Chapter Text
Chapter 1 — The Man at the Store
Taro Sakamoto had mastered more ways to kill a man than he cared to remember.
He still hadn't mastered the register.
The machine beeped.
Sakamoto pressed another button.
It beeped twice.
He frowned.
A line of text appeared.
VOID TRANSACTION?
He pressed NO.
The register opened.
Sakamoto stared at it.
The customer standing on the other side of the counter stared at him.
Behind Sakamoto, Aoi sighed.
“Taro.”
Sakamoto slowly looked over his shoulder.
Aoi stood at the end of the aisle with a cardboard box tucked against one hip, watching him with patient disappointment.
Sakamoto pointed at the register.
“It opened.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't tell it to.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You pressed cash.”
Sakamoto looked down.
There was, in fact, a button marked CASH beneath his finger.
He looked back at Aoi.
Aoi looked back at him.
The customer coughed into one hand.
Sakamoto closed the drawer.
“Sorry.”
The customer nodded quickly.
“No problem.”
Sakamoto tried again.
Milk.
Rice crackers.
Two canned coffees.
A pack of cigarettes.
The register accepted all four without incident.
Progress.
“That'll be one thousand four hundred and eighty yen.”
The customer handed him two thousand.
Sakamoto gave him the correct change without looking into the till.
Aoi noticed.
She always noticed.
“You could do that part in your head from the beginning,” she said after the customer left.
“That part makes sense.”
“The rest makes sense too.”
Sakamoto considered that.
“No.”
Aoi laughed.
From somewhere beneath the counter came a small, offended noise.
Sakamoto immediately looked down.
A tiny hand appeared beside his leg.
Then another.
Then the top of Hana's head rose into view.
She had somehow crawled through the gap between the stock shelves and the counter without either parent seeing her.
“Daddy.”
Sakamoto's entire attention shifted.
Hana raised both arms.
“Up.”
Sakamoto bent and lifted her.
Three years old, hair slightly mussed, one sock missing, cheeks round with the remains of whatever snack she had been eating, Hana settled against him with the absolute confidence of a person who had never once considered that her father might have something more important to do.
She was correct.
“Taro,” Aoi said.
Sakamoto looked at her.
“You're working.”
He looked at Hana.
Hana wrapped both arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his shoulder.
Sakamoto looked back at Aoi.
Aoi stared at him for several seconds.
Then she rolled her eyes.
“Fine. But stock the drinks before lunch.”
Sakamoto nodded.
Hana won.
Again.
The Sakamoto family store sat on a neighborhood street where nothing especially important was supposed to happen.
There was a laundromat two doors down.
A small clinic on the corner.
A woman across the street who put her potted plants out every morning and carried them back inside every evening regardless of the weather report.
Schoolchildren came in for sweets.
Construction workers bought canned coffee.
Old men bought newspapers they complained about.
Office workers hurried through at lunch.
Teenagers lingered in front of the refrigerated drinks for five minutes before buying whatever they had intended to buy from the beginning.
The bell above the door chimed.
An elderly woman stepped inside.
Sakamoto glanced over.
“Mrs. Miyazaki.”
She smiled.
“Good morning.”
Without asking, Sakamoto reached beneath the counter and brought out a loaf of bread.
The softer one.
Mrs. Miyazaki blinked.
“Oh. You remembered.”
Sakamoto nodded.
“Your husband.”
She touched her mouth.
“His dentures.”
Mrs. Miyazaki laughed.
“He'll be embarrassed you remember that.”
“He complains.”
“He does.”
Sakamoto put the loaf beside the register.
Mrs. Miyazaki added tea and a small packet of pickled vegetables.
“You're getting good at this.”
Sakamoto looked at the register.
It beeped at him.
Mrs. Miyazaki amended, “Most of it.”
Sakamoto nodded.
Fair.
He liked knowing things like that.
Which bread Mrs. Miyazaki bought.
Which canned mackerel Mr. Endo would complain about if they stopped carrying it.
Which children were allowed one sweet after school and which ones would attempt to negotiate for two.
The little boy from the apartment building around the corner was afraid of large dogs but pretended not to be.
None of it mattered anywhere else.
Here, people cared if the milk was expired.
It was better.
Hana tugged on his collar.
“Daddy.”
Sakamoto looked down.
She pointed.
A butterfly had landed on the front window.
Sakamoto carried her closer.
They watched it together.
It opened and closed its wings twice, lingered on the warm glass, and flew away.
Hana gasped.
“Gone.”
Sakamoto nodded.
“Gone.”
Aoi came past them carrying a tray of packaged buns.
“You know, there are actual customers.”
Sakamoto turned.
There were three.
One of them, an elderly woman, smiled at Hana.
“It's all right. I'm not in a hurry.”
A salaryman behind her checked his watch and very clearly was.
Sakamoto put Hana down.
She immediately grabbed his trouser leg.
He shuffled behind the counter with her attached.
The elderly woman laughed.
The salaryman did not.
Aoi hid a smile.
The bell above the door chimed again.
A young man entered.
He wore a dark jacket despite the warm weather and kept one hand inside the pocket.
Sakamoto glanced at him once.
The man stopped.
Not visibly enough for anyone ordinary to notice.
But Sakamoto noticed.
His right foot had entered first.
Weight forward.
The moment his eyes crossed Sakamoto, the weight shifted backward.
His shoulders tightened.
His concealed hand opened.
Interesting.
Sakamoto went back to scanning groceries.
The man walked farther into the Store.
Slowly.
He did not look directly at Sakamoto again.
He pretended to examine instant noodles.
Aoi came beside the register.
“Can you take the drinks out now?”
He lifted a crate.
The young man watched him from the reflection in the freezer door.
Sakamoto carried the crate toward the refrigerators.
Hana followed him.
“Daddy, juice.”
“You had juice.”
“More juice.”
“No.”
“Daddy.”
“No.”
Hana planted her feet.
Sakamoto kept walking.
“Daddy!”
“No.”
Hana's face crumpled.
Sakamoto stopped.
He looked back.
She looked up at him with profound betrayal.
Sakamoto considered the situation.
Aoi called from the counter.
“She already had two.”
Sakamoto looked at Hana.
Hana sniffed.
Sakamoto kept walking.
The young man stared.
He had seen photographs.
Everyone in the business had.
Some were old surveillance frames.
Some were grainy mission stills.
One showed a much younger Sakamoto stepping through the wreckage of a building with blood running down one side of his face.
Another showed him turning toward the camera while three men lay behind him.
There were stories attached to every image.
Nobody agreed on which stories were true.
The man in front of him now had gained enough weight that his old suit probably would not have closed around his stomach.
He wore an apron.
There was a cartoon bear printed on it.
One of Hana's stickers had been stuck to his left sleeve.
The young man swallowed.
Sakamoto opened the refrigerator.
He began restocking sports drinks.
A bottle slipped from the crate.
His hand moved.
The bottle stopped an inch above the tile.
The young man's eyes widened.
Sakamoto put it on the shelf.
Aoi called, “Taro, did you order more detergent?”
Sakamoto paused.
“No.”
“You said you would.”
Sakamoto looked at the crate.
Then toward Aoi.
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
“Yes.”
“You wrote it down.”
Sakamoto reached into his apron.
He removed a folded piece of paper.
He opened it.
DETERGENT was written across the top in Aoi's handwriting.
Underneath it were three underlines.
Sakamoto stared at the note.
Aoi folded her arms.
Sakamoto put the note away.
“I'll order it.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“When today?”
Sakamoto considered the trap.
“Before lunch.”
“Good.”
The young man quietly put the instant noodles back.
He had come because of a rumor.
Taro Sakamoto.
Retired.
Married.
Running a neighborhood convenience store.
Most people assumed the Store was a front, a safehouse, a laundering operation, perhaps an intelligence post.
Then people started checking.
The permits were real.
The taxes were real.
The suppliers were real.
The marriage was real.
The child was real.
The man selling discount toilet paper was apparently real.
That was difficult to reconcile with the number attached to his name.
Enough money to change a life.
Enough money to make stupid people imagine themselves becoming legends.
The young man was not stupid.
He did, however, have debts.
He also had a knife.
He had told himself he only wanted to look.
Then Sakamoto had looked at him.
Once.
No threat.
No killing intent.
No change in posture.
Just one glance.
The knife in his pocket suddenly felt very small.
Sakamoto put the empty crate down.
He turned.
The young man froze.
“Those are on sale.”
The young man blinked.
Sakamoto pointed at the instant noodles.
A yellow tag advertised twenty percent off.
“Oh.”
Sakamoto waited.
The young man picked up two.
“Thanks.”
Sakamoto nodded.
By the time he reached the counter, the knife felt ridiculous.
Aoi rang him through.
Unlike Sakamoto, she did not fight the register.
“Four hundred and sixteen yen.”
He paid.
Hana had recovered from the juice crisis and was now drawing at the small table near the window.
The young man glanced at Sakamoto one last time.
Sakamoto was kneeling beside her.
Hana had apparently drawn a creature with six legs, four eyes, and an enormous mouth.
“What’s that?”
“Daddy.”
Sakamoto looked at the picture.
Then at himself.
Hana added another tooth.
Sakamoto nodded.
“Looks right.”
The young man left.
The bell chimed above him.
He walked half a block before breathing normally again.
At the corner, someone stepped out from beside a vending machine.
Older.
Gray at the temples.
Plain clothes.
The sort of man who looked forgettable because he had spent decades learning how.
“You went in.”
The young man stopped.
“You following me?”
“No.”
The older man opened a canned coffee.
“That would imply I care where you go.”
The young man glanced back toward the Store.
“You knew?”
“I knew you were curious.”
“That him?”
The older man drank.
“You saw him.”
“He's fat.”
The older man looked at him.
The young man immediately regretted saying it.
“So?”
“Nothing.”
“You expected horns?”
“No.”
“A sword?”
“No.”
“Pile of bodies by the register?”
The young man frowned.
“I said nothing.”
The older man took another drink.
“That's your first intelligent decision today.”
The young man's jaw tightened.
“You think I was going to try something?”
“I think you're twenty-three, behind on three loans, and you looked at the bounty twice this week.”
The young man said nothing.
“You're not the first.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“I noticed.”
For a moment neither spoke.
Then the young man asked, “Is he really retired?”
“Yes.”
“Then why's the bounty still active?”
The older man gave a quiet laugh.
“Because organizations dislike admitting when reality has ignored their paperwork.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Sakamoto retired.”
“I heard they didn't approve it.”
“They didn't.”
The older man crushed the empty coffee can lightly between his fingers.
“So what happened?”
The older man looked at him.
“You're alive because you decided not to find out.”
The young man's mouth went dry.
“You fought him?”
“No.”
“But you've seen him?”
“Yes.”
“Back when he was number one?”
The older man's expression changed slightly.
The young man had enough sense to stop.
“Right.”
The older man tossed the can into a recycling bin.
It landed cleanly.
“Forget the bounty.”
“That's a lot of money.”
“Yes.”
“Enough to retire.”
The older man looked back at the Store.
Through the window, Sakamoto could be seen holding up Hana's drawing while Aoi laughed at something.
“That's what they all say.”
He walked away.
The young man remained at the corner for another few seconds.
Then he took the knife from his pocket.
He stared at it.
He put it back.
Not here.
Never here.
Inside the Store, Sakamoto finished taping Hana's drawing to the wall behind the register.
Aoi tilted her head.
“Why does it have six legs?”
Sakamoto shrugged.
Hana threw both arms into the air.
“Fast!”
Aoi nodded solemnly.
“Of course.”
Sakamoto considered the drawing again.
Six legs did offer obvious advantages.
Hana ran toward the back room.
Aoi caught the back of her shirt before she disappeared.
“No.”
Hana continued running in place.
“Mama.”
“No.”
“Daddy!”
Sakamoto looked over.
Aoi pointed at him.
“Do not.”
Sakamoto looked away.
Hana went limp in Aoi's grip.
Aoi carried her back toward the table.
“You are a terrible influence.”
Sakamoto picked up a box cutter.
“I didn't do anything.”
“That is frequently how you're a terrible influence.”
The afternoon passed.
Sakamoto stocked shelves.
Aoi handled accounts.
Hana fell asleep beneath the counter for twenty-two minutes, woke up angry about having slept, ate half a rice ball, and attempted to hide the other half inside Sakamoto's apron.
A middle-schooler tried to steal candy.
Sakamoto watched him put it in his pocket.
The boy watched Sakamoto watch him.
Sakamoto held out his hand.
The boy slowly surrendered the candy.
Sakamoto put it back on the shelf.
“You can work for it.”
The boy stared.
Sakamoto pointed toward three boxes near the entrance.
“Flatten those.”
The boy looked suspicious.
“Then I get candy?”
“One.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Big one?”
Sakamoto nodded.
The boy considered.
“Fine.”
Ten minutes later, he left with a chocolate bar.
Aoi watched him go.
“You know we're supposed to discourage theft.”
“I did.”
“You hired him.”
“For ten minutes.”
“You paid him in chocolate.”
Aoi looked toward the flattened cardboard.
“He did a good job.”
Sakamoto nodded again.
Aoi sighed.
“Fine.”
The sun lowered.
The after-school rush faded.
Dinner ingredients were set aside.
The refrigerator compressor hummed.
Outside, bicycles clicked past.
A dog barked somewhere down the street.
Sakamoto stood behind the counter reading a supplier flyer.
Aoi was in the back.
Hana sat on the floor building a tower from canned coffee.
Sakamoto had told her not to.
She was now at nine cans.
The tower leaned.
His hand moved.
He caught three cans before they struck Hana, one between his fingers and two against his forearm.
The remaining cans rolled harmlessly across the floor.
Hana clapped.
“Again!”
“No.”
“Again!”
“No.”
She began stacking.
Sakamoto removed the cans.
Hana protested.
From across the street, a man sitting in a parked car lowered his camera.
He had been there since morning.
Sakamoto knew.
There was another observer near the clinic.
One farther down by the train crossing.
None had approached.
None had entered the Store.
None had spoken to Aoi.
None had followed Hana.
So Sakamoto had ignored them.
People had watched him for most of his adult life.
The important distinction was whether they stayed on their side of the glass.
For now, they had.
Sakamoto returned to the supplier flyer.
Hana climbed onto his foot.
He continued reading.
She wrapped both arms around his leg.
He turned the page.
She put one foot on top of his.
Then the other.
Sakamoto began walking.
Hana rode across the floor on his shoes.
She laughed.
The observer in the car took another photograph.
Domestic subject carrying child.
No hostile activity.
No contact.
No significant deviation.
He lowered the camera.
He looked at the previous image.
TARO SAKAMOTO
Retired.
Active bounty.
Threat classification unchanged.
The observer looked through the Store window again.
Sakamoto was letting his daughter stand on his feet while he walked.
The observer had been in the profession for seventeen years.
He had seen mission footage.
He had read casualty summaries.
He had also read the standing instruction attached to this assignment.
OBSERVE ONLY.
Nobody had needed to explain why.
The last man who tried to collect the bounty had done so four months ago.
There had been no duel, no dramatic confrontation, no useful footage.
The claimant had entered Sakamoto's vicinity alive.
Then he had not been alive anymore.
The details were considered sufficient.
Inside, Aoi emerged from the back room.
“Taro.”
Sakamoto stopped.
Hana nearly fell over laughing.
Aoi pointed at the clock.
“Dinner.”
“Close up.”
Sakamoto looked toward the windows.
The sky had gone orange.
He switched off the sign.
Locked the side entrance.
Checked the freezer.
Counted the drawer.
He did not need to count it twice.
Aoi gathered Hana.
Sakamoto stepped outside to bring in the display rack.
Across the street, the observer raised his newspaper.
Sakamoto looked directly at him.
The observer stopped breathing.
One second.
Two.
Sakamoto lifted the rack.
He carried it inside.
The observer slowly lowered the paper.
Nothing else happened.
The bell over the Store door chimed as Sakamoto came back inside.
Aoi looked up.
“I thought you locked it.”
Sakamoto looked toward the entrance.
A young man stood outside the glass.
Blond hair.
Lean build.
Tense shoulders.
He stared at Sakamoto.
Then at Hana.
Then back at Sakamoto.
Confusion spread across his face.
Then disbelief.
His lips moved.
Very quietly, almost too quietly to hear through the glass, he said:
“No way.”
Sakamoto waited.
The young man reached for the door.
His name was Shin Asakura.