The newspaper editor was named Zuuto Asasho, and he was having a miserable day.

It wasn't enough that last-minute changes came from the owner of the paper, not to be rejected under any circumstances and delivered by the most grim ten-year-old he'd ever seen. It wasn't enough that he'd now been trusted with an absurd password, and told to await the arrival of the most famed thief of the decade and to turn away imposters with absolute aplomb. No, the worst part of all was the one he wrestled wtih now; without a doubt, the very last straw was the costume. It was rather fortunate, he thought, that his staff knew him well enough not to laugh.

Fine. These people wanted him to do this thing for them? FINE. He'd do it, all right - but he'd do it in a way that they would never forget and would make him feel almost 100% better. If not for the Zorro mask, that was.

Akira had never been so glad for a Saturday. Sleepy, still limping slightly, he rose from his bed and padded down the stairs in stocking feet, absently clutching his stuffed bear to his side and rubbing his eyes with one fist. His mothers were nowhere to be seen, but somehow that did not surprise him. He knew where they'd be: in the room with that horrible, horrible knife.

Sniffling a little for the hardness of the world, Akira went to the door and fetched the newspaper. Then, with one foot over the mantle, he froze.

The headline was huge: MYSTERIOUS HERO CALLS OUT 20 MASKS!

"...oh, no," Akira said softly, and unfolded the front page. The article was brief, for all its headline-status. The life which you enjoy so highly is at stake. Please contact the editor for more information. That had the chairman all over it, somehow, but Akira could not for the life of him understand why he was being contactd in this way. Could it have to do with the knife?

Akira closed the front door behind him and gazed up the stairs. He could hear his mothers up there, speaking in strange, too-smooth tones presumably to the knife, and he began to feel the first real stab of fear. Taking a deep, slow breath, he picked up the phone extension in the living room and dialed.

"Asasho, Clamp Campus Newspaper. What is it?"

Akira couldn't blame the man for his rudeness; if his day had been anything like Akira's own, rudeness was the safest reaction. "I am calling about the headline today regarding 20 Masks."

The man on the other end grumbled. "You too, huh? Great, now kids are into it... okay, okay, fine. I'm supposed to ask you this question - you don't get it right, and this converesation is over. Understand?"

Fear washed through Akira's soul. "Yes, sir, I understand."

HIs politeness had a slightly soothing effect. "All right, kid, here it is," said the beleaguered editor, no longer quite so gruff. "Of all the things that you've taken over the years... which one would you have returned, if you could?"

For just one second, at the beginning, the question stumped him. Over the years? But Akira's father had been 20 Masks BEFORE he had - what if it were an item that had been stolen years and years before -

...would have returned, if you could...

No. There was only one answer to that. Akira's heart was heavy with it and, he suspected, might never shed that weight. "The Ice Mermaid," he said softly, without hesitation.

It was Asasho's turn to be stumped. "Ah - yes, that's right. Well, then; here you go. Er - where do you want to meet them?"

Them? Now Akira was sure it was the chairman's doing. Well, there was no time like the present. Quickly, he relayed the info to the editor, then hurried off to change his clothes.

Nokoru had never been a very patient boy, especially when it came to waiting; in fact, Suoh could safely say that Nokoru was worse at waiting than anyone he'd ever known, not even barring infants.

Perhaps that was why the chairman's stolid silence was unnerving him.

Nokoru stood as the wind from the park rustled his hair with sakura-scented fingers, staring off into the distance as though looking for answers. Whatever answer it was, he didn't seem to find it; his eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed, lips pursed, and Suoh had the sudden, strange feeling that all the chairman needed was a Deerstalker cap and pipe to complete his image.

"I think I've just figured something out, Suoh," said the chairman in pensive tones, but before Suoh could answer, 20 Masks arrived.

His advent was not nearly as flashy as Suoh had been afraid it would be. There were no balloons, no fireworks, no monstrous explosions from the plumbing underground. 20 Masks was simply THERE; with such silence and stealth that even Suoh, with his ninja training, was mildly impressed.

Mildly.

"Hello, my friends," said 20 Masks in a smooth voice; and something about him - something was... familiar? No; Suoh couldn't place it. He did not know this man.

"Assuming, of course," replied the chairman with a cat-like smile, "that we ARE your friends."

"We career criminals take friendship wherever we can get it, my friend," answered the thief, and he bowed. "There is no reason for vulgar hostility."

Suoh nearly laughed; such high-handed words from a pilferer! But Nokoru seemed to blossom under the formalities, and only smiled more broadly.

"Indeed. Well, to that end, I believe I have information that you need very dearly."

"So you said." The thief smiled. "Pray, continue."

Suoh resisted the urge to sigh and rub his temples. Dear kami, this could go on for ages....

Nokoru did not waste words. He simply handed a sheet of paper to the thief, who looked at it for a decent amount of time before saying anything. He was clearly too intelligent to read it that slowly; Suoh guessed whatever was on there simply took time to process.

"This is true?"

"All true, friend," replied Nokoru with no trace of a smile now. "I rather thought you'd like to know."

"I don't see any, ah - solution given therein," murmured the thief, folding the paper carefully and hiding it somewhere in his jacket.

Nokoru bowed. "That, my friend, is up to you."

The thief sighed and bowed as well. "I had a feeling you would say that, good sir. Is there anything else?"

"Never," replied Nokoru genteely with a twinkle in his eye.

"Very well. Farewell - both you and your silent bodyguard." And with that, the thief left; simply melting back into the shadows that had birthed him, making no more noise than Suoh would have done himself. Suoh wondered, for a moment, if a man that talented might pose a threat toward Nokoru - but there would be time for that later.

"Are we finished here?" he growled to Nokoru in a stern whisper, and the chairman nodded. Taking his arm, Suoh directed his charge back to the street, to the waiting limo, and away. No more wandering around for the chairman, not tonight.

And in the shadows, Akira leaned against a tree and tried to keep his heart from beating completely through his throat.

This list... this information... was horrible. There was no other word for it; it was simply, completely horrible.

Death upon death.

Suicides.

Murders.

Families breaking apart. Marriages, siblings, parents and children -

Cousins wrestling to their deaths and lovers thrusting one another into the cold hands of merciless gravity rather than allowing the knife to pass on to someone else -

...this had to be stopped. Whatever the problem was, however it worked - that horrible, cursed blade HAD to be stopped.

Akira had no idea why it had not affected him; he certainly had no desire to touch it, own it, or even spit at it from a distance. However, touch it he would have to now; it was time to give the thing back, no matter what the cost.

For the first time that night, Akira wondered if his answer of "The Ice Mermaid" might just have been wrong.