Sora could immediately grasp what Odajima meant.
“That’s not a bad thing, though,” Odajima went on. “Anger is a power that can control others. If your anger is righteous—well, that’s tremendous.”
“Control others?” It sounded far from positive to Sora.
“Isn’t anger the driving force behind change? To change things or people you think should be different. Whether it’s in the form of a revolution or political activism,” Odajima said gently. “A righteous power…is a double-edged sword.”
There was no hint of criticism in Odajima’s voice, but the words pierced through Sora like a blade.
“…That’s why I work in law.”
I’ll never trust myself to decide what is just and what isn’t. That was the conclusion Sora had come to at the end of ritsuryo.
“And you’re smart, to boot. Why is it that you respect justice, Sora?”
The man sitting across from Sora answered Odajima’s question for him.
“Because he believes justice will make many people happy.”
Sora looked at Tamuramaro, and he sensed a parental warmth in the other man’s eyes.
“You saw it happen?”
Odajima’s brief question dug the sword deeper into Sora’s heart. He stopped breathing. For a long time, he had held on to justice. He’d believed with absolute certainty that justice would bring happiness to a multitude, just as Tamuramaro had said. But what Sora had seen when his heart had first burned for justice was a mountain of innumerable corpses. And forty years ago, when Sora had sympathized with the revolutionaries, the kind old lady next door had nearly died.
“Chairman,” Tamuramaro suddenly said in a loud voice, and Sora remembered to breathe again. “A certified fraud examiner is expensive to hire. You better have him on your side. Sora is very competent.”
Whatever Tamuramaro had in mind, Sora couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps it was a strategic move by a martial god who excelled in battle. At the moment, it was hard for Sora to imagine the god of war suggesting any false move to the leader he served.
“And how can we do that? Bribes won’t work for him, I reckon. Who’s going to pay for those high fees, then? Not Natsuki, surely?”
There was no one else who could possibly be the employer, and Odajima was watching Natsuki with wide eyes.
“I don’t want you going to prison, Mr. Odajima.” Her voice was serious for a moment, but she brightened up again. “You’re our biggest client, after all!”
“I won’t let you suffer. If anything happens, I’ll have you work with a different company. Oh? Have you already hired the Heron Girl?”
Odajima’s tone suggested he had some idea for what came next.
“I haven’t been hired yet.”
Sora wanted to leave as soon as possible. His blood was running colder and colder, and he was haunted by the scene of Awata-guchi as if it had happened only moments ago.
“He signed a contract. The Heron Girl lives with a big dog, so he needs money.” Natsuki mentioned his household finances, which was common knowledge among the Shizukuishi townspeople by now.
“That so?”
“Yes.”
Odajima’s voice was gentle. Even when he’d asked Sora, “You saw it happen?” he was gentle.
“Everything about him is expensive, so I’m short on money.” Sora had no choice but to confirm what Natsuki said. It wasn’t a lie, after all, and he no longer had any handle on words.
“Ha-ha, that’s nice to have a big dog.” Odajima was already done with discussing the main subject.
“He’s a family member, not a dog.”
If that fire in Fuuka’s eyes that Sora had seen all those years ago was merely his own anger and obsession with justice, what did Fuuka’s heart desire now? What did the heart of his precious little brother want? Had that heart been born in the first place?
“Family, eh. You know, I’m a fan of dogs. Why don’t you come out here for a walk and bring him along with you sometime? I’d like to meet your family.”
It was a realistic distance for a walk, and Odajima really meant it. When Sora glanced at Tamuramaro, he signaled, “Better not,” with a small wave of his hand. He probably wasn’t sure yet which way the wind would blow.
Although he spoke to them with a magnanimous air, any fraudulent practice by the chairman of this large construction company would likely be of an incomparable scale. Even as he joked that he’d be done for soon, he was still resisting liquidation.
“I can’t give you an answer at present.”
Sora didn’t need a reminder from Tamuramaro to imagine that if something like the burglary were to happen again in the midst of such a case, there would be a real danger of Fuuka slashing someone’s throat open.
Perhaps Fuuka, with a newborn heart beating inside him, was beginning to walk yet another path from Sora. But why did he still not think twice about killing someone? Was the fire still burning inside him? Would it never be extinguished? Sora couldn’t bring himself to think that the fire belonged to Fuuka, who had no will of his own. How was it possible that the flame survived even now, after he had witnessed its devastating, irreparable consequences? In his mind’s eye, he saw the red fire that could ravage people’s lives when fanned by a wind.
“You don’t need power to kill. You need intention. To will and to believe.”
Was he still hanging on to that belief?
What do I believe in? he wondered.
After Natsuki and Sora returned to her office on foot, he sat at the computer, examining Odajima Construction’s papers for the last three years. Eventually, he threw up his hands in dismay.
“I’d need to look at all the remaining receipts and invoices, all the actual papers that are still left. Otherwise…”
“You can’t trace anything from these documents?”
On the first floor of the office, Miku and Hiraga were going on about their work as usual, and in the conference-slash-reception room on the second floor, Natsuki was standing next to Sora, peering at the screen in front of him.