I took my lunch in the breakroom again on Monday, tired of the stuffy ventilation in the lab and loath to sit at my desk any longer. I had found a new salad recipe and prepared it yesterday, lost in thought as I flicked through the pages of this month's Balance magazine ("Home and Office Life for the Career Woman").
Kari suddenly dropped into the seat next to me and plunked her elbow on the table, her face shining with intense curiosity. "How was it?"
"I think I'll put more radishes in," I said, "I like them with this dressing."
"No no no no no no no," Kari shoved my lunch away from me. I stared at her. She was flushed with excitement, like she always looked when someone had juicy gossip to share with her. "I mean…you know. After the party."
"Oh, that," I dropped my chin onto my hand. "I felt pretty sick yesterday morning, and then I spent about an hour in the bath, and finally felt okay to do the shopping later in the afternoon."
Kari huffed. I guessed I was being difficult. "Look, Ray, I know you're not one to kiss and tell but I am dying to know."
"Know what?" I said, but my mouth went dry at her words "kiss and tell." Could she possibly…?
"You know…" Kari looked over her shoulder to make sure we were alone. "You and—" she cupped her hands around her mouth and formed the word Zarc.
I dropped my fork onto the table and plunged my face into my hands. "Oh my god!" I groaned, and then grabbed Kari, vice-like, by the wrist, and hissed, "You cannot tell anyone! How did you even know!?"
"Danny and I took a walk to get some fresh air after the party," she said in a coy tone, "along those enclosed paths in the gardens, and we ran into you two when you were—" she cleared her throat and winked, "—you know."
I thought back to the shrieking noise that had broken Zarc and me apart the other night. "That was you?"
"When I realized it was you I couldn't help it," Kari giggled. Danny pulled me back around the corner right away, so I guess you didn't see me."
"Don't let Danny tell anyone either," I said, picking up my fork and pointing it at her nose like a spear, "I will—just—don't you dare!"
"But what was it like?" she pressed, slapping the table with her open palm impatiently. "He had a really nice suite, right? Was it amazing?"
"I—" I could feel the heat rising in my face now, "I didn't go up to his hotel room, if that's what you're saying."
Kari pouted. "You can be honest with me. I won't tell, I promise."
"Nothing happened," I insisted, "I left right after that. I went home."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Kari sighed and flopped back against the chair. "I know you're one of the smartest technicians in this department, but you're really dumb."
"Excuse me?"
"You should have seen the two of you," she elaborated, looking suddenly wistful, "He was really into you. He was wrapped up around you like he wanted you so bad. I don't even understand how you got that far, much less totally blew him off after that."
I felt my face burn with embarrassment. I'd had a hard time recalling what even happened during my kiss with Zarc, but Kari was describing it like some deeply passionate romance scene and not the weird, confusing moment I was remembering.
"We were both kind of drunk," I said, "It was a mistake."
"A mistake?" she rolled her eyes, "Ray, to some girls the idea of drunk-kissing the biggest celebrity in the entire professional dueling sphere is better than marrying the love of their life."
"Are you and Danny having problems?"
"Ray, I really like Danny and we're really happy together, but if I got a chance to spend the night with Zarc I'd dump Danny in a heartbeat. And he'd understand."
"True love."
Kari ignored this, and kept prying. "Come on, Ray, I mean how long has it been since you even went on a date?"
I tried to think back. "We went to that nightclub that one time."
"That was two years ago!" She rolled her eyes dramatically in an overdone pantomime of fainting. "And it doesn't count as a date unless you went home with someone. You haven't gotten anything since then?"
"It's none of your business." I stared at the table. Kari was bringing up a lot of old feelings I had long since suppressed. She'd never understand how worthless I felt after I had to quit dueling, how unfulfilling everything else felt. It was just bad timing that she and Danny had witnessed my moment of weakness, that was all. Just a stupid, confused, drunk moment. Just the first time in a long while that I'd felt pretty, or interesting, or valuable, and it was all because of…
I realized I was squeezing the handle of my salad fork so tightly that it was digging a mark into the palm of my hand. I flung it down on the table.
"And you're telling me after that you didn't just go for it?" Kari was saying, "I bet the Champion's suite is super luxurious. You could have at least gotten him to buy you a bunch of expensive stuff."
"I don't want expensive stuff, and I have standards," I said, swigging my bottled water and dragging my salad back across the table toward me, "And they don't involve the man that turned dueling into a blood sport. He's awful."
"Right," Kari said dubiously, "Didn't look like you thought he was so awful the other night, though…" she let her tone trail off, dripping with implication. "I know I told you to hook up with a rich guy but oh my god. I mean," she shifted in her chair to move closer to me, "How did you even pull that off? I didn't see him all evening. I didn't even know he was at that party, and somehow you got him wrapped around your finger? No offense, Ray, I think you're a catch, but that's crazy."
"I don't know," I groaned, trying to think back through the evening and weave together a reasonable story, "The event host invited all the VIPs into the back room to chat some more, and he and a bunch of other Elites were there, and…we just started talking." I decided to skip the part where I panicked and vomited in the women's restroom in a drunken stupor. "And after that we went for a walk."
"What did you talk about?"
"Nothing," I said, and when Kari gave me a withering look, I amended, "Dueling."
"You talked about work, didn't you," She leaned back in her chair and groaned at the ceiling. "You're insufferable. This is why none of your boyfriends ever stuck around."
"Thanks," I said, picking my fork back up and stabbing into my salad. She wasn't wrong.
"Well anyway," she said in a disappointed huff, "I thought I'd give you this in case you two didn't talk enough." She slapped a different magazine on top of my open Balance; it was an issue of Duelist that I'd seen on the racks awhile ago and stubbornly refused to read. The cover featured a full-body photo of Zarc, in dramatic lighting, looking handsome and intimidating in his classic battle-worn dueling gear. The photo was probably heavily doctored to enhance his eyes and his strong jawline. I scoffed.
"This is from a year ago," I said, "Why do you still have this?"
Kari shrugged and ignored the question. "They got an exclusive interview about his life and early career, all that stuff. Thought maybe you'd want to read through it to get to know him better."
"I'm not going to see him again," I said firmly.
"Whatever," Kari said, standing up but leaving the magazine with me, "If you feel like admitting something else, you know where to find me. And turn in your time card later today," she added. She shuffled back to her desk, looking thoroughly put out at the lack of juicy gossip I had provided her.
I finished my salad and the Balance article I had been interested in ("Reorganize Your Workspace") and glanced at the Duelist issue Kari had left. I'd dropped my subscription three years ago after they'd begun to print nothing but articles about Zarc and his imitators and turned into a sycophantic fan rag instead of the informative journal it used to be. I ruefully folded it inside my own magazine so no one would see me carrying it, and returned to my cubicle in the lab.
No one was around. Father had been called in for a routine budget meeting with the board of directors, and the other technicians had gone offsite for lunch as a loud, annoying group. Furtively still, I laid out the Balance magazine on my desk, and flipped it open to reveal the Duelist issue again. I tried to avoid looking at the cover photo of Zarc, instead just registering that the article entitled "The Life of the Supreme King: Zarc's Early Years" started on page seventeen.
I hated myself for doing it, but flicked over to the article anyway. I was met instantly with another photo of Zarc, this time a closeup from the same photoset, sitting in a leather armchair and looking thoughtfully away from the camera so the accent lighting glanced off of the outline of his lips. I skimmed the article.
Left at the hospital as an infant by a single mother who seemed far too young to raise a child and declined to leave any information about herself or the father. Surrendered to the city. Lived in a variety of foster homes, never stayed in any of them for more than a year. Constantly changed schools. Took to the underground dueling scene to earn money to pay for a tiny apartment at the edge of town; was scouted by an agent that saw his potential. Managed to build a high enough win ratio in legitimate tournaments to be accepted into the professional league, and "the rest is history."
Yes, the part where Zarc had ordered a decisive attack against his opponent's monster, and the impact had flung the other creature right into its master, shattering the bones in the man's shoulder and upper arm. The article worded this incident as "an enthralling turning point in the history of interactive dueling!" Yes, that really changed everything. It was an accident; but the crowd's roaring approval was enough to incite the same violence from other duelists, and Zarc himself stood as the icon of this newly-evolved form of performative dueling: the Real Fights.
The article went on to describe, with gushing fascination, the finesse that Zarc displayed in his dueling; other duelists like Diesel would win by default after incapacitating their opponents before the game was really over. If an opponent's injuries prevented him from taking his draw, or if he fainted from blood loss, it would be considered a forfeit and the standing duelist would win. Diesel obviously had a high win rate due to his strategy. Rugen the Crippler's high fan rating was due to the fact that he, as his epithet implied, would aim his attacks to break the bones in his opponent's hips or legs so they would have to continue the game from a prostrate position on the ground, groveling. Many opponents would still faint from the pain without even finishing a turn. Zarc, however, was known for always keeping his opponents right on the edge of their physical capacity until he had decisively won the duel, and then ending it with enrapturing brutality. The greatest entertainment. Dangling their well-being before them, giving them a chance to believe they could win, and then ending it with a crushing final blow.
I slapped the magazine shut, flipped it over so I wouldn't have to look at Zarc's handsomely-photographed face, and put my head down on my desk. What a disgusting person. A disgusting person that had treated me to a lovely party and kissed me after a strange and genuine conversation about our shared secret. The magazine article had mentioned nothing about Zarc's mysterious ability to hear his monsters' voices, nor anything even about the connection to them that he had confessed to me. Nothing about the name Yuusha.
I pulled my arms down and set my chin on them. His mother, probably just a scared teenager, had abandoned him as a baby; no father to find, kicked around the foster system and transferring schools year after year. He'd never had a family, probably not even a friend if he'd never stayed in any school long enough. No real human connections. All he ever had were his monsters, whispering to him and guiding him, sharing their feelings with him. But he had reached out to me, sought out my company, in the hope that I might understand him.
Home.
He was still dangerous. He was still violent and cruel. But…
"RAAAAAAAY!"
Kari's shriek shook me out of my reverie even as she burst the lab door open and clung to the doorframe.
"What on earth now?" I sat up straight to lean around my cubicle wall at her.
"Um, can you come look at something right now?" she squeaked, her glasses slightly askew.
Bemused, I followed her back to her desk, bringing the copy of Duelist to give back to her. She dropped into her chair and clicked through her folders frantically.
"You talked to a bunch of potential investors at that party, right?" she was saying, "Because, um, your Special Projects account…kind of blew up."
"Special Projects?" I said. I suddenly remembered, for the first time after he had mentioned it, that Zarc had offered to invest in the DDC project. "Wait, what do you mean 'blew up?'"
"Well," Kari said, slightly breathless and clutching her chest, "It—it's normal to get investor contributions, but usually they schedule a meeting first and then the money shows up after a bunch of paperwork and all that jazz in a few days. But this just appeared, timestamped as of nine o'clock this morning, and it…" she dropped her voice to a squeaky whisper. "It's a lot of money!"
She opened the budget accounts tab, and highlighted a line labeled "Investor Contributions."
I gasped, and instinctively backed away as though that large of a number would burn me if I got too close.
"Ray," Kari adjusted her glasses as though her she was misreading the account figure. "With this amount you could—you could hire a bunch more engineers, and basically build an entirely new department dedicated to Special Projects separately from the Research Department's budget." She looked back at me over her shoulder. "What on earth kind of investor did you…" her eyes fell on the Duelist magazine I still held in my hand, and they widened until they were practically popping out of her head. "No way!"
I didn't have any way to get around this one. I threw the magazine face-down on her desk. "He…he did say he was interested in investing in the DDC."
"The DDC? Isn't that just a little remote communicator thing for duel disks? That kind of thing doesn't have any value to him. Why does he care about that this much?" She pointed emphatically at the incredible account figure, and then seemed to come to a realization. She dropped her hand on the desk. "You have him on the hook."
"What? No!" I protested, "He just—"
"Yes, yes you do! You totally have him on the hook! God, when I said you should ask him to buy you expensive stuff I meant jewelry or something."
"I didn't ask him for anything," I pressed back, "He just said he'd like to invest and he'd make a call, we didn't talk about numbers."
Kari sighed and closed her eyes, as though picturing a beautiful scene. "Imagine how much more he might have donated if you really had, you know, gone up with him and let him—"
"Oh my god, shut up, Kari!"
She smirked. "Whatever, Ray. Did he tell you he wanted to invest before or after your make-out session?"
"We didn't make out," I insisted, and, thinking that the truth would prove Kari's point, lied: "It was before."
"So you kissed him as a thank-you?" she giggled, "If any of those other gross old business guys ever make contributions, will you kiss them too? It's only fair."
"Shut up, Kari," I said again. Every angle of this made me look bad, either like I entertained the affection of rich men to win investments for my personal enterprises, or like I had played hard-to-get with a celebrity and he was determined to get my attention any way he could. Well, maybe the latter was a little bit true, but I wasn't going to admit that to Kari.
"Does the Professor even know? He'll have to completely overhaul the labor in the department."
"My father just went in for a budget meeting," I said, and then— "Oh my god."
Right on cue, Kari's desk phone rang and she snatched it before I could. "Yes, this is Kari with the Research and Development Department." She raised her eyebrows at me as the caller spoke. "Yes, Mr. Director, she's back from lunch. I'll send her in right away." She hung up, and stared at me. "Board of Directors wants you in their budget meeting right now."
I stood outside the boardroom for an extra minute, going over my story in my head. I couldn't make it look like I had earned the company so much money through any unethical means or promises, or that Zarc's special interest in my project came from a secret he had told me in confidence, or after an intoxicated kiss. He had a special interest in the game, that was all. Wanted to build a new department to enhance the game's interactive features. That made sense, right? Certainly not to sway my affections toward him personally. Certainly not.
But my hands were starting to sweat as I stood in the hall, adrenaline building up in my ears. Zarc could get me fired. He and his stupid impulses to get my attention could get me fired and then he'd have ruined my life twice. All it would take was one comment from any of the Stardust Hotel staff, or Shino, or Kari or Dani, to give away that Zarc had some personal favors on strings attached to the huge amount of money he'd dropped into my lap. Perhaps the board of directors had already inquired to Shino and realized that Zarc had demanded my invitation to his party, maybe even considered me to be his date. I was definitely about to get fired.
It was best to get it over with.
I pushed open the door. All ten of them were there, the nine board members and my father. I was dressed in my usual work clothes, but felt woefully unprepared for all of them to be staring directly at me as I entered.
Father was looking curiously at me, but he didn't quite look angry. It was a good sign. There was no chair available for me, so I stood awkwardly behind my father with my heart pounding in my throat, waiting for them to start firing questions at me.
"Miss Akaba," the Chairman began, "This morning our company received a large sum of money from an anonymous investor to be directed at the Special Projects division of the Research and Development Department led by your father."
I didn't know if it was appropriate to admit that I knew this information already, so I just said, "Oh."
An anonymous investor. So, Zarc was covering his tracks. The investment could have come from any one of those business cards I'd received. I was safe.
"Have you recently spoken to any potential investors about your current Special Projects activities?"
The truth was safer than lying. "Yes," I said. "On Saturday night I attended the Sponsorship Gala hosted by the owners of the arena, as the plus-one of a friend." This wasn't entirely untrue, except the part where the "friend" was Zarc himself, whom I certainly didn't consider a friend. "A few of the investors found out where I worked, and a variety of them spoke to me about partnering with their companies on research projects. I showed a small group of them a non-classified project that the Professor and I have been working on out of the Special Projects budget, in addition to our usual activities."
"Which non-classified project is that?" the Chairman asked.
"We call it the Duel Disk Communicator." I pulled the little device out of my pocket and, leaning over my father's shoulder, placed it on the table as I had the other night in the Blackrose Lounge to show the Elites.
"What is the purpose of this device?"
"It's a compact communication device that remotely stores data from a paired duel disk," my father explained, glancing at me quizzically. "Something to carry instead of their larger disk, if they want to keep their information with them without the clunky disk itself."
"Moreover," I added, answering my father's unanswered question, "The Professor and I have been using this technology to test the capabilities of stabilizing Real SolidVision in a portable device, without full reliance on the main projection unit. I believe this is something that some of the investors I spoke to might have an interest in. Dividing the power output between the main machine would lower the power cost for the arena and make the game run more smoothly."
I waited, hoping that my explanation was making sense. The board of directors didn't have a strong grasp on the science of the Real SolidVision system, after all; they ran the company and we developed the machine. But the Chairman of the Board nodded behind his glasses, so at least he understood my story.
"We have received contributions from this same anonymous account in the past," The Chairman explained, "They are sporadic, but usually as generous as contributions from other parties. But this amount," he glanced down at his papers, probably listing the anonymous account's investment history, "Is far, far more than we've ever received from any investor. And this time it came with a phone call, insisting that this investment be directed toward your sub-department specifically. He seemed confident that you, Miss Akaba Ray, would know what to do with it."
"Who is this investor?" My father asked, "Which company?"
The Chairman raised his eyebrows. "If the account wishes to remain anonymous, it's not in our company's interest to compromise their generosity by inquiring into their identity. It does seem to be a male individual, though; this is the first time we've even received a phone call from him. Miss Akaba," he took off his glasses and peered sternly at me, "We have no desire to turn this contributor away or question his reasons for offering such a large gift, but in the interest of protecting the company from scandal, we need to know that this investment was not received through the exchange of," he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "non-business related favors on the night of that gala."
Yes, there it was. I was prepared to be hounded about this, the same thing Kari had immediately assumed: that I had seduced some corporate liaison or Elite duelist to get funding for my project. Even from behind him I could practically feel my father's concerned frown; the back of his neck tensed in that way it always did when he was stressed.
"I arrived at the party at seven o'clock," I stated firmly. "I spoke with a lot of interested parties, a representative from Sundustra, and then Aether Arena officials—Mr. Shino, around nine or ten o'clock. I left around eleven. The hotel concierge called a car for me; she will remember me by name."
"Professor Akaba, your daughter returned home around that time?"
"Yes," my father said, "I was in my home office but I heard her return a little past eleven."
"You can confirm that you did not enter any private accommodations inside the hotel?" the Chairman continued.
"I did not." Out of pure speculation, I added, "There are probably security cameras on every floor." It was best not to mention Kari as an alibi. I couldn't trust her not to spill about my little compromising moment with Zarc.
"If we see fit to investigate further, we will look into the proper channels," he concluded. "At this time I see no reason to inquire at the hotel, given the information you have provided for us."
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. No more unethical aspersions for now.
"Of course, an investment of this size will call for a thorough rearrangement of your department's priorities. Although I have half a mind to move you onto our Investor Relations team." The Chairman put his glasses back on and smiled.
I managed a smile back, and shook my head. "I'm fine as a technician, thank you."
"Professor and Miss Akaba, you are both dismissed. Please submit your plans for your department's reconstruction within a week."
Father followed me out of the boardroom, and I led the way silently down the hall. We turned a corner, and he caught my arm.
"Ray," he said, "This is a big change."
"I suppose so," I said, looking up at his face. His hairline had started to recede in this past year. "I think we'll need to hire a lot of engineers and set up a team to take over—"
"Not that," he said kindly. He took both of my hands in his. "You've changed. You were so angry at me for taking you out of the professional dueling sphere, I thought you'd never be happy as a technician. But now look at you, you went to that party just for fun and ended up making our department look appealing to investors. You're enjoying your job now, aren't you?"
I wanted to smile. I tried. But instead I put my face on his chest to hide the tears that were starting in my eyes.
"I wished you'd quit," I said quietly, "When the Real Fights started I really wanted you to quit instead of working on Real SolidVision. You used to be so happy when you were developing it, you'd come home and tell me all about it, but now…" I put my arms around him, "I've seen how sad you are. We're just helping those awful duelists hurt each other and ruin everything. I love dueling, I love being around the monsters, but I just…"
He placed a hand on my head, like he always did when I had been upset as a child. "It's true that my work on Real SolidVision allowed this chaos to escalate," he said, "But I believe that young people like you will reshape the future of dueling. You are smart and strong and I'm proud of you."
I smiled up at him through my watering eyes. "I'm being unprofessional," I said, "You're my boss."
He put his arm around my shoulders as we continued walking back to the lab. "I'm happy here as long as you're with me," he said. "I'm selfish. I pulled you out of the professional league because I was afraid of losing you."
"I know," I said. "I love you, Father."
When we reached the lab, my father crossed to his desk to power up the projection machine, and I returned to my desk, thinking I might write up the report from my Field test runs earlier today.
A gentle chime issued from my purse. Another message, from that same unknown disk code as the one I'd received at the party:
I trust my contribution made it to your department correctly. I was very specific.
I stared down at the message. This left me with no doubts about who our "anonymous investor" was. It really was him. Not wanting to seem too readily available, I waited twenty minutes to reply;
Yes. The Board of Directors has instructed us to rearrange the labor in the department to focus on the Special Projects, so our work on the DDC will begin as soon as possible. Thank you for your generosity.
Trying to stay professional, yes, that was best. Not to come off too familiar, or too friendly. But, less than a minute later, another chime—
Can I see you again?
I waited even longer to reply to this one, hardly paying attention to what I was writing in my report as I quietly panicked. He wanted to see me again? Maybe I really did have him on the hook, just like Kari said. I couldn't ignore him after he'd been so generous to my department, but spending time alone with him seemed like a terrible idea. Finally, after an hour of fretting and rewriting my distracted report, I messaged back:
I suspect it will take a few weeks before we've made any progress worth showing.
Stay professional. Don't get personal. Don't get personal.
That's not what I meant.
Oh, of course it wasn't. Of course he was asking me out. He had made such an effort to avoid being seen with me at the party the other night but here he was, trying to get me to go out for coffee or something with him—as if it wasn't even a ridiculous thing to ask. So ridiculous! As if someone like him could just go to a coffee shop or a restaurant and not cause a scene. As if someone like him had any business being with someone like me.
But I couldn't ignore him anymore. After reading and rereading my response to make perfectly certain it was neither openly rude nor too provocative, I sent him:
The Board of Directors seemed concerned about my ethical behavior with regards to your investment. Please understand.
It wasn't a lie. And, thankfully, a few moments later:
I understand.
