6 Rentaro slammed his fist on the steel desk as hard as he could. “God damn it, I’m telling you I didn’t do it!” “Quit lying to us! Who else would there be?” “Someone framed me!” “The victim was killed with your gun. The rifle in our database was a perfect match with yours. We got all the evidence we need. Trying to deny it all’s just gonna give you a longer sentence.” This was getting nowhere. Rentaro crossed his legs and plopped himself back down on his stool. The cramped interrogation room he was brought into dripped with tension. The dull, dark-gray walls were complemented by a set of tiny stools. It was the size of a shoebox, but it was certainly tidy—there was no other furniture or decoration. After two hours of pointless prodding and coercing, Rentaro was starting to get sick of it all. Enju must have noticed he wasn’t coming home by now. Hopefully, she wasn’t worrying herself sick. Why did this have to happen to me? I need to get home ASAP. The frustration of being accused of a crime he didn’t commit brought him to the point where he wanted to beat some sense into the officers. The door opened, and the detective interrogating him stretched up to see who it was. A thick, wrinkled face peered through the doorway. To Rentaro, it was like a helping hand pulling him up from hell. “Inspector Tadashima!” It was Shigetoku Tadashima, an inspector in the violent-crimes department. They had conferred with each other during any number of Gastrea attacks. Finally, a kindred soul! Rentaro was sure he’d testify that he’d never commit a crime like this. But, at the next moment, he realized exactly how over-optimistic he was. “So, you’re Rentaro Satomi?” “What?” His eyes looked like they were chiseled into his square-jawed face. A glare from him was enough to make even nonoffenders involuntarily shiver. That’s when Rentaro realized it. Tadashima wasn’t here to talk with Rentaro Satomi, his acquaintance in the civsec industry. He was here to question Rentaro Satomi, murder suspect. Expecting a warm welcome from him now would be as useless as crying and pleading for clemency on the guillotine stand. Tadashima traded places with the younger detective in the room, sitting face-to-face with Rentaro. The detective questioning him before now stood behind him, pacing back and forth along the wall—a classic intimidation tactic. Then Tadashima leaned over the steel desk. It creaked under him. “How about we start by you telling me what you were doing the night of the murder? From the start.” “I’ve already told you guys a thousand times.” “You didn’t tell me.” Rentaro stopped himself from lashing out at his arrogance. This was another conventional police tactic—have the suspect give his story time and time again, searching for any contradictions that appear along the way. He kept himself cool as a cucumber as he gave Tadashima the basic outline. “So I understand the pistol belongs to you?” “I told you, someone stole it from me. I reached for it, and it was gone.” “If it was gone when you reached for it, why are you so sure it was stolen? You didn’t think that you dropped it somewhere?” He broke into a greasy sweat. This wasn’t good. “That… I said it was stolen because it wound up getting used to commit a crime. I didn’t think it was stolen at the time.” “Misplacing a gun is a pretty serious issue. Why didn’t you immediately inform the police about it?” “Well, like I said, I didn’t think it was stolen. I figured it’d turn up if I searched the office or my home.” “When did you notice it was missing?” “Um…a little bit before I was gonna meet Suibara.” “Hmm. Just before meeting the victim, huh? Kind of a convenient time to remember that.” The doubt and suspicion was clear in Tadashima’s eyes. Ah, shit. If Rentaro had a time machine, he would’ve used it right now to warn his past self to report it to the police first. “Listen, Inspector Tadashima, when Suibara called upon the Tendo Civil Security Agency, he was already fearing for his life. Why would I be the one killing him?” “Who would know about that?” “What do you mean?” Tadashima opened his notebook, licked his thumb, and flipped through a few pages. “Before I came here, I asked a few basic questions to the people in the Tendo Agency.” Rentaro thought his heart was going to stop. So Kisara, Tina, and Enju all knew he’d been arrested. “Your boss testified that the victim, Kihachi Suibara, visited you to discuss a job. Thing is, though, she didn’t hear what the job was about.” “He only wanted to discuss it with me. It was a trust issue.” “All right, so who would know about that?” “We were the only two people in the office. Suibara told me to get everyone else out of there—” “—So nobody besides you knows what the job was about?” “…What are you getting at?” Tadashima’s eyes settled on his notebook. He began flipping through pages again. “Well, I have some testimony here from your Initiator. She said you were clearly acting strange when she got back from her shopping. She offered to eat dinner together with you, but you declined and disappeared somewhere, apparently.” “That…!” Rentaro raised his voice at first, but fell silent for a moment, unable to figure out what to say. “What is it? Go ahead.” “That’s a different thing…” “You’re using your right to remain silent about it?” “No! My boss got an offer for an arranged marriage, so…you know, it was hurting me, sharing the same space as her.” Tadashima’s face indicated this wasn’t the reply he expected. “So you’re in love with your boss?” Rentaro blushed and stared at the floor. He could hear snickering from behind. “Stop trying to dodge the question.” “What do you mean by that?” Rentaro turned around and glared at the detective behind him. “Keep your eyes on me,” a low voice rumbled from in front. He followed the order, as Tadashima placed his elbows on the desk and clasped his fingers together. “All right, so this is what we’re saying here. Basically, we don’t think Kihachi Suibara had any job for you at all.” “What?” “The victim was demanding money from you. Blackmail. I don’t know what he had on you, but you knew each other since childhood, so I’m sure he could dig up something. You saved Tokyo Area’s hide in the Third Kanto Battle and the Kagetane Hiruko terror attacks, so Suibara figured he’d try extorting whatever money he could from you. He threatened you, and that freaked you out so much that you didn’t feel like eating dinner together with your coworkers. Am I right? “Then, once you decided to kill him, you lured Suibara to the site of your choice, you pulled the trigger, the police got a report of gunshots, and there you were. Kind of a silly thing to commit murder for, isn’t it?” “That’s bullshit, man!” Where did all that come from? There wasn’t a shred of truth to it… But there was, too. He was the only person to hear the nature of Suibara’s request. And he really did leave afterward, because he couldn’t bear to face Kisara. He never dreamed the events of that evening would lead to this kind of misunderstanding. The sweat continued to run down his cheeks. “…Look, Inspector. I fought in the Third Kanto Battle. I fended off Kagetane Hiruko. Do you really think I’d kill someone over something like that?” Rentaro was ready to turn to prayer at this point. If he lost Tadashima, the only person he could turn to now, his fate was all but sealed. But the inspector just gave him an indifferent head shake. “I don’t know that. That’s why I’m here questioning you right now. Evil people do evil things. They get arrested for it. I’ve seen dozens of so-called ‘nice guys’ in here after something possessed them to go bad.” Rentaro weakly shook his head. “I didn’t do it.” “So you’re denying the charge?” “Of course I am! I’m not gonna own up to something I didn’t do. Get me a lawyer. You gotta have a lawyer on duty, right?” Tadashima gave Rentaro a tiny sigh, staring straight through his suspect with cold eyes. “Rentaro Satomi, I’m officially placing you in police custody. I’m gonna request an extension from the judge tomorrow, too, so I hope you’re ready to spend a little while in jail.” 7 “Well, I guess luck’s not been on your side lately, huh, Rentaro?” Sumire Muroto sat on one side of the reinforced-glass barrier, picking at her hair distractedly as she griped at the prisoner on the other side. “I swear, every time I get involved with you, I wind up being forced out of the basement over and over again. I hate it. I had to expose myself to the sun at full blast on the way here. I thought I was gonna turn into a pile of ashes, ha-ha-ha.” Even by Sumire standards, the laugh sounded terribly contrived. “They wearing you out in there?” Rentaro gave her a shrug. “I’m doing pretty good, actually. Three hots and a cot, and all that. Plus, I can nap all I want.” Sumire looked surprised for a moment, then curled her lips upward. “That’s the spirit, my boy,” she said. “If you could keep your spirits up long enough to escape, that’d save me a lot of trouble.” A cough emanated from behind Rentaro as the prison guard chose that moment to make his presence known. Sumire replied with a calm shrug. The two of them were in the visitation room. A week had passed since Rentaro was placed under custody. “Y’know, I figured if you ever got yourself arrested, it’d be once you finally succumbed to your raging hormones and started licking little girls’ rear ends in the park. But murder, though, huh? For better or for worse, you’ve really surpassed my expectations.” “I didn’t kill anybody.” “They must’ve let you talk to an attorney by now. How’s that going?” “It’s going nowhere. I’m a shoo-in to get prosecuted, and he said I don’t stand much chance of winning.” “Must’ve been a shock, huh?” “Not really,” Rentaro lied. Somewhere in his heart, he still believed in himself. He didn’t kill anyone, so someone would understand soon enough. Justice would be served. But it turned out that he didn’t need much time for that hope to transform itself into hopelessness. There were the intense interrogation sessions, the extension of his custody period, the cuffs and belly chain they made him move around in like a hardened criminal, the being forced by detectives and assistant prosecutors to recite what he did on that evening dozens of times. His miserable pleas of “I didn’t do it” were cut off by apathetic inquisitors telling him to “just answer the questions you’re asked,” shouting down the voice of innocence. The idea that some assassin group rubbed Suibara out was greeted with open derision. On more than one occasion, the desperation made him want to confess to everything and put the matter to rest finally. “I bet we could improve your chances if I represented you in court, but I guess I’d need to go through all this stupid paperwork and licensing and so on first.” “Uh, you’re a doctor.” “Nothing in the law books saying a doctor can’t be a lawyer, is there?” “Well, no, but…” “Besides, I’ve read all the statutes already. All of them. Pretty heady reading. It took me thirty whole minutes to memorize them all.” “What did you think of it?” “It’s a remarkable guide to all the greedy desires of mankind. There’s a lot of them. And by the way,” Sumire said as she looked at Rentaro’s chest, “I heard that Enju’s been paying you regular visits.” She was staring at a poorly made patchwork rabbit sewn into the loose hoodie he was wearing. He touched it, noting the quilted fabric. A gift from Enju. The school uniform he had on during his arrest was confiscated from him—he could’ve hung himself with the belt, or swallowed the buttons on it to die of suffocation or blockage or something. He really should’ve had his cybernetic limbs taken from him, too, but the artificial skin covering them meant he didn’t have to worry about that unless he blabbed about it. Enju had been his only other visitor. Neither Tina nor Kisara showed their face once. “How’s Tina doing, Doctor?” Sumire shook her head. “She hasn’t gotten back from the police yet.” Tina was detained not long after Rentaro’s arrest. Just as Sumire feared, Tina was the only person they could find capable of shooting a target traveling on a 200-kilometer-per-hour train. According to Enju, she wasn’t charged with anything, but the police hauled her in as a material witness and she hadn’t been sighted at the office since. Her inability to provide an alibi for the day of the murder was another black mark on her credibility. “If this keeps up, they’ll probably make you out to be the mastermind behind Giichi Ebihara’s murder, with Tina serving as your hit man.” “That’s insane!” As Rentaro spat out the words, Sumire, distracted, leaned over and calmly placed her elbows on the table in front of her, putting her chin on her crossed arms. “It is. It’s really insane. But whenever something absurd and nonsensical happens, they always try to rationalize it as much as possible. You were at the scene of the crime, and you were standing there with the murder weapon in your hand. Meanwhile, a sniper killed their target under next-to-impossible conditions, and they can only find one person realistically capable of doing that. Only the scales of justice know what the verdict will be, and all that, but it’s pretty easy for me to imagine the jurors’ faces listening to that story.” “……” “But enough good news, huh? Lemme give you the bad news. Once you’re found guilty in a court of law, the regulations say that your civsec license’s gonna be revoked. I guess they don’t want convicted felons carrying those licenses around. Who knew, huh? But the worst part of that is, once you’re stripped of your right to perform civsec duties, Enju’s gonna be turned over to the IISO—the International Initiator Supervision Organization.” “They’re…?” “You’re allowed to live with a ten-year-old girl you’re not related to because your civsec license gives you that right. If you lose that, Enju’s gonna be put in a pretty rough situation.” “She can just retire from the Initiator business, then.” She should have the right, Rentaro reasoned. Initiators in Tokyo Area were fielded from a pool of volunteers and scouts. But Sumire shook her head. “I don’t think that’s gonna work. If Enju quits that gig, her supply of anti-corrosion drugs from the IISO will dry right up. In her current state, that’s gonna be fatal.” “Shiiiiit.” Rentaro slammed his fist against the table. “We’re all screwed, aren’t we?” The prison guard rolled his eyes at them as Sumire stood up. “Well, just think about it, all right, Rentaro? It’s do-or-die time.” Then she left the room. What should I do? Rentaro internally asked himself. But no clear answer came to mind. As long as he was locked in here, it wouldn’t be easy for him to do much of anything. His last hope was that they’d decline to prosecute due to lack of evidence. Calming his frayed nerves, Rentaro put his hands against each other, as if in prayer. I won’t get prosecuted. I mean, I didn’t kill anyone. Even after the guard motioned him to stand up, he stayed right in place, silent. Two days later, Rentaro Satomi was officially indicted by the assistant prosecutor and went from being a suspect to the accused. 8 Days of dejection followed the filing of the prosecution papers. When he was first told about it, Rentaro grew so angry at all its unfairness that the guard escorting him had to hold him down. What followed after that was a profound emptiness. He hadn’t been able to see Tina since his arrest and detainment, but based on what he heard, the situation wasn’t too favorable for her either. Normally, the ten-year-old Tina Sprout would be offered at least some protections in the juvenile courts, but the prosecutor was apparently bound and determined to throw her to the gallows, using the excuse that she was not strictly a human being in order to try her as an adult and get her on the stand in court. The despair in Rentaro’s mind weighed on him intensely. Wasn’t the law supposed to be the final line of defense the weak could turn to? Had human civilization decayed to the point where witch hunts like these were allowed to happen? Or was it that the hearts of the people themselves had decayed? Enju, at least, came to visit him almost every day. She’d lean close to him, almost pressing her face against the partition, and give him all sorts of trite pleasantries—“It’s gonna be all right,” “You haven’t done anything bad at all, Rentaro,” “Once you get out, I’ll let you cop a feel free of charge,” that sort of thing. Rentaro, for his part, gave what he thought were suitable replies—“Thanks,” “Of course not,” “I’ll pass on that.” Still, he was deeply in gratitude for her. Without her encouragement, the punishing despair he was facing would cause irreversible damage to his psyche. If it weren’t for the shatterproof glass in the way, he’d embrace her in a shower of kisses. Then, realizing he was getting this worked up over a ten-year-old girl, he felt an odd sense of embarrassment. Today, once again, Rentaro was seated on his visitation-room chair. The person sitting across from him, however, was neither Sumire nor Enju. For a while, Rentaro stayed silent, not knowing how he should break the ice. To the girl in the black school uniform, it must have been the same way. The clock on the wall robotically ticked off three minutes of their valuable visitation time before the girl opened her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had wanted to show up earlier than this…” “It’s all right, Kisara. I don’t mind.” Enju had given him enough advance warning that he had managed to keep himself calm at the sight of her. He had no way of knowing this at the jail, but Rentaro’s arrest and Tina’s volunteering herself to police questioning had drawn the attention of the mainstream media—a frenzy that fell squarely on Kisara’s shoulders to handle. He respected how wild and audacious she could be, but he also knew that this was still just a sixteen-year-old girl. Worse, Tina’s and Rentaro’s absence meant that the Tendo Civil Security Agency now boasted a roster of exactly zero pairs. Enju mentioned that they’d had to turn down the paltry number of jobs they’d been offered in the meantime due to that—and, to help prop her up mentally, Kisara had met up with Hitsuma several times, her potential marriage partner now serving as her closest confidant. “So what’re you gonna do about the marriage, Kisara?” Rentaro gently asked. Kisara put a bright face forward. “Well, Hitsuma’s a really good person. He’s with the police, so we’ve been able to talk about your case a lot, Satomi…” Then she stopped for a moment, head hung low. “But, Satomi, you want to ask me a lot more than that, don’t you?” “Like?” “Like, why I haven’t come to see you until now?” “Not really,” Rentaro bluntly replied. “You were busy, weren’t you?” But the accusation startled him internally. He did want to know. It was driving him nuts. No matter how busy she was, she didn’t have a single moment to stop by? Did Hitsuma have something to do with that? …It sounded so pathetic to him, asking about trivial nonsense like that. What remained of Rentaro’s pride kept him from doing it. “You know, Satomi, I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff. I thought that I probably shouldn’t see you until I was ready to give a concrete answer…but I think I have that now.” Kisara raised her head up, adjusting her posture as she looked at Rentaro. “Satomi, I’m willing to do anything for you. I’ll hire the best attorneys I can find. You don’t have to worry about the money. I’m going to make sure Tina wins her case, too, and then all four of us can go back to running the Tendo Civil Security Agency. I know it took a little too long, but that’s my answer.” Rentaro looked at Kisara, speechless, emotions welling up in his chest. Where would Kisara, who once tried to make her employees live off nothing but sweet potatoes, get that kind of money? She must have been talking about taking all her assets—her stocks, her savings, the deposit paid toward her tuition at Miwa Girls Academy—but, no, that still wouldn’t be enough. And if he wound up losing his case, that would be the final straw for their agency. She’d be so in the red, she would never be allowed to run a business again. And yet, that was the decision she made. Rentaro felt ashamed of himself. He was obsessing so much over Hitsuma and Kisara’s relationship that he completely lost sight of what was important. The ugly jealousy that ruled over him melted away into nothing. Love replaced it. He wanted to smash through the partition and bring Kisara close to his heart right this minute. But a voice in the back of his head stopped him. “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?” The forensics department head asked him that in Magata University Hospital’s basement. How did he reply, again? It was clear enough from what Kisara had told him that he was important to her. Rentaro closed his eyes and slowly opened them again. I won’t hope for anything more. “Kisara, I’m glad you feel that way, but I don’t need that.” “Wh-why not?” Rentaro stared at his knees, gauging the shocked Kisara from the corner of his eye. “How about you calm down a bit?” he asked dryly. “I’ve sat here and let you talk, and what I see is that you’ve been running around with all your might, trying to be a hero. And that’s your right and all, but I don’t want your help.” “What’s with that…?” Kisara, eyes wide open, was at a loss for words. “What’s with it is that I don’t need it. Besides, you’re about to go through with your marriage anyway, aren’t you?” He loosened his voice, taking on an admonishing tone. “Well, now’s a good time to start transitioning, isn’t it? Now that I’m like this, I can’t watch over you anymore, Kisara. You can have Hitsuma protect you from now on.” Happiness would never materialize for Kisara Tendo as long as Rentaro Satomi was by her side. That was his steadfast conclusion. To Kisara, Rentaro’s existence was just a painful reminder of her parents, the ones she lost in the most traumatic fashion imaginable. All he was doing was holding her back, in bondage, and if that’s how it was: Their only choice was to separate. That was the only and final way for Kisara to forget about revenge and find happiness. If it was possible, Rentaro wanted to be the source of happiness in her life. He wanted to teach her everything that could make a woman happy. He thought perhaps he was the one who could send her to dizzying heights of ecstasy. But he wasn’t, and it grievously troubled him. Kisara stared at the aloof Rentaro, ruefully pointing her chin at him. “What is your problem today? I mean, Hitsuma’s a nice guy, okay? He treats me like I’m important, unlike some people in my life. He’s got money, unlike some people in my life. He’s tall, unlike some people in my life. And he wants to marry me, too, okay? Maybe you don’t know this, Satomi, but I actually have a social life with the opposite sex. Hmph!” “Oh? Well, that’s great.” “What do you mean, that’s great?” For some reason, Kisara demonstrated an extreme dislike for Rentaro’s blunt reaction. “Look, Satomi, are you looking for them to find you guilty, or what? You didn’t kill him, did you? You’re acting weird!” Kisara blushed and turned her head away, rubbing her thighs together nervously. “You know that my chronic diabetes prevents me from fighting for extended lengths of time. That…that’s why I want you to keep protecting me, Satomi. Because in the end, I’m just another weak little girl.” Rentaro wordlessly shook his head. “Please, Kisara. I don’t want you to come here anymore.” “Why not? Why are you saying that? Do you hate me or something?” Rentaro stared straight into Kisara’s eyes. Thanks, Kisara. I’ve been so grateful to you, ever since the Tendo family took me in ten years ago. The Gastrea that killed your parents took an arm and a leg from me, too, but the fact I managed to keep you safe is something I’m kind of proud of. I really like you, Kisara. “Please don’t come back. I don’t want to see your face again. That’s all there is to it.” With a clatter, Kisara stood up off her chair, covering her mouth with both hands. Tears were welling out of each eye, running down her cheeks. “What is…? What are you?” No matter how much she wiped at them, the tears incessantly came down. She must not have been expecting this display herself, saying “What?” and acting terribly confused. Then she quickly turned around and tried to rush out of the visitation room. This is how it should be, Rentaro said to himself. Hitsuma will make her happy. He watched Kisara as she reached for the doorknob, as if that was the punishment he was facing this whole time. Just as her figure was about to disappear behind the door, Rentaro had a flashback to Tina, Enju, Kisara, and himself around the dining table, laughing with one another. Something he would never have back again. The tears rushed into his eyes. Don’t go, Kisara. “Help—” Rentaro closed his eyes and put both hands over his mouth, struggling with everything he had to keep the rest of the words from coming out. He didn’t have to worry. The door closed shut with a heavy bang, and then only a cold silence remained. Tears dripped down from the end of his downward-facing nose, spreading across the thighs of his pants. He sobbed, his voice cracking, at the pain of losing something he could never replace. The image of the Tendo Civil Security Agency breaking apart in midair quietly spread across his mind. 9 “Why…?” For the nth time today, Rentaro’s mouth opened a crack and whispered the word as he took in the view of the Seitenshi’s palace, in District 1 of Tokyo Area. Why am I here? Looking back, he should have suspected something from the moment he woke up, when he was ordered to put on his school uniform instead of the hoodie Enju gave him. That same prison guard effectively banned belts and buttons from his life when he was first sent to jail. Even when he noticed that the minivan he shared with a driver and two escorts was taking a different route from the usual one to the public prosecutor’s office, he didn’t pay it any special mind apart from finding it a bit odd. The view out the window was dull, dark, and bereft of any color. Since his first and last meeting with Kisara, Rentaro had grown indifferent to nearly all external stimuli, spending more and more of his time lost in thought. Diligently, he tried to collect all the fun, happy memories he had and examine them all one more time. The problem was, recollecting his time in the Tendo Civil Security Agency seemed all too short to him. “Keep your head forward. Lady Seitenshi is seeing you.” His unfocused thoughts jumbled with one another as his consciousness returned to reality. They didn’t come fully together until he finally understood what he heard. “Lady Seitenshi?” Upon following his escort’s directions, a key was thrust into his handcuffs, freeing his hands. He was relieved from the chain wrapped around his waist like a dog’s leash, and then he was led forward, guards in front of and behind him. The palace guards, standing like statues of Adonis in front of the entrance, saluted the procession as they passed. They must have received advance word. After a few minutes’ wait in the reception room, lined with dozens of trophies and an unnervingly realistic hawk sculpture, the group was led to a large hall meant for special events. The high ceiling arched above them; the well-polished floor formed a mosaic beneath their feet. Rows of marble columns lined the space. Every piece of décor was done up to enormous proportions, making Rentaro feel like he had stumbled into the home of a giant. Everything inside the palace was refined and splendorous. Nothing like the gray walls of the interrogation room, or the jail cell he was in. That, at least, brightened Rentaro’s spirits a little. “Here,” a guard said, “take this.” It was, oddly enough, the same civsec officer’s license that was confiscated from him at the time of his arrest. “Why this? What’s happening here?” The guard did not respond. Instead, he just nudged his back, making him stand in front of a large door. With a low rumble, it opened from the other side, letting a warm beam of light enter the room. Proceeding in, then up a steep, winding stairway, they found the Seitenshi at the top, just as she left her throne and was on her way down. The two guards around Rentaro straightened their backs as tightly as they could. The Seitenshi made a sweeping motion with her hands. The guards sandwiching Rentaro on both sides gave each other worried looks. “Lady Seitenshi, it’s too dangerous for you to be alone!” “I don’t care. Stand aside, please.” They disappeared behind the door with extreme reluctance. Only Rentaro and the Seitenshi remained in the gigantic space. “It’s been far too long, hasn’t it?” The Seitenshi smiled a sad smile. “Well, yeah. You’re the head of state, and I’m a failure of a civsec officer. You wouldn’t be meeting up with me unless you had some kind of business.” “Yes. In which case, I suppose this is a good thing. A civil security officer out of a job means the world must truly be at peace.” “Yeah, sure.” Rentaro rubbed a shoulder as the Seitenshi gave him a graceful laugh. The tension palpably melted between them. “So what do you want?” he asked. The Seitenshi put both hands together in front of her dress skirt. “Mr. Satomi, are you aware of which way public opinion is going on your case?” “Can’t say I am. They don’t allow any media in jail.” “People were beginning to soften their stance against civil security agencies, after they made such a heroic effort guarding Tokyo Area through the entirety of the Third Kanto Battle. Your on-the-scene arrest for murder, sadly, put an end to that.” “…You think I killed him, too?” The Seitenshi shook her head. “I don’t know that, and I am in no position to determine that.” “But you rule this whole area.” “I am the head of the political apparatus, yes, but that does not extend into the realm of judiciary power. I do, however, have the power to appoint people to certain positions. I’ve done that for you before, and I’ve also helped you get your rank promoted no less than three times. Along those lines, the attention I’ve demonstrated for you has also made me the target of criticism.” Rentaro, realizing the conversation was drifting into hostile waters, broke into a cold sweat. Why was I invited to the palace today, anyway? It still made no sense to him. “Today, Satomi, I’m afraid I need to tell you some bad news.” The Seitenshi paused deliberately, raising her face to eye level. “As of today, your civil security agency Promoter license has been revoked.” “Wha…?!” Revoked? If that happens… “Do you remember, Satomi?” the Seitenshi continued, indifferent to Rentaro’s obvious consternation as she continued. “When you protected me from that sniper, I remember telling you this: ‘I will have to ask you to work continuously from now on. For me, and for our country.’ It is a shame I have to renege on my word in so short a time.” “Wait a minute! If you confiscate my license, the IISO’s gonna take Enju away. You can’t take Enju from me, too!” The Seitenshi turned her face away from Rentaro, a dejected look on her face as she kept her eyes away from view. “It has already been decided.” Rentaro’s fists began to shake. He took the license from its plastic cover and, with shaky hands, placed it in the Seitenshi’s hand. Then he turned his back to his ruler, just as she opened her mouth to speak, and briskly left the chamber. The fifty-million-yen paintings that lined the corridors, as well as the brass vases with arabesque patterns sculpted upon them, were nothing that could move the Seitenshi’s heart any longer. As she trudged down the hallways from the meeting chamber to her personal room, she came across a man in a white formal hakama gown, his white hair and beard a seeming mismatch for the firm, muscular body he possessed. It was Kikunojo Tendo, the Seitenshi’s aide and a major powerbroker in the world of politics. “I admire your hard work, my lady.” “Kikunojo…do you think that was the best thing?” “But of course. Our story is this: Before he was arrested, he requested to be removed from the roster of civsec officers and returned his license to the authorities. That way, the civsec industry can retain its good name, and damage to your administration for appointing him will be kept to a minimum.” “But…we are drowning out the voices of those pleading his innocence!” “It is my priority, my lady, to do whatever it takes to protect you.” “But that is not my way.” “Lady Seitenshi, you… I am afraid you have to choose. If the lifeboats are already full of people, you must have the resolve to let those who couldn’t find space on them die. That is a must in order to keep the boat itself viable.” “If I jump off the boat, I could rescue one more person.” “Are you saying you would let a starving person cannibalize you, then? That is very self-sacrificial, my lady, but it has no role in politics, and it is the political system that you are charged with directing.” “But what do you think of Satomi, Kikunojo? He was once your adopted son, and when you were chosen as a Living National Treasure of Japan, I understand you designated Satomi to be your apprentice, though not a blood member of the Tendo family. Your opinion of him couldn’t have been entirely negative; at least, not at the time. But how can you be so coldhearted to him now?” “…Ever since he abandoned our family with Kisara, he has been neither my kin nor anything else to me. If this is the end for him, I can only call it his just deserts.” “How could you…?” The Seitenshi stared at the floor and bit her lip. Unable to withstand it any longer, she flew into Kikunojo’s breast and clung to him. “I can’t help but notice,” she whispered softly. “Wherever Satomi goes, there I am, watching from behind. Whenever I speak with him, I feel my heart beating faster. I…I yearn for him.” Kikunojo’s chest twitched with rage. “What…?!” “It pains me. My public persona demands that I must be harsh, but as a living, breathing person, I wish I could use all my political influence to help him out of his plight. My heart, and my body, are being pulled in two different directions. I feel like I’m going to be ripped apart.” “……” “It pains me. Kikunojo, what am I supposed to do…? What…?” Kikunojo placed a hand on the Seitenshi’s back and silently stroked it up and down. 10 Touji Watagasa put his hands on the Elgrand minivan’s steering wheel, placed his foot on the accelerator, and turned his eyes toward the windshield, even though his mind was still focused on the eerie silence unfolding behind him. It was night. The unpaved private road lit by his headlights made for a bumpy, uncomfortable ride, the car lurching to and fro whenever it ran over an odd tree root sticking out. The tall trees jutting out from both sides depressed him, and—unusually for him—he began to regret trying to take a shortcut. Touji’s main work for today involved picking up the prisoner Rentaro Satomi from lockup and driving him to the Seitenshi’s palace. Now he was making the return trip, taking him back to jail. He was on standby inside the van while they spoke, and thus had no idea what had transpired in the palace, but judging by how much gloomier the atmosphere was in the car leaving than going, it must’ve been something bad. He looked behind him in the rearview mirror. Rentaro Satomi, slumped down between his two guard escorts, looked like he just had the life sucked out of him. He already looked pretty rough when he picked him up, but now he was even worse—a gruesome sight to see, even. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Touji would readily admit that he had a visceral disgust for the Cursed Children, these Gastrea Virus carriers strutting around like there was nothing wrong with them. But he also understood well enough that he was still alive right now thanks to their efforts in the Third Kanto Battle. It was complicated—and it didn’t help that he lost the lottery for a shelter spot during that fight, forced to stay with his family and curse his bad luck. The joy he felt when Aldebaran fell was difficult to put into words. Seeing this Promoter in such a miserable state right now made Touji wish he could do something to help. But what, though, exactly? The question made his mind hit a wall. Even if he did something as reckless as help him escape, the sense of satisfaction that would give him wouldn’t be worth the lengthy prison term he’d receive afterward. He had a family to support. Touji chided himself. No, he didn’t have what it took to be a hero. All he could keep safe was a small sphere of people around him. And that was good enough for him. Sometimes it was better to listen to the timid little voice of his conscience. This was the kind of hero who could stand up and devote all his courage to the preservation of Tokyo Area. Now, though, he was yesterday’s news. The rules of the world could change with just a snap of the fingers, it seemed. Thinking about all this caused Touji to lose his concentration. It made him notice just a moment too late that something was jumping in front of the minivan. He didn’t see what it was at first, but once the headlights thrust their way through the darkness, a girl with chestnut hair cut in a bob danced between the beams. There she stood, in the middle of the road, arms open wide—it was already too late by the time Touji realized this. An instant later, no doubt, the bumper would be smashing into the small figure’s body. A chill ran down his spine, and before he could think about it, his foot had slammed the brake to the floor as he pulled the wheel to one side. There was a screamlike screech as the wheel locked itself. The car veered into the woods. They had just barely dodged the girl, but the tires fell into a rut on the side of the road, and the van was lifted into the air like someone had tipped it up. Just when Touji realized he’d made a poor decision, the bloodcurdling feeling of weightlessness struck his body as his vision slanted to the side. Only a few seconds ago, he’d been picturing himself pulling into the jail’s parking lot, just like he had done a million times before. There was no way he could have predicted the intense pain that would invite itself into his life a moment later. The results were similarly disastrous for Rentaro in the backseat. He felt his rear end rise up, then he yelped in pain as his vision lurched and his body was battered around the interior. The noise of the crash drowned out all his shouting. The next thing he knew, Rentaro was lying facedown, his face buried in something soft. The droning sound of the car’s stuck horn just barely kept him conscious. He heard something dripping, and a disquieting scent sickened him. He felt something pricking under his eyelids. Something must have struck his throat, because even groaning was painful for him. It was hard to breathe in whatever confined space he was in. His consciousness still hazy, he opened his heavy eyes, only to find one of his escorts right in front of him, blood dripping from his head. He was approaching his golden years, loose wrinkles on his cheeks. Then Rentaro realized the van had flipped over, and he was staring at the ceiling. Why was that? It was too dark to figure out how the car had fared, but all of the guards in the car were completely silent. The thought that they were possibly dead made him anxious. I gotta get outside, first of all. But— Oh, wait, I’m still cuffed. Groaning in frustration, he started kicking at the side door. It took about three good kicks before the door blew open. He crawled his way out, experiencing the crisp, warm night air of summer. Just as he’d thought, the minivan had flipped on its roof, an impressive layer of burned tire rubber on the road behind them. He had no idea what led to this. Then he noticed a black liquid seeping out of the car. It jogged his memory. The smell that caught his attention in the vehicle was gasoline. The engine was still sparking. The whole thing could blow soon. Even with his hands cuffed, Rentaro managed to pull the two guards in the rear out to safety. It was just when he was trying to pull out the unconscious driver that a spark finally lit up the fuel. A wave of heat and flame pushed upon him, making him shut his eyes. He just barely got him out in time. Rentaro sized up his body. Miraculously, apart from a few scratches and bruises, he was not seriously hurt. He turned back toward the minivan, now engulfed in flames. Really, though, why—? “Are you Rentaro Satomi?” A startled Rentaro turned toward the voice, only to find a girl dancing on the other side of the undulating curtain of flame. She was short, child-size, and while he couldn’t discern her face, the legs jutting out from her hot pants indicated she was definitely female. Did she just stand by idly while he was trying to rescue the guards? “Why did you help them?” she asked. “Who’re you?” “That doesn’t matter to you.” “Did you make this van flip over?” he demanded. “You’re the one who killed Kihachi, right?” “Kihachi? You mean Suibara? No. It wasn’t me.” The moment he denied it, he felt a wave of rage emanate from the figure. She took a step forward, trampling the earth with her foot. “So why were you arrested for it?” “I…” For a moment, Rentaro flashed back to an image of himself at the crime scene, XD gun in his hand. The girl picked up on his lack of an immediate response. She pointed her arms forward toward Rentaro. There was a small-size revolver in her hands. “Don’t think bad of me for this. I’m never going to be at peace with myself if I don’t.” Her trigger finger moved without hesitation, setting off the percussion hammer and slowly spinning the magazine around with a metallic sound. Rentaro’s body froze at the expected blast to come. But, for whatever reason, the shot didn’t arrive. The contradiction taking place before the girl—this guy who killed Suibara rescuing three guards from a burning vehicle—perplexed her. And just before she could pull the trigger that little bit more, the sound of a wailing police siren plunged between the two of them. There was no doubting it. The girl groaned to herself and quickly executed a flip that propelled her into the woods. The leap sent her form flying all the way up to the top of the tree canopy. Her jumping skill was clearly something beyond any ordinary human’s ability. Oh, great, she’s an Initiator, Rentaro thought to himself as he watched her bound away. The voice didn’t sound familiar to him, and he couldn’t make out her face. But if this was an Initiator on a first-name basis with “Kihachi,” who was also out for revenge, that narrowed it down pretty quickly. Rentaro scoped out his surroundings. There were three unconscious guards and one burning minivan. It wouldn’t be easy to explain this, but his only choice, he supposed, was to be honest. Suddenly, he noticed a small key that fell out from one of the guards’ pockets. It was for a pair of handcuffs. His heart thudded loudly in his ears. As if on cue, the police siren began to grow louder as it approached. Right now, right at this minute, he could get away. But if he fled now, in the worst case, he might wind up copping the blame for this accident. As of right now, he was merely indicted for murder, not condemned. It’d take time to plead his case in court. If he wasn’t going to scream his innocence to the high hills to the end, why did he go through all this up to now? But, he asked himself, is that really the case? A trial was all about sizing up the available evidence and using it to decide between guilty or not guilty. Had they discovered any sort of evidence so far that’d clear his name? Judging by the highly loaded questioning he had been subjected to so far, it seemed beyond a reasonable doubt that the “presumed innocent” clause would be worth about as much as the paper it was printed on. Many times now, Rentaro had been forced to put on that belly chain and shuffle between jail and courtroom. They’d be much quicker with Tina. She’d be found guilty before she walked in the room, and—with her role in the attempt on the Seitenshi’s life brought into consideration—she would be immediately condemned to death. Thanks to the astonishing regenerative powers of an Initiator, the government was aware that the usual method of hanging would only serve to make execution a needlessly painful process. An injected cocktail of barbiturates and muscle relaxants wouldn’t work, either—the Gastrea Virus would immediately take action to neutralize the poison. So, by process of elimination, Tina would be sentenced to death by firing squad. Her legs would shake as she was dragged to the execution stand, a sack placed over her head as she was tied to a pole. There was no way the fragile psyche of a ten-year-old could withstand the sheer terror of this situation, so she would sob, crying about how she didn’t want to die. But no one would be willing to listen. Varanium bullets would be the ammunition of choice, naturally. The firing squad would line up in a row, waiting for their captain to give the signal to fire at once. As per tradition, one of the squad’s rifles was equipped with blanks, but none of the team knew which one. This gave the squad members plausible deniability for their actions, believing in the possibility that they hadn’t killed her as they went home and enjoyed a hearty meal with their families. But Tina would still be dead. With her employee list now empty, Kisara would have little choice but to shut down the Tendo Civil Security Agency. She would marry Hitsuma, live her life, and—despite the handicaps her diabetes presented—successfully give birth to a child. Over time, her memories would fade. Of Tina, whom she treated as her own sister; of Enju, whose boundless energy put her at her wit’s end on so many occasions; even of Rentaro—she would forget about them all, and never take another look back. With the loss of her partner, Enju would be picked up by the IISO, which would then assign her another Promoter to work with. Her new partner would be far from ideal. He would refuse to give Enju so much as a decent meal, and he would regularly abuse her. The girls’ healing abilities were the result of a metabolism that worked several times as quickly as regular people’s, so being left to starve meant her wounds would stop healing correctly. Without her corrosion-suppression drugs being administered, Enju’s internal corruption rate would surpass 50 percent, making her experience pain like her guts were being turned inside out, and eventually she’d transform into a Gastrea. The total cost of an Initiator with the overwhelming strength of Enju going Gastrea would be nightmarish, both monetarily and in terms of human lives. And how ironic would it be, that the group charged with hunting her down would be other civsec officers—the only group that Enju took pride in ever belonging to… Rentaro, his breathing shallow, returned to reality. Was the sick prediction of the future he just envisioned really nothing more than paranoia in action? What made him think the future would turn out any other way, once he was found guilty? He looked down upon his palms. His wrists, black and blue from the handcuffs, stung at him. He shook his fists. I didn’t kill Suibara. Why do I have to put up with all this absurd insanity? Whoever framed me is probably cackling to himself right now, thinking everything’s gone to plan. He never got taken to court. Rentaro’s vision grew hazy as the insides of his eyes became warm. It was frustrating, so frustrating that he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to get it back. Everything from his normal life. Everything that was taken from him. The same Tendo Civil Security Agency he once knew, with Tina and Kisara and Enju. More than anything, he wanted to hunt down the real murderer and burn him with the brimstone of rage. His pride and his reputation, so cruelly ripped from him and trampled upon, demanded nothing less. The siren grew stronger, bashing against his earlobes. It clearly wouldn’t be long before police officers would be swarming down the road. The time that remained forced Rentaro to make a decision. After a moment, Rentaro’s body stopped shaking. He turned his face up and gave a cold stare to the dazzling neon city beyond the woods. Several minutes later, once police arrived on the scene, they found a flipped and burning Elgrand, three unconscious but breathing guards, and an empty and abandoned pair of handcuffs. Rentaro Satomi was nowhere to be found. 11 “What…?!” The Seitenshi couldn’t help but say it out loud. “Satomi…escaped…?” “Yes, my lady,” the saluting palace official replied. “We believe he staged a deliberate attack on his transport back from the palace in order to escape. The three guards on the van haven’t regained consciousness, so we don’t know the details yet, but…” She could hardly believe her ears as she palpably felt the blood drain from her face. How could this be? Did taking his license in order to keep him safe wind up driving him to desperation? What was I supposed to do, then? The Seitenshi, as the political leader of Tokyo Area, loved all her subjects equally. She was not allowed to see anyone as more special than anyone else. She noticed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Lady Seitenshi, please get ahold of yourself.” It was Kikunojo. “With all due respect, my lady, he fled his fate because he is spiritually weak. It is your task to do what must be done.” The Seitenshi closed her eyes, refocusing her attention on her situation. Her pulse slowed. “Are the police in pursuit of him?” she said, somehow managing to remain calm. The palace official stood bolt upright. “Yes, my lady,” he bellowed. “We believe they will arrest him before long.” “Then—” “—Would you mind leaving that business to me?” “And you are…?” The Seitenshi looked up at the interrupting voice. The tapping of thick boots rapped across the chamber as a man walked in from the darkness on the other side of the corridor. He was perhaps just a little under sixty, his medium-length crew cut partially interrupted by a diagonal scar that ran across his scalp. His eyes were deeply sunken into his head, the excessive white between the iris and the eyelids giving the impression of someone prone to anger. It was a familiar face. “Ah, Commissioner Hitsuma,” said Kikunojo, standing to the side of his leader. Commissioner Tadashi Hitsuma walked up to the Seitenshi, giving her a respectful salute. “I apologize; I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation. Forgive my lack of communication, Lady Seitenshi.” “It is good to see you, Commissioner. But what brings you here?” “I called for him,” Kikunojo responded, giving a glance at the Seitenshi before continuing. “Since your former bodyguard conspired against you, I have been your sole protector, a situation that cannot go unaddressed for much longer. I asked the authorities if they would be willing to assign a security-police unit to you.” “And judging by what I hear, the escape was entirely a failure on the part of the police,” Hitsuma continued. “But do not worry, Lady Seitenshi. We will capture this cowardly fugitive as soon as humanly possible…and I know the ideal person for the job.” “The ideal person?” “Yes. My grandson. He may still be green, yes, but he is a well-put-together lad. I am sure he will hook this would-be escapee in very short order.” The car door slammed shut as some of the lukewarm night air found its way inside, the smell of raw earth reaching his nostrils. The scene around the burning minivan was crawling with media, swarming out from God knows where and lighting up the night with their flashbulbs. Even without them, the flashing lights from the police cars and ambulances nearby would have provided more than enough ambient light, further punctuated by the reflective police tape around the scene. Pushing his way through the reporters, Shigetoku Tadashima ducked under the tape. “Chief,” a familiar voice called out. Turning toward it, he saw Yoshikawa, a younger detective with a look of regret on his face. “Oh, I mean, Inspector…” “Where’s the scene?” Tadashima asked, ignoring him. “This way,” Yoshikawa replied, taking him to the burned-out husk of the minivan. He sized up the upside-down minivan, its ceiling crushed by the impact, and peered at the brake marks left on the road. “What do we know?” “This minivan was transporting the suspect back to jail when a girl ran in front of the car. The driver swerved and flipped the vehicle. The two guards in the rear are in the hospital with broken bones. The driver got out of it better, though. He’s awake and alert, and we’re questioning him now.” “A girl? Did that civsec’s Initiator come to help him?” “Doesn’t look like it, actually. Rentaro Satomi was being transported from Lady Seitenshi’s palace, where apparently he voluntarily resigned his post. He surrendered his license on the spot. At about the same time, a person from the IISO visited Tendo Civil Security Agency and met with his former Initiator, Aihara…um…” “—Enju.” “Right, yeah, Enju Aihara. He apparently seized her, and that reportedly wasn’t so voluntary. Either way, though, she’s got an alibi.” “Okay. So who was it?” Tadashima sighed. He remembered how drained and pathetic Rentaro looked when he told him that Enju was captured by the enemy during the whole Seitenshi sniper crisis. The type of Promoter who really cared for his Initiator, in other words. If he gave up his license, then was told he’ll never see his Initiator again, that might just drive him to do something rash. Fanning himself, Tadashima sat on a nearby fallen tree trunk and looked up at the starry sky. “Pfft,” he said. “I didn’t think we were really gonna indict him.” “You’re still saying that, Inspector? You think he’s innocent or something?” “Nah, I mean… He’s the hero of the Third Kanto Battle, you know. I just figured someone up high would’ve stepped in to cover all this up by now.” “You know Lady Seitenshi hates doing that, though. She likes keeping things clean like that. Bet she’s been crying her eyes out the whole time, though.” The conversation trailed off. Tadashima tapped a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, taking a smoke out and lighting it. “You think he’s really the guy, though?” Yoshikawa muttered to the side. Tadashima took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke into the air. “Who knows?” He stood up from the tree trunk, watching the officers scurry to and fro around the scene. Just as he took in a lungful of air to bellow his orders, he heard someone say, “Are you the man in charge here?” There, among the flashing lights, the police tape, and the seemingly endless flashbulbs, was a slender young man walking right up to him. His posture was straight, his silver-framed glasses matching with his business suit. He was unfamiliar to Tadashima. “Atsuro Hitsuma, sir,” he said as he saluted. “Superintendent at the department. Are you in charge of the scene?” Realizing he was outranked, Tadashima hurriedly dropped his cigarette, put it out with his heel, and saluted. “Y-yes, sir. Inspector Shigetoku Tadashima with the Magata department.” There was something almost cartoonlike about the scene—the wide, barrel-chested Tadashima and Hitsuma, barely a wisp of a man, saluting each other. Tadashima couldn’t help but feel a little cowed. “Oh, great, a career-track grunt,” Yoshikawa groaned forlornly from behind. Tadashima elbowed him to shut him up. “I apologize, Inspector, but I’m taking over the investigation.” “Sir, this crime took place in our jurisdiction. Besides, why would a police superintendent go hands-on with a sorry scene like this? I really think we’re in a better position to handle it.” He tried his best to remain polite around his superior, but the irritation behind his words remained clear. But the pale, wispy man remained composed, using his middle finger to adjust his glasses. “Inspector Tadashima, I’m afraid I can’t allow that. This is a much bigger situation than what you’re picturing. We’ve decided to form a special investigation team for this case. They’ll be based in the metropolitan police HQ instead of the Magata department, and it’s being led by the commissioner. Starting now, the Magata department will be taking their orders from us, and us alone.” “It’s going up to commissioner level?” asked Tadashima, clearly taken aback. Hitsuma shrugged. “Well, this was caused by ground-level police error. We want to get it squared away as soon as possible.” “God damn…” What the hell is going on here? Tadashima wanted to scream. It had to be one hell of a major case if they were forming a team to handle it. It wasn’t something they’d deploy just to catch a single fugitive. “Inspector, how long has it been since the suspect fled the scene?” “I’m told it was about an hour ago.” “All right. He shouldn’t be far, then.” The light glinted off Hitsuma’s frames. “Could you tell me what you know about Rentaro Satomi? I read his profile on the way here—height 174 centimeters; weight 61 kilos; first-level black belt in a combat style called Tendo Martial Arts. That’s not what I want to ask about. I understand that you knew him personally, Inspector. What kind of person was this Rentaro Satomi, would you say?”
Chapter 64
51 min read