Chapter Text
“It was a dream, and in dreams you have no choices:
either there are no decisions to be made,
or they were made for you
long before ever the dream began.”
- Neil Gaiman, American Gods
April 9th
Morning - Cloudy
The App was back.
An odyssey of a train ride, followed by an awkward walk to his own parent’s funeral, and an even more awkward walk back to his own house on account of the fact none of his relatives were willing to drive him, and only when he found himself in his old, dusty, untouched bedroom did he discover the App.
A black and red eyeball that stiched across his screen and seemed to pulsate like a beating heart. No matter where he adjusted the screen, the eyeball seemed to follow him. ‘Open me.’ it almost shouted, fixating on him and begging for his attention. He noticed it, staring up at him as he laid in his own bed, and had deleted it. The next day, while he was packing, he noticed it return once again. Sure enough, he had deleted it. Then, on his last night in his childhood home, the app appeared again only to be deleted once more.
‘Open me. Open me. Open me. Release me.’
Now, however, standing outside the train station in Shibuya, his phone had dinged once again, and sure enough, the App had shown itself once more.
‘Release me. Release me. RELEASE me. RELEASE ME.’
He touched the app. His screen cut to pure darkness.
Akira wasn’t an idiot. He grew up with technology as a facet of everyday life. He knew not to touch weird apps. He knew about viruses and strange downloads and hacking and how to avoid it before his parents did. Why he bothered to even touch the app, he couldn’t tell you. When his entire phone screen went black however, Akira knew he had fucked up.
“Shit,” he muttered, “Why did I-”
His words blew their brains out and died on his tongue. Everything happened so quickly, Akira almost didn’t process it. But the crowd of people that surrounded him fell silent in one fell instant. All he saw was his blank stare into the black mirror of his screen before he lifted his eyes and observed that everyone in Tokyo had stopped moving. Women talking into their phones, frozen with their mouths open in midstep. A jogging man, airborne, as his feet alternated in midair.
A golden-eyed boy, watching him.
Akira’s gray eyes met the golden ones. The boy wore a prison jumpsuit, and had a mop of messy black hair, no glasses on his face. The golden-eyed boy was the spitting image of himself.
It was him.
Shadow.
The doppelganger placed one finger on its nose, grinning with no warmth, before it pointed at Akira with its right hand. As if on command, every face in the crowd turned to look directly at him- eyes glowing with the same gold as the double. Blue fire shot from the spaces between the people, encroaching, spreading, zooming toward Akira so fast that he cowered. Sounds, endless sounds, voices poured into his ears in a garbled mess.
“-custody over the next year-”
late
“-STUPID SMILE ON YOUR FACE-”
Late late late
“-er would be better suited for this-”
Late late late late late
“-ROB YOU OF EVERYTHING!”
LATE late LatE LAtE lATe
“-I’LL NEVER FORGIVE THEM!”
“-many dreams did you exchange for riches?!”
“-no longer your subservient-”
“-DAMN MOUTH YOU MONEYGRUBBING-“
“-or everything you’re telling me is true-”
“You won’t say no, won’t you?!”
LATE
“TAKE THE WORLD!”
And then it was over.
All the noise returned suddenly. The boy that was both him and not him was gone. No one looked at him and no one had any golden eyes. Instead, someone was grabbing him by his shoulder, and in a rush, Akira turned on his heel and staggered back, nearly falling out into the street from how badly he flinched away.
“Hey, careful!” a woman called, and primally Akira recognized this voice as the one who had grabbed him. He observed the woman in front of him.
Tall, taller than he was but not by much. Her hair was an ashen-brown color, pulled into a professional bun behind her head. She was beautiful but she also looked tired, like a convenience store employee on the late shift. Instead of carrying on her way, she stood and observed him, which tipped Akira off that this woman was important somehow.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman said, “what’s wrong?”
This was the first woman that had engaged Akira in a conversation in over a year, excluding his Aunt, who spoke to him like she would rather he be murdered by the notorious Inaba serial killer, his corpse strung up from some high up place like dirty laundry. In the haze of adrenaline from the hallucination he had just witnessed, a bubbling feeling of determination clawed up from his intestines and ripped into his brain. He would not say something stupid to the beautiful woman who had scared the shit out of him. You will be calm. You have to be cool. Go.
“Imyup fine-”
You dumb cunt.
“Yes,” he forced out, “I’m okay, ma’am.”
The woman looked at him critically and then nodded.
“Very well. You are Kurusu Akira, correct?”
Aw, fuck.
“Yes…that’s me. You are Niijima-san, then?” he asked hesitantly. She offered something that was almost a smile and nodded. She didn’t offer her hand for a shake, so Akira bowed.
“Hm. Very well then. Come with me. We’ll take my car,” she said, with no room for argument or invitation for a response. Niijima Sae turned and stepped toward the other end of the street, toward a line of cars. Lingering fear, adrenaline, and now embarrassment urged Akira forward, into an awkward and quiet car ride.
Akira made sure to delete the App again.
-
Akira’s clothes barely fit him. It was something he’d realized after he got home from his parents funeral. He wondered how much of his discomfort was because his clothes were just one size too small, or if it was just his family. Probably both. He wondered if he had time to go and get clothes anytime soon. Something about Niijima-san seemed to say that this wouldn’t be true.
Niijima didn’t say a single word to him most of the drive, focused entirely on the heated Tokyo traffic. Akira rode shotgun and didn’t dare check his phone for any reason. Not only for the demonic app that made him see and hear shit- but also because this woman definitely struck him as someone who would chastise him as a dumb teenager glued to his phone. He didn’t need that. He didn’t need anymore reasons for her to look down on him. Being convicted for a random crazed assault was one thing, but freaking out at a shoulder touch couldn’t have looked good either.
She definitely wasn’t anything that Akira had expected. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties? And again, she was strangely gorgeous. How many juvie inmates got put on probation with a hot woman? Niijima-san should have been a dumpy forty-something-year-old single mother of eight. At least, that’s what he’d envisioned. Instead, she was, again , really hot . When was the last time Akira had seen a boob, digitally or physically? Niijima-san had a rack. Calling it a rack was actually a disservice, if one was to be completely fair and honest about the reality of Niijima-sans breasts. Jesus, was he staring? Was he that whipped from a year with no female contact? Stare dead ahead, you fucking moron.
Niijima said something Akira missed as they pulled into a parking lot of an apartment complex that was surprisingly clean.
“Huh? I’m sorry,” Akira said, “Could you say that again?”
Niijima seemed annoyed by this and Akira cursed himself quietly.
“I said…” as though she was actively trying to be patient, “That I was sorry to hear about your parents.”
“Oh,” Akira said smartly, “Yes. Thank you. I was too.”
What exactly are you supposed to say to that? Especially to some woman he had just met. There were only three deaths Akira had ever experienced, and two of them happened barely a week and some change ago. How were you supposed to handle it? What were you supposed to say? Akira didn’t know. It still didn’t feel real.
The last time he had seen his parents, he was leaving the courthouse and taking an exclusive police car ride to Juvie, and they were looking at him. Just looking, not waving. They did not hold hands or hold one another. They were two beings, adjoined not by love but by mutual anger for their only child. Akira’s court case was over, but he recalled his parents were still attending a trial with the man he’d “assaulted” long after he’d been locked up. He technically hadn’t seen them at the funeral either. A cremation doesn’t necessarily count as seeing someone, nor does it carry the same weight as seeing your parents' faces.
Still, he hadn’t cried. And that was a fact that was beginning to get to Akira. What was wrong with him that he hadn’t broken down yet? His parents were good people. They’d raised him, he was fairly certain they loved him and he loved them. So where was it? What was the matter? Was he just the fucked up criminal they’d decided he was? Did he just hate them and not know it yet? Would his shirt stop fucking riding up on his back?
“When they took me to Juvie, I didn’t think that would be the last time I saw them,” Akira found himself saying out loud. Akira also realized it was the longest sentence he’d spoken since he got to Juvie. He stared forward for a moment before looking to the left and seeing Niijima-san observing him, with an unreadable expression.
“Sorry,” he said, “It’s fine. That was an overshare. I’d rather not talk about it.”
“It’s alright,” Sae said quickly, “If you…right. It’s alright.”
She seemed to think of something better to say than to keep the strange conversation going. Instead she put the car in park and turned it off, moving to remove her seatbelt.
“We’re here. Please, follow me.”
-
Akira felt like a freak when he walked into the surprisingly nice Apartment. A gangly drifter with his stomach peeking out, in pants that were too short. Like Niijima-san, her apartment was pristine. Modern-chic, like a museum almost. Beautiful and cold. The complete opposite of Akira’s room and old house, which had been built in the later 1970s and creaked and croaked like a motherfucker if you even breathed wrong.
“This is where you’ll be staying for the next year,” Sae addressed him, “Your room is down the hall and to your left, first door.”
Akira nodded, but Sae’s tone suggested that there was more to say. Whatever strange look she had been giving him was now gone, replaced with the cold and professional look she had been wearing for most of the car ride.
“I’ve read your case file. Truthfully, I don’t care about the details of how you were arrested, or what you had to do while you were detained,” Sae said flatly and clearly, with perfect annunciation, “You will not bring any unsavory or inappropriate behaviors into my home. If I find even a single item missing, I will go straight to your probation officer. If I find out you’ve been engaging in anything illicit, same deal. Are we understood?”
Akira could only nod, every new sentence like a punch in the gut followed by a steel-toed kick to the fucking balls.
“Yes, or no,” Niijima-san said, dissatisfied with his nod, “Are we understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” Akira said quickly.
“I work as a private prosecutor, and my job keeps me particularly busy. It’s not often I’ll be home. Regardless, I will be keeping an eye on you through my security system. Do not enter the room across the hall from yours, nor my room. Are we clear?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“I will be in my room, working. Please go ahead and unpack. You and I will be going to Shujin Academy tomorrow morning.”
The mysterious Shujin Academy. A school that had been mentioned in his father’s letter- but not a place that Akira had any clue about. Maybe he should have taken a minute to look into it- if he hadn’t been traveling and processing a lot of major life changes back to back. The name sounded familiar, at the very least.
“Your uniforms are in your room,” Sae continued, “Please try to keep your voice down. I trust you know how to cook?”
He hadn’t cooked for himself in a year, but he imagined it couldn’t be that hard. This time his nod was accepted.
“Very well. You would do well to clean up after yourself if you get hungry,” Niijima finished. She turned and practically levitated back into her own room with graceful steps, leaving Akira alone.
Akira took a solid minute to stand there in the living room, dumbfounded and probably appearing to the average viewer as a rabbit standing in the headlights of a semi (that was actively hauling twenty seven pick-up trucks on a trailer). Niijima-san was not the kind of woman he had expected, that was certain- but this was the sort of welcome he had anticipated.
And that was fine. Why wouldn’t it be? Everyone thought he was a career criminal. No point arguing it. She was a prosecutor- what could he hope to achieve by arguing against a scion of honorable Japanese Law? No, this was fine. This treatment could be overcome. Just another year with a woman who obviously wanted him dead, but brought him in for some reason.
This was fine.
-
April 10th
Morning - Cloudy
“So you’re Kurusu-kun, eh?” the stern, grandfatherly man behind the desk asked him. He was a tall man, likely in his early sixties or late fifties. And he, like every other adult, was glaring at Akira with eyes that were patiently waiting to judge him for being guilty.
He stood next to Niijima-san in the office of Shujin’s current principal, Ushimaru Tenya. Niijima-san didn’t seem to be paying close attention, rather she seemed fairly distracted. Akira didn’t dare point this out or ask her what might have been wrong, for fear of lobotomy and or castration. His night had been restless and quiet but he had found an opportunity to google Shujin and bask in an array of horrific tragedies that had struck the school in under a single year.
Attempted suicide, exposed mass-molestation and pedophilia coverup, a student body targeted by the local Yakuza with several of it’s students going missing, and only some of them recovered, another teacher exposed for moonlighting as a sex worker, and a principal who had fallen victim to the notorious Mental Shutdown phenomenon, inexplicably targeted by the Black Masks. Now Akira realized why the school had sounded familiar. Each of these cases had been covered in explicit detail on the news, which was also the only thing they had been allowed to watch in Juvie.
The Black Masks had been something of a phase in Juvie. A group that had claimed responsibility for the notorious Mental Shutdown cases- now at large from the police. It had been a defining problem of the Prime Minister’s campaign- trying to both identify and capture criminals that could tamper with a person's heart.
He also remembered that as this information came out, there was something deeply upsetting about it. Not because of the dark subject matter alone. Akira, like any 21st Century Child, was one privy to unfiltered internet access from an early age. He’d been subjected to things that were either as bad or worse than what the school had gone through, and he considered himself a desensitized individual. The kind who would likely vomit if he ever had to witness gore in-person, but held a neutral face after he’d been sent a video of it in a quote “hilarious” practical joke from a fellow classmate.
Yet, he could not bear to hear the horrible events that took place at Shujin as they had come out, but he could not tell you why. For a moment, in Ushimaru-sensei’s office, he had heard the voice of his golden-eyed hallucination, and the long-nosed man, yelling at him for being late. Then he had blinked and registered finally that he was being spoken to by a man who wanted nothing more than to ensure he lived the rest of his life homeless without prospects. He nodded and quickly said something noncommittal. Probably “Yes, sir.” or some variant again.
This did not dissuade Ushimaru-sensei from a verbal assault about the time he was commanded to be at the school. Akira admittedly was only half listening. This was what felt like the eighty seventh verbal harassment he’d received in the span of a week- the eighty sixth he’d received from some middle-aged to elderly scumbag.
“I don’t think I even need,” Ushimaru began, “to go into explicit detail on what you’re doing here. Instead, you’re gonna tell me exactly what you think my expectations of you are.”
“High marks. Keep my grades high. No…incidents, in or outside of school,” Akira told him, rattling off the three things most adults automatically expected of you from minute one.
“You’re in the ballpark,” Ushimaru nodded, his intense tone refusing to let up, “I’m sure you saw Shujin on the news. Maybe you looked into it, once or twice. But we intend to remain a top institution in this country, regardless of the recent…tragedies.”
Did Niijima-san tense up? Akira’s imagination, surely.
“You will not only attend and do well in this school- you will actively work to better it from within. I expect you to join a club- or team- it doesn’t matter which. And you’ll do what you can to make that club one of the finest. Someone like you, it’s not enough to cheat an exam and get some passing marks. You get it?”
Horrifying images flashed in his mind like a benadryl fever dream. Coming to a school and devoting himself to a club or team with people who’d been attending this school and extracurricular activity since they’d started walking. A drifter wandering into the middle of enemy territory with the express purpose of usurping some poor third year of their position as the king/sweetheart of whatever club he opted to go for. Where would he even go?
He was always a pretty decent dancer, he supposed.
“I get it.”
“You what?”
“I get it…Ushimaru-sensei.” He added, “Thank you.”
Ushimaru grunted.
“Niijima-san,” he said in to the currently distant woman, “You’re looking well.”
“You as well, Ushimaru-san,” Sae nodded.
And Akira noted that she would have had to have known an attendee of this school or attended it herself. Maybe even both. Maybe someone she knew still attended Shujin.
“Will that be all, Ushimaru-sensei?” Sae asked, “We need to be returning home. There’s still more for me to discuss with him.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’ll be all,” Ushimaru nodded, “Be here bright and early tomorrow, you got that?”
“Yes sir,” Akira said, like it made any difference.
“Here, Niijima-san,” Ushimaru said, surprisingly gently for a man so abrasive. He took a folder similar to the one he’d handed Akira moments before and passed it to Sae, who nodded and did not say anything else. With a bow, the two began an enjoyably quiet descent into the depths of Shujin academy. No students, the occasional teacher who waved at Sae in recognition.
Akira eyed the mysterious folder clutched tightly under Sae’s arm as she walked slightly ahead of him.
“That’s not for me, is it, Niijima-san? Who’s that for?”
And the look Niijima gave him was so brutal that it stopped him in his tracks immediately. It held all the promise of castration, definite mutilation of some kind, if Akira pressed the issue any further. It took him a moment to realize he’d even stopped walking. Niijima’s stare didn’t relent.
“Don’t ask questions,” Niijima spat, “You’re not here for that.”
And she didn’t wait for him to follow.
–
Niijima-san’s car was locked by the time he had caught up. The question must have really pissed her off. She rolled the window down just enough for her voice to penetrate the crack and blast into his confused and likely stupid looking face.
“Do you remember my address?” Sae asked bluntly. He nodded, though the exact details of her address were still hazy in his mind. He probably had it written down somewhere. Hopefully.
“If you’re going to live with me, you’re going to need to find a part time job,” Niijima said with finality, “I don’t care what it is but you will come back with one before eight o’clock tonight. Am I clear?”
Completely gone was the professional seeming business woman who had met him at the train. What remained was every angry authority figure rolled into one, still weirdly hot, woman. Akira briefly wondered if he was into this before the weight of what Niijima-san threw at him finally crashed into his face and metaphorically put him on his ass.
“A job?” was all he was able to blurt out, the whiplash confusing his tongue.
“A job. Be back by eight o’clock.” Niijima said, placing the folder that had seemingly pissed her off so much in the passenger seat next to her. She turned her head forward and simply drove away, leaving Akira alone on the corner in a city he did not truly know. The time was 9 AM. He did not have her phone number.
April 10th
Noon - Cloudy
The time was now 12:03 and Akira had been rejected from three separate jobs in the greater Shibuya Metropolitan Area. Mathematically, Akira was averaging one blunt rejection per hour- which, if he deigned to be positive, had to be some kind of record. But that left him with seven hours to find a job and get back to Niijima’s house, which was nothing to even pretend to be positive about.
He was currently making another attempt in an underground mall near the Station Square in Shibuya. It was so packed with people that Akira thought that he might’ve gotten trampled if he hesitated for even a second. He saw a Sports Supplement store, a Jewelry Store, and a store that sold Problem Child brand clothing. He tried all three of these places and was hit with the same conversation each time.
“Hello sir/ma’am. Do you have any availability for a part time worker?”
“Oh, you’re interested? I’m sorry- now isn’t a particularly great time for part time help. I doubt I can afford it. Have you tried the Beef Bowl Shop/Convenience Store?”
“Yes, they're currently unable to hire extra hands also.”
“I see…maybe try [The next store down]. Sorry! Good luck!”
By the time Akira had made it to the end of the underground mall, he felt dizzy. It was 12:43 and so far he’d received nothing but rejections. Also, his school uniform, which he had been instructed to wear by Niijima-san, probably made him look undesirable as a worker. A down-on-his-luck clumsy, skinny, frizzy-haired student who desperately needed funds to feed some sort of vice like idol-worship when they weren’t studying.
His wandering had brought him to what looked like a domestic corner of Shibuya. Glancing at the train station he had just left, he noted that he was in Yongen-Jaya, a residential section of the greater Shibuya area. Admittedly, it looked fairly worn down but Akira didn’t suspect for even a second that he was in a shady part of town. Children were hanging around the corners, some elderly individuals sat on benches and chatted with one another, and a stray black cat watched him from a dark, cramped alley.
He was about to make a break for the train- he doubted that he’d find a job he was actually happy with in a back neighborhood- before he noticed that there were actually a few shops nearby. A secondhand store, and what looked like a local grocery store. He took a lap up the block, trying to keep an eye out for possible job openings.
Construction signs had blocked an entire corner of Yongen past the grocery store. A whole building looked like it had been dropped not too long ago. There was a clinic somewhere nearby- Akira doubted he’d be able to land a gig there. So he decided to loop back and ask the owner of the secondhand shop. Maybe he could go four-nothing.
Inside was an old man who seemed half asleep, but he popped to attention when he realized that he had a customer. He greeted Akira politely with a small bow.
The shop was barely a large closet- though it had a myriad of different knick knacks, antique decorative items, and a load of retro electronics. Akira had always liked old things- VCRs and old consoles. Box CRTs had a certain charm to them that flatscreens lacked. Or maybe Akira was just a filthy hipster.
“How may I help you?” he asked. Akira returned his bow.
“Sir. My name is Kurusu, and I was wondering…do you need any part time help?”
The man’s eyebrows raised at the question and Akira began to babble some hopefully useful context that might lead to the man offering him an opportunity at the very least. Something along the lines of-
“You see sir it’s really important because my guardian has instructed me to go out and find a job and be back at her home in seven hours and I’m not from Tokyo I’ve barely ever been in a giant city before so getting around has been really difficult, also every store I’ve been to this far just said no so I just wanted to know if maybe you’d be willing to hire me. Sir. Please.”
Like poetry in motion. Akira wanted to die.
The man took a look to his left and to his right, and Akira realized just how silly the speech he’d given actually was. Of course he didn’t need part time help. The store was barely anything and he doubted that foot traffic was enough to secure funding for a part timer.
“I am afraid not…” the man murmured awkwardly, “Business has been less than great, these days.”
“I understand,” Akira promised, “Forgive my intrusion.”
“However,” the old man suddenly said, geriatrically raising one hand and pointing out into Yongen. Akira followed his pointing finger but wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
“…down that road and to your left. Try asking Sakura-san.”
“Really?” Akira asked, “do you think…?”
“It cannot hurt to ask.”
Akira checked his phone. 12:59, and as he looked he saw it blink over to 1:00PM. Seven hours. Akira nodded and bowed to the old man.
“Thank you.”
Akira’s stint in juvie felt like the blink of an eye compared to the small walk he’d made from the shop to Leblanc.
What the fuck was he doing out here? What was the point in anything? Wasn’t he fucked no matter what he did? Sure if he got a job he’d avoid Sae for at least an evening. But there was a myriad of other things that could happen at literally any time- all completely out of his control.
He could get mugged- better stick to only highly populated areas from now on. He could pick a club that didn’t want him- most likely. Ushimaru could kick him out for not bringing his A-Game to whatever stupid list the school even offered. Everywhere he stepped felt like he was just a millimeter away from shoving his whole foot into a bear trap. It was only a matter of time before he fucked up and pissed the wrong person off- again. Then it would be it. He hadn’t escaped Juvie. It had just gotten bigger. It had shapeshifted- become a prison.
Then Akira found himself standing in front of a simple restaurant. Coffee & Curry - Leblanc. The rush of anxiety passed out of his head. He realized his eyes stung and he had balled his hands so tightly that his fingernails had indented in his flesh. He took a breath and wiped at his face.
Don’t panic. Be calm, be cool. Go in and ask for a job, you fucking loser.
The black cat was still staring at him from the alley. Its eyes were blue. Akira went inside.
“Welcome,” a gruff man’s voice called as he entered.
Leblanc smelled like food cooking at your grandparents house. It was old looking- like something antique and a little dusty. The air swirled with a bitter aroma- coffee?- and a large blend of spices. Curry. Coffee & Curry indeed. Akira’s shoulders relaxed involuntarily. He couldn’t afford to be relaxed right now… but the vibrations of the place felt insanely right to Akira. This was a good place. He could at least breathe here.
There was a counter the length of the restaurant, and a handful of tables seated opposite of it. Akira noticed a stern looking man behind the counter, who appeared to have put down a newspaper in order to address him. From the corner of his eye, Akira saw a mop of red hair. It was a girl, definitely younger than him, using a laptop at the counter with an equally stern expression.
“What can I get for you?” Sojiro asked, “Or, do you need a menu?”
The prospect of food was enticing to Akira. He’d eaten a sandwich he had whipped up in two seconds that morning in a heated attempt to stay out of Sae’s peripheral vision before heading to Shujin. That had been hours ago now. But alas- he was a teenage delinquent without a job. He had all but 1000 yen, reserved for the train back to Sae’s apartment specifically.
“I…don’t know if I can afford anything,” Akira blinked before adding a hasty, “sir.”
“…Oh. Well. The bathroom is for paying customers only, kid,” the man, who was probably Sakura-san, told him, “sorry to break it to you.”
“That’s not…I mean…” Akira wondered how to phrase it. Then, without warning, the girl who had been click-clacking away on the keyboard of her laptop slapped the lid shut with a resounding WHAP!
“I’m going home,” she announced, snatching her laptop up and stepping away from the counter. The gruff man looked away from Akira to address her.
“Do you want anything to-go?” Sojiro asked, “I could-”
“It’s fine,” she butted in, short and huffy. Akira noted her oversized green jacket and baggy tee shirt. She wore large glasses and moved like everything in her immediate way was an enemy, “not hungry.”
She stopped in front of Akira.
“Move,” she said after a second, and Akira realized that he was stupidly standing in front of the door, so he moved with a mumbled “sorry”. She dragged the door open and left, letting it bump closed behind her. The man sighed.
Akira felt like an intruder who had witnessed something he probably shouldn’t have. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his lizard brain contrasted two different orders at the same time. Leave the Restaurant, and Ask for A Job. These two orders clashed against one another- resulting in an idle state of just sort of standing in the restaurant. The TV news and the sound of bubbling food was the only noise for a good ten seconds.
“What do you want, kid?” the man behind the counter asked again, this time considerably less mild.
“I was looking for-” Akira’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, “I was looking for Sakura-san?”
The eyebrow raised back up.
“Yeah. That’s me. Can I help you with something?”
There was no way in hell he was going to get what he needed out of this. But he had to try. He steeled himself. Ask the graying man for a job.
“I was told you could…I mean. Sir, I need a job.”
A beat. Then the man- Sakura- scoffed.
“A job?”
“Yes.”
Brilliant dialogue.
Sakura-san glanced to his left and right- and Akira’s stomach dropped. Another dead end.
“Do you…see anyone in here?” Sakura-san asked, “This isn’t exactly a high paying gig, y’know.”
“I know-” Akira said, hasty, “I just…I really-”
That rush of emotion he’d felt on his way in came back. His throat seized up and he wanted to shrivel away and die right there. Sakura-san seemed to take him in, then.
“Kid. Are you okay ? You look like a wreck.”
Jesus what was he doing? Just apologize to the man and leave. But he couldn’t. He’d fumbled so hard he’d been paralyzed from the neck down. A well of emotions he hadn’t felt since he’d entered juvie hit him all at once and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t do anything.
When he didn’t answer, Sakura-san sighed again.
“Sit down. Take a breath. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Akira didn’t remember taking a spot at the counter, but he was suddenly there, trying to smooth his thoughts and get them in order. He mumbled an apology a couple of times, he was pretty sure. Not a good look. Forget the job, Akira. Take a breather, maybe drink water and bumrush the fuck out of there before anything else happened.
He shut his eyes for a moment and took three deep breaths. When he reopened them, there was both a plate of curry and a cup of coffee in front of him, perfectly set. He looked up at the man and began to utter something about money.
“Just eat it,” the man said, “Don’t worry about cash.”
He was really fucking hungry. So he ate.
It was the best thing he’d eaten in his entire life. Cocaine for the tastebuds.
“I’m sorry, again,” he said, “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Yeah,” The man said awkwardly, “It’s…fine.”
Akira took another bite of the curry. He noted now that the man was observing him- conversation still looming on the horizon.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
No.
“I don’t think there’s any point in doing that,” Akira shrugged, “I just need a job. If I don’t get one, I’m done. It all…caught up to me all at once.”
The man regarded him, then turned away from him, grabbing a ceramic coffee mug from beneath the bar and placing it down across from Akira. Then he poured a cup and took it in one hand.
“What’s your name?” Sakura-san asked.
“Kurusu. Kurusu Akira.”
“Sakura Sojiro,” Sakura-san responded, introducing himself fully and taking another sip of his coffee. Akira did the same. It was incredibly bitter- yet refreshing. They stayed like that for another moment.
“Why do you need a job so bad?” Sakura-san asked.
“I’ve been ordered to get one. And keep it. My…caretaker told me to,” Akira explained. Keep it vague. Don’t bring up probation. Akira sipped on his coffee
“What, are you…on probation or something like that?” Sakura-san asked.
Akira choked on his coffee.
“Hoo, okay,” Sojiro said, bemusedly as Akira coughed and struggled to keep the coffee off of his one good school uniform. The man handed him a napkin. Akira wiped his face embarrassedly.
“Yeah,” he grunted out, “Probation.”
“No wonder you’re asking around a bottom of the barrel place like this, then,” Sojiro said, “Convicted criminal doesn’t look good on a resume.”
“I wasn’t planning on telling anyone, actually,” He shot back, “How’d you know?”
Sojiro shrugged at him.
“Call it a hunch. What’d you do anyway?”
And wasn’t that the million dollar question.
What could he tell him? How are you supposed to just explain to someone that you were convicted for beating a man half to death but, sir, you must understand, all I did was come across a woman in trouble and try to help her by throwing the man off of her! Really, it seemed like he was just kind of drunk and fell down! He must have been rich or something because he sued Akira’s whole family and got him thrown in juvie for the past year.
No, that couldn’t fly. Wouldn’t. Maybe he could try to just make it sound like a minor felony. Yes, well, Akira had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, Sakura-san. You can believe that, can’t you? Did you know that since the Prime Minister Shido’s election, escaping a false conviction before it was given to you was next to impossible? All it had taken was one accusation from a girl Akira had turned down to get a burglary conviction, but sir, he’d never stolen a thing in his life. And never would for that matter.
And yet, in the three seconds it had taken him to weave up these immaculate tales that painted him as the good guy in these stories, his stomach twisted. Because what would be the point in lying to the man who’d fed him for nothing. And what would be the point in denying the truth in what happened? It didn’t matter what the courts said happened. And it sure as hell didn’t matter what the people back home thought happened. Akira had been there.
Akira had watched that guy fall over, watch him make the woman accuse him of assault. He was Akira Kurusu and he had stood up for a woman in trouble and been punished for it. That was the truth. So he’d tell the truth.
“I found a woman in trouble. I thought it was just a drunk groper. So I tried to pull him off her and he fell down, because he was drunk, right,” Akira explained, “But he must have been rich or something. The cops knew him. He told the woman to accuse me of attacking him, and he had my whole family sued. Now I’m on probation.”
Sojiro didn’t react to his story at all. Just listened to him. And Akira honestly appreciated that a lot.
Now that he wasn’t having a fucking mild panic attack at the dude’s front door, Akira noted his casual dress and apron. He was balding, that much was obvious, and his hair was beginning to gray. But he seemed like the kind of guy who would kill in the jazz scene.
“My caretaker told me if I didn’t get a job and didn’t make it back to her house by eight tonight…well, she already hates me. So I can’t imagine it’ll go over good. That’s why I need a job, any job.”
Talking was becoming increasingly weird. He’d barely said a word until yesterday, now he was giving his life story to some dude he’d just met. Whoever the divine creator was, he sure had a sick sense of humor. Sojiro sipped his coffee. Akira sipped his- well. He went to sip his coffee. But his cup was empty. Sojiro noticed.
The man grabbed the pot he’d used to pour both of their cups and topped Akira off. Despite the panic attack, Akira felt like the vibes he’d felt when he’d arrived at this place were back to being good. Feeling the good vibrations.
“You really stepped into some shit, huh?”
Akira nodded.
Sojiro looked at the door to Leblanc for a second. Akira watched him place his coffee cup down on the counter, and fumble in his apron pockets for a green box. Cigarettes. The man lit up as Akira continued onto his second cup of coffee. He’d not drank coffee in juvie. It was just brown water, there. Leblanc’s coffee was perfect.
“Okay then. How about this.” Sojiro said.
And Akira could feel it- he’d somehow done it. He’d gotten the pity job.
For the first time in days, Akira felt some kind of joy.