Gotta go

“No way, you’re kidding!”

I tear the phone away from my ear, casting Hinata’s ultrasonic screech at the couple sitting beside me. They flinch, their mini tourtieres rolling out of their hands, which earns me a double helping of envenomed glares. Apologising with a nervous smile, I shrink into my seat’s cashmere cushion.

“Calm down, it’s no big deal,” I whisper back. “It’s only a conditional offer. She still needs to finish high school. And with this part of the globe taking a very liberal approach to academic years – I guess Anna will be living it up for six months after graduation.”

“I’m sorry, how is this not a big deal? Your sister literally got accepted into the most prestigious music school out there,” Hinata says. “Are you not at all excited for her?”

“Of course I am.” My eyes travel the length of the nearest marble column, all the way up to the crystal lighting above. “I’m all sorts of gleeful and – jocular.”

I feel like she’s just raised her eyebrow on the other end. “Luca,” she groans, “what’s wrong?”

Where do I even start? Oh, I know – with Anna finally leaving my nest.

Don’t get me wrong, I never thought she and I would live together forever. We’re neither conjoined, nor codependent twins. Going our separate ways was never a matter of ‘if’, nor one of ‘when’ – the question always remained ‘where’. And now, we got the answer – The Royal College of Music.

To think that when she started out she wouldn’t run her stubby little fingers across the strings because she was too scared she’d cut herself. Now, 12 years later, she’s the youngest Menuhin winner and Vienna, Berlin and Chicago are all bidding for her violin. Funnily enough, London won the fight. The only place she actually applied for.

My sister has always been a person of her own. Self-motivated and ambitious, as soon as she found her passion, she let nothing stop her from pursuing it. And I knew we were never really cut from the same cloth, but moments like these really make me wonder how we’re even related.

See, on the day I turn 18, an unmarked envelope will appear inside my mailbox. Inside it, I’ll find an invitation – for Interpol’s Undercover Junior Training Programme. The one thing I’ve been preparing for all my life – and the one thing I know for sure I’ll turn down. The only problem with that is that I have no clue what I’ll do after that. I’ve got no plans, no dreams, nothing. And worse than that –

“She hasn’t told father yet.”

Hinata’s bedsheets crinkle and, when she speaks again, I feel like she’s right next to me. “Why not? Is she afraid he won’t agree with it?”

“More like she’s terrified he won’t pick up the phone,” I sigh, finishing my glass of tap water. “Just thinking about that made her cry herself to sleep. Last time that happened was when the Queen passed away.”

“Did she like the Royal Family?”

“No, just Lizzy. Anna’s childhood dream was to play at her birthday honours.”

There comes a pause, ending in a salient gasp that makes me dread what’s to come.

“Sheesh,” Hinata whistles. “Sucks that she died then.”

I remember reading about a weird tactic to cheer people up. It involved saying something so fiercely moronic that the other person has no choice but to wrinkle their brain, perplexed at your stupidity. And with how serious she was just now – I laugh and keep laughing until I’ve no more air left to laugh.

“God,” I wipe away a tear. “You sure are something else.”

“A good something – or a bad something?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it were!” Hinata sulks. “Besides, it’s hard to tell when I can’t see your face.”

Probably best that way. I imagine a grin this big is easy to misinterpret.

“Of course it’s a good thing, dummy,” I say, playing with the plastic rose in the pot, only to realise it’s real when the thorns actually sting. “I like you.”

Ahem. Yeah, fuck.

For a second, she’s speechless, and I wonder if she’s even heard me with how bad the reception is at this restaurant. But then, her hyperventilating gets loud enough for the microphone to pick up and I start thinking of ending things. Can I invoke plausible deniability? Japanese is vague and context-driven, right? Do friends even say that –

“I l-like you t-too,” she stutters, the heat in her cheeks coming through the speaker, drawing blood away from my head. I knew it – I’m not cut out to be a spy. How can I stay cool under pressure if something this small makes me forget how to act? How can I capture fugitives, infiltrate military bases, go undercover behind enemy lines? If I can’t do something like that – how can I hope to stand by her side?

Frozen sweat slicks my back as a million doubts flood my mind. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, but still I listen intently, hoping to hear a change in her breathing, an indication that she’ll say something, anything. But an eternity seems to pass and the silence remains inescapable.

I glance, up, down, left, right, and spot someone approaching. A waiter, I think at first, but when I see the swagger in his step, I realise he’s actually who I came here for in the first place. The way out I was desperate to find.

“Gotta go,” I cut. “My target’s coming.”

The spell keeping us quiet breaks. “Target?” Hinata asks, confused. “Don’t tell me you’re –”

“Yeah, I don’t believe it either. The opportunity came up just like – that. Talk to you later.”

“Luca – are you okay doing all of this?”

Fulfilling my mission? Leaving her hanging? The answer is no either way.

“I’m cool. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, if you say so…” The worry in her tone burns. “But promise you’ll tell me if it gets too much, alright?”

“Will do,” I anxiously chuckle. “Now I really need to hang up. Byeee.”

“Bye,” she ends the call before I get the chance to and I let my phone hit the table. Just in time for Daisuke to pull up a chair and sit down across from me.

“Trouble in paradise?” he smirks, loosening his bowtie and popping the button on his collar. “Did Tachibana find out you’re a casanova?”

Splendid. Of all the assumptions in the world, he makes the worst one. “Should I even bother?” I rub the sadness from my eyes into a displeased scowl.

“What?” Daisuke shrugs. “You didn’t think Sasaki could keep your little ploy a secret, did you now?”

God, give me strength.

“No way this is about the reception,” I mutter to myself, before shooting a leer his way. “You know she’s gay, right?”

“Everyone knows, Luca. Her parents paid good money to keep it all under wraps, but wouldn’t you know it? News always finds a way to spread.”

“What’s your point?”

“The point is,” Daisuke leans over his empty plate, lips curling on a jaded sneer, “you’re a moron. Lesbian or not, you still signed up to be another girl’s plus one. What were you even thinking?”

I wasn’t; I never think about the future. I never know where to start, don’t even know if I even have one lined up, waiting for me. But if I did, I’m pretty sure Hinata isn’t gonna be a part of it. And it hurts. Hurts because it’s true; hurts more because I could’ve prevented it.

“Well,” I say under a heavy breath. “Can’t take it back now, can I?”

“You certainly cannot,” Daisuke jeers coldly, before a scalding warmth sneaks into his voice. “But chin up. I didn’t call you here so you could mope.”

“Why did you then?”

Daisuke smirks. Raising his hand, he arrests the attention of a nearby busboy and they exchange a couple gestures – back of the house sign language, I presume. Their conversation ends with a signal to the bartender, who in turn carries the message all the way to the kitchen.

A moment later, the lights dim. The ambiental saxophone becomes a jovial orchestra, as a solemn parade of serves sluices across the carpet, solemn and surreptitious. They walk in tight formation, one right behind the other, their arms plated wrist to shoulder with gold-encrusted trays.

Swiftly, they encircle our table, and quick as they come, they go. Leaving behind a table brimming with haute cuisine, the likes of which I feel too poor to look at, let alone dare to taste.

“Is this –” I ask, still stuck in a daze.

“Every dish on the menu,” Daisuke confirms. “And before you start despairing, worry not. I’m buying.”

“Bullshit, you can’t afford this.”

“I just did. Employee’s discount, if you catch my drift.”

He winks and I groan. Not sure what irks me more: the way he revealed it or how long it took him to.

“I suppose the owner is still on the same payroll as everyone else. Were you ever going to tell me you’re as loaded as Ichika?”

“Hell no,” he says, loading up a slice of bread with a spoonful of caviar. “But, since you were gonna find out at the party anyway – thought I’d make it a show instead of a shock. Dig in.”

“Yeah, well you always had a sort of villainous flamboyance,” I steal the tip off an arancini pyramid. “But not even you would invite me here just for a reveal with a flair.”

“Oh, if only you were this sharp about your crush, we’d land on the moon again.”

“Still waiting for an explanation.”

“Fine, fine,” Daisuke throws his arm in the air, full of theatrical flair. “Believe it or not, being rich isn’t as easy as you think. And before you snark at me, I’m not talking about quality of life – I’m talking about the act.”

“The act.”

“The act. The spiel. The performance. The ballet of etiquette. Know how to dance it, and you’ll survive the night. Stumble just for one step –”

“And your fall won’t be light.”

“That’s right! So, take tonight as a kind of practice,” Daisuke rolls up his sleeves. “Most of what you see here will be served at Sasaki’s too, courtesy of yours truly. So, I’ll teach you how to eat it, if you learn how to stomach it. Deal?”

“Deal. Just one thing before we start though,” I raise my finger, solely for the sake of illustration. “I’m pretty sure that you think this is gonna increase my chances with Hinata. That, I don’t know, I’ll impress Ichika with my posh table manners and she’ll rave to her about what a catch I am or some shit like that. And I’m all for it, don’t get me wrong. God knows I need all the help I can get. But that doesn’t explain why you have always tried to get the two of us together.”

Daisuke scoffs. Amused, he plucks a bruschetta from its wicker basket, turns it on every side as if he’s mesmerised by its very existence in the palm of his hand. Then, he clutches it tight in his fist, littering the table with crumbs, only to wave it at me like a pointing stick.

“Tell you what,” he says in a cunning crescendo. “We’ll finish here. Eat a little, talk, maybe share a drink or two. Then, if you come back to my place afterwards – I’ll peel back the curtain. Just for a small glimpse.”

I squint, he squints back, and in the end, I let him think he made me relent, “Sure.”

See, the reason why I came here was simple – Hinata said we needed a crimson vest with a dragon sewn above the heart, the uniform of Daisuke’s waiters. When he told me he worked here, I thought I could just follow him in the staffroom, swipe it when he’s not looking. Now, not only do I get the chance to do the same thing without the risk of anyone else finding out, but I also get to find out more about him and his elusive character.

Mission planning, asset recovery, intel gathering. All in a night of practice – all helping me with Hinata. Just as Daisuke intended.