But there was one thing everyone consistently underestimated, and that was Makoto Makimura's tenacity.

A watch buried in an empty lot– just enough information to know who the message is from, just too little to follow them. It should have been perfect.

Chapter Text

It was almost a ritual now. Every day at three forty in the afternoon her watch would play its chime, Makoto would close her eyes, and she would try to remember him.

She remembered his voice, as clear as if he was talking right into her ear. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was everything else, everything that mattered; she knew he had one eye, but didn’t know anything else about his face. She knew he was tall, tall enough that her face was about level with his chest. The yakuza that had first ambushed them had kept calling him ‘slim’, so she supposed he was probably on the thin side. Makoto would try to piece together what his outfit might have looked like from the sensation on her face and hands when she’d touched it, but all she could come up with was “a suit”.

Makoto heaved a sigh, rubbing her temples and bringing the watch’s song even closer to her ear. For a while, the song had been enough. It was enough to know that, alive or dead, the man who had protected her had cared enough to do this. Makoto slowly opened her eyes, unfastened her watch, and just stared at its face. This had been enough.

Why wasn’t it enough anymore?

Makoto furrowed her eyebrows as she examined the watch in the afternoon sun. Her first good look at it had been clouded by tears, so this time Makoto studied every detail. For as simple as it looked, she had to imagine that the mechanism inside was fairly complicated if it housed clock movements, a music box, and made it so one would set off the other. She’d never opened it up herself, and it would probably be a bad idea to do so now– Makoto was just barely getting the hang of writing again, tinkering with a delicate watch would be a one way ticket to breaking it.

… Wait.

Her protector had been a yakuza. A one-eyed yakuza, who didn’t have the most delicate touch, and whose main skill seemed to be fighting people in such a fashion that it made all sorts of frightening crunching noises and strangled screams come from the people in his way. And his day job had been managing a cabaret, not exactly a job that requires much intricate work with your hands.

Makoto gathered all the pieces and fit them together into one conclusion: There was next to no way he could’ve fixed this himself.

She all but leapt to her feet, pacing her little room at a breakneck pace– If he didn’t do this himself (and she couldn’t rule out the slim possibility just yet) he’d have to have hired someone to do it, or brought it to a shop. Were there any places in Kamurocho he could’ve gone to? Or Sotenbori? Her watch was fairly unique, whoever he’d brought it to was bound to remember him, they could tell her what he looked like, maybe even his name–

Makoto shook her head. No. She had to stop this. There was a reason this was the last she’d see of him. The watch was enough. This was all enough. Everything was closed and everything was finished, and it was safer that way for them both.

If he was even still alive.

That thought brought a shiver to her spine and a new question to her mind:

Did she want everything to be finished?

Makoto’s restraint lasted for all of a day.

She asked her nurse over lunch, “Do you know any place in Kamurocho that could fix my watch?”

Her nurse, of course, answered a question with a question; “Is it broken?”

Makoto pursed her lips; “No, it’s working fine, I just want to know in case it does break–“

The nurse’s smile was infuriatingly cheerful and gracious; “Don’t you worry about it, if that happens I’ll handle that for you.”

Makoto’s forced smile came too easily. If she didn't know, she could just say so– this just made them both look bad.

Makoto persisted, “Well, could you tell me anyway? I mean, I am going to be on my own again one day. When that day comes I should know where to go if my watch breaks.”

The nurse’s smile turned into a smirk; “Do you really think you’ll keep wearing the watch for that long? It’s a bit… childish, isn’t it?”

Makoto couldn’t keep the frown off her face; So that's how it was going to be.

Makoto simply said, “I might be ready to leave sooner than you think.”

Where her nurse wouldn’t help her, her poor doctor could. In fact he practically tripped over himself running across the office, getting a phonebook so he could look it up. Makoto had to wince– he was so very kind and so very helpful, but so very full of feelings Makoto couldn’t bring herself to return. She had tried, for just a moment, but that moment was all she could manage.

He wasn’t for her, and maybe one day he’d see that she wasn’t for him.

He sat down next to her, a hair too close, and opened up the phone book across their laps; “Kamurocho’s pretty densely packed, but there can’t be too many places that’d repair watches around here– We’ll find it in no time.”

Makoto’s smile reached her eyes; “I really can’t thank you enough for this, it’s a huge help.”

It took them somewhere in the neighborhood of half an hour, but they found three places in the district, and a couple just outside. All tiny local businesses, to Makoto’s delight– a local businessman doubtless would remember every customer, especially the odd ones.

Her poor, smitten doctor wrote the addresses down for her (For reference, just in case) and it occurred to Makoto that if she went to these stores with him or her nurse they’d catch on to her plan. They’d shut the whole thing down and her slim chances would evaporate like snow in summertime.

It was just as well. She was good at slipping out of people’s grasp even before she’d regained her sight– Just imagine how good she’d be with it.

It was nice to walk the streets of Kamurocho without any hangers-on. It made Makoto feel normal.

The instinct to look over her shoulder every couple of seconds didn’t. But maybe one day she’d grow out of that.

As she read shop signs and looked for landmarks to get her bearings Makoto surmised that the thing she’d missed most about being able to see was color. Kamurocho had it in spades. The kaleidoscopic neon light fixtures had a glow to them even in daylight, and among the buildings were brilliant splashes of red or stark whites. The people around her wore all sorts of colors, dull mustard jackets, shimmering emerald dresses, and faded blue jeans to name a few. The smattering of trees were just starting to grow their leaves back as Winter gave way to Spring, tiny bundles of green on black branches shining like jewels.

In her better memories of Sotenbori she never remembered it being this colorful. Kamurocho was definitely more her speed. The one damper on this day was that her feet were aching after a good ten minutes of walking– with a frown, Makoto decided that the one thing she missed about Sotenbori were her old work shoes. Briefly, she wondered what she was going to do once she was well enough to work.

She remembered the feeling of Lee's large, rough, gentle hands and swallowed the ache in her throat. That question could wait.

The watch shop was just off of Theater Square, hidden between a hostess club and a convenience store. The bright and wide streets of Kamurocho narrowed into a tiny, windowless shop with walls full to bursting with clocks that all told different times and ticked in different rhythms. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the ticks and tocks all harmonized into a simple soothing rhythm. There was a man in the center of this little cave of clocks, small due to a permanent stoop with faded gray hair and a pair of wire rim glasses on his face. He’d been elbow-deep in the movements of a wall-hanging grandfather clock before he spotted her, at which point he sat up as straight as he could manage and gave her a smile that Makoto returned on instinct.

He gave her a shallow, seated bow; “What can I do for you miss?

Makoto bowed in return and replied, “Well, I wanted to know if you’ve seen this watch before.”

She took off her watch and placed it on the counter. The shopkeep rubbed his chin with one hand and took her watch in the other, taking a good long look at it from every angle through those fragile little spectacles. He let out a couple hmmmms, but said nothing.

Makoto folded her hands politely in front of her and tried very hard not to bring up her tight schedule of getting back in time before anyone noticed she was gone.

The shopkeep’s smile returned as he remarked, “Ah, yes indeed! I fixed this watch myself! An interesting little number, you don’t see many with a musical chime inside. Where did you happen to get this watch, miss?”

Makoto reigned in her excitement just long enough to answer, ”It was a gift from my brother, I’m not sure where he bought it,” she reached the end of her manners, leaning in over the counter, “But– You repaired this? Do you remember anything about the person who brought it in?”

Despite her lean, the shopkeeper nodded with a resolute frown; “I’d have a harder time forgettin’ the man– Tall fella, skinny as a rail with only one eye and a darn long ponytail. Kinda had a horse-face.”

Makoto raised an eyebrow; “Horse face?”

The shopkeep nodded again; “Yep, long and thin with a big ol’ crooked nose. He was definitely yakuza, no doubt about that, but no yakuza I’d seen ‘round these parts,” he squinted at Makoto, adjusting his spectacles, “Is that your brother? Can’t say I see the resemblance.”

Makoto’s first reflex was to sputter out a surprised, half-choked laugh; “What? No, no he’s…”

What was he to her? Was there a way to explain it in under a minute that would result in this man still helping her? All signs pointed to no, and Makoto was a terrible liar.

So, Makoto simply smiled apologetically; “It’s complicated. Did he give you a name?”

Miraculously, the shopkeeper understood, and his smile was just as apologetic; “Sadly no. He just dropped it off one day, I told him I’d be done in two days, and he rolled back in two days later when it was done. Didn’t get a phone or pager number, paid me in cash… Ain’t seen the fella since.”

She’d thought so. She’d told herself over and over on the walk here that could be the case. But her shoulders drooped nonetheless.

Makoto shook her head and tried her best to keep smiling; “I see. Thank you so much for your help– I promise, if my watch breaks again you’re the first person I’ll call to get it fixed.”

She made to leave, and could hear the smile in the shopkeep’s voice as he called, “Good luck findin’ your yakuza, miss.”

Makoto’s initial idea of the worst case scenario had been getting no information at all. As she made her way back to Theater Square, she had to admit that this was even worse. She had information– but not enough, not by half. What was she supposed to do now? Make posters with a bad sketch of his face on them and post them around Kamurocho?

She let out a dry snicker– Have you seen this yakuza? Very sweet and loyal, comes when called. Reward: Eternal gratitude and half of whatever’s in my wallet at the time.

Makoto’s sigh was long and heavy. The fact that she started out considering that seriously was proof enough of how hopeless her situation was. She shook her head; this was fine, this was all she really set out to learn. She wanted to know if he was alive, and he was… or at least had been a month ago.

She didn’t ask for a specific date. She didn’t know when he’d arrived in Kamurocho– there had definitely been enough time between when they got separated and when he found her again for him to have gotten the watch fixed.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach.

Sera had told her that everything had been settled, that she’d no longer be a target and no yakuza would ever trouble her again. But all that really meant is that things were over for her. What about Sera? Kiryu? Nishikiyama? And him? What had they sacrificed to get her out of this? Were they still fighting?

Getting out was supposed to make her happy. It was supposed to take the weight off her shoulders. But knowing nothing was worse than knowing whatever dark truths were lurking in Kamurocho’s shadows, especially now that she could see and do something about it.

A familiar scent and voice broke Makoto’s deep dark reverie; “Oi! Well look who it is!”

Makoto looked up from her feet with a start, looking all around before her eyes settled on a small takoyaki cart. The middle-aged woman manning it was beaming wide and waving with her whole arm. Nevertheless, Makoto blinked a couple times, raising her hand in a pale imitation of a wave.

The vendor’s nod was hearty and enthusiastic; “Yep, you! I never forget a customer! Come on over here, little lady!”

Makoto crossed the distance, brows furrowed in thought– A customer? Makoto had a feeling she was right, the particular smell from this stand was achingly familiar, but the details were still hazy. In the meantime, she offered the woman a polite smile as she stopped in front of the stall.

The vendor spoke as she tended to the takoyaki she’d been cooking; “My my, what’s it been, a month? Month and a half? I see that man of yours around all the time, but you went missing! You two have a falling out?”

Makoto blinked again; Her man? A month ago? The details were taking an agonizingly long time to come together, and Makoto pursed her lips as she made a concentrated effort to remember.

“I…” Makoto’s eyes went wide as one phrase rushed into her mind– He’s a keeper.

Swallowing hurt her throat; how could she forget? She’d left him here, run out on him and disappeared. That hadn’t been fair. Nothing she’d done had been fair. She was realizing right now why she’d forgotten– Remembering felt like getting punched in the throat.

Still, Makoto mustered her best smile and tried to chirp, “Oh! Yes, I remember, we got takoyaki from you! I remember your voice, it’s just your face that threw me off, I’m so sorry I didn’t remember–“

The vendor waved her off; “Oh hush, it’s just fine– From the looks of you I can tell whatever was the matter with your eyes is all cleared up! You’re lookin’ square at me now!”

A light laugh bubbled out of Makoto on instinct; “I’m not a hundred percent yet, but I’m getting better.” There was something… nice about the fact that this woman had noticed her eyes. Must have something to do with now she never forgot a customer.

The vendor frowned; “I’m shocked your man’s not with you– From how he was doting on you that night, I’d think he’d be hovering around you day and night while you’re getting better,” she clicked her tongue, “But, considering how different he’s been lookin’ lately, who knows what’s going through his mind.”

The words hit Makoto like a bolt of lightning.

She’d seen him. She’d seen him. Recently. He was alive.

Makoto leaned as far in as the heat of the takoyaki cooker would let her; “You’ve seen him? And he looks different? Different how?”

The vendor stared at her, just long enough for Makoto to worry she wouldn’t tell her (or worse– ask questions), but thankfully she only shook her head; “My oh my, if you haven’t seen your man in this long that must’ve been one heck of a fight that split you two up. But I’m blathering– Let’s see…”

Her mouth screwed up into a frown; “He’s been wearing this hideous snakeskin jacket, and no shirt underneath it! Cut his hair, too; looked like he just took that ponytail, snipped it off, and shaved down what was left on his neck. And those leather pants, with matching gloves! Absolutely atrocious! His shoes are the same, though– same old silver tips.”

Makoto’s legs almost buckled.

Her stomach spun and twisted and shouted and it was everything Makoto could do not to vomit.

Her voice came out in a whisper; “I… I have seen him…” She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and through the blur could see the naked concern on the vendor’s face.

Makoto pulled her mouth into a wan approximation of a smile, voice warbling and wobbling, “Thank you. Thank you so much I– please excuse me.”

She almost tripped more times than she could count as she dashed away, tracing the way in her memory to the tiny children’s park she ran away from what felt like a lifetime ago. Thanks to divine providence, it was empty. Makoto all but collapsed onto the bench, mind spiraling around one central point.

The gangster with the one sad eye.

He’d saved her, he’d protected her.

She remembered telling herself that it was wishful thinking, that she was seeing him in every man who could have only one eye.

But she’d been right.

It had been him, she’d been fingertips away.

But he didn’t say anything– he had helped her one last time, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

And now she might never find him again.

Makoto pressed her face into her hands and wailed.