.
"Ahh!"
"How does it feel?" asked Tae.
"It's…tight. Warm. Wet," said Ren.
"I can see it is bigger now. You really want me to take care of that problem?" asked Tae.
"Yes," said Ren.
"Hmm?"
"Hnng! Ow. Yes, please," said Ren.
"Much better, my guinea pig. Now hold still. I've never had one this big before," said Tae.
Tae gently applied the hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton ball onto the corner of Ren's lower lip. Ren was sitting on the patient bed vis-à-vis with the goth doctor. While she worked on his lip, Ren had his fringe pushed back so the loose strands would not tickle Tae's delicate knuckles; a motion which made goosebumps travel up the doctor's pale arm, much to Tae's downplayed chagrin. The clinic was closed for the evening, thanks to him.
"That tightening you're feeling, is your platelets getting to work. The cut is healing. Normally we don't feel such minute sensations. . .but the lips are one of the erogenous zones on the human body, so it is sensitive there. Especially after. . ."
The dabbing paused.
"Remind me again, how you got this cut?"
"Awua ew a loor," said Ren, struggling to speak while Tae kept his mouth parted.
The dabbing continued.
"Yes. You ran into a door. You're a lofty one, aren't you?" said Tae.
"Hoh-"
"Sshh. Don't move your lips."
". . ."
Tae lightly tutted. She deposited the second cotton ball on the metal dish next to them. The sterling grey surface was mottled with Ren's blood, an epiphenomenon from when Tae fully stopped the bleeding from earlier.
"Does it hurt more? Move your eyes for 'yes' or 'no'. Try not to stare at my cleavage too long in-between, my guinea pig," said Tae.
Ren flicked his eyes left. His vision fell on the black neko-clock Tae hung in her examination room. 5:01 PM. How far had things progressed at Madarame's?
Ren's eyes flicked right.
Tae nodded, satisfied.
"The swelling got a bit much because you left that unchecked during your commute. The peroxide solution I applied will reduce the severity of the scarring. Don't worry, Shiori won't find you ugly since the laceration was contained at the corner of your lower lip. Noticeable but still a smaller profile than a lip piercing, if the medical journal is anything to go by," said Tae, snapping off her disposable gloves.
"Thanks. How much do I owe you?" asked Ren.
Tae shook her head, her mouth curling into a mirthful smile.
"Consider it added to the tab of more trial testing," said Tae.
I had a feeling it was that, thought Ren.
"Will the swelling go away soon?" asked Ren.
"Shouldn't take long. Give it twenty minutes."
Ren stepped off the stairs of Yogen-Jaya's clinic. Twilight's empurpling sky was hashed by power lines when Ren looked up. Though his mind was not on the scenery. Was his father waiting at Leblanc? Mum too? It felt highly unlikely to Ren. They were both busy people, his father especially. Keinosuke was not the type to bother himself to visit his son during his probation year. Even if the G6 jet would make the trip an hour.
Ren stopped outside Leblanc's door, hesitating. Sojiro was watching TV, his back turned to the entrance.
"Yet he still called me," muttered Ren.
Maybe Ren was wrong? Maybe mum and dad really did come out to visit him. The tuxedo was maybe for a family dinner out at an expensive reservation? A twinge of guilt snipped at Ren for assuming the worst of his parents. All these weeks, Ren's constant fury-driven bitterness for Shido was darkening every shadow in his world, with his friends being the only distinct source of optimism around. Ren considered his life to be a dark comedy drama with Nihilism Shakespeare and William Pessimism as the playwrights.
Ren pushed the door.
Sojiro turned on the bell tingling.
"Hey kid – . . .what happened to your lip? Have you been starting trouble again?!" asked Sojiro.
"No."
"Then what happened?!"
Ren relived the kiss in his head, the fresh memory still steaming from Ann's sizzling touch on his lips, the way her fingers roamed his hair, grasping his neck, the alive warmth and wet in each other's mouth…
"Hey, I asked you something," Sojiro reminded him.
"I. . ."
…right at the last moment, Ann had gyrated against Ren's thigh, her pelvis needily driving up against him, her chest pressing, feeling…
". . .ran into a soft door," said Ren.
"A what?"
Ren cleared his throat.
"A door. I accidentally ran into a door that was swinging shut," said Ren, tugging his collar.
Was it always this hot in the café? thought Ren. Sojiro ought to check the A/C system.
Sojiro's eyebrows slanted back, unimpressed.
"You ran into a door? Really? That's the best you got?" said Sojiro.
What I am supposed to tell you? That I screwed up again? thought Ren.
". . ."
Sojiro sighed. Not like this delinquent kid was ever going to make it easy for an old man like him. Sojiro wished he always got straight answers from Ren.
"You've got visitors. They're waiting in your room," said Sojiro.
"Is it. . ." Ren's tone was hopeful, "…my parents?" he asked.
Sojiro caught an almost yearning edge in Ren's voice.
The boy wanted to see his parents?
The lines of wrinkles lined heavier on Sojiro's forehead.
"It's not your parents," Sojiro said gently.
". . ."
"There's four of them. Do you know a Yuki Tsuchikura? She said they were from your mother's office. Also mentioned something about you need attending a cancer charity ball, tonight," said Sojiro.
A charity event? That was not what Ren expected. It did not make sense. If a representative from his parents' company needed to be present for philanthropy, sending one of the sub-executive staff would have sufficed. Not their disgraced son.
"Anyway…best not keep them waiting any longer," said Sojiro, rapping his knuckle on the wooden counter.
Thuk. Thuk.
Tink. Tink.
Ryuji leaned forward, a burger in his hands. On the table was a steaming mug of dark roast coffee, Shiori's untouched club sandwich, a straw crowned Coca-Cola and a mobile phone - on a loudspeaker call with 'Takamaki Ann'. The mic mute icon was enabled.
"What…omph…is that…oomph…noise?" he asked Shiori, in-between bites of his chicken schnitzel burger.
"Tink."
Shiori leaned back slightly on her chair, looking down at the road from the open-front café diner. Through the glass panes, the brightly lit interior of the diner was alive with metropolitan energy of customers and hurrying waitresses. Save for a bob-cut lady in a black T-shirt, who was sipping her coffee, Ryuji and Shiori were the only ones taking vacancy to the parasol lined courtyard seatings. Lining the diner's exterior, neon strips burned iridescent in the darkling afternoon, the signages slashing a red touch of glow on Ryuji's bleached head.
Shiori's eyes squinted into the distance, where a blonde figure was at front of the rickety shack building they found as Madarame's atelier. That was Ann. Still at the front door.
"Probably the buzzer," said Shiori.
Shiori's hand paused on the mug when she saw Morgana dart to the nearby gardens, while Ann appeared to be leaning forward. Talking into the intercom? The phone's speaker spoke with a light vibrato of static:
"Kitagawa-kun? It's me Ann. I'm here for…our painting session," said Ann.
She sounds nervous, thought Shiori.
"Maybe we should have waited closer," said Shiori.
Ryuji shook his head.
"Nah yo. This recon location is perfect…oomph…perfect-" sipping noise from the straw, "-it's good we're not…oomph...too close ya know…oomph…plus we still know what is happening there through the phone," said Ryuji.
An eyebrow arched at Ryuji.
"Yeah…don't gobble that burger too quick," said Shiori, shaking her head.
"It's-" more sipping, "-part of my cover."
"Noticed that?" said Shiori.
"Yeah, I wouldn't touch their sauce too. Too spicy-"
"No. Forget the sauce. Yusuke hasn't answered, Ann," said Shiori.
"Maybe he's not home?" said Ryuji.
"Guys…he's not answering," Ann's voice came in a mutter.
Shiori unmuted the mic.
"Wait a bit, then buzz again. If Yusuke does not answer try…texting him," said Shiori.
"Sure…Has Ren arrived yet?" asked Ann.
"He hasn't. What the eff man…I figured classroom cleaning wouldn't delay him this much. Did you try calling him?" said Ryuji.
It had been more than an hour since they left Shujin. They got a bit lost trying to find the address, but eventually they found it. The Phantom Thieves thought the lost time would be enough for Ren to catch up.
Shiori nodded.
"I tried his phone twice. No answer," said Shiori.
Ryuji groaned.
"I dunno what's keeping him, but this sure is hell not the best start in going after our next major target," said Ryuji.
Shiori's arms trembled, the tingling sensation on her scars acting up. She quickly hugged herself still, before Ryuji noticed. A rising panic; Shiori bit down her lip, as if to put a lid-stopper of her distress with Ren not being around.
"This isn't like Ren. Why isn't he here?" said Shiori.
"This might be my fault," said Ann.
Even Ryuji suspended his loud chewing.
"Your fault?" asked Ryuji.
"I kind of…did something to Ren, before we left," said Ann.
Shiori's eyes narrowed at the phone. Ryuji scratched his head.
"You murdered him?" asked Ryuji.
"Wha – No! I wasn't that mad at him that I'd go that far, Ryuji!"
"You sure about that?" asked Ryuji, sceptical.
"Oh shush!"
"Ann. Did you hurt, Ren?" asked Shiori.
On detecting the warning tone in Shiori's voice, Ryuji choked on the bite he was swallowing.
"…I…"
Shiori frowned on hearing the hesitation in Ann's voice.
There was the sound of scraping. Like a door sliding.
Yusuke's voice:
"Ah! Takamaki-san. Sorry for keeping you waiting. Please, come in. . ."
Shiori tapped the mic mute button, her finger trembling.
"What's up with you?" asked Ryuji.
"What do you mean?" said Shiori.
The deadening quietness in her voice surprised Shiori. It was like the consonants were closing with compression on any emotional articulation, as Shiori withdrew into thoughts louder than spoken.
Over the speakerphone, Yusuke was directing Ann to where she could leave her shoes.
"Back there, you didn't honestly think Ann would hurt Ren, did you? I was only joking about the murder thing," said Ryuji.
". . ."
"Shiori?"
"I should…leave. Someone needs to check up on Ren," said Shiori.
"Whoa…whoa. Slow down. Look I'm worried, aite? But we need to follow..." Ryuji's voice lowered, glancing surreptitiously at the bob-cut lady sitting at the far-corner of the courtyard, "…Joker's orders for this mission. Look, I'm sure the guy is fine. The last thing we need right now is splittin' up even further," said Ryuji.
He's right, thought Shiori.
When Ren stepped up into his room, he saw a coat-rack with three tuxedos by his bed. A man and a woman were fussing over the suits, running tape-lines and comparing the sleeves to Ren's school uniform. The man; a flamboyant air to him, was working a needle and thread on the fabric.
Sitting on the dust frowsty couch (One night, Shiori got into one of her vivacious troll moods, remarking the sofa felt bouncier than his bed) was Yuki; pastel goth meets business attire, with piercings on her dimples. Ren instantly recognised her, albeit her hair had been cut a lot shorter, into a sophisticated bob cut. It was the first make-over Ren had seen from Yuki since her transition-op.
Sitting next to Yuki was a horn-rimmed bespectacled man with stiff shoulders. He looked like the bookish type. Maybe an accountant? Librarian? Ren's stepping instinctively slowed at the look he received from this man. Ren had seen that expression a lot of times, in dozens of variations. That reproachful, disapproving stare that remembered the son of the Amamiyas was still to be treated with dignity, despite his criminal record. Nearly everyone on his parent's staff roll; chauffeurs, the maid, people from the office, were like that to him.
Everyone except Yuki.
"Ren!"
Ren hardly had time to drop his schoolbag on the table before being pulled into a near-bone cracking hug.
"Yu…ki. Nice to see…you," said Ren, struggling for air.
Yuki released him, her periwinkle hair barely settling from her excited rush from earlier.
"You look different now - wait, what happened to your lip?" asked Yuki.
"Did you get into a fight?" asked the accountant-man, standing up from the couch.
The two tailors who were niggling over the tuxedos, fell silent.
"Tashiro. That was a prejudicially presumptuous, don't you think?" Yuki shot back at him.
Tashiro's head turned - like a robot with creaky clockwork - at Yuki.
"My apologies," said Tashiro, although Ren was not sure if the apology was directed at himself or Yuki.
"I had an accident at school. You can ask the doctor at the local clinic here. There was no fight," said Ren.
Tashiro drew his attention back at Ren, those dark brown eyes calculating on Keinosuke's son. Trying to measure how much of his father Ren was. Or how little.
"Ouch. I hope it doesn't hurt too bad. You've always been the type to bruise yourself too easily. Remember when you were 13; you showed up home, bandages on your forehead - with your sports uniform covered in blood. Those kids from Sumaru play really dirty," tutted Yuki.
Despite himself, Ren could not help grinning about that. That was a fun basketball match. Until the end, anyway.
"The match against Seven Sisters High School, yeah. I remember. He didn't mean to elbow me," said Ren, shrugging.
"Hehe. Your mother was insisting you go to bed early, but you didn't want to miss Kyoko's birthday," said Yuki.
Ren's grin briefly faltered.
The mention of his ex-girlfriend snapped open a suitcase Ren usually kept on chains, in the recesses of his mind.
Polaroid photos snapping. Laughter. White sheets. Hushed whispers and caressing. Fast forward to the week he got arrested. Kyoko's teary eyes. Their pictures, burning.
"Do you remember? Kyoko's 14th birthday," said Yuki.
The birthday party. It was winter. Snow. Kyoko had dragged Ren away, in sneaks and laughs. Two friends fell, rolling on the white hill together until Kyoko was on top of him. That was the first time Ren ever kissed a girl. He was such a nervous wreck, Ren almost missed Kyoko's lips.
The casual lilt in his words did not miss a beat.
"Yeah. I remember," said Ren.
"She misses you. You know that, right?" said Yuki.
The corners of Ren's vision darkened.
Then why did she break up with me, thought Ren.
Yuki never blamed Kyoko Iwakura once for the break-up. No one did, except Ren who did not understand why she stopped talking to him altogether.
While Yuki was a friend to them both, whenever there had been a fight with Kyoko, Yuki would take Kyoko's side first in anything. It amused Ren back then. Now…he did not how he should feel about it.
"I bet you do too," said Yuki.
Did he? thought Ren.
Ren felt the phantom effect of someone's body pressed against his. Her voice, her words, stepping in chassé of brash and infectious warmth.
The dark fringes went away. It felt easier to breath, thinking about Ann.
"Haha. I knew it!" said Yuki, misunderstanding the hint of smile Ren had.
"Yuki…why are you here? What's this about me needing to be somewhere in Tokyo tonight?" asked Ren.
From her purse, Yuki retrieved a black lettercard.
"This…showed up yesterday. We always expect the invitation every year. A soirée of important people adjourning for whatever is the 'cool' thing for rich people to pat themselves on the back for. Don't get me wrong, genuine good has come of these charity events. It's just. . ." Yuki trailed off.
Tashiro spoke:
"It has also become Tokyo's hallmark event for prestigious networking. Promises of alliances, arranged marriages-" Ren raised his eyebrows, "-sometimes even declarations of enmity. Most importantly, it provides information. Expect the Japanese stock market to demonstrate unusual numbers to those on the outside, exempt those who attend this function," said Tashiro.
"Normally, the missive is extended to the business name. Your parents used to attend often, Ren. These days, someone else would be sent in their stead instead. Like maybe one of your aunts, or someone like Tashiro here. This year…a surprise came in from the organiser," said Yuki.
Yuki turned the lettercard's header to face Ren. Spelling out in a silver flowy font:
Invitation
~ Amamiya Ren ~
". . ."
Why? Thought Ren.
"You need to answer this invite, Ren. For the obligation of your parents' work and reputation," Yuki said, her tone apologetic because she knew how Ren felt about this.
"For the obligation of reputation. That's kinda funny," said Ren.
Tashiro cleared his throat, coughing into a fist.
"We were hoping you could tell us, why they are inviting you," said Tashiro.
"I wouldn't…I don't know. Who is the organiser? Who decides who gets in at this party?" asked Ren.
"There is no clearly defined organisation to name. A very powerful cabal of Japan presides the curation of this event. Whoever decides the invites, is part of this circle," said Tashiro.
"You really don't know?" asked Yuki.
Ren frowned, wracking his mind for what he may have done or said recently. Ren realised his heart was thudding a bit fast now. Was his Phantom Thievery activity the cause for this invitation? It occurred to Ren that he had no way of telling if a covert law enforcement agency was spying on the PTs phones through telemetry. Their chat messages would be very damning for a conviction in the court of law.
Tashiro drew Yuki away from Ren, to the corner desk of the bedroom. Both of them seemed to be arguing in whispers about something, in-between furtive glances at Ren's direction. Yuki shook her head.
"…no. No. My decision is final, Tashiro. We're already imposing on him…" Ren vaguely heard Yuki say. Sounded like his parents gave her superior authority to Tashiro, for this delegation.
Ren checked his phone. Two missed calls from Shiori and one from Ann. Ren did not want to explain now what was holding him back further. At least, not until he was done with this charity ball.
No unread messages in the Phantom Thief squad chat. Which meant no Palace codename had been found yet?
Ren closed the IM app, returning the screen to menu. Before he tapped the standby button, his thumb hovered over the Album app. Ren tapped it open. A tile grid of images took formation. Most of what was in view were memes Ryuji would forward him. Ren scrolled down. The images were sorted chronologically. There was one of Morgana sleeping in the window-filtered sunlight, his dark fur catching a golden glow. A photo of Shiori holding two peace signs, at Leblanc's counter; commemorating the first day Ren prepared a curry dish she ordered.
Then came a group selfie.
Ren stopped scrolling. He tapped the groupie.
It was a picture of the four of them - Ann, himself, Shiori and Ryuji, at Shujin's front-gate. Shiori insisted a group photo be taken for luck, before their exams started.
Ren barely spared it a second glance when he took back then, but looking at it now…
Everyone except Ann was smiling at the camera. Ren was somehow oblivious to this during the moment of capture, but Ann was leaning on his shoulder with a resting arm. Her eyes were drawn at him, lips slightly parted. The look on her face had a kind of…softness. An open, unfiltered gaze of vulnerable adoration directed at Ren, because Ann knew he was not looking.
How long has she been doing this? Thought Ren.
How many times had Ann opened up around him, while it escaped his notice?
Ren clicked back. Not what he was looking for. Ren kept scrolling down. To dates before 9th April, Ren's first day in Tokyo. The scroll stopped at rock-bottom, where there were two folders, titled 'Old life' and 'Kyoko'. Ren had organised them through an hour of boredom during the train ride to his new home. It also felt healthy to hide away such mementos.
Ren's thumb almost touched the 'Kyoko' folder tile. Ren did not know why he wanted to open this box of memories he put away. It was not like Ren forgot what Kyoko looked like. Far from it.
His thumb retracted. No. There was no need. Ren closed the Album app. Ren was not sure when it would stop hurting, but he did not care about pining away for someone who turned her back on him. Fuck her.
That you did.
Sometimes - Ren hated the voices in his head.
Looking up from his phone, Ren was startled to see Tashiro waiting on him, staring at the ceiling with polite deference for Ren's privacy. By the bedside, it looked like Yuki was briefing the tuxedo tailors.
"Yes?" said Ren.
Tashiro cleared his throat, as if it was a querulous sound he needed to make before Tashiro could bring himself to talk to Ren.
"There is…one more delicate matter your parents need your help with," said Tashiro, bowing his head a slight.
"Spare me the euphemism, Tashiro. Delicate matters are endless these days between my parents and I. Given that-" Ren stopped himself, jaw tensing.
Given that not even one of them are here, thought Ren.
"…given your felony. I understand. Believe me Ren, your parents wished for a eucatastrophe, following your arrest. Maybe this gift is a good omen for that," said Tashiro.
"A gift?"
"Yes. You're getting a car," said Tashiro, then he smiled expectantly at Ren.
". . ."
The smile quickly vanished from Tashiro's face.
"I cannot show it to you now. To be honest, today has been somewhat of a rush for Yuki and I, travelling from Kyoto to here…making all the hasty arrangements with the tailors and your transport arrangement and what not. The supercar is still being delivered. Due to arrive in thirty minutes, actually," said Tashiro.
Ren folded his arms.
"This supercar is supposed to be a gift?"
"Yes."
"Something tells me this wasn't my father's idea. Or even mother's."
Tashiro's ears turned pink.
"Since you took it there, no. It was neither of your parents' idea. But they've conceded that this is necessary. You see, one of the new accountants at the office – a recent graduate, still green around the ears and his sense of civic morality, made an 'error' with the numbers. There is a-" Again, Tashiro coughed, like he was trying to get something unpleasant out of his throat, "-black hole for how we need to balance the digits for liquid assets and other kinds. Numerous solutions were proposed. Most of them deemed too risky except one. Which involves you," said Tashiro.
Ren was baffled.
"You're telling this gift is-"
"Really, you should consider it a gift."
"-an accessory for tax evasion?" spluttered Ren.
Such irony, with all the supercilious undertones Ren got from these people for his own criminal record.
"Not at all," Tashiro said quickly, looking back at the tailors nervously.
". . ."
"It's merely a technical arrangement for the books. We do this all the time really. Every company does," insisted Tashiro.
"Is this about the Jaguar? Look, you two can sort this out later. Have the car key delivered to him during the party. Ren is running late. We're running late, Tashiro. Our flight check-in is coming up. Ren sweetie-" Yuki cupped Ren by the cheeks. An affectation Yuki had for Ren, since he was a child, "-I know things have been difficult for you. I wish we had more time tonight. There's so much I want to tell you. Things which have happened back at home since you left. I promise, I'll make it up to you the next time I'm in Tokyo," said Yuki.
"How?" asked Ren.
Those brown eyes twinkled.
"You'll see," said Yuki.
"Here's a tithe for benevolence," said Tashiro, handing Ren over a cheque. Eighty million yen.
Tashiro clipped his coat, waiting by the stairwell for Yuki.
"A car will be waiting to drop you off. And hey…look after yourself, OK?" said Yuki.
"Yuki I…" Ren hesitated.
There was so much Ren wanted to pour out to her. Ren forgot about the terrible loneliness that had been eating at him since he moved to Tokyo. It was not that his Phantom Thieve camaraderie amounted to nothing. Or Ann. Whatever it was, Ann was supposed to mean to him.
It was seeing Yuki - someone from his old life, which reminded Ren of warmer times. When there was kindness, security and certainty to his daily life. Tonight, Ren was about to be pushed into a cold world of wealthy people, with the forefront knowledge that he was doing it for parents who have not spoken to him in months. And after that, putting his life on the line in the metaverse, while contending with whatever plans Igor had for him. Sometimes, it would hit Ren like a baton – how much his life has changed.
"Yuki. You said we had to leave," said Tashiro.
"Ren?" said Yuki.
Ren inwardly swallowed. No. This was not how a man of the Amamiya family should behave. Tashiro and the tailors were watching. The suppression made Ren bitter, but this is what Keinosuke would expect of his son. To face his demons on his own.
Damn it.
"Have a safe trip," said Ren.
"Thanks. You take care of yourself, now."
Ren's shoulders drooped when Yuki was out of sight. He flipped the invitation card given to him, where the details of the event were written. Location was at Ico Tower. Familiar name. Ren recalled reading about its opening in the news, some months back. An amalgam of penthouses, offices and event rooms all wrapped up in a neo-gothic architecture.
The flamboyant tailor clapped.
"Shall we get started then, young master? Last minute needle and thread alterations will be in order once you've donned a suit. Something tells me I will be heavy-fingered working with…" those eyes ran up and down Ren, "…this lissome frame," said the tailor.
Behind him, his assistant piped, "I'm gonna need you to take off those clothes..."
Madarame's shack.
Yusuke could barely hear the faucet running, as he half-splashed, half-slapped water into his face.
Get a hold of yourself, Yusuke told himself.
The deadline to complete a new Madarame was looming on the horizon, increasing Yusuke's daily anxiety and trepidation. Yusuke did now understand why he was like this. Ann, his saving grace during this dry spell of artist's block had even agreed to his nude painting proposal. Now that she was here, waiting in the living with a cup of green tea Yusuke had served her (before he hurriedly asked to be excused), one of his worse episodes in memory, went-off.
Next to the bathroom sink's wheel tap, was an orange transparent canister of dark capsules. They had served as Yusuke's narcotic guardian angels these past many months, but today was an anomaly.
Why isn't Kofuki's pills working? Am I not taking enough? Thought Yusuke.
Tensioned bricked at his jaw, as Yusuke forced himself unclench, ceasing the grinding of his teeth. Yusuke did not understand why, but for months now, it was like every fibre of his being was yelling to stop. Stop what?! He silently screamed. What was he supposed to stop doing?!
The pills rackled in the canister as Yusuke clumsily grabbed it, flicking off the lid unceremoniously. He stared at the two-toned pills. Kofuki insisted he should not take more than one, every twenty-four hours. Yusuke shakily released a pent-up breath and dropped out three capsules.
Ico Tower.
Surveillance monitors stacked on the walls, giving video feeds of the party. The screens gave off a blue-light glow off the faces of two security personnel who oversaw the surveillance. There were two main screens in the centre. The left screen, "A1", had a blank information ID slate, like a driver's licence, but without a photo and name.
Next to A1, was "A2" which was currently connected to the overview camera of the party. It was still early hours, yet most of the guests had already arrived. Dark penguin suits and glittering dresses were about, helping themselves to bubbling champagne, affluent company and fresh caviar.
Keys clacked on the security console keyboard, switching the feed on the A2 screen to the front-entrance, where a limousine just pulled over. Out stepped out an elderly woman in a white-fur coat.
As the woman was assisted by her manservant, a graphical highlight ran over her white-powdered face. On the A1 screen, a bio-data automatically filled out. Kana Suzuki. Age 77. Head of one of Japan's foremost shipping companies.
The crisp 8K video stream was being fed through a state-of-the-art decoder, where a programmed algorithm was using facial recognition technology to assign profiles to every guest entering Ico Tower. Nobody was unaccounted for by the building's A.I. No cyber-terrorist could penetrate its firewall security.
A woman's silhouette emerged in the dark security room, her face still set in the shadows. She wore a deep V-Neck front-split lace dress. The eddied China pink fabric sheathed tightly on her accentuated curvature. Curvatures a certain rookie detective had become intimate with, a few times.
Tiffany affixed her chin on her hand. A Pandora bracelet glitzed three charms on Tiffany's wrist. One was a tiny silver camera, with a diamond affixed to its lens. Her photography hobby. The second was a garnet droplet charm. The red stone commemorated the day she moved from the USA to live in Japan. The third was an enamel apple; Snow White's poisoned apple. What the memento meant to Tiffany personally…that was a secret she kept to herself.
"Has he arrived?" asked Tiffany.
The two security personnel looked at each other. They had been briefed by their boss this morning about the party. Including who Tiffany Ellison wanted marked.
When they asked why, no answer was given.
'Amamiya' was typed into the building's system. Immediately, A2's screen began to switch, the viewfinder running through camera feeds in the entrance lobby, the elevators, corridors, ballroom. . .
There was a ping.
"Found him," said one of the personnel.
Tiffany leaned forward, her hands resting on the swivel chairs headrests. On A2, Ren was showed shoulder-inclining against a pillar, at a garden balcony. His arms were folded, as he stared down at the traffic beneath. Tiffany thought Ren looked rather…disturbed? Uncomfortable? Maybe he did not want to be here.
"Why are you distancing yourself from the throng. Shy type?" murmured Tiffany.
"If you'd like, we can send you live-updates of his location to your phone. During this party."
". . .yes. Do that. Set it to every one minute," said Tiffany.
A2's screen switched back to the front entrance. A black Porche pulled up. Out stepped a young man in a white business suit with a violet undershirt. A smug smirk drew when the cameras flashed on him. The algorithm ran the facial recognition highlight.
'Fûtarô Sugimura' said the database. Age 22. Freelance photographer. Distinguishing data: son from a politically influential family, with ties to nearly all of Japan's previous leadership administrations, from the last thirty years. From the passenger side of the sports car, a girl stepped out, her floofy auburn hair catching highlight from the camera flashes.
Don't think we ever learned Sugimura's first name in the game, did we?