Oaths and Ashes, Part I

Kyoto was quieter than Tokyo—more measured, more composed. But inside Aiko's apartment, the chaos was unmistakably hers.

Ryunosuke stepped in cautiously, ducking beneath a string of tangled LED lights that drooped across the entryway. Wires snaked along the floor toward a desk cluttered with monitors, old laptops, soldering irons, and empty energy drink cans. Shelves overflowed with manga volumes, figurines of masked cyber-ninjas, and a massive boxed model of a battleship halfway built. Posters of anime series he vaguely recognized plastered the walls, curling slightly at the corners.

"Make yourself at home," Aiko said, kicking aside a pile of wires to clear a space on the floor. "Sorry for the mess. I wasn't expecting guests—unless you count my ISP, who definitely doesn't knock."

Ryunosuke looked around. "You live here?"

"I work here," she corrected, tossing her jacket over a chair. "I technically sleep here too, but only because no one's invented a code-in-your-sleep implant yet."

She moved toward a mini-fridge, pulled out a carton of tea, sniffed it, shrugged, and poured two cups into mismatched mugs. One had a cat with a gun. The other had text in faded red that read: 404: Feelings Not Found.

Ryunosuke took the cat mug without hesitation.

She handed it to him, then flopped onto the beanbag near her rig. Her whole energy had changed from the rooftop—her swagger dimmed a little, replaced by the kind of chaotic comfort only people who lived alone too long understood.

"So," she said, brushing hair from her eyes, "I guess you want to know who the hell I am."

Ryunosuke nodded.

"Aiko Tanaka. Nineteen. Dropped out of Kyoto University after hacking their enrollment records for fun. Not my best decision, but definitely top ten. Now I freelance—data acquisition, counter-intrusion, encrypted info retrieval, and, when I'm bored, rigging vending machines to drop free melon soda."

He gave her a look.

She shrugged. "The machine had it coming."

Ryunosuke sipped the lukewarm tea. It tasted like dust and lemon peel.

"You're different than I expected," he said.

She raised a brow. "What'd you expect? Black leather trench coat and a tragic backstory?"

"I mean, the coat wouldn't surprise me," he admitted. "But I thought you'd be more…"

"Cool?"

"Intimidating."

Aiko burst out laughing, throwing her head back. "Oh god, no. I've spent more nights crying over corrupted hard drives than any tough guy ever has over his ex."

Ryunosuke allowed a small smile. It felt strange—this ease. After all the weight of the past few days, this cluttered, buzzing little room was the first place that felt… human.

"I like it here," he said softly.

Aiko looked at him, surprised by the sincerity.

Then she nodded, just once.

"I guess I do too."

It was late. Kyoto's skyline was a series of warm glows and deep shadows stretching out below Aiko's apartment balcony. The air was cool, quiet. Not silent—never that—but the kind of quiet that invited confession.

Ryunosuke leaned against the rusted railing, cup still in hand, long since empty. Aiko stood beside him now, her arms resting on the metal, head tilted back to look at the sky. The city pulsed below them—distant, detached.

"I wasn't always in this," she said, breaking the calm. Her voice had changed. No longer quick or sarcastic—soft, almost cautious.

Ryunosuke glanced at her, then waited.

"I used to live in Nagoya. Back when my family still made sense. Just me, my mom, and my little brother."

She reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a small, slightly crumpled photo. She handed it to him without a word.

Ryunosuke looked down at the image. A younger Aiko, maybe sixteen, with uneven bangs and a school uniform, was crouching beside a boy no older than ten. He had the same eyes. Same smile.

"He was obsessed with trains," she said. "Used to build entire tracks across the living room. Drove my mom insane."

"What was his name?" Ryunosuke asked gently.

"Daichi."

Aiko didn't take the photo back. She just stared ahead.

"They called it a joint op," she continued. "Kanda's clean-up crew working with Nagoya's Public Security Unit. Supposed to be a raid on a suspected arms smuggler. But that building wasn't a front. It was just low-income housing. Someone messed up—or someone didn't care."

Ryunosuke swallowed. "Your brother…"

"Died instantly. Structural collapse. I was across town, pulling data from a Tokyo firm. By the time I got home, they'd already buried it in bureaucracy. No press. No official record. Just a whisper that it was a tragic but necessary accident."

She looked at Ryunosuke now. There was no rage in her eyes. No trembling lip or wild anger.

Only stillness.

"I built my life on code and control because I couldn't control that moment. And I made myself useful to people like the PSIA, so one day—if the opportunity ever came—I'd be close enough to help bring that bastard down."

She paused.

"Then your name showed up."

Ryunosuke felt something tighten in his chest.

"Why me?" he asked.

She smiled, faint and sad. "Because you pissed him off. Badly. That leak of yours didn't just expose money laundering—it touched the shell corporations that funded the 'clean-ups.' That scared people."

She finally took the photo back, folded it neatly, and placed it in her pocket.

"I don't care about the Hiyashi. I don't care about legacy or honor or clans. I care about justice. And if you're still breathing, it means maybe the world hasn't completely given up."

They stood there for a while—two strangers connected by grief.

Then Aiko spoke one more time, almost too quiet to hear:

"I never got to say goodbye."

Ryunosuke didn't say anything.

He just stayed with her in the silence.

The silence on Aiko's balcony lingered long after the words stopped.

Ryunosuke didn't try to fill it. Some griefs demanded stillness.

Eventually, Aiko turned away and spoke softly. "You should get back before someone sends more black suits looking for you."

Ryunosuke gave a small nod. "You'll be okay?"

She smirked faintly. "I'm always okay. Glorified side character, remember?"

He didn't correct her. Just offered a faint smile and walked through the apartment one last time, stepping past power cords, empty bottles, and fragments of someone else's survival.