Memory 21091021

While most fall terms were fast and loud, this October had been silent. It was the kind of silence that fills a room, that makes a student hold her breath with fear and dread. One more girl had gone missing, and there were no indications of who could have taken her. It now only seemed a matter of time before another girl disappeared.

And yet time continued onward with classes and club meetings running as usual. Shibata Yukimori walked down the hallway at the end of a particularly normal day, admiring the reddening leaves outside. Little did the school know that the serene art teacher was one of three people who was aware of where Fujiya Nanako of Class 2-A went. He was one of three people to know for a fact that she had not gone anywhere. In fact, her body was still here in the school, two levels below ground in a bunker that had been constructed to keep the students safe. The irony was laughable.

Turning into his classroom, Shibata was mildly surprised to see that none of the students assigned to cleanup duty were there. The floor had been swept, and the desks were clean, but only one girl stood at the blackboard. He frowned as he saw that it was covered in writing.

Brownnosing Bitch! Teacher's Slut!

Insults scratched across the blackboard, large and loud. Even Makishima/Shibata felt a strange pang in his gut at the words, if not for the words themselves but the sentiment with which they had been written. As stupid as they were, he imagined the girls who had written them did so vindictively, yet Nosaka seemed unaffected as she continued wiping the words away.

"Where are your classmates?" he asked.

"They left," she said casually.

"Aren't there at least three of you on cleanup duty?" She shrugged.

"I didn't want them here anyway," she said.

Makishima watched her suspiciously, though she hardly seemed to mind. The water of her sponge trickled down the blackboard steadily in a way that made his chest tighten with anxiety. The words bled down the surface with soapy streaks.

It was common knowledge among the faculty that Nosaka Hotaru was a black sheep in her class. Outwardly, there was nothing about her that would hint to why she drew so much acidity from her classmates. She was neither the prettiest nor the ugliest of her peers, and while she did well academically, she was apathetic enough to not draw attention as a star student. All in all, she seemed rather forgettable, even to the teachers.

It happened with every school - the favorites, the rejects. Makishima himself had fallen into the background during his childhood and watched while students he knew to be dumber and less capable succeed and catch the attention of the people above them. There were rules to society, particularly in a school such as this, and Nosaka did not fit into them, and for that, she became the target of her classmates' disdain.

As Nosaka cleaned, Makishima watched her silently. There was a colorless quality to her, a glassy look that always covered her face like a thin film. Her eyes rarely seemed focused on what she was supposed to be doing, but when something caught her attention, the harsh focus of her gaze was jarring. Even as Makishima spoke to her, she did not look at him directly, and he wondered if she was deep in thought or not thinking at all.

"Do you have any friends, Nosaka?" he asked bluntly, moving to his desk.

"Kind of."

"Kind of?" he echoed. Again, she shrugged.

"Kind of." She didn't say it with the resentment or regret of a lonely student. It barely seemed more unusual than if he had asked her opinion on the weather today.

He waited as she continued cleaning the blackboard. Most people would squirm under the gaze of a superior's scrutiny - even he had felt anxious in the presence of teachers as a child - but she hardly seemed to notice he was there at all. Her arms moved in a steady motion, like the meditative movements of an ascetic in the mountains.

Makishima sighed and looked away from the pendulum of her arms, setting his books on his desk. She bent down to soak her rag one more time to wipe away the last of the chalk. He supposed he could help her, but somehow, it didn't seem important to her whether he noticed or not. She squeezed out the last of the dirty water just as he settled into his seat. She nudged the bucket towards the door before pulling one of the desks directly in front of his and hopping right on top. He felt that strange, disarming light on him again.

The smile on her face was not one of a bullied student, and as he looked at her, he realized she smiled with intention, knowing that it was the expression she should make. He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment and wondered if she were oblivious or apathetic.

"Do you have friends, sensei?" she asked. The question surprised him in its sincerity.

"No, not really," he said honestly. She nodded as if that were the most reasonable response.

"It's because you're abrasive." Makishima arched a brow at her bluntness. He never would have guessed that she was this rude.

"You shouldn't speak to teachers like that," he said.

"What are you doing to do, put me in detention?" she scoffed, though she remained smiling.

"Do you ever consider that perhaps this negative attitude is why you don't get along with your classmates?" Makishima didn't believe in his own accusation, but he wanted to see how Nosaka would react to it. To his satisfaction, she arched a brow.

"I'd say I have the negative attitude because my classmates are all idiots," she countered.

"You don't think you have a natural inclination towards negativity?"

"Who can say? I know for certain though that becoming a positive person was impossible in my circumstances," she said with a shrug. Makishima smiled.

"Oh? Your life is so difficult that you were bound to become sour?"

"Not difficult, just stupid."

"So if it weren't so stupid, would you have developed into someone different?"

Nosaka swung her legs childishly as she thought through his question. "No, maybe not. Maybe if I were dumber but in the same situation, I'd have been different. What about you, sensei? Would you teach a more interesting subject if your circumstances had been different?"

"What do you mean, 'a more interesting subject?'" said Makishima with a dull look.

"You know, like science or something."

"Who says I'd be a teacher?" She grinned.

"Oh yeah, I guess you could've been like an architect or something."

"Why an architect?" She shrugged.

"Seems like an interesting career. Definitely cooler than teaching."

"Do you always try to provoke the people around you?"

"Sometimes. Makes things more interesting," she said casually. This, he could agree with.

"Why is that?"

"It shows a lot about a person - how far they're willing to be mocked, what they do when they snap."

"And what kind of meaning do you glean from that information?"

"I don't know. I don't think about that."

"Why not?"

"It's not really important to me," she said, craning her neck to look outside. Her legs still swung from the desk.

"I'd have thought that reading Foucault would make you start thinking about these things," he said. Surprisingly, he was much more disappointed in the lack of impact the book he'd lent her had had on her thinking.

But she perked up at his reminder. "Oh yeah, I meant to talk to you about that. I read through the book."

"The entire thing?" said Makishima, surprised again.

"Yeah, but it didn't make as much sense to me as I wanted, so I'm reading through it again," she said. Makishima was impressed, despite himself.

"Is there anything in it you found interesting?"

"The general history of public punishment evolving into incarceration."

"What about it?" Makishima leaned against his desk, directly in front of her.

"I think his argument is flawed." He waited for her to continue, heart racing at the suddenly clear and sharp way she spoke. Her pale eyes were wide. "The exertion of power over society through technology and social structure was not a novel mechanism; just the means were novel."

"In what way?"

"I'd say that the use of religion and spirituality was originally the means by which the powerful exerted their control over the proletariat. Kings and emperors tied themselves to divine law in order to give themselves legitimacy in shaping the thought structure in their communities. As society advanced, that source of control transferred steadily over to technology. It doesn't matter which one holds power over society; both are fetishized."

"Ah, but surely it's not so straightforward as that. Religion and science are very different entities. You'd be the first to admit that," said Makishima.

"Yeah, but those who wield the two as a weapon are not so different. Extremist priests and doomsayers in lab coats are just the same men in different robes."

"So then the punitive system beneath both powers are the same?"

"I'd say yes," said Nosaka.

"I was unaware that we hold public executions in 22nd century Tokyo," said Makishima with an arched brow. She scowled.

"The form of punishment isn't the same, but the mechanisms are similar to feudal era execution and torture today, if not more similar than to the prison system of the 20th and 21st centuries."

"Interesting. Continue."

"In the 21st century, the trial and punishment of criminals was different and novel from the old ritualistic imprisonment and torture of the 17th century and prior," argued Nosaka. "The ritual of torture, confession, and public punishment was overhauled for the penitentiary system. It became less about righting wrongs and more about preventing future crimes."

"Isn't that exactly what the Sibyl System does now - prevent crimes?"

"But there is no economy of delinquency or criminality now. In the penitentiary system, the force of labor was used to exert power over the criminal regularly, and his free labor was used to push forward society that he had wronged. In the 17th century, punishment was a ritual, one that was supposed to correct the wrong that was done - an eye for an eye - and the public nature of it provided the rest of society a scapegoat or a totem to condemn as a means of strengthening the legitimacy of the law. I think the Sibyl System is much more in this realm than it is to the penitentiary system."

"So you think that the Soul of mankind simply responds to the tools it's given in a limited range and does not necessarily evolve with its technological advancements."

"Yes," concluded Nosaka.

"I acknowledge your argument and the thought you've put into this. You've read more into the book than I'd expected," said Makishima, genuinely pleased. "But I think you've overlooked a major variable in your argument." She frowned. "What about the Free man?"

"The Free man?"

"The man who is not within the penal system - the man who acts around it or even outside of it. Isn't there a vast difference between the Free man of the 17th century and the man of today?" he said.

Nosaka frowned thoughtfully then opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a knock.

"Excuse me."

They both turned to see a girl with long black hair standing in the door - one of the more beautiful girls in the school. Makishima smiled.

"Kirino-san. What can I do for you?" he asked, abandoning Nosaka at the window to walk towards the newcomer.

"I was wondering if I could borrow some chalk," she asked.

"What's it for?" asked Makishima.

"The Photography Club is planning its showcase for the Cultural Festival, and the room ran out." Makishima noted the European blood in the girl's light eyes and her shy mannerisms. He did not miss the cool look Nosaka shot them from the window or the way Kirino's eyes darted nervously at the now clean chalkboard that had held such harsh words just ten minutes prior.

"What are you all thinking of doing?" he asked. Despite having her in class, Makishima had never held a true conversation with the target of his accomplice's affections. So far, he decided that she was very pretty but otherwise unremarkable. What a curse this girl had been given, simply because she was beautiful.

"We'll probably do a gallery set-up in the lobby," said Kirino, smiling delightedly. "We have a lot of prospective members already, so I want us to have a good showing."

"That sounds great. I look forward to seeing it," said Makishima. He reached for the chalk, deciding for certain that Kirino Toko was not interesting enough to keep his attention. She accepted it with a polite bow, and before leaving, she shot Nosaka a wary glance. Nosaka met it with indifference, and Kirino hurried away. Makishima smiled after her with amusement.

"What's with that look?" he asked.

"She's boring," said Nosaka dully, looking out the window again. He wondered if she had read his own boredom in his face.

"You're not interested in photography?" he asked, moving back towards her again.

"Photography is for people incapable of making their own things, so they have to document other people's things," she said.

"Those are some strong words," he said, grinning. "You're not interested in seeing their gallery?"

"I'm not interested in photos of flowers."

"Why don't you put your work on display?"

"The Robotics Club doesn't get a place at the Cultural Festival."

"There is no Robotics Club."

"Exactly."

Makishima smiled at her pout and said, "You didn't want to start a club?"

"The school wouldn't let me," she said. "'Ladies' don't build robots."

It was neither the first nor the last time he had heard a student speak of the tenets of ladyhood, but it was the first time Nosaka had mentioned such derision for the school's philosophies. He noted that she was not as transparent as he had been led to believe.

"Oh," she mumbled. Makishima walked to the window to see a black car parking outside the school. Two men stepped out from either side. The brunette had his hair cut short to his scalp, dressed in a disheveled dark suit. The other had black hair and a quiet sharpness that gave Makishima pause.

"Wow, he's really handsome," marveled Nosaka. Makishima glanced over with mild surprise to see her now smiling, and he realized they were both thinking about the same man. "He can't possibly be a parent."

"He looks like a cop," said Makishima. He narrowed his eyes and memorized the faces of both men as they disappeared into the building. He would have Choe extract their images from the security cameras for research later.

"Oh yeah, Fujiya-san went missing," said Nosaka. Makishima arched a brow at her nonchalance. "They look pretty young."

"I'm sure they are."

"Young enough for me?" she asked, grinning up at him.

"Since when are you so boy-crazy?" he asked dryly.

"I'm not. I'm man-crazy," she said, leaning against the window sill. "I'll be eighteen next year. I could start planting the seed now so I'll have a running start once I graduate."

"Even from you, that's a disgusting thing to say," said Makishima.

"Isn't that the sort of thing you like?" she asked with a grin. Makishima felt a loud thrum in his gut at the accuracy of her retort, but before he could respond, she got up with a little hop. "I'm going back to the dorms. See you later, sensei."

"Leave the police alone," called Makishima after her. She waved over her shoulder lazily, but just as she was about to leave, she paused. Makishima waited as she seemed to consider something.

"Sensei, about the Free man," she said. He nodded as she rolled the ideas around in her head. "I think you're right in that I didn't consider him as a variable. I'll think through it some more with him in mind. But I don't think there is such a thing as the Free man in today's age. He isn't allowed to exist."

Makishima frowned. The interruption by Kirino had erased the conversation from his mind, but she had evidently continued thinking about it, even through the inanity. Truthfully, it hadn't seemed worth his retention, as he was uninterested in the angst-driven pseudo-intellectualism of teenagers, but he agreed with her new statement. She was surprising him repeatedly today.

"What's your definition of freedom?" he asked.

"I think freedom is being permitted to act according to one's own will and thinking whatever one wants, no matter how horrendous or irrational. I think freedom is a state of mind."

In his chest, Makishima's heart pounded. All he could feel was his heartbeat and the inhale and exhale of his lungs. Then Nosaka glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

"Anyway, I'm still not too interested in art or photography, but thanks for trying, sensei. See you tomorrow."

She was gone, and that silence that had held the school in its grasp filled the room again. Makishima considered the strange student - her apathy, her smugness. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she was like him, though that seemed insulting to one of them. He wasn't sure to whom. Either way, he had another year with her, this odd, friendless girl. Perhaps she could be of use to him later, but not now.

Recalling her inappropriate joke, Makishima glanced out the window again. The black car remained parked outside with the two officers out of sight. They were surely speaking to the principal and perhaps examining Fujiya's dorm room once again. Though they would find nothing, Makishima still felt that excited bubble in his stomach at the thought of them so close. They had no idea what kinds of monsters lurked in this school, in the tunnels below. Even Makishima was surprised at what Touma had begun to construct. When the rest of the world saw, he knew he could declare it as "art," for it would shock the country with its brutality, its violence. As far as Makishima knew, it was the most radical act of art he could imagine, even if Touma did not see it as such.

And even after Touma was expended, Makishima would continue to push that boundary until even the most blinded had to see the restraints placed on them. He would open the eyes of the world to how low humanity could sink. He would make them see the splendor of their own Souls.

…

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Disclaimer: It may seem obvious, but I want to make clear that the characters' opinions are not my own. Please don't message me about them.