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+---- Thread: Jailbird - A Vercetti story - Chapter 8 (/showthread.php?tid=526)
- Thunfish - 2022-01-13
Squall never had a mentor until he arrived in Tokyo. He wasn't entirely antagonistic to any person who offered to become his new guiding light but, truth be told, all that tried had their own failings that prevented them from properly doing it. Not that he had never made anything out of the rotating cast of attempted father figures - most of his football try-outs came on the heels of former footballers thinking that Vercetti just had something special in him. Of course, his rash and violent approach made him persona non grata pretty quickly and he was off to the streets again like usual, but by a point, he just did it to get a taste of what was there before using someone else's knee as his "get out of jail free" card.
Juvi ball was a bit similar in that regard - the local police had taken to betting on the matches between convicts as it seemed that both parties just sort of accepted that the situation was "pointless" and if there was something to be made out of it, they'd sure do it. Football itself was seen as "too messy", soccer was just right. A British teacher had this thought that the sport would help the troubled youth but once he had been well distracted by the sight of a cute young intern, soccer became their way of making some bucks. Hell, Squall got himself a couple of turns on it on purpose, just because it felt like fun thrills, back-to-back.
The exception was in Tokyo. While he knew very little about the man, Narazaki was a guiding light in his own way. He just had this cool way of speech that felt homely, the kind of stuff he could shoot around with. Both were skeptics, although Narazaki was far rougher after a life of disillusion and double-crosses. Squall took his notes, though. Every visit to the old man was somewhat short but insightful... and he was able to befriend the local bakery in the process, though he doubted they even knew he was only there to maintain an old homeless man.
The taste of the cup win still sweet as day on his mouth, he figured it'd be right to go drop the news. Once again, he sat alone on Ueno, watching movement in the distance, waiting for the familiar knocks of the old man's cane. An hour passed. Two. Three. Once he was done fiddling with his phone, Squall decided that it was high time to take a look at the situation for himself. Narazaki had to have lost the notion of time or something of the like, the Canadian was sure of it.
He ran through the park, every look getting him more worried. He couldn't find the old man. Did something happen? Did his family finally realize that he was there? Where could he have gone? He's blind, it's not like he could have gone anywhere too far, in any case. Maybe, he had decided to sleep early? All of those were possibilities that he could operate with, though none sounded that likely. Narazaki was, after all, always on time. In fact, had he not been on time all the time, he wouldn't have gotten blind from the ninja issue, nor would he have lost his wife when he heard her planning to dump him off on an Asylum.
...
From a young age, Squall knew that smell. The smell of a corpse. He had seen people get killed - far less than one would think in one hand, way more than anyone should in the other - as his parents dove into the criminal world back in the day. Then, the streets of New York had the habit of unveiling lost souls, it was always hard to sleep after he saw it but he was an inhabitant of its underbelly, it was just... normal.
Yet, this was the first time he saw fit to cry over a corpse. He didn't cry over his father - the man was an addicted bastard that found himself owing bucketloads to the mob. He didn't cry over his mother - she was more likely to cry over pennies and jewelry than her own son, felt like it was only fair to ignore it when he saw the news. Narazaki was a victim of the world. A devoted man that worked hard for everything, all of it then wasted as life was more than glad to throw him to the side like garbage.
In his rudimentary Japanese, he was able to talk with the locals and the story wasn't shocking. A couple of punks got their hands on the blind man to make a statement, he didn't go down easy and paid the price. The cops were nearby and while they weren't able to stop the murder, they were at least able to catch the perpetrators in the act. Yet, his body lied there, lifeless and bloodied. It had only been three hours.
Squall thanked the locals, gave them bread and went home. He opened the door of his apartment in silence, closing the door and throwing himself on the couch he had just bought not too long ago. It all tasted bittersweet to him. Not too long ago, he was celebrating a Cup win after a season of turmoil. As the team's first pick, he had to hear a lot of garbage over his team's early troubles and while not happy, he was able to settle down and focus on the future. Yet, as he had helped his team conquer a beast, it seemed like it didn't matter anymore. What's the point of becoming a star when the one person you wanted to see wasn't around anymore to see it?
Squall: Won the bag and he's not even here to hear it. Goddamn it, Narazaki!
As he mused everything, he heard his phone ring. A message from New York. Ginger somehow got his number, presumably from a fan group. Money had taken the orphanage down. Apparently, the place was in a good zone and they were now planning on opening a pizzeria over it. Her mother took it, Ginger rejected the notion of doing so but was overruled. Unsurprisingly, one thing led to another and the girl was now on the run from her family. Before he could even try to manage the situation, she made a request: a place to stay, which was then followed by a picture of hers inside a motel room. The place itself looked dusty and Ginger looked dishevelled. It seemed like what hurt most for her were the orphans - Lord knew where they went - and she wanted to restart somewhere distant.
Like Tokyo, perhaps. He found himself agreeing, saying he'd pay for her trip to Japan and maybe help her settle down. Not like it was himself who did it. It was like someone guided him. Once he was able to realize it, it was all too late. A sigh left his mouth as he looked up to the ceiling.
Squall: ...Goddamn it, Narazaki.