Another blow crashed into me, sharper than the last.
“But first, you need to toughen up. All that family money made you soft.”
“Why am I here? I’ve done nothing to you.”
“Nothing?” His lip curled. “You burned down the Sakamoto compound. Toppled the dynasty. You and your saintly little girlfriend ruined it all. You’re lucky you’re even breathing.”
“Chef Sakamoto and Reina brought that on themselves. Look at your hand—that’s because of them. I’m not the villain here. They are… or were.”
Sana leaned close, his breath hot. “I don’t even know why they’re keeping you alive, or why they dragged you here. You’re worthless. But your girlfriend… she’s got skills. She might do well among the Leftovers. Maybe even become a true Flame, if they accept her. But that’s a long shot. And besides”—he paused, savoring it—“they have other plans for her.”
He laughed, then turned to the two men at the door. “Prepare him.”
21
Akiko
Miki and I didn’t need to be told twice. We shot to our feet and followed Keiko, squeezing through the narrow hall into the alley, the Chopman close on our heels.
“If Flame Toro hates us so much, why did he want to cook for us?” Miki asked.
“He didn’t,” I said. “That was him showing off, to prove he’s superior and that I’m not better or more deserving.”
“Are you kidding? You cook way better. And what he serves… that’s seriously messed up.”
I turned to Keiko. “If Flame Toro didn’t sneak off to Kyoto to torch my restaurant, then who did?”
Keiko gave a thin smile. “Does it really matter, Akiko? You weren’t brought here to play detective.”
Before I could say anything, Keiko spun on her heel and walked off. She didn’t look back. The Chopman made sure we followed.
“She’s not entirely wrong,” Miki whispered as we trailed behind. “Why would she help us catch one of her own?”
“You’re right. Something else is going on.”
“They took your restaurant. What’s left?”
Keiko cut left into another passage, leaving the partying crowds behind. It was damp and airless, like the last one, my shoes splashing through puddles that stank of spoiled milk and rot. She didn’t slow until we reached a battered door painted a peeling, sickly green.
Inside was a cramped vestibule, one wall lined with dented school-style lockers plastered with skateboard stickers. I was about to ask what this was when Keiko grabbed one by the edge and pulled. The whole bank of lockers slid aside, metal groaning on its track, revealing a narrow passage beyond.
We climbed a spiral staircase that creaked under our weight with each turn. The Chopman lumbered behind us with heavy steps.
At the top, we stepped into a restaurant three times the size of Toro’s. The lighting was low and golden, the air fragrant with rice vinegar and grilled fish. The open area in the center was ringed with private shoji screens. Soft murmurs and the occasional clink of glass drifted from behind them.
A young woman in geisha attire appeared, a pleasant smile on her face. Her eyes flicked to me, then to Miki, before settling on Keiko. The two stepped aside, speaking in voices too low to catch.
“This is Flame Aji’s place,” Keiko said when she returned. “He became a Leftover three years ago.”
“Let me guess, he does something crazy with endangered animals,” Miki said.
“Actually, he serves sushi. Much like the dishes Akiko once did in her restaurant.”
Miki crossed her arms. “We’ll see about that.”
“Did Flame Aji burn my restaurant down?” I asked, still pushing to keep that narrative alive.
Keiko’s eyes narrowed. “If your nosy mind must know, I brought you here for something else entirely… to be judged. To have votes cast.”
