1 Chapter 1: Red Licorice

Beep. Beep.

Finally, it's three o'clock in the morning, marking the end of my shift in the emergency room. After giving my shift report to the doctor replacing me, I drag myself to the locker room. Upon opening the door, I'm bombarded by a cheerful voice.

"Ah, Mizuki! Are you heading home too?"

I look up to see a familiar petite redhead.

"Yeah, I am, Konishi-senpai," giving her a little nod.

"Oh please" —she waves her hand at me— "just call me Aimi, otherwise you'll make me feel old."

Smiling at her, I respond, "Konishi-senpai, you're still as youthful-looking as ever. Honestly, if someone saw both of us, they'd probably think you're the twenty-seven-year-old."

Giving me a brief chuckle, she responds, "I doubt that. I mean most of the male staff here can't help but stare at you!"

I shake my head at her response. Konishi-senpai was the kind of person who drew people in. For being thirty, she has a very child-like personality: bubbly and playful, making her easy to get along with.

She is also persistent as hell, regardless of how much distance I try to put between us, she always manages to eliminate it. Eventually, I just gave up trying to brush her off and accepted the friendly presence she brought into my life.

The closing of her locker door and a small sigh bring me back to reality.

"Alright Mizuki, I have to get home before my sister calls me to complain about watching Haruto and not being able to sleep."

Haruto must be her dog or something.

Giving her a little bow, I see her figure disappear behind the door. I realize I should get going too so I can get some sleep before the sun starts rising. I grab my shoulder bag and start heading towards the same exit Konishi-senpai left through.

The brisk night air slaps me in the face as soon as the door opens. My eyes trace all of the building lights and the street lamps burning the early morning oil, reminding me how alive the rest of Tokyo is. I walk by a few peaceful twenty-four-hour coffee shops and rowdy last call bar crowds as I weave my way towards my apartment. The noises of the nightlife eventually were drowned out as I began to get lost in my memories of my life before Tokyo. The quiet walk reminded me of the late-night walks I used to take with my brother in my home city, Nagoya when we wanted to get away from our nagging parents. It was a simple and blissful period of my life that I thought would last forever, but my destiny changed with one humid summer night.

The summer festival was happening, so my friends and I decided we wanted to go enjoy the games, live entertainment, and the fireworks. The invigorating energy of the festival held my attention captive till after my curfew and the numerous messages from my mother pulled it back. Sweat drenched my clothes as I ran home, hoping to make it before my mother got more upset because of my broken curfew. Walking up to our open door, my body filled with uneasiness, and screamed to run away. A metallic smell assaulted me first, upon opening the door further I discovered blood painted the walls, floors, and furniture of my childhood home. I found my dad, who was face down on the table, and my mom, who was sprawled against the kitchen counter cabinets, both had a bullet hole in their head, and their right pinky finger was missing. Meanwhile, my brother's body was missing, and I couldn't find his shoes or the brown puffy jacket he wears everywhere. All I could find was a note crumpled on his desk.

"Run and disappear, Sumi. Don't contact the police. You're not safe anymore."

I packed what I could carry and left Nagoya. That was the day I left behind Sumi Ogawa and became Mizuki Ashikaga. For the past five years, I've been living in Tokyo under my new alias. Since then, I took Judo for self-defense, and I've looked into everything regarding what happened that day: police reports, newspaper articles, news coverage. I've only been able to put small pieces together, but one day I'll figure out exactly what happened to my brother and, who killed my parents.

I was dragged out of my reminiscing by the sight of my brightly lit apartment building. As I'm fifteen feet away from the door, I hear metal crashing against the ground.

"Shi—" which is followed by a loud thud, and a scuffling noise.

"What the fuck was that?" I muttered to myself. I creep over to the ruckus and peek my head into the alleyway, which the sounds came from. A dark figure is laying on the ground next to a tipped trash can. Walking slowly, I get closer to what I presume is probably someone who had too much to drink. The figure slowly forms into what seems to be a young man.

"Hey, are you ok?" My question is met with a grunt from him.

Crouching down next to him to get a clearer look, I pull out my phone and start dialing 119.

"I'm going to call an ambulance because you may have alcohol poisoning sir," and before I could put the phone up to my ear, a hand smacks it to the ground.

"Don't fucking call anyone, just get the fuck out of here," he snarled at me while attempting to get up.

"Sir, I really think—"

"Are you fucking deaf?"

"No sir, but I'm a doctor and I advis—"

My sentence was interrupted as this man shoves my shoulder, causing me to fall from my crouched position. As I'm about to get back up and give him a piece of my mind, I'm knocked back down this time by a much bigger force. I find myself pinched between the ground and this full-grown adult man. Instinctively, my hands go to his shoulders to shove him off me, and as my hand touches his right shoulder, I feel a warm and thick substance. I pull my hand back to see it's painted in a red liquid.

Shit.

I rolled him off of me and stumbled back up to my feet. Gazing down at the bloody and still figure, I debate what to do.

"You'll thank me for this later," I grumbled while reaching down to roll him over on his stomach. I squeeze my arm underneath him, then bring my other hand across his back before using my legs to lift him. Quickly sliding my leg between his before he collapses back down, I use the rest of my strength to hoist him up onto my shoulder, being careful not to aggravate his wound.

Thank god I've lifted men heavier than him in my judo class.

I walk slowly towards the building doors to get to my apartment, careful to not lose my balance. With my one partial free hand, I fumble through my bag to try and find my key.

"Do you need some help, miss?" I look over to see an older looking woman, who donned athletic wear, holding open the door.

"Uh yeah, that would be wonderful," I shuffled awkwardly through the doorway, "my friend just had a little too much alcohol."

She tsked, "How could he make such a pretty lady carry him? He should be ashamed of himself." While we were walking over to the elevator, she shook her head.

She turned her tiny, slouched body towards me and placed a wrinkly hand on my arm.

"You should give him a good scolding when he's sober."

Nodding and thanking her, I made my escape into the elevator, faltering a bit when the elevator lurched upwards. Adjusting the man who was still out cold, I watched the numbers appear on the screen.

2…3...4...5...6...7...8...

In what felt like ages, the doors opened to my floor. I exit the elevator and head straight for my apartment door. Finally, apartment number 806 comes into my sight, and I manage to get my keys to unlock the door. The keys jangle as I fumble to open the door, slowly losing the strength to keep holding the man. Once the door is open, I switch the lights on and rush in, slamming it behind me. I stumble my way over to my little table and fall to my knees before dropping him onto the ground.

Shit, I'm exhausted.

After I catch my breath a bit, I turn to assess his condition. I start taking off his black suit jacket first. I hear him groan as I shift him around.

"I don't know if you can understand what I'm saying," —I began working on unbuttoning his blood-stained white shirt— "but I'm going to treat your wound." He gives me another groan in response. As I'm taking off his shirt, I'm caught off guard by the beautiful and intricate dragon tattoos that spanned from his shoulders to his wrists. Refocusing my attention, I ignore his tattoos and start evaluating his wound.

It looks like the bullet went all the way through without hitting any major arteries or bones.

I ran into my room to grab my emergency first aid bag. Digging around in it, I grab my suture kit, rubbing alcohol, and some gauze pads with tape. I make my way back to him as quickly as possible and begin cleaning the wound. I hear him hiss as I pour the rubbing alcohol on his bloody skin. I work quickly to suture his wound before he loses more blood. After fifteen minutes, I finish closing his wound and start applying gauze to keep it clean. With the procedure complete, exhaustion suddenly overcomes my body. I stand up to grab a cup of water and a spare set of blankets. Setting the cup of water on the table next to him, I cover his sleeping figure with the blankets before trudging off to bed. As I start to drift off, one last thought flows through my head.

I'm probably going to regret letting this tattooed man stay in my house.