Shinkansen

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I had to ask for directions twice and bribe a station clerk with a vending machine coffee before I figured out the whole route.

But I got it.

“We take the Tōhoku Shinkansen from Tokyo Station up to Morioka,” I said, flipping open the well-worn JR route map like it was a sacred scroll. The creases were starting to dissolve into threads.

“Then we switch to the Hakuchō Limited Express,” I continued, tapping a blue line with my fingernail, “which takes us through the Seikan Tunnel to Hakodate on the southern tip of Hokkaidō.”

Ryoji gave a slow nod, seated next to me on the bench, arms crossed like a sleepy bouncer at a VIP lounge.

“Then we transfer to the Super Sōya from Asahikawa, and take that all the way to Wakkanai,” I finished with a flourish. “Japan’s northernmost station. End of the line.”

He tilted his head. “Except we’re stopping in Osaka first.”

I blinked.

“What?”

He said it like it was nothing. “A detour. Brief. I’ve got a place to check.”

“Osaka’s in the opposite direction, Ryoji!”

I already had my map half-unfolded again, clumsily flipping the giant accordion of routes like a desperate travel agent. “Hold on—if we go west to Osaka, then I have to re-plot everything—we’ll need the Tōkaidō Shinkansen first, to Shin-Osaka, then probably overnight there, then double back—”

He leaned over and tapped the correct route on the map. “From Shin-Osaka, we take the overnight Twilight Express to Sapporo. Connect from there to Asahikawa, then Wakkanai. Slower, but scenic. Less crowded.”

I looked up at him, deadpan. “You’ve done this before.”

He shrugged. “Could have.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, folding the map against my leg. “I had the perfect plan. It even rhymed in my head.”

“Life’s full of reroutes,” he said. “Better learn to like junctions.”

“Okay, mysterious detour man, but after Osaka, we’re going straight to Wakkanai. No more sudden schedule edits unless they involve food or foot baths.”

He gave a faint smile. “No promises.”

The station platform was quiet in that in-between hour—too late for commuters, too early for school kids. A few vending machines hummed in the corner. The tracks stretched out ahead, empty and sun-glared.

I shifted the strap on my shoulder and glanced at Ryoji beside me, his face unreadable as usual.

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“Hey,” I said, nudging his arm. “Once we’re in Osaka… can we rent another bike? Just for the day?”

He didn’t even look at me. “If we take the bike,” he said, “Reika will be onto us before we leave the city”

I blinked. “Wait—what? Reika? As in biker girl? That Reika?”

His fingers paused mid-check on the duffel’s zipper. “Mm.”

“Why?”

He stood upright, something almost amused in his expression. “Because it wasn’t just Chika who gave us away.”

My mouth opened. Closed. “The arcade girl?”

“She’s harmless,” he said. “But the bike shop wasn’t.”

I frowned. “The leaser?”

He gave a short nod. “She’s got people there. Most of the bikes in Kanto and Kansai are part of her network.”

That took a second to land. “Her network?”

“We don’t want to get her involved unless it’s necessary.”

I stared. “Wait—Reika Yamada?”

He didn’t answer. Just gave me that calm, see-if-you-can-catch-up look.

“Yamada as in the Yamada Zaibatsu? The motorsports dynasty? That Yamada?”

“Yup.”

I threw up my hands. “Oh my god.”

I shook my head, stunned. “And you dated her?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t say that,” I shot back. “Which is worse.”

He shrugged.

“That’s why you were polishing that Yamaha like it was your firstborn.”

He gave me a sideways glance, borderline offended. “I was checking it for a tracker.”

I blinked. “Wait—you found one?”

“Under the frame. Wired into the taillight. Looked standard, not recent.”

“You left it there? Is there anything in this country not secretly under her domain? Vending machines? Public baths?”

“Would’ve looked suspicious if I tampered with it. Figured she’d follow the signal.”

I just stared at him. “So you knew she’d show up at the Cat’s Tail?”

“I had a strong guess.”

“Wow,” I muttered, everything clicking into place. “So the arcade girl, the bike… you weren’t even surprised.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Obsessed much?” I asked, trying to sound casual. Didn’t quite manage it. “What did you do to her?”

“Just an old job.”

I raised a brow. “That’s it?”

“She hired me,” he said, rolling up a shirt now. “Back when I took freelance work.”

“And?”

“That’s it”

He said it like weather—nothing proud, nothing guilty.

“She tracked us across Tokyo, Ryoji. That’s not it, that’s definitely not it.”

He half-smirked. “She’s passionate. And well-funded.”

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“You’re not even gonna deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny.”

The station speaker chimed softly. Our train was minutes away.

I sighed, adjusting the strap of my coat. “So just to recap: We go from Tokyo to Osaka, then take an overnight express north like we’re on some noir smuggling route, just so you can… what, visit a haunted pachinko parlor?”

He said nothing.

”…Right. Secret thing. I’m not supposed to know.”

“That’s more like it.”

We made it to the platform just as the Tōkaidō Shinkansen hissed into the station—sleek, white, and vaguely shark-like in the morning light. Ryoji moved with a kind of silent alertness, eyes scanning the car numbers, shoulders just a little too squared for someone taking a leisure trip.

I was still half-grinning from my last jab when I noticed his posture shift—shoulders straightening just a little, eyes sharpening, like the next words had already been measured in his head.

Then he leaned closer to me and said it—calm, but edged with something firmer:

“We make this trip. We check on your father. But under no circumstances do you mention Satoshi-sama to him.”

I blinked. “What?”

Ryoji turned fully now, voice low so only I could hear.

“You let me bring it up. If needed. If it even makes sense. You follow my lead.”

I frowned. “You think my dad’s in danger?”

“No I just want to be discreet”

I watched him closely.

That wasn’t paranoia.

That was strategy.

“Okay,” I said after a beat. “But you’re not shutting me out.”

He looked at me, and for once, there was no wall between us. No cryptic deflection. Just quiet honesty.

“I’ll make my own conclusions. Then I’ll tell you.”

I held his gaze. “Deal.”

He nodded once, satisfied.

Once aboard, we slipped into our reserved seats near the middle of the car. I barely had time to stash my coat before he was already sitting, legs stretched out, gaze angled toward the aisle like he was waiting for something.

I turned toward him. “So. Osaka.”

He nodded once, watching passengers settle in.

We stood. Ryoji hoisted the duffel bag like it weighed nothing, while I wrangled my own with both hands and a quiet grunt.

Two people, headed across the country—chasing ghosts, snow, and whatever he wouldn’t say.

At least this time, we had matching train tickets.

And matching secrets.

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