“…I think it’d be a good match. If it works out okay and you wind up being happy with it, I bet Enju and Tina would love that.” “You, too, Satomi?” Light reflected from a passing car’s high beams streaked across the room for an instant, bathing Rentaro’s and Kisara’s heads in white light. He looked up, straight at Kisara. “Of course.” For some reason, the reply made Kisara lower her head, her face like a wounded animal. After a moment, she forced a smile, trying her best to bottle it up. “Yeah…I guess so. It’s not like we were ever exactly a pair or anything, besides. I’m acting pretty stupid, aren’t I?” She gave herself a light bop on the head and stuck out her tongue, determined to laugh it all away. That was the last straw. “Hey, I’m gonna go look for Enju and Tina. I’m kinda worried about them.” Rentaro turned around as he finished, going through the office door before he could hear whatever Kisara said in response. As he quickly descended the staircase, trying his hardest to leave the Happy Building as fast as humanly possible, he felt a small jolt in his right shoulder. His mind was so occupied with Kisara that it took him a beat before he realized who he had bumped into. “Hey! Hey, is that you, Rentaro?” He looked up in surprise to find the face of a man, one who had only just begun to climb the building’s stairs. Traces of happiness streaked across that face. He was young, maybe about Rentaro’s age. His face was long, his brow broad, and his hair a shade between brown and orange. His pointed gaze gave him the look of a street thug, but something about his smile made him seem oddly charming when he flashed it. Rentaro combed his memory—he looked familiar to him. The man before him began to overlap with the face of a boy from his memory. He let out a yelp. “Wait, are you Suibara? Kihachi Suibara, year four, class five, seat ten?” That was apparently the right answer. The man gave him a broad grin and stuffed his hands into his jeans. “Yuh-huh…Rentaro Satomi, year four, class five, seat nine…” Before he could finish saying it, Suibara’s arms were around Rentaro. “Damn, it’s been years!” he exclaimed. “Hope you’ve been doing good, you bastard!” “Y-yeah, you, too.” Rentaro’s vision lurched to and fro as this unexpected old friend jostled him in his arms. But instead of enjoying this almost too-perfect chance encounter, another sensation made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He looked up at the roof of the building in front of him. “But, Suibara, what are you doing here? You haven’t started cruising cabarets or gay bars at age sixteen or anything, right…?” He noticed the Rolex on Suibara’s wrist as he spoke. “And I guess you aren’t poor enough that you’re borrowing money from the yakuza, either.” “Of course not, you dumbass,” an astonished Suibara replied, eyes half-closed. “So—” Suibara thrust a thumb toward his face. “You guessed it! I’m here to visit the Tendo Civil Security Agency. I’m a client, Rentaro.” —A client? This childhood friend that he hadn’t spoken to in years was a client? Between this and Hitsuma’s name coming up a moment ago, a lot of old friends were popping up in the oddest of places. Suibara shrugged at the notably bewildered Rentaro. “Well, we ain’t just gonna stand by the stairs here, are we? Show me where your company is!” “Um…” Rentaro hesitated. He had just half-forcibly ended a conversation with Kisara and all but sprinted out of the office. Something told him trudging back up wasn’t a good idea right now. He shook his head. No. I gotta get this client back to our place. Why am I acting so guilty about this? Leading the way for Suibara, Rentaro stood before the Tendo office door. It was already dark out, but there was no sign of a light inside. Pushing the door open, he saw Kisara sitting in her office chair, staring forlornly out the window. Once she noticed them, she shot back to her feet and bounded up to them. “Oh, good, Satomi,” she gasped. “I was thinking about some stuff just now, and—!” She stopped abruptly, presumably noticing Suibara behind him. Rentaro could barely stand the awkwardness of it all, but kept it off his face. “I got a client,” he whispered. Kisara, looking happy about something else up to now, froze. She hung her head back down, as if heartbroken. “Oh…” What the hell? Rentaro thought. A few hours ago, you were practically pleading for a client to come in through the door. Suibara hurriedly intervened. “Um, I’m sorry, did I come at a bad time or something?” Kisara shook her head before Rentaro could open his mouth. “No, not at all. Good evening. My name’s Kisara Tendo, and I’m the president.” With a shallow smile, she extended a hand. Suibara, a surprised look on his face, gingerly accepted. “Uh, hello. I’m Kihachi Suibara.” “Come on in. It’s kind of dirty, I know, but…” Kisara pushed a button on the remote she had stationed on the desk. Dazzling light poured from the ceiling, making Rentaro instinctively squint. Pictures drawn by Enju and Tina were strewn around the room, and the would-be dinner of sweet potatoes and nothing else was still laid out on the table. Kisara’s show of humility was clearly anything but a show as the full state of the office came into view. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean this up in a sec…” “Oh! No, actually, about that…” Suibara paused a moment before continuing. “I’d prefer to talk to Rentaro alone about this job, actually. Sorry if that’s weird…” Rentaro and Kisara exchanged glances, and he silently signaled her to leave. The request seemed baffling to him, but he could hardly turn this guy down now. He gave an affirmative nod to Suibara, who nodded back in agreement. “All right. I’ll go look after Enju and Tina, then.” “Sure. Thanks.” Once he was sure Kisara was out of sight downstairs, Rentaro cleared the dishes and sat across the table from Suibara. The young man propped his arms on top of the backrest, clearly at ease. “That’s Kisara Tendo, huh? Man, you were head over heels for her back when we were all kids, weren’t you? She’s gotten dang pretty since then. That’s the most beautiful girl I ever saw in my life, even.” Rentaro silently agreed. Between his encounters with people like Miori Shiba and the Seitenshi herself, he had run into a lot of women with sirenlike beauty. They had lived long enough together that it would occasionally slip his mind, but to Rentaro, the sight of Kisara side by side with Miori or standing alongside the Seitenshi was always such an embarrassment of riches for him that it’d often take his breath away. And now this beauty was going to discuss a marriage proposal with Atsuro Hitsuma tomorrow. Rentaro shook his head to clear his mind of the distractions plaguing it. “So, what did you need?” Suibara studied the office around him like a curious archaeologist. “Oh! So, hey, do you remember how it was when we first met?” “Hmm? Yeah, I do…” If he closed his eyes, he could instantly transport his mind back to the fourth year of elementary school. It was four years after Rentaro lost his right arm, his right leg, and his eye. Because he was still growing, he had to have his artificial limbs replaced frequently. The continual pain he experienced each day made him want to die at times. The way he could hide his metal skin under an artificial human epidermis was a fairly recent invention in the grand scheme of things. In his younger years, during school and for every other hour of the day and night, Rentaro had to live with a pair of dull, black prosthetic limbs for all the world to see. “Nobody wanted to come near me. They were all freaked out by this weird black arm and leg I had. But you weren’t. I think the rest of the class shunned you, too, right? Because there was one of the Cursed Children in your family.” “Yeah. My little sister.” The story of Suibara and his sister ultimately fell down a tragic path. Once the child’s presence was known to the general public, a lot of people naturally began to have a problem with that. Their mother was the first family member to let it all break her down—the stones her neighbors lobbed through the windows, the filthy diatribes spray-painted on the fence. “If only she wasn’t here,” she’d whisper to herself over and over like a woman possessed—and, unfortunately, Suibara’s father kept a pistol inside a locker at their home for self-defense. Everything was in place for a tragedy. “We were together in our loneliness,” Rentaro said in profound tones. “That’s why we started hanging out and playing with each other.” “Yeah!” Suibara excitedly added. “You knew a ton about stuff like fish and bugs, and we’d go running around the hills and stuff. That was so much fun! It’s like just being with you helped me learn all kinds of things, y’know? Like how to catch crayfish with a string, or how to mount an insect specimen.” His words were all it took to jog his memory. Soon they were sprung to life by the dozen, as if bursting out of a giant toy box. Back when he had no friends and couldn’t even leave the house freely, Rentaro would hole up in the Tendo family library and spend the entire day poring over full-color insect field guides and plant references. After a while, there was no one who could even hope to challenge his knowledge. “Yeah, and I learned how to trash talk from you, didn’t I?” Suibara beamed. “Yeah, I remember how you were all ‘to-mah-to’ when we first met.” Rentaro turned away, cheeks red with embarrassment. “Ah, shut up. Kisara was really sad once you started rubbing off on me, y’know. She was like, ‘Satomi’s talking like this criminal now!’” “Oh, don’t give me that crap! Who’s the guy who started imitating me in the first place?” “Ah, eat shit and die.” “You first!” Once their eyes met again, Rentaro and Suibara grinned at each other. “Rentaro,” Suibara said, leaning forward on his sofa deep in thought and lowering his eyes down to his clasped hands. “It probably wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t show this to you first.” The item he took out from a side pocket made Rentaro gasp. It was a black chunk of metal that made a clink when he put it on the glass table. He spotted a trigger attached to the dull matte-black frame. It was a sixth-generation Glock pistol, one where even the slide was made of a glass-fiber reinforced polymer to reduce the gun’s weight. Why? was the first question that came to mind. The general public still wasn’t allowed to carry concealed weapons outside their homes. According to the laws of Japan in 2031, there were three types of people allowed to walk around armed in public: the police, members of the self-defense force, and— Suibara placed something else from his pocket on the gun: a synthetic leather rail-pass holder. Seeing the civsec license inside, complete with ID photo, gave Rentaro the biggest shock of the evening. “Suibara, you’re a civsec?” Suibara, grinning, tapped a few buttons on the cell phone in his pocket and showed it to him. The screen showed a photo of a girl, her hair done up in a bob cut, her averted eyes indicating she didn’t enjoy having her picture taken very much. “Whoa, did you…?” Failing to notice Rentaro’s astonishment, Suibara soldiered proudly on. “That’s my Initiator. Her name’s Hotaru Kouro, and, man, is she a cutie, am I right? I mean, my grandma used to say, ‘You’re so sweet, I could just eat you up,’ but now I think I get what she was talking—” “Stop.” Rentaro, his mind still a jumble, just barely managed to get the syllable out. Suibara’s sister was one of the Cursed Children. It had wrecked the entire family. The idea of him teaming up with another one of them and working the civsec beat was hard for Rentaro to swallow. What’s more, this job meant that he was all but completely dependent on his Initiator if he wanted to stay alive. It had to be a bitter pill. “Is she…taking the place of your dead sister for you?” The quiet question made Suibara peevishly turn his face away. “Nothing like that, no. What’s the big deal?” Then, after a moment’s pause, he placed an elbow on the table and rested his chin above it. “You wanna hear about this job for you, or what?” Rentaro thought about that. A civsec hiring another civsec—subcontracting work, in other words—generally meant the client had a job that was too much work for him to handle alone. That often meant whoever he hired would get the short end of the stick paywise. But despite knowing that bit of conventional wisdom, something still told Rentaro there wasn’t anything conventional at all about Suibara’s job. “Lay it on me.” “Now we’re talking,” Suibara replied. But what he had for Rentaro next was a complete reversal of his light, friendly tone. “So, Rentaro, like… You were the last guinea pig for the Ground Self-Defense Force’s enhanced-soldier project, right?” This shock was enough to send Rentaro back to his feet. Why did he know that? Maybe Suibara could surmise that Rentaro’s artificial limbs were black because they were made out of Varanium, but there was no possible way he could’ve connected that with the so-called New Humanity Creation Project. “Bingo, huh?” Suibara murmured as he glanced sidelong at the stunned, wide-eyed Rentaro. But there was something close to regret on his face, like he’d just realized he was right when he had wanted to be wrong. “So look, Rentaro, I picked up on some serious shit earlier. Have you ever heard of the New World Creation Project or the Black Swan Project? Either of those names, at least?” “New World… Black Swan Project? …No.” The “New World” Creation Project? What’s that? It sounded too close to the “New Humanity” Creation Project. An ominous premonition started to build in Rentaro’s spine. “Okay,” Suibara muttered in reply. Then he fell silent for a few moments, staring at the glass ashtray on the table. Rentaro waited patiently for him to go on. “Well…I don’t know how much you’re aware of this, Rentaro, but among us civsec folk, you’re the subject of a lotta rumors. You were raised by the Tendo family, and I’ve heard that you got personal connections with Lady Seitenshi.” He paused, face turned upward. “So that’s what I’m here for. I want you to get me connected with the Tendo Group or Lady Seitenshi. I don’t care what it takes; I gotta get a person-to-person audience with either her or her aide, Kikunojo Tendo. We’re talking serious crisis mode for all of Tokyo Area, you know what I mean?” “Is that connected to the projects you just mentioned?” “Yeah.” “There’s no other middleman you can go through besides me?” “No. If I try that, there’s no telling where they’ll hear about it.” “Are you trying to blow the whistle about something? ’Cause if you have any evidence you can give me, I can make sure it gets to her.” “…I’m sorry. My evidence got stolen.” “Stolen?” Suibara nodded grimly. “My place has been broken into a few times lately. A few things were stolen, including the evidence. The only option I got left is to appeal directly to the Tendo Group or Lady Seitenshi as a living witness. I mean, you’re about the only guy left I can trust.” This was no longer a friendly chat between old friends. Rentaro rubbed his fingers against his chin. He had no particular vendetta against Suibara, of course. He’d like to help make that request happen, as much as he was able. The problem was how. Not only was he no longer technically related to Kikunojo; they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since their somewhat…strained conversation after the Kagetane Hiruko case. He doubted Kikunojo wanted to see him much, and the feeling was absolutely mutual. But the Seitenshi? He literally had her digits. That connection, at least, seemed plausible enough. “Let me float up one condition. I want you to tell me beforehand what you’d say to Lady Seitenshi.” “Aw, c’mon, you don’t trust me?” “We’re talking about the head of state, Suibara. I gotta be careful.” “…Yeah, I guess so, huh?” Suibara seemed open to concessions. But then he looked around the office, his body language betraying his uneasiness. “…Hey, this room ain’t bugged or anything, is it?” “Huh?” “You know, bugged. Like, do you trust the guys who live above and below you?” “Man, who knows?” Rentaro’s eyes followed his conversation partner’s around the room. The floor and ceiling were surprisingly thin in this building. Sound had a way of traveling around. The walls were plain mortar, too, and it wasn’t exactly a wide margin between this building and the adjacent one. In a rickety old dump like this, soundproofing would never be a priority. If someone had any sort of decent-grade listening device or parabolic microphone, Suibara’s right to client confidentiality would be worth about as much as a sheet of toilet paper. “Okay,” Suibara said. “Not here, then. Tomorrow night… You know where they’re building the new Magata City Hall, right? Let’s meet there. But lemme make sure we’re straight on one thing: Once I tell you, you’re in, got it?” The earnest truthfulness Rentaro saw in Suibara’s eyes made him shudder. After proposing an exorbitant sum of money for Rentaro’s services, Suibara stood up from the sofa and prepared to leave. Rentaro stood up to see him off, and they chatted about assorted silly little things on the way downstairs. It was completely dark outside, with women plying their trade and groups of drunken businessmen mingling on the congested city streets. The wind that beat against Rentaro’s skin bore the lukewarm heat of an August night. Right in front of them, Enju, Tina, and Kisara had returned, their arms laden with well-stuffed shopping bags. They were excitedly laughing and poking at one another as they meandered along, apparently enjoying their night out to the fullest as the streetlights lit them from behind. Suibara squinted, as if looking at a bright light, then slapped Rentaro heartily on the back. “Rentaro, I’m pretty sure they think you’re involved with me by now. Sorry I got you involved in this, but watch out, okay?” “They?” Suibara thrust both hands into his pockets and set off without another glance. Watching him go, Rentaro realized that he still couldn’t figure out how to parse this within himself—this old friend he just reunited with after so many years. He could practically see lines of depression emanate from Suibara’s back. If this secret of his had to do with that, he would be fine with trying to get it out of him so that they could shoulder the burden equally. Suibara tried to forget about his sister as soon as he could, way back when. Seeing him involved so deeply with the Cursed Children now was nothing less than astounding. Rentaro didn’t know what changed his mind about it all, but the Initiator taking the place of his sister… How did she feel about it? Either way, there were several terms Suibara bandied around that Rentaro could never let go unexamined. There was time until tomorrow night. He had some avenues he could research. “Mm? Did our client leave?” Looking down, Enju was right next to him, grinning from ear to ear as she held up the spoils of her big night out. “Look! We picked up all kinds of meats and vegetables on the pre-closing sales. Tonight we’re gonna have a yakiniku party with Kisara’s secret stash!” Turning his eye toward Kisara, Rentaro realized she was sizing him up at the same time. They turned their eyes elsewhere with near-perfect timing. Straining to keep the awkwardness from showing up on his face, Rentaro flashed Enju a smile. “Sorry, Enju, but I’m not hungry. You three can eat by yourselves.” “Ehh?” Enju’s expression froze. Gradually, it began to grow anxious. “Why…is that?” “Oh, no reason. It’s no big deal if a guy wants to eat by himself now and then, is it?” With that, Rentaro turned around and walked off, making sure he didn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of Kisara’s facial expression as he did. 3 The hollow bamboo tube, its head heavy with water accumulated inside, had its tail end struck against a nearby boulder. It was a shishi-odoshi, a traditional Japanese contrivance meant for scaring birds away from gardens, and the sharp clack it made could be heard from the balcony above. A beautiful sound, Kisara thought. Compared to that, the clamor from the equally traditional room she was sitting in, lined with tatami mats, was hard for her to stomach. “…And so, while our child was quite the handful back during his more rebellious years, he ultimately decided to follow the same path his father did a generation ago. In fact, at the police academy he’s head of the class—in the schoolroom, and out in the training grounds.” “Hey! You don’t have to embarrass me like that.” “…Ha-ha-ha! Ah, how wonderful. Almost too good of a match for my Kisara here.” The middle-aged man at the head of the table, mouth wide open in a hearty laugh, was face-to-face with Tadashi Hitsuma, police commissioner, the scar across his face giving him a decidedly gangster look. By his side was his wife, sporting a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. She raised a hand to her mouth as she tittered in agreement: “Oh, no, not at all,” she said. “Your young Tendo is as beautiful as a porcelain doll! Why, our Atsuro told me it was love at first sight!” There wasn’t a girl on earth who really liked being called “beautiful” by a stranger, but considering how much of a farce this was, Kisara doubted even less that she could take the compliment at face value. Kisara herself was currently ensconced inside Utoro, an impossibly fancy Japanese restaurant. Including her, there were six people seated around the table, participating in this omiai—an arranged-marriage meeting. Only about half of these six were active in the conversation, however. Rentaro, next to Kisara in his typical school uniform, sat there silently, his face inscrutable. When she first brought up the engagement offer with Rentaro, Kisara honestly thought he’d explode in anger. That was why seeing him give such a blithe okay disappointed her—and enraged her. She was hoping Rentaro would stand up right now and do something to ruin the proceedings for her. But why? She darted her eyes around the room as she pondered this, eventually settling on a mirror hung next to a wall scroll, the frame demonstrating the elegantly sculpted work of an artisan. She craned her neck to get a view of herself, only to find a Kisara done up in lipstick, blush, an elaborate hairpin, and a kimono, of all things. She was passing acquaintances with the daughter of Shiba Heavy Weapons’ president, a lover of traditional Japanese clothing, and while she was reluctant to go near one at first, she had to admit—it suited her well, sitting here. She adjusted her head in the mirror, wondering how she’d look at a forty-five-degree semi-profile. But as she did, she sensed someone’s eye on her and turned around. It was the bespectacled man sitting face-to-face with her, smiling warmly. It made her cheeks redden. She hurriedly returned to her original posture. There was one other person in the audience left to describe. He was slender, even more so than in his picture; he hardly ever spoke at all; and he was more than a little handsome: Atsuro Hitsuma. He was seated in a formal kneeling position, the family crest clearly visible on his own traditional clothing. He had grown in the past five years, and it gave him a touch of masculinity that wasn’t there before. “Right,” said his mother. “How about us old fuddy-duddies leave the room and let these two lovebirds talk to each other?” She stood up before anyone could respond. “Oh, what, I gotta leave, too?” “Of course you do, you fool,” Senichi Shigaki said, pulling Rentaro up. “Come over here.” The Hitsuma parents followed them, pulling the sliding screen open and leaving the room. The only thing that remained was silence. Kisara emitted a light sigh as Hitsuma politely lowered his head. “I apologize,” he said. “My parents are getting carried away.” “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Mr. Hitsuma?” “Yes. Five years, I suppose?” Kisara had trouble figuring out how to interact with the man in front of her. She found it honestly bewildering. “Um… So you got promoted to police superintendent?” “Ha-ha! Yeah, the last time we met, I had just joined the force, hadn’t I? I hardly knew right from left back then. Now, five years on… Well, really, I mean, look at you. You’re a completely different person from five years ago. I still thought you were cute in a kidlike way back then, but now there’s no doubt about it. You’re beautiful.” “Oh, stop flattering me, Mr. Hitsuma!” She meant it, too. Kisara looked down, cheeks blushing. “But…why now, though? Out of the blue…?” “What do you mean?” he replied, smiling graciously at Kisara. It made her feel a bit guilty as she went on. “I mean that I feel bad for you, Mr. Hitsuma. I disowned the Tendo family by my own free will. That’s why you received the cancellation notice that you did. So…and I’m sure you know this already, but…I don’t think marrying me will help you make any inroads with the Tendo family. I’m fully separate from them now. They treat me pretty much like they’ve disinherited me. I still go by the name Tendo, but I don’t feel that I’m a Tendo at all. Not one bit.” If Kisara had it her way, she’d have all the Tendo blood flowing within her drained from her body and replaced with someone else’s. She opted against sharing that little tidbit out loud. “Well, it’s not that I made this request to Mr. Shigaki because I wanted to build a connection with the Tendo family.” “So why did you, then? Your dad’s police commissioner; you’re already a superintendent yourself… I’m sure you’d have no problem attracting attention.” “Is being taken with you at first sight a good enough reason?” Kisara blushed and turned her face away at this unexpected attack. “Oh, stop joking.” “I didn’t mean it as a joke.” “That makes it even worse… You’re embarrassing me.” She was willing to hear out Hitsuma’s sweet nothings, but a darker voice was making itself known in her heart. There was a time when even Kisara believed in Cinderella. That dream she had, of some Prince Charming falling in love with her and saving her from disaster, disappeared from her life the day her parents were killed by being eaten alive. If there really was a prince or a wizard or whatever out there, she’d want him to resurrect her parents right this minute, not marry her. Kisara urged herself to press on as she adjusted her posture. Then she decided to change strategies. She was getting sick of this whole arranged-marriage system—trying to make yourself out to be perfect while watching your partner like a hawk for any imperfections. It was time to buck the system. “The whole reason I’m alive is so I can take revenge on the Tendos.” “I know.” “What?” Kisara heard the shishi-odoshi clack against the rock behind her. “Of course. I’m fully aware of your circumstances, Ms. Tendo.” “And you went through with this proposal anyway?” “Yes. In fact, I think I might just be able to help you on that particular matter.” “…Um, how so?” Hitsuma briskly stood up from the table, a smile crossing his intellectual demeanor as he pointed outside. “Would you like to go for a walk while we discuss it?” Kisara nodded. It was the only thing she could do. The pair left the room, walking around the perimeter of a gravel-floored garden. A small pond lay in the middle of it, with an arched, bright red footbridge decorated with ornate, knob-topped guardrails crossing it. Kisara sprinkled some dry food from the bridge, marveling at the dazzling colors of the Japanese koi fish that gathered to lap it up. “So…?” Kisara began, not trying to sound too keen lest he was simply taking her for a ride. “I…will omit the details for now, Ms. Tendo, but we in the Hitsuma family do not have exactly a cozy relationship with the Tendos either.” Kisara’s eyebrows twitched. “That’s playing with fire, you know,” she said, eyes still focused on the koi she was feeding. “The Tendo clan is filled with financial giants. They train their kin from infancy to become full-fledged members of the political elite. Trying to resist them is like trying to resist the government itself. They would raze your family to the ground, just like all the other people who faded into darkness after opposing them.” “I imagine they would, yes, if we took a full-frontal approach. But even the most heavily guarded of fortresses can be conquered, if you just know which untended back door to strike at first. Someone like you, attempting to eradicate Kikunojo Tendo and his allies from the face of the earth, should know that all too well.” A koi leaped out of the water with a splash. “…How much do you know?” “Just what I’ve picked up through the grapevine.” Kisara turned around and looked at Hitsuma. “Well, I’m glad you’re offering to help me, but this is my battle to wage. I’m not interested in having other people use me.” “But you may feel free to use me all you like. I will not use you at all.” This made Kisara’s brows furrow. “You’re starting to creep me out. What do you want from me? Just come out with it.” Hitsuma put a hand to his chin, as if pondering over something. “All right,” he said. “Let me rephrase that, then. There is something I want from you.” Then he suddenly wrapped his arm around Kisara’s waist, holding her hand with his own. The presence of such a comely man at close range made Kisara’s heart skip a beat. “You’ve been making me go crazy, and it’s thanks to your beauty. If I ever do anything to make you dislike me, then by all means, take up your sword. But if not…” Hitsuma brought his face closer to hers. Kisara turned her red cheeks away. “You’ve been reading too much Shakespeare.” “I mean it.” It was a surprise to her, this man’s passion all but forcing her into his embrace. Satomi would never do anything like this for me, she thought. Searching around in his pocket, Hitsuma took something out and placed it in Kisara’s hand. Startled by the feel of cold metal, she looked down to find a disc-shaped object shining a golden hue in the reflected sunlight. “What’s this?” “A pocket watch. Open it up.” Following his suggestion, Kisara lifted the watch’s golden lid. Her mouth opened a little in surprise. The hour and minute hands were also done up in gold, and the fancy-looking clock face was lined with jewels, dazzling her with a flood of color. “This is so nice. Is it for me?” “I’d be glad if you took it. It won’t go to waste that way.” She was about to say thanks, but swallowed the word after realizing something. “But,” she said, “our old engagement was canceled.” “That doesn’t matter. I love you.” “…If I had someone like you whispering about love into my ear, maybe I’d start looking for a pair of glass slippers before long.” “Would you like to try?” Kisara watched as Hitsuma’s lips advanced upon her. Then she closed her eyes. Neither the beautiful white sand that extended out toward the right-hand side of the Japanese garden nor the sublime ephemerals of the rock garden’s dry landscape were enough to brighten Rentaro’s heart by now. He was walking down the wooden platform that lined the garden, in search of a bathroom as the anxiety began to well in his mind. What is Kisara’s problem, anyway? Getting all dolled up and putting on that nice kimono for his sake. She doesn’t have to act all preoccupied about how she looks. Around me, it’s been the exact same black school outfit, 365 days a year. The gloominess in Rentaro’s heart had, if anything, only been magnified by the five years that had passed since he last saw Hitsuma. He was, after all, the first real love interest in Kisara Tendo’s life—and the worst part was that she probably didn’t even realize it. He thought his shallow memories of that time would drift away over the years, but now that he saw Kisara dressed in her finest and discussing marriage like this, he wasn’t so sure that would ever happen. “Listen…Tendos aren’t like regular people. Don’t you dare catch yourself acting like you’re one of them.” What do I want Kisara to do here? Do I…? Just as he rounded a corner of the walkway, staring at the garden for lack of anything better to focus on, Rentaro stopped. Kisara and Hitsuma were talking on the arched bridge. He couldn’t hear what they were saying from his vantage point, but if Rentaro’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, they looked like they were enjoying themselves. “…!” Then Hitsuma brought her close, his lips approaching her face. The two silhouettes overlapped. Rentaro’s body tensed up, as if struck by lightning. Sweat ran from every pore in his body. Then he turned around on the spot and swiftly walked out of the restaurant. As Hitsuma’s face dominated the entirety of her vision, Kisara closed her eyes. But, the moment before their lips met, Kisara brought her palm between them like a partitioning board, pushing him away with the other hand. “…For now,” she said, “let go of me.” She was freed without complaint. Kisara adjusted the neck of her kimono in order to focus attention away from her flushed cheeks. “So is that how it is? You don’t mind if I use anything of yours that I find useful, and in exchange for that, you want me?” “You can feel free to see it that way, yes.” Kisara mulled this over silently as she pretended to adjust her wardrobe. No matter what she decided to do, her life was worth about as much as a pebble on the side of the road. All she had to do was make sure she kept it intact until the remaining four Tendos were slain. And being lucky enough to be born with this beauty, being able to use it as a bargaining chip for her aims—who could ask for anything more? It’s a matter of using, and being used. As simple a relationship as that. I might even find myself liking Hitsuma before long. A prickly sensation ran across Kisara’s chest. …Wait a minute. Is this what love and romance is? 4 “So you saw Kisara get all kissy-kissy and that pissed you off so much that you ran away from her?” Sumire Muroto, head of the Magata University forensics research lab, stared at Rentaro with a look of pure glee on her face. “It’s, it’s not like that, or anything…” “The way you look, you’re not exactly convincing me otherwise.” Rentaro remembered that he was currently head down on the desk. He sheepishly sat back up and looked distractedly at the bare light bulb illuminating the basement room. He liked visiting the forensics lab at times like these. It was his way of appealing for divine aid—or, in Sumire’s case, demented aid. Someone older and more experienced was a treasure to have right now. Rentaro failed to sleep a wink the previous night. The whole thing with Suibara played a role in that, but to be wholly honest with himself, he was agonizing over Kisara’s arranged marriage. He decided to give Sumire the whole story because he was certain she’d have just the right piece of advice to cut through this crisis. Right now, he was being disappointed. “Well, forget it. Just give it up. The fact that a prime piece of land like Kisara hasn’t been snapped up yet is a miracle in itself. She just found the right buyer, is all.” Rentaro grimaced. “Jeez, Doctor… I thought you were rooting for the two of us.” “What, are you kidding me? I’m just trying to stir the pot a little, ’cause if I didn’t, nothing would change until you both had one foot in the grave. In fact, if things start working out between you two, I’d start sabotaging it for fun.” “Awful. Just absolutely awful.” “Though actually, I was really hoping you’d finally let your hormones get the best of you and just push her down. Think about the headlines you’d make once the police caught you!” “Why would the police get involved?” “You think you’ll ever bag Kisara any other way?” Rentaro snorted in disgust as Sumire pulled up a chair facing him, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Just knock it off, okay? Knock it off. I know you’re thinking about some hanky-panky with Kisara and maybe marriage in the future, but why do you think marriage is such a good thing anyway? Lemme give you a little lecture on how men and women work. Men, you know…they have to put up with women nagging them to no end until it drives them insane. They give up on their dreams, and they have to resist the urge to stare at every big-titted bimbo they see on the way home from work. And women, too—they have to deal with men’s crazed fetishes; they have to cook and dress in a way that pleases them; they give up their entire bodies to them! It’s just a constant string of sacrifices for them both. Men, at the core, really hate women, and women, at the core, really hate men.” “So why do people get married, then?” “‘We all need the eggs,’ as Woody Allen put it.” “What’s that mean?” “Eesh. Look, Rentaro, could you at least try to make an effort to think a little? People in ancient times thought that brains were used for nothing but creating the snot out of your nose, but you’re not using your brain for too much apart from that, are you? Your whole existence is a tragedy. I’m a nihilist, remember? Just take the nihilism out of my advice if you don’t like it.” “What’d even be left?” “Men, at the core, love women, and women, at their core, love men. Don’t tell me you don’t even get that.” Rentaro froze, as if bewitched. It was impossible to tell where the jokes ended and real talk began with Sumire. She stood up and turned her back to him, no doubt off to whip up another batch of coffee. Rentaro stared at the back of her oversize lab coat and resolved to bring up another topic close to his heart. “Doctor, have you ever heard of something called the Black Swan Project?” “No, I haven’t,” Sumire said as she filled a kettle with water and pushed the ON button within her induction cooker. “However,” she added, “if they named it ‘Black Swan,’ it might have something to do with the black swan theory.” “The black swan theory?” Sumire measured out a suitable amount of instant coffee from the can. “Swans, you know,” she began, “are supposed to be all white in color, but then they found a population of black swans in Australia. It turned the world of ornithology upside down back in the day. The entire world ran on this assumption that swans were supposed to be white, so nobody was ever able to predict that black swans would ever be a thing, too. “So the ‘black swan theory’ is where you build long-term predictions while bound by your current state of comprehension, but thereby fail to account for unpredictable events even after they happen. It can cause all sorts of damage if you’re not careful. There’s no such thing as absolutes in this world—life’s full of uncertainties. Making predictions as if these uncertainties are ironclad facts always costs you in the long run. “You could kind of see this theory as a warning to the human species, and how their minds work. If you’ve had ten years straight of bountiful harvests, you’d never imagine that a flood would ravage your farmland tomorrow, right? Or maybe crises that theoretically shouldn’t occur for millennia keep taking place every few decades, or an unexpectedly huge earthquake causes a meltdown at a nuclear power plant, or—” “—Or a pack of virus-infected parasites appears and tries to destroy the human race?” Sumire grinned. “That’s exactly it. Glad to see you’re quick on the pickup, at least.” Rentaro turned his eyes toward his hands. The “Black Swan Project”—something about the name disturbed him. He was already starting to regret what he’d said before. Perhaps the situation Suibara fell into was a lot more dangerous than he thought. Perhaps he should’ve forced the whole story out of him at the office. He checked the clock. There was still a fair amount of time until their meet up. “There’s something else, too, Doctor. The ‘New World Creation Project’—does that ring any bells?” Sumire swung around, surprised. Judging by the reaction, Rentaro knew he hit the nail on the head. The eerie resemblance between “New World Creation Project” and “New Humanity Creation Project” was something that stuck out in his mind from the moment Suibara uttered the term. The kettle began to emit a shrill whistle, the lid clattering around on the top. “Where did you hear that name?” “A client relayed it to me.” “How much do you know about it?” “Pretty much nothing. That’s why I’m asking you, Doctor.” Suibara had been acting far too jumpy. He had been paranoid about bugging devices and wanted to talk at a separate location. It seemed fair to think that these “New World” and “Black Swan” projects were something dicey enough to put the fear of God in him. Sumire considered this for a few moments, a thoughtful hand on her chin. “I think I told you why the New Humanity Creation Project was disbanded.” “Yeah…um, because it cost too much money and stuff.” “Right. The natural-born Children we use cost nothing, but even building one of you took vast sums of money.” Sumire picked up two heat-resistant beakers and filled both to the brim with coffee, staring up and down Rentaro’s body as she did. “You’re a ten-billion-yen kid, Rentaro.” Yeah, that’d sure torpedo the project, all right. If it took that much to produce just one soldier, setting up some kind of mass-production system would’ve been all but impossible. “But if it weren’t for the Children showing up,” Sumire continued, “the New Humanity Creation Project was prepared to move on to the next phase. In other words, the New World Creation Project. You can basically think of the New World project as the final, complete version of the New Humanity one.” “Complete version…?” “Right. People like you and Tina and Kagetane Hiruko are walking high-tech marvels—superfibers, replacement organs, metal skin, you name it. The New World Creation Project would’ve taken that one more step. The aim was to replace at least half the human body with machines. The idea was to eventually work up to replacing the entire body, except for the brain.” “Wait a minute,” Rentaro interjected. “You said that the success rate for New Humanity surgeries was pretty low as it was. If you guys tried to replace even more of the body at once…” Sumire sat back down, looking a bit remorseful as she squinted at the light bulb. “Well,” she replied, “there was a nonzero chance of it working. And if there’s a nonzero chance, a scientist is always gonna take a crack at it.” “…But you’re a doctor first, aren’t you? Not a scientist.” “I am, yes. But the poison you and I call ‘curiosity’ works its magic at astonishing speed with people like us. It kills a lot more than just the cat, you know.” Sumire slid one of the beakers Rentaro’s way. He picked it up with both hands and stared at the murky black liquid inside, a faint warmth spreading across his palms. “But what’re you talking about, though? The New World Creation Project never took place, then? I heard that name right from the mouth of my client…” “Yeah, I’m awfully curious about that myself. I was the woman in charge of the New Humanity project, but I never heard anything about the New World one starting up. But…hmm. Maybe it’s got to do with those murders?” “Which ones?” Sumire sat in silent thought for a moment before continuing. “Well,” she said, “a man was killed at the New National Theater a bit ago. Kenji Houbara, age thirty-five. An opera aficionado. He was stabbed during a performance. At the same exact time, someone went into the home of Saya Takamura, age twenty-eight, and murdered her with what’s believed to be a shotgun. And at the same time as that, Giichi Ebihara, age fifty-three, was shot to death by a sniper while on a high-speed train.” “Three murders on the same day…?” “Yeah. But that’s not the point. The point is that all three victims had something in common.” Sumire took a sip of coffee, her tone suddenly growing dark and heavy. “Kenji Houbara and Saya Takamura were both surviving soldiers enhanced by the New Humanity Creation Project.” “What?!” Sumire crossed her legs and tilted her glass again as she glanced at her dumbfounded guest. “They were both my patients. Let me tell you, I was shocked. I knew them both really well. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to know about that—two ex–New Humanity soldiers, hunted down like that… But this was premeditated murder. Both of them saw action in the Gastrea War, unlike you, and they both retired to civilian life after the war because they were sick of fighting.” Rentaro had heard from Sumire earlier that a lot of enhanced soldiers, finding themselves with no place to go, wound up becoming civsec officers like him. Apparently there were exceptions, though. Sumire put her hand back on her chin and stared off into the distance. “If they wanted peaceful lives for themselves, I welcomed that with open arms. But it looks like there was a snake tempting them. This guy.” Sumire picked up a sheaf of papers from her cluttered desk and tossed it over. An autopsy report, apparently. The first page had Giichi Ebihara’s name and profile printed on it. “Who’s he?” “Someone high up in Public Security.” “Public Security” referred to the Public Security Force, the department that protected the national government from things like radical extremism and international terrorism. Most of their investigative techniques were classified, but word on the street indicated it was akin to a secret police or spy organization. “Why Public Security?” “It looks like this Ebihara guy made secret contacts with these two war retirees. He had them do some kind of secret-agent stuff, apparently. I say ‘apparently’ because now that he’s dead, I can’t establish what kind of relationship they had. He’s the only one who would’ve known that. I only learned about this because Ebihara’s secretary saw him conduct a secret meeting with Houbara in their building. He said that he heard the term ‘New World Creation Project’ in their conversation, not that he knew what that meant at the time.” “And now all three of them are dead. Which means…?” “They all knew something they shouldn’t have. What, I couldn’t say.” Silence descended upon the basement. The humid air lapped against Rentaro’s neck as Sumire extended a pale, veiny hand toward another file on her desk. “By the way, Satomi, have the police visited Tina yet?” “No…why?” “Well, I got all curious about these murders, so I had Miori give me some information. There were no witnesses to Kenji Houbara’s stabbing at the theater and they couldn’t find any fingerprints on the knife, but apparently there was a faintly sweet scent left on the weapon. Saya Takamura was murdered with anti-personnel rounds fired by a twelve-gauge shotgun. No witnesses there, either. As for the train murder, the bullet that killed Ebihara was a powerful type of sniper bullet known as Lapua Magnum. I don’t know all that much about guns, but the train would’ve been running at high speed at the time—200 kilometers an hour or so. Despite that, the sniper made a clean kill through the train window and right through his head. Can you believe that?” Now Rentaro knew why Tina’s name came up. “Wait a minute, Doctor! Tina’s not a murderer!” “Well, I’d like to believe that, too. But if you whittle down the suspects to the kind of people with superhuman skills like that, Tina’s bound to show up on the list sooner or later.” No way. There’s no way Tina could do anything like that. “Lady Seitenshi pulled a lot of strings to keep Tina’s punishment down to just probation, but remember, she tried and failed to assassinate our leader. If she racks up any more charges, it’s gonna be the firing squad for her.” “…But—all right—even if we assume there’s some kind of superhuman hit man group out there, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re from the New World Creation Project. If they were, though…like, could I even beat them, being an older type?” Among Kagetane, Tina, and Aldebaran, Rentaro had a lot of high-profile kills under his belt by now. But he never thought his powers ever gave him an inherent advantage. If anything, he was amazed he always managed to eke out a victory at the very end each time. Sumire sighed dejectedly, apparently knowing what Rentaro was getting at. “I don’t know if you have the wrong idea or something, but there’s still a lot of potential for improvement in your artificial limbs.” Rentaro paused for a moment, having trouble parsing this statement. “R-really?” he said, all but pressing Sumire for an answer. She confidently lifted her hands in the air. “Really really. You’re in the top class of the soldiers I created, and when I say that, I’m talking about your potential, too. You’re doing a great job using your limbs and your eye, but I can’t say you’re performing up to the specs I envisioned at first. That eye, for example.” Rentaro instinctively brought a finger to his artificial left eye. “There’s a limiter circuit in your eye that ensures its processing speed doesn’t go above a certain level.” “Wh-why’s that?” “Because you’d see too much. It probably feels like time’s slowing down for you as your eye calculates the enemy’s range and future position, but it can still go a lot further than that. We transplanted a version of your eye without a limiter into several patients, but none of them ever came back.” “Came back…?” “The moment their eye was unlocked, their brain scans started going haywire, then flatlined to zero. I have no idea what they saw, and I couldn’t really use it if I didn’t know what was going on, so we were forced to stick a limiter on it. It’s a pity. I mean, every day of our lives, we use things that we can’t fully observe—operate a car engine, write data to hard drives, that sort of thing. But when bio-ethics get involved, the bosses get all picky about every little thing.” “Well, yeah. If you ignore stuff like that, that’s criminal neglect, isn’t it?” “Neglect, huh…? I see. So I’m a criminal to you, then?” “You’re pretty much as gray area as you can be without going full black.” Sumire offered an offended snort. “It’s all in the way you put it, isn’t it? Though I’ll admit, the limiter was probably the right answer. Lowering the processing speed does a great job reducing the burden on the user’s brain. But there’s one term I want you to remember: terminal horizon.” “Terminal horizon?” “Right. Your eye’s processing speeds up in tandem with your emotions, such as anger or sadness. When you have it activated, I’m sure it feels like time slows down for you, but it’s not like time itself is slowing. Your brain is just operating at faster speed as it works with the powerful computer in your eye, so time feels slower by comparison. But eventually you hit a wall, and that wall’s one two-thousandths of a second—in other words, a second of real time slows down to what feels like two thousand to you. That’s the terminal horizon. All the patients who crossed that never came back. Their brains were completely fried.” Rentaro was shocked. Even in the fight against Kagetane Hiruko—when he was sure his eye ran quicker than it ever did before—he’d peg the slowdown to around fifty virtual seconds for every real one. Maybe it maxed out at a hundred on limited occasions, but even that was iffy. Two thousand, though? That far ahead? But Rentaro also understood that, if anything, this was good news for him. If he didn’t want to see himself lagging behind the rest of the Tendo Civil Security Agency’s employee roll, trying to come as close to this terminal horizon as possible would never be a bad thing for him. Even if he still couldn’t handle a sniper rifle as deftly as he wanted, it would be a killer advantage. “But let’s get back on topic,” Sumire said as she recrossed her legs. “I know you have to maintain confidentiality with your client, and I don’t need to know his name, either. But you better make sure this guy’s safety is a priority for you, as much as you can. If your client has the same info the other three victims had, he could be in serious trouble.” That settled it. Rentaro stood up, figuring he’d better go to Suibara’s meet-up site immediately. “One more thing.” Sumire shot a sharp look at Rentaro. “We still haven’t come to terms with something else. What are you gonna do with Kisara?” Rentaro froze to the ground. “I’m not gonna do anything.” “Nothing? So you’ll just sit there and gnash your teeth while she goes off with another guy?” Rentaro left his stool, looking down at Sumire. “Doctor…I talked to you before about the thing between Kazumitsu and Kisara, didn’t I?” “Yeah…” During the Third Kanto Battle, Kisara Tendo killed Kazumitsu Tendo, her adoptive brother. In the cruelest of manners, no less. “I…I mean, I like Kisara. I’d be willing to do just about anything for her. But after that experience, I think I realized something. She’s let her hatred for the Tendo family dominate her.” For a period, after her parents were eaten by a Gastrea before her eyes, Kisara lost both her speech and any reason to keep living. One day, though, she just got out of bed, begged Sukekiyo Tendo to teach her, and began learning swordsmanship at an astonishing pace. The one thing driving her heart and having her try to keep living was the desire to plunge the people who ruined her life into the deepest pit in hell. “Things were pretty fun for the first year or so the Tendo Civil Security Agency was running, so I thought she was forgetting about it. But I was wrong.” “Don’t you understand? Justice isn’t good enough. Justice can’t oppose evil. But absolute evil—evil that goes beyond evil—can. I have that power.” Rentaro gritted his teeth, head hung low. “Nothing I said reached her…” As he spoke, his thoughts gradually coalesced together. Now he was starting to see what kind of attitude he needed to approach Hitsuma and Kisara’s arranged marriage with. “Ever since the Tendos took me in ten years ago, I’ve owed so much to Kisara. I could never pay her back in a million years. I’d do anything to make her happy. I’ve made up my mind, Doctor. I want Kisara to realize something. That life’s worth living for more than just revenge. And if I can make that happen…” Then Rentaro realized something. The decision he had just made in his heart meant a final good-bye to all the emotions he had accumulated for Kisara over the past ten years. Sumire looked dubious. “You’re gonna stand down because you’re putting Kisara’s happiness first? Do you know what that means, Rentaro? If you really just want Kisara to be happy, you’re gonna have to keep killing off your own feelings. There’s no way to half-ass that. Do you swear you’ll do that?” Rentaro closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he could see the beautiful Kisara, a graceful hand near her lips. “I swear, Doctor.” “Even if this proposal goes well and Kisara gets married, has children, gets happy—even then, she still might not forget about her revenge. You can always rebuild a broken body, but a broken heart’s beyond all help. You can’t do a thing with it. And if it’s too late for Kisara, that’s gonna be up to you to manage. Can you do that?” Rentaro stood up and turned his back to Sumire. “I’m leaving, Doctor. I’m meeting with my client in a bit.” He half-walked, half-fled from Sumire, but his feet were heavy as they pounded on the stairs. I can do anything for Kisara’s sake. Anything… Realizing that his breathing was growing rapid and out of rhythm, Rentaro instinctively put his hands to his hips. He wanted to grab his pistol’s grip with both hands, clasping his fingers around it in a macabre prayer as he tried to calm himself. But his hands caught air instead. The familiar weight hanging from his side was gone. In a panic, he felt around with both hands. Nothing. Rentaro’s XD gun was gone. He couldn’t believe it was possible, but there was no sign of the gun in any of his pockets. Did I drop it somewhere? It’s been hectic all day since the morning, so I wasn’t really paying attention, but… Suddenly, his conversation with Suibara shot back to his mind. “…I’m sorry. My evidence got stolen.” “Stolen?” “My place has been broken into a few times lately. A few things were stolen, including the evidence. The only option I got left is to appeal directly to the Tendo Group or Lady Seitenshi as a living witness. I mean, you’re about the only guy left I can trust.” And he’d said this, too, hadn’t he?: “Rentaro, I’m pretty sure they think you’re involved with me by now. Sorry I got you involved in this, but watch out, okay?” He shook his head. This is ridiculous. There was no way Suibara’s enemies could just reach out to him like that in less than twenty-four hours. And even if these supposed “enemies” were behind this, why would they bother stealing Rentaro’s gun? It was almost time to meet up. Rentaro shook off the premonitions making themselves known in his mind and hurriedly walked to the designated building. 5 The new Magata City Hall building was still under construction, its bare concrete walls lit dimly by the pale moonlight, which itself fell through a mass of scaffolding and temporary platforms to create an evocative piece of shadow art. In this landscape stood Suibara, scuffing at the floor with his hands in his pockets. He was a good hour early for the planned meeting because he was fresh from a little quarrel with his Initiator back home. He began to wonder if meeting in a more crowded public place would’ve been a better idea, but quickly shook it off. There was no way they could have a relaxed conversation someplace where there was no telling who might be listening in. Just a little bit longer, Suibara forced himself to think. If I get this out to the public through Rentaro, it’ll all be over. Then I can finally sleep in peace again. Everything’s going exactly as I want it. Just a little bit— Suibara turned around, hearing heavy footsteps behind him that echoed across the darkness. His shoes were the first things to appear, the moonlight streaming in diagonally through a crevice, illuminating the man from the bottom up. Checking his cell phone, Suibara realized he still had forty minutes to go. He grinned to himself. Man, he’s here already? What’s with all the hurry? The idea of Rentaro being as impatient as he was gladdened him as he walked up. “Yo, Renta—” The roar and light of the muzzle flash was perfectly synchronized with the impact he felt on his side. The force made his cell phone fly out of his hand and into parts unknown. “Uh?” He didn’t know what had happened at first. An empty shell casing clinked on the floor, and right after that, his side felt burning hot, as if someone took a branding iron to it. Hesitantly looking downward, he saw the blood that seeped through his shirt in the abdominal area. “Ah…nnh…!” The moment he realized he was shot, Suibara experienced an intense pain across his entire body. No. This isn’t Rentaro. The figure fired two more shots as it walked forward, striking Suibara in the thigh and stomach. He crumpled to the floor. He couldn’t breathe. And as a second wave of pain crested over him, he felt something rise up from his stomach and vomited a large volume of blood. Now chills ran across his body. Not wanting to die without knowing what happened, he bent his body like an inchworm, stretching it out, trying to get even another millimeter away from his assailant. But the awkward attempt at escape ended in an instant. Something thumped against the back of his head. He could tell by instinct that it was the barrel of a gun. An array of happy memories began to flicker across Suibara’s brain. Tears fell in a waterfall. His breathing pitched; he reached out into the air to grab at the greatest memory of all—the memory of a certain girl. “Hotaru…!” There was a gunshot, and the building was bathed in light for an instant. The sound of the empty cartridge clinking against the floor, and the seemingly incessant echo of the explosion, stayed in the attacker’s ears for a long time to come. A warm wind blew through, shaking the nearby rows of trees. The moment he arrived at the Magata City Hall construction site, Rentaro stopped, sensing something was wrong as he looked up at the building. There was a crisp, clear August moon above the unadorned walls. He still had around twenty minutes until the meet-up time, and as he ascended the stairs, he wondered if he had shown up too early. He shook his head and continued climbing to the fourth floor, remembering Sumire’s parting words. They’d agreed to meet here, but it was still dark, vast, and empty. He turned on his smartphone’s flashlight and called out to the void. “Hey, Sui—” He didn’t make it to the bara part before the smell of blood wafted into his nostrils. He swallowed nervously, motionless for a moment until his brain could catch up, then brought his smartphone above his head to light up the darkness. It took only a few moments for him to notice the man in a pool of blood, collapsed behind a column. “Suibara!” Rentaro flew like an arrow to the site, desperation already consuming him. Suibara was lying facedown, having been shot four times: in the side, the thigh, his right breast, and the back of the head, which must have been the killing blow. He was dead—this man who, just yesterday, was breathing, smiling, talking assorted random nonsense with him. Then Rentaro spotted something that put him in even more disquieting spirits. “What the hell…?” On Suibara’s exposed back was a gun, presumably the murder weapon. Hesitantly, Rentaro reached out to it. A voice in his heart was urging him to stop: This is a crime scene now. You’re about to tamper with a crime scene. The warm night air brushed past his skin, and a cold bead of sweat ran down his cheek. Driving the appeals to reason out of his mind, he picked up the gun. The slide was four inches, the left side engraved with a notice that it was a .40-caliber weapon. It all looked too familiar to him. In fact, it was clearly a Springfield XD pistol. The slide was the same length as the one he used. It was the same-caliber model. And there was no doubt at all this gun was just used to commit a murder. A closer look at the nicks and scratches on the frame and slide, the results of years of heavy use, confirmed it for good—this was the gun that saw Rentaro through his battles against Kagetane Hiruko, Tina Sprout, and Aldebaran. The gun he thought he lost was right here all along. At the scene of Suibara’s murder. Why? Then, right at that moment, two beams of light flooded the room. Rentaro covered his face against the brightness. “Police! Don’t move!” Squinting, Rentaro could open his eyes just enough to spot the police uniforms. A cold shiver ran up his spine. “No! Wait a minute!” “Drop the gun now!” With a loud boom, a warning shot gouged its way through the floor beneath him. It made Rentaro realize he had a steely death grip on the gun that just killed Suibara. He let go of it at once. One of the light beams approached, and before Rentaro knew it, he was tackled, his arm screaming in pain as it was twisted behind his back. The concrete floor advanced upon him, and he groaned as the impact hit him face-first. There was the sound of metal against metal, and then he felt something uncomfortable around his wrists. Gritting his teeth, he turned himself around, only to find his hands connected together by a pair of dully shining handcuffs. “Secured!” Rentaro shut his eyes tight. This was a trap!
Chapter 63
56 min read