05- Origin

"Hajime-chan!" Koneko sings from her spot behind the counter. "Do you have any plans for today?"

Hajime sinks into the barstool, swinging her legs and speaking with a mouth full of pudding: "No."

"Then, would you like to accompany me on an errand?"

"No."

And Koneko instantly slumps. Master doesn't know whether he should laugh or sigh. "But Hajime-chan…!" she whines. "There's a new Limited Edition volume of Akiba Blue that I have to buy and I don't want to go alone!"

Hajime points her spoon at Nice—sitting a few seats down in his usual spot at the Café. "Take him instead."

Nice laughs into his near-empty glass.

"Not me."

"But why?"

"Because I don't want to." She takes another spoonful of pudding and leaves it at that.

Koneko purses her lips. There's a fierce gleam in her eyes. She won't give up so easily.

Master sighs. He stops Koneko just as she's opened her mouth to retaliate: "Koneko," he presses, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Huh?"

"I have a meeting with a vendor today, remember? There has to be someone here to watch over the shop while I'm tied up."

She stares at him for the longest time as a look of depressed horror slowly overcomes her face. She eventually sets her chin on the countertop in defeat. "Oh. Right… I guess I won't get the Limited Edition after all. Unless…" her eyes slide eagerly over to Hajime, "… someone goes to get it for me?"

Hajime doesn't hesitate: "No."

"You're cruel to me, Hajime-chan!"

This time Master decides to laugh.

Nice tilts his glass up without a word, crunching on a stray piece of ice that slipped into his mouth with the last of his drink.

"Please, Hajime-chan!" Koneko begs, "I'll do anything! I'll make your favourite dessert for an entire week!"

The spoon in Hajime's hand wavers. "… two."

"Eh?"

"Two weeks."

Koneko doesn't even think about it. She's already nodding her head frantically. "Yes! Okay! Thank you, Hajime-chan!" If the counter wasn't separating them, she'd surely have pulled Hajime into her arms.

Master shakes his head. Hajime must be in a good mood. He honestly didn't expect her to agree to anything. She doesn't run errands on behalf of other people. In fact, she doesn't run errands at all. How often does she venture out on her own? Has she ever? He suddenly doesn't think so.

Koneko is handing Hajime the money when Nice returns his glass to the counter and stands from his seat. He raises a hand above his head. "I'm off."

The idea flies from Master's mouth the instant it appears in is head. "Wait, Nice, why don't you go with her?" He suggests.

Nice stops in his tracks. He and Hajime speak at the same time: "Huh?"

"Hajime's never run errands on her own. I would prefer if someone went along with her."

Nice barely stifles the urge to click his tongue.

Master watches him have a silent argument with himself. He knows Nice doesn't necessarily consider it a hassle, but that doesn't mean he wants to do it.

Hajime is glaring at her half-eaten bowl of pudding. But she doesn't argue. Master doesn't leave her any room for such a thing.

Nice eventually sighs. "Fine." He plops back into his chair. "Only because it won't take long."

Master grins at his excuse. "Thank you." His eyes move over to Hajime as she sits simmering in her seat. She takes another unhappy bite of pudding and refuses to meet his stare.

Nice drums his fingers on the counter as he waits for her to finish.

Master is sure she's purposely taking her time. The minutes tick by spoonful by spoonful. Each one is Hajime lashing out in protest. She thinks that maybe, if she takes long enough, Nice will give up and go on. Unluckily for her, Nice is either too lazy or too stubborn to change his mind a second time. Maybe it's both.

At last, the spoon clinks into the empty bowl. "Thanks for the food," she murmurs. Her protest didn't work at all.

Nice is already on his feet. "Okay, let's go."

Hajime reluctantly stands and follows him towards the door. Master watches the pair awkwardly shuffle away into the sunlight. The door shuts, separating the inside from all intruding light. He's suddenly aware of how dark it is in the café. His usual, sunny view of the sidewalk is blocked by sheets of plywood where window panes should be.

Koneko retreats into the back of the café as they leave. It'll be her last break before Master's meeting with the vendor. He takes Nice's empty glass and Hajime's bowl and puts them behind the counter before wiping down the bar with a damp cloth.

Maybe sending them off together will finally incur some changes. He hopes so.

The image of Nice and Hajime leaving the café is still in his mind when his washcloth catches on a snag in the countertop and he pauses.

Master supposes it's been over a year now. He still thinks about that day from time to time.

It wasn't a special afternoon at first, but he remembers the moment before very clearly: He's taking a polishing cloth over a piece of stemware as Hajime sits at the counter eating some kind of steak with a knife and fork. When the boy stalks into the café, Master immediately notices his suspicious expression.

It takes a moment for Master to recognize him, but he does. A boy from Facultas. The last time he saw him there was only one bandage across the bridge of his nose. He's grown older, and now each cheek has a stripe of bandage as well. But that's all Master can recall of him—his face and nothing more. "Welcome. What can I get for you?"

The boy glances narrowly at Hajime, but when his eyes land on Master his suspicion explodes into what looks like hope. "You… you're from Facultas."

Master's hands suddenly stop their polishing.

"You're the guy in the lab coat I saw that night."

"I'm sorry. You must have me mistaken with someone else."

He's shaking his head. "There's no way I'm mistaken. You were there. I saw you." He comes up to the counter, licking his lips excitedly. "So you should know about what happened five years ago."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Master deflects again, but the boy isn't having any of it.

"You're lying."

"I'm telling you that you're mistaken."

"I need to know what happened."

"I don't know anything about that place or whatever happened five years ago."

"Don't give me that crap!" He shouts, slamming his hands onto the countertop. Master instinctively leans back from the boy's snarling face. "Don't test me. I'm not mistaken and I am anything but stupid. I'm telling you: I know. I know you were there that night and I know you were a faculty member or at least some researcher because you were wearing that coat. The only people that wear white coats in Facultas are people in the know. So don't lie to me. Don't you fucking lie to me. I need to know what really happened that night. Facultas likes to pretend that nothing happened—that it was just a freak accident with no casualties but I was there and I know that's not fucking true but I can't seem to find anyone willing to TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED—" A knife is suddenly lodged into the counter between him and Master, shutting him down. Its blade is buried deep into the polished wood surface. The boy wasn't even paying enough attention to notice that Hajime had stopped eating and thrown it at him.

Her stare is white-hot. His mouth clicks shut.

"He said he doesn't know."

The boy's face falls. A look of recognition. Her defensive stare is familiar. "Alright," he says. "Okay. So you don't know." And he slumps onto one of the barstools like cloth falling from a hanger. Hajime continues eating as if nothing happened.

Master's expression softens. "I wish I could help you."

A harsh laugh comes from the boy as he puts his face in his hands.

"I really do. But I'm afraid I'm just as clueless as to what really happened that night. And unlike you, I never searched for an answer. There are some things in this world that are better off not known. I'd prefer to leave all of that behind me."

"Well, I can't do that," he mutters, lifting his head and staring into the distance. "Not when that's all that's in front of me."

Master studies him for a moment. "Sometimes we lose things and we can never get them back." The boy grimaces. "No matter how hard we struggle."

His gaze falls to the counter, where Hajime's knife is still stuck firmly in place. "I'm not struggling nearly enough to believe in those words."

"Are you certain?"

"I am." He stands and moves to leave. "Besides, I'm fine with struggling."

Master watches him go. His shoulders are heavy as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Wait," Master calls. The boy looks over with tired eyes. "What's your name?"

"… Nice."

Master smiles. He can see Hajime silently giving him a sidelong glance from her seat. "Make sure you try the House Blend the next time you're in." Nice narrows his eyes. Master reaches over and pulls the knife free from the counter. His hand gestures toward the gouge that's left behind. "After all, I already have a seat marked for you, Nice-kun."

Nice makes a sound like a laugh. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

Master can't tell if he means it or not.

But in the year or so since, it appears that he did.

Master makes it a point to not fix the mark in the countertop. He supposes it holds some kind of meaning. Every so often he'll catch Nice with his head down, watching the condensation drip down his glass, his fingers absentmindedly passing over the cut in the wood. Reminding himself that it's still there, perhaps.

Master brings his own hand over the mark. It's become a part of Café Nowhere. It's something that can't be erased.

When the door of the café opens he half expects it to be Nice, but instead it's a man Master is sure he's seen before. He has spiked hair and a stern expression behind his red-framed glasses. His long red coat is new or hardly worn.

Master can't place him, so he greets him as a customer. "Welcome. What can I get for you?"

The man wastes no time. "I'm looking for Nice. Is he here?"

Master realizes that he must be a customer for Hamatora instead. "He isn't, but he should be back soon. If you come back in an hour or so, you might—"

"That's alright," he says, and sits at the spot at the counter directly in front of the mark. "I can wait."

"Can I get you anything?"

Again, there's no hesitation. "I'll have the House Blend. I hear it's excellent."

X

Hajime lifts her nose into the air. "I smell… pork. And cilantro." And she breaks off, veering down the sidewalk with no other warning.

Nice has to scramble after her. "Whoa! Wait a minute!"

She doesn't answer and keeps walking. She's remarkably fast on her short legs.

Nice assumes it's because food is involved, but he can't smell anything out of the ordinary.

They've walked over a block when Hajime suddenly turns in an alley and stops short. Nice almost runs into her. She points to a man in Chinese robes sitting on a crate. He has a pot of boiling water and steaming basket of something set up between his legs.

Nice finally notices the sharp smell of cilantro.

"He's the one. The pork and cilantro man."

The man smiles behind his tiny sunglasses. "Impressive. I can appreciate the cuteness of a girl with a healthy appetite." And he reaches carefully into the basket and hands her a steaming dumpling wrapped in paper. She accepts it with stars in her eyes. He's not as impressed with Nice and gives him a flat stare without so much as a word.

Nice returns his stare. "You're Mao, aren't you?"

He just smiles. "Information is a valuable resource, young man. In my line of work you learn to not take it lightly."

"That's a typical answer. I hear your business is information."

"So you realize why I can't provide answers so easily."

"Then let's talk business. There's something I need to know. What are your rates?"

"I'm afraid I don't have any. Most information isn't valuable to me. On a personal level."

Nice smirks, "'What's it worth to you?', huh?"

"You're quick on the uptake."

"I need to know the details behind the incident at Facultas six years ago."

Mao's face suddenly falls. He fiddles with a batch of dumplings in the basket at his feet. Nice can feel Hajime's stare boring into the side of his face. "That… is far above your pay grade, I'm afraid, Mr. Broke Detective."

"I can pay 5 million yen."

Mao freezes for a moment. "Even then," he forces.

Nice recoils at bit. "Are you kidding?"

"Depending on who you ask, nothing happened at all. Isn't that so?" Mao keeps his voice low. Nice can't contradict him. "Besides, if I know anything, it has cost me dearly enough already."

Nice buries his hands in his pockets and matches Mao's pitch. "Is that why you've been hiding in Ikebukuro for the past few years?"

Mao's grin is bitter. "Information is not to be taken lightly, Detective. Some things in this world are better off not known."

"Like I haven't heard that one before," he grumbles.

A breath. "Incidents had been piling up for a while, and they like to change face." He looks up to the sliver of sky visible from the shadows of the alleyway. "The atmosphere lately has been much the same as it was then. I wouldn't be surprised if faces began to change again as well."

"I see."

"I would be less surprised if a similar incident were to occur."

"The one that didn't happen?"

"Imaginary things tend to be the most explosive, after all." They assess each other in silence as Hajime takes her last bite of dumpling and crumples the paper wrapper into a ball. Mao doesn't take is eyes off of Nice and holds out his hand. "That'll be 2000 for the dumpling."

Nice chuckles as he reaches for his wallet. "Is that an upcharge?"

"It was filled with premium ingredients."

X

Art parks his car before the plywood-covered windows of Café Nowhere around midday. He takes a quick glance at his watch. It didn't take long to get here. There's still plenty of time left of his lunchbreak. He doesn't typically leave the office for his breaks—in fact, he works through lunch more often than he'd like to admit—and although he's dealing with a friend, this is still technically business.

He's crossing to the entrance when Nice briskly turns the corner of the block. Hajime ambles not-too-far behind. Art's eyebrows lift. That's a rare coupling. It's obvious how uncomfortable they are. Art can see it even without Hajime's tense expression or Nice's hands stuffed deep into his pockets. As Art recalls, Nice doesn't speak much of Hajime, and when he does it's without feeling. She's in the background of his world—neither a positive nor negative existence. Meanwhile, Hajime seems to make it a point to avoid Nice altogether.

She's walking with a plastic shopping bag held against her chest. She keeps the distance between them as large as the sidewalk will allow.

Nice's face brightens as soon as he spots Art. He lifts a hand to greet him. "Yo."

Hajime doesn't pay Art any mind. She gives him a quick, wordless bow before disappearing into the café.

Art shrugs it off. He doesn't ask what's going on. Nice doesn't seem bothered enough for it to be anything important, anyway. "Perfect timing. I came here to discuss your case. Do you have a minute?"

"Of course," Nice eases back onto his heels. "I was going to drop by your office later to check on it anyway."

"And unannounced, as always," Art chuckles. "I anticipated that."

Nice just grins.

He suggests pairing their conversation with lunch and retreats toward his car. Nice is not one to turn down such an offer, and quickly agrees. A short drive and several minutes later they're sitting beneath the awning of Art's favourite café with tea and sweet pastries. A warm, pleasant breeze flows freely across the open patio, pulling steam from the rim of Art's cup of black tea.

Nice fiddles with the straw in his own drink, cold as always, and studies the platter of sweets. "So, Inspector, you wanted to talk about the case, right? Is the investigation still ongoing?" he asks, reaching for his chosen pastry and taking a bite. "It must be bad news since we're having lunch like this."

Art nods. "I suppose it is. The case is still open, but if it continues to stagnate here we may have to cut our losses and move on."

"Oh?"

"Unsurprisingly, we were unable to get any information out of the four that assaulted you and destroyed the café windows." Art's tone is all-business as he reaches for the bowl of sugar cubes. "They have no connections to anyone in this area. It's rather peculiar. Only one is a graduate of Facultas, but he hasn't been involved in anything noteworthy until this incident. Not to mention that his Minimum is non-combative and couldn't be the cause of the shattered windows."

"So the other three are unregistered and refusing to talk."

"That appears to be the case, yes. And unfortunately, we don't have the time to push for what little information they may or may not have."

Nice just shrugs and twirls his straw between two fingers. His pastry is already gone. "I expected as much," he mutters. "But I'm not too worried about it. And you shouldn't be either." A smirk. "You have your own dead ends to fret over, right?"

Art's smile stumbles softly across his face. "Is it so obvious?"

Nice laughs beneath his breath. "I know you well enough to see it."

"Is that so?"

"But it seems pretty bad this time. Is it really something so serious?"

Art hears the faint concern hiding beneath Nice's words. He starts adding sugar cubes to his cup of tea. "Maybe. But it's just as well," and he sighs, giving in, "one of the higher-ups from Facultas was taken down. It was in an uncharacteristically clean fashion and there's very little to work with. Even less than usual."

"One of the higher-ups?" Nice echoes. "And Facultas agreed to the police investigation?"

"Curiously enough, yes. Dr. Nijima was taken down very quietly, and the lack of spectacle seems to bother Facultas as well."

"Nijima, huh? Never heard of him."

"Same," he agrees. "But despite their cooperation, Facultas remains as unsupportive as always. The only information we've received from them is just empty words. Dr. Nijima was the Consultant for This, or the Head of Administration for That," Art grumbles. "A lot of air that sounds important but doesn't actually mean anything."

Nice is smirking. "So, in the end, there's no telling what he actually did for Facultas, right?"

"Which means he must have been fairly high in their ranks," Art sighs. "Even his official title is above regular security clearance."

Nice takes a thoughtful sip of his drink. "It would have to be something integral to Facultas's regular operations, in that case. What happened at Facultas through the days after the murder?"

"I wondered the same, and I've already looked into it." Art drops one more cube of sugar into his cup, for good measure. "Nothing obvious changed through the following days. Nothing stopped, and nothing started. But you know Facultas—the ugly core is always shrouded in unnecessary procedure."

Nice sneers. "Those guys… If whatever they were doing was disguised as something menial, it would be no trouble to turn it into actual mundanities."

"Whatever Nijima's role was, it may hold the key to figuring out the who and why." He takes a slow sip of his tea, sweetened to taste.

Nice retreats into his thoughts. He follows Art's example and takes a few hearty gulps of his drink. He returns the glass to its place with a different look in his eyes. A moment passes with Nice staring into the distance. "We have an encroaching organization on our hands." He drops the words onto the table as if they were discussing the weather.

Art keeps his expression under control. His grin turns taut as he looks at Nice. "Oh?"

A flicked finger taps on the half-empty glass. "The Family clearly isn't involved. You said it yourself: They would make a spectacle of it. In the first place, they wouldn't strike without proper cause—and that would be hidden within the spectacle. A subtle parade to honour the disposal of Nijima-sensei: Chief of Staff of the Horribleness Department or whatever purpose he might have served. They would make it clear. Even if it was a rogue acting on their own—the modus operandi wouldn't change." He leans back in his chair. He doesn't see the tense look on Art's face. "Denouncing Facultas would be the only benefit from Nijima's murder, so why is that glossed over?" He shakes his head. "And considering how Facultas is at least half-way working with the police, it can't be an inside job through them either. They would've done away with him quietly anyway. Written him out as if he'd never existed at all."

Art calmly sets his cup back into its saucer. "Years ago, the smaller clans in this area were pushed out by Facultas and the Family... This could be the inciting incident of a new turf war by an old clan."

But Nice shakes his head again. "No, I don't think so." Art feels a knot form in his chest. "Nothing's changed outside of Yokohama. At least, I haven't heard of any increase or decrease in activity for the surrounding areas, have you?"

"No," he admits. "The surrounding areas are no more restless than usual. They're carefully handling their peace like a thin sheet of glass."

"Even prisons have courtyards," he mutters. "And if a group is coming from nearby, there're usually some signs of destabilization… Besides, whoever's responsible would want their name painted all over it so they can keep the credit." His expression turns firm. "This is something completely foreign. They don't want credit—they want destruction."

"To destroy Facultas? Not even the Family is so bold to attempt that."

"Only because they need Facultas in order to exist at all," he scoffs. A strange grin comes over his face. "But I can't say I blame anyone for wanting to destroy that place."

Art watches him without judgment. "Nice… have you ever wanted to destroy Facultas?"

Nice isn't paying attention. He's staring off at the fluttering fringe of the café's overhead awning. He says nothing. There's no indication that he heard Art's question at all.

Well. It doesn't matter. It isn't a question Art would consider repeating.

"It's necessary," Nice sighs.

"Hm?"

"As much as I hate to say it, they're irreplaceable to a lot of people. If Facultas was ripped out by the roots, there'd be no Yokohama left. Only debris. And until those roots have withered away, whatever misgivings I have about Facultas are lost to the breeze." He slowly gets to his feet, as if to drop those words like grenades. His hand finds the back of the chair and tightens around it. "But still… I won't let them have their way." Then his serious expression suddenly melts away. "Thanks for the snacks. I'll see you around."

It takes a second for Art to adjust to the change. "Where are you going?"

"Our conversation helped me realize something. There are a few things I have to take care of. See ya."

And in another moment he's gone. But Art remains in his seat. He's stuck on Nice's choice of words. "'Helped,' huh?" He bars the harsh laugh that threatens to spill out. It catches painfully in his throat. He takes the rest of his tea to drown it, but not even five cubes of sugar are enough to mask the bitterness.

xx

Author's Notes- Finally, most of the threads have been set! Mostly. Forever building… At any rate, this was a very Nice chapter. (Hahaaaah, I regret nothing.) I was about 80-percent finished with it by the time I noticed that this is Hajime's introductory chapter. I'm oh-so observant, I know. Well. I guess it worked out okay. Not including the weird transitions… and the part that I gave up on trying to fix but if I ever do a final edit it will most likely be totally reworked or cut entirely but hey let's not worry about that.

Having a flashback in present tense feels… strange. It was certainly strange to write. But worth it. I think. I hope. Probably.

I'm happy with it, anyway,

-Destiny