“Well, do you still want to continue?” the man in the golden mask said scornfully.
Kyoya smiled complacently and said with equal derision, “Hoh. That sure hit the spot.”
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“Sure.”
“And why would that be?”
“Guys like you, even given a little leeway, you don’t miss a thing. Spot a weakness and you’ll go straight at it. Not to mention that you wanted to kill me from the start. The only reason you didn’t is because of the way I rang your skull just now.”
“Idiot.”
“Then step up to the plate. I ain’t dead yet.”
“Fine.”
The mask’s voice was colored with rage. Kyoya’s words had no doubt hit the mark. With unsettled steps, he faced off against Kyoya, still leaning on the wooden sword. Kyoya’s body sunk lower, carefully folding his otherwise numb limbs beneath him, settling to the floor in a cross-legged position.
Asura shot up with a whoosh of air. The mask’s legs froze. The tip of the wooden sword swept against the side of his chest.
Rising out of some unknown and bottomless pit of energy, the energy radiating from the body of this enervated high school student immobilized him. When Kyoya should have had no nen left to use.
“Bastard.” The first sounds of human pique drifted from the mouth of the mask.
They were both locked in place, each holding the other motionless. Rooted there where they stood, it seemed that an eternity passed.
“Kyoya-san.”
Calling out with a voice like a song, Sayaka ran up to them. The mask had attempted to parry Kyoya’s sword with his arm. At the moment of contact, the shock of psychic power burned away the narcotic spell like the morning mist.
The mask backed away. “That is enough. I shall call a nursing robot. No hard feelings.”
Kyoya raised his pale face and winked. “I’ll take a rain check, then. Don’t pretend to be out.”
“Understood.” With a golden glitter he descended the staircase and vanished out of sight.
“Whoa,” said Kyoya, pitching forward.
Sayaka came up behind him and kept him from falling over. A sweet scent wafted up. He felt her soft breasts pressed against his back.
“Hey, that tickles,” he said. He had a hard time making his tongue work.
“You’re freezing cold!” Sayaka exclaimed. “Like ice. When did you go swimming?”
Kyoya tried to smile, but his face was bent into a disheveled grimace. He’d bluffed his way out of that mess, though he wasn’t quite sure how. He’d used the last vestiges of his remaining nen against the mask, and hadn’t the time or the reserves to restore himself to any kind of fighting condition.
Only that he couldn’t bear getting whipped by the guy coming at him. Luckily, what he had in him had proved enough.
“I dunno,” he muttered in a hoarse voice.
Sayaka exclaimed, “You don’t even know what you did? Your head—”
“Oh, button it,” Kyoya groused, he thought, to himself.
“That’s not nice,” Sayaka answered sullenly. Who clearly had heard.
Now Kyoya was the one who buttoned it. He really didn’t understand. He indicated with his finger where he wanted to lie down. His head had barely touched the hard stone when he felt it being lifted up and set down on a warm cushion.
He started a bit, the way men do in such situations. Sayaka looked down at him, having made a pillow of her lap. Kyoya averted his eyes from her searching gaze, determined to play the tough guy.
Sayaka smiled at his smoldering awkwardness, remembering with a touch of nostalgia the first time. Racing away in a taxi from Shin-Okubo station to escape a fire-wielding monster, she had lent the exhausted young warrior the use of her lap. That was all she could do. And she wanted more than anything to simply sail off to parts unknown like that.
Reflecting on that rekindled a flame of longing and nostalgia, and Sayaka’s cheeks blushed rose red. Kyoya didn’t notice. He was like that. They were both like that. A sad little smile creased Sayaka’s lips.
“Heave ho,” Kyoya said several minutes later, waking himself up.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, his bluntness born of awkwardness. “How about yourself?” he asked, scratching his head.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” echoed the surprised Kyoya, gazing at her pale countenance. He hastily cleared his throat.
He’s concerned about me, Sayaka beamed.
As they strolled along, they discussed what had happened up to now. Kyoya mostly kept quiet and listened. When Sayaka had finished talking, he said, “The culprit is probably whatever it was you drank.”
“Probably.”
“What happened, what you saw in that dream, could you describe it a bit more?”
“That’s—um—” She hung her head.
They began to descend the stairway. “I get the idea he lured you out in order to show you what was in that dream. This business with Semiramis, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the vast midnight landscapes—a tool to heighten your awareness of it all. In that light, I know this sounds kinda gross, but it would seem his objective is you, Sayaka-chan. Damn, a few more details would sure be useful.”
Kyoya clucked his tongue in frustration.
They stopped halfway down the stairs. Sayaka wasn’t coming with. She was standing still three steps above him. Kyoya furrowed his brow. Sayaka was shaking. This young woman who had thrown herself alone into the Demon City night in order to save the world, and had boldly accepted an invitation to this strange palace—she was trembling.
Kyoya ran up to her. “What’s the matter?”
Sayaka clung to him for support before he finished asking the question, her warm breasts pressing the cool fabric of his damp shirt against his skin.
“I’m so scared,” she wept.
“What’s going on?” Kyoya said, the sense of urgency overshadowing his usual nonchalance.
Sayaka shook her head, sending waves through the cascade of hair around her waist. “I’m remembering. Not everything, but enough. Thousands of people lined up in a wide field and kneeling.”
Her arms tightened around his waist.
“After that, a big shadow—I couldn’t make out its form, but I think human—trampling upon those people. If that was all—if that was all—but the person commanding it, the person ordering the deaths of so many people and laughing at the sight, that person—”
Her words dissolved in a cry. Then she screamed, “—was me!”