Like what? Suspend him from school? Kick him off the kendo team? They had no idea what had really happened, and they couldn’t. It was Tomohiro’s sketch that had shot Ishikawa—a drawing of a gun. He’d saved Tomo’s life by throwing himself in front of that bullet. How could we explain that, or why we’d been taken by the Yakuza, or anything related to that night? My heart twisted when I thought of Ishikawa in that stark white hospital room, being interrogated by the police and unable to say a word of truth. Just the idea of it gave me chills. How much trouble was he in?

“There’s more bad news,” Watanabe continued. “Takahashi Jun from Katakou School broke his wrist and will not be competing in the prefecture tournament.”

“Ee?” One of the third-year boys, Kamenashi, called out in surprise. “So Ishikawa and Takahashi are out?”

“Lucky you, Yuu-san,” grinned another, bumping Tomo with his elbow. “No competition left.”

“Watch your back,” laughed the second-year girl. “You might be next on the kendouka hit list.”

Oh god. I hadn’t thought of it like that. If you looked at it that way, it was a little suspicious. I rubbed my hands together, breathing slowly to calm down. It’s not like the police knew about Jun’s wrist, and there was no way they could link those events.

Watanabe raised his eyebrows as the kendouka laughed nervously over the joke. “Tomohiro?” he said. “Do you know something about these events?”

I glanced at Tomohiro, but his expression was stone as he shook his head. If he was worried, he was doing an amazing job of hiding it. It was hitting too close to the truth. My heart was racing as I tried not to look guilty. Tomo just looked pissed off, but anyone would expect him to look like that when his best friend was injured and his biggest rival was out of the competition.

But what if someone linked the injuries? Ishikawa was staying quiet out of loyalty to Tomo and to cover his own butt, but Jun? What if he spoke up about what had happened?

The lights overhead felt too bright as they glared down. Jun could destroy Tomohiro with a word. Maybe he already had.

“Let’s not focus too much on the sadness,” Nakamura-sensei chimed in. “We have to fight our best at the tournament for Ishikawa’s sake. Let’s believe in him, and let’s lend all our strength to Yuu. He’s our best hope in the championship now. Ne, Tomohiro?” He started clapping loudly and far too enthusiastically. The kendouka slowly joined in, until everyone was applauding.

“Yuu-kun, ganbare!” they shouted. “Tomo-senpai, you can do it!”

Everyone’s attention was on Tomohiro. I could see his shoulders shaking, his eyes focused still on the floor. He was going to break under the pressure. He was going to confess everything. I watched, horrified.

He leaped to his feet, his hands in fists. And then he bowed to everyone with a smile, and they cheered, and Watanabe broke us up into groups for sparring.

I guess he’d had a lot of practice hiding secrets.

After kendo, Tomo and I walked to the bike racks in the courtyard of the school.

“You okay?” I said, grabbing the handlebars of Diane’s bike.

He nodded, shifting his navy-and-white sports bag on his shoulder as he reached to unlock his wheel from the rack. “Fine,” he said. “You?”

“Not totally fine,” I said. He stood and grabbed the handlebars, yanking the bike free.

“Thinking too much?”

I stifled a smile. “Maybe. Ishikawa’s in a lot of trouble, Tomo.”

“I know.”

And you might be, too. But it seemed cruel to say. I couldn’t imagine the guilt he was already feeling for putting his friend in the hospital with an unexplainable wound.

We walked alongside the bikes, both of us lost in thought. It wasn’t safe to talk too much here, anyway.

“So...what’s the plan today?” I tried.

Tomo attempted a smile as he broke from his thoughts. “I thought we could go somewhere. There’s a place I’ve been wanting to show you.”

“Like a date?” I said. He’d never used such an official term before. I swear his cheeks started to turn pink.

Then Tomo’s phone chimed with a text. He leaned his bike against his leg as he reached into his pocket.

Tomo sounded puzzled as he looked at the screen. “Tousan?”

“Your dad?” Tomo twisted the phone so I could see the message.

Come home right now. Important.

My mind fled to images of Kami and Yakuza. “Is he okay?”

“He’s never home this early,” Tomo said, which made me kind of sad. It was well past dinnertime already with kendo practice. Tomo had told me his dad worked long hours, that he almost lived alone in the silence of their empty house.

“What if the Yakuza called?” I blurted out.

Tomo stood still for a moment, staring at the screen. Then he shoved the phone into his pocket and took off running alongside his bike, lifting himself onto the seat as he sped toward Otamachi.

“Wait up!” I hopped on my bike and pedaled after him. Whatever he might have to confront, I wanted to be there.

We swerved around the streets surrounding Sunpu Park, coasting toward Tomo’s house in the northeastern part of the city. A white scooter rested on the wall around Tomo’s house, against the silver plaque that read The Yuu Family. Tomo dropped his bike to the ground and opened the metal gate, waiting to let me through before he clanged it shut behind us.

“Just a scooter,” I said. “Is it a guest?”

“That’s a police scooter,” Tomo said as he opened the door, and my heart dropped. Tomo’s dad had called the police?

“Tousan?” Tomo called out from the genkan. No answer at first and we kicked off our shoes, hurrying in. “Tousan!”

Then there was a shuffle of feet, and Tomo’s dad appeared in the hallway. He was a somber and older version of Tomohiro, wearing a tight-fitting suit with a dark tie, his black hair slicked down neatly. He looked intimidating and somehow impressive at the same time.

Another man appeared behind him, this one in a light blue shirt with a navy vest over it. He had a balding spot on his head, and his thin black hair had been neatly combed around his ears. The policeman. He stepped forward, bowing to us.

“Hiro,” Tomo’s dad said, and it took me a minute to realize he was addressing his son. “You’re late.”

“I was at kendo practice,” Tomo said, and I could feel the uneasy tension between the two.

“This is my son, Yuu Tomohiro,” Tousan said, a fake smile plastered on his face. His eyes practically shot lasers at Tomo.

The officer nodded. “I’m Suzuki,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you for a bit if that’s okay.”

Oh god. It’s starting.

Tomo’s dad looked me over, his eyes bulging a little in surprise. I guess Tomo hadn’t told him he was dating a foreigner. “I’m sorry, but your friend will have to leave for now.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” Tomo said. “Katie can wait upstairs in my room.”

Tousan’s eyes flashed. “Hiro, this is important.”

Tomo squeezed his hand into a fist. “Wait upstairs,” he said to me in English.

Well, this was an awkward first meeting with my boyfriend’s dad. But I wanted to be here in case things fell apart. I wanted to know. And being on Tomo’s side was more important right now then getting his dad to like me. I nodded and headed up the stairs toward his room. His father grunted, but didn’t protest.

I stopped at Tomo’s door, listening. They’d forgotten about me already and were moving into the living room to talk. I listened to the rapid Japanese flood the house. I still struggled with vocabulary. Tomo and my friends could communicate with me okay, and even school subjects I could get the hang of with Yuki’s help, but listening to the formal talk with the police strained what language skills I had. I sat down with my back to the stair railing, squeezing my eyes shut to try to understand the conversation.

“Actually, Yuu, I’m sure you’ve heard by now about your friend Ishikawa Satoshi. We wanted to ask you some questions.”

It wasn’t fair that he had to face this alone. I’d seen just as much, but they’d never think to question me.

“Were you aware Ishikawa was getting involved in a gang affiliated with the Yakuza?” I pieced together the question from the vocab I knew.

Tomo’s steady voice answered, “No.”

“But you’re friends. You didn’t notice anything strange?”

“We take kendo together. Otherwise I spend my time studying for exams.”

“And what else?”

“That’s it.”

A pause. The policeman didn’t believe him. The doubt dripped from every syllable.

“What about your girlfriend?” I took a shaky breath.

“Of course, we go for coffee sometimes, and we’re in kendo together. But I don’t have time for any other hobbies.”

“I see.” He asked a few questions I couldn’t follow as I strained to listen in.

“Hiro and Satoshi have been friends since elementary school,” Tomo’s dad chimed in. “It’s a shame if Satoshi has lost his way, but my son has not followed him down this path.”

“I understand,” Suzuki said. There was a pause, and I could hear the policeman scribbling down notes. Then he asked, “Tomohiro, do you know a Takahashi Jun?”

The silence pressed in around me as I waited for the response.

“Un,” Tomo confirmed. “He’s a kendouka. Sixth in the nationals last year, right? I sparred with him in the ward tournament.”

“Were you aware he was admitted to Kenritsu Hospital the same night as Ishikawa?”

“No. But I heard he hurt his wrist. Our kendo coach told us today at practice.”

“Hmm,” Suzuki said. “Two of the three lead kendouka for the prefecture tournament out of commission in one night. Strange, isn’t it?”

“What are you trying to say?” Tousan’s voice rang out, and I shivered. It was a nightmare listening to all this at the top of the stairs, powerless to do anything at all.

“Only that some troublemakers have money riding on the outcome of the tournament,” Suzuki said. “Gambling on kendo is becoming a problem, and we’re concerned for Tomo’s safety.”

So they didn’t suspect him. Yet.

“You think the two incidents are linked,” Tousan said.

“Tomohiro, I think it’s best if you keep from associating with Ishikawa for now. And if you receive any threats about the tournament, let us know. Someone may be trying to fix the outcome.”

“But Takahashi only hurt his wrist,” Tomo said. “How is that a crime?”

“The fracture pattern of the bone indicates an assault,” Suzuki said. “And he arrived at the hospital only two hours after Ishikawa. We had police there when he arrived, and he was as unwilling to talk as Ishikawa was. We don’t know for certain they’re related. We’re just trying to be thorough.”

Assault charges. Gunshots and fractures. Could they track it to us? One confession from Jun or Ishikawa and they could get Tomohiro. And then what? He’d never admit I’d been there, but what about Jun’s Kami groupies? The girl on the motorbike, Ikeda—she’d looked pretty pissed when we’d fought him. She’d talk for sure, and they’d arrest us both. They’d interrogate Tomo until the ink coursed down his arms, and then they’d stick him in a lab or an asylum or something. My mind raced with terror. I had no idea what might happen, but we were in danger in the worst way.

And if I was linked to it? Would they deport me? Suspend me? Send me to jail for assisted assault? Was that even a thing? I’d been holding the shinai when Tomohiro had brought it down on Jun’s wrist. I wasn’t blameless.

The policeman spoke again. “You know Sunpu Castle, I assume.”

“It’s near my school,” Tomo answered.

“Are you aware we found traces of blood there the morning after these incidents occurred? Takahashi’s blood?”

Tomo sounded bored, but I knew it was an act. “So he hurt himself walking home?”

“We found something else, too.” I heard the rustle of cloth while my heart beat in my ears. What had they found? “It said Yuu on the back. That’s you, right?”

“My tenugui,” Tomo said softly. I leaned my head back against the railing. One of his kendo headbands must have fallen out of his sports bag when I’d reached in for the shinai.

“With Takahashi’s blood on it.”

“Explain, Hiro,” Tomo’s dad said sharply.

“I don’t know, Tousan,” Tomo answered. “I bike home through that castle gate all the time. It must’ve fallen out of my sports bag.”

“The boys face each other often in the kendo ring,” his father added. “They even recently went on a kendo retreat together. It’s very possible the source is from a sports encounter.”

I heard a rustle of paper and the creak of the floorboards. “If it fell out of your bag, that’s most unfortunate, Tomohiro-kun,” the policeman said. “Tell me, did you attend Abekawa Hanabi this weekend?”

The memory of the policeman grabbing his radio flashed through my mind.

“One of our officers is an avid kendo fan and recognized Takahashi. And he overheard you threaten to break his other wrist.”

Want to sign my cast?

If you don’t get out of here, I’ll give you another to match.