Nagisa had trusted the professor, and his identity had been a shock to her.
A week ago, having learned who Moriya really was, we’d contacted the university as soon as we’d returned. By then, though, no human named “Professor Moriya” existed.
“He’s gone without a trace. I think I’m going crazy.”
“Yeah. This is basically horror after that development, or maybe sci-fi.”
He hadn’t just transferred or something. It was as if he’d never existed. There was no trace of the TV appearances he’d made as a hypnotist, and the students we’d asked said they didn’t know who we were talking about. The Department of Psychology had in their employ another professor that Nagisa and I had never heard of, although we were the only ones who hadn’t.
“I bet he used a code.”
To borrow his terminology, would that have been “the code of oblivion”? He’d rewritten the world’s program and erased all records of “Moriya.”
“Abel’s still capable of that much, even now.” Charlie sighed over the sheer weirdness of that.
Our current enemy operated on a completely different scale from the rest of us.
“No wonder he’s able to make monsters like the Seven Deadly Sins.”
If Abel was the one trying, it would be easy for him to overturn the world’s common sense once his codes were ready. He could tinker with the programs all he liked and mechanically change the concept of the world.
“But if he can set up a character like Moriya easily, why do you suppose he used a seed to change his shape earlier?”
Last summer, when Siesta had awakened for a few weeks, she and I had gone to New York. While we were there, we’d met the Phantom Thief, Abel A. Schoenberg. He’d been using the power of one of Seed’s seeds to make himself appear to be Fritz Stewart.
“Maybe he wanted to keep the power of his codes hidden?” Nagisa suggested.
That could have been it, but…
“Would he have gone to the trouble of cutting a deal with Seed to do that?” Charlie had the same questions I did. Long ago, the Phantom Thief had stolen a volume of the sacred text in order to get one of Seed’s seeds.
“There may have been some other advantage for Abel in doing that. An advantage in infiltrating Mia’s clock tower and seeing the sacred text. For example…” Nagisa’s gaze turned to me. Me, huh?
“Right. Long ago, I saw a volume titled Singularity in the Oracle’s clock tower. Abel may have sneaked a look at that.”
Assuming he’d already been genuinely wary of the Singularity back then anyway.
“But wait. Couldn’t Abel just have stolen the sacred text, without bothering with Seed? I guess I basically just asked that, but…”
“No, Charlie, about that. I’m pretty sure you already know, but the sacred text is usually off-limits to almost everybody. Even Federation Government members can’t touch it. That probably isn’t a superficial rule; it’s a strict, System-created mechanism.”
As a result, even Abel hadn’t been able to meddle with the sacred text easily. That was when he’d come up with the idea of using Seed.
“Do you remember how Siesta and Mia plotted to have him steal the sacred text? They meant it as a trap to trick Seed and change the future, but… Anyway, Abel needed that sort of logic. As long as he had the logic, he knew he’d be able to trick the System.”
Abel always built his crimes—his programs—meticulously. Correct reasoning. Logic that had been cleared of inconsistencies. Stories that never fell apart. The System liked all these things. Then Abel used his codes to misuse the System.
“Abel may be a bit like a hacker.” Nagisa put together a working deduction. “That’s why he’s been running experimental programs all this time. By stealing the Akashic records, he’s planning to officially become the person who controls the world.”
“…Yeah. If that happens, I bet there won’t be anything he can’t do anymore.”
Next time, he might even be able to erase the Singularity in the blink of an eye.
“But since we damaged the Akashic records, he must have had to adjust his plan. Restoring the System is bound to take time, too.” Charlie tried giving a calm analysis of her own. I hoped she was right, of course…but we couldn’t get careless.
For now, in an attempt to shake off the bad premonition, I bolted down my third of the rice porridge.
“If you go right to sleep after eating, you’ll turn into a cow,” Charlie said critically. I’d lain down on the floor, using a floor cushion as a pillow. She prodded my stomach with a fingertip. “Look, your stomach’s sticking out a bit.”
“That would be because I just ate… Hey! Don’t tickle me!”
“Heh-heh. You’re wide open.” Charlie laughed.
I caught her fingers, stopping them, but she tried to poke my side with her other hand. If she was planning to turn this into a pro wrestling match, she could bring it on; just as I squared up for the fight, Nagisa broke in. “Have you two gotten closer?”
Silence fell for a moment.
“No, not particularly,” I told her calmly, taking a drink from my glass of cola.
“That glass was empty already.”
It was? Oh yeah. It was.
“You’ve got the wrong idea, Nagisa. There’s no way I’d get closer to this guy.”
“But, Charlie, when you look at Kimihiko, I think your eyes are kinder than they used to be.”
“An Ace Detective really should be more observant than that. Never mind, let’s eat.”
“We’ve already polished off the last of it.”
We were both just going around in circles.
At this point, I couldn’t remember. Or maybe it was more like I couldn’t afford to.
I got the feeling something had recently happened between me and Charlie that would make my face literally catch fire…but I’d forgotten. No matter who said otherwise, I’d forgotten!
There was no way we’d hold hands, and we’d never talk about trusting each other. Charlie and I were like cats and dogs today, just like always. “Isn’t that right, Charlie?” I asked her for agreement, although I hadn’t specified a topic. I was sure she was thinking the same thing.
We gazed soberly at each other for a little while, and then Charlie grinned. “Yes, I completely can’t stand you.”
It was rare for abuse that straightforward not to sound abusive.
“And actually, if we’re having a conversation like that, there’s something I’m curious about, too.” Charlie glared at me and Nagisa from beneath half-lowered lids.
“When did you start calling each other by your first names?”
“Natsunagi” had become “Nagisa.” “Kimizuka” had turned into “Kimihiko.”
It was an unsettlingly direct question, and this time Nagisa and I exchanged looks.
“…Uh, that’s…”
“C-call it a secret…”
Charlie’s verdict on our answers was…
“It looks like we’re going to have a long night.”
Caving to the agent’s pressure, we began to tell her what had happened a week earlier.