The graduation ceremony arrived on schedule.
Students trampled cherry petals, swinging their bags, racing out the gate as vacation began.
Yet Aki Tomoya's smug grin grated on certain nerves.
"What? I passed, didn't I? Finally! Legal part-time work! Hahaha! Let me see… what to buy first… figures, figures, figures! And that manga's out! Oh, Tsukihime, I can finally support you!!"
Eriri: … Getsusa: … That's your excuse for scraping by?
If the high-school section hadn't lowered the bar for junior-high direct entrants, you'd be hauling bricks right now.
Eriri sniffed, eyeing the bouncing otaku. "Being this hopeless is a talent."
"Look who's talking."
Tomoya adjusted his glasses, jabbing at the short blond artist. "Drawing that weird stuff at Sen Getsusa's house—lucky Tsukihime's got solid 2-D spirit or you'd corrupt her! Ah, Dragon Ball's clothes-shredding fights—totally copied from you, right?"
He looked triumphant—until twin blond tails slapped his face. "Shut up! Whose fault is it? Every time I visit your place you stall me!"
"Like I'd let a girl draw that stuff at a boy's house—so troublesome!"
Getsusa covered her face.
These two vowed to ignore each other, yet always exploded mid-conversation with her.
Ding—
A message popped up on her phone.
————Iron-Fist Invincible————
Inside the noodle shop next to SomeSing Bar.
Hiratsuka Shizuka leaned back, expressionless, watching the girl delicately slurp noodles while rubbing her own cheek.
The petite student had punched her there; it still throbbed.
Her high-heel tip had snapped as well.
Honestly, couldn't she wait to hear the whole story?
Shizuka sighed at the little fox opposite.
Big black waves framed a palm-sized face, gem-bright eyes, a nose with classic Western elegance, a teardrop mole beneath one eye.
And her mouth—never mind, focused on inhaling noodles.
"So you're not here to back those punks?"
Sen Getsusa dabbed her mouth with a napkin, folded her hands on the table, and asked, "What did you want to ask me? You already know most of it, don't you?"
"Don't use honorifics. My name is Hiratsuka Shizuka." The woman facing Sen Getsusa had long hair, a dark tailored jacket, high heels, and black stockings.
When she was still, she had the poise of a mature woman—provided you hadn't seen her slouching against a lamppost with a cigarette dangling from her lips.
Hiratsuka Shizuka ordered a cup of black tea, blew away the rising steam, and began her story.
"...So, when my father died, he left a company behind."
"My mother had to look after me and my sick grandmother. We weren't short of money, but the shareholders seized the chance to make trouble. At that time, my uncle helped my mother."
Only later did Hiratsuka Shizuka learn that the 'business' her uncle ran had a special nature.
He himself was the oyabun of the Matsutani-kai.
"Every cent I earned these years has been recorded and paid back to him. And to show gratitude, I always give him an extra-large share of the annual dividends."
"I just want my mother and grandmother to live without sin," Hiratsuka Shizuka said quietly. "I've seen people forced to sign contracts and driven to bankruptcy; I've seen girls tricked and sold to the pleasure quarters. Old folks left homeless, children wandering the streets."
"He's family, and he did help my mother and me in hard times," Hiratsuka Shizuka said, clenching her fists. "But I truly can't accept this kind of person. Call me ungrateful if you like—I simply can't condone what my uncle does."
Sen Getsusa nodded and asked, "So, Miss Hiratsuka, you asked me here today because...?"
"I know my uncle's men... those guys. Attacking an orphanage—so much for their conscience."
The woman ground her teeth. "Consider it merit for my mother and grandmother. If I can help you and the orphanage, that would be wonderful. I want to talk to him face-to-face, with you present."
Having said that, Hiratsuka Shizuka turned toward the glass window.
Inside the misty room and outside on the dim street seemed to be divided by an invisible line.
She stared at the glass for a long time; her dark, abyss-like eyes were utterly calm, and the moon soundlessly mocked the woman's foolish innocence reflected there.
Perhaps.
Sen Getsuka spoke. "Many people can't manage even that. They think, 'As long as I benefit, who cares if others die?' Plenty of them around."
People don't hate power; they only hate that they don't have it.
Once they do, their faces become even uglier than those they once despised.
So Sen Getsusa understood the weight on Hiratsuka Shizuka's heart, and why she poured everything out to a virtual stranger—she had no one left to tell.
Hiratsuka Shizuka gave a bitter smile and agreed, hinting at her own state of mind: "When I was young I really was happy, even cocky."
"The boys and girls at school envied me—'That girl's the Matsutani-kai princess, right?' I never answered. Anyone who crossed me would find my uncle's men taking care of them."
"Only after I entered society did I realize—who doesn't love privilege? Except this 'privilege' is built on exploiting the weak. Maybe I'm too soft; I can't watch them use deceit, violence, and schemes to wreck people's lives. The Matsutani-kai—an assembly of every dark facet—shouldn't exist."
"But what should I do about my uncle, the relative who once helped me?"
Hiratsuka Shizuka asked the question without expecting an answer.
She sipped her black tea slowly, slumping in the chair as if hoping sunlight might stream through the glass, but evening had already fallen.
"Accept it or not—it depends on what kind of person you are, doesn't it?"
With a cheerful look, Sen Getsusa picked up a sugar cube and popped it into her mouth. "Some people can use everyone without batting an eye; some fools die to save others. In the end there's no right or wrong, only different people. I think you already know your answer, Miss Hiratsuka."
Hiratsuka Shizuka showed no reaction; she simply nodded calmly.
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