When the invited guests descended from “Babylon” that evening, Kyoya and Sayaka were among them. They listened without emotion to the effusive exclamations of praise and wonder.
The politicians and businessmen estimated the wealth of the man in the golden mask, and how they could tap into it—
Having viewed dresses created from a completely different perspective, designers once comfortable with traditional patterns mused about monopolizing a “back to the future” movement featuring ancient fashions—
Stars presented with dazzling jewelry now considered this mysterious unknown lord of the manor a celebrity of their own station—
While Kyoya and Sayaka felt only dark clouds closing upon their minds.
Kyoya couldn’t avoid the fact that his nenpo hadn’t approached that of his enemy. Sayaka couldn’t shed those bad dreams.
He steamed with anger, wondering what kind of drug the masked man had fed her. Kyoya wanted to search out the golden mask. But considering the funk Sayaka was in, and lingering suspicions that he’d come after her again, he had instead hung out in a corner of the banquet hall and sulked.
He’d mulled over what the enemy was up to, except that admirers of his fighting style kept interrupting. He couldn’t get a moment to himself. But perhaps because he’d intervened, the enemy’s actions toward Sayaka had been forestalled for the time being.
Android dancers had recreated ancient entertainment. Magic shows took conjuring to another level, playing freely with light and sound. Strolling in the shade of the trees. Boating in the lake. Passing the time.
At length, the lord of the manor had rung down the curtain on the festivities.
At the Japan section of the World Federation Government Information Bureau in Azabu, Yamashina met them in person. After they settled down to talk, Kyoya asked, “How are you doing, Sayaka-chan? Feeling better?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
Despite her bright face and voice, she didn’t look all that okay. The shock must have been considerable and he was loath to make things any worse, so he didn’t delve into details. But Sayaka bucked up and related everything to Section Chief Yamashina, even asking for treatment to help restore her memory. Specialists at the Information Bureau would be making preparations even now.
“It’d help at times like this to have Mephisto on call,” Kyoya sighed.
Perhaps from fending off the attack from the golden mask, his nen was taking its own sweet time restoring itself. And even then, he couldn’t be certain that he’d have the right kind of spiritual energy on tap to strike back at the monster.
More than that—more than anything—were his concerns about Sayaka.
Sayaka looked at him and asked, “Why Mephisto?”
“I have to think he’d come up with some sort of a solution, for both me and you.”
“You think so?”
“He is a doctor. And he does seem to be made out of different stuff.”
“That is true.” A small smile at last turned up the corners of her mouth.
“Yeah, it’s a lot nicer seeing you smile,” said Kyoya, a little verve returning to his voice. “Especially when the person smiling is a babe.”
“Oh, please,” said Sayaka dismissively, but couldn’t help blushing.
Kyoya laughed, a bit too loudly. The same free spirit who’d cop a feel and promise the girl a high school experience worth remembering was completely thrown for a loop by this prim and pretty lady.
“But—” said Sayaka, looking down, her voice dying to a whisper. “Doctor Mephisto isn’t here.”
“That is true too.”
“Just Kyoya-san.”
“Hmm?” What might be called an ominous presentiment raced through his mind. “However—” he said, stroking his chin with great gravity. That was as far as he got. There was no however. Nothing more came to mind.
Sayaka sat herself down on the sofa next to him. There was only room for one more person. Reach out and she could touch him. The distance of a single strand of her hair.
“Um—” she said.
“W-what?” Kyoya burst out. Caught off guard, he stared instead at the ceiling.
“Nothing,” Sayaka said.
She didn’t know what came after the “um.” For reasons she couldn’t comprehend, when she really wanted to talk to the one person she wanted to talk to more than anybody else,
Sayaka was sixteen. A woman’s shadow had begun to touch her comely features, accompanied by that richer, more complex scent. A nature that set her apart from other girls could be ascertained at a glance, along with the instinctual urge to shield her from all the pain and sorrow the world had to offer.
Just as they all knew at a glance that the only child of the World Federation president had an iron will and was no prisoner to vapid sentimentality.
Since working at the Philanthropic Hospital in Kawadacho, she’d received five formal proposals—from three of the young hard-working doctors and two of the medical directors—on behalf of their sons, of course.
She turned them all down, though none of them abandoned the effort, sending endless bouquets her way, with invitations to dinners and concerts. She paid them no mind, though it would be less than true to say she never wavered in her convictions.
But at such times, she always recalled that face to mind. No matter how far away, he was always in her heart. There had been no promise of him being any closer. Except for now—and he couldn’t be further away.
The door opened. Section Chief Yamashina and five Information Bureau personnel entered the room. The kind of big, tough men that showed up when the going got tough.
“Expecting a fight?” Kyoya said coolly.
The section chief answered with a stern expression of his own. “Based on what you’ve told us, our enemy seems to have Sayaka in his sights.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. How about we skip the obvious?”
“This time around, for reasons that are unclear, she was allowed to safely return, but there is no guarantee that a kidnapping attempt won’t be made in the future. That’s what these bodyguards are for.”
“Huh.” Kyoya nodded.
His sour expression didn’t brighten. He’d figured they were bodyguards from the start. But based on the abilities of the masked man, he doubted a hundred more like them could protect Sayaka. It seemed more a question of whether a thousand ants could stop a tank.
“The memory restoration procedure is ready to begin. This way, please.”
“Gotcha.” Kyoya came to his feet.
He was an outsider, but this was an extreme case, and nobody believed he didn’t belong there. They hadn’t forgotten that this high school student and his sword had saved the world.
They passed down the bioluminescent-lit hallway to the elevators and descended three floors to a door that said: “Memory Restoration Room. Entrance Prohibited.” After five separate computer ID checks, they were allowed inside. When it came to peering inside somebody’s head and rooting around in the past, any purposes other than medical were strictly forbidden.
Such facilities existed in the Information Bureau primarily to recover the memories of agents involved in covert intelligence activities or those of enemy spies, though such purposes were denied in public. That Sayaka and Kyoya were so readily admitted was a sign of the respect Yamashina had for Kyoya’s nen.
Inside the room was another room, stocked with strange-looking equipment, overseen by a man dressed in a white lab coat.
“Professor Kurosawa of the Medical Affairs Department,” said Yamashina.
He introduced Kyoya and Sayaka. The old scholar nodded curtly. He had an unkempt air about him. Kyoya didn’t take it in a bad way. It was the kind of welcome he expected from the stubborn mad scientist type.
“Well then, Chief,” the professor said in a loud voice, like a gorilla thumping his chest and marking his territory.