A tour of two cities

"So… about that deal I mentioned," Avery begins first thing in the morning.

"Before that," Atsunori replies, "there's something I need to show you."

"Ooh, what is it? A gift?"

"No, it's about—"

"Wait, don't spoil it. Make it a surprise."

A resigned grunt escapes him before he motions for her to follow. They walk away from the estate's center, toward the outer walls and to the exit gates.

"Uh… we're going outside?" Avery asks.

"Didn't you want a surprise?"

"Well, yeah, but what about Kairi? Weren't you worried he might attack?"

"Then let's not waste time. Besides, Kairi should still need at least two more weeks to recover. He might act reckless and attack earlier, but anything sooner than a week and his strength would be compromised like the night of our ambush."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The fence looms before them, a black barrier topped with barbed wire—a cage disguised as a wall.

A massive, scar-faced guard blocks the entrance. He doesn't speak. Doesn't need to. His sheer presence warns that no one unwanted ever gets close. Yet when his eyes fall on Atsunori, noting the tattoos on his arms, his stance shifts.

Without a word, he unlocks the gate, bowing deeply as they pass.

Once inside, Avery's breath hitches.

Dust and grime coat every surface. Here she will find no cheering volunteers—no curious neighbors leaning over rails to admire the progress. Only rows of exhausted men hauling debris, their faces smeared with dirt. No helmets. No harnesses. Barely any safety signs.

There's no chatter, just the constant rhythm of labor, punctuated by sharp whistles from overseers who circle with authority. They aren't supervising safety, only efficiency.

"Why are we here?" Avery finally asks, low and tense.

Atsunori's gaze stays fixed ahead. "Kairi told you we push some people into crime, and then… put them to work. This is what he meant."

"That's surprisingly straightforward of you," she mutters. "I thought I'd have to nag you for weeks before you'd let me see any of this."

Instead of addressing the jab, he simply keeps walking. "Most men are used for construction, demolition, sewage maintenance and other dangerous tasks."

He exhales—not frustrated, but tired already, despite the tour having barely begun.

"Because of the family's connections… and because few people care about these men, safety protocols are often skipped."

A pause. Tension coils in his jaw as he forces out an additional line—like a reflex drilled into him since long ago. "It's efficient. It's one of the reasons the city has grown this fast."

"That's not efficiency," she says flatly. "It's negligence. Deliberate negligence."

Atsunori opens his mouth—ready to defend the family, to dismiss her moral outrage as naive—but he bites his cheeks tightly.

With effort, he manages a quiet, "That's one way to see it, yes."

And it seems something in his tone—or words—manages to soften Avery's expression.

"The city used to be smaller?" she asks—no trace of accusation now.

"Yes. When I was a child, it was a lovely little town. Much nicer."

Wind blows dust across their feet. They walk past men whose burdens look like they could crush them any second.

"So this exploitation," she begins, "isn't tradition. Not part of your long family history, but a choice."

The rhythm of his walk breaks.

She presses. "Your family didn't do this because it was necessary. You do it now because it's profitable."

Atsunori offers neither argument nor defense.

Her words hang in the air, heavy as the beams creaking above them, and soon drowned under the sound of hammers, groans, and the occasional yell from a sentry.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

They walk on in silence, the clamor of the construction site still clinging to Atsunori's ears long after they've left its dust behind. A few turns later, the air shifts—less concrete, more perfume and neon.

A lacquered sign glows above a slim doorway, its stylized letters trying too hard to look respectable. The windows are blacked out. Music seeps through in a low, sultry hum, calculated to draw curiosity.

"Is this place…" Her pace falters, yet Atsunori proceeds without stopping.

The doorman awaiting them is a man of polished attractiveness—his eyes sparkle with practiced charm, lingering a heartbeat too long on Avery before he steps aside with an inviting smile.

Once they enter, the light dims. Velvet curtains and soft amber lamps cast a warm haze that's almost comforting—until one looks closer.

At the tables, men drink and babble with raucous laughter, accompanied by women with eyes that don't quite match. The smiles are painted on, movements slightly mechanical, rehearsed. Their artificial beauty causes revolt in Atsunori rather than any arousal.

The two of them take seats at the counter. The bartender appears almost instantly, posture deferential—but when his gaze flicks to Avery, there's an appraising gleam. Atsunori interrupts it with a subtle hand gesture, a warning that they are not to be disturbed again.

"Women who fall into debt or crime…" he starts, "or sometimes who are merely tied to the wrong men, often end up here. But don't be fooled, they're just as dangerous as the lowlifes at the construction site."

"If you say so," Avery whispers.

"And these are the fortunate ones," he continues softly. "Other offenders… are sent to places that require more intimate service. I assumed you wouldn't want to see that far."

"Is that why? Or is it you who doesn't want to look at it?"

Turning from her, Atsunori's chin jerks toward a nearby table. A familiar operative plays the role of cheerful companion, coaxing his guest to drink, relax, and surrender more.

"This is also one of the places where we get new workers. But only people who are already on edge, unlikely to benefit the city, who poison its future. Those no one would miss and—" He stops, realizing he's overstressing the point. "They're guided here."

"Guided," Avery repeats, hollow.

"We have some people…" Each word drips with bitterness. "They recognize weakness, nudge it along. Some even have Blessings that help such jobs. But they're good at picking, they make sure their targets are not innocent or—"

"I get it. We can move on." The muscle in Avery's jaw tics. "Before I break something."

A nod is Atsunori's answer, the same urge gnawing at him.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

They emerge from the alleyways and neon-soaked streets into the broad, sunlit avenues of Kurozaka. It's hard to believe this is the same city as their previous stops. Cafes spill their scent onto cobblestone roads, families stroll with children munching on baked potatoes, merchants hawk fresh produce and trinkets, laughter drifts from open windows. Men and women move with relaxed, unlined faces—the ground is polished enough that their reflections shimmer in puddles from a morning drizzle.

Next to him, Avery's eyes sweep the scene, noting the neatness, the order, the apparent prosperity. The contrast is tangible—the quiet misery of the places they'd passed lingers beneath the city's cheerful surface.

"This is what it's all for," he says almost with pride. "The well-lived citizens. Most of Kurozaka's population. Those lowlifes we sacrifice… they're less than a tenth of the total. Their suffering allows the majority to prosper."

Watching the crowd, Avery asks, "Do you know for certain they poison the city's future? Is it an objective truth, or just your rationalization?"

A small twitch quivers in his eye. "If those people weren't being exploited, the city wouldn't be nearly as prosperous," Atsunori replies firmly. "There's your objective truth."

She turns toward him, calm but sharp. "How do you differentiate between those who end up low because of their own wrongdoings, and those who are just victims of chance?"

For a fraction of a second, he has no answer. Then a reply surfaces almost automatically. "If you have a clock where each piece was made by a different company, you can't check whether every single one had proper worker rights. It's just not feasible."

Avery's lips part without sound. She closes her eyes and lets out a silent chuckle. When they reopen, her gaze cuts straight through him. "Did you think of that line yourself…" a faint smile tugs at her lips, "or are you repeating what another Munakata told you as a child?"

Tension ripples across his hair, and he exhales raggedly. No answer comes.

A slow shake of denial moves through her. "It's not the fact that you hurt them. It's the way you do it."

He needs to reclaim conversation. To offer an argument. Some reasoning that—

"It's unnecessary," she presses. "Self-centered. You pretend it's for the greater good, but the common citizen is just an afterthought. If it were more profitable to enslave everyone, you would. You justify cruelty for your own ease."

She steps closer, pressing a sharp finger against his chest. "In your pretense of doing good, you are no different from Kairi."

"N-no… w-we—"

"I've taken the easy path enough times to know. But no more." Her hand grips his shirt. "I refuse to settle for these twisted methods you and Kairi choose out of convenience."

The city moves around them, oblivious, thriving, unaware of the cost paid in shadows and locked rooms. Atsunori exhales through his nose, shoulders stiff. He wants to reply, to explain—but the words evade him.

Avery's eyes meet his, unwavering. She isn't asking for his response—she's holding up a mirror.

And for the first time, he sees the reflection without any excuse.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The tour has been more painful than he expected.

Yes, he did intend for Avery to question things, to confront him with accusations that needed to be defended against. But he hadn't anticipated how effortlessly she would disarm him.

Or perhaps she had the advantage from the start, given how unsettled his views had become after what he learned about his parents.

Regardless…

It was time to make a choice.

For Avery.

And for himself.