I stayed in that room for two days.
And three times a day, Akahito came and brought me food. It was good food, food you'd expect to get served in a four star hotel...not that I've ever been in one. Wagyu beef, spaghetti carbonara, even croquettes, when I mentioned, for some stupid reason, that I missed my mother's fried mashed potato balls. Of course, it wasn't the croquette I missed, and the bodyguard knew. And he made them for me, anyways. They were pretty good.
Tsubasa did not come.
Neither did Ayame.
Not that I particularly expected them. After all, Tofukuji was looking for me. I had disappeared from right under his nose and Ayame would be looked upon with some suspicion. She was, after all, a good friend and I'm sure her father was very patently aware of this fact. I hoped Tsubasa was in the clear...I needed him to lead his father to the grave.
Not that he would know.
Not until the crucial moment.
It became a habit for Akahito to come and sit with me for an hour every day after dark. We did not say much, he occupied with his newspaper, me with a mini-notebook Tsubasa left for my usage, with a very stern text file saved on the otherwise empty Windows desktop, warning that from now on, my name was Nakashima Rieko, that the name Tamae Hitomi would bring death to anyone who bore it.
Akahito began calling me Rieko, probably instructed to by Tsubasa to help my transition from this old identity, to the new one.
Rieko. Nakashima Rieko.
What a stupid name.
At least, that's how I felt about it. I'm sure the thousands of Nakashima Rieko's would disagree with me.
After the two days, I ventured outside the bedroom and found myself in a mausoleum of a house. Large, completely empty except for the masses of furniture covered by white sheets, there was dust on the floor at least an inch thick.
The first floor was pretty much just the main entryway and a bunch of rooms, unused, except for the massive kitchen that could have made any chef dissolve into delirium. I wondered if Akahito had cooked everything for me. If so, he was a very good cook. Was there anything he wasn't good at? Oh wait, talking, yeah, that was it.
I resisted the urge to peek out the curtained windows. I didn't need to know where I was. It was not worth it. What if Tofukuji had stationed his people outside this place? No, better to retreat from the world. Besides, the netbook was more than enough to satiate my longing for the outdoors. Facebook and Twitter FTW, indeed.
The second floor was all bedrooms, each more opulent than the last, and grand bathrooms with sunken tubs and dual sinks in every one.
Was this how the rich lived?
I didn't find myself getting jealous. I just wanted our old two room apartment with the small, cramped kitchen area Mom always complained about.
But that was not possible. Not anymore.
I found an old piano next to the entryway and gathered the courage to play a note. The discordant tone drifted through the empty, dusty house and three hours later, when Akahito finally found me huddled underneath a bed, covered in dust and half asleep, he scolded me and swore he'd tie me to a chair if I didn't behave.
"Why are you here?"
Dinner time.
Akahito didn't serve me in my room anymore, and we ate together in the small alcove next to the kitchen. It was cold noodles with eel and salmon. I liked the noodles, but try as I might, the fish just didn't go down right. I was probably the only Japanese person who didn't like fish.
He paused in the middle of swishing his noodles into the small cup that held the broth. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I mean. Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be guarding Tsubasa or something?"
His fingers moved elegantly as he set his lacquered chopsticks down on top of his mostly-clean plate. "I am."
Face set in the familiar passive expression that could've meant anything, he watched me intently as I set down my full rice bowl. "No, you're not. You're guarding me. Why?"
"Tsubasa has decided your safety is of a higher priority than his. In any case, he can defend himself quite well enough without my assistance," he said matter-of-factly. "Now, eat your food. I don't want to be accused of starving you."
He wasn't starving me. In fact, if I'd just had the appetite, I was pretty sure I would've weighed approximately the same as a small blimp, what with my inactivity. But I just wasn't hungry. Even though Tsubasa's bodyguard was an excellent cook, the food just wasn't...the same.
Of course it's not, you stupid idiot. He's not Mom.
I was aware, almost painfully aware of how thin I'd become. I could practically see the bones protruding from my wrists, and let's not even talk about my hip bones. "I'm sorry. The food is delicious. I just...I don't really feel like eating."
He sighed. "You must eat. Otherwise, how can I train you?"
My ears perked. This was the first time in a week since Akahito had mentioned teaching me, since he had taken Dad's sapphire wedding band as collateral. "You will? When? How?"
He slid a glass of water across the table towards me. "I will. When you are three kilograms heavier. As to how, you will have to wait and see. Tsubasa will want to be here to see and participate. I know his father quite well, but well...Tsubasa knows him better than anyone else. Tsubasa can teach you what you need to know."
The chopsticks clattered down my nerveless fingers. "Tsubasa knows? Tsubasa knows I want his father dead?"
"He is the one who asked I help you."
What kind of son would want his own father dead? What did his dad do to make Tsubasa want him dead?
No, on second thought, I didn't want to know. "Okay. Three kilos? That's, like, six pounds. That's going to take forever!"
"It would not if you would just eat everything I make," he pointed out. "Tsubasa will be here soon. He will not be pleased to see you as the skeleton you are."
The bottom fell out of my stomach and if anything, I felt even less of an appetite, despite the fact all I had the whole day was a small croissant and a cup of coffee, black. "Soon? How soon?"
Akahito glanced at the silver Rolex around his tanned wrist. "In about an hour."
I stood up, the smell of fish almost too much to handle. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He looked at me from the small table. "And why would it matter? Do you like him? Did you want to put on makeup and pretty yourself to greet him at the door like some prostitute?"
His words couldn't have hurt more if he'd just swept his hand back and slapped me across the face. The voice was mild, but the connotation was anything but that. "Why the hell would you say something like that?"
My voice shook, and I didn't bother to hide it. He knew I was upset. A deaf, blind and mute person would have known.
"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, and leaned back in his seat, his arms braced around the back of the wooden chair. "I can say anything I want to you. Starting now, your training starts. You think taking down Tofukuji will be so easy? He will use anything, everything against you. If you can't even brush off one stupid innuendo that means nothing, how do you expect to take him down? Did you think you could just sneak up to his bed while he was sleeping and stab him through the throat?"
Actually I did. But I'd never admit it. No way. Not now. "I didn't think it would be that easy."
He snorted. "You really are a stupid girl. You swore to kill Tofukuji Hiro, even if it killed you. Well, no offense, but the chances of that happening are very high. I hope you are prepared."
My stomach heaved.
I knew. I knew there was no way I could possibly kill Tsubasa's dad, not without an extreme sacrifice...or two.
"I..." I swallowed down the bile that threatened to completely undo my composure. "I'm prepared."
"That's good."
Tsubasa stepped into the kitchen. "That is very good, Rieko."
My jaw dropped halfway to the tiled floor.
Akahito rose from his seat silently, and bowed low at the waist. "You are early, Master."
The bodyguard didn't seem remotely interested nor surprised in his charge's appearance. Maybe Tsubasa has a hobby of changing the way he looked.
His hair was short, or maybe it was always that short, . Hard to tell when it's held away from a face as delicately molded as a porcelain doll.
But that wasn't what almost made me swallow my tongue.
Black.
His hair was black. Pitch black, in fact. The same hue as a starless night sky.
I couldn't think of a single thing to say, and Tsubasa saw that. He liked it, judging from the slow smile that spread across his dusky rose lips.
"Do you like it?"
The only thing that came out of my lips was a slow release of breath, almost like someone had punched me really softly in the stomach.
He turned in a circle, arms held out. "I find it does me well to change my appearance. Although, it is a pity about my eye color. Too many people remember the green eyes. Still, that is why we have contact lenses, don't you think?"
His eyes weren't green anymore. They were a very normal dark brown, no different than the millions of other Japanese people I saw.
But to say Tsubasa was normal was like calling the Mona Lisa graffiti.
He was beautiful, the complete epitome of beauty and he knew it.
If he'd been a girl, guys would've been completely at her mercy.
Thank god for that.
As it were, I wasn't so sure girls didn't drool over him every time he walked past a crowd of them.
But could the pretty boy teach me to kill his father?
He was close enough to touch. But I wasn't so sure if I wanted to. "You...you're not normal. I'm going to kill your dad. Even if it's the last thing I do. And you're okay with that? You're going to make Akahito teach me?"
"And if I said yes?" he asked and took the seat I had so recently vacated, putting a foot on the edge, resting his chin on his upraised knee. "What would you say to that, Nakashima Rieko?"
My hands shook. My heart pounded painfully against my chest. "What kind of son are you?"
He smiled, but I saw the way his shoulders stiffened. My question had not pleased him at all. "The kind of son who is no longer willing to stand by while his mother is beaten by a man who swore before a crowd of five hundred he would respect her, protect her. The kind of son who is no longer willing to watch while his sister is beaten, beaten in places where it would never show. The kind of son to a man who bullies, terrorizes the people around him, and can't live with that anymore. That is the kind of son I am. Any questions?"
No. No questions. Embarrassed as I was, I couldn’t look away from him.
Akahito pushed back his chair, the discordant screech grating on my fragile nerves. "Are you hungry, Master? There is more if you should so desire it."
Tsubasa sighed, waved a hand in the air, his normal brown eyes never leaving mine. "No. I ate. How is she?"
"She will not eat," replied the bodyguard in a contrite voice. "I must admit, I am at a bit of a loss. I have consulted cookbooks, tried to find dishes that would appeal to a teenage girl, but I'm afraid I have failed."
"Never mind that," said Tsubasa. “How far have you progressed?”
“I…” Akahito’s gaze flickered.
“You what?” A hardness entered his charge’s voice. A hardness I did not, could not trust. "I asked you how far you progressed. That should not be such a hard question, should it?"
The bodyguard clenched his jaw. "No, it is not. Forgive me. I meant to say that progression at this point has been...slow."
"Slow?" Tsubasa's eyebrow went up nearly to his hairline. It was a neat trick and one I had tried to achieve with no results whatsoever. "It has been a week. I have left her here with you for a week. For a reason, Akahito. But that reason has not been fulfilled. Would you like to tell me why?"
At this point, I had to look away. For some reason, I felt like an intruder, someone completely unwanted, even though I was the subject of their conversation.
Had Akahito been anyone else, he would've shuffled his feet. But because he was a bodyguard, a man shaped into form by discipline and violence, he faced Tsubasa full on, gaze steady. In a way, I felt more respect for him than I wanted to.
"I realize this might be construed as a dereliction of duties, Master, but at the time, I did I thought was best."
Tsubasa turned abruptly to me. "Do you want revenge now or later?"
Stunned, I could only blink at him. "What?"
He turned back to Akahito. "Place yourself in her shoes, Akahito. Her father is dead. Her mother is dead. Would you or wouldn't you want revenge as swiftly as possible?"
Akahito nodded wordlessly.
"Then?" asked Tsubasa, voice gone quiet. I couldn't help but compare it to the utter and complete quiet before a storm. "What is the cause of the delay? Didn't I tell you to start her training right away?"
"Wait," I said, holding up a hand to stop Tsubasa before he could go off on his bodyguard again. "Wait a minute, please."
"Yes?" And from the depths of the dark brown contacts, I saw the glint of his genetically flawed green eyes, brighter than anything else. "What do you want?"
"It's...it's not his fault," I said, stumbling over my words like feet dragging over a patch of wet sand. "It's not Akahito's fault."
Akahito let out a small sound. "Do not bother to cover up my mistake, Rieko."
"Shut up," I said, unable to look at him, caught as I was in the spell of Tsubasa's eyes. "It's really not his fault. The first night here, he asked me if I wanted revenge. I said yes, and he said he would teach me. But I'm not sure if I can handle it right now. I'm sorry, Tsubasa. Yes, I want Dad's murderer to die. Yes, I want him dead so much I can barely think of anything else. But...Akahito..."
"Akahito what?"
Me a killer? It seems ridiculous. "Akahito said I would bring about your father's death."
And for the first time, I saw him smile. But I wasn't blind enough to mistake it for one for humor. "Poetic justice, wouldn't you say?"
I didn't see anything poetic about it. "So, it was true, then? You two are going to train me? To kill your dad?"
Tsubasa's smile didn't lessen, not at all. "Of course."
And that answer, for some reason, disturbed me a lot more than it should've. "Why don't you do it?"
He shrugged. "Why should I? When I've got you to kill him for me?"
Said like that, it kind of made sense. Kind of. "Okay. But why me? Why don't you hire someone else? There's got to be people out there, people who would kill for money. Why would you pick me?"
Tsubasa leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "Those people are professionals. They are very good at their job, but they do not have a personal stake in my father's death. When they encounter a problem, they will have no problems abandoning the job. Also, there is the particular problem of payment. What if my father were to track my money outgoings? My father is a smart man. I would like to think I am smarter than he is, but I am not certain, and it is that uncertainty I cannot trust. You would do anything to see him die. You would jump at the chance to kill him. For free. For honor cannot be paid by money, don't you think? How would you feel if I offered you money in exchange for a chance to kill the man who killed your parents?"
He was right. About everything. Of course he was.
His father had to die.
"How long do I have?"
"As long as you need," said Tsubasa.
I took a deep breath and felt the contents of dinner tumble uncomfortably in my stomach. "How about tomorrow?"
