Chapter 2

Anapana Sati. It apparently meant "mindful breathing."

Nango's first assignment for him was to infiltrate a cult called Anapana Sati. It all happened one night, three years ago.

"Take one down."

That was what he was told that night, as Kuji and another lowly gopher were handed Makarovs.

Just the day before, one of the top brass in the Black Dragon Society had been shot by a member of the Ai Lan Company gang. The man had dropped by the entertainment district to collect protection money from the businesses in his territory. He had been sitting in his Toyota Celsior, counting bills, when he had been shot by a drive-by motorcycle.

A few hours later, bullets were fired into a number of Ai Lan Company offices. But a spat between gangs often did not end there. An eye for an eye - the books were balanced in blood. Those were the rules in gang society.

"I don't care who you take. Masa, you'd probably only get four years at best. Serve your time."

When you were told that in a gang, you had no choice but to go.

Kuji and the other gopher had been waiting to spring an ambush when they had been taken aside for routine questioning by a patrolling police officer. As a result, they were hauled in for violating the Sword and Firearms Control Law.

Kuji was taken to a separate police station. There, he was told to become an S. He was also told that he had no choice.

"An S? And what sort of information do you think I'd be able to glean about the Black Dragon Society?" Kuji had asked in the interrogation room. The Organized Crime detective had burst into laughter.

"We already know exactly what goes on inside those gangs. We don't need to hire an S to check things out. We scratch each other's backs. You should know this - you're one of them."

The detective was right. Kuji frequently heard from the second-in-command if there was a planned raid that night - of course, through an insider's tip. The police were satisfied as long as they could make a decent catch of criminals, and they backed off once they did.

And every time, the gang handed over a few guns. That was how they maintained their give-and-take relationship with those in Organized Crime.

"Public Safety wants you," the detective had told him. "No one knows what they're up to. They told us to give them someone, anyone - that they could use as an S. That was all we were told."

"What happens if I refuse?"

"Ask them," the Organized Crime detective had replied, saying nothing more.

Kuji was then taken to the Tokyo Detention Center, where he met Nango for the first time.

"Masatake Kuji," the man had begun. "Put into a juvenile detention center when you stabbed your father at age seventeen. Spent three years there. After getting out on parole, you were invited by a friend from prison and joined the Black Dragon Society."

Nango's research was surprisingly accurate. Even the smallest details of his time in juvenile were written in that report.

"What if I say no?"

"No one in this country stands a chance if they try to rebel against the state. I can get you hauled in for any crime. Violation of the Sword and Firearms Control Law. Obstruction of justice. Violent assault. Violation of the Road Traffic Law. Et cetera, et cetera. If the prosecutor's office files charges, there's a 90% chance that you'll be found guilty. Feel like going to prison again?"

"I'm not afraid of prison."

But Kuji still remembered the unmentionably heinous abuse and humiliation he had endured at the juvenile detention center.

"You know easily the prosecution's demand for a sentence can change," Nango continued. "The nation can keep you in jail for as long as they like. And a word from me will have you sent into the worst cell out of them. The warden, the inmates - they'll all do what I say and torture you. You also won't get any parole. Oh, and that's not it," he continued.

"Your mother is remarried, correct? Your younger sister and brother are with her. Your little brother is in twelfth grade. He's looking for somewhere to work after he graduates. Your little sister has a boyfriend. What do you think is gonna happen when they find out their big brother is in prison serving time because he's in a gang?"

Kuji suddenly understood. It hadn't started that night, after all; it had started the moment he had been born, and all this time he had paved the path that led him here.

Shiro Nango belonged to the second division of the Public Safety Foreign Affairs department, or the Sotoni for short.

"What's sotoni?"

That had been Kuji's first and final question.

"Short form for Foreign Affairs Second Division," Nango had said. "We deal with Russia and Asia; let's just put it that way. You should be proud, you hear? You're doing good for your homeland."

You must be fucking with me. A country like this deserves to wither and die, Kuji thought, but of course, he did not say so out loud.

* * *

Kuji continued to walk through the late-night streets of Roppongi.

The roads were overflowing with people. It seemed particularly so once the winter bonuses had been paid out. It seemed even more crowded than in the daytime. Like Shinjuku, this town did not sleep.

Kuji turned at the intersection toward Iikura. The Tokyo Tower, lit up bright red, steadily loomed closer. He turned off the main road into a residential neighborhood, and walked past a luxury condominium to enter the grounds of an antiquated Western-style mansion. It was like any regular residence, save for the small cross nailed to the gatepost. The main entrance was left open twenty-four hours a day; however, Kuji went around to the back of the house. The back door led straight into a small kitchen. Kuji pulled off his leather jumper in the dark.

He turned the faucet, brought his lips to it, and drank until his stomach began to rumble in protest. He squatted on the kitchen floor and furtively sneaked his hand down the front of his pants.

"Damn it... damn it..." he cursed to himself.

Kuji was given a surprisingly light sentence for violating the Sword and Firearms Control Law. He would only spend one year and three months in actual incarceration, and during that period, he was given astonishingly preferential treatment. For the first three months, he was assigned to be the laundry boy, who collected the dirty clothes of all of the inmates and distributed them back after they had been laundered. Next, he was assigned to take care of the mail - in charge, again, of collecting them from inmates. Next, he was a proofreader for a printing factory. He experienced no harassment from the wardens, nor any rape from inmates, as he had experienced in juvenile.

It was clear that Nango had pulled some strings. But this also meant that if he retaliated, Kuji could easily be taken out of his cushy environment and thrown into the pits of hell.

When Kuji was let out on parole, the probation officer who came to pick him up was a middleman between him and Public Safety.

Arrangements had already been made with the Black Dragon Society and Ai Lan Company for Kuji. No one would be suspicious if a throwaway pawn like him didn't return. And by inserting the probation officer between Kuji and Public Safety, it made things harder for both gangs to get in touch with him.

In other words, Kuji had been submerged into the underground world - into a darkness deeper than that of yakuza society.

The probation officer took Kuji to a facility, where he stayed for six months receiving training to become a spy. That was where he was also routinely raped by Nango.

"You're my S, and I'll make sure your body knows that. I'll drive it into your every cell so that you can never say no to me."

Sex with other males in prison was already enough to make Kuji nauseous; not only did Nango engage in it, he also taught Kuji what pleasure was for the first time.

In the beginning, he was drugged. Eventually, though, he began to ejaculate solely from being stimulated anally.

It was a hellish pleasure. Kuji felt humiliated every time he was brought to climax without a choice. He had only been able to bear sex in prison by steeling himself against the pain. It was better if it was painful - because pain would eventually end. If he lost consciousness from the pain, it was over even quicker. And if he didn't pass out, it was proof that it wasn't painful enough.

But there was no end to pleasure. His body kept asking for more and more.

"Damnit," Kuji growled under his breath as he continued to pump his flaccid member. I won't let him be the last one to make me come. His last time had to be on his own means, of his own will.

"Ah, ah-ah...!" Kuji let out fragmented moans as he caught the hot liquid in his hand. His nostrils quivered at the raw smell that stung them.

"Hah...." Kuji let out a breath before zipping up his fly and lying belly-down on the floor.

He wiped his wet fingers on his jeans. The thudding of his heartbeat gradually quieted down. Then, he heard the faint strains of an organ. He thought it was strange to hear playing at night.

Past the front entrance of the church, there was a hall which was used as the chapel. Although it was adequately sound-proofed so as not to disturb the rest of the residential neighborhood, it was nonetheless uncommon to hear the organ played at early-morning and late-night masses.

The chapel was accessible from the living quarters through a side door, but since it was right next to the altar, Kuji instead went outside again through the back door. He went around to the front entrance and opened the door to the hall. He was met with a sight of bright, shimmering lights.

A man in priest's robes was playing the organ. There was a couple sitting in the pew at the very front.

Song. Kuji called out the man's name in his head. The organ stopped as if the player had heard him.

"You've come at just the right time," said Reverend Song, his back still turned. His voice was low and soft. He then stood up and turned around, showing his impeccably-proportioned face as he looked at Kuji. He beckoned with his large palm.

"These two would like to hold a wedding ceremony, but they don't have the time to come in and listen to my sermons. That's why I've been holding them at night especially for them. Masatake, will you play for me?"

The man in the couple clearly looked like he was of South American descent. The woman was Japanese, and looked like she worked in the liquor and entertainment business. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap dress which revealed a generously-fleshed back, and she was wearing a shawl over it. When Kuji slipped past the couple, he caught a glimpse of her voluptuous cleavage.

He sat down in front of the organ in Song's stead. He began to play slowly. Song stood in front of the couple with the Bible in hand.

Her boobs are in plain view from where Song's standing - the moment the thought crossed his mind, Kuji felt hatred bloom in his heart toward the woman. He desperately subdued it while he let his fingers dance over the keys.

"Today, we will start by reading about the epistles to the Thessalonians. If you could turn to page-"

The sermon and hymn in unison was itself over in about fifteen minutes.

"Will you come tomorrow night, as well?" Song asked the couple.

"Yes, Father."

"Then, I will hold the third sermon tomorrow night. After that, let us decide on a date for your ceremony."

The man and woman kneeled before Song and kissed his hand. They bowed deeply before leaving through the door. Song followed them and saw them out at the entrance, then came back and approached Kuji.

"Welcome back," Song said. His thick eyebrow gave a slight twitch. Kuji did not miss it. He lifted his hand, which he had wiped on his jeans just moments before, and brought it to his nose.

"Do I smell? I wiped it off, though. I don't think any of it got on the keys."

Song sighed and peered into Kuji's eyes.

"Masatake, I'm not criticizing you for it. I'm not going to tell a young man like you to do as I do. I just hope that someday you'll find happiness like that couple has done."

Kuji sniffed derisively and wiped the organ keys with his handkerchief. The discord that sounded from the organ was jarring.

"Don't you think they're suspicious, coming out in the middle of the night like that? Besides, aren't you afraid for your safety at all? I don't know what you're thinking, leaving your door unlocked every hour of the day."

"People wouldn't be able to come in if I locked my door. That's how you came in that day, Masatake."

I already knew it would be unlocked.

That night, I made it seem like I'd sought cover because I was running from the gang. But it was all an act. Why can't you even see through that? I thought your God was supposed to be almighty.

Kuji internally hurled the words at Song, whose back was now turned as he walked toward the altar. Song blew out the candles that had been lit there.

"Come on over. I'll make you a cup of coffee," he said. They left the chapel through the small side door beneath the altar and exited into the hallway.

They entered the kitchen, where Song put the coffee maker on. Soon, a fragrant aroma filled the air. Song handed Kuji a mug of coffee, which he drank standing up while leaning against the wall. He watched Song sit at the table and put milk in his own cup.

"Why do you make them come for three days? To make sure it's not a fraudulent marriage to get a visa?"

"No," Song said as he smiled up at Kuji. "In Catholicism, when you swear upon your love before God, it is eternal. That means you have to be very careful in going through with it. I recommend people to come three times so that they can turn back if their hearts are unsure. Peter said three times that he did not know Christ. But even then, Christ still forgave him."

Kuji sniffed in derision again and took his empty mug to the sink. Song spoke up behind him.

"Masatake, what are you doing tomorrow? Well, today, to be more exact."

"I'll go with you. Manual labor is the least I could do to pay for my meal. I'd offer sex, but you always say no. You're such a hassle."

Song laughed softly. His voice went straight to Kuji's groin, and he came close to letting out a groan.

"Masatake, we're leaving at nine-thirty. People from the NPO will come to fetch us. You should catch some sleep until then."

"You, too," Kuji managed to squeeze out before he hastily went to go outside. He climbed the set of stairs in front of him, which led him to the living quarters on the second floor. Kuji stepped into the small room that he had to himself. He climbed into bed and squeezed his eyes shut.

That voice, the sound of the organ. Song had occupied a place in Kuji's heart ever since they first met that day. And Public Safety knew very well that he did.

* * *

Consolation visits to the juvenile detention center were one-sided displays of goodwill that inmates found difficult to appreciate. Whatever the superficial do-gooders said sounded vacant and meaningless to people who knew that at the end of the day, they were still trapped within the walls of their prison. People of religion always mentioned words like love, friendship, loyalty, and gratitude - words that sounded sickeningly fake. But inmates still had to bow their heads and listen, for fear of making a bad impression on the prison guards.

In fact, just today a priest from some church had brought along a group of such visitors and given a lengthy and tiresome sermon. But Kuji appreciated the chocolate and cake that they had brought in; inmates were always starved for sweets. The amateur band that they had provided as entertainment hadn't been half-bad, either. The priest was open-minded; instead of a lineup of gloomy religious hymns, the band had played pop tunes like the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and even Peter, Paul and Mary; and the Carpenters. Kuji hadn't known who the artists were at the time, but he thought they were better than religious hymns.

He had been assigned as a janitor at the time, and was mopping the floor alone in the vacant hall after the modest concert and meal had ended. That was when someone had come in.

The person sat at the facility's piano and had begun to play. A soft singing voice carried a melody that was more beautiful than any he had ever heard.

Amazing grace how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind but now I see.

When he came to, Kuji found himself standing beside the player, not even attempting to wipe the tears flowing from his eyes.

The man playing the piano[m2] had a tall stature and was wearing jeans and a black shirt with a mandarin collar. Kuji remembered him playing the keyboard in the amateur band.

His facial structure was European, with his high nose and chiseled features, but his tapered eyes and black hair made him look more Japanese.

The man directed a gentle gaze at Kuji when he approached.

"It's a beautiful song, isn't it?" he said. "Would you like to try playing, too?"

"I've... never played before."

"It's an easy melody. Let me teach you."

Before Kuji knew it, he was sitting on the bench and following the man's directions as he pressed each key on the piano.

"Are you sure you've never played before?" came the man's surprised voice from above.

"Yeah."

"I don't believe it. You must have a born talent for it, then. Your left hand is keeping up well, too."

"Father," called a prison guard's voice, interrupting their time alone together.

At those words, Kuji learned for the first time that the man in front of him was a priest.

"This boy has musical talent," the priest said. "Education is one of the important purposes of this facility, isn't it? I'll come here regularly to teach him."

That had been Kuji's first encounter with Song.

Kuji absorbed music like dry sand absorbing water. He learned not only hymns and classical pieces, but also pop songs. Juvenile detention centers encouraged inmates to acquire skills and qualifications more than adult prisons, which made it easier for Kuji to get permission to receive lessons.

"When you finish serving your sentence, come to me," Song told him at every opportunity.

Then, one day, Song's visits stopped. He had been put in charge of a different diocese, and he said that he could no longer take the time to visit the detention center. It was bound to happen, Kuji told himself. He had been an idiot for believing in the man. He told himself that he would probably never see Song again.

"Your next subject is someone you know," Nango had told him after Kuji's infiltration mission with the cult was complete. Kuji realized that he had already been marked as a potential spy candidate by Public Safety even while he was still in juvenile. That was why he had been given permission so easily to receive music lessons - it had all been part of the plan.

This was perhaps the first time that Kuji caved in to Nango.

He did what he was told and visited Song that day. Although eight years had passed, Song appeared unchanged. He had the same masculine allure and nimble movements that hinted at his physical fitness. These features, unusual for a priest, were also part of the reason why Kuji had been surprised when he found out that Song was one.

"I was wondering if you would ever visit me," Song told him. "I felt bad about the way I had to leave you. Maybe we met again by chance, but I think it's what God intended."

When Kuji appeared before Song that day, battered by Nango in a form of disguise, Song had taken him to a nearby night clinic. At the clinic he met a doctor with a pretty face and a man with a sturdy build who looked like his bodyguard. There, he received treatment.

"If you're being chased by a gang, you should take cover here for a while," Song had told him. He had lapped up every word of the lie that Nango had fabricated, and agreed to take Kuji in. He had allowed Kuji to live in the church.

* * *

Slender, supple fingers danced over the keys.

"I would say, if anything was eye-catching about you, it would be your fingers," Nango had said on several occasions. Kuji had no idea if it was true. But he was thankful that he could move his fingers freely and for the ease with which he was able to weave a melody.

Haydn's The Seven Last Words of our Savior on the Cross was a sorrowful melody. Although the piece was made for strings, Song had arranged it to be played on the organ.

The introduction in adagio had a dramatic melody that foreshadowed tragedy. The sonata that followed was, for some reason, a bright largo. The third movement depicted words to Barabbas, and was also a breezy and light melody. Kuji sensed a presence standing beside him and gave a sidelong glance.

"You must like this piece," Song said.

"Yeah. It's the second song I learned from you after Amazing Grace."

"You have a good memory."

Kuji did not answer as he kept playing. He enjoyed the times they spent like this. It was the only contact that he and Song could have.

What else could he do, as a church organ player who did not believe the words of God?

After he finished playing the third movement, Kuji closed the lid of the organ.

"It's almost time, isn't it?"

Song nodded as he unfolded the coat he had been holding and draped it over the shoulders of his priest's robes.

"As much as I'd like to sit and listen for a bit longer, it's almost time."

Kuji followed Song into the pantry below the stairs. He carried the stacked cardboard boxes there to the entrance of the house. The boxes contained blankets, underwear, and socks that had been donated by members of the parish.

A small truck could already be heard beeping its warning signal as it backed in through the gates. A man with a slender build was sitting on the loading bed of the truck. He leapt off nimbly to take the cardboard box from Song. He beckoned to Kuji with a jerk of his chin.

"Get up on there and take the box from me."

Kuji disliked this man. He was the NPO's representative, and his name was Nosaka. He always looked at Kuji with suspicion. After the first time they'd met, he had gone to Song and warned him not to "let such a shady-looking guy in."

Kuji gave a sniff and ignored Nosaka, going around the truck to the passenger side. He opened the door and turned to Song.

"Song, get on. We'll do the rest. Right, Mr. Nosaka?"

Faced with no choice to refuse, Nosaka clicked his tongue irritably and hoisted the cardboard box onto the loading bed.

"Get up onto the loading bed," Nosaka repeated, in a stubborn attempt to resist giving Kuji the reins.

"You get up there," Kuji said.

"What?" Nosaka scowled, his temper rising.

"I'm younger than you," Kuji continued. "You don't want to throw out your back, do you?"

Nosaka remained hesitant until a female voice called from the driver's seat.

"He's right, you know."

Kuji looked in surprise at the driver's seat to see a large South Asian woman with dark skin leaning out of her seat. She was wearing an alpaca wool sweater with snug-fitting jeans, her glossy black hair coming down to her shoulders. Kuji had never seen her before.

"Fine." Nosaka climbed back up onto the loading bed. "All right, keep them coming."