Within The Void

[OFFICIAL LOGBOOK ENTRY] Date: January 27, 2006 Location: Tokyo, Shinagawa Shrine Note: 6 years after meeting

Levi’s family.

6 years of trying to live again.

      The streets of Tokyo were covered with snow. Night lamps reflected off the sparse snowdrifts, creating shimmering islands of light. Just like little lanterns left by someone between the houses. By morning, they would melt, leaving behind only wet streaks on the asphalt and the smell of meltwater. The winter had been mild. The temperature hovered around zero, but sometimes it was still possible to catch a snowfall. Quiet, unhurried. As if even the city froze at that moment, began to breathe more slowly. The usual smog was absent from the air, especially here, near the shrine. Cold and the light scent of burnt incense hung in the air.       The frost was felt with every breath. Fresh, ringing. It made the skin on his cheeks tingle and the tips of his fingers go numb even in gloves. The city seemed to have resigned itself to it for a while. The familiar hum quieted, lost its haste. Snow settled on car hoods, on roofs. It fell slowly, swirling in the air. And in this slowness, there was something magical. Cleansing.       Occasionally, muffled footsteps sounded in the distance. Someone was hurrying home, wrapping themselves in a scarf. Wet snow crunched under their soles. Someone stood by a hot coffee vending machine, warming their palms on the hot cup. Steam rose from their mouth and from the drink.       Rows of trees stood frozen at the street intersection. Dark, twisted, with a thin layer of frost on their branches. The moon hid behind clouds, but light still periodically broke through them. Soft, diffused. Almost silvery. Too cold to warm the soul, but enough to calm it. Tokyo seemed different. On nights like these, the neon signs looked warmer, the rare light from windows — more alive. Even the wind slipping between the buildings sounded softer. Like an inhalation. Tokyo was rarely like this. Quiet, patient. As it was this night.       In the silence, footsteps echoed dully from the walls of the houses. A man walked slowly along the deserted street. He held a small bag in his hands. Inside — groceries for home, and something like cookies. A small gift for a small, but already too grown-up boy. Itami knew — Ren would be pleased.       Finally, the shrine from which the smell of incense emanated appeared from around the corner. The trees at the entrance bowed their branches, creating a kind of arch. Itami slowed his pace. The smell of damp wood and resin hit his nose. The man took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax now. A slight shiver ran through his body. A feeling of peace, which had now become almost familiar at certain moments, enveloped Itami on the threshold of the shrine. There was no one here. Only a few flickering candles in the far corner, like little yokai. Candles, and the sound of meltwater dripping quietly from the roof, creating an almost meditative rhythm.       The man knelt before a small altar. He washed his hands, closed his eyes. An image of Ren immediately appeared in his thoughts. Every day of his life that the man had been able to witness. From the small, concentrated one, back then in Levi’s kitchen, to the already grown-up one, coming out of school to meet Itami. “May everything turn out well,” — he said aloud. — “May Ren pass his exams peacefully… may he find friends… if he wants to… and may… he remain himself. Please...”       Large snowflakes settled on his shoulders, melted from the warmth of his body, and were absorbed into his jacket. He didn’t notice. He allowed himself to simply breathe. Deeply and evenly. Each inhalation echoed with cold in his chest. Each exhalation was accompanied by a puff of steam that immediately melted into the air. All sounds disappeared. Even the bells at the entrance fell silent. The place itself allowed the man to be in a pleasant silence. He smelled the incense. Sweetish, with notes of sandalwood. From the depths of the courtyard came the scent of pine needles. An old cedar stretched upward, toward the sky. Serenity. The kind that made everything around softly come to life. Even the cold on the shrine grounds stopped stinging his skin.       Itami lowered his head a little further. His gaze slid over the thin layer of snow by the altar.

”…haven’t felt this calm in a long time…”

      No rush. No anxiety. Only steady, calm, and a forgotten childhood wish: “may everything be alright.” And for the first time in a long while, there was no heaviness inside. The world became simpler. At least now, in this minute. ”…may everything be alright…”       A light wind swayed the cedar branches, and snow sprinkled down from them. A few flakes reached the altar, landed softly on it, and froze on the black wood, not melting. The man rose from his knees. Exhaled. Rubbed his face with his palms. The cold instantly bit into his skin, returning his consciousness to reality. “Time to go…” — he said quietly to himself.       He took one last look at the altar. He didn’t want to leave. It was peaceful here. The apartment was lonely. And yet, he slowly walked towards the shrine exit, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. The snow crunched quietly under his feet. The shrine behind him was bathed in the unobtrusive light of the lanterns. The low sky above it seemed to absorb all warmth, suppressing it. Thick, gray-violet. It was saturated with the night’s cold and silence. The wind stirred the paper omamori. They chimed softly.

”…as if seeing me off…”

      For a moment, Itami slowed his pace, almost stopped. He turned back to look at the shrine, looked at the tracks he himself had left on the white courtyard. They stretched in a long chain to the gate. A simple, but clear human presence on the virgin snow. ”…funny… even here, traces remain… even… if you don’t want them to…”       He adjusted his scarf, stepped towards the gate. The cold wind burned his face. The world outside the shrine fence was completely different. Noisy, intrusive in its hum. And dirty. So much so that you wanted to go somewhere far away. And never return. The man felt no romance in this atmosphere, no desire to linger on the streets longer than necessary.       A car passed by. Its headlights pulled the silhouette of a cardboard box from the darkness near the entrance arch. Itami didn’t notice it at first. His gaze just slid past it at first, almost only in his peripheral vision. Inside — a dark spot. Motionless. Unimportant. The man had already turned away and taken a step to the side, leaving the shrine, but a squeak reached his ears. Thin and barely perceptible even in the surrounding silence. Itami stopped. Listened. Almost held his breath, afraid to miss anything else. A second. Another. Another squeak. Barely audible. The man shifted his gaze back to the box, crouched down next to it, and looked closely.       The dark little lump in the box stirred, and the squeak was heard again. A puppy. A small, trembling puppy. With wet fur and a torn ear. He was alone. Fussed in the box, searching for anything warm and safe. Little, bead-like eyes met the man’s gaze. Something tugged inside him. A mix of pity and an unexpected urge to act. He reached out his hand. Carefully, trying his hardest not to scare the puppy. It took a few clumsy steps back, swayed, and fell on its side. Tried to get up, but failed several more times. The man watched it and couldn’t suppress a smile. This clumsy little lump seemed very funny to him. He wanted to care for it. He wanted to protect it. “Hey… little one…” — the man said quietly. The puppy flinched, but… cautiously crawled closer.       Itami picked it up in his hands. Almost without touching, afraid of harming it. The small, wet body immediately pressed closer to the man’s hands, seeking warmth. And he allowed the puppy to feel it. Unzipped his jacket and hid it closer to his heart. And so he walked home. With the puppy under his jacket, warming it with his own heat.       The snow fell with greater force. Large flakes slowly swirled in the air. Some managed to reach the ground and settle as a new layer. Others — fell on the man, staying in his hair, but melting on his clothes and face. The low sky loomed over the city. It shielded the almost entirely emptied streets from the rest of the world. There were almost no people left. No one else to hurry home, hiding their heads in their collars. And even the light from the shop windows was going out, giving way to the snowy night.       Traffic lights blinked at the intersections. Their lights seemed alien. Muted. The air grew even quieter. For this evening, Tokyo had ceased to be itself. In this moment, it was vulnerable. Or perhaps the man felt this moment that way, carrying a life close to his heart.       Somewhere on a rooftop, a crow flapped its wings and immediately vanished into the white veil, as if it had never been there. The sound of its wings was heard for just a moment before scattering through the surroundings. And again — silence. Only large snowflakes are falling from the sky.       The world stopped in a moment that was light, yet simultaneously heavy. Winter itself seemed to have come not to destroy, but to remind: sometimes, for something to come alive again, silence must fall. And in this silence, Tokyo was beautiful. Lonely and infinitely fragile. Just like a person who has finally stopped fighting with themselves. Just like Itami, in whose soul warmth had spread and the thought had appeared: “I am not alone anymore.”       He walked home, holding his new companion under his jacket. The small creature had become the beginning of something new. Something still unclear, a little frightening, but at the same time pleasant. The beginning of a life that could be bright. Itami smiled. A strange and unfamiliar, stable calm had settled inside him. The snow fell. The city slept. And he, for the first time in many years, felt again that he was capable of living.

[OFFICIAL LOGBOOK ENTRY]

Date: February 27, 2006

Location: Tokyo, Shinagawa

Note: Life has been filled

with meaning.

“…damn… I’m running out of time…”       The clock showed: 9:12 a.m. The meeting was scheduled for noon. The morning had started much earlier than usual, when the sun was just beginning to rise. And yet, the man was worried he wouldn’t be able to receive his guests properly. When he woke up, a quiet hum stood outside the apartment. The city was just beginning to wake up and enter its usual routine. Cold, diffused light filled the room, painting the walls in pale blue tones. Light snow fell outside the window, turning into water on the panes. The droplets created beautiful plays of light on the surfaces. Itami bustled around the apartment, tensely listening to the ticking of the wall clock. He had been awake since almost five in the morning. Afraid of oversleeping. Afraid of ruining an important day. Today, for the first time in many years, the apartment would be filled with people. And this, for some reason, seemed to him the most difficult test. Over the past month, he had grown accustomed to the dog’s presence, but he hadn’t had to receive guests in a long time. Probably not since childhood, back in his parents' house.       A stack of neatly folded napkins lay on the table. Next to it — a stack of empty plates and cups lined up in a row. The dining table looked almost perfect. Only the food itself was missing.       The man moved erratically. Sometimes he tried to tackle two things at once. Sometimes he froze in the middle of the room, not understanding what was most important at the moment. The thought that everything had to be perfect had not left him since last night. He had already wiped the floor twice, even though it wasn’t dirty. He had scrubbed the stove, the kettle to a shine, and even moved the chairs to be the same distance apart. The plates and mugs had been polished with a towel several times. Passing by, he checked each time — had they managed to gather dust? The smell of miso soup wafted from the kitchen. A quiet, homely aroma. Several bowls with different pickled vegetables, spinach in sesame oil, and a carrot salad were already on the kitchen counter. A little further away — a plate with pieces of chicken, waiting their turn to be cooked. And a stack of many small empty bowls, into which the man planned to transfer the snacks just before the guests arrived.       On the floor, by the entrance door, lay the puppy. It had grown and strengthened. Its fur was slightly ruffled, and its tail wagged lazily from time to time, tapping the floor. Amber eyes followed the owner’s every move. Sometimes the puppy lifted its head, listening. When convinced there was no danger around, it would yawn and roll over to its other side, burying its nose in its paws. When lying down became too boring and the man paid no attention, it would get up and stroll around to inspect the apartment. It would approach the table, sniff it. It would try to catch the reflection of light on the floor. Still clumsy, it sometimes fell, but would immediately wag its tail, get up, and run off to other rooms. “This is just a visit…” — the man muttered under his breath. At such moments, the puppy would stop nearby, freeze, and tilt its head to the side, as if understanding or trying to understand what its owner was saying.       At some point, it couldn’t bear the man’s anxiety. The puppy came closer, gave a quiet 'yap', and lay down right at his feet. Then Itami finally froze. He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall, and for the first time that morning allowed himself to stop. More confident sunrays fell on his face through the curtains. The muffled noise of passing cars was heard outside. The city was already awake. But in the apartment, behind the closed windows, there was a quiet, almost unreal silence. “At least you’re not afraid of anything, it seems…” — the man whispered and ran his hand over the puppy’s fur. It was already dozing on its side, comfortably settled on Itami’s legs.       The light grew a little brighter — the sun had finally emerged from behind the clouds. The clock ticked peacefully in the apartment. The puppy snored quietly, barely moving in its sleep. The man watched it for a long time, stroking its head between the ears. Trying to absorb the calmness into himself too. He moved his palm lower, placed it on the puppy’s chest, and felt its steady heartbeat. He even closed his eyes for a while, immersing himself in this enveloping atmosphere. And yet, something twinged in his own chest. “…if I stay like this for long, I won’t have time for everything else…”       The man sighed heavily. “Alright, little one… I need to get back to work…” — he said quietly, stroking the puppy’s head one more time.       Itami tried to get up carefully. He gently touched the small body, trying to move it to the floor. The puppy, feeling the movement, grumbled discontentedly, stretched, and buried its muzzle in the man’s knees again, making him freeze. His fingers instinctively rested on the soft, warm fur. “Okay… we’ll sit a little longer…”       A struggle ignited inside. One part of his consciousness screamed that he needed to get up, return to cooking. The other part resisted. He wanted to remain in this stillness. “Sorry…” — the man finally whispered when the clock struck 11 a.m.

“I have to finish.”

      He rose slowly. The puppy reluctantly opened its eyes, watched Itami with its gaze, then lazily turned over and, curling into a ball, fell asleep again.       The smell of miso and sesame in the kitchen had faded a little. Now the air smelled of fried chicken and soy sauce marinade. Pieces of meat sizzled in the hot oil. Rice was boiling in a pot nearby. Steam rose and swirled near the window, fogged from the heat. The man looked at it and moved closer. His palm ran over the glass, wiping the moisture to the side. Outside, small, barely noticeable snowflakes flickered, but the snow itself was already melting.

“…spring is coming…”

      Itami returned to the stove. He flipped the chicken pieces, turned down the heat. The kitchen was filling with an unusual coziness even more. A rustle was heard in the hallway, followed by a heavy sigh. The puppy stretched, stood up, and came closer. It sat down at the kitchen threshold, watching its owner’s movements. When everything was ready, the man carefully arranged the food in small bowls and plates. He washed the dishes he had dirtied earlier and set them to dry on the mat by the sink. Wiping his wet hands, he glanced at the clock. 11:45 a.m.

“…15 minutes…”

      For a moment, his face showed slight bewilderment. Now that everything was done, there was nothing left to hide behind. The apartment had become too quiet again. His thoughts were loud. Even the faint noise of the wind outside and the ticking of the clock didn’t drown out his thoughts; they only irritated him. Remaining in this suspended state was unbearable. The man exhaled, ran his hand through his disheveled hair, and looked around. He walked through the rooms once more, checking if everything was truly in its place and there was nothing extra. There was nothing extra. Not now, nor ever in all the years of living in this apartment.       The puppy lay on the kitchen threshold. It was peacefully asleep again, curled up in a ball and oblivious to its surroundings. Itami sat on one of the chairs and ran his hand over his face, trying to calm his nerves. An unpleasant anxiety was flaring up inside, the kind students feel before exams. A mixed feeling of anxious anticipation. At some point, the puppy shuddered and lifted its head. Its tail twitched and raised, and its ears perked up. It listened, tilting its head slightly, trying to identify the source of the sound. A quiet growl was heard. Not threatening, but rather… curious. A few seconds later, it abruptly stood up and ran a few steps, but stopped and looked back over its shoulder at Itami. Its eyes held a silent question: “Are you coming with me?” Not waiting for a reaction, it ran forward again, sometimes stumbling and waddling, not stopping its yapping. It stopped at the threshold for a minute, sniffing the air. Then, it jumped up slightly, putting its front paws on the door. Its claws scratched against the wood.       Itami slowly stood up, leaning his hands on his knees. He wanted to pick up the puppy to calm it. Approaching the door, he heard cheerful voices and laughter outside. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Or rather, a series of short, impatient rings. The puppy jumped and immediately started yapping even louder, now more aggressively, defending its territory.       The man hesitated, suddenly realizing that the friendly visit and all the morning preparation for it weren’t a product of his imagination. This was really happening. Someone had really come to visit him. His heart thudded dully somewhere under his ribs, and his mouth instantly went dry. Despite all the anxiety before this moment, he had previously thought he was ready. Ready to receive guests. Ready to let someone into his life. Ready to open this damn door. Now, a feeling sat in his head — he wasn’t ready. He took a deep breath. Ran his hand through his hair again. And only after convincing himself everything was perfect, he finally opened the door.       Levi was the first to appear, with his constant half-smile and slightly disheveled hair. He held full bags in both hands. Next to him, slightly hidden around the corner, stood Akiko. Unlike Levi, she looked perfect. Neatly tied back hair in a loose ponytail, light makeup, and her almost signature posture. Even outside of work, she was collected and confident. Ren stood behind them, a little further away, with a bored expression. On his head — a bright hat, tilted to the side. Warmth spread inside Itami, seeing this — the hat was his gift to Ren during his last visit to his friend’s house. But a moment later, the boy’s gaze slid inside the apartment, and interest lit in his eyes, but he immediately checked himself and looked cold again. “Helvete!” — Levi exclaimed, putting the bags on the floor and spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. — “We thought you’d changed your mind about seeing us in your home!” “Not a chance,” — Itami allowed himself a smile for a second. — “Come in,” he added, stepping aside.       Ren was the first to run into the apartment, surprising all the adults. It was as if he had only been waiting for permission to enter. None of the three had ever seen the boy so active. He quickly took off his shoes, but didn’t kick them aside; instead, he carefully, though impatiently, placed them on the shelf by the entrance. Before the adults could follow all his movements, Ren was already on his knees near the puppy, examining it intently. Small hands carefully reached for the warm, shiny fur. The puppy initially became alert, took a few clumsy steps back. Then it wagged its tail, yapped, and, coming closer, buried its nose in the child’s palm. Behind him, meanwhile, a verbal battle was unfolding in the entryway. “Levi!” — Akiko’s voice was warm but quite stern. — “You’ve put your shoes down carelessly again!” “Huh?” — The man looked down, turning around. — “Well… I think they’re fine…” “Fine?! How many times have I told you? Toes towards the door!” “Come on…”       Akiko just snorted at this, shook her head, and moved the shoes herself, muttering under her breath about how Levi, despite his age, was still a “boy.”       Itami stood nearby. He watched the couple with a slightly bewildered smile. In such moments, he never knew how to behave, but he didn’t want to interrupt the chaos either. After long solitude, the noise filling the apartment seemed almost deafening… but for some reason, it felt warm inside. It wasn’t comparable to the noise from the puppy. It wasn’t like the voices from the old TV. It was… alive. “Sorry about him, Itami-kun,” — Akiko sighed, gave her husband another stern look, and finally walked further into the apartment. — “It’s easier to train a cat than him!” “I can hear everything!” — Levi theatrically folded his arms and puffed out his cheeks like a child. “Then why don’t you do what I tell you?!” — the woman asked without turning to her husband, already in the kitchen. “Herregud… This woman will be the death of me…”— Levi sighed and turned his gaze to his friend. — “I envy your bachelor life sometimes!” — he added quietly, so Akiko wouldn’t hear. But she did hear and gave her husband a heavy look, though she didn’t reply.       Ren, meanwhile, was completely focused on the puppy. He sat on the floor, legs tucked under him, head slightly bowed. His face showed seriousness. The boy studied every movement of the animal, sometimes touching its nose, ears, or tail. Ren had seen a dog before, but he hadn’t interacted with a puppy until now. “You tell me, brorsan, when did you manage to get a dog?” — Levi raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the puppy. “Well… about a month ago… Found him near the shrine and… I don’t know, just couldn’t leave him there,” — Itami scratched the back of his head. His voice was quiet and unsure, as if he himself didn’t fully believe the reality of his actions. “Doesn’t sound like you… But, brorsan, I’m glad you have a new friend!” — Levi beamed, putting a hand on Itami’s shoulder.       Itami didn’t know what to say in response. He smiled softly and turned his gaze to Ren. The child was still sitting on the floor, immersed in studying the new creature. He still hadn’t taken off his jacket, and a few beads of sweat appeared on his face. Akiko tried several times to ask him to take it off, but Ren ignored her. The puppy, meanwhile, felt completely calm and comfortable next to the child. It even put its head on the boy’s knees and closed its eyes. Ren didn’t move. Silently watched as the animal’s chest rose and fell evenly. “What’s his name?” — he asked suddenly, without looking away. “Welt… 'World' from German,” — Itami answered, coming a little closer and kneeling nearby.       The boy gave a short nod. His fingers carefully moved over the puppy’s head, lower — to its body, and paused on its neck. A strange glint flashed in his eyes, and his fingers trembled for a moment, squeezing slightly tighter. The silence suddenly became too dense. “He won’t live long…” — Ren said calmly and stood up, completely losing interest in the puppy.       The words were spoken so matter-of-factly that none of the adults understood immediately what he had said. Akiko froze in her chair, not knowing how to react. Levi blinked, processing his son’s words and trying to understand if he had heard correctly. Itami seemed to forget how to breathe for a moment. He slowly shifted his gaze from Ren to his friend, then to the puppy, and back to the boy. “What do you mean?” — Levi asked quietly, squatting down to be on the same level as his son. “Puppies often die,” — Ren looked up. His eyes held absolute calm and a frightening seriousness. “Sickness, cold… cars… even people themselves. Puppies don’t live long. But this one…” — he shifted his gaze back to the animal, — “…especially. His eyes are too trusting. Ones like that don’t live long.”       Silence fell in the apartment. It spread through the room like cold air, filled every corner, and pressed down on the floor. Even the clock on the wall seemed to have gone quiet in this tension. Akiko, sitting at the table, mechanically tried to do something with her hands, but her fingers trembled. The chopsticks she was adjusting fell to the floor with a dull sound. She flinched and looked almost guiltily at the people around, as if apologizing for the noise she had made.       Ren, on the contrary, seemed to notice nothing. He calmly brushed off a speck of dust only he could see from his sleeve and went to the coat rack. Finally took off his jacket, carefully hung it on a hook, and smoothed the fabric, removing small wrinkles. Then he took off his scarf and hat, folded them into a neat pile, and placed them nearby. His movements were unhurried, as if all this silence and tension hadn’t arisen because of him.       Itami, standing nearby, didn’t take his eyes off him. With every movement of the boy, he felt the tension in his chest grow. Right now, looking at the child, he saw nothing “childlike” in him. Ren reminded the man of the battle-hardened guys he used to associate with. Such cynicism and acceptance of death as something normal were characteristic of those people. But for a child… Itami couldn’t accept how calmly Ren spoke about it. “Huh…” — Levi noisily drew in air and chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. — “You’re something else, Ren. You know how to add 'optimism' to any situation. But you know…” — he leaned towards the puppy and scratched it behind the ear. — “…maybe Welt will live a bit longer,” a shadow of anxiety flickered in his gaze. Fleeting, almost imperceptible. “Enough sad talk!” — Akiko smiled softly and picked up the chopsticks that had fallen on the floor. — “The food is getting cold! And Itami-kun went to so much trouble!” — She tried to infuse her voice with the lightness that only mothers possess to return things to normal, but a hint of anxiety was audible deep inside. — “Besides! Everything looks just wonderful! I can’t wait to try it!” “I agree!” — Levi stood up, rubbing his hands.       The puppy, which had quieted down from the general tension, as if sensing it was okay to draw attention to itself again, yapped and ran around the table, tangling in its own paws. Ren sat down next to his mother and looked at Welt once more. The strange glint was gone from his eyes, but the observant, analytical quality remained.       Itami and Levi sat down opposite. The remnants of tension settled in their chests, but hunger overpowered even that. They still saw not just a boy before them, but a dangerously rational adult in a child’s body. “Thank you for the meal,” — Akiko said quietly and bowed slightly.       The men followed suit. Levi — noisily, bowing deeper than necessary, for which he almost immediately received a disapproving look from his wife. And Itami said it quieter, with notes of uncertainty in his voice. Over the long years, he had become unaccustomed to saying this in the presence of others. Ren simply folded his hands — an old habit the family had tried to break him of, but eventually accepted.       For a few minutes, they ate in silence. The kitchen was filled with the rustling of wooden chopsticks, quiet sighs, and occasionally the clinking of dishes. “Itami-kun,” — Akiko was the first to break the silence. — “You said you could only cook noodles and fried eggs, but there’s so much here!” “Well…” — the man smiled sheepishly. — “I’m really not a very good cook… just… for you, I decided to take a risk… practiced for a few days…” “And it paid off! It turned out very tasty,” — the woman praised softly, smiling.       That smile made the atmosphere lighter. Even Ren looked up from his food and, though he said nothing, looked at Itami a little longer than usual and nodded gratefully. “By the way, Itagi…” — Levi leaned lazily on his chair. — “Why 'Welt'? I didn’t think you were the type to give a dog a foreign name.” “Welt… that’s what I called an old friend,” — Itami answered after a short pause. He didn’t want to go into details. Not here, and not in front of Ren. Levi nodded — he understood everything without words. Their gazes met, and much flashed in them: memory, pain, respect, and the understanding that the past doesn’t disappear without a trace. “It suits him,” — Ren interjected. “You think so?” — Itami smiled. “Yes. 'Welt' sounds like something eternal, but nothing is 'eternal'…” — the boy began, but his father interrupted him. “Enough,” — Levi’s voice was stern. He looked seriously at his son, squeezing his chopsticks so hard the veins on his hands stood out. “Listen, Ren…” — Itami tried to intervene. — “Do you like to draw?” — He looked at the boy. He nodded. — “How about I buy you a sketchbook? You like to look at everything, so… why not draw it?” Ren thought for a second, then answered shortly: “Okay, Ita-jii.” “Great!” — Levi said happily and looked at his friend gratefully. — “See how quickly you find a common language with children! A real vägledare!” “Who?” — Itami raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well… It’s like 'one who guides'… You could say 'mentor' or something like that,” — Levi explained, gesturing with his chopsticks in the air. “Me? A mentor? For a child? Don’t make me laugh,” — Itami smirked, but a flicker of pride for himself shone in his eyes at his friend’s words.       In an instant, everything returned to normal, became alive again. Without heaviness or anxiety. Warm steam rose from the teacups, mixing with the smell of food. The plates were already half empty, but the conversations weren’t. They were just gaining momentum. Neither the adults nor Ren returned to the sad topics.       They returned to conversation. There were so many topics that no one could remember where it all started. Weather, transport, neighbors, childhood stories, someone’s funny slips of the tongue — everything blended into a continuous stream. The plates were emptied, and tea was brewed several times. It seemed the day wasn’t planning to end. When the adults started discussing Ren again, this time about his sometimes poor behavior at school, the boy rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and went to another room — to play with the puppy. The parents chuckled softly, seeing this reaction. Even Itami couldn’t suppress a smile.       New topic. New story. Akiko was telling something about a neighbor whose cat suddenly had kittens, but the men were missing half her words. They were thinking their own thoughts, sometimes exchanging glances. Both understood — each was worried about Ren. Sometimes, Itami wanted to bring up the topic again, offer help, but didn’t know how. Levi knew this, but he himself didn’t want to ask such a thing of his friend.       When even Akiko began to quiet down and drift into her own thoughts, Itami raised his cup, took a final sip, and, without noticing it himself, said quietly: “Thank you for coming.” “We’re almost like family, brorsan.”       Itami smiled but said nothing in reply. No one expected a reply from him. The conversation continued for about another hour before Akiko almost ordered her family to get ready to leave. She said something about “preparing Ren for his lessons,” but her voice clearly held concern that they had overstayed their welcome. Itami smiled. First at how true to herself Akiko had remained all these years, and then — at how comfortable he felt in the company of friends.       Soon they were standing by the door. Levi helped Akiko put on her coat. Ren stood nearby, sleepily rubbing his eyes and grumbling at his parents for taking too long to get dressed. “Thank you for dinner, Itami-kun,” — Akiko bowed softly. “I’ll be waiting for you again!” — His voice sounded so cheerful and genuine that Itami froze, not believing himself. For the first time, these words were spoken from the heart. The door closed. For a few seconds, he just stood by the entrance and listened to the silence. Echoes of laughter still sounded in his mind. A warm smile was still on his face.       He looked around. The perfect order he had created for the guests was almost completely gone from the apartment. Dirty dishes lay on the table and in the sink, and crumbs and small bits of fallen food were on the floor. He didn’t feel like cleaning it all up now. A pleasant feeling of life that had appeared in his home burned inside. The smell of food mixed with Akiko’s perfume still hung in the air. And yet, he didn’t want to leave things as they were just as much as he didn’t want to clean. The man exhaled and started washing the dishes.       Welt lay tiredly on his blanket in the hallway and didn’t even come out at the sound of food being poured into his bowl. Ren had played with him almost the entire time after leaving the table, which had exhausted the puppy. At first, the boy just sat quietly in the room, sometimes saying something either to himself or to Welt. Then he ran back to the kitchen and asked permission to give his new friend a treat. And an hour later, he proudly showed what tricks he had taught the puppy. Itami smiled again, remembering this.       When almost everything was done, the phone on the table vibrated. [Omoshiro Z.] “At the warehouses in an hour. New order.”       Itami took a deep breath. The smile slowly faded.

“…of course… the day couldn’t end so smoothly…”

[OFFICIAL LOGBOOK ENTRY] Date: February 27, 2006 Location: Tokyo, Kawasaki Note: [             ]

      The cold was bone-chilling. The air near the warehouses on the waterfront smelled of sea dampness and metal. The sky, which had been relatively clear during the day, was now covered with dark, heavy clouds. With each passing minute, the impending rain was felt more strongly in the atmosphere. Somewhere very close, trains rumbled, cars and people in one of the parks made noise.       Zen walked slightly ahead, in a long coat and dark gloves, though even they didn't save him from the cold – he sometimes rubbed his hands trying to warm them. Steam came from his mouth with every exhalation. His steps – confident, wide. His face – calm. In his eyes – complete focus. Itami had noted this back in their first meeting in the bar many years ago. Zen was one of those who knew how to negotiate and get what he needed. One of those who knew how to survive. In Tokyo over the years, his name had been heard more than once, and in criminal circles, he had quickly gained a reputation as someone you could cooperate with without fear of betrayal. "Don't stray," — he said quietly to Itami without turning around.       The man nodded silently and buried his head deeper into his jacket collar. Not a trace remained inside of the recent warmth from the meeting with Levi's family. Now there was the familiar tension and cold, emotionless calculation. He turned around. Several other men were walking behind them. Similarly detached faces.       The warehouses stood at the very edge of the waterfront, next to a small port. Around – concrete and containers, illuminated by sparse streetlights. In the farthest corner, four people were already waiting: three men and a young guy. He was spinning a lighter in his hands, occasionally letting the flame illuminate his face.

"...still just a teenager…"

"Who is that?" — Itami asked quietly, moving closer to Zen. "The son of one of the 'Kage'. Don't know much, but seems like a smart lad," — Zen smirked. — "They say thanks to his brains, his father managed to climb higher…"       Itami nodded, accepting even such crumbs of information. His gaze lingered on the guy. He stood slightly apart behind the men, observing the newcomers. A calm, almost lifeless gaze.

"...too mature for your years…"

      Something about the guy's face was arresting, and Itami was frantically trying to understand what exactly. Not self-confidence – the man was used to seeing that in the young. Not coldness – coldness was natural for such children, whose parents were involved in crime. Itami looked away, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and looked at the guy again. There was something else in him. Dangerous. The guy shifted his gaze to Itami.       The face of Ren immediately flashed in the man's mind. The same "adult" gaze, frightening because it belonged to a child. The same analysis, chilling to the bone. Itami immediately lowered his eyes, trying to shake off these associations. "Hey," — Zen called out. — "Don't get distracted."       A tall man in a coat almost identical to Zen's approached them. Only his looked neater and more expensive. He held a folder in his hands. "Good to meet you, Omoshiro-san," — the man bowed. — "My name is Shinkoku Tadashi. I will be the face of Kage today." "Likewise," — Zen bowed in return. — "What happened to Akane-san?" "Akane-san, along with his eldest son, had to attend to another matter. We offer our sincere apologies. We hope you do not consider this disrespectful?" "As if we have that right…" — Zen smiled wryly. — "In any case, let's get down to business."       Itami barely listened. His attention kept returning to that teenager. The guy was too calm and still. He stood slightly behind Tadashi, remaining a mere observer, but his eyes moved lazily between the men. His gaze held a complete understanding of what was happening. It was as if he knew how it would all end and was waiting for that moment to check a box in his list of situations where he had been proven right.       The man tried to look away, to concentrate on the conversation. Zen was saying something about weapons and "delivery on time." Sometimes his voice grew colder, but not a single muscle twitched on Tadashi's face throughout the conversation. His words held the same politeness Zen displayed, but beneath it felt the usual predatory nature and attempts to determine who would make the first mistake. His gaze slid back to the guy. Back to the calmness in his body. To the cold in his eyes. Itami had only seen such a mixture in those who had experienced something terrible that had long since burned away all fear. Or in those who were never capable of fear in the first place. "I assume…" — Zen's voice cut through the man's thoughts, — "...you understand the deadlines are critically important for us." "Of course," — Tadashi nodded.       The guy tilted his head, clicked the lighter, and looked at Zen. The entire time he hadn't uttered a word, and even now he was listening intently. Something inside twinged because behind this boy, one could feel something that couldn't be explained by either experience or family legacy. "...yes, I agree with you…" — fragments of phrases reached Itami's consciousness, but he could no longer concentrate on the conversation. Only when Zen looked at him over his shoulder did the man nod distractedly. "Glad we've reached an agreement. The goods are in the car," — Tadashi looked at the two other men and they immediately opened the trunk. Metal cases gleamed in the darkness. — "And what about the merger…" "It won't happen," the guy suddenly spoke up. "What?" — Zen and Tadashi asked in unison. Both had been confident of a positive outcome from today's meeting. "Didn't hear me?" — The guy stepped closer, clicked the lighter, and put it in his pocket. — "I'll repeat it louder. The merger. Will. Not. Happen." "Ikimono-san, but…" — Tadashi began, confused, but the guy, apparently, didn't care about his opinion. "One can't keep himself in check," — he nodded towards Zen. — "Kept raising his voice the whole time. The second…" — the guy shifted his gaze to Itami, — "...is too strange. And too quiet. We don't need partners like that."       The pause dragged on. Tadashi stood bewildered, not knowing what to say or if he had the right to intervene and change the guy's decision. After half a minute, Zen took a step forward, intending to say something, but Itami put a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward himself. Slowly, without a single sharp movement. "You say, 'the merger won't happen'," — Itami began calmly. — "But… if you truly saw no potential in us, you would have refused at the very beginning," — he tilted his head slightly, peering into the guy's eyes. — "But you listened. Which means…" — he paused, choosing the right words, — "...you just wanted to see our reaction, didn't you?"       Zen quietly exhaled, catching the steel in the man's voice that appeared there very rarely. The guy didn't move, but the corners of his lips trembled almost imperceptibly. The air around instantly became denser, and it seemed one wrong move or word – and everything would explode. "Interesting," — he tilted his head to the side and took a step forward. — "You seem to be the only one who understood that." "Too obvious," — Itami mirrored his gesture and also tilted his head, but it looked different on him – almost teacher-like. — "But it's alright. We all make mistakes in the beginning."       Silence fell again. None of the other attendees tried to intervene, allowing this strange game to continue. The pause was broken by a chuckle from the guy. "You know…" — he turned to Tadashi, — "...it seems I've changed my mind after all," — he took the lighter out of his pocket and started twirling it in his fingers again. — "The merger will happen. But on one condition…" — he looked at Itami again, — "...he must take a higher position within the next few months."       Tadashi nodded in confusion, and Zen exchanged a brief glance with Itami. The negotiations continued for a few more minutes. Money, guarantees, sometimes threats, hints. Zen tried to keep his composure better, but the guy's phrase got to him. He accepted the terms and promised to do everything to give Itami more power, but inside, he was seething.       When the meeting concluded, the guy, passing by, stopped for a second. "Remind me of your name?" — he asked quietly, without turning his head. "Gisei Itami." "I'll remember."       The three men and the young guy left. When the sound of their footsteps dissolved in the cold air, Zen slowly exhaled. "Do you understand what you just did?" — he asked Itami once they were in the car. "I suppose… I met a future problem… He's dangerous, but... that's what makes him interesting. Those kinds need to be kept close, molded to your will… although… I'm not sure if we'll be able to mold him…"       Outside the window, Tokyo was drowning in gray fog. The headlights cut through the night. The familial warmth, the smell of food, and laughter now seemed like a distant fantasy. Only work remained, and the feeling that he had once again taken a step into a place from which there was no way back.

      The job was done.

      And outside the windows, the rain began to fall.