Chapter 204 The Sixteenth of June

Chapter 204: Chapter 204: The Sixteenth of June

Kuroda Ryu read the expense report standing up, in the doorway of his apartment in Nakano, at eleven at night. He didn’t invite Haruki in until he had finished it. When he did, he said only, "Shoes off," in a voice Haruki had never heard him use before.

The flight from Singapore had landed at Narita at 6:40 that evening. Hirose and Sugiura had taken the train back to Kichijōji and Nerima, both very quiet, both carrying something they hadn’t had when they left. Haruki hadn’t gone home. He had taken the Narita Express to Tokyo, the Chūō Line to Nakano, and walked through the cold November night to the third-floor apartment where, two years ago, Takeda had collected an old tablet wrapped in two hoodies.

He hadn’t called ahead. He hadn’t known how to say it on the phone.

Kuroda had opened the door in a sweatshirt with ink on the cuffs, with his hair longer than ever and a pen still behind his ear. He had looked at Haruki’s face, then at the plain white envelope in his hand, and his expression had gone very still.

"Something’s happened," he had said.

Haruki had held out the photocopy.

Kuroda’s apartment was smaller than Haruki had imagined for someone whose volumes sold in three countries. It was one room and a kitchen, with a drawing desk by the window and two monitors. The floor was covered in neat stacks of printed pages. The walls were bare except for a single framed print: the rooftop fight from Blade Campus Rebellion Chapter one, the one Takeda had once held up as proof that web readers liked punching.

Beneath the print, on a small shelf, stood the Japanese and Korean editions of Blade Campus Rebellion, all seven volumes, and three volumes of a new edition in Traditional Chinese. On the spine of each, in small type, was the name of the Iidabashi publisher.

Kuroda sat down on the edge of his desk chair with the photocopy in his hands and read it again.

Shinkansen, Shin-Osaka ? Hakata, June 16. Café, Hakata Station area, 2 coffees. Purpose: Client meeting, Hakata. Claimant: Saito K. Approved: I. Reiko, Representative Director.

He read it a third time. Then he put it down on the desk, very carefully, as though it might break.

"The sixteenth of June," he said.

"Yes."

"It was a Monday." Kuroda wasn’t looking at Haruki. He was looking at the shelf of his own books. "We had dinner booked that night. At a place in Kagurazaka he likes. To celebrate the Chinese edition." He was quiet for a moment. "He cancelled at noon. He called me himself. He said a client meeting in Fukuoka had come up, very sudden, and he was sorry." His voice didn’t change. "I made a joke. I said Fukuoka on a Monday, Saito-san, is there a girl? He laughed." He stopped. "He laughed for a long time."

Haruki didn’t say anything.

"Two coffees," said Kuroda.

Haruki told him everything. He told him about the lantern shop on Keong Saik Road and the man in a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and the envelope with two names. He told him that Saito Kenji had spent six years at Theseus Partners and two at Ariadne under Ishimura Reiko before Iidabashi hired him. Sugiura had written his name in a green notebook twelve years ago: very polite. He told him about Morikawa Sayo, who had received an outline at a café near Hakata Station from a polite man in a grey suit, and who had written avenge us because the outline said TBD.

Kuroda listened to all of it without interrupting, sitting on the edge of his chair with his hands clasped between his knees.

When Haruki finished, he was quiet for a very long time.

"He read every page I ever drew," Kuroda said at last. "Before anyone. For five years." He looked at the framed rooftop on the wall. "He made me redraw that fight four times. He was right every time. He took me to dinner after you won the wildcard and told me the platform had finally got something right." He laughed, a short, hollow sound. "He asked me about you. At that dinner. How you were, what you were drawing next. I thought he was being kind."

Haruki went still.

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," Kuroda said. "I didn’t know anything. You never tell anyone what you’re drawing next." He looked up. "That’s why they needed a password, isn’t it. Because asking your friends didn’t work."

The small apartment was very quiet. Somewhere below, a train went past on the Chūō Line toward Shinjuku.

"His name goes in the court filing next week," Haruki said. "Hirose-sensei says the court will order the originals from the Osaka company. After that, it’ll be in the newspapers." He hesitated. "I wanted you to hear it from me first. Not from a reporter outside the court."

Kuroda looked at him for a long moment.

He didn’t answer. He was looking at the framed rooftop on his wall, and his face had changed again, very slowly, as though he were remembering something he had put away a long time ago.

"Two and a half years ago," he said. "In the first spring, before the Creator War. Ishimura Reiko took me to lunch." His voice was flat. "Ariadne wanted me. Rank one. She said she’d handle my file personally." He laughed shortly. "I said no. I thought that was the end of it."

Haruki waited.

"Three weeks later, Iidabashi called," Kuroda said. "Out of nowhere. A print deal, Japanese and Korean, with an editor who’d read every Chapter." He looked at the shelf of his own books. "Saito-san came to my first meeting with the contract already drawn up. He said a friend in the industry had recommended me."

The small apartment was very still.

"She handled my file personally," Kuroda said quietly. "I said no to her, so she sent me him."

Haruki didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say.

"Who taught you that?" Kuroda asked at last, his voice rougher now. "To tell people first."

"Ishikawa," said Haruki. "Indirectly. Through Kanzaki."

Kuroda let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

"Of course," he said. "Of course it was."

He stood up, went to the shelf beneath the framed print, and took down the first volume of the Japanese edition of Blade Campus Rebellion. He opened it to the copyright page and looked at the small line of type there for a long time.

Editor: Saito Kenji.

"My contract with Iidabashi runs until March," Kuroda said. "Three more volumes in three countries." He closed the book. "I’ve never read the print contract properly. Saito-san told me it was standard. I trusted him. I signed it at that restaurant in Kagurazaka, after the second dinner." He looked at Haruki. "I’ve been telling rookies to read page six twice for two years. I never read my own."

"Hayama-san reads contracts for the Lantern," Haruki said. "She reads them three times."

"I’ll bring it to her tomorrow," Kuroda said. He put the volume back on the shelf, very carefully, beside the others. "And on the twelfth, I’m coming to court."

Haruki looked at him.

"Not to say anything," Kuroda said. "I’m not a party. I don’t know anything they need." He picked up the photocopy from his desk again and looked at the two coffees. "I’m going to sit in the public gallery, in the front row, where he’ll see me when they read his name." He folded the photocopy and handed it back. "He read every page I ever drew for five years. He can look at my face once."

At the door, as Haruki was putting on his shoes, Kuroda stopped him.

"The five," he said. "The ghost team. The florist on the court steps."

"Yes."

"They didn’t know whose next Chapter they were drawing. And I didn’t know whose editor I had." Kuroda leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded. "Tell them I’m sorry. Not for anything I did. For what was done through the person who read my pages." He paused. "And tell Morikawa-san I’d like to write her a card. For the florists. With my name on it."

"She’ll say yes."

"I know," said Kuroda. "That’s why I’m asking you to ask. So she can say no if she wants to."

Haruki walked home along the Chūō Line in the cold, past dark houses and a closed noodle shop, toward Koenji. It was after midnight in Tokyo and late afternoon in Helsinki.

He stopped under a streetlight and wrote a message.

Number one. Something hard, while it’s happening.

The courier was Kuroda’s editor. I just told him. He’s going to sit in the front row of the court so the man has to see his face.

The reply came eleven minutes later, from a bench by a canal, in the four o’clock dark.

How is he?

Quiet, Haruki wrote. Too quiet.

Then call him tomorrow, Yui wrote. And the day after. Don’t let him be quiet alone.

Number three is for everyone, not only you.

[Kuroda Ryu — Informed (Nov 24, Nakano). Reaction: Recalls Saito’s cancelled dinner, June 16 ("client meeting, Hakata"). Saito had asked about the Host’s next work at a dinner.]

[Kuroda’s Iidabashi print contract (signed on Saito’s assurance, unread): To Hayama Rin for review.]

[Dec 12 hearing: Kuroda to attend (public gallery, front row).]

[Revealed: Saito’s assignment to Kuroda (Iidabashi print deal) followed Kuroda’s refusal of Ariadne — Ishimura: "I’ll handle your file personally."]