There's no Kira, Only Makima

-Prologue-

"Hideta-san, it is no longer feasible to keep the base in Southern Okinawa."

"With all due respect sir, what is not feasible are the costs. The Americans may have agreed to the relocation, but that is because they will not be the ones paying. They could care less where the base is. This is just another foreign issue for them," Renryu Hideta replied stoically.

The Prime Minister of Japan sighed. "The financial details of the relocation have not yet been determined. Even if we were to be burdened with the costs, the regional productivity increase would be more than enough to offset the losses."

"There are many who oppose the relocation, calling it a needless expense for something uncertain, while others cite environmental concerns. The backlash will be fierce if we get the plan through the diet. Furthermore, any growth will come only after years in the future, and it will be your successor who will be credited. Saisho, you will receive the blame but none of the rewards." Argued Hideta.

"Not everything is about politics, Hideta." Replied the Prime Minister. "My term is ending, and we both know it will not be renewed. I wish to end my term with my country being better than it was when I entered its service."

Hideta Oriwara paused momentarily as if pondering on what he heard. "While I do sympathize, the diet will never allow it. It is doubtful whether the people in Okinawa will support this either. Our country has never been fond of change, even for the better."

"Then we will persuade them."

"With what?" Hideta shot back. "Saisho, your term is ending, and as you said, it will not be renewed. You have no political capital. You have no supporters in the diet and without them, we have no chance of swinging public opinion. Saisho… there is nothing we can do."

The most powerful man in the Island Nation of Japan was silent, his face expressionless and his body still. Slowly, as if burdened by a great weight, he stood from his ornate desk, crafted from the finest mahogany. He turned slowly and gazed out the window.

"Let us discuss this another day, Hideta. I seem to have kept you well past the reasonable hours."

Hideta stood silently, a frown creasing his brows and adding even more lines to his already-aged visage. He sighed before gazing at the back of his superior in sorrow.

"Shisho… You have done your best. You may not have been successful, but you have done your best—those who would question that are the ignorant and the liars. So, please… Just rest and be satisfied knowing you have done what you can."

After offering his final farewells, Hideta turned to leave the office before pausing at the door. He turned his head to gaze at the back of the Prime Minister. A back that should have been powerful but instead looked so frail. Sighing regretfully, Hideta quietly closed the door before leaving as if not to disturb the office's only resident from his thoughts.

Seconds passed as it turned into minutes. The Prime Minister of Japan stood still as if frozen in time, gazing at the skylights of nighttime Tokyo. A common sight for him due to his habit of working late into the night. But even though it was something he saw near daily; it was somehow still as beautiful as the first night he had laid his eyes upon it. It was said that things were extraordinary only if rare, as repeated exposure would dull the beauty no matter how exquisite. But to him, that was something the vain who could not see past the exterior said. To the Prime Minister of Japan, the lights of Tokyo were not just some mere spectacles to be appreciated by tourists but a dream he had wished to fulfill. A dream that he had failed.

Suddenly, he slumped down into his chair as if his legs had turned to gelatin. With his hands covering his face as if to hide it and his arms acting as a pillar for the head, he inhaled deeply before releasing a mournful breath.

Like many his age, the Prime Minister had lost friends and relatives to the war, though not many lost as much as he.

He was taken by the military from his family and friends when he had not even reached puberty and was told to serve the country with body and soul.

Thankfully the war ended before he could fire a shot at the invaders.

With the war over, he was sent back home.

He still remembered how eager he had been to see his family, only to realize that there was nothing to return to except ash and dust.

Other boys in his neighborhood had been taken to serve in the war effort. Some were his close friends.

He never saw them again.

So, the boy with nothing but his name and the clothes on his back wandered from street to street, penniless, friendless, and without family, looking for odd jobs to do in exchange for coin or food. Sometimes when times were even more difficult than usual, he resorted to begging or stealing.

And thus, Ryuuta Hashirama grew. Surviving off jobs nobody else had wanted and the occasional pity from strangers, something exceedingly rare during a time with much suffering.

But one fateful day, he was asked to deliver a bento to a representative of the diet. It was a simple task but one that left him filled with apprehension. To him, it was a frightening place filled with frightening people. He would have eaten it if it wasn't for the possible consequences. An orphan turning up dead wasn't anything unusual after all.

But when Ryuuta Hashimara first entered the diet that fateful day as a child, he saw a place, not of fear but aspiration.

Like how children can fall in love with the single action of thrown pitch or a swing of a bat, he too had fallen in love. Not with something as mundane and inconsequential as baseball but with something he could not describe, thus igniting a spark that would become a roaring flame called ambition. Ambition to become something more than what he was.

Thus, the boy who would become the Prime Minister of Japan began to learn. While doing errands for the diet members, he spied on them. He learned their language and mimicked their speech. While others in his position would have stolen watches and wallets, he stole books. Something much safer, considering how few people in the diet read them. Even if he was caught stealing them, it could easily be dismissed as him delivering an errand. After all, who would steal some dusty law books?

The more he learned, the more trusted he became and the greater the magnitude of the tasks given to him. As time passed, the boy became a young man. He continued to work for the representatives, not as an errand boy but as an assistant to whoever required his services. Rather than being paid pennies per job, he was given a proper wage.

Eventually, his dedication to his duties earned him the trust of his superiors, and he was even able to join the diet not as an assistant but as a member.

His journey to get this far had not been easy. He had been broken and lost numerous times.

But what is broken can be fixed, and what is lost can be guided. Despite the seemingly never-ending obstacles in his path and the poisonous political climate, Hashimara never once lost sight of his dream.

For others, life was an endless path of branching roads that split into three only to converge into two. A twisting and turning monstrosity that left countless stranded at dead ends. Even those who had successfully navigated the path had found themselves far away from their intended designation.

But for Ryuuta Hashimara, there had always been one road. There were no twists. There were no turns. His path was straight as a line, and his destination was in clear sight. With his gait steady and his vision clear, he had walked along the course of his ambition only to find that while the road was straight, it was hindered by stone walls.

Hashimara was never the most skillful of his peers. He was not a genius who could come up with grand solutions to every problem, nor could he sway others with sheer charisma. But what he did have was something as equally valuable—unrelenting will.

He had made up his deficits with sheer effort.

If he could not convince a man in one sitting, he would try in the second. If the second did not work, then he would try the third. Then the fourth, fifth, sixth, and however many were required. While Hashimara did not have the strength to smash through stone walls, he had the endurance and patience to chisel them away.

While many found him lacking, and in many ways he was, he had still earned their respect. While he was not the brightest nor most capable, he rose in prestige and gained influence within the government. Eventually, the diet proclaimed him the most powerful man in Japan.

He could still remember that day. He could remember the joy that swelled in his chest as it threatened to burst out. The happiness of his family and the hope that he could finally make great leaps to the end of his path. While he loved his country, he was not blind to its faults. Faults that he was determined to right.

He had entered the office of Prime Minister as not fine porcelain but hardened glass. His dreams and aspirations, tempered by reality but still clear and transparent as glass. But hardened or not, the glass shattered anyways.

Effort was a sharp sword when it could be focused on a single foe. As it turned out, effort became meaningless when a single foe turned into five dozen.

Will was an anchor that could steady a man against the tide. Will, as it turned out, became meaningless when the tide could just drown the city.

As an ordinary diet member, Hashirama could focus on a single objective and give it his all to turn a fragment of his dream into reality. Due to this unrelenting will and the refusal to give in, he had become successful.

But as Prime Minister of Japan, he had dozens of matters to attend to. He could not focus on a single issue like he had in the past and ignore the rest. Dividing his efforts simply gave back lackluster results no matter how hard he tried. While he could chisel down one stone wall at a time, he could not do the same with a hundred.

He had started his term as an idealist but would soon leave after having accomplished nothing. The will that had carried him this far shattered beyond repair.

Sighing again, he reached out for the cigars in the lower cabinet. The cheap kind that he smoked when he was still a disadvantaged youth. A habit that he had picked up while fetching cigars as an errand boy. He had never liked the brand, but it was all he could afford at the time. Compared to then, he could afford better quality, but these carried a tint of nostalgia, reminding him of simpler times even if they were harsher. He had quit when he had entered the diet as a representative decades ago, but the weight of his current position made him crave the pastime. Smoking at his age was undoubtedly hazardous for his health, and he was breaking social norms doing it in the office of the Prime Minister, but he could not bring himself to care.

Taking a long whiff of the disgusting poison, he paused briefly, allowing the toxins to settle in his lungs before releasing a long exhale—his already-aged visage seeming to age even further in a matter of seconds.

Hideta was right. Relocating the U.S. Military base to the sparsely populated north of Okinawa rather than keeping it in the growing population of the south may have had benefits in the future. Still, it was not something that people wanted or necessarily needed at this time. But as all the reforms and laws he had wished to pass failed to go through the gridlock known as politics, he had wished to do something, anything, before his term ended. It was honestly his attempt at one last-ditch effort to do some kind of good rather than something he thought was necessary.

Taking one last puff of the cigar and extinguishing the flame in his teacup, he withdrew a blank piece of paper and began writing his resignation letter.

With his term ending and re-election being a far-off dream, he was powerless. He had failed to accomplish anything in his golden years, so what could he do now that he was a lame duck? The diet wouldn't even bother negotiating with him, and his party wouldn't support a man who would soon leave office. He might as well end it now rather than maintain this suffocating status quo.

His family would be disappointed. They wouldn't show it and would probably try to lift his spirits, but even then, it would feel like he had disappointed them. At the very least, he would soon be able to spend more time with them.

"Why the long face, Minister?" A soft feminine voice suddenly asked

Startled, Hashirama nearly jumped from his chair. He had not heard anyone come in. Raising his head from his letter, he was once more startled by what he saw.

Staring back was the strangest pair of eyes that he had ever seen. Her eyes gave off an uncanny vibe with yellow irises and several ringlets originating from the pupil. Staring at them made him feel exposed as if the eyes could stare through him.

Their cold, unfeeling nature could only match the beauty of her eyes.

The face that carried them seemed even more unnatural. Even those born with the most excellent health accumulated imperfections while living, whether through diet, lifestyle or even from the environment. Even the most beautiful and handsome had blemishes upon close examination, even if they were fewer and smaller than others.

But not the face that was in front of him.

It was the face of something drawn rather than something belonging to a person—a perfectly shaped doll with all the golden proportions praised by society. Not a single mark marred her face. Not even a mole or even a line. Such imperfections could be hidden by makeup, but despite not being familiar with the practices of vanity, something told him that it wasn't the case.

With her long bright red hair tied into a ponytail, two bangs reaching past her shoulders, and a perfectly sculpted facial structure, she was perhaps the most beautiful person he had ever seen. It was a visage that Hashirama would have paused to admire and appreciate for several minutes, even at his age, if it wasn't for the unnaturalness of her appearance.

If this were earlier in his career, he would have assumed she was a honeypot or something more sinister sent by his political rivals.

But he was soon to be a political nobody and more importantly, powerless. There was no need for anyone to try something so risky on a man who would quickly fade into obscurity. Furthermore, she was wearing a dress shirt and black tie, something commonly seen in the diet and not something worn in attempts at seduction or even assassination.

Considering her age, he assumed her to be an intern or assistant to one of his peers that had somehow walked into his office. She had to be new. He doubted he could have forgotten someone like her.

"Can I help you, Miss…?" He carefully asked. Usually, he would have been far less polite to the intrusion of his office, but despite having been happily married, he could not help but be gentler to a beautiful woman.

"Please, call me Makima." She replied with a smile.

"Well, Miss. Maki-." He started replying but suddenly paused. His eyes dilated as if seeing something in the far distance and he gasped, remembering what he had forgotten.

He remembered his friend, with whom he had been inseparable since birth.

They had played together, laughed together, and mourned together. They had shared a kinship beyond friendship. When they both lost their respective families from the War and were left with nothing, that friendship gave him the strength to live straight when so many of his fellows compromised their morals when times became hard. That same strength gave him the courage to dare dream of a better life when the only concern he should have had was the next meal.

Unfortunately, they had gone their separate paths as they had grown older. Both dedicated to their aspirations. But despite the separation, his friend wholeheartedly supported his dream even when others decried it as naïve and idealistic.

They had even attended each other's wedding, and Hashirama was present at the birth of his friend's first child. The same child who had grown into a woman was now seated in front of him.

The last he had seen her was at her parent's funeral when a criminal syndicate her father had troubled one too many times had massacred her family in revenge.

Suddenly a wave of shame overcame him. How could he have forgotten about her? How could he have forgotten about him?

If he had died, he was confident his friend would have taken in his children and treated them like his own. In comparison, he ignored and forgot his deceased friend's only daughter. A girl who had nothing to rely on after the death of her family. When he entered office, he had sworn that no child should ever have to live as he did. Yet he had abandoned the one child he should have never forgotten and condemned her to the same life he had sworn to prevent. Family-less and support less. No matter how busy he was, such inaction was inexcusable.

"M-Makima, this is such a surprise; how have you been?" He asked guiltily, confusion from her sudden appearance forgotten. What did she think of him? Did she resent him? If she did, he could not blame her.

"Minister, it has been a while. I am glad to see that you have been doing well." She replied, smiling. I recently graduated and enlisted in the force. I was in the area because I had some questions for a representative regarding an investigation and heard you were still present, so I thought to visit." She paused momentarily. "I hope I am not interrupting; you must be busy with your duties."

"Nonsense!" Exclaimed Hashriama, hastily shoving away pen and paper. The stress and despair he had felt from his struggles evaporated as if they had never existed. "I have all the time in the world for you, my dear girl. And please, call me uncle, none of that Minister business. We are practically family!"

A family he had forgotten, he thought guiltily.

"It has been so long, Makima. I am glad to hear that you have been doing well, and I am sure your father would have been proud." He said sadly, the thought of his friend dampening his earlier excitement.

His friend was an excellent detective and dedicated his life to bringing the weight of the law to those deserving. But it was the excellence that had gotten him killed. To hear that his daughter had joined the force brought him joy that she had followed her father's path but also fear that she would follow him to the grave. If he had been more attentive and involved in her life as he should have been, he would have tried to turn her away from such a career, honor and prestige be damned. While Japan was a safe country and its police force well trained, it was still dangerous to side with the law in the streets. But he had no right to dictate her life after being absent for so long.

While he could no longer steer her away, he could certainly help her in her career, even if that was the last thing he would do as Prime Minister. Then, he could partially atone for sins.

With a new purpose found, he smiled.

While his dreams had been a failure, he would not fail her.

"Thank you… Uncle." Makima's smile grew wider.

If Hashirama had not been so emotional, he would have noticed that her smile did not reach her eyes. Despite the reunion between people who were practically family, her eyes remained cold and unfeeling. In normal circumstances, he would have realized that it was strange that he could not remember the name of his friend or his face. Nor could he recall the wife or the city where Makima was born. He should have known from the sheer number of discrepancies in his memory that something was wrong.

But he didn't. And he never would.