*Saburo

  ‘The fuck… since when did I become a fuckin' shisha? Did this punk just walk up here to tell me to thank Hoshi for him? What fuckin' balls!’

  I couldn’t help but let my brain spiral in rage as I processed the behavior of the brat walking away. I turned my head to look at the reason why that brat was still breathing after pulling shit like this every time he came by.

  I stared coldly at Hoshi, who was sitting on a wooden stool near the entrance to the counter. He had his face down, mending the veins of an arcane-short sword with a plasma touch-pen. Seeing he didn’t look up, I spoke, my voice like ice.

  “I’m going to burst that cunt’s leg next time he walks up and talks to me like we’re pals.”

  Hoshi slowed his hand, meeting my eyes. His gaze was confused, dismissive.

  “Let the kid be,” he replied quietly, returning to the sword.

  Those four words made something in me snap. My thoughts weren't organized, but my intent was clear as glass: I’m going to fuck this kid up today.

  I angrily dropped the shard-filter I was cleaning and grabbed the metal baseball bat resting at the right side of the counter. I spun it once with my right hand and paced toward the exit, but Hoshi had already anticipated me. He stood in front of the door, hands raised to chest level.

  “Saburo… Saburo, wait…” he pleaded, waving his hands to gesture for me to chill.

  “Get the fuck out of my way, Hoshi,” I said, standing toe-to-toe with him.

  He gently placed his palm on my left chest and reached for the bat with his other hand. “Just relax and let’s talk this out…”

  He tried to pry the bat from my grip, but I didn’t budge. He strengthened his pull, desperately trying to take it away, but I held firm.

  “Do you think I’m playin' here?” I flared. “That fuckin' brat walks in here demanding gigs like we owe him, uttering our names with no respect in front of our boys, using our gym-shit without paying… and I’m supposed to let it slide because you said so?! It makes us look bad!”

  Hoshi waved at me to tone it down.

  When we decided to deal with Evolves and Enforcers here in Sumiyoshi, we had rules. One was: *No fighting or disagreement in front of others.* We are One voice and One mind. But today, I was breaking that rule. Doing nothing about this brat did harm to our work. In this business, the people we call customers and subordinates will drown us in our own blood the second they smell weakness.

  “No need for the yelling,” Hoshi said. “Look, this kid… he was once a runner for us…”

  “And he bailed on us!” I cut him short. “Many times. That’s why he doesn't work for us anymore.”

  Hoshi sighed with frustration. “Right… he did. But he’s grown, and he scraps fuckin' good.”

  “And we have five E-Grades that are better than him,” I snapped, poking my finger at Hoshi and then myself. “Three of them aren't much older, yet they stay in line. We make sure of that.”

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  “Don’t do that. Just don't. He owes Ororo loads of coins, courtesy of his pops. He dives into Gates and manages to come back every time. You still think he’s not a good fighter?” Hoshi was sounding pissed now. “It doesn't take a genius to know the kid is probably retarded or something, but with the shit he’s in, why can’t we go easy on him?”

  At least he admitted the kid was an annoying tard.

  “I call bullshit. We aren't a fuckin' charity, nor are we saints. What does his debt have to do with us? He’s not the only sewer-cum we know that Ororo has his faggot-ass boot on.”

  “Bro, we can’t help him with that. Sooner or later Ororo will harvest his organs to get his coins back. Fighting over the brat won’t change that.”

  “What if we hire—”

  “FUCK NO!” I shouted. “I’d rather eat diseased horse shit than have that cunt here again. What do we gain? Beef with a big-time loan shark? One day his luck will run out either in a Gate, or on the streets. We’ve seen kids better than him reach the end of their luck.”

  I was intense, but I kept my voice low enough. “Are you hearing yourself? There’s nothing on that kid but bad credit, shit, and a premature death lurking in his fortune.”

  “The kid isn't hurting anybody. What’s the issue in just being nice?” Hoshi asked. I could see the realization of defeat in his eyes, but he was still reaching.

  “No harm to anyone but our rep. How people perceive us keeps us alive. Gangs lurk around our workshop, looking for a reason to murk us; it’s our rep that keeps them at bay. You want to puncture that for a mentally challenged mutant?”

  “Fuck me, Saburo, can’t I ask you to do this for me? Why are you making it sound like being nice to one kid will destroy everything? How will one kid, fuck with sixteen years of work?” Hoshi looked at me with a cocktail of defeat, vexation, and suspicion. He looked at me like I was the crazy one.

  “See… I know you and a lot of people don’t like the boy. I ain't fuckin' blind. But can’t you just ignore his attitude? Should I really be begging you for that?”

  I helplessly sighed. Hoshi had transitioned from defending the boy to questioning our friendship.

  “I don’t like your outrageous attachment to this kid. I don’t like the kid. But...I... I yield..I will never bring this up again.”

  Hoshi’s eyes relaxed. The tension faded into a touch of surprise.

  “Can we talk about what really matters?” he proposed. “Hirano is coming in two days to collect the latest batch of elixirs. Found anything interesting?”

  “Nah… just the usual shit from E-Grades and some parts from D-Grade Aggressors,” I replied, returning to the counter. I dropped the bat and picked up the shard-filter.

  “So basically, nothing to pitch for the next sales?”

  I gave him a cold, indifferent stare. I was still sour. He was trying to fill the air, but the disagreement remained.

  “What about Fushigoru?” Hoshi asked.

  “His order got to him. He requested five more crates of arcane-blades…” I laughed sardonically. “…and arcane-guns.”

  “He knows we don’t deal arcane-guns. They draw too many eyes. Both from the thieves and the Law.”

  “He came down here himself last night,” I said. “While you were hosting Scrap Night.”

  “He never does that. Thinks he’s too big to talk to us face-to-face.”

  “He wasn't acting high and mighty with his snake-skin boots dragging in our mud,” I snickered. “Bro was asking where you were, why we don’t deal D-Grade melee weapons with serious firepower, asking for dangerous Aggressor parts—shit that would make us stink so much the Enforcers would bust in the same day. He even offered to connect us with a guy he knows.”

  I laughed out loud. “He even praised our gear. Not just ‘nice shit.’ A freaking poem of praise.”

  “That doesn't sound like him. The leech doesn't do match-maker, and he sure as hell doesn't give praise.”

  “You think he’s planning on stealing from us?” Hoshi went silent, looking down. After a few seconds, his pupils darted to mine. “You think he was wired? You think he’s a rat?”

  “It felt like a fuckin' interrogation, man. Even with the smiles. I just nodded and gave one-word replies. Even if he’s wired like an electric pole, he has nothing on us.”

  “But he has the gear he bought. If he’s a rat, that’s a big fuckin' problem,” Hoshi pointed out. “Why don’t we halt production for a few—”

  “Hell no,” I interrupted. “We aren't closing shop because some overgrown cum fucks with the cops. We have quotas.”

  “Saburo, shit has been going down in the Conquest District. Shops dealing in Aggressor parts are being raided. Not by police—by fuckin' Enforcers.”

  I let that sink in. The boys in blue are one thing. Enforcers are a real fuckin' problem.

  “It just started,” Hoshi continued. “Drugs, food, alcohol, weapons. Everything from the Gates is being targeted.”

  “Where’d you get that? Word would have flooded the streets.”

  “One of our droppers running points in Conquest was chatting with the crew. I called the kid over. Then I talked to Kanaki during Scrap Night. Turns out the kid wasn’t capping.”

  “How’s Kanaki’s boss taking it? Aren't they gonna rub the Enforcer’s hands?”

  “Kanaki implied the Enforcers won’t touch the top runners. They’re going after small fries. We fit that profile.”

  I weighed the options. “I get that the streets are heating up, but we can’t just close. It takes time to weld arcane-weapons. If we fail to deliver, we lose coins, cred, and customers. We can’t chicken out.”

  Hoshi shook his head. “You’re taking this too lightly. We can’t keep our asses in the wind, especially with whatever stunt Fushigoru is pulling.”

  “I’m not saying we shouldn't act. I’m saying we handle delivery another way. Use the Fish Market.”

  “What about production?”

  “We have stock for emergencies. We could crack those crates.”

  Hoshi looked convinced. “Transport and security at the Fish Market will cost a penny, but our emergency stock should hold us until the heat dies down. Alright, let’s do that.”

  We talked over a few more details before heading to the production room to oversee the guys. As we walked,

  my mind circled back to the brat.

  Hoshi might have told me to back off, but I’ll get rid of anything that’s bad for business.