"Yeah, this here's the same man who started the Tojo Restoration and later led the Clan through the Third Underworld War against the Omi Alliance, the Yomei Alliance, and the Seiryu Clan," Hiragi said, his expression darkening as he fixed Nishitani with a hard stare. "The Tojo Clan came out on top because of his courage, his leadership, and the fact that when everybody else was losin' their damn heads, he kept his. The man's a legend in our world, ya understand me?"
His eyes narrowed further as Nishitani's shaking became impossible to hide. "And the absolute balls on ya to pull a knife on him? That ain't a pinkie no more, Nishitani, that's a freakin' knife in yer gut and yer head on the ground!"
Whatever was left of Nishitani's composure collapsed. He stumbled forward onto his knees and bowed so deeply that his forehead pressed against the asphalt. "Please forgive me!" he cried. "I didn't know, I swear on my mother's grave I didn't know who he was. I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry, please forgive me!"
Saburo let out a quiet breath and gave a tired shrug before looking toward Hiragi. "Hiragi, just… let this one slide, for my sake," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "It's been a hell of a long time since I was that man, and I left that life behind years ago. I'm just a civilian now, so who I was back then doesn't mean a damned thing anymore."
Hiragi's eyes widened. "But, Saburo-sama!" he protested, only for the older man to raise one hand and stop him before he could go any further.
"I know where you're coming from," Saburo said. "Rules, consequences, all that High Table mumbo jumbo I spent more years than I care to remember living by." His expression softened as he looked toward Nishitani, who seemed only seconds away from completely soiling himself.
"Back then, I would've thrown him a blunt knife and watched what happened next. I was more monster than man, and I thrived on pain almost as much as I thrived on fear." He shook his head slowly. "But I'm not that man anymore. I've spilled far too much blood, done too many horrible things, and spent too long convincing myself that any of it was necessary."
His gaze shifted toward Logan, and for a moment the two men simply looked at one another. "Real messed-up shit. The kind that'd keep you up at night," Saburo continued, "and half the time, they weren't even justified. I did them just because I could, because there was nobody strong enough, mean enough, or scary enough to tell me no, and nobody willing to stand in front of me and say that enough was enough."
Saburo returned his attention to Hiragi before straightening and bowing his head, the gesture immediately making the younger man flinch. "So, I'm asking you, and no, I'm begging you, let this one go."
"Saburo-sama, please, raise your head," Hiragi said quickly as he lifted both hands, visibly unsettled by the sight. "This ain't right, ya shouldn't be bowin' to me over somethin' like this." He looked around at the men in suits, all of whom seemed equally uncomfortable, before exhaling and rubbing the back of his head. "Alright, okay, fine. That bein' said, I still gotta report this to Kazama-san and Takao-sama, but I'll make damn sure they know ya personally gave this idiot a pass."
Hiragi's gaze snapped back toward Nishitani, who flinched before he even spoke. "Ya hear that, ya son of a bitch?" he snarled. "You're still breathin' only 'cause Saburo-sama decided ya get to keep breathin'. Now bow yer damn head and thank the man before I change my mind for him."
Nishitani dropped lower until his forehead struck the asphalt again. "T-thank you, Saburo-sama!" he cried out. "Thank you for your mercy, I swear I won't forget it!"
"Alright, show's over. Time to pack it in," Hiragi said as he tilted his head toward the men in suits, who immediately began moving through the intersection to gather up the unconscious and injured thugs scattered across the asphalt. "And while yer at it, get this damned cockroach outta my sight."
Before anyone could reach Nishitani, Logan raised one finger and stopped them. "Just one second," he said as he stepped carefully between the bodies and made his way toward the wounded man.
Nishitani looked up at him, but before he could say anything, Logan reached down, grabbed him by the front of his jacket, and hauled him upright until they were face-to-face. "I want you to listen, and I want you to listen real good. You take this back to your boss, to every last five-dollar-suit, bargain-bin jewellery wearin', hobo-lookin' monkey he has runnin' shit, and to anyone else still dumb enough to think I'm just some washed-up bastard they can push around."
His grip tightened as his expression darkened. "When my wife died, she made me promise that no matter what happened, I'd keep goin'. So, I did. Even when they threw me into the vilest pit in hell, I kept goin'. Even when they came at me from every side, even when every monster I dragged into the light decided I should lay down and die, I didn't. I kept movin', I kept fightin', and every son of a bitch who thought they could finally put me down ended up buried beneath the consequences of that mistake."
His jaw clenched harder. "And the ones who refused to stay down learned real fast that I could do a hell of a lot worse."
Sakura's expression sharpened as he watched, while Saburo's gaze remained fixed on Logan with a heaviness that suggested he understood every word a little too well.
"When I finally got out, I came here because I wanted to disappear," Logan continued through clenched teeth. "Not just hide, but fade into the background, keep my head down, stay quiet, and act like I didn't exist. Your boss probably thought that was weakness, maybe even cowardice, but it wasn't a lifestyle and it sure as hell wasn't a choice, it was a Goddamned sentence!"
His eyes dipped for a moment before lifting again, colder now, but steadier. "Then, something changed. I found purpose again, I found a reason to keep goin', and most of all, I found hope in people who know exactly what it feels like to be lost, alone, and broken. For a long time, I thought I was on my own. I ain't anymore."
Nishitani's breathing grew more erratic as Logan's face hardened further.
"So, here it is. People keep askin' me if I'm back," Logan said, his fist tightening in Nishitani's jacket. "And for the longest time, I didn't have an answer." He leaned in closer as the rancid scent of cigarette smoke rolled across Nishitani's face. "But now? Yeah, I'm thinkin' I'm back!"
A faint smile tugged at Saburo's mouth, carrying far more pride than joy.
Logan's eyes narrowed to slits. "So, you tell that bitch-faced asshole Dojima that from now on, I run my shit my way. If he sends another crew to strong-arm me, if he tries to put his hands on any of my girls, or if he thinks he can take a cut from anything we built together, then forget sendin' his boys home in a box. There won't be enough left of the Dojima Family to fill one."
His mouth pulled into something that was not quite a smile. "And if he thinks I'm screwin' around, tell him to explain something to you." Logan leaned toward Nishitani's ear and spoke softly enough that only the younger man could hear him. "Ask him exactly what happened to Yoshitatsu Zenshin, and the Zenshin-kai."
That was enough.
Nishitani's eyes widened so dramatically that for a moment he seemed to forget how to breathe, his head turning slowly back toward Logan as the name settled into place. His gaze dropped toward the tattoo running along Logan's left arm, lingering there for several long seconds before the meaning finally clicked.
"Y-you're…" Nishitani managed, the words leaving his mouth in a strained whisper as recognition finally settled in and whatever remained of his composure collapsed with it.
The fear hit him all at once, his entire body beginning to tremble as the color drained from his face, while a dark stain spread between his legs, ran down the front of his slacks, and dripped from the cuffs onto his shoes. Logan released his grip and let Nishitani crumple to the asphalt, where the man remained staring up at him with a level of terror that surpassed anything he had shown before.
Hiragi took one look at the mess and groaned before turning toward the men in suits. "Jeez, get a damned towel on the back seat before ya throw him in there. I ain't havin' the whole car smellin' like piss because this jackass forgot how to control his bladder."
The men moved immediately, grabbing Nishitani beneath the arms and hauling him upright before dragging him toward the waiting vehicles along with the rest of the battered crew. Logan watched them work while rolling his sleeves back down over his forearms, his attention shifting only when Hiragi approached him with a crooked grin.
"You must be Logan Deschain, the Hand of God himself," Hiragi said as he looked him over with open curiosity. "Man, never thought I'd end up meetin' two living legends in the same damned day. In case ya haven't already figured it out…" He jabbed a thumb toward his own chest. "I'm Daichi's uncle."
Logan's eyes widened slightly. "Wait, you're the uncle he's been talkin' about this whole time?"
Hiragi chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, that'd be me. I don't show my face around the kid much because I like givin' him his space, and besides, I carry a shit ton of baggage I don't want followin' him around just because he happens to share blood with me." He extended a hand toward Logan. "Outside of whatever Daichi's already told ya, the name's Tōma Hiragi, Chief Security Officer of the Tojo Group."
Logan glanced at the offered hand before taking it firmly. "Pleasure."
Hiragi gave his hand a solid shake before letting go, his expression softening somewhat. "I also wanted to thank ya personally for lookin' out for that knucklehead more than once. Kid's a dumbass sometimes, but he's got a good heart, and I'd appreciate it if ya kept an eye on him when I ain't around."
He dipped his head slightly, the gesture far more sincere than the roughness in his voice might have suggested.
"Yeah," Logan replied with a slow exhale. "Kid could use a few lessons on takin' care of himself, though."
Hiragi barked out a laugh. "Believe me, that kid couldn't fight his way outta a wet paper bag if his life depended on it. Still, that's kinda the point, because I want him as far away from this life as I can keep him. He ain't like us, and I'd rather he never has to become like us either."
Logan's expression grew more serious as he met Hiragi's eyes. "Take it from me, I wasn't about this life once either. Didn't think I had it in me, didn't think I'd ever become the kinda man who could do half the things I ended up doin'." He glanced briefly toward the bodies still being loaded into the cars before looking back at Hiragi. "You'd be surprised what people are capable of when they're pushed hard enough and got nowhere left to run."
An audible scoff cut across the junction, drawing everyone's attention toward Sakura as he slipped his cap back over his two-toned hair. "Looks like this shit's all wrapped up. I'm going home," he said. "And don't worry about me calling any of this in. It's my day off, and I sure as hell can't be bothered with the paperwork."
He had barely started to turn away when Saburo called after him. "Hey, we've got hotpot going back at the café, and there's more than enough to go around. Why don't you come join us, and I'll make you that favorite cup of yours while we're at it?"
Sakura stopped and looked back, his mismatched eyes settling on Saburo for a moment before his expression softened by the smallest degree. His gaze then shifted toward Hiragi, and the coldness that returned to his face was immediate enough to make the man's expression tighten.
"Thanks for the invite, Saburo-san, but I've lost my appetite."
Sakura let the silence that followed sit between them for a moment before turning his attention toward Logan, studying him with a look that carried an unspoken certainty that this would not be the last time their paths crossed.
He tucked both hands into his pockets and gave a faint nod. "Be seeing you."
"Hey," Logan called after him, making Sakura stop once more and glance back over his shoulder. "Thanks for the help back there. I appreciate you steppin' in, especially when none of that shit had anything to do with you."
Sakura gave a small shrug, his hands still tucked into his pockets. "Don't worry about it. I was already in the neighborhood, saw a bunch of trash trying to dogpile one guy, and figured I might as well lend a hand." His expression tightened slightly. "Sides, I've always had a thing about weak assholes pretending they're strong just because they've got numbers on their side. That kinda crap pisses me the hell off."
Hiragi scoffed loudly enough to make the contempt unmistakable, his eyes settling on Sakura with a level of scorn that made even Logan shift uncomfortably where he stood. "That's real rich comin' from you."
Sakura's mismatched eyes snapped toward him, whatever restraint had been in his expression hardening almost immediately. "You got something to say, Hiragi?"
"Nothin' I ain't already said before," Hiragi replied through clenched teeth, one hand remaining buried in his pocket as he stared Sakura down. "And I ain't wastin' another damned second of my time or another breath arguin' with a goddamned traitor."
Sakura turned fully toward him, his expression darkening as the tension between them tightened. Hiragi's gaze drifted upward until it settled on the white five-plank emblem stitched across Sakura's cap, and another scoff left him, harsher and more disgusted than the first.
"And ya got some serious balls walkin' around with that on yer head," he said, his jaw tightening. "After what ya did, after everythin' ya turned yer back on, ya still think ya got the right to wear that symbol like it means nothin'?"
Something dangerous flickered across Sakura's face as he stepped toward Hiragi, the anger he had been holding back finally breaking through the restraint in his expression. "I've let you walk away with a hell of a lot of things over the years, Hiragi, and I've swallowed more of your shit than I probably should have, but traitor?"
He shook his head slowly, his mismatched eyes hardening. "You've got some serious stones calling me that, especially when you're still playing fetch for that damned coward you love so much."
Hiragi's face contorted with anger as he bared his teeth. "Watch it, pal. Ya might be wearin' a badge these days, but yer treadin' dangerously close to a line ya really don't wanna—"
"What?" Sakura cut in, a bitter laugh slipping from him. "The hell you think you're gonna do? We ain't in Furin anymore, this is the real world." His expression twisted as years of resentment finally began spilling free. "Funny how you've got all this fire now, because I sure as hell didn't see any of it when I needed you most. I didn't see it when I needed Ume most."
His eyes glistened with anger as he stared Hiragi down. "'Anyone past this point who causes pain, who brings destruction, who carries evil in their heart will be purged by Bofurin without exception.'" His voice sharpened around the words as he repeated them back to him. "Weren't those your exact words the first day we met?"
For the first time, Hiragi's expression faltered, though only for a moment.
"You think I'm beyond forgiveness? Fine, because I don't need it," Sakura continued, his words growing rougher as the anger gathered behind every word. "I sure as hell don't need it from Ume, and I don't need it from you. I was ready to throw everything away back then, my badge, my honor, my career, every damned thing I'd spent my life building, because none of it mattered compared to what had happened."
His jaw tightened as he stepped closer. "I went to Ume for one reason, because I thought the man who spent his whole damned life preaching about protecting people would stand beside me when it actually mattered, and what did he do?" Sakura said as his restraint finally cracked. "Nothing!"
Logan and Saburo remained silent, neither man willing to insert himself into something that had clearly been festering long before either of them had become part of the conversation, though the tension in their expressions made it clear they understood how close the argument was to becoming something worse.
Sakura's breathing had grown ragged as he fought to rein himself back in, but the years of fury burning behind his eyes refused to fade. "So don't you stand there and call me a traitor, Hiragi, because I'd wear that damned sign around my neck for the rest of my life before I ever became the kind of bastard who spent years screaming to the whole world about how much he loved and cared for his sister, only to turn his back on her the second she became inconvenient."
"He chose the Tojo Group over us. He chose!" His gaze bored into Hiragi with an almost feverish intensity. "She needed him. I needed him!"
Hiragi's jaw tightened, but Sakura gave him no room to answer.
"And as far as I'm concerned, you, Ume, Tsubakino, Mizuki, Momose, and the rest of you aren't any different from the bastards I slaughtered for what they did to her." His eyes narrowed as the final words came through clenched teeth. "My only regret is that I didn't put every last one of you in the same ground screaming right alongside them!"
Hiragi's face twisted as he started forward, but before either man could close the distance, Saburo reached out and caught him firmly by the shoulder. Hiragi snapped his head around, only to find the older man looking back at him with a quiet, weary softness that carried more weight than any shouted warning could have managed, and after a moment Saburo slowly shook his head.
Hiragi's anger remained written across his face, but he stayed where he was.
Saburo then turned that same steady gaze toward Sakura, and something in the older man's expression finally reached him. The fury in Sakura's face dimmed almost as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind exhaustion and something far older that neither Logan nor Hiragi could easily name. He drew in a slow breath, held it until some of the tension left his shoulders, then released it before turning away from them altogether.
Without offering another word, Sakura slipped his hands into his pockets and resumed walking down the street, disappearing farther beneath the glow of the streetlights.
"Yeah, that's right, keep walkin'!" Hiragi shouted after him. "That's what ya do best, ain't it? Put a knife in the backs of everyone who gave a damn about ya, then turn around and walk away like it never happened, ya piece of shit!"
"Hiragi," Saburo cut in with a quiet warning that stopped the next insult before it could leave Hiragi's mouth.
Logan said nothing as he watched Sakura continue down the street without looking back, but the hardening of his gaze made it clear that whatever history existed between those men ran far deeper than anything he had been told.
****
Saburo drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he watched Sakura disappear farther down the street. "Shit, kid still has one hell of a chip on his shoulder, doesn't he?" he said, shaking his head. "It's been years, and he's still carrying that fire around like it happened yesterday."
"Yeah, well, ya heard him," Hiragi replied, his expression turning heavier. "Ume's been tryin' for years to extend an olive branch, but Sakura don't just throw it back, he feeds it through a shredder and mails the pieces back soaked in piss." His gaze dropped for a moment as old memories surfaced. "I still remember our days at Furin, and lookin' back on it now, it feels like a whole other lifetime."
Logan raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Sounds like you two were pretty tight before things went to hell."
"More than tight," Hiragi said. "Back then, Furin was family. Umemiya was basically everybody's big brother, and nobody looked up to him more than Sakura did." He tucked one hand into his pocket as his expression softened. "Then, that happened. Ume grieved, but Sakura completely crashed out, and what followed wasn't grief anymore, it was rage with nowhere to go."
His jaw tightened slightly. "The shit he and his boys did to those kids during the Dissolution makes some of the darkest days of the Tojo Clan look like a damn fever dream."
Saburo nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the corner where Sakura had vanished. "Some wounds cut too deep to ever heal properly, and some scars stay long after the bleeding stops," he said. "I've had conversations with both Sakura and Ume more times than I can count, so I know both sides of what happened, and I can understand where each of them is coming from." He sighed and folded his arms. "But nothing's ever going to change so long as one side keeps refusing to let go."
His eyes narrowed faintly as the memory of Sakura's expression lingered in his mind. "On paper, Japan calls Sakura a hero, while plenty of people out there still call him a monster. After enough years of hearing both, I guess he just stopped pretending he could be anything else."
Hiragi drew in a breath and let it out sharply before straightening the front of his jacket. "Anyway, I'm gonna get outta yer hair. Still got a job to do, and I've already wasted enough of the day cleanin' up somebody else's mess."
He dipped into a respectful bow before Saburo, then straightened with a harder look settling across his face. "I'm sorry for the whole damned debacle, Saburo-sama, and ya have my personal assurance this ain't happenin' again. Hell, if the next idiot gets any bright ideas, I'll straighten him out myself, and maybe his patriarch too while I'm at it." A grin tugged at his mouth as he glanced toward the café. "Tell Daichi his unc says hi too."
Saburo returned the grin, his expression softening as he nodded. "Take care of yourself, Hiragi, and send Takao my regards when you see her. Sano-san too."
Hiragi bowed once more, then gave Logan a short nod before turning on his heel and heading back toward the waiting vehicles. He lifted one finger and circled it through the air, prompting the suited men to finish loading the last of Nishitani's battered crew into the cars and SUVs.
Doors slammed one after another as engines came alive, and within moments the convoy began pulling away from the junction, merging onto the main road in a staggered line. Hiragi climbed into the front passenger seat of the final car, looked back toward Saburo and Logan one last time, then shut the door before the vehicle rolled off after the others.
Logan watched the taillights disappear before letting out a tired sigh and leaning backward until his spine cracked several times. "Well, that was a real shitstorm," he muttered, rolling one sore shoulder as the aches from the last twenty-four hours seemed to catch up with him all at once. "Man, gettin' old sucks."
Saburo barked out a laugh and jerked a thumb toward the café behind them. "Now you know how I feel every damned day. Come on, everybody's waiting for you, and I'm starving. Besides, if we stand around out here much longer, that sukiyaki's gonna turn into cold soup."
Logan chuckled as he bent down, picked up his discarded jacket, and slung it over one shoulder before falling into step beside him. After a few paces, his gaze dropped toward Saburo's injured hand, where blood still clung between his fingers. "By the way, you really oughta get that looked at."
Saburo flexed the hand and glanced at the cut as though Logan had pointed out a paper scratch. "Please, this little thing? I've had my belly sliced open with a katana before, and I strangled the bastard who did it with my own insides. Afterward, I scooped everything back in, taped myself up, drove to the hospital, and walked through the front doors."
He chuckled at the memory and shook his head. "Still remember the look on the doctor's face when I told him what happened. Poor bastard looked like he was about to faint before I did."
Logan slowed for half a step and stared at him, trying to decide whether Saburo was exaggerating, but the old man's expression gave him absolutely nothing. "That's… hella hardcore, old man."
"You know it, kid," Saburo replied with a satisfied grin as the two of them continued toward the café.
"By the way, the Red Dragon of Tojo?" Logan asked, snorting as he glanced toward Saburo with a crooked grin. "Christ, that's so damned lame."
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, ole' Hand of God," Saburo groaned, rolling his eyes as he kept walking. "You ain't exactly in a position to start judging anybody else's nickname."
****
The hours slipped away as night settled deeper over the city, while the café remained warm beneath its amber lights and filled with the lingering aroma of beef, carrots, mushrooms, radish, and rich broth that seemed to cling to the air long after the sukiyaki pot had been emptied. Laughter came easily around the table. Loud and boisterous as old stories gave way to friendly jabs and increasingly exaggerated tales from lives that felt almost impossibly distant now. Logan spoke about his years with Strider, while Saburo countered with stories from his youth in an era of disco, bell-bottoms, easy money, and enough questionable decisions to keep everyone entertained well past dinner.
Empty beer cans steadily accumulated between the plates, and by the time Logan, Saburo, and Daichi had gone through more than any of them cared to count, all three had flushed faces and increasingly loud voices, punctuating arguments and punchlines by crushing empty cans in their hands before reaching for another.
Dahlia laughed along with them, sometimes hard enough that she had to clutch her stomach when the motion sent a sharp ache through her battered ribs, though she found herself not caring nearly as much as she probably should have. Between Saburo's relentless teasing and Logan throwing it right back at him, Daichi's booming laughter, and Light's bright smile whenever one of them said something particularly stupid, something inside Dahlia began to soften.
The warmth of the table stirred memories of a simpler and far happier time, when her father, mother, Scarlet, and Dahlia herself would spend long evenings gathered around a simmering pot of nabe or sukiyaki, talking over one another while the windows fogged from the steam. No matter what her father eventually became, Dahlia could still remember who he had been before pride and obsession twisted him into someone she barely recognized, back when he was only a rookie trainer at Tracen and when he looked at her and Scarlet not as instruments for greatness, but simply as the daughters he loved.
Her gaze eventually lowered toward the fizzy bubbles rising through her drink, and for a few quiet seconds the laughter around her seemed to blur into the background as an old weight settled against her chest. She found herself wondering how many things might have turned out differently if her father had remained that man, and how different all of their lives might have been if a thousand tiny choices had gone another way. It always came back to the same two words that had haunted her for years, words that seemed harmless until she allowed herself to linger on them for too long.
What if.
By the time the last plates had been picked clean, there was little left besides streaks of sauce, an inch or two of broth at the bottom of the pot, stray pieces of vegetables, short strands of udon, and a few stubborn grains of rice nobody had the room to finish. Everyone had reached the point where even the thought of another bite seemed unbearable, and when the clock finally crept past eleven, Daichi and Light began gathering their things and saying their goodbyes.
Daichi had finally decided he ought to show his face at work again, while Light needed to prepare for school the following morning, and the two continued talking all the way toward the door. Daichi wore the kind of evil grin that suggested he was already planning something irresponsible with his newly acquired winnings, while Light responded with a deadpan stare that made it obvious she had already heard far too much about whatever ridiculous purchase he intended to make.
By midnight, the tables had been cleared, the dishes washed and stacked away, and the café carried a strange mixture of broth, coffee, soap, and disinfectant where the smell of dinner had begun giving way to the clean stillness of closing time. Saburo eventually excused himself for a hot bath and some much-needed time to unwind, leaving Logan and Dahlia seated together near the center of the café beneath the soft glow of the track lights. Logan leaned back in his chair with his final can of beer resting loosely in one hand, taking another slow sip before placing it on the wooden table, while Dahlia sat opposite him with a cup of black coffee steaming quietly between her hands.
For a while, neither of them spoke, because after the noise, the laughter, the stories, and everything they had survived the night before, the silence no longer felt uncomfortable. It felt earned.
"So…" Logan said, drawing the word out as he exhaled. "Back at the precinct, Lightning let it slip that she got her tail handed to her by a certain racer." A soft chuckle escaped him as he rolled the beer can between his fingers. "She was tryin' to be coy about it, but she's always been a shitty liar. Took me about half a second to figure out she was going on about you."
Dahlia's ears stilled for a moment before a grin spread across her face. "Oh, you have no idea. She let her guard down more than once, and I could tell I was getting under her skin a little."
"Sorry to break it to you, kid, but she was holdin' back," Logan replied before taking another sip of his beer, letting the carbonation prickle across his tongue before the familiar bitterness followed. He leveled his gaze on Dahlia before she could answer. "Apparently, those psychos who were tryin' to kill racers last night were crooked cops who decided to throw in with some little weasel without gettin' the green light from everybody who mattered. Long story short, the whole damned mess came down to one guy makin' stupid decisions, and as luck would have it, he decided I'd make a good punchin' bag while he worked off some stress."
"Wait, what?" Dahlia asked, her eyes widening. "I mean, if the guy was crooked, sure, but there are still laws against that, right? Wasn't there a camera in the room?"
Logan scoffed and leaned back in his chair. "You've heard the stories. You Japs take a lotta pride in that near-perfect conviction rate, but what nobody likes talkin' about is how far some cops are willin' to go to get a confession."
He gestured loosely with the beer can. "Sometimes that means leanin' on somebody until they crack, and sometimes it means beatin' the shit outta them until they admit to somethin' they didn't even do. Ain't exactly a well-kept secret."
He paused before a faint grin returned. "Anyway, Lightning came stormin' in already pissed as hell, took one look at me, and pretty much turned the bastard into a piñata, and I definitely don't mean the fun kind."
Dahlia blinked at him. "What's a… piñata?"
"It's this party game," Logan explained. "Mostly popular with Mexican families. They fill this thing with candy, hang it up, blindfold some kid, then give 'em a stick and let 'em swing until they break it open. Real popular with kids back where I'm from."
Dahlia tilted her head, considering it. "That's a pretty strange game, but honestly, it does sound kind of fun."
"Not when the piñata's a grown-ass man gettin' tenderized by uma strength," Logan said with a chuckle, though the amusement faded as he thought back to the scene. "Point is, I've never seen Lightning that unhinged before. Umas grow up knowin' they're stronger, faster, and tougher than regular humans, so most of them learn pretty early how much damage they can actually do if they stop holdin' back. Even when she used to get into it with Bee—"
"Hold on," Dahlia cut in, staring at him. "She and your wife actually brawled? As in, fists and everything?"
"Fists?" Logan barked out a laugh. "Try whatever the hell they could get their hands on. Those two wrecked my damned office twice and almost got themselves suspended more times than I care to remember." He shook his head, though there was a warmth behind the frustration. "It didn't happen all the time, maybe once or twice when things really boiled over, but the worst was at a Christmas party after they both forgot Perdi had spiked the eggnog with way too much booze."
Dahlia laughed despite the ache it sent through her ribs. "Sounds like the Fifteen were a complete circus."
"Tell me about it," Logan said before taking another drink, though his expression slowly fell as he settled the can back on the table. "But the way Lightning talked about you told me somethin' else. She's got her sights on you now, and once she puts a face to a goal, she chases it until there ain't nothin' left between her and the finish line."
His eyes settled firmly on Dahlia. "Doesn't matter if she starts with a lie, a rumor, or some half-baked idea. She'll keep diggin' until she finds enough pieces to make it real." He exhaled slowly, his gaze growing heavier. "And right now, kid, I'm afraid you're public enemy number one."
"Well," Dahlia said as she leaned back and crossed her arms, "she and the rest of C.H.A.S.E. can throw everything they've got at me. I'm not gonna lie down and roll over just because they're fully operational now." She lifted one finger and pointed it toward Logan, a stubborn grin tugging at her mouth. "If they want me that badly, they can have me when they've earned me."
"I wouldn't get too cocky, kid," Logan replied, giving her a level look over the rim of his beer can. "Yeah, you're a champion now, and sure, the Shibuya Stakes was one hell of a race, but if we're talkin' Twinkle Series terms, that was a G3. Impressive, yeah, but still small-time compared to what's waitin' above it."
He leaned forward slightly, his expression becoming more serious. "You wanna start runnin' with the big girls, then sooner or later you gotta step into a G1, and in the MRA that means a Diamond Race. Believe me when I say you ain't ready for that yet, because the stakes jump through the damn roof, and the racers you'll face would make Barbarossa, Yamino, and Rekka look like toddlers throwing a tantrum on the playground. Hell, even Queen hasn't grown a spine hard enough to attempt a Diamond yet, at least not until she finally earns herself a place on the Blacklist."
"Speaking of the Blacklist," Dahlia said as she leaned forward, the confidence on her face fading into something more uneasy. "I saw her, Logan. Raiko Tempest, the Sovereign of the Storm, the Blacklist's number one."
Her gaze dropped briefly toward the coffee between her hands as she searched for the right words. "I don't know if she was there because she wanted to help me or if I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, but there was something wrong about her. Not wrong like she was crazy or anything, but…" Dahlia swallowed. "She wasn't normal."
Logan raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean she could literally shoot lightning from her fingers," Dahlia said, her eyes widening as the memory returned. "She made streetlights blow apart, she melted the asphalt, and for a few seconds it honestly looked like the whole storm was moving around her because she wanted it to. I thought I was hallucinating from the pain until Queen told me—"
"Queen was there?" Logan interrupted, his expression sharpening immediately.
"Yeah, she was the one who turned me loose," Dahlia replied. "But before I got away, she told me something about the Sovereigns, that they'd transcended whatever limits the rest of us are still stuck with. The way she described it. They aren't bound by the same rules anymore." Dahlia hesitated, then tried to put the thought into words. "Think of the Zone, except it isn't really the Zone. It's something beyond it."
Logan's eyes narrowed as he placed his beer on the table and leaned forward, steepling his fingers in front of him while he studied her face. "Kid, I'm askin' this with all the love in the world, but did Lightning knock you in the head harder than you're lettin' on?"
Dahlia rolled her eyes and raised both hands. "Of course, you don't believe me. Honestly, I barely believe me, and I was standing right there watching it happen."
"I ain't tryin' to make fun of you," Logan said, his gaze remaining level. "But listen to what you're tellin' me. This ain't just some racer movin' faster than she should or pullin' off somethin' everybody thought was impossible. You're tellin' me Raiko Tempest can throw lightning around like some damned comic-book character."
He gestured toward her with one hand. "I've heard all the chatter about the Sovereigns too, and I always figured people were exaggeratin' because racers love turnin' anybody they can't beat into some kind of myth. Now you're sittin' here tellin' me those stories might actually be real."
"I know how crazy it sounds, and I know I sound like a crazy person saying it," Dahlia replied as she planted both hands on the table, her tail whipping behind her with growing agitation. "But think about it for a second. How much do we actually understand about the Zone? For that matter, how much do we really understand about umas at all? Our existence is already something nobody can completely explain, and half the oldest stories about us sound like mythology until you remember that we're standing here proving at least part of it true."
Her expression tightened as she leaned closer. "So, what if there's another state beyond the Zone, something nobody has seriously tried to reach because nobody even knows it exists? What if the Sovereigns found it first?"
Logan remained quiet for a moment, watching her before finally leaning back again. "Well, unless Raiko herself or one of the other Sovereigns decides to walk into some research facility and volunteer to spend the next six months gettin' poked, scanned, and tested from head to toe, I doubt we're gonna get a straight answer anytime soon."
He picked up his beer again, though the thoughtful look in his eyes betrayed the skepticism in his words. "Still, after everything that happened last night, I'm not exactly in the mood to call anything impossible anymore."
Dahlia lowered her gaze toward the obsidian surface of her coffee, watching the steam curl upward as the rich scent of roasted beans drifted between them. "Life really sucks sometimes, doesn't it?" she said, her fingers tightening slightly around the cup. "Every time you think you've finally crossed the finish line, every time you think you've climbed the mountain and earned the right to breathe, the goalposts move again. Everything gets bigger, higher, harder, farther away, and after a while it starts feeling like the world's going out of its way to watch you lose just so it can rub your face in it."
Logan scoffed softly and leaned back in his chair. "Survival of the fittest, kid. I ain't much of a fiction guy, never have been. Don't spend much time on novels unless somebody practically forces one into my hands, because I'm more into manuals, strategies, training theory, all the boring shit that puts normal people to sleep."
His expression shifted slightly as an old memory came back to him. "But there was one book Bee got me into years ago, written by some guy named Koushun Takami."
Dahlia's ears twitched as she looked up. "You don't mean Battle Royale, do you?"
"Yup," Logan replied with a small nod. "America's got its own spin on the idea with The Hunger Games, and they turned that into movies, but the whole concept always reminded me of that original book. Kids get thrown into a game where everybody's fightin' to survive, and only one gets to walk away with the prize."
He rolled the emptying beer can slowly between his fingers. "That's what I mean when I say survival of the fittest. Society likes pretendin' we've grown past all that, but civilization's basically one giant battle royale with better clothes and more paperwork. Some people enter the game from the bottom with nothin', while others start with money, connections, family names, and every advantage handed to them before they ever take their first step."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze settling on her. "So, don't think of it as the goalposts movin', kid. Think of it as reachin' the next level, then the one after that, and the one after that. You keep climbin' until you decide you're done, or until life decides for you."
"That's a pretty depressing way to look at things," Dahlia said, scowling at him over her coffee.
"Maybe, but that doesn't make it wrong," Logan replied. "Sometimes you gotta look at the world for what it is instead of what you wish it would be." He lifted the beer can and drained what remained before crushing it slowly in one hand. "Changing the board doesn't mean the game disappears. You could walk away from the MRA tonight and swear you'll never race another illegal mile again, but tomorrow you'd still have bills to pay, food to put on the table, and a roof to keep over your head. You'd still have people to protect, choices to make, and consequences waitin' on the other side of every one of them."
He gave a small shrug and set the crushed can on the table. "Is that depressing? Yeah. Is it fair? Hell no. But there's a quote that stuck with me for a long damn time, and it goes somethin' like this. Life is pain, and anybody tellin' you otherwise is tryin' to sell you somethin'."
Dahlia remained quiet, her eyes fixed on him as the words settled between them.
"And you and I both know what it feels like to reach that point where everything gets so heavy that you start wonderin' if there's any reason to keep playin' this crazy game called life," Logan continued, his words losing some of its rough humor as his expression hardened. "I've lost count of how many times I wanted to stop, how many times I thought I didn't have anything left in me worth draggin' forward, but every time I got there, I chose to keep movin' anyway."
He held Dahlia's gaze, something stubborn and unyielding settling behind his eyes. "Because givin' up would've meant lettin' the world decide it was right about me, and I'll be damned before I ever give it that satisfaction."
A soft smile tugged at Dahlia's face before gradually fading into something more thoughtful. "So, I guess this is where the real question comes in," she said, lifting her eyes toward him. "What now, Trainer? The Stakes are over, I crossed the finish line, and somehow I'm still sitting here in one piece, so where the hell do we go from here?"
Logan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he set the crushed beer can on the table, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling while he searched for an answer. "Honestly, kid, I don't know," he admitted before lowering his eyes back toward her. "Truth is, I never really thought that far ahead. I was so damn focused on gettin' you across that finish line that everything after it was just this blurry little spot I kept pushin' outta my head."
His expression dimmed slightly as he looked down. "And if I'm bein' completely straight with you, part of me had already prepared for the possibility that there wouldn't be an after."
Dahlia gave him a flat look. "Gee, thanks."
Logan laughed softly and rubbed at his jaw. "Precautions, kid, that's all. Don't mean shit now." He looked at her again, and this time there was no teasing in his expression. "What does mean somethin' is that I'm proud of you. Proud of what you accomplished, proud of what you survived, and proud of what you did to get yourself there."
Heat rushed into Dahlia's face as a softer smile returned. "Thanks for that too," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I've heard my dad say that to Scarlet so many times that I kinda stopped thinking I'd ever hear it said to me."
"Your dad didn't get you across that finish line, kid, and neither did I," Logan replied. "You can slide me some credit if it makes you feel better, and maybe give him a pinch if you really wanna be generous, but everything that happened on that road was you. Every decision, every dodge, every time you got knocked down and kept movin', that was all yours."
He gestured loosely with one hand. "And I'm gonna be straight with you about somethin' else, because that win of yours has pretty much thrown every pundit, bettor, trainer, and street-racin' loudmouth into a tailspin."
Dahlia frowned slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're the nobody who came outta nowhere," Logan said as he leaned forward. "No lower-grade résumé, no Quartz races, no Garnet races, nothin' worth puttin' on paper except one Obsidian."
"Obsidian?" Dahlia asked, tilting her head as her ears twitched.
"Special races," Logan explained. "That little dance you had with Lady counts as one. They don't really fit into the normal progression, so nobody treats 'em like proof you can handle the established ladder."
He settled back again and continued. "So, when you look at it from everybody else's perspective, you were basically a freshie, not even a proper rookie yet, and then you walked into a Sapphire and won the damned thing. Not just any Sapphire either, but the Shibuya Stakes, one of the craziest races on the calendar."
He spread his hands slightly as he searched for the right comparison. "Think of it this way. Imagine some post-debut uma in the Twinkle Series with barely anything to her name suddenly showin' up and snatchin' gold at the Hanshin Daishoten. Nobody would know what the hell to make of her, and that kind of upset only leads to two things."
Dahlia watched him carefully.
"All eyes are on you now, and every rookie with somethin' to prove is gonna come after you," Logan said with a chuckle. "Shit, it reminds me of when Desert Rose took the Breeders' Cup Classic and suddenly every trainer this side of the States started lookin' at the dumb twelve-year-old who got her there."
His expression sharpened as the memory settled in. "They weren't lookin' because they were impressed either. They wanted to prove I was a gimmick, that the whole thing was a fluke, that I got lucky, and that I was just some snot-nosed kid who had wandered into a room where he didn't belong."
Dahlia's scowl deepened. "So. you think they're gonna come after me because they figure beating Rekka, Yamino, and Barbarossa was just beginner's luck?"
"You can't change people's perception with words, kid," Logan replied with a grin. "All you can do is burn 'em badly enough that they finally realize the flames are real." He folded his arms as he studied her. "Remember what I told you before, if you really wanna run with the big girls, then sooner or later you gotta step into the higher-grade races and prove Shibuya wasn't some one-night miracle."
His grin widened slightly. "And frankly, I'm curious as hell to see just how far you can go."
Dahlia chuckled and raised a fist toward him. "So long as you're there by my side, I can run straight through the depths of hell and still find my way back."
Logan lifted his own fist and bumped it against hers, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh, you ain't gettin' rid of me that easy, kid. I already sunk too much time, money, and gray hair into you to start quittin' now." His grin sharpened as another thought came to him. "Speakin' of cash, though, there's still the matter of your prize, and I'm owed forty percent."
Dahlia's eyes widened so quickly that Logan nearly laughed before she even spoke. "Hang on, forty percent?!" she blurted as she sat forward. "When the hell did we agree on that? That's insane, Logan. That isn't a trainer's cut, that's highway robbery."
Logan gave her a level stare and gestured toward himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, do I look like freakin' Santa Claus to you? You think all that gear came outta the goodness of my heart, or that fronted your collateral because you said pretty please?"
He leaned back and folded his arms. "I told you from the start, kid, everythin' I put into you was an investment. You still haven't cleared your first tab with your race with Lady, the gear you shredded during the Stakes has to be replaced, and none of that shit comes cheap. Those cleats alone cost enough to make a normal person reconsider their life choices."
Dahlia folded her arms and sank back into her chair with a pout. "Damn, the MRA's an expensive sport."
Logan barked out a laugh and shook his head. "You said it, kid. It's just like street racing. You think those guys are hittin' the road in stock cars and whatever they found lyin' around the garage? Hell no. Most of 'em got at least fifty grand buried under the hood before they even start talkin' about tires, suspension, brakes, or all the other crap they keep pourin' money into."
He pointed loosely toward the table. "I'd bet Detective Harlow's got at least a hundred grand sunk into that Shelby of his, and believe me when I say your gear is still sittin' on the cheaper end of the spectrum."
Dahlia's pout disappeared as curiosity took over. "Hold on, you're telling me there are higher grades of racing gear than what I'm already using?"
"Oh, yeah," Logan replied. "Gear hasn't even shown you the really good stuff yet, mostly because you can't afford it without sellin' a kidney."
He raised one finger before Dahlia could get any ideas. "And before you ask, no, I ain't frontin' you several more grand just because you suddenly got expensive taste. Equipment only gets you halfway, and the racer has to carry the rest. You work with what you've got for now, learn how to squeeze every damned bit of performance out of it, and once you've earned the need for upgrades, then we'll start lookin' at the serious stuff."
Dahlia sank back into her chair with another pout and folded her arms across her chest. "Fine, have it your way, but I'm remembering this conversation when you eventually decide I'm worth the expensive stuff."
"Patience, kid, we'll get there eventually," Logan replied, unable to keep the amusement from his face. "First thing I gotta do is find us another race that's actually worth our time, and that's probably gonna be a little further down the road anyway. Gives you time to heal up properly, get your body back into shape, and make sure you ain't limpin' into the next one before we even—"
A knuckle rapped against the front window, cutting him off and making Logan glance over his shoulder. Dahlia leaned slightly to look around him, and the moment the familiar face on the other side of the glass came into view, Logan's expression twisted with immediate annoyance. Hazama had pressed his face almost completely against the window, one hand cupped around his eyes as he peered into the café while the other waved enthusiastically, the same oily, conniving grin spread across his face as though he had been waiting all night for the opportunity to ruin Logan's mood.
"Lord have mercy on my soul," Logan groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, guess I better go find out what that bastard wants before he starts lickin' the damn glass." He pushed himself back slightly and looked toward Dahlia. "What about you, kid? You stickin' around?"
"I should probably get going too," Dahlia said as she pushed her chair back and carefully rose to her feet, her tail swaying behind her as she tested her balance. "And don't worry about the trains, I'll just grab a cab this time." A small grin pulled at her mouth. "It's been a long time since I could say that without checking my bank account first."
"Well, look at you," Logan said as he rose as well and straightened his flannel. "Win one fat prize pot and suddenly you're walkin' around like Richie Rich."
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "Richie… Rich?"
Logan stared at her for a second before rolling his eyes. "God, kid, you really need some culture. Just get your tail outta here before I start makin' you a damn watch list, and we'll catch up later."
Dahlia chuckled as she slid her chair neatly back beneath the table, but her eyes dropped toward the half-finished cup of coffee still sitting in front of her. "Um…" She reached down and picked it up, then nodded toward the counter. "I'm just gonna take this to go."
"The old man keeps the cups under the sink," Logan replied with a faint smile.
Dahlia nodded and began making her way toward the counter. "See you later, Trainer."
Logan watched her for a few moments as she moved away, the amusement lingering faintly on his face before gradually disappearing. His eyes shifted back toward the window, where Hazama was still waiting with that infuriating grin, and a tired sigh escaped him as he pushed his chair fully beneath the table and headed for the door to see what the Overseer wanted.
****
The flint scraped sharp against the wheel before the flame leapt from Logan's silver lighter, catching the end of his cigarette as he drew in slowly. He snapped the lid shut with a clean click and slipped the lighter into his back pocket while the quiet alley remained washed in the amber glow of a single streetlamp. Most of the surrounding homes had already gone dark for the night, save for the occasional porch light and a handful of windows still glowing faintly, while muffled television chatter and bursts of electronic gunfire from somebody's speakers drifted through the cold autumn air.
Logan inhaled again, letting the bitter smoke settle into his lungs before exhaling a thick plume through his nose, his dark eyes fixed on Hazama as the man continued rambling with almost indecent enthusiasm about the race for what had to be the fifth straight minute. Logan had stopped properly listening somewhere around minute two.
"And that final sprint!" Hazama exclaimed, almost hugging himself as a delighted shiver ran through him. "Ahh, Logan-kun, I still get goosebumps whenever I watch the replay. That final burst, that desperate push, the train, the timing, all of it was simply exquisite. If only I could find some way to frame the entire moment and hang it on my wall so that every morning I could wake up and—"
"You know, whenever you're done grossing me the hell out, how about we get to business?" Logan cut in as he took another drag from his cigarette. "It's late, I'm tired, and I've got better things to do than stand in an alley listenin' to you ramble about how hard and wet your prick got watchin' teenagers race."
"Oh, Logan-kun, you say that as though you are somehow above such excitement," Hazama replied as he sidled closer with that oily grin of his. "Come now, surely you can admit that your heart was pounding just as hard as mine when your little bird made that final dash."
Logan turned his head and gave him a stare cold enough to wipe some of the amusement from Hazama's face, prompting the Overseer to retreat half a step with both gloved hands raised.
"Ooh, same old Logan-kun, always so charming," Hazama said before tilting his head and allowing the grin to return. "Very well, then, straight to business."
He clapped his hands together once. "Firstly, I would like to apologize for the unfortunate absence of the Winning Live. Leave it to the pigs to ruin what should have been a perfectly delightful evening, but rest assured, they will receive their just rewards in due time."
"I'm gonna pretend I didn't just hear that," Logan replied without changing expressions.
"And you should, because it need not concern you," Hazama said with a pleasant little tilt of his fedora. "In any case, the prize money has already been distributed accordingly, which I am quite certain your little bird has noticed by now."
He reached into his coat and produced a small black box no larger than a ring case, presenting it on his open palm. "She was meant to receive this after the Live, but circumstances were rather less cooperative than planned, so I was hoping you might deliver it in my stead."
Logan removed the cigarette from between his lips and accepted the box before flipping it open with his thumb. Inside rested an elegant ear cuff designed for an uma, the silver setting wrapped around a polished sapphire that caught the streetlight and gleamed with a deep blue brilliance. Engraved into the stone was the emblem of the MRA alongside the words The Shibuya Stakes, and Logan raised an eyebrow before looking back toward Hazama.
"Judging by that face, I take it you have never seen one before," Hazama said as he gestured lightly toward the box. "And before you ask, yes, it is genuine. That little stone alone is worth nearly eight hundred thousand yen, and the grade is rather excellent too, though once again I digress."
He folded his arms and leaned back slightly. "You see, the Regalia Series does not bother with plaques, trophies, ribbons, or those ceremonial little sashes the Twinkle Series so adores. Call those things prestigious if you like, perhaps even defining, but in the end they possess very little value beyond vanity. They are objects meant to be held up so the world can applaud you and tell you that you are special, yet the moment fortune turns against you, they become little more than decorations gathering dust on a shelf."
Hazama sighed softly before his smile sharpened again. "Praise is pleasant, Logan-kun, and applause is even better, but neither one fills an empty stomach."
Logan glanced back down at the sapphire as Hazama continued.
"In the Regalia Series, every victory is meant to leave something tangible behind," Hazama said. "Something with real value, something that can be worn, traded, sold, inherited, or displayed as proof that you survived whatever hell was required to earn it."
"So, let me guess," Logan said as he closed the box halfway and rolled it between his fingers. "Sapphire, Emerald, Diamond, all those grades ain't just catchy names. You actually get the stone that goes with the win."
"Bingo!" Hazama exclaimed as he clapped his hands together with obvious delight. "Precisely so. Racers throughout the MRA wear them however they please, whether on their silks, around their necks, along their ears, or anywhere else they fancy, because those stones tell a story without requiring a single word."
He spread his arms and turned once beneath the streetlight as though presenting an invisible audience before facing Logan again with both hands tucked behind his back. "And your little bird has not merely earned herself a Sapphire, Logan-kun, she has earned one from the Shibuya Stakes, one of the most infamous and demanding races in the entire Association."
Hazama's grin thinned as his emerald eyes peered through their narrow slits, the amusement giving way to something more calculating. "That will command quite a bit of respect wherever she goes, especially from those who understand exactly what surviving that race means." His head tilted slightly as the smile sharpened again. "Of course, respect is only one possibility."
Logan's eyes narrowed.
Hazama chuckled softly. "The other is that she has just painted a very large target on her back."
A few seconds passed before Logan snapped the box shut and slipped it into his pocket. "Alright, I'll pass it along," he said, taking another slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke into the cold night air. "So, are we done here, or you got another surprise tucked away in that coat?"
"How perceptive, Logan-kun," Hazama replied, his grin sharpening as he reached into another pocket and produced a second black box. He opened it with a flourish and held it out between them, revealing a polished gold lapel pin engraved with the words The Midnight Enclave, an emerald set neatly into its center. "Welcome to the Midnight Enclave, Logan-kun. You have most certainly earned it."
Logan raised an eyebrow and stared at the pin long enough for Hazama's smile to falter slightly. "What?" Hazama asked, tilting his head. "Surely you are not going to tell me you have never heard of the Enclave either."
"No, I know all about the Enclave," Logan replied, his expression hardening as he gestured toward the pin with two fingers. "It's your little trainers' club inside the MRA, and that ain't what's confusin' me. That there looks like a Gold pin, and unless somebody changed the rules while I wasn't lookin', that's a two-step jump. Thought every rank had conditions you had to meet before movin' up."
"Ah, so you have been paying attention after all," Hazama said, giving a light shrug. "Yes, you are correct. Ordinarily, a trainer progresses through the ranks one step at a time, fulfilling the appropriate requirements along the way. However, Overseers are permitted a certain degree of discretion, and we may elevate a trainer directly when circumstance warrants it."
His grin returned as he leaned in slightly. "Naturally, the Board would question us if we were to show favoritism without proper justification, but when it comes to you, Logan-kun, I very much doubt anyone would object."
Logan took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly before dropping it to the pavement and grinding the ember beneath his boot. "Thanks, but no thanks."
For once, Hazama looked genuinely confused. "You are turning down an invitation to the Midnight Enclave?" he asked, blinking at him. "That is rather unexpected. Normally, people would be falling over themselves for an opportunity like this."
"Don't get me wrong, I still want in," Logan said, cutting him off before he could continue. "But I ain't gettin' there because you decided to throw me a bone. Jesus, Hazama, with how much time you've spent stickin' your nose into my business, I figured you'd know me better than that by now."
His expression hardened as he pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, exposing the tattoo beneath. "Life spat me out with nothin' to my name, and I've been fightin' for every damn thing I got ever since. Even back at Strider, I had to claw for my seat at the table because nobody gave a shit about some nobody kid, and half the people around me were waitin' for me to screw up just so they could say they were right."
His eyes dropped briefly toward the ink before lifting again. "And this? I fought for every inch of it. They threw me into hell with every twisted son of a bitch inside lookin' to serve my head up to Roarke on a silver platter, and I survived because I killed the ones who came too close and scared the rest badly enough that they thought twice about tryin' again."
Logan stepped closer. "My entire life's been one long damned war, so what makes you think I'm gonna let you insult me by handin' me somethin' I didn't earn?"
Hazama said nothing as Logan held his gaze.
"I'll get there," Logan continued. "My girl will get there too, but we're doin' it on our terms. I don't need charity from you, I don't need favors from the Board, and I sure as hell don't need the MRA decidin' I deserve a shortcut because my name carries weight." His jaw tightened as he pointed lightly toward Hazama's chest. "You understand me?"
Hazama's expression went blank as his gaze lowered toward the gold pin, and for a moment Logan thought he might actually have offended him. Then Hazama's shoulders began to tremble, a low chuckle slipping from his throat before swelling into a full laugh. He tipped his head back and covered part of his face with one gloved hand, laughing hard enough that he eventually had to wipe moisture from the corner of one eye.
"Ahh, Logan-kun, you really are exactly as advertised," Hazama said once he had finally regained control of himself. He closed the box with a soft click and dipped into an exaggerated bow. "Well said, and my humblest apologies. How terribly pretentious of me to assume that the Hand of God would accept a crown simply because someone placed it within reach."
He slipped the gold box back into his coat and immediately produced another, flicking it open with his thumb. This time, the pin inside was far simpler, a dull stainless-steel lapel piece without the polish or grandeur of the first.
"Steel," Hazama said, holding it out with renewed amusement. "The entry rank of the Midnight Enclave, exactly as you requested. No shortcuts, no charity, and no special treatment." His grin sharpened again. "From here on, Logan-kun, if you want the rest, you will have to earn every last one."
Logan lowered his gaze toward the steel pin for a moment before accepting the box, snapping it shut, and slipping it into his pocket alongside Dahlia's sapphire cuff. "Alright, that works for me, but since I've got you here, there's something I wanna ask."
"Oh?" Hazama replied, tapping one gloved finger thoughtfully against his cheek. "A question for me, Logan-kun? That's a first. Let me guess, you wish to know where you and your little Nightingale go from here."
Logan's expression hardened at how quickly the man had read him, which only made Hazama laugh.
"Ah, do not give me that look, Logan-kun, it is only natural," Hazama said as he tapped his chin and considered the possibilities. "You have conquered Shibuya, collected your first Sapphire, and announced yourselves rather loudly to the rest of the Association. The obvious question is what sort of stage should come next."
His grin sharpened as something occurred to him. "If there is one race that immediately comes to mind, I would suggest the Umihotaru Kinen."
"The… what?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The Umihotaru Kinen," Hazama repeated. "It takes place in late February and carries a Sapphire classification, though unlike the Shibuya Stakes, it is structured as a straight relay sprint across the Tokyo Wan Aqua-Line Expressway."
Logan's eyes widened slightly. "Wait, that's what that race is called? The one runnin' across the bay from Kawasaki to Chiba?"
"Precisely," Hazama replied with an approving nod. "It may lack some of Shibuya's delightful urban chaos, but I assure you it possesses its own particular charm. Fourteen kilometers across the Aqua-Line, much of it beneath Tokyo Bay before the course rises above the water for the final stretch." His smile became foxier as he watched Logan process it. "A rather dramatic setting, wouldn't you say? Fast, exposed, unforgiving, and just theatrical enough that I suspect you and your little bird would find it difficult to resist."
Logan folded his arms. "You said relay."
"Indeed, which presents the only immediate complication," Hazama said. "Nightingale cannot run it alone, so you will require another uma on your crew before registration closes. Fortunately, you have roughly five, maybe four months before race day, which leaves you plenty of time to recruit someone suitable, train the partnership, and make certain the two of them do not tear each other apart before reaching the starting line."
Logan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but before he could ask anything further, Hazama stepped past him and adjusted the brim of his fedora.
"Oh, and there is one more matter," Hazama said, glancing back with an exaggerated pout. "News that saddens me terribly, though I suspect it may brighten your evening considerably. I am afraid I shall not be remaining in Tokyo for a while, as I have been summoned to Osaka to attend to certain Association matters."
A smirk spread across Logan's face. "Oh, hell, how am I ever gonna carry on?"
"I know, I know, the loss must be devastating," Hazama replied with mock sympathy. "But do try to remain strong, Logan-kun. My temporary replacement will oversee matters in my absence, and I have every confidence that they will keep things suitably entertaining."
He tipped his fedora toward Logan before taking another step away. "And with that, I suppose this is farewell for now. I leave Tokyo with a heavy heart, but also with my sincerest gratitude. The past several weeks have been the most entertaining I have enjoyed in years, and despite that perpetually sour face of yours, I suspect some small part of you has enjoyed the ride as well."
"Yeah, you keep tellin' yourself that," Logan muttered.
Hazama merely laughed and continued down the alley, raising one hand in a lazy wave without bothering to look back. "Be seeing you, Logan-kun."
Logan remained beneath the amber streetlight for a while longer, watching Hazama disappear into the night as the name of the race continued turning over in his mind. Umihotaru Kinen, fourteen kilometres across the Aqua-Line, another Sapphire, and most importantly, a relay that meant Dahlia would need someone running beside her. With that thought already beginning to take shape, Logan tucked both hands into his pockets and turned back toward Rococo.