Everything flashed through Paul's head at once when the woman said those words- “So you're the ones looking for Mr. Kotaki?”

  The time when he had taken karate classes as a child, only to huff and stumble around while the bigger, older boys threw him onto the tatami mats. The times where he had been complimented on his physique and sheepishly answered, Oh, thank you, but I'm not trained in anything, it's just for my health. The comics he'd read in high school, dropped to the ground as he mimicked the super moves before giving up, sitting down, realising how impossible they were in real life.

  This didn't quite feel like real life. It couldn't be real life, because up until now, his life was depressingly uneventful. He only clung onto the seat, looking up into her face as the silence that stretched between them gave him all the time in the world to think of this, and wish: If only I’d really committed to something back then.

  The car creaked, and she leaned forward to lean one elbow on it.

  “Heyy, cat got your tongue? I'm Shinozen, yaaaa~?” She extended her tanned hand in his direction, wafting a strong smell of antiseptic and hairspray along with it. “We'll work this out, don't-cha worry. I don't like to tussle, no way, like, only if it's necessary, ya know? Soo, just hop out of here and we can chat, m-kay?”

  What the hell is she talking about? Paul thought, still shaken. But he only hesitated a moment, before grabbing on, the sweat on his skin turning him slippery.

  I just need you to understand…I have to pay my penance. I need to make up for everything. Yugi, please…

  She gripped onto him with a grip rather tighter than anticipated. And then, with a clear shing sound, something shot down her sleeve and straight into the meaty flesh of his palm.

  “Ah-!” Paul cried out, recoiling into the dark interior, and spread his fingers to be greeted with the sight of bright blood splattered across his lacerated skin. A vicious pain attacked him, as if he’d been dipped into scalding water.

  Shinozen only laughed at him, and flicked her hand up, wherein the hidden blade that had emerged was retracted back into the depths of her jacket sleeve.

  “Ugh, you like, totally suck at this, don’t ya? O-M-G, I mean, it’s like, the first rule of talking to strangers, just don’t take their hand, ahahah…!” She began to lean on the car again, but this time with a little more force. It tilted back, but it did so from the central point of gravity, and Shinozen’s hand hovered a millimetre above the metal.

  “Well, don’t even stress 'bout that oopsie, k? It’ll be over in just a sec…～.”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Shards of glass began to pour around Paul’s legs. He fell back hard against the seat, sliding down the intact window behind him. “Hang on, please, ma’am, I’m not a threat! Wait wait wait wait-”

  Fukutetsu. He couldn’t see the boy anywhere. Had he crawled out of the wreck in time?

  Shinozen’s leering pretty face slowly slipped out of view the further the car canted back.

  “Awww, sowwy, but this is just my job, you know?” she taunted, in a sickening baby-voice that made his stomach clench up into an acidic ball. “It’s totes not my fault that you’re here, ‘cause, like, he sent me here! We’re just like, two babes caught up in some joushi drama, ain’t we? And like, Kotaki pays me soo much money, so I don’t want ya going and offing him, eheheh!”

  I can only understand half of what she’s saying.

  That thought was momentarily the only one left in Paul’s brain as with a terrifying groan, the car was lifted completely off of the ground, and shot vertically across to slam right into the wall of the nearby building.

  At first, he didn’t even realise he’d hit his head. The first thing he felt was gravity pulling from every direction as he experienced what it was like to be a piece of clothing in the washing machine, and then the bone-shaking impact of the wall meeting what was left of the vehicle’s side. Only then did the pain suddenly explode behind his eyes, delayed.

  A thin line of blood trickled down the back of his neck. Hazily Paul wondered if he had fractured his skull. He struggled weakly, but with an arm pressed against the headrest and his body wedged in between the seats, it was to little avail.

  The next thing he wondered was if he was about to die here.

  “So, ah. You’re an angel.”

  Yugi’s flowing hair fanned out behind his head as he turned to meet Paul’s gaze. The scene was mundane, quiet–the young man’s hands buried in the sink, rinsing the mug out of which he had drunk warm chamomile tea minutes before, accompanied by Dexter’s muffled music upstairs. The cup of coffee in Paul’s hands burned right through to the skin.

  “You are already aware of that.” The rushing tap abruptly ceased, followed by the clink of the mug upon the drying rack. Yugi’s pale eyes were soft, observant. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “...”

  Paul couldn’t help but avert his eyes. He felt strangely threatened by the beautiful boy that stood in front of him, like a white lily that bloomed in a landfill. Perhaps it was the gently knowing tone of his voice, or the shame that coiled in his throat.

  “I…meant to ask you,” he finally said. “When somebody, um, ‘sins’, in the eyes of God ... what is it that they do to earn forgiveness? Is something like that even possible? Does he remember it, even when you apologise?”

  “What an interesting question.”

  Yugi turned to lean the back of his palms upon the counter-top, and he was so short that he had to stand on his tiptoes to do so. “That depends on the severity of the sin. Not every one can be easily forgiven.”

  Paul swallowed. “They say that an accomplice to a crime is just as bad as the criminal.”

  In the silence that followed, Yugi did not fill it, but merely tilted his head like a bird, as Paul uncomfortably shifted in his seat on the sofa. He couldn’t bear the hot cup anymore and set it down as if it were a coal.

  He was being prompted to continue, he knew. But he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to.

  “I ruined lives,” he whispered.

  Yugi’s long white lashes met in a slow blink.

  “I…sent families out of the city and stamped the papers that told them to go.” Paul wasn’t sure how he was managing to speak all of those words out loud. Each one caught his throat like briars, like razor blades. “If I hadn’t–they would be here. Housed. Fed.”

  Paul looked up again, blinking rapidly. “You’re listening too well,” he said hopelessly. “I don’t think I deserve a shoulder to lean on.”

  Yugi tapped the tips of his delicate stem-like fingers together.

  “You were an accomplice to something sinful, that is true.” Silken shift rustling, he stood from the counter, approaching Paul with a purposeful step. The man was frozen in place as his face was lifted, touched, by a hand that felt both colder than a corpse and more tender than any mother.

  “The answer is that there is no such thing as forgiveness. Only penance.”

  Paul’s heart dropped into his stomach.

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  “A soul is cleansed by the maintenance of balance. When evil is caused to be from it, then so too must kindness and good emerge into the world. Why look to others to grant you absolution? They will not secure you a place in heaven.”

  He was entranced, unable to look away from the lips that pronounced such understanding, sympathetic words, and Yugi’s hand only grew colder. It slipped down the light fuzz of his regrowing stubble, further, reassuring and firm upon his shoulder.

  “It is your responsibility to change, and your responsibility to pay your penance. The only one who may absolve you is God. None else.” Yugi smiled, and it stretched apart the corners of his mouth.

  “You have an endless capacity to do good. Does that not make you beautiful?”

  As the car tipped to the side and began to slide down the wall, Paul yanked his arm free. The crucifix at his neck felt like a brand, thrumming against his skin.

  Yugi… it was you, who made me feel like I had the chance to move on from my past.

  Shinozen’s voice cut through the haze.

  “Yo, what the hell! What the hell are you up to!”

  From through the empty window, Paul gained a bleary-eyed view of the street on which the woman was now standing inert, both hands held stiffly out in front of her as if she were fighting the grasp of some invisible force. The muscles in Shinozen’s arms took on a sudden carven appearance, quavering ever so slightly, tiny veins popping out on the backs of her hands.

  Then suddenly her wrists snapped together with a clang. No matter how violently she strained, Shinozen was unable to move them apart once more, leashed by invisible cuffs.

  Fukutetsu’s black boot stepped into view, and all the air rushed out of Paul’s lungs, dizzying him with relief. The boy was holding onto one arm, and blood splattered the back of his shirt, but his voice was just as unwavering and arrogant as it had been. And he was laughing.

  “Man, you should seriously know not to wear things like that in active combat!” he mocked, as he took another step forward, tossing a small metal bar up and down in his hand. It looked to be part of the rail that the car had plowed into earlier. “I mean, don’t you worry about stuff getting caught on things from time to time? You idiot. You made this too easy.”

  “Aww, I see how it is,” Shinozen hissed, the girlish cadence draining from her words, and her voice dropped an octave in pitch. “I guess I forgot ‘bout your magnetism, huh? Ahh, what a total shame.” The two bronze bracelets at her wrist were slightly warm, and they hummed with the intensity of the powerful force holding them unwaveringly together. “Soo, what rank are ya, cutie? Like, second, or third?” She began to circle him, and Fukutetsu stayed in place, his arms crossed confidently over his chest.

  “Low fourth, actually,” he corrected.

  “The doctors miscategorized me twice because they didn’t expect someone my age to be so high up already. I don’t even need to worry about my psychic score anymore. Heh. There’s no point.” Fukutetsu flung out his hands, flexing them a few times like a silent warning. “You’ve now essentially been handcuffed, so–”

  Shinozen’s foot lashed out in a perfect upwards swing to kick him in the jaw and his words were snuffed out like a candle.

  She sent him flying into the car, and the rocking collision caused Paul to groan, pulled from the sweet nothingness his half-closed eyes were urging him to fall into.

  “Ahh-! Ah, ahh, ugh-”

  “You talk too much, cutie,” she said, as Fukutetsu gasped for air, head flung back as he trembled where he lay, scrabbling for purchase to lift himself up but falling back down once again inert and stunned. Paul watched in silent fear as Shinozen used both hands to grab him by the collar, before flinging him back down hard into the concrete. Fukutetsu went still, his only movement being the shuddering of his shoulders and his wet, shaky gasps.

  Paul realised his hands had fallen upon the glovebox again.

  The gun was simply lying there. It had skidded down a little during the chaos, but somehow it hadn’t gone off, still loaded, still ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

  He gripped the cold plastic, almost reverently.

  Shinozen was turned away, busy with flinging Fukutetsu around. She couldn’t see him at all, and was paying even less attention. He had the perfect opening to shoot her in the head. Her blue hair splayed out behind her, a brightly-coloured target.

  The morbid thoughts crept back in full swing. Shinozen was going to die in ten seconds, and that would be that. Would she crumple to the ground like a cut marionette? Would her head explode into a mist or would it simply be pierced cleanly in one place, a tunnel that would allow him to see through to the other side of the street? The safety switch scraped against his thumb. It had been too much power for him then, and now the mere thought weighed down his weary shoulders.

  Paul’s trembling hand elevated the gun up to his line of sight, and Shinozen bobbed in and out of the sight, and Fukutetsu was no longer within his sight. He was sprawled out on the ground, attempting to lift his head only for it to be stepped upon by the heavy sole of her boot. Shinozen laughed again, watching the young man writhe and cough, splattering a mouthful of vomit over the cold tarmac, and then she kicked him in the ribs and something in him moved out of where it was meant to be with an audible crunch.

  Shinozen was going to die in four seconds. He wished he could avert his eyes, but that wasn’t possible. Not before he pulled the trigger. His finger had suddenly become very cold, cold enough that the metal now felt comparatively warm.

  Shinozen was going to die in one second.

  “...!”

  No longer occupied with beating the life out of Fukutetsu, she raised her head to turn back to the wreck that housed her second prey, and then she froze as her eyes made contact with the yawning gape of the muzzle.

  Her irises were bright green, the colour of aloe vera leaves.

  Paul’s fingers suddenly lost all their strength.

  God help me, I can’t do it.

  The weapon slipped from his unresponsive hands and the sound of it hitting a single corner on the ground echoed in his head even worse than the sounds of Fukutetsu’s body had.

  I can’t kill someone. Not yet…

  “Aha-ha-ha-ha! OMG, I didn’t even see ya there!”

  She stepped over the prone teenager to reach Paul’s stiffly frozen body, leaning down to grasp at the gun as best she could with both hands still locked together.

  “Ya know, even though he’s barely like, alive anymore, your lil’ buddy still has his neuropathy up,” she said conversationally, shifting her fingers around, curling around the trigger.

  “He totes wasn’t lying about being 4th rank. Just for that, I’m not gonna kill him~”

  He could hardly see anything anymore. He felt proud, though, somewhere faraway. Of course Fukutetsu was so strong; he was looking forward to him going far. He had high hopes for him. He’d had higher ones for himself–or perhaps those were pipe dreams, which were almost the same kind of thing.

  Paul could feel the gun’s muzzle poking against his clammy, cold forehead, and she shifted it around a few times, pushing some of his slicked-back hair out of alignment, like she was trying to find just the perfect position to blow his brains out.

  “You coulda been Zero Hand’s top man,” she whispered. “Heard you were super good at sniffing out illegals.”

  BANG

  “...”

  It wasn’t Paul’s gun that had gone off.

  The heat and brightness that flashed in front of his eyes blinded the man for a moment.

  The gun had been shot right out of Shinozen’s hand. It spun wildly away and then it too fired into the opposite wall with a second deafening bang and in the wake of the unexpected chaos the scene that filled Paul’s vision was a welcome, cherished one. Shinozen’s stunned face, her forearm sliced across by the path of the foreign bullet, stumbling to the side trying to regain her balance, bound hands desperately flexing in vain.

  As her blood streaked across the concrete, Paul struggled to raise his aching head.

  “That angel freak sent out more of you?” Shinozen shouted, her face unrecognizably twisted with pain and rage.

  It was Kousuke Himaro who was standing at the top of the steps, and lingering a few paces behind was Yorugai, her face hard and her right arm curled around a small medical kit. The tall man lowered his weapon slowly, and Shinozen visibly shrunk down, her old bravado falling away like leaves. She was outnumbered and disadvantaged now, and she knew it.

  A rush of warm relief flooded Paul’s aching body. Where before he had been hopeful that Fukutetsu could place them in the lead, now there was nothing that brought him more joy than seeing a fellow competitor approach.

  “...Fukutetsu,” he rasped, and found that his vocal chords hardly worked. “Get…him. Take h-him.”

  “This is not a productive experience for any of us,” said Himaro evenly, as he began to walk down the steps, a trail of smoke pouring from his revolver. “Please, step away from our boys, and we’ll take them back without a fight. I’ll even give you a moment to collect yourself.”

  “Ummm, so that you can hunt down my boss? Nuh-uh, no way!” she snapped back, and the air took on a sudden heaviness. The railings that had not been damaged in the crash now began to creak, until they were torn right out of their places with a shattering crash of concrete pieces and small cascading rocks. A formation of three on either side hovered around Shinozen’s body, and Paul heard the wind picking up, whistling through his icy-cold ears.

  Himaro only sighed in mild disappointment.

  “It was worth the attempt,” he said, and tossed his revolver calmly off to the side.

  “Hang on-” Paul tried to say, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. It felt like his teeth were sunken into thick cotton. Are you crazy? he wanted to scream. Fukutetsu isn’t moving! He’s just lying there, why aren’t you taking him away! Yorugai’s strong hands clamped around the neck of his suit, and she dragged Paul out of the car with no more effort than a sack of wheat.

  The last thing he coherently thought was– Yugi put his faith in such a fool.