[IC] Lostman Grafitti

[ERode]

April 7 20XX

Time: Midday
Weather: Light Drizzle

...........................................................................................................................

Northern District

The world was bright.

The world was shadowless.

Dark green curtains draped the skeletons of buildings, protecting concrete and rebar from the light drizzle that danced upon all surfaces. A verdant tract of land stood out like a gem amongst the pavement and tall buildings, a myriad of spring flowers on the verge of blooming. The weeping cloudscape could not mute their colors, even as it drowned out glass and concrete, leaving a fine veil over everything. In one part of the city, men in hard hats and safety vests renovate an old road. In another part of the city, demolitionists clear the area, waiting with calculated anxiety for the countdown to begin. The crack of the machine, and charming cobblestone is replaced with pungent tarmac. The press of a button, and stone ruptures and disintegrates, leaving the lot free for a new structure to take the place of the predecessor.

Upon a non-descript office building, a schoolgirl stood, in an outfit dyed black by rain. A bright world. A shadowless world. A dying world. A reborn world. She removed her shoes, placing them neatly by the edge. She peeled off her socks, folding them neatly into her shoes. She breathed in. She breathed out. Stepped into a puddle, shivered slightly in the cold. Slid her toes against the surface, watched the wake disperse and stabilize. Stepped up to the precipice, peeked over the ledge. Beneath, people strode. Others saw insects, small and squishable. She saw Legos. Indistinct, no matter no colorful they were. She’d be hurt if she stepped on them, but they wouldn’t be hurt if she stepped on them.

She leaned forward further, willing herself closer and closer to the void, sparked by morbid curiosity and nameless misgivings.

And then, she…

Central District

Midday traffic clogged the arteries of the downtown core, thousands of umbrellas forming a canopy that would rival a rainforest. Tenoroshi was a modern town, but it was a small town too, ill-suited for containing the eight hundred thousand who lived within its boundaries, who were employed in its economic heart. Salarymen with slick leather clutches stormed through the streets on a schedule. Children and mothers stuck to the sides, looking through the glass storefronts of designer boutiques or happily jumping into puddles. Truants roamed in pants too large to fit their skinny waists. Garbage collectors dodged heavy traffic as they wrestled with overflowing containers. Above the din of human communications, the bells of ringing bikes sounded constantly as more environmentally-conscious commuters bobbed and weaved through designated bike lanes that only contributed to the congestion of the roads and sidewalks.

One fortunate person, however, didn’t have to suffer the crowded streets.

One unfortunate person, however, wasn’t marked as a part of the herd.

An unkempt man stumbled through the streets in blissful stupor, his feet crisscrossing as he half-danced, half-staggered. A drug addict. A drunk. A maniac. As if the madness that inflicted him was contagious, others shied away, some shooting dirty looks as he bumped into them, others making snide comments to each other as they passed. His suit hadn’t been washed for days. His skin was muddy, dirty. He stank of trash and piss. A stock broker down on his luck? A failed entrepreneur? More labels struck the man, condemnations fired from the safety of another’s mind. But he didn’t mind. His mouth opened and closed, singing a silent song, and his lips were curved upwards in the purest expression of happiness, so bright that it must have been agonizing.

He continued to dance in a world only he could see, to a beat only he could heard. And soon enough, soon enough, the unkempt man struck something that would not move out of his way. He fell back, looked up, and saw, for the first time, the wall before him.

A clean-shaven man in a collared shirt and tight pants, the barest suggestion of tattoos curling beneath his sleeves, the bright light of human cruelty in his beady eyes.

The smile did not change, even as the gangster’s boot slammed into his ribs.

It took two more blows before the violence became normalized and the crowd passed on, averting their eyes.

Western District

Winding paths upon downward slopes. Quiet streets undisturbed by pedestrians and vehicles alike. The police were never prepared, the residents were never brave. And today in particular was sublime. Bright light, gray light. Puddles that became mist under screaming tires. The sense of danger that accompanied drifting on slippery cobblestone.

Perfect riding conditions for people who had something to prove, people who wanted to push things past the edge.

A dozen delinquents, some high schoolers, some university students roared down the desolate streets in souped up bikes, their horns blaring with explosive bravado. Their tires left black scars upon the streets and their shouts of exhilaration rose above the rattle of their engines. Downtown was troublesome, even if it was absolutely badass to escape the traffic cops, while the crazy slopes might as well be the most glorious challenge in all of Tenoroshi. How many accidents had occurred? How many bikers had been bested in an instance of wavering will? The bosozoku group’s leader, his white longcoat trailing behind him like the tail of a great beast, sped up further, his motorcycle shooting ahead, turning the cor-

An old lady was crossing.

A pin-point swerve and the leader was past. With daredevil audacity, the rest of the troupe followed suit, twelve bikes streaking around the senile hag as she fell back in surprise, her jaw dropping to reveal a toothless mouth. The last of the group laughed at her dazed expression and parted ways with a rude gesture, leaving her on the sidewalk, her eyes glazed over in shock.

Southwestern District

The traffic was lighter in the red light district, making it easier to travel from one part of the city to another, but the lack of congestion was simply the bait meant to snag unsuspecting prey. Warm lights promised comfort and intimacy, while photoshopped pictures of glamorous hosts and hostesses were plastered on light-up displays. Trucks streamed by, eager to take more vacant routes, but not a single businessman was willing to be seen here during the day. To come to the red light district at night was normal. To come here now? Social suicide.

Still, that didn’t mean idiots were all that uncommon, and a host wasn’t worth their paycheck if they couldn’t pick girls off the streets.

Dressed sharply in a three-piece suit, top two buttons undone and long, pale hair eloquently coifed with products more expensive than what some people spent on marriage rings, a fair youth struck a bold impression as he stood off to the side of the street. An umbrella was held in a gloved hand, while his sharp gaze appraised passing women like a pawnbroker would with used goods. Confidence was bad. Discipline was bad. Purpose was bad. His gaze looked for something less secure, more dependent, more frivolous. An erratic step or a wandering gait. Not someone who knew what they wanted, for sure. For a moment, a self-depreciating smirk almost formed, before it was summarily crushed.

There, there she was. A new face, but her clothes were expensive. Her body language was closed off, but that was due to anxiety, not anything as thick as ‘hatred’. The suitcase she held was large. Looked heavy. That was his way in. Maybe a tourist? Maybe travelling? Maybe a runaway? Didn’t matter. He moved in. Quick, confident, quiet strides, exuding everything that she wasn’t. Holding out his umbrella and shielding her from the rain, the young man smiled, his tone chipper and bright. “Hey there, cutie, that looks heavy. Want some help?”

The girl (not very attractive, a bit on the thin side) started, her eyes (narrow, tareme, looked slow) widening before her arms wrapped around the case, pressing it against her chest. She shook her head frenetically, and looked as if she were about to bolt.
But she didn’t. She stopped moving. And that was good.

“Ah, don’t worry, if I had a choice, I'd be stealing your heart instead,” the long-haired youth continued, smoothly turning so he stood directly in front of her, “But it does look a little heavy, right? Must be quite tiring, especially in such weather. C’mon, it’s a bit noisy, but I know a nice place to take a break. Just thirty minutes, to dry off and to refresh yourself. Not bad, neh?”

His wink and his smile did little to soothe her nerves, her body (thin, fragile, glassy, definitely not the most attractive around) seeming to shrink in on itself.

Time to switch tactics.

“Hey, really,” he leaned in, eyes wider now, amber irises melting in concern and sympathy. “What’s wrong?” His hand reached out, caressing her cheek and then lifting her jaw (cold and clammy, wholly unpleasant). “Let’s get some proper shelter first, yeah? Won’t do if you caught a cold in this weather.”

He read it in her eyes. She was wavering.

“A beauty like you’s gotta take care of yourself better.”

Southern District

“99 NEETs 99 NEETs but husltas aint one.
If you having work problems I feel bad for you son,
I got 99 NEETs but hustlas ain’t one.”

An outdated boombox rumbled on concrete slopes as disenfranchised youth with handkerchiefs over their mouths rattled their spray cans, creating monuments to their fleeting existence. Beanie cap boys flowed up and down, kicking up their skateboards and grinding rails. Mohawk punks passed around cigarettes, flicking burning stubs away. Bad weather didn’t stop misfits from congregating, and the skate park’s ramps were feeling lonely anyways. Aspiring delinquents, snotty-nosed brats and kids stuck in teenagers’ bodies hung around atop the rusted jungle gym, practically falling atop each other as they crammed their faces together in order to see licentious photos of fake women. Crude comments exchanged as separate gangs crossed paths. A fight broke out over a drink, acne-faced students bumping chests as their friends egged them on to throw a punch instead of pussying out. Love was made elsewhere, experience gained from pornography failing to manifest as actual competence when a new, rash couple fumbled their way through a make-out session.

It was no place for a child, and yet, there she stood still, sticking out like a sore thumb. A black backpack with a recorder case sticking out, a uniform from a school from the gentler, suburban side of Tenoroshi. She sat by herself on a bench stained by birdshit, her mahogany eyes staring vacantly at the sinful and debauched, smouldering quietly. And all the while, the rain continued to fall, dirtying the uniform that cost more than the rest of her wardrobe combined.

“But if you can’t get your point across,
Righteous men get crucified on the cross.
I’ve seen heaven to cell I ain’t dumb.
I got 99 NEETs but hustlas ain’t one.”

[AdmrlStalfos19]

'Where the hell even is this place?!'

Ishiyama Tsurushi looked all over her current surroundings, searching a highly specific building in the southern district of Tenoroshi, but to no avail. Nothing stood out from all this mess of steel and concrete, which made things all the more difficult to discern from one another. Considering the job she took before becoming a grade school teacher, Tsurushi was supposed to know the vast majority of the city like the back of her hand. However, her life had made a sharp left turn since that day, and that might have had an effect on her memory. She tried to force herself into a recollection, but all that did was cause a headache that only compounded her issues.

Finally giving into the epiphany that she was completely lost, Tsurushi briskly walked over to the closest public seat that she could find; a park bench that had been caked with a suspicious pattern of white across a good portion of where one was supposed to sit. Whatever it was, it was a good thing that it would've long since dried onto the wood of the bench, or it would've ruined a perfectly good dress as Tsurushi sat down. She clutched her forehead with her left hand spread wide, all she could do to try and alleviate the agonizing pain inside. With a momentary glance to her left, however, she noticed someone who didn't belong. It was a girl. Black backpack. Mahogany eyes. Raven hair in the form of a ponytail.

And to top it all off, a highly familiar school uniform.

...

"Tamiko?" asked Tsurushi, wondering if she would get the girl's attention, "Suzukaze Tamiko, is that you?"

She didn't want to be wrong. She didn't want to have mistaken this girl for the troubled 5th-grader that was in her class. But with much of her memory turn asunder like it had been, Tsurushi couldn't be so sure that her eyes weren't deceiving her all this time. Afraid of such a possibility, Tsurushi turned away from the girl again and looked forward, a saddened look across her face.

"Never mind that, you should be in school at this time of day; not out in a place like this," she said in a sorrowful tone.

[OwO]

The red light district was Marina's cage. No matter how far she went, she always returned to the skeevy daylife and scummy nightlife. But her days spent there weren't out of nostalgia and sweet memories of her mother. Rather, she had a duty to complete. A compulsion that drove her. For that, she needed as much information as she could gather. After all, blindly running into danger always ended up in hitting brick walls. Her mission wasn't terribly time sensitive. She could bide her time to make sure it happened perfectly. Preparations were important, after all.

With the drizzle turning her fishtail parka and face-mask from anti-social streetwear to inconspicuous daily wear, the daylit streets of the red light district paid no attention to the tall woman. Not that they would pay much attention in the first place, though. Most people who came through the district during the day were either transient or permanent fixtures. Nobody that would remember and want to talk about everything that happened, especially about something as innocuous as someone who didn't want to be seen. The only people out during the daylight hours were the slightly less skeezy characters that looked at outsiders for quick meals. Case in point, a young, thin, and neurotic woman being accosted by a host that seemed to think obviously highly of himself.

Curiosity filled Marina. A neurotic woman with a large suitcase and the salt of the red light district host that looked for easy marks to trick into ordering overpriced drinks. She never really liked it. The exploitative nature of the place, that is. It always felt unclean to her. For a while, she listened to the lies the man spouted. To anyone familiar with (or who were) scum, it was obvious what he was doing. The neurotic woman didn't quite have the willpower to say no or run. Simply letting it happen would have left a bad taste in Marina's mouth, so she stepped in.

"Hey," she demanded his attention, "what are you doing?" She was rather close to his back. Uncomfortably close, even. She didn't even bother to turn her face down at the man. She just sharply glared at him from her advantageous position, like a lion eyeing their prey.

[banjoanjo]

SOU MIYANE

---

“<<Sit down.>>”

“<<Don’t try to stop me, Miya-ssi! How can those people just walk by?>>”

“<<The desire to travel to-and-fro without receiving a boot to the chest is quite universal, Hyejin-ah.>>”

She had filmed a commercial for a bakery chain last week. The manicure still looked fresh, her grasp more delicate than usual as she lifted the cup to her lips.

It wasn’t her first choice, opting for a window seat or getting lunch at the hip, downtown café currently sheltering them, but Hyejin had insisted on both fronts with equal vigor. Miyane, for the life of her, could not be bothered questioning her reasons. Likely something about fresh air, or keeping up with the city, or taking in the view. Never mind that the view was the same as it ever was in Tenoroshi, with today’s climate providing an ambient bleakness to the whole damn thing.

Not in here though. Soundproofed windows, gentle heating, the atmosphere of a place where everyone who was anyone knew they had to visit at some point. It blanketed their senses. The café’s other patrons conversed onwards, oblivious to the incident taking place outside. Too important for a faceless grin in the crowd.

“<<Did you visit Gangnam often back home?>>” Miyane asked lightly, the conversation still proceeding in Hyejin’s native language. The restrained smile on her lips corrected itself when Hyejin reached for her phone. “<<What are you doing?>>”

“<<Contacting the police.>>”

“<<Don’t do that,>>” the idol frowned.

“<<But someone needs to do something. You’ve already finished your coffee anyway.>>”

“<<Yes. Because I drank it in peace. Peacefully.>>” Fourteen years of media conditioning enunciated the statement. “<<I might have enjoyed the quiet more than I did the coffee itself.>>”

Hyejin caught on. Finally. “<<Right. Low profile.>>”

“<<Thank you.>>”

“<<But—>>”

For god's sake.

“<<—no one has to know you’re here.>>”

“<<No MiA. Just a representative of TS Entertainment. The company has had enough run-ins with the authorities for the current century.>>”

Hyejin pouted some more. Rummaging for more pleas, likely.

“<<He’s getting hurt.>>”

“<<I can see that.>>”

“<<Why are you so against something being done?>>”

“<<Because it doesn’t ma—>>”

She stopped herself just in time. That was close.

Hyejin’s undyed brows furrowed together. “<<Doesn’t what?>>”

“<<Nothing.>>”

“<<Miya-ssi?>>”

Because it doesn’t matter. Tenoroshi was a city that trundled relentlessly, always forward. Permanence was a privilege few could acquire. It wasn’t cruel, it was just a fact of life. Hell, she quietly admired it. An entropic devouring of the masses. The man could get peacefully assaulted for the same reason a girl that had once dominated the worldwide charts could sit in a café undisturbed. Tenoroshi was her destiny.

A suitable resting place for a fallen idol.

“<<Actually. Do whatever you want,>>” Miyane shrugged. Her glasses case clacked open, pulled from her LV handbag, and she adjusted the sunglasses on her face.

“<<Really?>>”

“<<Yes. Call them, then we’re leaving.>>”

The manager nodded rapidly, beaming. “<<I knew you cared.>>”

Miyane waited without reply, giving the café a cursory glance in preparation of exit. It was easier this way. No sulking to deal with later that night. She’d probably saved a bottle or two of soju as well, in the long run.

The call completed in little time. She practically leapt out of her seat.

“<<Your Japanese has improved,>>” Miyane remarked, leading them both to the door as she did.

“<<Ooh, for reals?>>”

“<<Indeed. You have that overseas boyfriend in the bag.>>”

“<<Miya-ssi!>>”

[Asuras]

Mana looked it up on the internet once. What it was the construction company was doing up here in the Northern District. She'd passed by one day, noting the dilapidated an unused structure that was being swarmed with hardhats over the weeks. It was deemed too old to renovate, and thus was going to be put to the sword. A large crowd of people were privy to the same information, and gathered as close as the smiling security would allow. It wasn't often buildings were demolished with explosives, and the event would surely be one to video.

Mana herself... She wasn't there in the crowd. She was fine with watching afar from the safety of a rooftop food court. It was tall enough that she'd be able to see the building fall. Mana didn't have the time to walk all the way over to the demolition sight, with her work being over in the Northwestern District, so this distance had to do. On her lunch break, she went to a nearby food court, situated atop a several-story office building, and right in between two taller offices. It was mostly outdoors, and despite the rain, bothered Mana little. She'd already scarfed down her meal underneath an umbrella, and was now just waiting for the fireworks.

Leaning over the cement railing separating her from fifty feet of screaming and death, a peculiar object caught her eye. Across the way, a body was moving. The office building the person was standing on was far taller than hers, and without any significant barrier to keep people from falling over it. Her heart beat. Was this what a gut feeling was? Mana shifted, standing up taller though her folded arms still rested on the rail. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the figure.

Something wasn't right about this.

It was a girl, who couldn't have been older than herself. She wore a uniform, surely a schoolgirl.

...And she wasn't herself interested in the demolition.

Mana's hands drew aside and gripped the rough cement guard rail. If she was wrong about this... would she miss the demolition? Would she make a fool of herself? Did it matter...?

Mana's body turned in place, almost too quick to even catch her footing. She rushed for what she hoped and simultaneously didn't hope was about to happen. Her breath burst to life as her hurried pace, and she felt like an Olympic sprinter, with everyone else so slow around her. She paid no mind to the strange glances, and gave little warning to those who didn't see her coming. Some jumped as her apron-wearing frame shot past them from out of nowhere. She made it the street level, and rushed across the street. Adrenaline kept the burning in her throat at bay.

She briefly feared, approaching the other office building, that she would not be able to make it to the top... but surely if the schoolgirl could, so could she, right? Mana wasted no time testing every door to every stariwell, throwing them open and rushing upwards on an enrgy reserve that should have been voided a minute before. She thanked God that the smoking hadn't caught up to her yet. She got closer to the top... closer...

Mana threw wide the door to the rooftops, uncaring of if it would startle the girl. There she was... barefoot. A whimper of fear escaped Mana's lips against her will, and she burst forward with the greatest speed she'd probably ever express in her life. Her hand extended, reaching out to catch... her collar!

[Savo]

Marc Kurosawa

---

Location
Central District

Interacting With
Some Jackass Yakuza Maybe(?) (@ERode)

---

Marc blinked, almost convulsing a little as he slightly tipped to the side before readjusting himself. His jaw was slightly agape, eyes glued completely to the scene; it almost looked as if he was going to well up into tears or inelegantly barf on the side of the street.

-mp.

The sound was like a heartbeat, nearly constant and consistence, though it went off a few intervals as it continued to transpire. He took one step forward, almost as if he had a shuffling gait before another passed on by, almost ignoring how the young man was reacting.

Whump.

He could only push through the crowds before finally getting someone to excuse him, catching a few glares as Marc forcefully jammed the phone into his pocket and continued to flow sideways against the current. It was difficult rushing towards the scene, especially since so many were indifferent to the seemingly distressing plight he was in.

Whump.

Until then, finally, he came upon the scene, interjecting himself into this bubble of violence, bubble of misfortune, the bubble that didn't seemingly exist to all these people. Marc's eyes were vibrating, his lips were trembling, almost making an irregular chattering of his teeth. With one hand clenched in a fist being held to his chest and the other outwards, open, ready to grasp at the situation, he could only fearfully utter one sentence in between the periodic-

Whump.

"Uh-Uncle Hideki? Sir, what the hell are... are you doing to my uncle?!"

...

A few minutes ago.

The dimly lit lights of the cityscape harmonized with the rhythm of the drizzle, the sizzle of their song being barely heard amongst the scattering crowds, all singing to their own tune, all flowing down their own path... but him? Oh no, Marc wasn't a part of the current... in fact, he was more or less pushing against it, going in the opposing direction, swimming up the stream, pushing against the crowds of people.

Some made his life a bit easy by weaving through the side. Other times, he had to duck out of the way himself, earning possibly a scowl, grimace, glare, or two, but nothing else before the droplets returned to the regular flow of the district.

Maybe this wasn't exactly the best of ideas to return at such a busy hour. The young man sighed, unresigned, pushing forward with a phone in one hand and a transparent, disposable umbrella in the other. His face felt a bit sticky, possibly tasted salty if he decided to lick it, mixed with the light sprinkle of the springs dew.

"Hm... I should check out those Whispers in the Wall, or something," Marc pondered, eyes pasted on the illuminated screen for a brief second, scrolling through the latest posts of the Urban Legends subforum before tearing his eyes away from the screen.

The glow reflected off his face as he astutely gazed over the crowd, picking away the faces of the crowds... and strangely enough, picking out a kindred spirit flowing against the current, plastered as all hell. Drunk, maybe? Or lost in his own world like him. A small smirk briefly followed before he was somber, unsmiling, eyeing the mans ragged appearance. Good god, he could smell the guy from all the way over here.

While there were judgmental thoughts that followed, there was another tune that followed.

Where are his friends?

Is there anyone worried about him?

How long has he been like this?

What happened to put him in such a blissfully ignorant state?

What happened...

Marc didn't know whether to be content about letting the man continue to bumble on by, at least until that deplorable scene followed. The only details he could make out from between the rapidly, uninterrupted crowds was that the dirty man had bumped into... collared crisp shirt, tight, expensive looking pants just from the quality.

And the sound of a violent whump.

People surrounding the vicinity watched as they continued to march, blindly following the tune of the cities Shepard, the Mayor... whoever that might be.

Whump.

Mothers turned their children away, teenagers took their eyes off their phones for a fleeting second before continuing to text.

Whump.

And it became normalized; the metronome to the city streets. The brutality of someone being mercilessly assaulted. A beat that continued to follow, a beat the crowds did not condemn, a beat they rationalized that was ok...

Whump.

It was a beat he refused to follow, a beat he could not agree with as Marc clutched his phone, feeling as if he could crush it as he watched the one-sided beat down continue, no retaliation from the helpless man lying there... he did nothing to dissuade his assailant.

Whu-

...

...

And then, nothing.

There was no fanfare, no special ability that caused his eyes to glow with a blue luminescence comparable to the All Seeing Eyes of God, oh no... there was just the deafening sound of silence and stillness. Any cool breeze that blew, any conversation, the sounds, the world, it all abruptly stopped as Marc continued to stare at the scene.

Marcs world... his frozen time.

No matter how long he stood and stared, nothing would change the raw feeling in his gut, cold, curling crushing his stomach. It was comparable to butterflies in ones stomach, or expulsing said contents out of his body. Schoolgirls disappear and adults don't bat an eye, a man is beaten and bruised with people passing on by.

There was merely an embittered scowl plastered on his face, whether for anger or discomfort, he didn't know as he let his umbrella and phone go, turning to walk towards the scene. Of course, like many things in his world, they stood still, unmoving, porcelain statues.

... and that was the main issue; unable to push anyone to the side, he had to resort to... other methods to traverse over to the scene that many were giving a wide berth.

Climbing up onto one of the people, it was still a bit of a challenge, but he steadied himself after a couple of seconds of wobbling a bit. Of course, once that was settled, he clambered over to another person, and another, before finally hopping off, and rolling into the scene. Honestly, it would of been badass if he could of just front flipped... but there were too many immovable objects around, too many thing to bump or injure himself on.

But that was not why he was here, oh no. Marc slowly began to rise, eyes like flames seeking any smoldering embers to burn away, to add to the fire. Blinking, he pushed up his glasses till they were firmly against the bridge of his nose, approaching the scene with a scrutinizing glance. He squatted down, staring at the man with his beady eyes, scrunched up nose, and clenched teeth as his foot was half-buried into the other sods chest.

And then, he chuckled.

Marc just shook his head, smiling disdainfully at the whole scene rubbing his chin as he continued to judge the man.

"Heh, you're really a pathetic piece of shit for getting bent so out of shape for some random ass dude bumping into you, y'know that," he stopped rubbing his chin, clenching his hand and leaning in so he could press his fist against the gangsters crotch. As he did so, he produced a small popping sound, the only sound of wind in this scenario before backing up and rising up, studying the duo more as if he were a detective at a crime scene.

Circling the two, his mind wandered and he pondered. Not a minute could of passed before he noticed something. He couldn't tell if it was the drizzle or not, but there looked to be a small, ephemeral smudge Marc noticed before sneering.

"Are you pissed about dis' guy getting such a widdle, widdle shmudge on youw pwecious shirt pwincess?" The insults were shot, but would never land. This was the world he only knew, and the mockery of treating this man like an entitled child throwing a tantrum would stay in it.

While talking trash to the guy, myriads of thoughts traveled through his head as he assessed the whole situation. How might he deal with this? As much as Marc considered to try and fight back, there was the main issue of his tattoos. It was one of the few things he noticed when circling the man like a vulture, and considered the man to be a possible Yakuza member.

While this was completely founded on looks, Marc didn't feel like doing anything stupid now, especially picking a fight due to the implications it could have... well, unless the gangster instigated it.

Marc shook his head and sighed before taking a seat, going between ideas, deciding which ones to nock and which ones to hold before he rose again.

"Uncle Hideki? Sir, what the hell are you doing to my uncle," he said in his most worried voice he could, putting emphasis on the horror of it all before clearing his throat. He recited the line a couple of times, all with different degrees of inflections in his voice, even going so far as to how his body language would portray himself. Hell, he even went above and beyond, coming up with other lines to respond the the (possible) Yakuza member if they said anything... though, he couldn't plan for every scenario.

He wasn't a gypsy after all.

In any case, after at least five minutes passed on by, he sighed before brushing himself down, doing some stretches, and doing some mock do re mi's to 'test' his own vocals. Once that was over, he went into a pivot, twirling around, spinning with an imaginary partner before coming face to face with the statues from before, impeding his way back to his spot.

Well... second verse, same as the first as he gracefully used a child as a footstool to scramble up onto the shoulders of another person. Rinse and repeat before he found himself making a similarish pose as to what he had a few minutes ago.

"... and time... resumes."

[ERode]

Northern District

...fell.

“Erk?!”

Yanked backwards, her bare feet slipped on the ledge and she fell on her rear, a paralyzing, nauseating pain shooting up her spine into her skull. Her features, pale in a way that looked pampered, twisted into a wince, as her long, black hair spilled over into the puddles that congregated into small ponds upon the bare rooftop. And, slowly, tilting her head backwards, upwards, the girl opened her eyes.

The left was black as coal. The right was a brilliant ruby. Alone, they were fascinating. Together, they were mesmerizing.

Around them, the soft rain continued to fall, meteorological whispers bading both girls to remember that time passed on, no matter who they were.

The schoolgirl in a uniform as grave as a funeral parlor spoke first, her voice more surprised than anything.

“Why?”

Central District

With her smile still lingering on her face, Hyejin slid her phone off the table immediately, her dark eyes flickering briefly to the situation outside of the cafe, before turning to the screen. Three digits later, and her Samsung was by her ear, the woman holding it up with one shoulder while waving towards one of the waiters for the bill.

A couple seconds passed, her smile disappeared. Taking the smartphone in her hands once more, she checked her receptions, frowned, and then began to fiddle with settings. Airplane Mode, on and off? Nope. Turn on roaming? Nope. Maybe just text it? Nope. Restart? The starting animation was cute, but didn’t change anything in the end.

Her eyes turned up towards Miyane after a couple more attempts to troubleshoot her phone fell through.

“<<Um, Miya-ssi,>>” she began, an apologetic smile on her face, “<<Mine’s acting up, so...please?>>”

---

No reaction. Must be riding a hell of a high. Scum dirtying the streets. A few more blows and he felt some hard given beneath his boot. And still, that leathery-faced addict’s smile remained, clutching his gut like he was having a giggling fit rather than anything else.

With a displeased grunt, the muscled thug slipped his hands into his pockets, before strid-

"Uh-Uncle Hideki? Sir, what the hell are... are you doing to my uncle?!"

Dark brown eyes, bright with the light of human cruelty, zeroed in on the source of the voice. Foreign kid. Blond like a wannabe ikemen. Little punk. Garbage beget garbage. The thug stepped up to Marc, and, even though the half-foreign student had an inch or two on him, glared down upon the child.

Held the gaze. Let it smoulder.

Then, spitting a thick wad upon this so-called ‘Uncle Hideki’, he said, in a voice like thick tires crunching through gravel, “If you give a shit, keep him off the streets, twink.”

With that, the thug shouldered past, down the street.

Western District

As the roar of souped-up engines and hyped-up hooligans faded in the distance, the biker gang driving off to harass a different part of Tenoroshi, the elderly lady slowly pushed herself up once more, her wrinkled face twisted in focus, as tears formed over her eyes. Too young. They were all too young. Too young, and too alone.

Closing her eyes, she pressed the palm of her hands together, and, with a shallow, shuddering breath, spoke.

“A life has ended, with the passing of a friend…”

Under the eyes of an ornamental kirin, the woman’s mantra continued, a murmur, a chant, a prayer, lost to the rainy day distortion.

Southwestern District

His expression did not freeze, even as goosebumps ran up his spine. Not taller than him by much, but was certainly someone scarier. Which was weird for a woman, but hey, some people liked to interrupt another person’s business to win points for themselves. Or maybe a random hot-headed justice nerd was here to flex their messiah complex? With a practiced smile, the host turned, not flinching even at her manner of dress or her clearly-foreign features. “Just doing my work as a c-”

“E-excuse me!” Sensing a gap in his focus, the fidgety girl bowed once, her head almost colliding with his back, before running off. In moments, she reached the main street and turned the intersection, leaving the boundaries of the red-light district. A perfect running form for a sprinter, with long legs to match. He let out a low whistle. What a shame.

“As I was saying,” he turned back, raising his umbrella slightly to cover the foreign girl, “Just doing my work as a concerned citizen. It’d be terrible if she caught a cold, non? Certainly looks like your problems are bigger than her’s though.”

The young man paused, his words spoken slowly, calmly, confidently.

“A glare doesn’t suit such a beautiful face. You wanna talk about it?”

Southern District

Tamiko clicked her tongue.

“So should you, but I don’t see you worrying about that, granny.”

Any other day, she’d have simply walked away, but she stayed this time, her legs continuing to swing in empty space. How did her teacher even get over here? It was literally on the opposite side of the school from the school. Stupid. This was so stupid. Her hands balled up into tiny fists, pressing themselves against the hard, crusty wood of the bench, before slowly unclenching again.

Her eyes narrowed, refusing to look at Tsurushi, her cheeks puffing up as if she could will needles to sprout out from her skin. “Just go away, dumbhead,” she said, after exhausting non-communicative methods of making her prison guard go away. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

[banjoanjo]

SOU MIYANE - Central District

---

“<<Um, Miya-ssi,>>” Hyejin began, an apologetic smile on her face, “<<Mine’s acting up, so...please?>>”

Miyane blinked. Her scowl was half-formed, sunglasses doing well to obscure what irritation did leak through. She reached for her own phone to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“<<You’re devastating me.>>”

“<<Sorry!>>”

Further scolding caught in her throat as warmth caressed her hand. Another blink. Heat. Everything else in her handbag felt normal. The idol pulled the iPhone out. Yes, it was distinctly warm to the touch. A result of the café heating maybe?

It wasn’t from overuse. The usual volume of messages had been received. No one in the 8team groupchat spamming with news of a new project. Daehyun was likely still filming. The company was quiet, as usual.

And yet, the phone refused to function. They were in the dead centre of Tenoroshi but there was zero reception. No satellite, no internet. Hell, even the apps weren’t opening properly.

“This goddamn timing…”

Miyane threw her chin upwards, a loud groan ready to release, when she saw that something managed to go her way today. The thug was walking away. In his place, towering over the addict, was a familiar head of blond. This timing, indeed.

“<<Good thing someone stepped in, huh?>>” Hyejin chuckled. Her thumb was still uselessly tapping away. Her gaze wasn’t on the window any more. “<<I don’t think the police were going to get here.>>”

Miyane followed her sight. The rest of the café patrons were doing the exact same thing, fiddling with their devices. Turning them off and on, tapping at screens, getting visibly frustrated as the plastic bricks in their hands refused to comply. The phone in her hand remained warm, but the bad feeling in the pit of her stomach was searing.

And yet, none of it compared to the cool irritation she was famous for. What a disaster of a lunch this turned out to be. All she wanted to do now was sit at home.

“<<If we’re done here,>>” Miyane said icily, “<<then I’m going. The taxi rank is only a block away.>>”

She didn’t wait to move this time.

[AdmrlStalfos19]

Interactions: Suzukaze Tamiko (Collaberation between @ERode and Yours Truly :])

While she knew better than to actually react to being called a granny, Tsurushi was confused as to why Tamiko was so quick to address her as such. Did she really just base that off of her attire alone? Why did children always do that? Tamiko evidently had no idea what it would take to be a grandmother at only 32 years old, and Tsurushi was not to be the one to tell her. That kind of information was much too deplorable to dump on an innocent mind like that... or as it would be more correct to say, one that was supposed to be innocent.

Tsurushi was told to go away, but she wasn't going anywhere without Tamiko. She wasn't about to just up and move on with her life while leaving anyone else with their suffering. Not this time. She simply continued to sit with her arms folded.

"Quite frankly, you don't belong here either," she said in a matter-of-factly tone, "And yet here we are..."

...

She said nothing more for the next 30 seconds or so. As it so happened, Tsurushi's mind drifted back to the first time she used her power, when she altered a memory that happened 16 years ago. She changed a single action back then, only to thrown into a brand new Tenoroshi with more doors open than she even realized where there. Tsurushi never understood how exactly her power worked, or what triggered it. All she remembered was the desire to change herself. The need to change herself. An overwhelming, agonizing regret that anchored her to the ground and refused to let up.

Tsurushi had wondered if it would ever go off again, and figured there was only one way to find out; by trying to talk to Tamiko and get her to open up a little, and commit whatever resulted into memory. There may have been something she would learn later and, if her power were to activate, she could potentially put that knowledge to use right then and there. She turned to face the troubled student.

"Look, I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through," she told her, "People say that they understand how someone feels all the time when they really don't. The truth is... I don't know the full story, but I do know you have problems. That much is obvious. The administration never told me all that much; I don't know whether it's because they don't know either, or because they don't want me involved because I'm new, or... I just don't want you to throw your life away like I did with mine, is what I'm trying to say."

That... came out all wrong. Tsurushi already wanted a do-over right then and there. But that didn't matter right now. All she wanted for the moment was to get Tamiko to start talking. Even if it was a little... and not even relevant to the issue at hand...

Tamiko's eyes narrowed slightly. The young girl clicked her tongue again, crossing her legs as she trained her eyes upon all the other delinquents burning away the day at the park. Inside her sneakers, her toes curled in, then spread out repeatedly, constantly. After another moment, she spoke up again. "Don't tell me where I can't belong." The girl turned towards Tsurushi and stuck out her tongue, before blowing a loud and obnoxious raspberry. "And I don't care what you think anyways."

With that, she crossed her arms and turned away, this time content on watching two punks swing wide haymakers at each other.

Tsurushi breathed a heavy sighed. Children these days; always so quick to turn down what would ultimately be good for them in the end.

"Fine then; I guess you don't mind me contacting the school in that case... or your parents, for that matter," the tone that Tsurushi used wasn't one that was particular threatening, but she wanted those last few words to sink in specifically.

She kept her ears open, but averted her eyes and looked down at her phone, inputting the first number that came to her head. She purposefully held her phone low enough for Tamiko to peer over and see if she could recognize the number, and even maintained a very loose grip on it as she held it to her ear and waited for it to finish ringing. It was almost as if Tsurushi dared Tamiko to slap the phone out of her hand.

But Tamiko didn't have the audacity to slap a phone out of someone's hand. She had something far greater than that: an aggressive indifference that caused her to scoff at Tsurushi's efforts, before saying, with as much snark a ten year old could muster, "Yeah, like that's gonna do anything, idiot. What're they gonna do, suspend me? El-oh-el."

For good measure, she smirked, one corner of her mouth curving upwards as her dark eyes narrowed, before she flipped her bangs in a motion that was definitely borrowed from some celebrity on TV.

This was clearly going nowhere.

Tsurushi had tried doing this the way an honest citizen would, but apparently Tamiko was a kid that would have to be physically knocked down a peg or two. The depressed teacher dreaded the impression of stooping to such a low as allowing her own student to come to harm, but as far as her plan to test the capabilities of her power went, this was the final piece of the puzzle; a deplorable action that she knew damn well she would regret later.

Hanging up so her call wouldn't try to go through any longer, Tsurushi pocketed her phone and got up off her seat, approaching the two goons that had been trading blows with each other this whole time. She laid a hand on each of their shoulders.

"You see that little school girl over there?" she asked in a whisper, her eyes "pointing" to Tamiko before she turned back to face the two thugs, "I heard her say that both of you fight like a bunch of pussies, and she seems to think she can take you on because of that. She also said you two should kiss..."

With that, Tsurushi slipped an IOU note in each of the delinquents' pockets that contained her phone number, before stepping back and watching the chaos unfold from there. All this because she wanted to weasel her way out of making a scene...

[Asuras]

What a loaded question. Why? Why not? Mana wanted to let out an exasperated sigh at the girl, but with her lungs constantly begging for refreshed air, she could barely even eke out several words at a time, let alone waste the breath to express disappointment. She swallowed, throat feeling strained with windburn. Standing up, she almost reluctantly let go of the girl's collar, and closed her eyes to recapture her composure.

"Why? Really?!" Mana groaned, still breathing heavily, "'Bout to dive off an office building and coat the pavement in blood on a rainy day... You're lucky I saw you from all the way over!" Mana said, lazily throwing a hand up to gesture in the general direction of where she'd just sprinted from. She should've done track and field in high school, Mana thought. She bent back, trying to expand her lungs, eyes scrunching in exhaustion.

"I wasn't about to just let you fall when I could run like hill to save a life. Doesn't matter if I don't even know you, kid," she said, despite probably only being a few years older than her. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

[OwO]

"Sure."

Her response was curt and simple. A bizarre response from someone who didn't like the sophistry of the red light district. The lanky tourist with the suitcase dashed out of the red light district, which Marina was fine with. While she was curious about why someone would enter it so unprepared, she really didn't care enough about it to follow her out. Her goals didn't entail getting to know every strange face by heart. No, empty curiosity was useless. She needed to investigate on the specifics.

The host really was a twat. She could respect the hustle, though. Even in the face of Marina's lazy attempt at intimidation, he still tried to make his dough and bake it. That was at least worth something in this day and age. The issue of overpriced drinks and dumb club things wasn't really much of an issue for Marina. She still had her fight money nest egg. She never really got to spend much of it, after all.

"But spare me the fake platitudes," she insisted, "I'd rather not have to hate you personally."

So for now, she would enter with the host and ask him a few questions about a few faces she had printed out with her. Maybe get wind of a few rumours here and there. Really, anything that someone like him would know about.

[Savo]

Marc Kurosawa

---

Location
Central District

Interacting With
Injured(?) Suit (@ERode)

---

Did he... really just fall for that? Damn, not only did he probably have less hair on his balls than this tricky dude, but he was enough of a dullard to fall for his display! Marc couldn't help but pause time for a second just to recompose himself, sniggering and shaking his head, snorting between each breath.

The tough guy attitude of this gangster mofo, him taking the bait, and still acting less disciplined than the preschoolers he saw on his way to school was just too much.

No words really had to be said in his stopped time, this mongoloid's actions said enough as a few minutes passed before raising a fist to his throat and making an ahem. He casually jammed his hands into his pockets, holding them there as he unabashedly stared at the crowds, giving as much of a shit about them as they did about the man.

Guess he shouldn't keep the world waiting.

In an instant, his hands flew out of his pockets, face contorting back to the former way it was before he stood in his frozen time. Probably helped the act a bit since it almost appeared as if he flinched due to the minor amounts of whiplash. His lip was trembling as he put away the throwaway umbrella before slowly kneeling down, placing one arm under his shoulder and the mans arm on his back.

His eyes glistened with an almost youthful naivete, keeping the facade as much as possible until he could ascertain the man had dissipated into the sea of people, flowing down a dissimilar path as Marc. Of course, the crowd still gave a bit of a wide berth to the scene, but steadily they began to normalize around the duo.

And then... a sigh of relief.

Rising up with the man in tow, his first thoughts went to calling a hospital or something. He squinted at where the Yakuza "Princess" disappeared off to before popping his phone out of his pocket. Punching in the password and scrolling through only left the blonde with a perplexed gaze. At this point, his mouth was just as agape as the singing man next to him as he began fiddling around with his phone.

... the hell? No matter what he did, there was just an all around lack of reception... even more bemusing was, well, he was in the middle of friggin' Tenoroshi for crying out loud! Honestly, he was mildly agitated, so he just plugged the phone right back into his pocket. Ooook, soooo...

If he couldn't get hold of a hospital or something, then the next best logical place to go was...

"Ishikawa!"

He might have an idea of what to do, though...

... eeeeeuuuuugh!

Marc scrunched his face when he caught a whiff of not only the guy in general, but his breath. He could stand the stench, but that smell, hoooooo. His nose wrinkled and shrinked, lips puckered in disgust as a shudder shot down his spine... maybe he wouldn't mind hanging out in the back... aaaassss long as the guy didn't wander off.

"... oooouugh... c-come on, we shouldn't loiter 'round here..."

[ERode]

Northern District

Contrasting to Mana’s inexplicable anger, the young girl’s expression was simply resigned, her mismatched eyes reflecting the smoker’s flustered appearance before they closed. The rain pitter-pattered around them for seconds longer as Mana’s question hung in the air.

What was wrong with her?

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tightened her lips.

What was wrong with her?

The girl with the mismatched eyes stood up, slowly, calmly. She reached behind her skirt to wring what water she could, before wiping the rain off her eyes as well, opening them a second time to look at her savior, her prohibitor. A lethargic girl, slight in frame with a sickly pallor and lightless eyes. Some may see a delinquent, but she just thought the girl was sad.

Her index finger pressed momentarily, almost reflexively, against the outer corner of her right eye. She blinked, furrowed her brow, and let it drop. Smiled with one half of her lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The girl tilted her head, wet black strands segmenting parts of her lovely face. “There’s nothing wrong about this.”

Central District

“<<Hey, wait up, I’ll walk you there, at least,>>” Hyejin said, scrambling to shove her things into her own purse. Noisily pushing away from the table, she spent a couple seconds bowing apologetically to the other cafe patrons for the disturbance, before following Miyane out. “<<My repair guy’s in that direction anyways. Should get ‘im to take a look at your phone too, y’know?>>”

Further conversation was cut short by Miyane’s mood and the timely presence of a vacant taxi, however. After a few energetic waves through the tinted windows of a vehicle that smelled like air freshener, the driver pulled off onto the curb, towards the subdued glitz of Tamagakahara.

Twenty minutes later, and there was a clear distinction between the concrete and construction of the downtown core and the nirvana-esque landscape that made up the most expensive place to rent in Tenoroshi. Seamlessly paved sidewalks so clean they were white even in the dreary weather. Lawns and hedges maintained by specialists who maintained the grounds on a daily basis. Ornate, wrought-iron fences that distracted from the cameras overseen by a 24/7 private security firm and that clearly separated the realm of ‘heaven’ from ‘earth’. Right outside the grounds of Tamagakahara were dozens of high-end boutique shops and restaurants, leased to the famously skilled or the recklessly ambitious for exorbitant prices, while the police boxes that were ubiquitous to any large city were nowhere near.

At the gates, Miyane would have to show her ID before the guard, a friendly Okinawan with a stature of a bear, could wave the taxi in, sparing her the walk to her complex. Three minutes later, she stood before the Tsubaki building, the doorman walking her to the door with an umbrella in hand and then graciously ushering her in.

As always, the lobby was silent. Some thought it peaceful, others thought it disquieting.

White marble floors, glossy black walls. Tamagakahara, for all its exterior grandeur, was muted and restrained on the inside. No paintings, no carpets. Nothing but a crushing quiet, no matter how many parties were held up above.

Unless the elevator dinged.

A soft chime, accompanied by soft, deafening footsteps, heralded the presence of a Japanese man. He was tall in stature, his blue eyes intensified with his angular features. Wearing a suit (Italian, custom-tailored), he turned indifferently towards the entrance, catching the eye of the doorman, before those features softened into a smile towards the former star.

“<<Good afternoon, Sou Miyane-ssi. You’re doing well?>>”

---

As the thug stormed off, the disheveled man turned his glassy gaze towards Marc, that blindingly, painfully bright smile still etched onto his features. Like a newborn deer, the stubble-faced man struggled onto his feet, falling a couple times only to pull himself back up. The focus clear focus made his actions shakier, more erratic, but after he managed it, he laughed wordlessly, clapping his thick palms together like a monkey.

Then, swiftly, he embraced the blond half-foreigner. Through the suit, Marc could feel just how thin, but just how strong, the man truly was, and the stink of the alleyway was similarly powerful, like cat’s piss and rotting trash. For a moment, they stayed like this, before the faintest of whispers passed through the man’s throat.

_{“...child...people...bell...birth...sorry...fix...joy…”}

Wheels grinded to a halt by the curb. The man thrust Marc away, stumbling back. Behind him, a white van, the side windows painted over, stood, before the doors opened up. Three men in dark suits and sunglasses came out, moving with trained purpose. Two stood by the disheveled man on either side, holding him by the arms and hauling him into the van, while the third approached Marc, flashing a badge.

“Officer Kazuhiro Tomoe, Criminal Affairs Bureau,” he said, “Are you alright, sir? Has he done anything to you?”

Southwestern District

“Fake?” He let out a charming laugh. “There’s nothing fake about this, darling. It’s simply as beautiful as a fleeting dream.”

Without another word, he took her by the hand and lead Marina underneath the neon lights of the Platina Club. Opening the smoky, glass doors with a smile, the long-haired host raised his voice and called out, “New guest!”

Immediately, twenty other artificially dashing young gentlemen stood up, and smiled in Marina’s direction. Some extended roses, while others raised their glasses in a toast, and still more bowed eloquently, before they all responded with a thundering, “Welcome, princess!”

In the echoing aftermath of the introduction, the rest of the ambience of the host club could be observed. Dim, incandescent lighting cast warm light and deep shadows amongst the red-and-beige theme of the place. Booths were segmented by thin wooden walls that could be opened and closed to create larger booths, while the bar area was longer than normal, extended so that pairs of host and guest could sit without every being beside anyone else. Champagne was regularly brought out for the enjoyment of the guests, and particularly high spenders had multiple hosts in the same booth, each of them plying for her attention. Soft, indistinct music played in the background, but with all the soft whispering-in-the-ears that the hosts did, it was hardly relevant.

Still, it was only the afternoon. The real party didn’t start until evening set, and high-functioning office ladies needed to have men who’d cater to her needs.

Sliding into one of those booths, the long-haired host sat himself opposite of Marina, placing a slender hand over her own before saying softly, amiably, “Well then, I, Kenshin, am at your service. Shall we begin with a couple of drinks, or do you prefer something more substantial?”

Southern District

“Hanh?!”

“That fucking brat!”

“Let’s teach her a lesson.”

“Yeah, maybe she won’t be such a mouthy sh- ooooh, fuck.”

“...Yeah, that’s…dunno your beef with the midget, lady, but, you’re like, new around here, yeah? Maybe don’t mess with her after all.”

---

Tamiko rolled her eyes as Tsurushi stormed off. Good riddance for that. Watching her teacher go, the 5th Grader idly pulled out her smartphone and pointed it in the green-haired woman’s direction, before slipping it into her pockets once more. She swung her legs idly, whistling a quiet tone to herself.

Until, suddenly, her vision turned black, two hands closing over them. “Guess who?” went a chirpy male voice.

“Huomente, Yasucchi!” Tamiko pulled the hands down, reeling in the responsible delinquent until she could feel his bandana against the top of her head. “Not really who I was waiting for, but I’ll be happy with you as a consolation prize.”

The youth laughed, before pulling himself away from the younger girl’s grasp. Taking a couple steps for the run-up, he vaulted over the bench and sat down, swinging his backpack over. A skateboard was tied to the front, while various baubles hung from the straps. He unzipped the pack, and pulled out a shark-motif bandana, thrusting it in Tamiko’s general direction. “Thought I’d challenge myself a bit with this,” Yasuo said, grinning underneath his mask, “But hey, how’dja like it?”

Tamiko snatched it out of his hands and immediately wrapped it around her face, her eyes sparkling. “Geez, this is like...super edgy! Yasucchi, your taste sucks!”

“Glad it’s your jive, kiddo.”

[banjoanjo]

SOU MIYANE - Central District: Tamagakahara

---

Miyane recognised that tall stature in an instant, a swift bow presented before she spoke.

“No need to be so formal, Kaneko-san,” she spoke in their native language.

Kaneko Ohta. The sole owner of Tamagakahara, as well as several major properties throughout Japan. A genius in playing the market, Kaneko was rumoured to have made his fortune through massive, high-risk investments, as well as Bitcoin back when the currency was more than just speed-searing the ozone layer. Miyane had never looked into the specifics. All she knew was that it took more than just some shrewd company decisions to amass that kind of wealth.

The guy was darn handsome, which likely helped. Incredibly well-dressed, Miyane believed she’d spoken to the designer of that suit brand in Milan last Fall. Striking blue eyes. Somehow still a bachelor.

On top of that, he was just all-around decent. He made pleasant conversation, greeted her staff on the same level as Miyane, even remembered her nephews’ names from a one-off conversation. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d done the same for everyone in Tamagakahara. He certainly possessed the decorum and intellect to do so. A businessman, inside and out.

The man was completely spotless. No wonder Daehyun was so jealous.

“Well enough,” Miyane replied, returning the smile. It wasn’t hard around him. “Though I encountered some connection issues at the plaza earlier.”

[OwO]

The place was gross. That's all that Marina had to say about it. She wasn't someone who enjoyed the raw hedonism of being doted on and served by ikemen. If it was someone else's hobby, that was their business alone. Though, a part of her was glad that it wasn't extraordinarily busy. Would have made it harder and more embarrassing. Still though, information often came from the strangest of places. Even if it was this bizarre land of service and niceties, she was willing to tough it out.

"Ever seen this man?" She asked Kenshin. From the pocket of her jacket, she produced an image that had been printed out. It was a still from a security camera inside of a liquor store inside of the red light district. While the image was only a print out, it still retained enough quality for the semi-unique visage of the figure to be visible. A constant snarky sneer, half of his ashen black hair being bleached white, piercings to match his hair. "A bottle of sake sounds good, though."

She'd see where this takes her. She had all of the time in the world.

[AdmrlStalfos19]

Just when she was about to let go of the IOU notes, the two goons backed out of their approach towards Tamiko right at the last second. It seemed as though they were somehow intimidated by the guy that had popped out from out of nowhere, although Tsurushi had no idea why. Shaking her head in disgust, Tsurushi opened her purse and shoved the two IOU notes inside. She wasn't about to give her phone number out to a couple of creeps for no good reason; especially not if they hadn't completed the job that she asked them to do.

"Had I known you'd be so useless, I would've done this myself," she told the two goons, as she turned her back to them and took her leave. It looked like she had no choice but to make a scene after all, as reluctant as she was to make one.

...

Tsurushi fished around her purse for some time, eventually finding and pulling out a stun gun that she kept on her for her personal defense. All the while, she took the time to observe the man that had just showed up behind Tamiko. He seemed like a nice guy on the surface, even having went so far as to gift the girl with something. But Tsurushi had to deal with that facade all the time, to the point where she could never tell what was genuine and what wasn't any more. Still, the fact that he was able to get Tamiko to talk to him without any of the hostilities had to account for something. Curious as to what sort of trick would have to come to play, Tsurushi made her approach.

"Excuse me," she said, hoping to get the man's attention, "May I ask how you know Suzukaze-chan, here?,"

Tsurshi maintained a somewhat professional interaction with the man so far, but kept her stun gun off to the side with her thumb on the switch that would turn it on. Just on the off-chance that the encounter were to go horribly wrong.

[Asuras]

She desperately wanted another smoke there and then, and Mana's hand naturally slid into the jacket pocket where she kept them. One of the two boxes felt empty already. Mana refrained from whipping out a cig, expression drooping into a wholly unenthused look. Was this girl suffering from schizophrenia? Her peculiar heterochromia took a backseat to the unexpected slight smile that pulled at her lips. One moment teetering on the edge of sudden death -the next, trying to play it cool.

Mana's hair had begun to sink and become heavy in the rain, sticking to her skin and obscuring the already dappled vision her right eye managed through her bangs. She desperately wanted to call her 'kid' again.

"Are you screwing with me? You were about to kill yourself. Though in your fucked up mind right now you probably are thinking it's right or normal or whatever," Mana said throwing her free hand around. "Look. I don't want your life story, but tell me at least what's going through your head... I wanna know you're not gonna get back up on that ledge when I'm gone. Do I have to call the police?" Mana threatened.

"...Stop smiling at me too."

[Savo]

Marc Kurosawa

---

Location
Central District

Interacting With
Suspicious "Policemen" with enough red flags to mistake them for Communists (@ERode)

---

Huh?!

That was not exactly what he was expecting from the trodden suit... especially catching another whiff of the man as he scrunched his nose before holding his breath. Marc could only really wriggle around as the guy clamped down on him like he was a living jaw of life. Seriously, how strong was this thin dude?!

Not even stopping time could help him out of this very awkward situation as he was held in place for a bit, struggling as he might to break free... before he said something?

Honestly, he heard most of what he said, but the pungent odor was still hanging in the air clouded his thoughts. It wasn't until the screeching sound of some tires and stumbling back could the boy really process the whole situation, let alone words.

... child, people, bell, birth, sorry, fix, joy? What? What did that man mean, why are the men in black here... wait, did someone call the police? No... that wasn't right, his phone was out... and if someone called the police earlier, how did they know to come to this specific place? What did they want with the man?

What do the numbers words mean?!

A brief wave and flash of this Officers badge was enough to sway him from his brief reverie, recomposing himself as the teen took a quick whiff of his self before shivering with a level of repugnance. The smell got into his clothes, he was being interrogated by some sketchy cops who magically honed in on this location, and something in the back of his head was screaming that stopping time to think was probably a bad idea at the moment.

He had to think quickly.

"... eh? Uh... yeah, I'm fine, the guy just hugged me for helpin' him out... I think," he paused to look over the man in the suit before continuing on, acting none the wiser as he scratched at his neck.

"Got assaulted by some Yakuza lookin' dude back there who was kicking the guy in the chest, and I managed to drive the guy off," he jabbed a finger turning his back to look at the way he came.

"... wait, is this guy dangerous or something?"

[ERode]

Northern District

The half-smile widened reflexively, even if nothing else changed about her expression.

This girl really was a strange one, wasn’t she? Energetic and honest despite her derelict appearance. A weirdo within Tenoroshi. Her friends probably weren’t reputable folk. But to ask for help was more than she deserved.

“What to do, what to do...” she mused aloud, her gaze shifting back towards the edge, towards the people below, blind and ignorant to what happened above their heads. “If I were responsible for the deaths of several, and will be responsible for the deaths of several more, regardless of my own intent, would you still be holding on so tightly?”

The smile disappeared, allowing the true gravity of her expression to sink in.

“It’s funny, even. The world’d be happier without me.”

Central District

“The plaza, hm?” Ohta echoed, eyebrows raised. “Hopefully it’s resolved.”

He paused slightly, his lips quirking up in a cat-like smile.

“Though I wouldn’t mind it all too much if it gives me an excuse to hold off on answering some calls from middle management.”

Right as he said that, the distinctive rumbling of muted phone sounded through the serene lobby. “Speak of the Devil,” Ohta chuckled, shaking his head at his own folly. “Suppose I’ll better take my leave now. Wish you all the best, Miyane-san.”

Soon enough, he left the building, a driverless Model 3 rolling up by the curb for the tycoon. Ohta waved at Miyane one last time, and sped off.

It was uncanny, how effortlessly he left others in his wake.

But then again, that’s what she once was, wasn’t it?

---

Officer Tomoe smiled as Marc recounted his story. “That’s remarkably courageous of you, sir, but also remarkably dangerous. Next time around, it’s better to report the incident. We’ve generally have a koban within 150 meters, so leave it to the professionals, ne?”

It was clear enough, though, that the scolding the teenager received was more perfunctory than anything else, and while they spoke, the joyfully mute man was placed in the back seat, before the van doors were slammed shut.

Tomoe turned at that sound, and nodded once more at Marc.

“Thanks again. We already have another unit working on the assaulter, sir, so don’t worry about it. You’ve done good work again, but, once again,” the officer winked, even if the expression was lost due to his sunglasses, “Not recommended.”

He entered the van, closed the door, and soon, Marc was alone, swallowed up by the gray of the city.

Southwestern District

Business only, hm? An investigator-type, this woman. A shame she wasn’t going to be a frivolous goldmine, but at least she liked her drinks hard and with no specific brand.

“Only the best for you then, darling,” Kenshin spoke, flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes that made his regulars squeal. “Sake call~~~!”

One of the newer hosts, still doing only server duties to get accustomed to the unique environment, strode over to the bar immediately, fumbling for the right-sized cups and the ceramic bottles, before rushing over. The raven-haired man placed them down, before bowing twice and disappearing in a flash. Kenshin didn’t mind that frenetic energy and clumsiness, but it was always a bit pathetic to see that in a man older than himself.

Pouring two cups of warm sake, he wait a bit for the singular sakura petals in each cup to float up to the top, before offering one to Marina.

And then, like a snake shedding its skin, Kenshin dropped all pretense.

Leaning forward, he slid the photo closer, squinting slightly. Then, he leaned back, and took a sip from his own cup, letting the burning liquid searing his insides.

“I’ve seen him around, sure,” Kenshin said, catching Marina’s eyes, “What’s that to you?”

Southern District

“Geh.” was Tamiko’s immediate response when Tsurushi abandoned her duo of very pissed off thugs and headed back over. Glaring at the woman, the kid put her hands over her new bandana, clutching onto it as if to protect it from the grabby hands of her nefariously nosy teacher.

“Eh?” was Yasuo’s own response, his muscles tensing slightly as his eyes flicked over to the stungun in the woman’s hand. Not a good look, approaching two kids with a weapon. But she didn’t look particularly hard either, and he relaxed after that. Pulling down his bandana with one finger to reveal a round face and a disarming smile, he said, “Dunno how you know her either, lady, but dun worry, she’s like a kid sister to me.”

His grin showed his teeth, but there was nothing clearly malicious about it. “What, Miko’s a total brat to y- geh.”

That was Yasuo’s response to Tamiko kicking him in the shin, before the precocious 5th grader pulled one of her eyelids down at Tsurushi, her stuck-out tongue hidden by her bandana. “It’s fine now, right? Got my big bro with me, so go shoo, granny! Painu vittuun!”

Yasuo’s fist knocked lightly on Tamiko’s head. “Now, now, no need for that sort of language, but yeah...don’t worry ‘bout her, lady. S’all good in the hood.”

[OwO]

Should Marina tell the truth to this stranger? Definitely not. What person would believe what she had experienced? Not to mention, who would agree to be an accessory to a murder. But it wasn't good to tell pure lies. No, if one was caught out on a lie, then the entire thing would be for naught. It was better to distort the truth. Keep extreme specifics hidden, change some motives, and add a few details here and there. Anything to get whatever information this man had.

With a pensive look, she took her cup in her fingers. She slowly moved it around, swirling the sake. Calmly, she pulled down her mask and brought the sake to her lips. She took a deep breath and slammed the cup back. The sake slid down her throat. Even though it burnt, she didn't stop. She let the entire cup of the burning liquid warm her throat. After swallowing it all, she let out a long breath. She hung her head for a brief moment, only to look back up at Kenshin.

"My sister," she hesitated, "is an idiot." She took a few deep breaths. "She's been missing for three weeks now. Lives by here. This district, I mean. She told me how she was spending time with this guy and that she was just going to a liquor store with him. Hung up the phone and never called back. Police aren't doing anything to make sure she's safe, let alone look for her." Her hand anxiously ran through her hair. "Got this photo of him by asking around the liquor store by her place. If the police can't help, the least I can do is at least ask him if he knows anything."