Mistress of Murder

 
Two Days Later…

By simple process of elimination, it had become Ogata and Shiraishi’s task to go into the next town to obtain information under the guise of collecting supplies if anyone happened to pay them any attention. How anyone thought a tattooed baldie and a 7th Division soldier with specific facial scars wouldn’t garner attention was anyone’s guess. However, after the last two towns being busts on the information front, they had to keep moving regardless. The last of winter was still lingering with stubborn snowfall and vicious winds, and their impromptu guest had fled without saying a word before the day just after she had happened across their group. If nothing else, she kept her word about staying only a few hours, but this left the men even more suspicious about her than they had been previously. For all they knew, she could have slipped away to inform the authorities about the very distinct persons in the group in exchange for money.

Ogata and Shiraishi had been in the small no-name town which was closer to a village due to its population for over three hours and had just finished buying rice and selling what they could afford to spare to get coin for upcoming travel expenses. It wouldn’t be long before the last of the overcast daylight would descend past the hillside which coved the surprisingly industrious locale despite its small size. The simplistic establishment buildings made mostly from wood had lit their paper lanterns for the evening, the warm glow diffusing across the drab dirt floors as the enticing scent of regional hotpot tempted locals and travellers stuck there due to the unruly weather alike. The fugitives felt their stomachs grumble and their legs wobble from traipsing around all day.

Individually contemplating stopping to refuel without the rest of their party, a cold-front ripped over the simple buildings and caused the sniper to huddle further under his poncho; Shiraishi griped about his head being cold until a red curtain divider hanging over partially open sliding doors diverted his attention. He was about to make a beeline for the brothel to his left when shouting from the interior halted him.

Looking back to see his shopping partner was a dozen yards behind, Ogata’s eye-line shot to the balcony of the second floor as crashing gained proximity. “Move it, Shiraishi-”

The panelled door which separated the second-floor interior and the slight balcony to the right of the main entrance was crashed through. Wood flew out and toppled to the frozen ground in front of the establishment where the ex-Abashiri convict had been. Narrowly avoiding any serious damage due to Ogata’s heavy-handed shove, splinters dowsed the pair as patrons inside screamed. In a blink, hostility grabbed the two men, but not as much as the commotion which had now gripped the civilians who had stopped to watch was happening.

On his rear, Shiraishi flailed his arms above his head, his very acute self-preservation trait kicking in. “What the Hell is going on?”

Battered sliding doors and a porcelain vase fell from the balcony above before two bodies followed and hit the hardened path in front of the main entrance. Hacking for a breath, the near-naked man with gang tattoos opened his mouth to continue his yelling while his hands clawed at the body atop of him. He was bleeding so much that his ink was almost indiscernible due to the mauled flesh. Within a beat, he was quickly silenced when a blade was shoved through his chest by the flustered geisha straddling him.

“E-eh-heh…” Shiraishi’s lips and lids stretched wider as the scene a few feet away settled in his brain.

Broken from his state of utter stupefaction by women on the street shrieking bloody murder, the bald man scrambled to his feet, bumping into Ogata as he went before hiding behind the shorter man. Pandemonium had broken loose on the main road running through town; whores were clambering over themselves to get out of the way of the murdered man’s brusque friends, their rage making more of a mess to the property; police had been called for and could be heard fast approaching from around the corner. It really was time to leave.

Snatching up the twine handle of her bag led beside the lifeless body, crimson flushed down bare arms and legs. Glancing up and straight ahead, black-slicked eyes landed on the unlikely duo. Ogata recognized those eyes. Unlike a couple of nights ago, there was no flirty glint, nor mischievous grin. Turning around as if she’d just walked out of a disappointing restaurant, the woman in a tousled geisha wig and askew silk kimono ambled barefoot down the frosted road and made little effort to fix the collar of her ruined gown. Townsfolk dodged out of the way, giving wide berth to the woman who looked like she had stepped out of a traditional cautionary Kaidan.

Shrugging off the man clinging to his arm, Ogata spoke just loud enough for Shiraishi to hear and set off walking in the same direction as the spectacle. “It’s time to leave. Don’t look back and walk normally; the police are here.”

“What are we going to do? That was her, right?” Eyes wobbling around in his skull, Shiraishi wrung his hands. “Ogata, that was that woman from the other night, wasn’t it?”

“If nothing else, she looks better in a kimono than those rags she was wearing before.”

“That’s your concern?”

“What do you want me to say? She already admitted to killing before; this shouldn’t be such a surprise to you.”

“She said she used their own traps against them to end what they were doing. Her outright stabbing someone through the chest with a yanagi-ba in the middle of a busy street in front of dozens of witnesses is a completely different thing entirely.”

“How so?”

Shiraishi only now looked at the face of the man beside him. It was unmistakable that he was following the woman from a safe distance without losing sight of her. More worrisome than that was the fact he was smiling. Or at least as close to smiling as the sniper got without hitting unequivocally grinning in sadistic glee. The man in question bothered Shiraishi on a deep, personal level even when the sniper didn’t have his eyes on him or was in close proximity; his reaction to the obviously dangerous woman - or her deeds - did not bode well with the ex-prisoner. Shiraishi had shared cells with lunatics and masterminds alike, but none of them put the bejeebers into him like the sly-eyed Ogata did (and maybe now the wacko pretending to be a geisha, depending on if he had to get within touching distance) - maybe it was because he knew where he stood with those aforementioned but never with the sniper. He did not like this. He did not like it one bit, and the sooner he was back with the rest of the group where Sugimoto would no doubt protect him from either maniac, the better.

In no time at all after crossing the arched wooden bridge which married the previous side of town to the other which was closest to the wilderness, Ogata had picked up his pace. Shiraishi was in his right mind to leave the pair of crazies to their own devices but there were police officers paroling in clusters and closing in on their location. He was unsure of which was worse at this point: going back to prison, or joining his shopping partner on his blatant mission to catch up with the woman who looked like she’d gotten into a fight with a steep cliff and won by the skin of her teeth. He would know: he, too, had fallen off numerous cliffs. He’d never stabbed a man to death after such an ordeal, though. Recalling, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever stabbed a man for any reason at all. He couldn’t even start to skin a rabbit without tearing up or his own gut beginning to betray him. He, too, was an Abashiri prisoner; he shouldn’t be so squeamish. That…and the fact the women he paid for initially sniggered when he undressed were his two biggest points of insecurity.

Thoughts whirling, Shiraishi was only brought back from his internal self-deprecating spiralling over his negligible crimes when Ogata called out to the female they were gaining on. The one ‘Ogata’ was gaining on. Shiraishi didn’t want any part of his travelling partner’s stalking, or whatever murder-buddy conversations would transpire.

“O’Stranger San,” the deep, nasally tone which always laid flat in the back of Ogata’s throat hung in the frigid winter air.

To Shiraishi’s surprise, after ignoring all looks from the townsfolk, the woman paused at the foot of a mountain pass which led up into dense thicket. She didn’t look back, but she did wait. In less than thirty seconds without advancing from a steady stride, Ogata came shoulder to shoulder with his target. Examining the direction of blood covering various parts of her body and heavy silk kimono, his gaze travelled to the slack collar and neckline wildly out of place. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to him if Ogata coveted foreign women in the slightest - he seemed the type to be unbridled by things such as archaic taboos, inappropriate timing, social standing, or standing at all in this case - she was almost half a head taller than him barefoot.

Hah, at least that was one thing he had over the psychopath. The guy was pretty much jaw to more-than-generous, jiggling bust. He was at a prime angle for marshmallow heaven-God damn it! Shiraishi kicked one of the reinforced side-struts of the bridge in a temper only to curl in on himself and hiss curses a dozen yards from the pair.

The more likely case was that Ogata’s interest was piqued by the ink emerging from under the stained cloth which refused to stay shut after the front-tied obi had been ragged down to wide hips. Although Shiraishi had no doubt Ogata had heard what everyone else had the last time they met, Ogata had been keeping watch on the other side of a tree and likely wouldn’t have seen the scars or tattoos which were clearly extensive over the woman’s upper torso. Then again, Shiraishi never put much stock in the fact Ogata didn’t know something just because people saw that he wasn’t looking directly at it.

“The police are looking for you.”

“If that’s why you’ve stopped me, you’ve had a wasted trip.”

“Aren’t you worried we’ll tell them where you’re going?”

“Over an Abashiri convict, a 7th Division deserter, and a foreign woman who happened to kill a criminal, who do you think they will chase? As soon as you manage to call anyone of authority over, I’ll have ripped this godforsaken wig and dress off, cried rape, and then inform them of who you two really are as I play the damsel in distress.”

Taken aback by the blunt remark with no change in expression bar a slight twitch every time she changed her weight from one bare foot to another, Ogata almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Are you serious?”

“Partly. You seem the type to get easily riled, so I thought I’d do just that.” Swiping stray black hair off her clammy face, the foreigner sniffed sharply. “On any account, I need to go back up the mountain and this is the easiest route, so if you’d be so kind as to leave me be-”

“-Open your kimono.”

Almost hitting a new octave known to mankind, Shiraishi shrieked while still holding his swollen toes. “Ogata!”

“If you wanted to play, you should have just said instead of going about it the long way.”

“I want to see your tattoos.”

“I used to think they were works of art when I first got them. I guess time really does destroy everything.”

Hooking the twine handle of her bag at her elbow, she loosened her obi, tossing the excessive sash into the river below. Pulling the two sides of the neckline apart and down as if she was about to commit standing seppuku, a gust of cold air caused her to shiver as it hit the skin matching the snow settling on the high points of their locale. Expression steadfastly unchanging, she sniffled her nose as the bluster picked up. An elderly wares-seller and his younger assistant almost toppled out of their straw boots when they got an eye-full of marred skin, buoyant bust and erect nipples.

“They’re not Abashiri tattoos, are they, Shiraishi?”

Dazed by the sight, the addressed shook his head while his jaw flapped.

“Shall I stand here all night and catch a fever, or do you want to put me out of my misery right now?”

“I don’t need to see any more.”

“Why, thank you, Ogata Sama.” Rolling her eyes, the woman fixed her garment closed with the cotton under-strap and resumed her path.

“I noticed a hint of contempt in that remark.”

“Then I guess you’re sharper than you look.”

Matching the woman’s steps from a pace or two behind and to the left, Ogata scanned the narrowing area for vantage points out of habit.

“Is your friend going to keep guard at the foot of the path for the next thousand years, or is he just a little slow? He does look like one of those Jizō statues that are found along the roadside.”

“His mind is still probably replaying what you showed him a few moments prior.”

“Shiraishi San~ you’re quest isn’t over. It’s not time to turn to stone yet,” the woman called out, her voice hoarse yet still even.

In doing so, upon hearing hurried footsteps over frozen ground, that monstrous expression from earlier had subsided. Round features returned to curling at the creases like a fox deity given supreme offerings during a plentiful harvest. The frame which was at least twice the mass of the average Japanese woman carried a weighted pack and hiked the hillside as if she was taking a leisurely stroll under spring blossoms. Her extravagant wig caught what precipitation managed to break past the tightly woven canopy of spindly branches just beginning to grow new shoots for the spring but nothing could stop the soot around her eyes from streaming down her reddening cheeks.

Shiraishi had caught up to the pair in alternating lead, him taking the furthest spot to the left as they took on the steep incline. The ex-prisoner carried his load atop of his head while picking at the skin around his nails; Ogata carrying his on his back in order to keep his hands free for his rifle. They continued in silence for a good half hour before the taller man groaned.

“This mountain is going on forever. What I wouldn’t give for grilled meat and warm sake right now.” Without a word, the woman rooted through her bag and handed over a small leather pouch with a draw-string. “What’s this?”

“Something to take the edge off.”

“Yes, but what is it?”

Quirking her brow, she shrugged and clenched her jaw at the stinging on the back of her ribs. “Do you think I’m trying to poison you? It’s dried bark and roots from several flora across Hokkaido.” Already having a pinch between her fingers, she stuffed the thumb-nail-sized bit into her kiseru. Lighting the shreds reminiscent of Western tobacco, she blew out the match and smelt the smoke out of habit. “It makes your body tingle, eases muscle and bone ache, makes light twinkle, and lightens your mood. You can chew or smoke it; chewing it also helps mouth ailments.”

“Where did you manage to get something like this?”

“The same place I get most things - I made it.” Recognizing a tree to the right with an oddly bulbous low branch, she pointed off in that direction. “I was leading a panning tour for a dozen or so foreigners about a decade ago. One of the men had a servant who’d been an assistant to a travelling surgeon who stayed in Japan for a few years. The language barrier was a bit sketchy, but he showed me how to make it.”

The sniper hummed as he continuously scouted the area. “And what did you pay for something like that?”

“I showed his boss where to find the bulk of the gold dust I dropped, and then gave the assistant an even bigger cut as we were leaving the mountain.”

Ogata shot the female an incredulous look. “Is that all?”

“I get what you’re trying to infer, but like anyone else in a place not their own, they were more interested in something more exotic. The travelling party was white, and I certainly weren’t their type, regardless.”

“Why, did they see you hack a man to death in the street?”

“No, they just preferred cock.”

“O-oh…”

“Yeah.”

“I think this stuff is starting to work - my fingers and toes are tingly.” Shiraishi put his tongue in and out of his wide-open mouth repetitively. Every time it brushed the roof of his mouth, his head and shoulders spasmed. “But my throat is still burning and itchy.”

“When I collect the rest of my things, I will take a proper look. But really, that's what you get for putting stranger's bits in your mouth.”

“We’re not stopping for you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m telling you-”

“-Sorry, Bocchan, but do you know where you are? We went off the main route for a reason - you had police tailing you because you were at the scene of a crime and walked away from questioning. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone else had recognised you from one of the hundred ‘Wanted’ posters pasted from one of the past five towns.”

“What?”

“You’re really not telling me that you didn’t think either of you wouldn’t be recognized?” Pointing at Shiraishi, then the sniper, the woman almost barked a laugh. “He’s a tattooed baldie who can’t stay away from a whore-house, and you’re going around in the very popular 7th Division uniform - even without your facial scars and the way you hold your gun, you both got picked off by the locals who get a pay-day out of handing in criminals for cash. I heard about you from a group of bounty-hunters as soon as I hit town after I left you. There are several small groups looking for an Ainu kid in a party of deserters, a Abashiri prisoner, and a Matagi.” Tapping out the dead tinder from her pipe, both brows raised as far as they could as she looked over the pair. “I left over forty hours before you got to that last town and there wasn’t even a delay before morons were talking about trying to capture you lot.”

“They’ll be dead morons if they try it.”

“Nah, just confused.”

“How so?”

“I gave two groups a couple of articles of clothing I took when I left your camp and told them I overheard that you were heading towards Engaru before you knocked me out.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I like the kid you’re protecting. She’s going to grow up well if she takes notice of all of you.”

“O-Ogata, what do we do-”

The addressed raised the end of his gun and pointed it at the woman leaning her hip against a tree with its bark shredded.

“-Ogata, that s-stag is going to eat us whole.”

“What the Hell are you talking about-” The sniper’s words stopped when his line of sight landed on the buck approaching without a care in the world.

“This area is full of male deer shunned from their herds because they’re too aggressive.”

“And you decided to bring us here?”

“I wanted to show you that you can do a lot, even without a gun. That look you keep giving me is really starting to grate on me.” Pulling herself up from a branch at around six and a half foot, the woman perched herself on one a little lower. Hooking her bag on a curled stub around the side of the thick trunk, she pulled the fabric around her legs loose and sat Indian style. Unfurling a batch of rope from her bag, she tossed it over the interlocking branches above the path they’d been travelling to make a canopy.

Ogata wasn’t going to wait around and ask why she had climbed a tree when there was an animal bigger than himself roaming so close to humans. Hooking the strap of his rifle at the crook of his elbow, he followed suit in haste. Sitting on a branch a little higher and to her right, his legs dangling, the soldier trained his gun on the beast.

“Is murder the way you make friends?”

“It’s not me you should be worried about right now. And besides, I don’t need friends: they disappoint me.” Stuffing her pipe with a fresh pinch of the home-made mixture, the woman waved at the Abashiri prisoner who had been trying to shimmy up the same tree trunk twenty feet away for the past ten minutes.

“Oi, Shi-Shiraishi, grab the ro-” Movement in the corner of her eye halted her line of order. The man beside her raised his gun but before his grasp could reach the bolt, the ashen female shook her head and pointed at a small wooden stake four yards from Shiraishi's right foot. "I made a trap on my way down because I saw the markings on the trees."

Two bucks ran at each other and locked horns in a perilous clash in the clearing between the pair and Shiraishi still trying to make his way up that damned trunk. The secondary rope still hadn’t been pulled by the ex-prisoner, of course, as he was on another planet at this point. One hand delved into her bag as she stood up and climbed a little higher. Left foot out on one of the bigger braches snagging the rope, she bounced her weight in hopes to break it.

"What the Hell are you doing? If you fall down from there, you're going to be killed."

Clinging to spindles, the woman grunted with frustration until a clear snap and an 'Uh-woh-Unf!' was followed by the clatter of wood and a falling body. The entirety of a wooden net came crashing down on the stags stuck in a headlock, the woman landing by the gut of one of them, her own groans drown out by the animals bellowing and squeaking.

“Let the other go!” Dodging the volatile kick of back legs and panicked bodily spasms, the woman drew her arm back and tried to put the other animal out of its misery with the hunting knife she'd taken from her bag. Interwoven branches keeping it in place also prevented the blade from so much as reaching rib bones. The animal cried and she drew back when it ragged it’s head from side to side, its eyes wild as its antlers were tangled tight to its dead rival.

“You’re in the way; let me shoot it.”

Head snapping around, those same black-smeared eyes of peridot glowered something he thought he’d forgot. “Don’t you dare!” Hacking and ripping away the frozen tendrils, she made a second attempt. Drawing her arm back and raising up off her right knee to make sure there would be enough force behind her attack to finish it in one, the ashen female was bowled over when the animal twitched and bucked her off its hips, skittishly making for the opening in the hedge.

Rushing to where Shiraishi was, she kicked a wooden peg out of the solid ground and a sliver of rope pinged up past the canopy. The meep of the animal whooshed past and by the time Ogata had gotten down from his spot, a prime male deer was dangling at eye-line. The woman stroked its back twice and said something he couldn't understand as she smoothly slid the blade through its upper left ribs. The wriggling quickly stopped.

Pushing damp hair off his face, Ogata inspected the catch which was lightly swaying. “That could have gone better.”

Panting and hands trembling from the sudden fight, the female sucked in a deep breath and wiped the sweat from her forehead before turning to the man beside her. “Just how strong are you?”

Brows furrowing, the sniper almost felt challenged. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s too heavy to carry a carcass this big even with two people across this kind of terrain, but I don’t want to waste anything. There’s a river ten minutes East we can use to transport it. I need to go that way anyway to collect the rest of my things.” Without saying anything else, she took a grip of the antlers with one hand and cut the rope stringing it up with another.

“What are you doing now?”

“Deer brain is a delicacy: Plus, these antlers and pelt will fetch big money if I can get them into the next town. If you’re talking about the physical part, I don’t want dead blood to pump into the skull, so I have to cut its head off and ice it. Draining the blood will make it a lot lighter, too.” Pointing at the hefty body on the ground, she pulled the awfully itchy wig off her head. “Give your companion a pinch of the powder from the red pouch in my bag and tell him to help me untangle these antlers. After doing that, keep watch. I don't want to have gone through the trouble just for another hunter or a bear to come along and steal it.

“What’s in the pouch?”

“Performance enhancement.”

“Maybe I should-”

“-I think you’re efficient enough as it is. Callous, and borderline cruel at times, but still - efficient - you don’t need it.”

“Whatever you say, Mistress of Murder.”
 
 

 
Three Hours Later…

The camp of three was huddled under a felled evergreen propped against a cliff incline. There really couldn’t be a better place to make camp in the wilderness while high up in the mountains. Tanigaki had collected all the wood they needed and Sugimoto went searching for hardy spring root vegetables like a good housewife. Once the pair had returned, Asirpa put it all together in nettle stew with squirrel meatballs; there was a mixed green salad and a very diluted berry tea. The crunch of foliage prepared the occupants to fight for what they had scrounged for, or perhaps their lives if the soldiers led by Koito had caught up. Peeking his head out from their make-shift tent, Sugimoto spotted a tattooed egg and a scowling cat carrying something indiscernible in the dark.

“Say when you approach; I could have shot you.”

“A thousand sumos could rush you and you’d still miss.” Ogata dropped his load as soon as firelight met his boots. “You can carry the rest, I need to take a piss…”

Ogata looked down at himself as he wandered off past the surrounding trees, the blood covering the uniform he’d been wearing for weeks without a wash. His line of sight slid from Shiraishi struggling when he gave up on his half of the spit they'd been using to transport the animal, and then to the woman lugging the stag head and her other collected belongings behind her on a haphazard stretcher made of loose wood and vine. His insides squirmed. He’d seen war and death, and even caused it, but he’d never had to disembowel an animal not long from life. It was different from killing a human. Maybe more to the point was the fact that the ambiguous foreigner was only inches from him when he was doing it. Her arms had been inside the corpse up to her elbows, fresh blood breaking up the dried maroon that she had already been coated in. Crimson had seeped down her cleavage and she didn’t grimace once as she was artfully slicing through flesh and bone whilst on her knees in the snow.

He couldn’t decide what he thought of her. On one hand, she was clearly a skilled hunter and self-sufficient but on the other, it made him wonder if she wouldn’t do to him what she had done to that stag or poachers while he was sleeping given half the chance. At the very minimum, if she kept going about in so little clothing, he’d have something better to look at than three other men and a little girl. Her half-truths during snarky conversation left a better taste in his mouth than the clear dislike from the others, too.

“You’re an ass; I’m getting better!” Crawling out of the den, Sugimoto was closely followed by Tanigaki and Asirpa. “Did you find anything in town…” Eyes adjusting to the dim glow which fuzzed the very close proximity of the felled tree, Sugimoto stepped onto his back foot. “Besides the bear-lady…What’s she doing with you?”

Slinging a large pack on the floor, the woman dropped the handles of the stretcher and wiped the sweat from her face with the sleeve of her kimono. “At least remember my name.”

“You didn’t tell us your name! I just want to know why you’re back after you left without saying goodbye. You left before we even woke up.”

“Why are you making it sound like I was a one-night-stand who absconded with your virginity?”

The ex-soldier flustered at the words as his partner perked up. “Sugimoto, what’s a one-night-stand?”

“It’s-” The woman was cut off by the scarred man.

“Don’t go telling her things like that!”

“Why not? Ainu have responsibilities from a young age. They marry younger, too.”

“That’s not the point. She’s a kid.”

Sen’s expression hardened. “Don’t shelter her. She’s more than mature enough to know these things.”

Helping Shiraishi with the pike that was holding the torso of the animal - which had now planted him face down in the snow - Tanigaki lifted the load with enough ease to still offer his hand to the keeled over prisoner. “You’re arguing like you’re her parents. Did you forget that you never even slept together?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah. I was quite getting into that argument.”

“You still didn’t say why you came back.”

“I found the last of the poachers and ended it.”

“She threw him off a balcony and stabbed him in the chest with a sushi knife in front of half of the town.”

Sen glanced to Shiraishi with narrowed eyes. “You little grass.”

“I’m not lying, am I?”

“People who tell tales on others have a special place in Hell, ya know?”

Shiraishi’s eyes widened as he pointed at himself. “How is this about me?”

Sugimoto turned his attention from the idiot pair arguing amongst themselves and to the sniper who’d just returned. “Ogata, did you find anything?”

He glanced from the woman and then back to Sugimoto. “There’s talk amongst the local thugs that the military are sending a small private squad to look for something valuable in the Engaru area. Other than that and the white Tanuki stabbing people in broad daylight, it’s been pretty quiet.”

“There’s no need to go that far out yet.”

“And why’s that?”

“I heard there’s someone in Kushiro with a strange tattoo. That’s only around just a day away, maybe two if the weather is bad or you run into anyone.”

“And why should we believe anything you say?”

“Who do you think spread the rumour that there was a skin in Engaru?”
 

 
At the same time, in Otaru…

The regular comings and goings of the 7th Division barracks had died down as much as the daylight had. However, a certain Lieutenant’s quarters retained a sliver of liveliness due to being occupied not just by the owner, but his faithfully stoic right-hand man, a cripple wearing a hood with an ear attached to the chin-strap, and a tanned man with serious eyebrows. Only moments before, a runner had dropped off a sealed telegram which had come from just outside of Yubari.

Reading over the brief message in a code only he was able to decipher, Tsurumi dropped the slip into the log burner for good measure. Grin stretching to impossible degrees, the leader clapped his hands together once to garner the attention of his closest men.

“Send a group out to Engaru first thing tomorrow. We’ll be going to Nemuro at the same time, so go and get some rest.”

“Sir,” the shortest of the group, a man with a perpetual frown, stood just in front of their leader, “if it’s about the skins, perhaps sending Nikaido and Koito to Engaru would be best.”

“No, not at all. We’re all heading to Nemuro together.” Smirking into his cup, Tsurumi gleamed. “I wouldn’t want to be held up by any trouble on our way.”
 
 
 

 
Updated: 2nd June 2020 - 17:18