One Month later
The envelope sat on the coffee table like an unlit fuse, its ivory surface glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. I studied it with the same focus I'd once used to assess battle maps, noting the precise folds, the unfamiliar wax seal, the way Maruyama's fingers trembled ever so slightly as he lifted it. The paper crinkled like distant gunfire in the silent apartment.
Hongbing hadn't moved from his sentry position by the window in exactly twenty-three minutes. I knew this because the second hand on Maruyama's wall clock had become my focal point, each tick like the beat of a war drum counting down to catastrophe. The assassin's breathing was so controlled it barely stirred the cheap polyester curtains, a skill honed during countless night-time infiltrations back when our lives made sense.
"Hako University?" Maruyama's voice was deceptively calm, the kind of calm that comes right before a summer typhoon hits. "In Tokyo?"
I opened my mouth, but my partner's nearly imperceptible head shake stopped me cold. His sharp ears, capable of hearing a crossbow's draw from fifty paces, were already tracking the tinny voice leaking from Maruyama's smartphone.
Tanaka's voice crackled through: ".... had to be done, Keiichi."
The use of Maruyama's first name made the older man's spine stiffen like he'd been struck between the shoulder blades. His grip on the phone turned murderous. "You rerouted their applications," he hissed. "Without consulting me."
"Consulting you?" Tanaka's laugh was drier than the Gobi wind. "When have you ever consulted anyone about your night-time activities?"
My fingers dug into my thighs hard enough to bruise. Night-time activities? My mind raced through possibilities - was Maruyama some kind of thief? A spy? I glanced at Hongbing, but his face remained an impassive mask, though his right hand had drifted unconsciously toward where his sword hilt should be.
Maruyama turned away, his whisper deadly as a poisoned dagger. "You're overstepping."
"And you're reckless." A pause filled only with static. Then, quieter: "Keiichi, these boys, they're not part of that world. Look at them." Another pause. " I don't think the tall one has blinked in four minutes, and the other keeps sizing up the room like he's planning a siege. Send them to Hako. Let them be normal students."
A mirthless chuckle. "Or would you rather explain to the Organised Crime Unit why my 'nephews' think the Shōwa era is current events? Why are they not aware of what a television is?"
The silence that followed was thicker than congealing blood. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, too fast, too loud. I counted seven full seconds before Maruyama responded.
The old man's shoulders rose with a shuddering breath. When he spoke again, his voice had gone frighteningly quiet, the way my father used to sound right before ordering an execution. "You will fix this."
"I already have." Tanaka's tone softened slightly. "The dorm assignments are set. They'll be safe there. Away from... whatever you've gotten yourself into this time."
The smartphone hit the lacquered table with a crack that made me jump. A hairline fracture spiderwebbed across the screen - a perfect mirror of the fractures appearing in our carefully constructed new lives.
Maruyama stood trembling, his rage a living thing writhing beneath his skin. For one terrifying moment, I thought the man might actually put his fist through the wall. The tendons in his neck stood out like bridge cables, his breathing ragged.
"Maruyama-Sama?" I ventured, against my better judgment.
Hongbing's hand clamped around my wrist with bone-crushing pressure. "Don't," he breathed, so softly the word barely disturbed the air. "Not now."
Maruyama whirled on us, his eyes wild and unfocused. Then, as if suddenly remembering who we were, he forced his breathing to steady through sheer willpower. "Pack your things," he said hoarsely. "We leave for Tokyo in three days."
I opened my mouth to protest, but my partner spoke first: "Understood."
As Maruyama stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the light fixtures, the apartment seemed to exhale a breath it had been holding for hours. I turned to Hongbing, my whisper urgent:
"What in the name of the Jade Emperor was that about?"
Hongbing stared at the closed door, his voice barely above a whisper. "Our benefactor has enemies. And we..." His jaw tightened. "We just became someone else's problem."
The balcony door slid shut behind us with a quiet click, sealing us in the humid night air. Below, Osaka glittered - a sea of neon and noise that still felt alien after months in this era. The railing was cool beneath my palms as I leaned forward, trying to make sense of what we'd just heard.
"The front?" I muttered. "Is that what Tanaka meant?"
Hongbing's fingers drummed a silent rhythm against the metal rail. "Possibly some sort of organisation or something adjacent. Maruyama has money, connections, but also people watching him."
I exhaled sharply, watching my breath fog the glass. "You think he's using us?"
"I think he's hiding us." Hongbing's gaze darkened as he stared at the city lights. "From someone."
The implications settled over me like a heavy cloak. All those hushed phone calls Maruyama made at night. The way he sometimes came home with unexplained bruises. The cash he always carried in thick envelopes, rather than using these so-called 'banks' he used to mention.
"Should we confront him?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Not yet. If he's protecting us, accusing him might sever that protection. If he's using us..." A pause. "Better to play along until we know the game."
I rubbed my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "So, we go to Tokyo. Live in a dorm. Pretend to be students." I scoffed. "As if blending in was ever our strength."
Hongbing's lips twitched. "At least no one actually expects students to know how the modern world works."
The dark humour did little to ease the knot in my stomach. Somewhere out there in that neon labyrinth, dangers we couldn't yet see were circling. And we were walking straight into them blind.
The next two days passed in uneasy silence. Maruyama moved through the apartment like a shadow, speaking only when necessary. He spent hours locked in his room making hushed phone calls, his voice too low even for Hongbing's sharp ears to decipher.
I packed mechanically, folding unfamiliar modern clothes into suitcases. The cat shirt Hongbing had reluctantly accepted now lay atop his pile like a surrender flag. My fingers lingered on the fabric - cheap polyester, nothing like the fine silks I'd worn as a prince. The thought sent a pang through me, sharp and unexpected.
"Do you think it's true?" I asked abruptly, holding up a pair of jeans. "That we'll be safer in Tokyo?"
Hongbing didn't look up from sharpening a kitchen knife - Maruyama had confiscated his actual weapons weeks ago. The rhythmic scrape of steel against stone filled the quiet apartment. "Safer from the so-called police? Maybe. From whatever Maruyama's involved in? Possibly." A pause. "But safer isn't the same as safe."
I snorted. "When have we ever been safe?"
The knife stilled in Hongbing's hands. His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable.
Before I could even think of an answer, Maruyama's bedroom door creaked open. Both of us fell silent as he emerged, carrying two envelopes. His face looked drawn, the lines around his mouth deeper than usual.
"Train tickets," he said stiffly. "And dorm assignments. You leave tomorrow at dawn."
I opened my mouth to ask what Tanaka had meant, to demand the truth, but Hongbing's warning glance silenced me. The knife had disappeared from his hands, tucked away faster than the eye could follow.
Maruyama's eyes flickered between us, sensing the unspoken questions. For a moment, he looked older than his years. " Hako is a good school," he said finally. "You'll... be fine there."
The words hung in the air, heavy with everything left unsaid. Then he retreated to his room, leaving us once again in heavy silence.
That night, I lay awake on the too-soft sofa bed, staring at the ceiling. Across the room, Hongbing sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed but not sleeping - a warrior's rest. The dim light from the streetlights outside painted his face in alternating stripes of gold and shadow.
"Do you think we'll ever see him again?" I whispered.
Hongbing didn't open his eyes. "We hope not,"
Outside, a siren wailed, a sound that no longer made us flinch. Somewhere in the neon-lit streets below, danger lurked. And tomorrow, we'd be walking straight into a different kind of battlefield.
Tokyo awaited.