please. I want your signature on it. I know it would lose value… but I don't care. I want the signature of the man who formed the original B-Komachi on it… You are a legend, so seeing you in person made me nervous." The man bowed as deep as he could. "Please," he said firmly.
Ichigo eyed him up and down, then he sighed and turned around. "Get up already… And if you dox my address, I will send every lawyer in Japan after you," he mumbled while leaning over the cabinet and pulling a pen out of the drawer.
This was it, his mistake. Ichigo just felt how a blunt object hit his head before the entire world around him faded into darkness. His hearing stayed the longest, so he still heard the man's frantic mumbling for a few moments before it eventually also turned into utter nothingness.
…
I believe now would be a good time to talk about Ichigo's current circumstances… Well, not current as in current current, but rather current as in the month that had passed since he helped Aqua in getting rid of Kamiki's body. Back then, Ichigo was slowly getting back onto his feet. The last 15 years he spent a coward, a shadow of the man he once was, avoiding responsibility for everything that should've been his business to handle.
If it hadn't been for Aqua taking matters into his own hand a few months back, Ichigo would've probably lived as said coward until the day he died. But that's not how things went. Ichigo reconciled with Miyako — though he wasn't the biggest fan of it at the time — and went back to his former work. As they say, some people need to be forced to do what's good for them. Something Aqua could preach about, but that's beside the point.
This reconciliation should've been everlasting, but it wasn't, and what happened made Ichigo crawl back deeper into the hole of self-pity he was just pulled out of than ever before. The night he got rid of Kamiki's body alongside Aqua, he spoke harsh words. They were not wrong, nor were they right. They were not spoken to make Aqua feel worse as much as to make himself feel better. He was done with most shortly after he had spoken them. One thing he did, however, couldn't leave his head.
"Where did Miyako go wrong when she raised you?" Those were his exact words.
He wanted to cut his tongue off the moment the words left his mouth. He was the one to leave her alone with the twins to fend for herself. He was the one at fault for the way Aqua had turned out — at least that's what he thought. She gave everything she had and far more; he didn't give anything at all.
Him giving her the fault was thus what made him see how things are. It was the thing that made him realize even all these years were not enough time for him to accept his fault.
Nobody at Ichigo Production knew where he lived, so it was relatively easy for him to slip away unnoticed. And slipping is what he did, but that in more than one sense. Into old habits as well, he always drank; sometimes it was just a beer, sometimes it was more. But it was never as bad as it is right now; he probably wasn't fully sober for even a moment over the past month. He himself drowned in sorrows, the sorrows in liquor, and everyone around him alongside them…
An undefined amount of time later, his hearing was the first sense of his to return to his side. Sadly, it wasn't of much use, though; all he heard was the sound of rapid tapping somewhere in the far distance. It sounded rhythmic and even as it steadily came ever so closer. It felt like he was running, running from the darkness into the light, which was in reality just as dark. The rapid tapping all around him was his own steps… No, it was not. It was the steps of somebody, perhaps something, chasing him. No, wrong, wrong, wrong. It was neither. He wasn't moving, neither was the sound. Nothing was running, nothing was chasing. But what was it then?
It was the smell and the taste that returned next. These two, as well, served no true purpose. He might have been able to smell the stale and musty air resting heavily around him now, but he still couldn't do anything with this newfound information.
After all the prior senses couldn't particularly help his situation, he hoped for the next one to guide a way out of this psychedelic dreamlike maze. One, two, three, and up next four — the number of bad luck. His head felt like it had been blown off at point-blank range by a 12-gauge shotgun slug. He wanted to scream in pain, but he couldn't. He obviously never had been shot by a real shotgun, but he just knew that it must feel exactly the way he felt right now. It was certain. His touch had returned as well.
Lastly — and most importantly — his vision finally came back to him as well. It was really dim, just a single lightbulb doing its best to try and illuminate all four plain brick walls. His eyes were too heavy and the surrounding world too bright, so he was still not fully capable of opening his eyes, which made it even harder to determine his surroundings than before.
One thing was sure, though. He wasn't alone. In the corner of the room sat a short man behind a tall desk, tapping his foot on the ground over and over again in incredibly rapid succession. The throbbing pain in his head was so bad, the quick tapping on the hard floor was probably the only thing that kept him from slipping away again.
"So you're awake… I see," the guy said, his foot slowing down but not stopping.
"I'm sorry I had to do that, but you are dangerous and I must be careful." He got up from the chair and walked over to Ichigo. "We both don't want this, so how about you tell me what I need to know?" He placed his index finger below Ichigo's chin and forced him to look up into his eyes.
The man mustered Ichigo's half-open eyes for a while before he sighed in disdain. An annoying hint of resilience remained deep behind all the numbness in Ichigo's eyes. "I'll get you something to eat and drink… Then we can talk." He turned his back and left out the door Ichigo had just now taken note of.
The pulsating pain in the back of his head only now began to make way for him to feel other sensations. He finally realized that his mouth was gagged and his hands and feet were tied tight enough to cut into his flesh. In all honesty, he would've preferred it if it continued to just be his head that hurt.
'What is all of this?' he thought as he did the only thing he physically could — look around the room. He had never before seen this room, though he could be mistaken since it honestly looked like every other basement he ever saw, just a bit cleaner. There was no window and only a single door. In one of the two corners he could see stood a wooden table. It was too tall for him to see its tabletop, but perhaps he could, if he just had enough time, scoot over with his chair and knock it over. It was a desperate idea, but better than just waiting for his kidnapper to return.
'I have seen a lot of crazy fans in my life, but who in their right mind would kidnap the ex-manager?' He tried to move his arms, but with every little movement everything just turned even less comfortable, so instead he tried the same with his legs. The same thing happened there. The bond was so tight, each little shift felt like the rope cut into his lower leg.
Scooting over to the table was a good thought, but not more than a dream at last. The pain was too grave for too little reward, so he just stopped. Perhaps he could reason with the man. If this was about money, he had some, not really that much, but if worst comes to worst, he was willing to give up what was left over.
About 10 minutes passed mostly in silence before Ichigo could hear the massive metal door be unlocked once again. He hadn't heard any steps leading up to it, though, so either this guy was really quiet or the room was really well isolated. Neither possibility was better than the other, and both were quite bad.
"I didn't know what you would like, so I just bought this bag of chips." He placed said bag of chips as well as a bottle of water down by Ichigo's feet before he grabbed the other chair from the corner of the room and sat down just a meter in front of Ichigo.
"I'll now take the gag out of your mouth. This room is perfectly soundproof, so please don't scream. Nobody will hear you anyway." He reached out and untied the gag, which really was just a repurposed sex toy, behind Ichigo's head.
Even after the gag was untied and discarded on the floor, both men just silently stared at each other for what felt like a minute. "Don't worry, I bought this thing new, so-"
"What do you want?" Ichigo growled, not caring if his gag was inside someone else's mouth before.
"Right… do you want to eat or drink something? Your throat is probably really dry," he said, picking the bag and bottle up from the floor.
"No interest."
"Alright, your loss, man." He hesitated for a moment before placing them back down on the floor.
The man remained in the bowed position, which he needed to take to place the things back down for a moment, the tips of his fingers slowly gliding over the cold stone floor.
"Could you please just finally tell me what you want?" Spit flew through the room as Ichigo spoke. "What could you possibly want from me… Some random no-name manager who was semi-popular 15 years ago. I'm not even one of the idols… If this is about money, I don't have much of it either."
"Oh, it seems like this is a misunderstanding…" He pulled the priceless B-Komachi collectors card out of his pocket. "I don't really care about B-Komachi. Well, I think Kana is interesting, but this isn't about her either. This card belongs to my dad… He was a fan once upon a time, I think."
"But if you don't care about idols, then what do you want with me?"
"Well, you see, a month ago I was down in the Kansai region for some business… Once I returned, my dad was just gone… It was like he had vanished off the face of this earth."
Ichigo looked even more puzzled now. "So your dad left you, and this is why you kidnapped me…? I'm honored, but I don't think I can play such a big role in someone's life right now."
The guy's face dropped at Ichigo's attempt at a dry joke. "Anyway, when he didn't come back after a few days, I began investigating. After a bit of searching, I found something interesting right by our front door…"
"I'm not really following along right now," Ichigo replied.
The man cleared his throat and looked deep into Ichigo's eyes. "You know where my father is… and I know that you know."
"I don't even know who your father is," Ichigo retorted with a matching intensity in his eyes.
"Don't lie to me. You kidnapped him. You kidnapped my father, Hikaru Kamiki, and now you want ransom."
Ichigo's blood ran cold, his face paled, and his cortisol spiked. "Hikaru Kamiki…?" he repeated, his voice far quieter than before. "I don't know any Hikaru Kamiki."
"Yes, you do," the man mumbled. "You were there when he was kidnapped." His eyes filled with desperation. "I… We… He has money… Lots of it… And favors, favors from every kind of powerful person… You can have it all. Please just tell me where he is."
"Y-You're lying. Hikaru Kamiki had no children," Ichigo stuttered.
The man's head, which had begun to hang, shot up again. "I am not. He adopted me back when I was eleven… Please, he is a good man. He doesn't deserve this kind of thing happening to him."
'"He adopted me back when I was 11."'
'"He's a good man. He doesn't deserve this kind of thing happening to him."'
The man's words spun and bounced around in Ichigo's head.
'"He's a good man. He doesn't deserve this kind of thing happening to him???"'
"Are you kidding me? Kamiki being a good man? Man you a-" Ichigo felt a fist connect with his jaw, knocking the wind out of him and sending him spiraling into a fit of coughs before he could finish his sentence.
"I won't fall for your lies. You kidnapped him, and now you'll tell me where you're hiding him."
Ichigo gulped, saliva running down his jaw and dripping onto his pants. "I won't…"
The man's demeanor fell further. He stood up from the chair and walked over to the table. His movements looked stiff and uncertain. "Please just tell me," he said as he turned his head to look back at Ichigo once more.
"No… This answer is final." Ichigo stood his ground. He knew it was his only option since the truth would've buried him in far deeper shit.
The man sighed, but it sounded as if said sigh would want to stay inside his body at any cost. "Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked out of the blue.
Ichigo looked perplexed for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "Do whatever you want."
The man didn't wait. As soon as he got the go, he instantly lit the cigarette and took a long drag of it. He quickly erupted into a fit of coughs after just one puff. His body convulsed before he quickly caught himself again. His hand shook so much he almost dropped the cigarette, but he just took another long drag of it. Ichigo watched bewildered as the guy smoked the entire cigarette away like that. Smoking until he coughed, the shaking became less and less until only a small stump remained. When he was sure he put all the tobacco to use, he finally put it into a small heat-proof compartment attached to his pack.
"O-Okay," he mumbled, his posture less timid than before. "Let's get this over with."
He turned and walked over to the desk, pulling out a set of pliers from where the light didn't reach.
"Hey now. We can talk about this," Ichigo said as his sight set on the pliers, the implications of them hanging heavy above both men.
"We can?" A sliver of hope ran over the man's face. "Then tell me where he is and I'll let you go… You will never see or hear of me again, promised," he said, shoving the pliers into his pocket and raising his hands.
A painful smile crossed Ichigo's lips, his eyes displaying the same. "That, I cannot do," he said before he closed his eyes.
"I see…" the man mumbled, not angry but definitely disappointed.
Dulled steps echoed around Ichigo as the man walked closer. He wanted to open his eyes so he could at least see it, but he decided against this, against possibly folding at the mere sight that would befall him. He felt the cold iron of the pliers press against his right index finger.
It was scary, yet strangely invigorating. Ever since he had helped in killing Kamiki, something he was initially all for but grew more opposed to over the past months, he felt as dull as the steps that had echoed just a moment ago. Not even the alcohol managed to fully drown out the thoughts that came with helping Aqua bury a man — or rather, being so harsh to Aqua when he realistically had no other choice.
"Do it," he growled after the once cold iron had already adapted to the warmth of his skin. The vigor left alongside the coldness; they made way for the all-consuming numbness to return. This numbness didn't stay for a long time either, though. Cold sweat ran all over his body when the pliers finally closed fully and began moving. Up and down, up and down, up and down, until-
"ARGH-" Ichigo groaned loudly. He tried to keep it together, but the pain overwhelmed him almost as much as the initial pain he had felt in the back of his head half an hour ago. "FUCk- YoU moTHerfUCkeR," he whimpered, his eyes shot open after all. His nail was gone, and with it, the very tip of his finger. Hot blood was rapidly trickling down onto the dark floor, not enough to pool just yet.
The loud sound of the pliers hitting the ground pulled Ichigo out of the hyperfixation he had on his finger. In pain he looked over to the man who appeared to be kneeling on the ground, his face buried in his hands. "I don't want to do this," he mumbled in between ragged breaths. "Don't make me do this," he said, looking up at Ichigo.
"M-Make you do this?" Ichigo whimpered. "D-Do you think I want this?"
"Of course not, but you don't want to tell me where my father is either, so I have to do this. It's the only way…
Yeah…
That's it…
It is the only way…" He got back onto his feet, still looking a bit wobbly, the bloody pliers back in his hand. "The damage done to your fingers is most likely permanent… So you should really consider if you want this." His words were more a warning than a threat. They were even more than that. They were something he carefully looked up before going through with his plan. "I'll ask you again, do you-"
"Fuck you… I won't tell you a thing," Ichigo interrupted him.
"But why? I would still pay. I have money… more than enough."
"..."
"Please tell me."
"..."
The man sighed. "Alright, if that's your choice…" He knelt down once more. With one hand he restrained Ichigo's now bleeding and twitching hand, with the other he clamped down on the nail of his middle finger.
Ichigo clenched his teeth, then bit his lip. This time it took a considerable amount of time longer, but eventually, "fUcK," he whimpered through his teeth. The adrenaline kept him from screaming, but the pain was still surreal.
It went on until Ichigo's left hand was nothing except for a twitching mess. Where he once had nails were now exposed nerves, amplifying the cold air in the room a dozen times over. There was a saying that a man who didn't speak after one finger wouldn't speak after 10 either. After 5 the truth behind this became apparent to the kidnapper. He put the pliers back down on the table and picked up a canister of water and a towel instead.
He placed both down next to Ichigo. "I will step out for a smoke… Please use that time to think… If you still can." Before Ichigo could reply — not that he wanted — the man left, leaving him alone with his shuddering breaths.
The pain had returned again as his body ran out of adrenaline after the fourth finger, and it was stronger than ever before. It was barely bearable.
This hurts like hell. I can't even think straight.
What should I even do in such a scenario?
Should I try to escape and overwhelm him? He didn't look too strong. No, in my current state I can forget that.
Maybe I should give him a false location… But what use would that even have? He would eventually find it out and then come back. This wouldn't be a permanent solution.
But then what? Am I just supposed to betray Aqua? I can't… That boy trusts nobody… but he trusted me enough to ask for my help… I cannot betray that… not again.
"That only leaves one logical solution," Ichigo groaned in pain, keeping his voice quiet even though he knew by now that this room was isolated to the brim.
Five agonizing minutes went by in silence before the room's heavy door creaked open again. Back in came the man. Ichigo hadn't noticed it before, but through the brighter outside world it became visible. The guy looked tired, with big bags under his eyes, while his posture looked slumped.
"Did you have enough time to think?" he asked.
"I did," Ichigo replied.
"So?"
"I will tell you where he is."
The guy's eyes sparkled for a moment as he quickly shut the door and stepped closer. "Really? Tell me… Where is my father?"
"At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean."