Rendezvous

The steamy, savory air of the ramen stall was thick with the smell of pork bone broth, but the humble establishment was charged with a different kind of heat. A customer, filled with righteous anger, slammed her palm on the counter, making the bowls rattle. The elderly owner, a wiry man with a towel tied around his head, didn't flinch, merely crossing his arms over his stained apron.

"This ain't some high-end joint in Ginza, old man. This is extortion, plain and simple! You're preying on the hardworking people of this district!"

The owner scoffed, puffing out his chest with theatrical indignation. "I'm being extorted! Look at the price of noodles! Look at the price of chashu! My grandson just started university! I have children to feed! You think I wake up wanting to charge these prices? You're suffocating a small business, Momofuu-ki!"

The sukeban leaned in, the sleeves of her black and red uniform brushing against the counter's wood. "Is this how you thank me for keeping your stall safe from punks?"

"Safe? Safe?! The only thing threatening my stall is your empty wallet!” he shot back, jabbing a finger in her direction. "If a simple bowl of ramen is too rich for your blood, maybe you should stick to cup noodles!"

"Well if you're going to charge eight hundred yen for a bowl of shoyu—"

"Wow, eight hundred yen? What a steal!"

The voice responsible for interrupting their familiar dance was bright, cheerful, and utterly ill-timed. Momofuku's head snapped around, her glare shifting from the shopkeeper to the new arrival. Standing there, blinking with genuine surprise, was Shu Jinko, the student council president. Of course it was him.

The shopkeeper's face instantly morphed from defensive fury to triumphant glee. "You see?" he crowed, spreading his hands wide as if welcoming a savior. "A young man with taste! He understands the value of quality. Not like some cheapskates who try to bully honest merchants."

The strategic high ground she'd been fighting for evaporated in an instant. With a popular, reputable, stupidly handsome witness testifying to the price's fairness, she had lost the right to haggle. Shooting Shu a look that could curdle broth, Momofuku plopped onto a stool with a frustrated huff.

"Yo, Momo! Fancy meeting you here."

Either oblivious to her killing intent or choosing to ignore it, he waved cheerfully at her, sliding onto the stool to her left.

Gritting her teeth, the sukeban turned to her right, where the underling she promised to treat was propped over the counter. His eyes were half-closed, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly. The recent weeks had hollowed him out further, and the memory of their conversation in the rain was still fresh in her mind.

"Oi, Itsuki," she grunted, nudging him with her elbow. "What do you want?"

Itsuki stirred, blinking slowly. "...'s fine," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. "... anything's fine." Then, he let his head droop back toward the counter.

He didn't even look at the menu.

Momofuku let out a sharp sigh. "Two medium bowls. Shoyu for me, Tonkotsu for him." The richer, heavier pork broth might at least put some meat back on his bones.

At her orders, Shu looked past Momofuku, noticing the third customer. "Itsuki-senpai! Sorry I didn't see you..."

His greeting trailed off as he noticed Itsuki's state. The pallor in his skin, and how his white shirt was painted red. A few buttons were missing, showing the healing gashes on his torso. Worst of all were his hands resting on the counter. They were a mess of fresh bandages, some already spotting with faint blooms of dried blood.

"Ah, you're hurt! Your nails look like they..." He shook himself out of his stupor and leaned closer, expression filled with concern. "Do you need to go to a hospital? If you can wait a while, I can take care of those for you in the... other world...?"

Itsuki flinched almost imperceptibly, turning his head away from Shu's earnest gaze to stare fixedly at a sticky patch on the counter. "... 'm fine. I can handle it myself."

"With lifesteal?" Momofuku interjected sharply. She wasn't sure why he was so awkward around the new class president, but she wouldn't let it stop her. "No way. You're not fighting any time soon if I have a say about it. Take the damn offer."

A flicker of frustration crossed Itsuki's tired features. "Boss... I know I have to take better care of myself," he muttered, as if trying to convince himself more than her. "But I won't... I can't... stop fighting."

"I'm not telling you to stop forever, dumbass."

"You should let others take care of you, too," Shu added. "It's a two-way street, same as in the council. I rely on them as much as they rely on me."

Itsuki's jaw tightened. He opened his mouth, and Momofuku could see the words forming—it's a waste, it's all wasted on me—a sentiment that made her blood boil. Before a single self-deprecating syllable could leave his lips, she fixed him with a glare that promised a beating worse than the one from minutes before.

A tense silence hung between them for a moment, broken only by the bubbling of the pots behind the counter. Finally, Itsuki looked away, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "... fine," he relented, the word barely audible. "Do what you want."

Satisfied, Momofuku turned back to find the shopkeeper had slid a laminated menu across the counter to Shu, frowning deeply.

"Other world... lifesteal... kids these days..."

He muttered something about pokémon rotting brains before turning back to his broth.

Shu accepted the menu with a polite thanks, then leaned closer to Momofuku. The sudden proximity annoyed her, but with his low voice and sincere tone she decided to hear him.

"Hey, Momo," he whispered. "It's my first time here. What would you recommend?"

"The spicy miso chashu-men," she answered instantly. "Best in Kageoka."

He scanned the menu for it, and she didn't miss the way his smile became a little more strained.

So the class prez was broker than her. She knew he wasn't loaded because he lived nearby, but she had no idea it was this bad.

"Relax, I got you," she said with a smirk, taking the menu from him. "Consider it Itsuki's hospital bill." Her wallet would be weeping on the coming weeks, but out of regional pride, she wanted to show the new guy the best her humble ward had to offer.

Before he could protest, she had already raised her voice. "Oi! One spicy miso chashu-men for Shujinko-kun over here!"

The shopkeeper grunted in acknowledgment and got to work with a renewed vigor. Hearing the sharp of pots and the sizzle of meat hitting the grill, Shu accepted the treat, not wanting the old man's hard work to be wasted. He offered Momofuku a bow of his head, pressing his hands together.

"Thank you, Momo. I promise I'll pay you back and take you out for dinner too."

"..." the sudden offer caught her off-guard, and she looked away with a scowl, throwing a punch at his shoulder. "Don't say it like that, idiot..." she muttered under her breath, annoyed at the warm prickling feeling on her cheeks.

With their orders set, Shu turned his concerned gaze back to the bandaged hands.

"So... if you don't mind me asking, how did you get hurt?"

Itsuki didn't look up. "An accident," he mumbled into the countertop. "Finger painting."

"That's not all, though, is it?" asked the ever-perceptive president.

"Finger painting." the sukeban repeated, incredulous. "Did the freaks from the Virtuoso Club forget to give you a brush?"

The effect was immediate. Itsuki's entire body went rigid. The casual slouch vanished, replaced by a taut, defensive posture.

Momofuku pressed the advantage, her voice low and sharp. "They're stringing you along. Did they give you a single lead on him? I bet not. They just like having an attack dog on a leash."

Shu watched the exchange with growing confusion. "A missing person?" he asked, heroic instincts kicking in. "If there's someone you need to find, me and everyone in the council can—"

"There is a missing person," Momofuku cut him off, her tone flat. "But while you could help us get him, you probably wouldn't."

The implication hung heavy in the air. Shu's expression shifted from concern to dawning understanding, and then a stern, principled resolve. "If this is about a criminal, then it has to be left to the authorities. Taking matters into your own hands only leads to more—"

He was cut off not by Momofuku, but by the shopkeeper slamming three steaming bowls of ramen onto the counter. The rich aroma of tonkotsu and spicy miso burst forth, a tangible barrier halting the conversation.

"Order up! Stop talking about gloomy things and eat. It's bad for digestion."

Shu's lecture was broken by the undeniable call of food. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic slurping of noodles. Momofuku, ever the rebel, disobeyed the shopkeeper first, speaking around a mouthful.

"All this talk about leaving it to the authorities is rich coming from you, Shujinko. If you didn't take matters into your own hands, would that granny have survived the fire?"

Shu swallowed carefully before answering. "That's different. You know that."

"Do I? If I stop the piece of shit serial killer that's been running wild in my city, am I not saving people? The principle's the same."

"It's not," he insisted. "One is saving people in immediate danger, and the other is doing it preemptively. Anyone can make a difference, but not everyone should be the law."

"Save it, Kaichou," Itsuki finally spoke, his voice a weary rumble. "Nothing you say can change my mind. Stop talking. Enjoy the food Momo paid for..."

As he trailed off, Momofuku turned to him, wondering if he was taking his own advice. She saw his bandaged fingers fumble with the chopsticks, a chunk of chashu slipping from his grasp and splashing back into the broth. A wave of frustration, both at his stubbornness and helplessness, washed over her. With a sharp sigh, she reached over, plucked the chopsticks from his clumsy grip, and scooped up a neat bundle of noodles.

"Here," she said, holding them out to him while avoiding his gaze.

Itsuki stiffened. "I can do it myself," he grumbled, mimicking her and turning his head away slightly. "Your food will get cold."

She ignored his protest, nudging the noodles closer to his mouth. "So will yours if you don't quit the tough guy act. Just eat."

As he reluctantly accepted the bite, she wondered, not for the first time, what else she had to do to make him understand. What would it take for him to learn how to rely on others when his broken hands couldn't hold anything?

Shu looked between the two of them and offered a conciliatory smile. "You're right, senpai. It's not the time or place, and the ramen is too good to let it get cold."

Recognizing he wouldn't win this debate over one dinner, he spent the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence. Once the bowls were empty, save for the last dregs of broth, Momofuku slapped a few bills and coins on the counter. She fixed the shopkeeper with a look that brooked no argument.

"Three bowls. That's a bulk order. You can knock off fifty yen each."

The old man squawked in protest, but the fight was half-hearted now. After a familiar back-and-forth, he accepted the discounted payment, muttering about delinquents bleeding him dry. With a final nod, Momofuku stood. Itsuki followed her lead, and so did Shu after thanking the shopkeeper for the delicious food.

The three of them stepped out from under the stall's awning and onto the cracked pavement of Fujiwara Ward. They walked aimlessly, waiting for night to fall so Shu could summon his [Idolon] and heal Itsuki.

However, the silence between them lasted only a block before Momofuku reignited the previous argument. She couldn't let Shu's naivete stand unchallenged.

"I don't trust the so called authorities," she began, gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead. "They're s'posed to keep the law for everyone, but I had to become the law here because they only roll in with the sirens if one of us messes with someone outside. We could be killing each other in these alleys every night and they wouldn't care less as long as it doesn't spill over the nice side of town and ruin their view."

She gestured broadly at the streets. The shuttered windows, the bolted doors, the people walking in a hurry with their heads ducked low.

"See this? It's already happening. The killer I mentioned earlier got one of us last week. Now people are going into hiding before the sun is even down. And he'll keep coming here because he knows by the time the pigs come, his trail will be cold. My neighbors are dying, the so called law enforcement doesn't give a damn, so I'm supposed to do nothing too? To hell with that."

She felt herself getting too heated, and kicked a pebble down the road to blow off some steam. "Hah... with all that said, none of it matters to this oaf's situation."

Itsuki, who had been walking in silence, glanced at her.

"The bastard he's gunning for has an Idolon, so the cops can't handle it," Momofuku continued. "Don't bother him about it again, 'kay? I know you nosy types."

Itsuki let out a dry, almost imperceptible huff of air. "... why did you start ranting about cops if it wasn't even relevant, Boss?"

"I'm getting to that!" she growled back, turning her attention to the other boy. "Look, I've noticed the she-devil you keep in your council is good at all the boring investigation stuff."

Shu blinked at the bizarre epithet before registering her full sentence. "Yae?"

"Yeah, her. I also notice she's not a cop. Not yet, at least," the sukeban trailed off. "You lend the devil—"

"Yae."

"To the Fujiwara Senki. She helps me find the killer, and also keeps an eye on me for you. That way you can make sure I'm not cracking too many skulls while I take the law in my hands," she said, making air quotes. "It's kind of like what I'm doing with Madoka in your council. So, deal or no deal?"

To her surprise, Shu's face lit up with immediate, genuine enthusiasm. "You'd work with someone from the council on this?" At her confused nod, he repeated the gesture enthusiastically. "Then of course! I'll talk to Yae about it as soon as I can! Honestly, I only moved in recently, so I had no idea things were that bad here..." he trailed off embarrassed, scratching his hair while looking at her with a newfound... admiration?

"What you've been doing, protecting everyone by yourself when no one else would... that's really awesome, Momo. I want to help you in any way I can."

The direct, earnest praise, combined with the way the dying sun caught the angles of his face, sent an unwelcome flush creeping up her neck. "Y-Yeah, I am pretty awesome..." the sukeban mumbled as if physically struck. Desperate to not be seen like this, she pivoted towards Itsuki, jabbing a finger at his bicep. "But I haven't been doing it all by myself! Itsuki! You'll also be part of this case."

"Why?" came the flat answer.

"Because the killer and your guy might be the same person! They're the same kind of scum that toy with innocent lives." It would also give her more chances to keep an eye on him.

"... fine. I'm in."

"I'll join in, too!" Shu added, giving them a thumbs-up. "A joint operation between the student council and the Fujiwara Senki. We'll solve this together in no time."

Thus, a most unlikely investigation team was born. As she looked between Shu's determined grin and Itsuki's grim resolve, Momofuku's permanent scowl relaxed for a moment, a rare, warm feeling of optimism settling in her chest.