“Oi. Miss Adachi. Wake up. Today is the day.”

“I’m awake.”

Beauty takes a form in the young woman lying between satin sheets. Neither naked nor clothed, the woman sits up, rolling her shoulders as the blue nightgown that covers the necessities sets itself into place, eventually standing to greet the suited man who entered her room without her permission. “I have been awake. Knock, before entering a woman’s room, will you, Adagio?”

The woman in question was beautiful, but only because she was bred to be, and her room in the Italian home was evident of it. Satin sheets covered a goose-feather mattress; hardwood vanity was littered in beauty products, some from various unrequited lovers, and some as personal purchases to keep her high-maintenance appearance in check.

“Apologies, Miss Adachi. I’m only following the orders of the Ninth.”

“The Ninth?” She looks over her shoulder upon approaching her vanity, pedicured toenails pressed against the bottom of the oaken dresser. “I don’t believe I asked the Ninth for a wakeup call, but thank you, anyways.” With a fluid motion, the pajama-clad young woman took a seat before the mirror, flipping a switch to turn on the lights that encircled the mirror. A bottle of foundation is taken from the dresser, applying some to a sponge and beginning to apply the thin layer of makeup to an already pale face. “Is Harmonia ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A swatch of cream makeup to cover any blemish. “And are my bags packed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A black brush applies eyeliner of a similar shade to the tops of her eyelids, atop a setting eyeshadow powder. Red outlines black liner, and lipstick of a similar shade is applied to the thin lips of the Asian girl, mimicking a slightly outdated Japanese makeup trend. It was something that the girl would never wear on her own during her stay in Italy, but for her occupation and her place of residence for the next few months, she would have to blend in. She would have to become one with her environment.

It wasn’t like she was bad at it, either.
She was paid to be a shadow.

“And, my uniforms?” She stood, running manicured nails (nothing too long, decorated with a black coat of polish, a silver gem on the top of each thumb) through her short, black, layered hair. “Did you bring them like I asked you to?”

“But, of course,” spoke Adagio, a black dress bag in his arms, held out to the young woman. “Inside is your school uniform, as well as a traditional Japanese yukata and a spare seifuku, should anything happen and you need a quick change. According to the Ninth, Italian fashion can easily blend in if you don’t wear anything too outrageous.”

With a bit of glee in her eyes, the shadow woman took the bag from her assistant, stepping behind a folded paper wall, unfolding it with one arm and hooking the dress bag atop it. “Thank you very kindly, Adagio. I do appreciate your help. Can you please make sure that Misura has my bags on the plane? I simply cannot wait to get back to work.” Sarcasm dripped from her last sentence like venom off of the fangs of the vipers she was modeled against, and as she stepped from around the paper, outfit completing the Japanese schoolgirl mask she was to wear, she held the dress bag against her chest, sighing.

“Remember, Miss Adachi, you’re to confront the Vongola Neo-Primo during your stay in Namimori. You cannot flit around the sidelines like you have been.” The large, Italian man offered his hand to the girl, bringing the back of her hand to his lips as he escorts her out of the lavish bedroom. As he began to take her down the hallways of the Vongola base, free hand tucked behind his back and chest swelled with pride.

“I’m aware, Adagio. Mio Dio, it’s almost as if you’re afraid I’m going to be killed.” The girl craned her chin up at the taller of the two, and she arched her brows, waiting for his comment.

Right on the money, Adagio’s expression changed to one that looks as if the man had been hit by a truck; his brows furrow and his lips flatten at the girl, silently scolding her. “Miss Adachi, might I remind you that the reason you are here in Italia now, and not still in Japan, is because you almost were killed?” Broad chest rose and fell in frustration with his charge, and his jaw sets, looking ahead, as if he did not want to see the smirk that was plastered onto the scarlet lips of the girl now.

“It isn’t my fault that the bastard disappeared for that long.” She retorts, lips puckered in glee with her comment, the sound of her heels clicking along the ground silenced by the flats she was to wear with these outfits. The feeling of being short was something that the girl was going to have to get used to; it made her feel weak. Vulnerable. However, it was not the Ninth’s words that play quietly in the back of her mind, but his son’s, the dark and intimidating voice ringing in her ears from her visit to the Varia base. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Fun times.

“It is your fault that you did not report back to the Ninth during that time, and it is your fault that you happened to piss off some very important people, Miss Adachi.”

At her assistant’s statement, the shadow girl froze in her tracks, pulling her arm away from the man’s in distaste, and she crossed her arms as he turns to face her, aware that he had displeased her. “Adagio.”

“Yes, Miss Adachi?”
“What is my name?”

The question was strange, but it was routine for the mistress and her assistant. Whether it was to keep the shade woman’s ego inflated or to calm the nerves of the ever-protective, ever-caring assistant was uncertain, but it successfully did both at both times, bringing a smirk to the lips of the girl and a gentle smile to those of her assistant.

“Your name is Adachi Miakis.”
“My full name.”
“Your name is Adachi Miakis, Ombra della Vongola, Mistress of the Shade, and Vongola’s Failsafe.”

“That’s what I thought.” She approaches him, manicured hand patting his cheek and scarlet, petal-like lips pressed to his nose. “Now, please stop worrying about me. It’s almost as if you’re in love with me.”

“I do love you, albeit in a… special manner. Similar to a sister or a small child.”

“And likewise. Except… the other way around. Now, see me off, or I’m going to be late for my assignment.” As Miakis spoke, her assistant pressed some of the flyaway, ebony locks down, pressing a very caring and platonic kiss to her forehead.

“Misura and Quasi are on the plane waiting for you. It will be about a twelve hour flight. Thirteen, if the winds are bad. You will be landing in Tokyo. There, a Vongola agent will be picking you up and you will be headed via bullet train to Namimori, where you will converse with the Vongola Neo-Primo, tell him the information you have gathered, and join his inner circle.” Adagio took a moment to adjust the collar of his charge, clearing his throat. “And what is the rule about harming others?”

“I will only harm them if they lay hands on me. Or if they say… that word.”

“Now go, bella ombra. Make your music.”

“I will.”

Dry, chapped lips wrapped loosely around the wrapper of an unlit cigarette, shiny dress shoes scuffed against the concrete pavement of the Tokyo red-light district. A tan trench coat wrapped around the young man’s body, form akin to that of a practicing kendoka. Hands coated by black gloves to protect nimble fingers from the cold brought about by the rainy season dove into his pockets to retrieve a silver lighter. Glasses-hidden ceruleans examined the lighter in his fingers for a moment before stopping to strike the silver device and light his cigarette, letting the nicotine settle into his system before soldiering on, ignoring the red and violet neons painting his body in a ghostly glow.

Kabukichō was terrible around this time. The rainy season meant that people wanted to spend time inside, not outside, leaving whorehouses and strip clubs like this to be abundant in customers, wanting to take some time away from the depression of the grey days that the average businessman experienced. It honestly disgusted him. Throwing bodies away like this. All to each their own, he supposed.

Buzzing in his coat pocket was his cellphone, eternally on ‘vibrate’. The young detective was never one for flashy ringtones, and his work cellphone always remained in either his coat pocket or his pants pocket, keeping it just as close as he did his work. Nodding to a scantily-clad woman as she passed him, giggling, Togami Byakuya pulled to the side, pressing his back to the brick wall and opening up his cellphone, finding a text-message from a number saved in his contacts as “情報提供者”. Information provider. Informant.

His name was Hashimoto Shibuhito, an older man but not a prominent member of the yakuza in which he worked for, the Nanami family, As the LED screen lit up his face, reflecting upon his glasses, Togami allowed his eyes to scan quickly over the text message he had received.




Pocketing the smartphone quickly, the sharply-dressed young man adjusted his tie, pushing himself forward to the end of the street. It wasn’t common knowledge that below the concrete streets of the prefecture was a quite-literally underground network of yakuza establishments that required intricate networking to access. Turning a corner as he reached the end of the street, Togami disappeared into a back-alley, smirking with delight as he found a metal, spiral staircase (almost akin to a winding, emergency fire-exit). Descending the staircase, the blonde allowed his eyes to adjust before continuing on through the underground system, seeing the blue-and-green lights and hearing the loud music of the casino in the distance.

The sign was neon. That was the first thing he noticed upon entering. DIGITAL DRAGON, in bright blue-green kanji, hung elegantly from the threshold of the gate. Standing at the gate were two younger ladies, both dressed in maid’s outfits, smiling closed-eye smiles as Togami enters. Shedding his trenchcoat but keeping his wallet and cellphone, the girl on the left stepped forward, chirping happily at the detective, “May we take your coat, Master?”

“Please do,” Togami replied, handing over his trench coat and receiving a property tag, which he pocketed alongside his phone and wallet.

The casino was loud, for lack of a better term. Slot machines lines the walls on three of the four sides of the lobby, with large, green gambling tables scattered throughout the lobby floor. A staircase could be seen in the leftmost corner of the room, leading up to a metal-gated office that he could only infer to be the cashier’s office. In a room separating the back wall of slot machines looked to be a bar of sorts, lined with exotic alcohols from not only Japan, but recognizably America and Europe as well. Finally, on the right-hand side of the room was a closed velvet curtain, with a young man in a nice shirt and dress pants, almost underdressed for the scene in which he stood. Togami did observe, however, that a gun rested in a holster on his hip and something about the white-haired man didn’t particularly lead him to believe that he had a handgun-carrying permit.

This wasn’t the first time Togami Byakuya had been to the Digital Dragon casino, and it most certainly wouldn’t be his last. However, something about this trip into the room of sin felt almost… familiar, but in a foreign way. A strange feeling coursed through the blonde’s body, but he pushed his curiosity aside for more than a moment; there was work to be done.

Taking a seat at the oaken bar in the backmost room, Togami exhaled a final puff of smoke from his cigarette, snuffing out the cancer stick into one of the glass ashtrays that were lined up among the U-shaped bar.

Cerulean eyes flickered around the casino, still, ever-attentive to his surroundings, as a detective of his skill and lineage should be. Taking off his gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his black vest, he began to drum his fingers lightly against the wood of the bar he sat at. Never a patient man.

The nostalgic feeling returned to his core, significantly more intensely now, as his eyes locked onto the figure of a young woman sitting at the corner of the bar, about seven or eight seats down from him. Out of his line of sight unless he was looking directly at her, out of earshot unless she spoke up. The face, the body, the way her violet hair cascaded down her body in that neatly-styled braid. The way dark lipstick never left stains on her glass, the way her eyeliner was as sharp as the lies she crafted. The only woman in the establishment who wasn’t a conversation piece or the accessory of a corrupt businessman or yakuza knave.

A young man with dress-sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a thick Okinawan accent approached Togami as he sat at the bar, arching a brow. “A drink, Master?”

“That woman, down there,” Togami said, pointing with his first two fingers as the woman silently sipped some sort of brown liquor. “What is she having?”

“Martell Cordon Bleu Cognac. It’s French -- expensive.”

“I’ll take two,” he tells the bartender, not missing a beat, eyes still locked onto the woman as she finishes a conversation with a passerby maid-in-waiting. “But send the second down to her.”

The young man adjusted his sleeves and cleared his throat, looking from the woman at the end of the bar to the detective, leaning down to speak into his immediate space. “Master, if I may speak so freely, that woman is a very dangerous, a very scary woman. She is the only woman allowed to gamble past the limit. She is direct friends with the owner of this casino. If I may speak so freely, she is downright terrifying. She eats men like us alive.”

“I’m aware,” Togami replied, irritated at the man’s commentary. “I know her. Her name, her face, her talents with a deck of cards. We attended high school together. We were…” he almost stops, but does not skip a beat as he concocts a mediocre lie, one that he was sure that this mindless servant would believe, “...friends.”

“My apologies,” replied the bartender. “What is the name for the tab?”

“Hashimoto,” Togami stated as he watched the bartender pull the bottle of Cognac from the icebox alongside two frosted glasses, pouring the brown liquor with intensive skill. “A friend of mine. He’s good for the money.”

“I know Hashimoto.” The bartender nodded in agreement with the detective’s words. “Good man. Hard worker. Shall I deliver a message with the drink, Master?”
“Point her my way and send her my regards.”
“As you wish.”

Togami let his finger trace the rim of the glass as he watched the man in the white shirt walk down to the corner of the bar, handing the second drink to her just about the time she had finished her first. Watching them speak but not hearing any words, Togami’s eyes glazed over with a near-nostalgia as the bartender pointed towards him, pulling the attention of the woman in the black dress. Lifting his glass to her, the blonde man offered her a long-distance toast before sipping his drink. For the old times.

The woman lifted her drink in return, taking a sip as well.
The burn was all too familiar.

Turning his attention back to his cellphone, Togami was quickly met with the boisterous presence of his informant, arriving behind him in a loud and animated manner. Hashimoto was a middle-aged man with greying hair and slightly stained yellow teeth from an unhealthy coffee addiction, but had the heart of a grandfather and the hardworking ethics of a Togami himself. “Hello, my friend!” He laughed as he sat down to the left of the detective, clearing his throat. “This rain absolutely has taken a toll on these old bones. Say, boy, what are you drinking there?”

“Martell Cordon Bleu Cognac. Good evening, Hashimoto.” Togami nods to the other with the familiarity of a businessman and the stoicness of a brick wall. He props one leg up on the other, resting an ankle at his knee, watching as the man ordered some sort of cheap beer for himself. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about in regards to the disappearances of your coworkers?”

“Believe it or not, lad,” Hashimoto began, taking the top off of the metal bottle and sipping from it, “I’m here as a messenger. The boss knows we’ve been working together, and she’s not angry about it. She wants to meet with you. She wants to talk to you one-on-one to see if you can find her subordinates.”

The development didn’t necessarily shock Togami, but it does allow him to take in the extra information for a moment, nodding in approval. “I understand. Has she mentioned anything about the meeting? A date or a place?”

“Here, at the casino, for sure,” the informant told his detective partner, cracking his knuckles lightly, “It’s the only place she’s one-hundred percent comfortable. It’s probably her safest place, anyways. She’s not in a place to meet tonight; her friend from high school is in and they were walking about the town earlier. A pair of absolute dolls, wow-- the boss is adorable in her own kind of young girl way, like a high-school student who sleeps in class all day, but her friend is a different kind of mature, rustic beauty. Absolutely beautiful, the both of them.”

Disgusted by the older man’s description of the two women, Togami looked back over his shoulder to see if the violet-haired woman in the black dress still sat at the table. Finding her missing from the oaken bar and her glass turned upside down, the blonde detective returned his attention to Hashimoto, who was still babbling on about the yakuza boss and her friend.

“Anyways.” Togami said sternly, interrupting the man. “Do you know when this friend will be leaving town?”

“She has moved to Shibuya, if I remember correctly. To be closer to her yakuza friend. I think tomorrow would be a good date, around this time. I doubt the boss would want to go out on the town with her friend two nights in a row. She’s not that kind of girl.”

“Can you find out for sure?”

“Of course, my friend. I will call you in the morning if the date is not good. If you don’t hear anything from me, assume that you’re to come back and meet her. She is a very spontaneous young woman.”

“I understand. Thank you for letting me know. This was something that could have been discussed over the phone, however.”

“We’re not allowed to discuss yakuza business over the phone or through text. It’s part of the code of conduct. We can schedule meetings, talk about getting together for leisure, and the like, but the minute it becomes about work, we have to talk in person. It’s a secrecy rule.” Hashimoto explained, almost in an apologetic manner, as he nodded a bit of an apology to Togami.

“I see,” Togami nodded, turning his now-empty glass upside down, a signal for the bartender to come and retrieve it. “I will strike that one down as ignorance of decorum, then. Is that all you had to say?”

“Oh, don’t leave so soon, my friend!” Hashimoto laughed, putting his hands on his knees. “Come, enjoy the casino a bit! Show the boss that you are someone who will put money back into her work. Besides, there are lots of pretty ladies here who are just looking for a young, handsome man like yourself to take them home tonight!”

Togami sighed, adjusting his glasses with the second knuckle of his thumb, as to not dirty the lenses. “Gambling is illegal in the nation of Japan, and as someone who must enforce the law, I cannot partake in any illegal activities, especially those of yakuza. I am not interested in finding a romantic partner at the moment, and one-night stands are distasteful.”

“You are currently investigating the disappearance of yakuza, Togami-kun! Is it not in the heart of a justiciar to let them go missing and rid the world of evil? Or are you not as lawfully sound as you originally stated?” Hashimoto arched a brow at the detective, pairing it with a smirk.

“I am investigating possible kidnappings,” Togami corrected the older man. “They will start with your coworkers and then evolve into other targets when the culprit decides that yakuza are not enough. I will have to get involved either way; I might as well stop this before too many people get hurt.”

“How many consecutive days have you been working?” Hashimoto asked, sipping at his beer still.

“About five,” Togami frowned at the man, standing to stretch his legs. “And before you say I am overworked, I have gone longer than that without a day off. The law must be enforced, and the Togami line is the most successful line of detectives to be mentioned in the Detective Library. I am no exception.”

“One game of blackjack,” Hashimoto smiled at the blonde, arching his eyebrows. “Perhaps you can walk home with a little bit more money in your pocket to get yourself a cup of coffee or a nice breakfast in the morning. One game of blackjack, my friend, and I will let you be to finish your work.”

Eyes flitted around the casino, watching the pink and blue neon lights blind the slightly-drunken guests. Togami allows his eyes to settle on the velvet-curtain doors, finding that the white-haired man with the firearm was not at his post. Frowning in frustration, Togami’s brows furrowed at Hashimoto, and he sighed sharply through his nose. “One game of blackjack, and then I am in my car, going home.”

“Oh, you will love it here, my friend! Here, here, use some of my chips for tonight and you can pay me back if you lose your money.” The ever-generous man placed a handful of poker chips into the hand of the young detective, causing the blonde to look at them in a mixed expression of confusion and exasperation. Following the older man to a table of blackjack with room for two to join, Hashimoto laughed boisterously at the detective’s presence at the table in comparison to some of the others present.

“Is there room for one more? I apologize, I had to head up to the cashier’s office.”

The voice that echoed properly before the men seated was familiar; the detective did not even look backwards to see the same young woman with the black dress as he had seen at the bar a while ago. Politely, one of the men who was present at the table when Togami and Hashimoto arrived stood, allowing her to take his place at the table for a couple of rounds, standing behind her as he wanted to watch the game unfold. Opening up what appeared to be a small black handbag, barely big enough to fit anything more than a wallet or a small flask, the violet-haired woman took out a small stack of chips, setting them on the table.

“A pleasure to have you with us, Kirigiri-sama.” The dealer at the table addressed her, extending his hand. With the gait of a servant (akin to how the bartender addressed Togami, but to a superlative degree), the dealer kissed the back of the woman’s gloved hand. Nodding to the dealer, she folded her hands in front of her, ready to begin the game.

“Remember, ladies and gentlemen, all bets are to be properly accounted for, the counting of cards is strictly against house rules, and I as the dealer have the right to remove you from my table at any time. All bets in, please.”

500 yen.
500 yen.
1000 yen.
2500 yen.
10,000 yen.

All eyes hit the stack of chips equivalent to the highest bet on the table, and the dark-stained lips of the woman who sat behind her bet turned up in a bit of a malignant smirk. Togami’s eyes locked onto the familiar woman who sat across the table from him, chest rising and falling sharply as he watched her sip at a glass of ice-water, obviously balancing the drinks she had been drinking to keep her sober and reduce the hangover she might receive in the morning.

Her eyes met his for the second time that night. The burn was just as strong.

He didn’t begin to wonder for a moment whether or not she remembered him; the name alone, the style of dress, the DSC that was very much so evident in his wallet was all evidence of whom he was. Togami Byakuya. Child of Togami Kijo, brother of thirteen half-brothers and sisters. Thus was the trait of the Togami family. He wondered how many wives and children it would take for him to get it right; apparently Byakuya was the child that could properly inherit the detective intelligence and drive he was looking for in a child.

Of course she remembered him. He was hard to forget. Then again, so was she.

Kirigiri Kyouko, an unnecessarily talented gambler who had a knack for analyzing facial expressions and mastering the art of a lie. They had given her multiple names in high school when they both attended Hope’s Peak a long time ago: Queen of the Hive, Mistress of Liars, Lady of the Shadow. She hated all of them, only wanting to be referred to by her family name, and what a strong family name it was. Kirigiri. Fog cutter. A name almost unbefitting of her, but in an ironic manner; she did not cut through fog. She stole the fog placed around the faces of those around her and manipulated it into smoke and mirrors that made her appear to be whomever she wanted in front of a crowd.

She smirks at him, and her gaze is returned to the cards laid out before her, quickly swept up into her fingers.

A young man with white hair passes behind her, Togami noted, as he picked up his cards, looking them over. A bad hand, an unlucky hand. A hand that cannot win. His jaw sets, and he looks at her from across the table again, letting her face be absolutely emotionless as she looks at her own set of cards. Jaw sets, and the dealer addresses her.

“Hit.”
Seven and five equal twelve. Twelve plus seven equals nineteen.
“Stand.”

Nineteen. Twenty-two. Seventeen. Eighteen. Eleven. As the dealer dealt out his own cards, Kyouko’s lips curled up into a near-sardonic smile as the man in the white-shirt busted his own cards, allowing her and those who did not bust their own cards to gain their money. Pulling back half her stack, she almost wanted to try again, but simply pulled her chips back into her purse and excuse herself from the table.

That was just like her, Togami noted, to play and run away. After all, that’s all that Kirigiris knew how to do. Jaw set, Togami nodded to the dealer and to Hashimoto, excusing himself as well and ignoring Hashimoto’s tipsy protests. He could still see the waves of her dress in the crowd as he pushed himself through numbers of gathering people, sliding with grace as he danced around waitresses with trays of champagne to deliver to sober guests-- spend your money, spend your money!

She disappears behind the velvet curtain like a magician, and he was stopped by the white-haired man who had returned to his post. (Perhaps that is where he was returning to when he passed by Kirigiri at the table.) A hand extended to the detective, the young, almost sickly-looking man stood between him and the velvet curtain that held the person he demanded to see again. To receive answers from.

“I apologize, sir, but I can’t let you in here. VIP only.”
“That woman who just walked back there--”
“--is a personal friend of the boss,” the guard noted, an unhealthy smile appearing on pale, pasty skin. “Is there something you need from her?”

“Just to talk,” Togami explained, frowning that this plebeian of a man was what stopped him from finally retrieving the information he couldn’t uncover; he wanted to know why she ran. “We knew each other, a long time ago.”

“Then I suppose you will have to come back another day. I apologize, Master, but if I disobey orders, my life will become more of a never-ending hell then I already make it to be.” Such dismal words left such happy lips, and Togami felt absolutely disgusted. “Perhaps you can catch her another time.”

Togami exhaled sharply through his nose as he backpedaled away from the guard, nodding in understanding. It wasn’t necessarily acceptance of the fact that she had left his grip again, but it was a start.

It may not be tonight, but she would eventually answer for her crime.

Silence.

“Are you running again?”
“I don’t need your commentary, Nanami-san.”

Sitting elegantly on one of the velvet couches hidden behind the velvet curtain in the room of sin, Kyouko’s eyes were locked onto the threshold of the VIP room, seeing the familiar figure of Nanami’s bodyguard, Komaeda Nagito, as well as the figure of the man she had run from multiple times.

“Komaeda-kun says he saw Togami-kun. Is it him you’re running from?”

She was silent as she pours herself another drink, something stronger than the ice water she had been sipping a moment ago. “What is he doing here?” She asked her yakuza friend, violets meeting magentas gently as the two friends shared a moment of silence. “What relation does he have to you?”

“He’s a detective,” Nanami explained, “And some of my higher-ranking subordinates have gone missing. Hashimoto was his informant before, so I’m speaking through Hashimoto to communicate with him. I want to bring the members of my family home. The history that you and he share doesn’t really… matter to me.”

“At least you’re honest,” Kirigiri sighed, watching Komaeda successfully turn Togami away in silhouette, and she slinks down lower into her chair. Looking over the cutely-dressed yakuza, the gambler queen crossed one leg over the other, letting milky-white skin be evident in the low, scarlet light. “He bought me a drink.”

“Was it a nice drink?”
“Cognac,” Kirigiri replied, nodding. “I had already ordered one for myself on my tab, but when I had finished mine, the bartender had presented me with another, and we shared a toast.” Her neck popped as she let her head fall back, standing. “I think I am done playing for tonight.”

“Then sit down, Kirigiri-san,” Nanami smiled at her friend, trying to get her to sit back down, not to leave the casino just yet. “Give Togami-kun some time to leave the casino. We need to talk, anyways.”

Agreeing silently with her pink-haired friend, the woman in the black dress took a seat again, sighing as she slipped out of her heels. Bare feet pressed against the plush carpet of the VIP room, and she let her ankles pop with a slight curve to her feet. “You make it sound like I’m in trouble,” Kyouko chuckled, “I haven’t broken the rules of the Digital Dragon, have I?”

“No, never,” Nanami smiled at her friend, drumming her fingers against the table she sat at. “Instead, I wanted you to be careful…”

“Careful?” Kyouko asked for more information, plucked and filled brow arching at the yakuza boss. “I am always careful; you know this. What’s prompting this? What’s going on?”

“I’m scared,” Nanami revealed to the other, sighing softly. “I’m going to be safe. I have Komaeda-kun. But the other members of the yakuza… my family… you. You’re my family, Kirigiri-san, whether or not you like it. All this business you’re doing in my casino right now… we have cashed in on so many debts. We don’t have to steal so much. You’re doing all of the stealing for us.” A joke made at Kyouko’s expense, pulling a giggle from Chiaki’s lips. “Because people know you, you’re going to be a target. And… you might be kidnapped, too.”

“I am going to be just fine,” The gambler reassured her friend, reaching over to pat her knee. “We both know that I don’t die so easily.”

“I know.” Chiaki sighed softly at Kirigiri’s sureness in her ability. “You always exude confidence… I’m impressed…”

“I exude because I have to,” Kirigiri laughed at the other’s comment, “You have to put on airs of confidence to be in my line of work. You simply have the manpower to intimidate others into submission. Myself? Not so much. I have to make people believe they’re winning. I have to make people suffer mentally, not physically.”

“Scary.” Nanami chuckled, interrupted by the fluttering of the velvet curtain in front of her. Bowing politely, her white-haired bodyguard, Komaeda Nagito, entered the room with a submissive aura.

“I apologize for entering so rudely, Young Mistress,” Komaeda bowed politely again, reassuring his boss that he was completely subordinate to her. Drumming her fingers against her thigh, Nanami lifted her chin to him and shifted her head to the side, as if she was curious as to what Nagito had to say.

“I followed the detective in the casino, like I was asked,” Komaeda explained, pulling a reaction from Kirigiri as her head snapped around to glare at Nanami, knowing her friend better than she knew herself. Confused at the gambler’s reaction, Komaeda continued on with his report, “He was meeting with Hashimoto-kun again.”

“Did Hashimoto-kun deliver my message to him?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Komaeda nodded, “He will be back in the casino tomorrow night to talk to you about the disappearances. He made an attempt to follow Kirigiri-san into the Velvet Room, but I intercepted him.”

“Thank you, Komaeda-kun. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“No, Mistress,” Komaeda nodded, pocketing his hands into his dress pants. “Is there anything that I need to do for you? My life is at your command, as you know.”

“Just keep standing guard, Komaeda-kun. I want to go home soon, so I’ll need an escort.”

“Of course,” Nodding politely to both her and Kirigiri, Komaeda excused himself from the Velvet Room, pushing past the maroon curtains and letting his silhouette be visible from the inside of the room. Sighing softly, Kirigiri sunk down lower on the couch, her gloved hand pressed against her browbone with a look of exasperation.

“Are you ready to go home, Kirigiri-san?” Nanami asked, chuckling at her friend’s behavior. “You look like it.”

"More than you know,” Kirigiri replied, adjusting herself into a seated position. Shrouded hands smooth down the tresses of her evening gown, midriff exposed in the two-piece dress. “Have I pulled enough people into debt for you tonight?” A joke, hidden within words of truth. After all, that’s why Kirigiri Kyouko came home to Japan after spending time in London with her grandfather: she had been requested by one of the most infamous yakuza families in the East. That’s not an invitation you turn down, especially when the requester is an old high-school friend.

In an attempt to slow down the rate of active stealing so that they couldn’t be tracked by the Japanese Police Department, Nanami had requested the help of Kirigiri to assist her in luring people into the Digital Dragon and driving them unnecessarily into debt so that Nanami simply had to cash in her debts with businessmen when she needed things taken care of or erased. Between that and the lucky instincts of her cousin, the Nanami family was absolutely unstoppable.

Standing, Nanami retrieved her jacket from the back of the seat she was sitting on. Draping it over her shoulders, Kirigiri was prompted to stand as well, her fur wrap placed properly around her arms to protect herself from the cold of Japan’s rainy nights. As both girls exited, Komaeda’s brows arched, as if he was ready to leave, as well. When Nanami nodded, silently prompting him to escort them both to the car, Komaeda’s arms folded neatly behind his back, taking a position in front of the two to protect them from attacks from the front. His keen senses would render him with enough time to protect them from the rear as well; after all, only thirty percent of attacks came from behind.

The car parked above ground could have been easily missed by the passerby. Completely black, unrevealing that it was made of completely bulletproof material, tinted windows. To those that walked by it, it simply looked like an empty police car or the abandoned car of a celebrity. Opening the door, Komaeda allowed Kirigiri and Nanami to enter the back before sliding in as well, sitting in front of them with his back to the driver. Nimble fingers found the window in the panel behind him, opening it to address the chauffeur. “We need to take Kirigiri-sama home first before we take the young mistress home. She lives in Shibuya.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver politely acknowledged Komaeda’s words as he shut the panel, crossing his arms and slinking down lower into his seat, as if he was tired.

“Thank you for taking me home,” Kirigiri smiled to both Nanami and Komaeda as she leaned down, reaching at her ankles to unbuckle the strap of her heels that kept them on. Sliding out of her shoes, she sighed softly in relief, as if she was just as tired as the bodyguard, if not moreso. “I didn’t want to risk someone mistaking me for a hostess.”

“Any time you need a ride, just let me know. We have some drivers in Shibuya, still, right?” Looking to Komaeda for reassurance, Nanami nodded in correlation with her words as Komaeda did, confirming her suspicion.

“Thank you. Now I know that…”
“Stop worrying about him.”

Having been interrupted by the yakuza head, Kirigiri arched an eyebrow at Nanami, who simply crossed one leg over the other. “I understand that you’re worried. That you want to run away again. But you don’t need to worry about him anymore, Kirigiri-san.”

“He-” Kirigiri began to plead with her friend, trying to get her to side with her instead of keeping a neutral ground on the situation, as she was wont to do.

“I know what he did,” Nanami nodded, rubbing her hands together to warm them up. “And I know what you’re going to do. So listen to me as your friend: You need to stop it.”

Letting her eyes examine the paneling of the car for longer than she should have, Nanami’s words continued to barrage Kirigiri’s ears, prompting violet brows to furrow. “You live in Shibuya. He lives in Ikebukuro. That’s at least a half-hour drive from your house to his, maybe longer depending on where in Ikebukuro he lives, and traffic… and… anyways.” Nanami leaned over, placing a hand on Kirigiri’s arm. “Just relax. You’re known for getting wound up about things like this. Stop it.”

Her eyes flickered to Komaeda, who by now had begun resting his eyes and leaning his head back against the leather of the luxury seats. “You’re right,” She agreed with Nanami, nodding. “I’m sure that drink was simply a sign of good faith. Old friends saying hello.”

“There you go,” Nanami smiled, grinning at her friend. “You’re going to be just fine.

Kirigiri sighed. “I hope you’re right.”



Running warm hands through his hair, the detective exited his shower, once-tense shoulder muscles slightly relaxed now, but never completely so. After drying himself off with a towel, the blonde adorned a grey, cotton robe, finding himself comfortable in the gift from his father.

Wiping the condensation from his glasses before putting them back on, the detective picked up his cellphone, checking the messages he had received: none. Settling down into his reading chair, Togami picked up a copy of some sort of psychology study, flipping through it to find the dog-eared page to pick up where he had left off.

Barely getting through the first page, Togami was interrupted by his cellphone vibrating twice, the assigned ringtone for a text message. Dog-earing his page again, he leaned over, picking up the silver cellphone and scrolling through a complex passcode to check his message.



He was expecting something like this, he wasn’t going to lie. Kirigiri was known for doing things like this. Getting ahold of contact information. Scaring people in submission. In Togami’s case, he inferred that she was trying to scare him into leaving her alone. His lips curled up into a smirk. Nice try.

His finger hovered over the number, hitting “save” and saving the number under her full name. Of course, he would have to do this a number of times, with a number of different numbers, but this time, he wasn’t letting her go so easily.



The smirk on his lips was ever-present as he re-created her voice in his head. Perhaps you could say he had an obsession with her, like a husband who could not let his ex-wife go away. What did you expect from a detective whose only mistake was letting the daughter of the head of Japan’s most dangerous gambling ring share his bed and go free?

Exhaling softly, Togami’s thumb hovered over the send button.



She was such a curious character, Togami mused; if she truly wanted to be left alone, why did she contact him first? Why did she know he was going to pursue her just as much as he was going to pursue the series of disappearances? Why did she know him better than he knew himself, and why did he know her better than she could ever hope to know?

Leaning back in his chair, Togami closed his eyes as the two traded words back and forth. Nimble hand ran down his sharp jawline, waiting for her response. Perhaps he had won this argument. Perhaps he had pushed her into submission. Pursing his lips, his cellphone vibrated in his hand, prompting his eyes to open and examine the text message.



Closing the cellphone completely, Togami rose from his chair, not even returning to his book for the night. Shedding his robe, Togami slipped into silken pajamas, navy blue, sliding into bed. Taking off his glasses, the detective reached behind himself to flip off the light, laying flat on his back. Ceruleans stuck to the ceiling, letting the events of today settle into his mind. Blinking on occasion, Togami recalled the events of today over and over in mind, praying he could find a bit of evidence that he missed initially. Something to give him the upper hand. Something to give him a lead.

“Nothing,” he groans, closing his eyes.

Togami Byakuya would not get a lot of sleep tonight.