The Belly Under The Bridge

The steel trusses overhead don’t just hum; they vibrate with a deep, rhythmic shudder from countless steps and boots shuffling through a suffocating bottleneck above.

The bustle and traffic resemble a busy city hub, teeming with people’s movements, hawking sellers, haggling buyers, banter, and the chatter of schoolchildren and adults alike. It is a sense of familiarity (or nostalgia) taking different forms.

The busy road intersection is instead a large bridge connecting the two most populous districts of Sakae-chō and Hon-Machi. The ungainly outbuildings and wooden platforms crowd together, forming a maze of alleyways as if someone decided to play Jenga in the silliest way possible, with hollows and crooked placement, into what people now call the Iron-Rise Bridge.

Inside the belly of the hulking structure, a hooded figure in an olive-green parka browses through several stalls. The area is quieter and darker.

Here, suspended below the civilian deck on the rusted old-world railway inspection catwalks, the atmosphere is entirely different. With the outrigger boardwalk as a boundary, the world splits into two distinct movements. Above, everything moves and flows as it should; down here, the Yami-ichi breathes in secret.

The figure casts a cursory glance at the grimy merchandise before crouching to eye a collection of pouches holding tobacco leaves, along with a few kiseru pipes lined up beside them. The sellers here are quiet. No one makes much effort to attract a prospective buyer.

People who come down here know what they want, and sellers know to keep it private. Eyes are rarely met except for mutual wariness that the other might try to screw them over.

Peeking under the hood, the observant eyes catch a glimpse of a man stepping down the stairs not far from the stall. He puts both hands inside his navy-blue bomber jacket, and a tucked-down hat slightly covers his face.

As if on cue, the man lifts his chin, revealing his full face. Even through the sulfur smoke of the gas lamps, you can tell he is good-looking. His slanted eyes exude playful charm, and he wears a practiced, lazy smile so natural it's hard to imagine any other expression on his face.

Their eyes meet, and they exchange a meaningful glance. It feels as if he is looking past through, but the smile clearly gives a different impression.

You and your damn playboy’s smile. You better keep it light, Yuuki.

“Lookin’ fer anythin’ particular, miss?” The old man with deep wrinkles on his forehead and a heavy beard addresses the woman from behind the stall. “Can see you’ve been eyein’ the pouches. They’re good stuff. Don’t need to be stamped tokens; I’ll take lithium cell packs, medicine, or anythin’ worth my while.”

“Hm, you sure it's good stuff? I’ve got some a while ago that tasted like shit. A total throat-burner.” The woman replies. It seems she caught the seller’s attention after lingering for a while. She looks at the old man while keeping watch on Yuuki as he slowly makes his way until he’s beyond her periphery.

“They’re the real deal. Finely aged for a full year. And they’re completely dry. I ain’t dampenin’ them or anythin’ to rip you off. You can try and pinch some of it yourself, see if I’m lyin’.” He picks up one of the pouches and holds it out to the woman.

She takes a pinch and crushes it between her fingers, then brings it to her nose to smell it. As she does, she hears Yuuki’s voice from behind.

“You look stressed, Gōda-san,” Yuuki’s persuasive voice drifts through, smooth and dripping with artificial warmth while flashing a dimpled smile. He slides onto a barstool and rests both hands on the counter. “Is business doing alright? No? Well, and here I hope today would be a happy day for me. Though I begin to think it wouldn’t be so if I have to keep seeing such a sour face.”

“Keep talking too much and a sour face wouldn’t be the only thing you see.” The heavy-set man called Gōda snorts.

His grizzled hair, stubbled chin, and deep furrows on his face add to his persona like a typical movie character of an ‘old bear’. He does not make much eye contact before setting down the glass he was wiping, shifting a few steps, hunching down, and rummaging under the counter before pulling out an item wrapped in cloth.

“If you want a happy day, then show me the coins first,” Gōda grumbles.

Yuuki lets out a soft, melodic laugh. He pulls a hand from his pocket and sets a few high-priority Directorate-stamped tokens down with a heavy clink.

After a brief look, the man slips the coins into his pocket and pushes the item over. His mouth now twists into a sarcastic grin.

“A glass for a good deal? How about we pop that open for the occasion?”

“I like you, Gōda-san,” Yuuki replies. “You’re really good at what you do. But I think I want to enjoy this later. How about the usual…and pour yourself one as well. Let’s have a toast.”

Goda pours crystal-clear liquid from a green glass bottle into two small cups. He slides one over and raises the other.

Yuuki raises his cup, leaning slightly forward. “To a happy day. Cheers.”

The sharp taste hits the back of his throat with an earthy, fiery burn. He hisses as the warmth hits his stomach, then falls silent for a moment.

To the left, he notices a man approaches the railing and, without delay, drops something into the river below. The back bar blocks most of what he can see, but He can deduce that a downstream barge is passing underneath. It’s one way to distribute goods with privacy attached.

Witnessing the scene, knowing he is down here, and remembering why, makes his stomach churn. Everything begins to reek—though it all comes down to himself—like a mess of heavy irony.

When the urge to question himself creeps in, he pushes it away like he always does. The thing that happened already happened. There is nothing to do but keep going.

“You know, Gōda-san, all of the good stuff you’ve been able to procure has been nothing but total satisfaction,” Yuuki speaks and gestures in a smooth, theatrical manner. “I mean it, you’re good at what you do. So much so that I’ve begun to dream. I start to crave more of the…luxury of the old world. Not that I hate our bucolic and pleasant countryside, but I do long for the things of the past that are slowly swallowed into oblivion.”

He delivers it with natural flair, but the air still feels out of place.

“If you call a small town of more than five thousand all cramped and packed together pleasant…” Gōda mutters. “A lot of them, you and me, can’t forget what we have lost. We are struggling to have one more taste of them, all the now-luxury of the old world, along with all of its vices, all of them wrapped like a lovely, fancy farewell gift…if you wanna call it pleasant, then I hope it will be a pleasant procession for all of us.”

“Then you are a good friend to be had before I head into my own funeral,” Yuuki replies with a chuckle. Despite both positions, he does like the man for his willingness to humor him.

“So then, good friend, I always ask what I want, and you always deliver. But now I kinda want... to do some window shopping myself for once. Perhaps you can introduce me to one of the main supply lines?” he asks, keeping an eye on Gōda’s reaction.

Gōda doesn’t respond. He just keeps wiping glasses, not giving Yuuki so much as a glance.

“Come on, am I not a loyal customer?” Yuuki says with an impish grin. “I keep my mouth shut, and my purse and its contents are always loose and overflow. I can’t help but imagine that if your pocket were to have a mouth, it would moan in ecstasy from such pleasure.”

Knowing he catches the intended reaction, Yuuki doesn’t look directly at the other side; he merely stares at his empty cup, still wearing the same grin.

When he looks up, he finds Gōda’s challenging face. He rests both hands stretched out on the counter, leaning close enough to actively invade his personal space.

“I like you, kid. I do.” Gōda says flatly. “You’re smart. So I bet you’re smart enough to know when your dirty jokes and sweet talk won’t work here as they would with your groupie or whoever’s pants you’re trying to get into.”

After locking eyes in silence for a good moment, Yuuki finally leans back and raises his hands as if yielding.

“I know…My mouth and I sometimes have a hard time keeping quiet, especially when we’re really excited.” Yuuki says. “But I also know that a good customer should be aware of, and respect, the proper price for their desired service. So—”

He pulls a pouch from under his jacket and puts it in front of Goda.

“—I propose a deal. I ensure the deal would be sweeter than my jokes or simple talk.”

From the gap in the slightly parted fabric, the dull, glittering edge of stamped tokens peek through.

“They’re fresh from the hill,” Yuuki whispers. “Don’t ask me how I get them. I’d like to keep my…suave and charming persuasion skill a trade secret.”

“This isn’t your usual vanilla stuff you’re asking, kid,” Gōda notes.

Yuuki gestures with his finger, letting him know he has more to offer. From inside his jacket again, he produces a small orange pill bottle with a damp, yellowed label that reads ‘penicillin’.

“How…” Gōda stares skeptically at the bottle on the counter, Yuuki’s fingers still pressing firmly on top of it. He grumbles, plain irritation tracking across his face. “Damn it. Fuck you, kid…Fuck. You. Fine. I’ll tell you…But you better keep your attitude and stay out of trouble. Don’t make me regret this.” He gives the last sentence a clear intonation of a threat.

“I’ll handle it with care. My mouth is shut, and I don’t know your name.”

“The tenements, Sakae-chō district. Block Three. Behind the old agricultural cold-storage facility, there’s an alley with a blue metal door. Don't go through the front. Now get the hell away from here.”

Yuuki smoothly sweeps the clothed item away and slides off the barstool. He offers a playful, mocking bow, and turns away.

As he walks away, his face, with its wide expressive range, lightens. The smile stays, though it grows softer. The air around him seems to drop entirely, shifting from an animated teaser to a weary passerby.

He passes a few stalls, scanning the moving faces. A woman is bartering a hand-woven wool shawl for rock salt. A few steps over, a teenage boy is trading a rusted steel wrench for a jar of synthetic oil.

The place might be an underbelly where some rather unsavory characters and shady dealings can take place. But at the same time, it is hard to blame it for becoming a place where people seek a little comfort—a small solace from the stark reality of their new world.

When he finally leaves the underbelly and steps into the light of normality, the hooded figure in the olive-green parka joins his side.

“I told you to keep it light.”

“Well, he’s not exactly an easy date.” Yuuki’s face starts to light up, and with it his usual tinge of mischief is returning. “And I still keep the conviction deep in my heart, Kitou-san, that you should’ve tried your appealing charm and charisma on him. It might work wonders.”

“If the wonders don't imply me beating the info out of him, then you two are a perfect match,” she retorts dryly.

“Seriously,” Yuuki chuckles. “I suppose it's true when they say you become more impatient the older you get.”

“Don’t push it,” she warns with a flat voice. “So, what’d you get?”

“It's not far from the prediction. Sakae-chō district. Block Three. Behind the old agricultural cold-storage facility, there’s an alley with a blue metal door.”

“So not far from the slips, huh?”

“Yeah, being near the basin sure has its perks.”