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Three months into high school, Nagisa asked Karasuma-sensei for a job. To his credits, Karasuma-sensei didn’t ask what kind of job he was referring to.
“You know I’m working for the government,” Karasuma-sensei pointed out. “So technically I can’t help. You’d probably have more luck with Irina,”
Nagisa mulled that over. “Isn’t she on the ministry of defense’s paycheck too?”
“Technically,” Karasuma-sensei said. Technically—funny, that word was. “But some habits are hard to shake.”
So that was that.
--
In his freshman year of college Bitch-sensei trusted Nagisa enough to dump most of her side jobs to him. Her words, not his. Personally Nagisa thought Bitch-sensei just wanted to spend her time more with Karasuma-sensei in guise of doing legal works, because she had been watching too much baby videos, and her husband had remained as dense as ever.
Nagisa’s current task was to be her replacement at a Tokyo hitmen and assassins meeting. He had no idea why hitmen and assassins alike wanted to meet up once in a year—didn’t that defeat the purpose of secrecy their jobs naturally entailed? Who thought it was a good idea to gather criminals in one place at the same time anyway?
Bitch-sensei explained that it was mostly information exchange and territory claiming, you piss over there and I’ll piss over here, that sort of thing. It was also a good place to offer your services—in other words, now Nagisa could make a name for himself, by showing up in the meeting, because it counted as advertising.
The building for the meet-up was in Shinjuku. Nagisa wore a simple vest over his white-buttoned up shirt and slacks. He took the subway. A grandma with a grocery basket asked him why he was skipping school. Nagisa had half the mind to tell her that he was going to meet up with murderers, but instead he told her he was in college, thank you, not in middle-school.
For once it was man behind the receptionist desk. Not just a man—a buff man, who looked like he could lift a car with his bare hands. Apparently with painted nails, as Nagisa noticed when he pointed to a form for Nagisa to fill. He also wore fake eyelashes. Nagisa had seen weirder things, so he just filled the form quickly and left the space under ‘name’ blank.
“Oh, you’re Irina-chan’s student!” the receptionist gasped, a palm flew to rest in front of his manly chest. “I can see why. You’re certainly very cute. I want to be as cute as you someday.”
Nagisa eyed his glittery nails. “Of course you can,” he said.
“And I see you haven’t got a name yet? I’ve heard of you, you know. They call you Irina’s Disciple ‘round these parts. Why don’t you put that down for now?”
There were worse names, Nagisa supposed. He wrote that down and returned the form to the man, who gave him a pass. It was a simple black card with no design nor writing.
“The elevator is right over here. Go straight to the penthouse, okay?”
Nagisa actually went to the bathroom first. When he got back to the main lounge, the elevator door was closing on him. He supposed he could wait for the next one, but the building had at least thirty stories, and Nagisa didn’t know how long the ride would take. He didn’t want to be late, after all. Fortunately, the person inside saw Nagisa running and he kindly held the door open.
Nagisa regretted his decision the second he stepped into the elevator.
At the first glance the other looked normal. He was huge—everybody was bigger than Nagisa, but he was huge, for his boyish face and high-school uniform. Nagisa wouldn’t have thought the other was here for the meeting if not for his black pass, peeking out from his blazer’s pocket. What was he doing, wearing an identity like this? He didn’t know whether Namimori high school really existed or not, and maybe his apparel was a disguise too, who knew, but if it were real, the whole students were compromised. An enemy could hold the whole student body hostage, and that was a sort of situation that Nagisa would avoid.
Nagisa took a deep breath. It was suffocating to be in a close proximity in a small space with the other man. Everybody always had a latent killing intent, however small. But this man had a large reserve of it. He was practically radiating his killing intent, like a heater that couldn’t be turned off. To see him smiling genuinely was off-putting. When you had Koro-sensei as a teacher it was like nothing could surprise you anymore, but the world played a wild card sometimes.
“Thank you,” Nagisa said. The door closed, and the elevator began a steady climb upwards.
The other shrugged. His hands never left his trousers’ pockets. “No problem,” he answered. For god’s sake, the man (boy, really, if he really was in high school…) even still had his baseball practice bag. Nagisa could see the handle of the bat behind the other man’s shoulder, tucked inside an open baseball bat sleeve.
“So, are you here for the mafia-game meet-up too?” the other asked cheerfully.
Nagisa frowned in bemusement. “Excuse me?”
“You know, the mafia role-playing game? Every year a guild sends a delegate for this meet-up. Or a Famiglia, depends on how you call your party, really. It’s so much fun!”
Was he serious? Nagisa could see through lies, and didn’t find any on the other. Wow. Who in the right mind would send him as a delegate? Maybe Namimori was legit after all. Maybe Namimori was the name of a criminal organization. Sending a strong but mindless guy seemed like something that an organization with high-school uniform regulation would do.
Nagisa decided to play along. “Yes, I’m here for that, too.”
“Cool. I’m Yamamoto Takeshi.”
He gave his name so freely. Maybe it was a code name? But Nagisa would know if it was. This was the first time Nagisa questioning his own assassin side of skills. He contemplated on the pros and cons giving the other his name. Well, his first name was more common than his last anyways. “I’m Nagisa,” he said in the end.
“Nice meeting you! What middle school are you from?”
This again, Nagisa couldn’t believe it. “I’m in college,” he said, crying on the inside.
“Oh, sorry! My bad, I should’ve known better. I have a friend who’s as small as you. He’s just more-“ here Yamamoto waved a hand in the direction of Nagisa’s head, “fluffy.”
“It’s all right,” Nagisa lied drily.
Yamamoto grinned. Nagisa was a bit nervous before, but it seemed like he had calmed down considerably, which was weird, all things considered.
“Oh look, we’re almost there,” Yamamoto chirped.
Nagisa glanced at the elevator screen. Five floors more. From the corner of his eyes he saw Yamamoto reached for his baseball bat. There was a sudden spike of killing intent, which stung Nagisa’s senses for a moment, and before he knew Yamamoto had a long sword in his grasp.
The baseball bat was nowhere to be found. Yamamoto leaned on his sword like it was a cane, and he gestured to Nagisa’s calves. “You should prepare, too,” he said.
Nagisa had made sure he wore clothes that wouldn’t give away the weapons he hid underneath them. There was no mistaking it now—with that killing intent and weapon, high-schooler or not, Yamamoto was undoubtedly a professional. Experienced.
Nagisa pulled the hem of his slacks up, revealing twin blades strapped to his calves. He took one. “What for?” he asked.
“I’ll explain later,” Yamamoto said merrily as the elevator door slid open. “Remember- just don’t lose your pass, Nagisa!”
The elevator door opened to a scene of battle. The whole floor was full of people who were fighting each other, and they were not afraid to spill blood. The fight was centered to the left of the floor, where a guy defended himself against many. Across the elevator, there was a tall, looming door. It wasn’t guarded, but nobody seemed to have the mind to enter.
A woman dressed in military uniform took a look at them. Her eyes passed over Nagisa, dismissing him quickly, and found Yamamoto.
“A pass!” she hissed as she lunged.
In the blink of an eye Yamamoto slashed her with the dull side of his sword. She still bled.
“Oops, sorry about that,” Yamamoto said guiltlessly as he stepped over her body on the ground. “What are you waiting for, Nagisa-kun? Come on!”
He looked like he was having so much fun already.
Having no other choice but to follow him, Nagisa exited the elevator. As soon as he did, a mace swung at him, and Nagisa ducked, his right arm stretched to counter the attack at the same time. His blade struck home in his assailant’s stomach. Not enough to kill, but enough to render the other unconscious for a while.
Nagisa straightened up. Yamamoto didn’t even blink at Nagisa’s show of violence.
“So what is happening here, exactly?”
“Well, some people want to be in the meet-up, but they haven’t got enough infamy for it,” Yamamoto turned around to walk backwards, so that he could face Nagisa as he talked. He incapacitated two people with ease as he pivoted on his heels. “So to avoid them breaking into and disrupting the meet up, the association gives one free pass each time. They’re fighting for it right now.”
That explained why one guy was fighting ten people on the left of the room. When Nagisa really looked, he could see the guy holding a black pass.
“And we’re just free game. The meet-up is on the other side,” Yamamoto pointed to the tall door over his shoulder with his sword. Somehow he stabbed someone trying to sneak up to him with the same motion. “If we get our pass stolen, it means we don’t deserve to be there. That’s it, really.”
With Yamamoto single-handedly plowed through everybody in their path—and it looked like he wasn’t really aware of it, as though he was just walking and kicking minor pebbles on his way—they arrived at the door quickly.
Nagisa had come to the conclusion a while ago, on his first scan of the floor and feeling that killing intent, shining like a beacon in the night, that Yamamoto was more dangerous than everybody in the floor combined.
What terrified Nagisa was that the other seemed to be utterly blasé about it. He remembered his middle school friends, trembling at his blood lust when he first showed it. You’re a natural, Koro-sensei had applauded.
They really should have seen Yamamoto. This guy didn’t even try.
(Nagisa should really do some research on Namimori later.)
Nevertheless, this situation worked in Nagisa’s favor. With Yamamoto as a guide, Nagisa didn’t have to reveal his ace so early in the game. Nagisa worked best with an element of surprise.
Yamamoto took out his pass. Nagisa copied him.
“You ready?” he asked, grinning, one hand on the knob of the door. His sword, pointing down, was dripping blood to the carpet.
“Yes,” Nagisa said.
The door swung open.