The bell above the café door chimed with its familiar brass jingle, the sound carrying through the otherwise empty room as Logan stepped inside. The rich scent of broth still lingered faintly in the air, tangled with roasted coffee and the sharper smell of fresh grounds that seemed to cling to the counters, tables, and walls long after closing.
Logan exhaled heavily as he walked farther in, feeling every ache in his body flare whenever a joint shifted or a muscle stretched, the discomfort unpleasant but painfully familiar. It was the kind of soreness that reminded him his youth had long since packed up and left without saying goodbye, leaving him to deal with the increasingly stubborn complaints of a body inching toward the far side of its prime.
Warm air spilled from the café vents and washed over him as he crossed the room, but he slowed when his gaze settled on Saburo sitting alone at the bar. A bottle of Yamazaki rested on the polished wooden counter beside two whiskey glasses, each holding a single sphere of ice that glistened beneath the amber lights.
Saburo had changed into a navy-blue yukata and sat leaning forward with one elbow propped against the bar, staring into the liquid gold pooled inside his glass as though there might be an answer waiting at the bottom. His injured hand had been cleaned, wrapped in gauze, and bandaged properly, though patches of dried blood had already seeped through the dressing.
"You still up, old man?" Logan asked as he made his way toward the bar. "Figured you'd be out cold after all the shit that happened tonight."
"Yeah, I figured the same thing," Saburo replied, lifting the glass and taking a slow sip. He let the whiskey settle for a moment before lowering it again and shaking his head. "Guess I've got too many demons rattling around upstairs to just lay down and drift off." A tired chuckle escaped him as he looked toward Logan. "Boy, what a night."
Logan chuckled and pulled out the stool beside him before taking a seat. He reached for the bottle without asking, popped it open, and poured himself a generous measure. "Seriously, what the hell are you complainin' about?" he asked as he lifted the glass. "You didn't spend the night watchin' your girl almost kill herself tryin' to cross a finish line. You didn't have to deal with a bunch of S.W.A.T. goons, get tased, get your ass kicked by a crooked cop, then walk outside and get jumped by a bunch of yakuza assholes before you even had time to breathe."
Saburo gave him a flat stare. "You know what I mean, wise guy." He took another sip and settled the glass back onto the counter, his expression growing more subdued. "Still, I never thought somebody would just stand in the middle of the street and air out my dirty laundry for the whole damn neighbourhood to hear."
Logan swirled the whiskey in his glass, the sphere of ice knocking softly against the crystal. "Yeah," he said before taking a drink. "I mean, I already knew you had ties to the yakuza. Bee was never exactly shy about her family bein' connected to the mob, especially when her mom was the daughter of the Seventh Chairman."
"Yeah, well, there's a hell of a lot you don't know about me, Logan," Saburo replied with a quiet chuckle. "There's shit I never told Takao and shit I never told Bee either." He paused and exhaled through his nose before giving Logan a knowing look. "Besides, you've got your secrets, and I've got mine."
Logan scoffed and rolled his eyes, though he did not argue.
"And since we're talkin' about it, Sera-san, Takao's dad, was a lot more than a mentor to me," Saburo continued, his expression softening with the memory. "He was about as close to a father as I ever had. And Takao…" A fond laugh escaped him. "Man, she was easy on the eyes, and that fire she carried onto the track burned just as hot everywhere else. She could take on a whole group of goons by herself when she was thirteen and still have enough energy left to curse out anybody who looked at her funny."
His smile faded into something more reflective. "She hated bein' treated differently just because her father was the head of the Tojo Clan, but Sera-san never wanted that life for her anyway."
Logan remained quiet, taking another sip as Saburo continued.
"Me, though, I was pretty much a carbon copy of every other dumb kid who eventually got swallowed up by the mob," Saburo said. "My mother was an addict, and my father was a raging alcoholic who got his kicks beatin' on a woman who was barely there even when she wasn't high outta her mind. Then, when she stopped givin' him whatever it was he wanted, he started turnin' those hands on me instead."
He lifted his glass, watching the whiskey roll along the sides before taking another drink. "He beat me a lot, so I learned pretty young that the safest place in the world was anywhere that wasn't home."
His eyes drifted toward the bottle between them as the memory pulled him farther back. "I spent a lot of time wanderin' around Kabukichō. The hookers and hosts around there had a soft spot for kids, so sometimes they'd slip me meals customers didn't finish before the staff threw everything out."
He gave a faint shrug. "Imagine bein' six or seven years old, squattin' behind a dumpster and stuffin' yourself with somebody's half-eaten burger and cold fries, but most days I was so damned hungry I didn't care where the food came from."
"Shit," Logan muttered, the word coming out closer to an exhale as his expression tightened.
"And that's when I met Sera-san," Saburo continued, lifting his glass toward the ceiling in something resembling a quiet toast. "I didn't understand who he was back then, but he was already a big deal inside the Clan. Every time he saw me hangin' around, he'd sit me down somewhere and buy me lunch. Beef bowls, takoyaki, ramen, all the stuff some broke little kid like me could only dream about when most of my meals came out of trash bags."
He lowered his glass, a faint smile lingering before slowly disappearing. "He used to tell me I had the power to change things, which sounded like bullshit to a kid who barely had the power to choose where he slept at night. Then he started introducing me to some of his men and letting me run little errands around Kabukichō for pocket money. Pick something up here, drop something off there, nothing serious, but those people were the first ones in my life who ever made me feel like I mattered."
Logan took another slow drink and continued listening without interrupting.
"Years went by, and when I was fifteen, my dad gave me a black eye," Saburo said, his words losing what little warmth remained. "Couldn't tell you why anymore. Maybe he lost his wages at the betting table again, maybe he was drunk and needed somebody smaller than him to blame for his miserable life, but whatever excuse he had doesn't really matter." His gaze hardened as he stared into his glass. "Sera-san saw the bruise and asked me what happened, and when I finally told him, he marched me straight home."
Saburo let out a bitter chuckle. "He grabbed my piece-of-shit father by the neck, shoved him against the wall, and put a damned gun to his head, right between the eyes. I don't think I'd ever seen that man scared before, not really, but he was scared then. Scared enough that he pissed himself right there."
Saburo shook his head slowly. "Sera-san made him apologize to me, then made him swear he'd never lay another hand on me again. After that, he looked him dead in the eyes and said, 'Your boy is one of us now.'"
Saburo finally turned his gaze toward Logan. "My father never touched me again, and for the first time in my life, I understood what power felt like. Not money, not respect, not reputation, just the simple knowledge that there were people behind me who could make monsters back down." He sighed and raised his glass once more. "When I turned eighteen, I swore myself into the Tojo Clan, and Sera-san became my patriarch."
He took a slow sip, his eyes drifting somewhere far beyond the café as the memories continued pulling him backward through the years. "After that, well…" Saburo let the silence sit for a moment before turning the glass slowly between his fingers. "I started small. One of Sera-san's subsidiaries ran a loan-sharking business, and you know the type, the kind that preys on the dumb, the desperate, and the greedy because there's always somebody willing to sign anything when they need money badly enough. Big loans, insane interest, late fees stacked on late fees, and enough fine print to bury somebody before they even realize what they agreed to."
His gaze dropped toward the whiskey. "And when they couldn't cough up the dough, that was when guys like me got sent in."
"Christ," Logan muttered, his eyes widening slightly. "You don't mean…"
"Yeah, kid, it's exactly what it sounds like," Saburo replied, turning his gaze toward him. "Didn't matter who they were either. Rich, poor, celebrity, nobody, man, woman, old, young, everybody got treated the same once their name landed on my list, and back then I wasn't exactly the kind of guy who knew what compassion was."
He drained the rest of his whiskey and let the burn settle down his throat before continuing. "I figured the world had kicked my ass while I was down, so why the hell should these sad bastards get some special mercy I never got? That was how I squared it, anyway."
He reached for the bottle and poured himself another measure, his expression tightening with something that looked almost like disgust toward the man he used to be. "There were nights I came home with so much blood on my clothes you'd think I worked in a slaughterhouse, and pickin' somebody else's teeth outta my knuckles was just part of the routine. Somewhere along the way, the crying, the begging, and all that groveling stopped being something I had to numb myself against and started becoming something I actually enjoyed."
He shook his head. "That's the part I hate remembering most, because once you start enjoying somebody else being afraid of you, it gets real easy to convince yourself that fear is the same thing as respect."
Logan remained quiet, his glass resting between his hands as Saburo continued.
"Wasn't long before I started my own family," Saburo said. "You'd think becoming a boss would've calmed me down, made me more careful or responsible, but it did the exact opposite. Power went straight to my head, violence became my answer to damn near everything, and before long I wasn't just somebody people respected, I was somebody they were afraid to even disappoint. Every family in Tokyo knew my name, and most of them knew exactly what happened when somebody crossed me."
He chuckled bitterly. "Hell, I was a real bastard in every sense of the word. If you'd met me back then, I've got no doubt you would've kicked my ass eventually, and if I'm being fair, I'd probably kick my own ass too."
A faint smirk crossed his face as he lifted the fresh drink. "I'm talkin' about starting fights because somebody looked at me the wrong way, or turning the hint of an insult into a full-blown brawl before the other guy even understood what he'd said. We ran rackets all across the major districts in Tokyo, and for a while I might as well have been king of Kabukichō. People either bowed when I walked in, or I made damned sure they learned why they should've."
His smirk faded as he stared into the amber liquid. "And the ones who refused sometimes got beaten until they couldn't stand, while others disappeared into the bay and never came back up." Saburo exhaled slowly. "Wouldn't surprise me if Tokyo P.D. still has entire filing cabinets stuffed with my name and every piece of shit I did back then, probably enough paperwork to keep some poor detective busy until retirement."
Logan chuckled and shook his head. "Heavens to Betsy, sounds like you were a real piece of work." He finished the last of his whiskey, reached for the bottle, and poured himself another measure. "I mean, Bee and her mom told me more than once that you were a hardass back in the day, but damn, old man, sounds like they were puttin' it lightly."
"Oh, you have no idea," Saburo replied with a crooked smirk. "And believe me, Takao gave me one hell of a mulligan more than once. 'Just business,' as she always liked to put it whenever I crossed a line and she decided not to tear my head off." He leaned farther against the bar, letting his injured hand rest carefully beside the glass. "Anyway, the Hattori Family kept climbing until we were sitting near the top of the food chain, and before long I had a seat in the inner circle."
He drew in a slow breath, and the smirk faded into something more reflective. "That was around the time Sera-san came to me with a proposal I sure as hell wasn't expecting. He wanted me to take Takao's hand in marriage."
Logan nearly spat his drink across the counter. He clamped a hand over his mouth and coughed hard as the whiskey burned up his throat and into his nose, his eyes watering while he pounded once against his chest. "Jesus freakin' Christ!" he exclaimed once he managed to breathe again. "You serious? You and her?"
Saburo burst out laughing, clearly pleased with the reaction. "God, I knew that one was gonna get you, but yeah, I'm serious." His laughter softened into a wistful sigh. "Ain't exactly hard to admit now, but I had a thing for Takao once upon a time. Hell, probably more than a thing, though I doubt she ever saw me as anything beyond a close friend."
He shook his head with a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle. "That was on me too, because I never told her. Imagine that, this big tough bastard who could walk into a street fight against a hundred guys without blinking, but put me in front of the woman I loved and suddenly I was too chicken-shit to say how I actually felt."
"What happened?" Logan asked, the amusement fading as he settled back onto his stool.
"A lot," Saburo replied. "I told Sera-san I'd think about it, but wouldn't you know it, that was right around the time the Tojo-Omi War broke out." He caught the question forming on Logan's face and lifted a hand before he could ask. "The Omi Alliance was the biggest yakuza organization in Japan back then, based out of Osaka, and they'd been the Tojo Clan's biggest rival for decades. The two sides had enough bad blood between them to fill Tokyo Bay."
He gestured absently with his glass. "Anyway, after Takao retired from the Twinkle Series, Sera-san wanted her as far away from the fighting as possible, so he sent her down to Okinawa while everything in Tokyo started going straight to hell."
"Okinawa?" Logan asked, one eyebrow lifting as the pieces began to connect. "Ain't that where she met…?"
"Yeah, Bee's father," Saburo said with a sigh. "He was only a corporal back then, stationed in Okinawa, and apparently he knew exactly how to turn on the charm. Takao fell head over heels for the guy, and before anybody had time to figure out what was happening, the two of them were together."
His gaze dropped toward the whiskey. "To say Sera-san wasn't happy would be putting it mildly. They had one hell of a falling-out, and Takao eventually eloped with him back to the States." Saburo tipped his glass toward Logan. "And I'm pretty sure you know the rest of that story better than I do."
Logan gave a humorless chuckle. "Goddamned tragedy is what it was. Bad enough the guy turned out to be a shit husband and an even worse father, but he wound up bein' a traitor to his own country on top of it." He shook his head slowly. "You'd think gettin' dishonorably discharged and thrown behind bars would've knocked some sense into him, but nope, bastard only got worse. Hell, I still remember lookin' down the barrel of that gun, and if Johnny hadn't been there…"
"Yeah, well, that's probably a story for another night," Saburo said, giving him a knowing look before returning to his own memories. "Sera-san never really recovered from what happened between him and Takao. Even after the assassination attempt that eventually took his life, he still blamed himself for driving her away." He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. "As for me, I never blamed her. The one secret I ever kept from Sera-san was that Takao reached out to me before she made her decision."
"She asked me what I thought she should do, and I told her to go wherever made her happy." His uninjured hand drifted toward his chest as if the old ache still lived somewhere beneath his ribs. "God, I can still remember how it felt sayin' those words, like some part of me knew exactly what I was giving up and died right there while I was smiling through it."
Logan looked at him with softened eyes but said nothing.
"And then, when the time came for Sera-san to name a successor, imagine the look on my face when he chose me," Saburo continued.
"Must've come as one hell of a shock," Logan said.
"Not really," Saburo replied as he swirled the whiskey in his glass. "He'd talked about it with me plenty of times before that, so I knew I was somewhere near the top of his list. I just never thought he'd actually go through with it."
He sighed and settled the glass down. "Still, I wish I could tell you becoming Chairman magically put out that fire inside me, but it didn't. What it did was force me to stop looking at everything like some unhinged street thug and start seeing the whole board, because suddenly every stupid thing I did could drag thousands of people down with me." A faint smile touched his face. "Suppose I've got Kazama to thank for helping beat some of that lesson into my skull."
"Kazama?" Logan asked.
"Yeah, Shintaro Kazama," Saburo replied with a chuckle. "He's the current Captain of the Dojima Family, which pretty much makes him Nishitani's boss' boss' boss. And man, when Hiragi finally tattles on that dumb punk, Kazama's gonna work his ass over something fierce."
Logan raised an eyebrow and lifted one hand, drawing the edge of his palm across his pinkie in a cutting motion. "You don't think they'd actually make him…"
"Hell if I know, kid," Saburo said with a shrug. "Back then, if you screwed up badly enough, you paid for it, and sometimes you paid big. They'd usually start with the pinkie, then maybe the ring finger if you kept proving you were too stupid to learn, then the middle if you somehow managed to keep diggin'."
He lifted one hand and flexed his fingers. "Never past the pointer, though. Call it professional courtesy, because a guy still has to feed himself somehow. If that hand ran out of options, they'd start on the other one, and if you were really committed to ruining your own life, well, eventually they'd move on to the toes." He then raised both hands and wiggled all ten fingers with a smug little grin. "Me, though? I was an asshole, sure, but I was damned good at what I did."
Logan rolled his eyes and took another sip of whiskey. "Not exactly somethin' you should be braggin' about, old man, but hey, you do you."
"Yeah, well, anyways. Kazama was a young brat back then, probably around the same age you were when you first started making noise in the Twinkle Series. He worked as a 'sweeper' for the Dojima Family, and I sure as hell don't mean the kind carrying a broom."
He lifted his glass again and gestured with it. "Kid was tough, though, not just with his fists either. I could scream in his face until the walls shook, threaten him, throw every damned ounce of my authority at him, and he'd just stand there with those hard eyes and tell me straight to my face that I was wrong." Saburo gave a quiet chuckle before taking another sip. "And somehow, when Kazama said it, I believed him."
"Then came the Underworld War." Saburo exhaled sharply and rolled the whiskey around his glass, watching the ice turn beneath the amber light. "But I won't bore you with every ugly little detail. Let's just say there was a time when Japan was turning itself into an economic powerhouse, and every bastard with one foot in the criminal underworld suddenly wanted a slice of the pie."
His gaze hardened as the memories returned. "Problem was, none of them were interested in sharing. They wanted the whole damned thing, and to people like that, organizations like the Tojo, the Omi, and the Yomei, groups that had been around long before they ever showed up, were standing in the way."
"So, you guys were already busy beatin' the hell outta each other, and then a bunch of bastards from outta town decided they wanted in too?" Logan asked with a smirk before taking another sip of his whiskey. "Sounds hella rough."
"Rough? Hah," Saburo replied. "There were nights when half of Tokyo felt like a damned war zone, and once the dust finally settled, I'd wager everything left behind helped set the stage for the rise of delinquency and street gangs that followed. Law enforcement had been stretched so thin chasing organized crime, murders, weapons, and everything else we threw at them that they barely had the people left to deal with the smaller stuff."
He gave a tired shake of his head. "And that's the problem with small stuff, because you leave it alone long enough and eventually it grows into one huge-ass mess nobody knows how to control."
Saburo pinched the bridge of his nose before lowering his hand again. "By the end of it, though, I knew the law was eventually gonna find some way to make all of us answer for what happened. There was too much blood, too many bodies, too much noise for everybody at the top to just walk away untouched." A bitter laugh slipped from him as he glanced toward Logan. "Hell, you remember how they finally got Capone?"
Logan gave him a flat look. "Come on, old man, you cannot seriously be tellin' me they nailed the Red Dragon of the Tojo Clan for tax evasion. That'd be lame as hell."
"Nah," Saburo said with a dismissive wave. "They got a little more creative than that, and besides, after everything we'd done, nobody was exactly starved for reasons to put cuffs on us." He leaned farther against the counter and stared into his drink. "Eventually they got me, along with plenty of others, and I spent fifteen years locked away. At the time, I thought it was the end of my life, but looking back now, maybe prison was the best thing that could've happened to me."
Logan raised an eyebrow but remained quiet, giving him room to continue.
"For the first time since I was a kid, I had nowhere to run and nothing to distract myself with," Saburo said, his expression softening. "I had years to sit there, think, and really look at what I'd become, and eventually I realized I didn't want to end up like Sera-san or any of the men who came before him. I didn't want my story to end with a bullet, a knife, or some ambitious bastard deciding my chair looked better with him sitting in it."
He smiled faintly as he stared toward the darkened café around them. "I wanted an actual life, Logan. A real one. I wanted a family, kids, grandkids, and more than anything, I wanted to know what it felt like to wake up in the morning and just be happy without wondering who I had to hurt next."
His smile warmed as he continued. "So, when I finally got out, that's exactly what I went looking for. I took what I had left, opened this place, met a girl, fell in love, got married, had kids, and eventually ended up with a bunch of little tykes running around here every holiday and asking their grandpa for sweets when their parents weren't looking." He glanced around the café with obvious affection. "For a while, life was good. Better than I ever thought I deserved."
Then Saburo looked back toward Logan, his smile turning softer still. "And then you and Bee came into my life, and somehow it got even better."
Logan's own expression softened before he chuckled and shook his head. "Geez, old man, careful with that sentimental shit. You're gonna make me cry, and then I'm gonna have to lie about it for the rest of my life."
Saburo barked out a laugh and shook his head. "Please, I've seen you cry your ass off more than once. You're a complete sucker for those sappy movies you and Bee used to watch together, so don't start pretending you're some stone-faced bastard now." His amusement lingered for another moment before slowly fading, and with a quieter expression he reached for the binding around his waist. "But…"
He slid off the stool and turned his back to Logan before loosening the top half of his yukata and letting the fabric fall to his shoulders.
Logan's eyes widened, his jaw slackening as the entirety of Saburo's back came into view. An elaborate irezumi stretched across the old man's broad, well-muscled frame, a massive dragon rendered in shades of gray, red, and white winding across his skin with its claws wrapped around a pearl marked by the Japanese kanji for power. The detail was astonishing, every scale, curve, and line layered together with the kind of craftsmanship that must have taken years to complete, and for a moment Logan simply stared, unable to keep himself from studying the artistry.
"Now you know why they call me the Red Dragon," Saburo said as he pulled the yukata back into place and secured it around his waist again. "And just like the ink on my back, the things I've done aren't ever gonna disappear." He turned around and lowered himself back onto the stool, his expression carrying none of the pride that might once have accompanied the title. "That's my cross to bear until the day I die."
Saburo reached for his glass again, though instead of drinking from it, he merely turned it slowly between his fingers. "Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I come down here by myself and pour a glass." He gestured toward the Yamazaki before letting his eyes wander around the café. "Then I sit here and wonder whether I deserve the life I've got now, whether I deserve any of this after everything I did to get where I was."
His gaze dropped toward the amber whiskey. "I think about the people I hurt, the lives I ruined, the kids I made orphans, and the parents I left with graves where their sons and daughters should've been." He paused, his fingers tightening faintly around the glass. "I know I'm not that man anymore, Logan. I know I changed, and I know I've spent years trying to be better than the bastard I used to be, but knowing that doesn't make the weight disappear."
Saburo exhaled slowly and looked down at his bandaged hand. "Some nights, it doesn't make me feel any better at all."
"Hey," Logan said, his expression softening as he looked at him. "You did change, old man. You got out, built something for yourself, and actually had the guts to look back at the things you did and regret them." He gave a faint shrug. "That's more than I can say for half the assholes I met behind bars."
Saburo let out a soft laugh and shook his head. "Suppose you're right." He took another sip from his glass, letting the whiskey settle before setting it back down. "But I ain't sittin' here spillin' my guts to you over top-shelf liquor just because the whiskey's got my lips loose." His expression hardened as he looked across the bar. "Truth is, I haven't been completely honest with you, Logan. I know."
Logan's brow furrowed.
Saburo's gaze dropped toward Logan's left arm. "About that. About all of it. About what happened to you, what you did, and what you had to become just to survive it."
Logan's eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to speak, but Saburo cut him off with a small grin. "Besides, you ain't the only son of a bitch who's tight with Pak Rama."
Logan leaned back, staring at him. "Hold up, you know Rama?" He shook his head in disbelief and rubbed at his jaw. "Shit, guess it really is true. Every old bastard knows every other old bastard."
Saburo barked out a laugh. "Know him?" He lifted his right arm and turned it slightly, exposing the deep scar carved across it. "He's the asshole who gave me this. And that ugly slash he's got across his thigh?"
Logan's eyebrows rose. "Wait, that was you?"
"Yeah," Saburo replied with a crooked grin. "We had ourselves a little showdown back during the Underworld War. He wasn't Supreme Leader of the Rakyat yet, but even back then the bastard was one hell of a fighter." His expression softened with the memory. "Once everything settled down, we ended up getting real close. Then he got nabbed over in the States, and I went away not too long after, but we still found ways to keep in touch."
He took another drink before continuing. "Thing is, I didn't know anything about you at first. Then one day he wrote me about this dumb kid they'd dumped into a cell with him, some stubborn little bastard who got his ass kicked because he tried to stand up for a man he thought was just some nameless old prisoner nobody gave a damn about."
Saburo gave Logan a knowing look, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. "After that, your name started showing up more and more. Every few months there'd be another letter, another update about what you were doing, what kind of trouble you'd gotten yourself into, and what sort of man you were slowly becoming, right up until the day Rama finally got out."
Logan groaned and massaged his temple. "Goddammit, so he's been snitchin' on me to you this entire time." He shook his head. "I'm gonna rag on him the next time I see him."
"Just so you know," Saburo said, his tone softening, "you're like a son to him." The amusement faded from his face. "And you know what happened to his family."
"Yeah," Logan replied, his own expression dimming. "He told me the whole story about his wife and kids, what the army did to them back in East Timor." He stared into his glass for a moment before exhaling. "Hell, compared to that, yours and mine almost sound like fairy tales."
Saburo's gaze hardened as he studied Logan across the bar. "I've been waiting the better part of two years for you to come clean, to finally sit down and lay it all out for me, but you never did." He gave a quiet chuckle and shook his head. "And I don't blame you for that. The shit you've seen and the things you had to do aren't exactly stories I'd want aired out either. Me, though? Back in my day I probably would've bragged about every damned bit of it."
His eyes dropped toward Logan's arm. "I would've flashed that ink everywhere I went, struttin' around like the devil made flesh just because I liked watching people piss themselves the second they realized who they were dealing with."
Logan's gaze lowered, but he said nothing.
"But that's the difference between us," Saburo continued. "I chose this life, Logan. I walked into it with my eyes open and kept going because, for a long time, I loved what it made me feel. You were dragged into yours." He set his glass down carefully on the counter. "And ever since you got out, you've been walking around with this mask on, scared that if the people who knew you before ever found out what happened, they'd start looking at you differently."
Saburo leaned slightly closer. "Me, Musaka, Kamogawa, Smokey, everybody who remembers the man you used to be before all of that happened, I get why you'd be afraid of losing that. I get why you'd rather keep the truth buried than risk seeing that look in someone's eyes."
His expression softened, though his gaze never left Logan's. "But listen to me, kid. I will never hold it against you. Not now, not years from now, not ever."
Logan lifted his gaze, and whatever softness had been there a moment earlier was gone. "Really?" he asked as he reached for his sleeve and pulled it back, exposing the intricate tribal patterns winding along his forearm beneath the amber light. "Do you know what it's like to hold a man down while you rip his teeth out one by one, listenin' to every damned scream while you keep goin' because you know the second you stop, he's gonna kill you?"
His expression hardened further as he leaned toward Saburo. "Do you know what it's like to take somebody's finger off with the rail of a slidin' door, or dig into a man's skull and literally scoop his Goddamned eye out while he's still alive enough to feel every second of it?"
Saburo remained silent, his eyes fixed on him.
"They screamed," Logan continued, his words roughening as the memories forced their way back to the surface. "Every one of 'em screamed, and some kept screamin' until their throats went raw and their bodies finally gave out from the pain. You think that shit leaves you just because you survived it?" His jaw clenched. "You think I don't still hear some of them when I close my eyes?"
Saburo did not interrupt.
"Roarke, that bastard, put one hell of a bounty on my head," Logan spat, the name alone pulling something ugly across his face. "He even threw in a bonus if they made it hurt, if they made it gruesome enough that everybody else would get the message, and after that they came at me like sharks hittin' chum."
His fist tightened against the counter. "So, I started slicin', carvin', and tearin' people apart in ways you probably wouldn't believe unless you saw the aftermath yourself. I kept doin' it because I wanted the rest of them to understand what happened when they came after me, and sometimes I left enough behind for everybody else to see exactly what was waitin' for them."
He drew in a sharp breath, his chest rising unevenly. "I thought that would make 'em stop, that eventually enough bodies and enough blood would convince the next bastard that the money wasn't worth it, but it didn't. They just kept comin'."
His lips tightened as his eyes dropped toward the tattoo. "The crazy ones, the cruel ones, the sick, twisted sons of bitches who enjoyed hurtin' people, those were the easiest to put down. Rabid dogs, every last one of 'em, and I could tell myself the world was better off without them."
He faltered slightly before he forced himself onward. "But then there were the hesitant ones, the guys who didn't really wanna do it but knew the money on my head could set their families up for life. Men with wives, kids, parents waitin' back home, guys who probably spent half the night talkin' themselves into it because they thought one job would solve everything." His fingers curled tighter against the counter until his knuckles whitened. "And I'm the reason a lot of them never went home."
Logan swallowed hard before continuing, his gaze distant now. "I still remember the first one like it happened yesterday. Bathroom floor, blood everywhere, and me holdin' a sharpened toothbrush I'd jammed into some kid's throat because he came at me first." His fist trembled against the wood. "He was Sureños, nineteen, and I watched him bleed out right there on the tile while he stared at me like he couldn't understand how the hell his life had ended up there."
His breathing grew tighter as the memory settled over him. "He kept tryin' to say something in Spanish, and I only caught pieces of it, something about God and something about his mother. Then his eyes stopped movin', and when he finally went still, that was when it hit me."
Logan's gaze hardened again as he stared at nothing beyond the counter. "They weren't gonna let me walk out of that hell in one piece, and even if I somehow got my body out, there was no chance in hell they were lettin' my soul come with me intact."
"Kid…" Saburo said softly.
"I tried, old man. Heaven knows I tried." Logan lifted his gaze to meet his, and whatever anger had been burning there was tangled now with something far more exhausted. "I just wanted to serve my time, keep my head down, let the years pass without incident, and walk out when the sentence was done. That was all I wanted, but the world wouldn't let me have even that."
He shook his head slowly, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his voice steady. "And you wanna know what pisses me off more than anything? Forget the bastards who came after me, forget Roarke, forget every damned thing they did. What I can't stop askin' is what the hell I ever did to deserve any of it."
His hand lifted in a frustrated gesture before falling back against the counter. "What higher power did I offend so badly that it decided makin' me suffer was gonna be its favorite damned hobby? You'd think losin' my wife, losin' my daughter, losin' my whole career and everything I spent my life buildin' would've been enough, but apparently that still wasn't the bottom. There was always another floor underneath me, another way for life to remind me that whatever I thought I'd already lost, there was still somethin' else it could take."
His eyes glistened as his gaze drifted back toward the tattoo running along his forearm. "And the more they came for me, the more that ink filled in, and somewhere along the way it stopped bein' about survival. It stopped bein' somethin' I did because I had no choice."
His fingers curled slowly against the counter. "At first, the rage kept me alive. Every time somebody came at me, all that anger gave me enough strength to do whatever I had to do, no matter how ugly it got. But after enough years, that anger burned itself down into somethin' colder, and that was worse."
Logan drew in a shaky breath. "Eventually, I could kill a man as easily as breathin'. I could hurt somebody and feel about as much as I would takin' out the trash on a Tuesday morning. I stopped seein' faces, stopped wonderin' who they were or what kind of life they had outside those walls, because it was easier to strip all of that away and reduce them to one simple thing standing between me and tomorrow." His face tightened. "They stopped bein' people to me, and once that happened, removin' them became easy."
When he finally looked up, a tear had slipped free and traced slowly down his cheek, though Logan made no attempt to wipe it away. "That was when I knew, somewhere deep down, that whoever I used to be was gone. The man Bee fell in love with, the man she stood across from at that altar and promised her life to, the man who used to believe there were lines he'd never cross no matter how bad things got…" His throat tightened as he forced the words through. "I knew that man wasn't comin' back."
A long, uncomfortable silence settled between them, stretching beneath the warm amber lights until Saburo finally reached for the bottle of Yamazaki and popped it open again. Without asking, he topped off both his own glass and Logan's before setting the bottle back between them. "Tell you what, kid," he said, lifting his drink and studying the whiskey for a moment. "We've still got half the good stuff left, so I'm gonna make you a deal. You tell me one of your stories, and I'll tell you one of mine."
He gestured toward Logan with the rim of his glass, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "And don't start treating me like some sheltered old fool either. I want the whole thing, every ugly detail you've spent years trying to bury."
Logan lifted his gaze toward him before glancing down at the fresh pour sitting in front of him. For a few seconds he said nothing, but then the corner of his mouth slowly curled into a grin as he wiped the tear from his cheek and reached for the glass. "Alright, okay, but don't come bitchin' to me when you can't sleep tomorrow night because I filled your head with nightmares."
Saburo scoffed and raised his own glass. "Likewise, kid." Their glasses clicked softly together, but before Saburo drank, his expression softened. "And for what it's worth, you're wrong."
Logan paused with the glass halfway to his lips and raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
"That man you keep saying is gone," Saburo replied before taking a slow sip. "He isn't gone, and far as I can tell, he never really left. Sure, he got lost for a while, wandered around in the dark, moped, felt sorry for himself, and probably made life miserable for everybody close enough to care."
A chuckle escaped him, and this time Logan found himself laughing along. "But eventually he found his way back. Maybe he came back a little more beaten up, a little more bruised, carrying a few extra scars, and definitely a hell of a lot hairier, but he came back all the same."
Logan shook his head with a faint smile while Saburo continued.
"You and me, we're more alike than either of us probably wants to admit," Saburo said, glancing briefly toward Logan's tattoo before looking back at him. "And all this ink we carry isn't just some mark of what we've done or where we've been. Sometimes it's there to remind us that we've been around long enough to become something better than the men who earned it."
Logan leaned slightly against the counter. "And what exactly does that make us, old man?"
Saburo smiled and lifted his glass toward him. "Survivors."
Logan remained quiet for a moment as the word settled between them, then a low chuckle escaped him and he raised his glass again. "Shit, I'll drink to that."
Their glasses touched once more before both men took a drink, and when Logan lowered his, some of the heaviness that had been sitting across his shoulders seemed to have eased. "Alright then, since you wanted details, how about I start with the story of how I finally put down one particular son of a bitch who'd had it in for me from the first damned day I stepped foot inside Kentucky Pen."
He gestured with his glass, a darker grin beginning to form. "Little jackass by the name of Hugo Martinez."
Saburo's eyebrows rose as he leaned forward with sudden interest. "Martinez? The former head of the Colombian Cartel?" His smirk widened as he settled more comfortably against the bar. "Oh, now this oughta be good."
Logan chuckled before beginning the story, while Saburo listened without interruption and the hours slipped steadily deeper into the quiet stretch before dawn. One confession gave way to another, old wounds were dragged reluctantly into the light, and stories neither man had entrusted to anyone in years passed back and forth over whiskey until the bottle gradually emptied.
By the time the first traces of morning threatened the darkness outside, both men carried something they had not felt in a very long time: the strange, unfamiliar lightness that came from finally setting down part of a burden they had convinced themselves they would have to carry alone forever.
****
As Katsuragi Ace began to stir from sleep, her eyes narrowed against the warmth of sunlight slipping through the narrow gaps between the curtains. Her vision swam in and out of focus at first, everything reduced to pale shapes and blurred edges while the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol mixed strangely with something sweeter and more aromatic drifting from somewhere to her right. Her ears twitched as awareness slowly returned, and once her sight steadied enough to make sense of the room around her, it did not take long to realize she was lying in a hospital bed.
Her gaze dropped toward her hand, where a needle had been taped securely against the back of it and connected to an IV line beside the bed. Ace groaned and tried to push herself upright, only for a sharp stab of pain to tear through her side and force her back against the mattress.
In truth, everything hurt. Her chest ached whenever she breathed too deeply, her hip throbbed, one arm felt as though it had been dragged beneath a car, and both legs protested even the slightest movement. The worst of it came from her jaw, where a deep, pulsing ache radiated through the side of her face as though somebody had taken a hammer to it.
Then the memories came flooding back.
The parking structure, the rain blowing through the open concrete levels, Rekka Blaze standing across from her, the fight that had spiraled far beyond anything Ace had expected, and then the desperate call to Shakur before everything disappeared into darkness.
Ace's blue eyes widened as she looked around the room more carefully, and that was when she noticed the two familiar umas resting to her right. Fenomeno sat upright in her bed with much of her face wrapped in bandages, carefully slicing an apple with a small fruit knife, while Yaeno Muteki sat nearby with one arm secured in a sling. The moment their eyes met, relief swept across Ace's face and broke into a bright smile.
"Meno, Yaeno—!" she started, only for both girls to immediately hiss through clenched teeth and lift a finger to their lips.
Ace blinked in confusion until they both pointed behind her.
Her ears twitched as she slowly turned her head, and her gaze settled on Lightning sleeping on one of the couches against the wall. A brown overcoat had been draped across her like a blanket, one Ace immediately recognized as belonging to Detective Harlow, while Lightning herself remained curled beneath it with her breathing soft and even. Even asleep, her ears gave the occasional twitch as though some part of her was still listening for trouble.
"Bossu has been here since yesterday," Fenomeno whispered as she continued slicing the apple. "She hasn't left our side since. Red-san went out a little while ago to get coffee and some onigiri."
"Yesterday?" Ace asked, carefully inching herself higher until her back rested against the raised bed. "Wait, how long has it been? How long was I out?"
"It's been three days since the Stakes ended, and you've been asleep for two of them," Yaeno replied, her expression tightening as she glanced between the three beds. "It would seem all of us took quite the beating."
"Yamino Breaker," Fenomeno said quietly as she finished slicing the apple and arranged the pieces on a plate. "I've never fought an uma that powerful before. I can still feel her fists against my face, and every blow felt like someone was swinging a sledgehammer at me." She paused, her eyes lowering slightly. "And she was already injured when we fought. I don't particularly enjoy imagining what she would be capable of at full strength."
"And Captain Barbarossa was incredible," Yaeno added, her gaze hardening as her free hand slowly curled into a fist. "Her movements were flawless. Everything flowed into the next strike as if she were moving through water, but every hit landed like stone." She looked down at her sling, disappointment creeping into her expression. "Her master must have trained her exceptionally well, and I'm ashamed to admit that I was found wanting. Grandfather will be disappointed when he hears how badly I lost."
"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," Ace said. "None of us expected to run into the top three rookies on our first night out, and it isn't like any of them were pushovers." She shifted carefully against the pillows and managed a small chuckle despite the ache it sent through her ribs. "Besides, we're still here, we're awake, and we're gonna heal. That's what matters."
Her smile turned a little more crooked as she glanced toward the ceiling. "And Rekka felt like she'd been through that same song and dance a thousand times already. The second she started moving, I knew I was dealing with somebody who'd done this way longer than I had." Ace shook her head faintly. "We were never walking out of that night in one piece."
Fenomeno grunted and gave a small shake of her head. "Doesn't make it any less humiliating." She lifted the plate toward Yaeno, who reached out and took one of the apple slices, before continuing. "Still, Bossu declared the operation a success. We arrested no fewer than sixty people by the time everything was over, including spectators, racers, and even a handful of MRA staff who weren't fast enough to disappear before the cordon closed."
Ace's ears perked slightly as a grin returned to her face. "That's good, isn't it? Sixty arrests on our first real operation sounds pretty damn solid."
Yaeno bit into the apple and chewed for a moment, but whatever satisfaction Ace expected to see never appeared. Instead, her expression gradually dimmed. "It would be, if you ignored the dozens of officers who were injured or killed during the Stakes."
Ace's grin disappeared almost immediately.
Fenomeno leaned carefully across the gap between the beds and held the plate within reach, allowing Ace to take a slice before settling back against her pillows. "They haven't given us the full casualty report yet, but the SAT teams took the worst of it. The MRA practically decimated every unit deployed that night, and most of the officers who survived are still in intensive care." She took another piece of apple for herself, her movements slowing as she spoke. "And that doesn't even include the regular officers who were caught in everything."
"God," Ace muttered before biting into her slice, the sweetness of the fruit feeling strangely out of place against what she had just heard. She chewed slowly and looked between them. "Did they ever figure out what set the MRA off that badly? Because that sounds like a hell of a lot more than racers panicking because the cops showed up."
"Only bits and pieces," Fenomeno replied. "Bossu and Red-san were both pretty hesitant whenever we asked, so I'm guessing there's a lot they either can't tell us or don't want us worrying about while we're lying in hospital beds." She took another bite and rested the plate on her lap. "Something about corrupt cops crossing lines they weren't supposed to cross, agreements being broken, and people acting without permission from whoever was supposed to keep them under control, but they said the situation had already been dealt with."
Ace frowned as she looked down at the half-eaten apple slice in her hand, though her attention soon drifted toward the table near the window. A large fruit basket sat there alongside garlands, bouquets, cards, and enough flowers to crowd half the wall, some of them clearly expensive and others so far out of season that somebody must have gone to considerable trouble to find them.
"From the fans," Yaeno said, noticing where Ace was looking. "Apparently, a lot of people were genuinely scared when the news broke about what happened to us. The hospital staff said deliveries have been coming in almost nonstop."
She exhaled softly and glanced toward the flowers nearest her bed. "Grandfather tried to force his way past hospital security when they told him visiting hours were over, and Doctor Grace had to come down herself and chew him out before he finally backed off."
Ace's ears shot upright. "Wait, Grace? As in Shingetsu Grace?" She pointed toward herself as though making sure there could not possibly be another one. "Pink hair, pink eyes, Triple Tiara champion turned doctor?"
Fenomeno nodded. "Yes, that Grace." A softer expression settled across her face. "It's strange when you think about it. She used to stand at the very top of the Twinkle Series, with crowds screaming her name and every camera in the country following her around, and then she walked away from all of that to trade her silks for a white coat and a surgical mask."
A small smile tugged at her lips as she glanced toward the door. "There's something admirable about choosing to spend the rest of your life putting people back together after spending so many years being celebrated for outrunning them."
Ace groaned as she rolled her neck, immediately regretting it when the movement sent another dull ache through her shoulders. "Well, maybe I should've gone to medical school instead," she muttered, easing herself back against the pillows. "Might've ended up with fewer broken bones."
"Speaking of which, Deep-senpai is heading down to Yokohama to help establish the C.H.A.S.E. division there," Yaeno said as she adjusted the sling around her arm. "Red-san let it slip that they've already started assembling their roster, and apparently there are a few familiar faces among them."
"Tracen graduates, mostly former champions," Fenomeno added with a weary sigh. "At this rate, I wouldn't even be surprised if Gold Ship somehow gets recruited."
Ace snorted hard enough that it almost turned into a laugh. "Yeah, that's a hard no from Taichō, I'm pretty sure. That girl can barely take orders on the track, so good luck getting her to function inside an actual unit." Her grin widened despite the pain in her side. "Although, I'll admit, I'd pay big money to watch her dropkick Chief Ando through a window. That would probably keep me laughing for a week."
The sound of movement from the couch drew all three of them around at once. Lightning shifted beneath the brown overcoat, her ears twitching before her eyes slowly opened, and after blinking against the morning light she pushed herself upright with a long yawn and rubbed both hands across her face.
"God, what time is it?" she muttered before her gaze settled on Ace. A tired smile appeared almost immediately. "Well, look at that. You're awake. Knew you girls would pull through."
Ace smirked. "Hey, don't count us out that easy." She shifted slightly and winced as a sharp pain caught her side, forcing one hand against her ribs. "Seriously, though, were you ever this banged up when you were starting out?"
Lightning pulled Red's overcoat from around her shoulders and draped it beside her before sitting straighter. "Believe me, I've been punched, kicked, shot, run over, thrown off a building, and once got flung out of an airplane without a parachute."
She chuckled at the looks that earned her. "There was also one time I spent six months between a hospital bed and rehab after I took an explosion head-on, got blown through a window twelve floors up, and landed on the roof of an SUV. At this point, I'm probably being held together by enough screws, plates, and hardware to qualify as a cyborg."
Her smile faded as she looked between the three younger umas. "But I'm not telling you that because I think any of this is funny. I understand if what happened out there puts the job into a whole different perspective for you, because this work is hard, it's dangerous, and when I told you I couldn't promise every one of you would come home at the end of the day, I meant every word."
Her gaze settled on Fenomeno first. "Yamino Breaker has a reputation as a cop killer. She's wanted in multiple cities for the deaths of more than a dozen officers, and when I heard she was one of the racers you'd run into, I'll admit I feared the worst." Lightning paused, studying all three of them carefully. "By some miracle, she let you live. I don't know why, and I don't know what made her stop, but something went your way that night."
Ace, Fenomeno, and Yaeno fell quiet, their expressions sobering as Lightning's words settled over the room.
"Over the years, I've had girls sign up because they genuinely believed in what we were doing," Lightning continued, clasping her hands loosely in front of her. "They saw what the MRA had done to their cities, their friends, their families, and they wanted to be part of making things right. They understood what they were stepping into, and even when they were scared, they showed up because the work mattered to them."
Her expression hardened slightly. "Then there were others who came chasing attention, thinking C.H.A.S.E. was some fast track back into relevance. Former champions who missed hearing crowds scream their names, girls who thought the badge would put them back under the lights, and racers who treated every operation like another stage they could perform on."
She shook her head slowly. "Those are usually the ones who end up in caskets before the year is over, because sooner or later they forget this isn't a game and the person standing across from them doesn't care how famous they used to be."
Lightning leaned forward, holding each of their gazes in turn. "What I'm trying to tell you is that if any of you decide to walk out that door after this, I won't stop you, and I won't think any less of you for doing it. You're still young, and you've got entire lives ahead of you that don't have to revolve around chasing armed criminals through the streets."
Her tone softened, though the seriousness never left it. "A lot of my girls still manage to build lives outside the job. They get married, have kids, raise families, and find ways to be happy, but every one of them lives with the same truth."
She glanced toward the window before looking back at them. "Every time you hit the road, there's a chance you won't come back, and that isn't something only you have to accept. Your parents, your friends, your partners, your kids one day, everybody who loves you has to live with it too." Her hands tightened slightly together. "So whatever choice you make after this, make sure it's yours, and make sure you understand exactly what you're choosing."
A thick, uneasy silence settled over the room as Lightning's words sank in, but Ace was the first to break it, a crooked smirk slowly returning to her face. "Hey, Taichō," she said, drawing Lightning's attention back toward her. "Do you really think we didn't think this through before signing on the dotted line?"
She gestured toward Fenomeno and Yaeno with her thumb. "You think any of us put on that badge and went out there because we thought it'd be fun, or because we wanted to play dress-up and chase bad guys for kicks?" Ace shook her head, her expression becoming more serious despite the smirk lingering at the corner of her mouth. "None of us came into this blind, and none of us are planning to run away after one bad night. We're in it for the long haul."
"I have always believed in the sanctity of the law, just as my father and grandfather do," Fenomeno said with the same calm conviction it always had. "I wanted to follow in their footsteps for as long as I can remember, even when my father insisted that I enroll at Tracen and pursue racing first. Now I have the opportunity to honor both parts of my life, as a former champion and as a member of law enforcement." A soft smile touched her face as she glanced down at the apple in her hand. "When I told my father that C.H.A.S.E. had recruited me, he said he had never been more proud."
"As for me, my father is also in law enforcement," Yaeno said after a moment, drawing both Ace and Fenomeno's attention toward her. "More specifically, he serves with G.A.R.O."
The reaction was immediate, with Ace's jaw dropping while Fenomeno stared at her in surprise.
"Wait, your dad is in G.A.R.O.?" Ace asked, blinking at her. "You've seriously been sitting on that this whole time?"
"Why have you never mentioned it before?" Fenomeno added, her surprise giving way to curiosity.
Yaeno remained quiet for a few seconds before her expression dimmed. "Because it is not something my family discusses openly. Both my father and grandfather made sure I understood that from a very young age."
She shifted slightly against the bed, her free hand resting across her lap. "I know there are people who consider G.A.R.O. heroes because of what they accomplished during the Great Dissolution of Delinquency, but there are just as many who remember that period very differently."
"Yeah, well, I'd bet half of those people are relatives of the thugs and gangsters who finally got their asses handed to them," Ace muttered with an eye roll. "That's the kind of thing I can't stand, people who spend years hurting everyone around them and then suddenly start crying for justice the second somebody hits back harder. They punch people in the face their whole lives, then act like victims when somebody finally breaks their nose."
Lightning raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to follow the conversation. "I've… never heard of that. What exactly was the Great Dissolution of Delinquency?"
"I do not know all of the details myself because it happened when the three of us were still children," Fenomeno explained, adjusting the plate of apple slices on her lap. "According to my father, delinquency and organized youth gangs had become completely uncontrollable at the time, and ordinary law enforcement could barely contain them."
Her expression grew more subdued. "Then something terrible happened, the government decided the situation had gone too far, and emergency measures were introduced that gave law enforcement far broader authority. G.A.R.O. was established as the special task force responsible for carrying out the crackdown, and it took them three years to dismantle nearly every major gang involved."
Lightning's eyebrows rose. "G.A.R.O.? As in the same anti-gang division sitting one floor below us at the precinct?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Sounds like they cleaned house, so how the hell did that turn into something controversial?"
"Think of them as C.H.A.S.E. if someone took the gloves off and threw them in the trash, Taichō," Ace replied. "Imagine if we went out there and decided every racer, gang member, and thug we caught deserved to get brutalized first and arrested second. G.A.R.O. wasn't playing around back then, and there's a reason people started calling them the Wolves of Tokyo."
Lightning stared at her for a second before laughing. "The Wolves of Tokyo? God, that sounds ridiculously cheesy."
"It was a reference to the Shinsengumi, who were sometimes known as the Wolves of Mibu," Yaeno explained. "The comparison was intentional, because G.A.R.O. was feared for much the same reason. During the Three-Year War, people were killed, brutally maimed, tortured, or left permanently traumatized by what happened to them. Some survived with injuries they still live with today, and others were left disabled with complications that will follow them for the rest of their lives."
"And the punishment did not always stop with the delinquents themselves," Fenomeno added. "According to my father, the government also held parents and guardians financially responsible for what they called… a failure to nurture their children."
She raised two fingers briefly around the phrase before letting her hand fall again. "Families were ordered to pay restitution for the damage their children caused, and in some cases, those who could not pay ended up serving prison sentences instead."
Lightning's expression tightened.
Fenomeno continued, "Anyone processed through G.A.R.O. was also entered into a permanent registry containing their criminal history, gang affiliation, and any other information the authorities believed marked them as dangerous. In Japan, something like that can follow a person for the rest of their life, especially when employers perform background checks." She exhaled quietly. "A great many of the people placed on those lists were still teenagers when it happened."
"Shit," Lightning muttered, her eyes lowering as she absorbed that. "What we do stays inside the law, and even when we put somebody away, there's still supposed to be a point where they serve their sentence and get a chance to live again. We're not carving a swastika into somebody's forehead with a knife and letting the rest of the world punish them forever afterward."
Ace suddenly clapped her hands together before immediately wincing and clutching her ribs. "Ow, shit, okay, bad idea, but I got that reference. Inglourious Basterds, right?"
Lightning nodded with the faintest trace of amusement before looking back toward Fenomeno and Yaeno. "So, who was running this operation? Somebody had to be giving the orders if things got that extreme."
Yaeno met her gaze. "A man named Commander Haruka Sakura. My father served under him during the conflict, and whenever he spoke about Sakura, he described him as disciplined, firm, and above everything else, uncompromising."
"That is almost exactly how my father described him," Fenomeno said, her expression growing thoughtful. "He said Sakura was the kind of commander who could lead people through circumstances nobody else wanted responsibility for, and that he made decisions most officers would have hesitated to even consider."
Her gaze lowered slightly. "Some of those choices were probably far too extreme for many people to accept, but according to my father, Sakura believed he was doing what had to be done to stop the country from falling apart."
Lightning remained quiet for a moment, absorbing everything before finally exhaling through her nose. "Where's this Sakura now?" she asked, looking between Yaeno and Fenomeno. "Is he still running G.A.R.O.?"
Yaeno shook her head. "He stepped away from any leadership role after the war ended. G.A.R.O. is currently commanded by Captain Kanji Nakamura." A soft chuckle escaped her as another thought came to mind. "According to my father, Nakamura was practically a gang leader himself once upon a time, and, well…" She hesitated before smiling faintly. "So was my father."
Both Ace and Fenomeno looked toward her again.
"It was actually one of the reasons he and Grandfather had such a terrible falling-out years ago," Yaeno continued. "Father had a temper when he was younger and a habit of solving problems with his fists, which Grandfather absolutely despised. Grandfather used to tell me that I inherited Father's fire, though thankfully he usually meant that as a compliment." Her expression softened. "Eventually Father found something he genuinely believed in, joined law enforcement, and the two of them managed to make peace with each other."
Ace stared at her for a second before breaking into an amused grin. "Man, I never realized you had such an awesome backstory tucked away. You're making me and Feno over here sound painfully normal."
Fenomeno gave her an unimpressed look. "I would hardly describe anything about you as normal."
Ace opened her mouth to answer, but the hospital room door swung open before she could get the words out.
Red walked inside carrying a brown paper bag in one hand and a canned coffee in the other, his attention still fixed on the phone in front of him. "Seriously, can ya believe what these freakin' hospitals charge for shit downstairs?" he complained as he nudged the door shut behind him with his heel. "Bad enough they're robbin' sick folk blind, now they're robbin' the people visitin' 'em too. I'm tellin' ya, these mooks belong in hell gettin' bent over while the devil rams a goddamned pineapple up their—"
He finally looked up and stopped dead when he realized every pair of eyes in the room had turned toward him.
Red blinked once, then slowly lowered the phone as an entirely different expression took over his face. "Well, would ya look at that," he said, breaking into a broad smile as his gaze settled on Ace. "Look who finally decided ta wake up."
Lightning pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long, suffering sigh. "Every damned morning," she muttered. "If it isn't the sugar in the coffee or the cheese on the bagels, it's the price. You always find something to complain about."
"Hey, I ain't bitchin' about bad coffee or shitty bagels, Light, I'm bitchin' about gettin' ripped off," Red shot back as he tapped rapidly across the screen of his smartphone. "Sides..." He turned the phone around and held it up for everyone to see.
The three umas leaned forward as much as their injuries allowed, their attention settling on a photograph of an UMAI delivery truck parked outside the precinct with dozens upon dozens of bright yellow cardboard boxes stacked across several carts beside it.
Ace blinked. "Are those… bentos?"
"Yeah, Nishi just sent me this," Red replied as he pulled the phone back toward himself. "Whole damned truckload of decked-out katsudons. Apparently, somebody decided ta buy lunch for the entire precinct as a thank-you for what everybody did during the Stakes."
He shook his head and slipped the phone into his pocket. "I already told Nishi and Kaito ta save us a few boxes, but man, I kinda wish we got this kinda treatment back in some of the other cities. Nice knowin' somebody actually appreciates what we're doin' instead of yellin' at us for wreckin' traffic."
Ace folded her arms and sank farther into the pillows with an exaggerated pout. "That's so unfair. They get fancy katsudon delivered to the precinct, and we're stuck in here eating hospital food that tastes like cardboard."
Lightning chuckled. "Stay put and heal up. Once you're all discharged, I'm taking the whole team out to—"
The phone in her pocket suddenly vibrated, cutting her off. Lightning's expression shifted immediately as she pulled it free and glanced at the screen, and whatever she read erased the amusement from her face. Her sapphire eyes widened slightly before she reached down, snatched Red's coat from the couch, and sprang to her feet. "We gotta move."
Red stared at her in surprise. "Wait, what?" He gestured between the brown paper bag in one hand and the unopened can of coffee in the other. "Light, I literally just got breakfast. Can't we at least give me, like, five damned minutes ta—"
"We just got a tip on an MRA hub," Lightning said as she shoved his coat against his chest. "It's not far from here, and Nishimura and Kaito are already en route." She stepped around him and headed straight for the door before glancing back over her shoulder. "You coming or what?"
"What, now? But I just…" Red looked helplessly down at the bag and coffee before groaning in defeat. "Ah, screw it." He placed the bag on the bedside table and pointed toward it. "There're two chocolate-banana muffins in there, and they're on me, so don't say I never do nothin' nice for ya."
He shrugged into his coat, cracked open the canned coffee with a sharp hiss, and downed the entire thing in several long gulps before crushing the empty can in one hand and tossing it neatly into the bin. "Alright, Light, let's burn."
Lightning gave him a quick nod before pushing through the door, with Red following close behind as it swung shut after them.
For a moment, Ace, Fenomeno, and Yaeno simply stared at the closed door, listening to their footsteps disappear down the corridor. Fenomeno eventually sighed, reached for the brown paper bag, and pulled it toward herself. "Well, since they abandoned breakfast in the line of duty, I suppose we shouldn't let it go to waste."
She opened the bag and reached for one of the muffins. "I'll cut it."