OF A PERFECT PREPERATION (3)
BEEEP!
The vending machine in the hospital hallway emitted a sound that no vending machine should ever make—a discordant, almost mocking tone that seemed designed specifically to test the limits of human patience.
Junichi stood before it, leaning against the glowing screen, staring at the contents within. Beer. More beer. Even more beer. And, inexplicably, cigarette candy. Honestly, hospitals nowadays didn't even have the audacity to hide their bad habits anymore. They just put them right out in the open, like a challenge.
"This damn thing." He straightened, cracking his knuckles. "Well. When in doubt, it's best to bring out ol' reliable."
He curled his hand into a fist and drove it into the side of the machine with enough force to rattle the windows down the hall.
BEEEP!
Still that sound. Still that infuriating, condescending beep.
Junichi wasn't an engineer. He couldn't diagnose what was wrong with this hunk of junk. All he knew was that it contained beer, and he wanted that beer, and the universe was conspiring to keep them apart.
"This damn thing!" He smacked it again, frustration building. "Why won't it give me what I want?!"
The machine had tested the limits of his patience—which, admittedly, were not particularly generous limits to begin with.
"You know," a soft, familiar voice drifted from somewhere down the hallway, "it's not healthy to drink beer without eating something first."
Junichi turned.
And just like that, all his anger evaporated. All his exasperation. All his cosmic frustration with a disobedient vending machine.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Jane." A grin spread across his scarred face. "Is it just me, or has your face grown cuter since this morning?"
Jane approached with the easy confidence of someone who had absolutely no reason to be impressed by him. "You look at women's faces now? I only thought you stared at their asses."
She had her purse in hand—a small, practical thing—and from it produced a single coin. She slid it into the slot with practiced ease, then pressed a sequence of numbers on the keypad.
ZIP!
The machine produced a different sound entirely. An accepting sound. A sound that said "your transaction has been processed, thank you for your business."
Junichi stared.
For anyone wondering why the machine had been beeping earlier: it was because he hadn't put any money in. Vending machines, as a general rule, require payment before dispensing goods. This is basic常识.
"I'm more of a breast guy, actually." Junichi placed his hand on the machine, leaning in with his hip cocked, trying to salvage some dignity. "But how the hell did you do that? I've been trying this bullshit for the last three hours!"
(He had, in fact, been standing there for approximately two minutes.)
Jane bent to retrieve her snacks—a bag of chips and a bottle of water. "Well, did you put a coin into it?"
"Was I supposed to?"
"Are you stupid? Or what?"
"I'll take the 'or what' statement."
Jane's lips twitched. Despite herself, a small smile escaped, followed by a sigh.
'He really is a big gorilla,' she thought. 'With the IQ of a deflated tire.'
She straightened, snacks in hand. "I'm sure being in the government means you get paid a lot. I'm sure you can spare a coin or two."
"What about me exactly makes you believe I have money?"
Jane looked at him.
Really looked.
No shirt. Bare, unshaved chest covered in bandages and scars. Hospital-issued pants. Bare feet shoved into worn sandals.
'I guess that one's on me,' she admitted internally. 'How the hell did a guy like this even get into the government? They just be hiring anyone nowadays.'
"So how do you pay for anything?"
"Oh, I just ask Mao-chan." Junichi yawned, completely unashamed. "She's too kind to say no."
(Elsewhere, in a different part of the city, Maomao suddenly felt a chill run down her spine—the sensation of her bank account balance crying out in terror.)
"So..." Junichi's eyes drifted back to her snacks. "Got a coin I can borrow?"
This was, objectively, a terrible first impression. Jane had been on dates before. Men in her unit would offer to buy her meals. They'd dress nicely. Make an effort with their hygiene. Buy her things. Show her respect.
This guy?
No shirt. Bare chest. Broke. Financially irresponsible. An alcoholic. Dumb as a bag of hammers.
She hated herself for the thought that followed:
'But somehow... I find that very endearing.'
"Here." She extended a can of beer—the one she'd bought for herself. "You're lucky I don't drink that much."
"Thanks, doc!" He snatched it from her hand with the speed of a striking snake. "You're a life saver. I thought I was gonna die of thirst in this bitch."
He cracked it open, tilted his head back, and chugged. The entire can disappeared in one long, continuous swallow. When it was empty, he crushed it against his own forehead with a satisfying CRUNCH and tossed the remains over his shoulder.
'No sense of hygiene whatsoever.' Jane cracked open her own can—water, not beer—and took a sip.
"Now I've got enough energy to lock in on..." Junichi trailed off, his brow furrowing. "Wait. What was I supposed to do again?"
He stood there, frozen in thought, genuinely trying to remember why he'd left his hospital bed in the first place.
"You were discharged this morning," Jane reminded him. "Then you went back to sleep."
"Oh, yeah." He nodded slowly. "But I did have something I wanted to..." A long pause. "Nah. Forgot."
He turned to her, a new light dawning in his eyes.
"Wanna fool around together until I remember?"
Jane blinked.
"We met two weeks ago," she said flatly, "and you already want to have sex?"
"Foreplay is for the weak." Junichi waved a dismissive hand. "There's no reason you should stroke it before putting it in."
'What,' Jane wondered, 'is he even talking about?'
The way he spoke suggested a man who lived entirely in the moment—fascinated by the idea of women, like every other man. But unlike other men, he made zero effort to hide his intentions. No pretense. No games. Just... this.
Which was, she supposed, a good thing. It made him easy to avoid.
And yet.
She'd had so many failed first dates. So many disappointing one-night stands. Experiences she'd rather not catalog here. But this one—this ridiculous, shirtless, broke, alcoholic, dumb man—felt different somehow.
She couldn't explain it.
'Seriously,' she thought, watching him scratch his bare chest contentedly, 'how did I even get here?'
***
MEANWHILE, ELSEWHERE
UHURU GARDENS — THE EDGE OF THE PARK
"How are the preparations going?"
If you had keen, observant eyes—the kind that notice details others miss—you might have spotted them. Four inconspicuous figures, hidden behind the trees near the garden's edge, positioned at perfect angles to observe the distant table where Germain and Rika sat.
But you didn't notice them.
Which is why I'm telling you now.
Consider this a reminder: not everything is as it seems.
"Make sure to record their conversation as instructed." Maomao's voice was barely a whisper, carried on the night breeze. "If there are any noticeable cues from Germain-sama—any shifts in tone, any carefully chosen words—make sure we capture them in context."
A series of silent nods answered her.
"Yes, Tatsu-sama."
And so, under the cover of darkness and carefully maintained distance, the Okinawa Group began their first formal reconnaissance on the Count Saints.
The game, it seemed, had begun.
IN POSITION!
TO BE CONTINUED....