(Author's note: Thank you Celeste for the review! I am very glad you're enjoying the story. Here is the next chapter, in which the prince of darkness comes along to nudge the plot forward.

To anyone who has patiently stuck with it this far - I promise, it's going somewhere. Really. Comments and criticism are very much appreciated! Thanks, and I hope you enjoy this chapter)

That night was the worst he had experienced in a long time.

Nemuro woke from it violently. Mikage had been suffering wild emotional mood swings the like of which neither he nor Nemuro had ever experienced before. During his therapy session, the psychiatrist had informed him that she had looked into the teahouse and had confirmed its existence; however, she had insisted that he had heard about it from someone at the asylum. This was ludicrous of course, and Mikage's resultant frustration was understandable, but under the influence of his new medication he had wildly overreacted.

He had begun shouting at her, and by that time his knowledge of her personal life was sufficient for him to make very cutting remarks about her history and her character.

Needless to say, he was dragged forcefully from his tearful therapist's office. The entire situation was worsened when he began hearing voices again – cheerful, mocking voices of a hundred dead boys who were celebrating his madness. Then he had actually felt the heat from the burning building, and it was as if his skin was on fire. He had fought his captors, screaming, thrashing… eventually he was sedated, and just as the darkness from the injection crept over him, Nemuro's eyes flashed open. He could still feel the needle in his arm.

He rubbed his bare flesh, frowning, until the prickle faded away. In a few moments, the dream would be behind him, and he could thrust it out of his memory. That was how it always was.

… but not today. Today, the dream – specifically, one part of it – stuck with him, as vivid as if he had experienced it himself. He went into the bathroom and washed his face, hoping the splash of cold water would pull his mind wholly into reality, but it did not work. He still remembered. Disgusted, he dressed and decided to go to campus early. It was five o'clock in the morning, still dark out, and cold. He was tired and hungry. That did not matter, however. He could ignore his hunger, but he had to get out – out, and away from this apartment where he dreamed Mikage's life.

Once outside, with a scarf around his neck and the chill air freezing him to his bones, he felt some of his discomfort ease.

It wasn't the madness, or the overwhelming tide of emotions, or Mikage's accusing ranting about him that bothered him most. Those things, while unusual and perhaps annoying, he could and did shrug aside. What disturbed him was his memory of what Mikage had done with a willing and encouraging boy…

It was wrong, wrong, wrong… Nemuro knew them both intimately, and he knew it was wrong. Mamiya should not have cared for him like that. Mikage should have been his guardian, a guide and a teacher. Mamiya was only a child, and something about his behavior was… inaccurate, somehow. There was another face, overlapping the dark one, and this face belonged to a boy who was sickly and gentle and dear to him. That boy would not have done the things the dream Mamiya had. He was too inexperienced, young and innocent.

But we are the same.

He was not sure where that thought came from, but he replied immediately, "We are not the same. I would not have done that."

You killed one hundred duelists in the fire at Ohtori Academy.

"I did not do that!"

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window of a storefront he was passing by. Halting, he turned to face it, eyebrows knitting slightly as he wondered whether some of Mikage's delusions weren't seeping into his mind. Nemuro was wearing his coat and black scarf, his tinted glasses and his gloves, but the person in the reflection wore a blue jacket and white pants, and stared back at him through bright eyes without colored glass in front of them.

"You… are not me," he informed the reflection coldly.

Its lips moved to match his own, but the answer he read was different: "You are me."

Nemuro frowned. He was about to walk closer to the reflection to test the physics of it by removing his glasses and holding them directly up to it (there had to be some reflection of them, surely), when blinding white light behind him burst onto the glass and blotted out his reflection. He squinted, turning around.

The deep rumble of a car engine, like the purr of some enormous cat, reverberated down the silent street. A vibrant red convertible pulled up alongside the curb, driven by a tall, dark-skinned man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Mamiya, except that he was older and his hair was white, not lavender.

"Professor Nemuro! It has been awhile since we last met. Can I give you a lift to the university?"

The man's deep voice, like Utena's, resonated in his mind with the power of forgotten memories. Nemuro wondered briefly how this stranger knew him, then it occurred to him that quite possibly, the man had seen him at some lecture during which he had not bothered to note all the names and faces of those present. As the man leaned over to open the passenger side door of his convertible, Nemuro debated whether to get in.

There was something about the man that he did not trust; but the alternative to accepting the company was walking alone with the disturbing memory of his dream. A cold wind blew, seeming to penetrate straight through his clothes and giving him another reason to appreciate a ride to the campus. Even if it was in a convertible, it would be a short trip; he could retreat to his laboratory that much sooner and delve into work.

"Thank you," he said, getting into the passenger seat.

The man smiled at him as if they were old friends. It sent a shiver of dislike through Nemuro, but he dismissed the feeling since the man acted with perfect civility. He strapped himself in, and as the convertible pulled out into the road, he endured the cold air rushing against him without complaint.

His driver spoke in a smooth baritone: "You should pay more attention to those little nagging things called 'feelings,' Nemuro. There are times when they'll get you much closer to the truth than logic can."

Nemuro turned his head to stare at his companion.

The man chuckled. "A computer is ridiculously easy to read, isn't it? It calculates by the logic it was programmed to use, without ever changing its method or its efficiency."

"Who are you?" he asked coldly.

"Akio Ohtori, the Chairman of Ohtori Academy. Ring a bell?"

"No."

This seemed to amuse his driver, whose smiled broadened. "No matter. But tell me, what were you doing out so early? Is it your usual habit to wander the streets before dawn?"

"I had a difficult time sleeping."

"Bad dreams?"

Nemuro said nothing. He was thinking, scanning his memory and analyzing the deep sense of unease that with a few words, this man had instilled in him; he was trying to decipher who Akio Ohtori was.

Akio's smile was like that of a cat at a canary. "I understand. The worst dreams are the ones that seem vividly real, in which you do something you'd never approve of in reality…"

Nemuro stiffened, lips pressed tightly together. Akio's voice lowered, soft and intimate and suggestive.

"… something dark and shameful, so shameful that when you wake it clings to you. It's like a stain you can't wipe off your thoughts. Wouldn't you agree?"

Obviously he knows about Mikage. He seems to know everything I think. It doesn't make sense, unless perhaps… Could he be as fictional as Mamiya? That would explain his knowledge of my dreams.

Nemuro did not relish the notion; it meant he was as mentally unstable as his institutionalized counterpart. He decided to remain silent, and give no further acknowledgment to his enigmatic companion. He would simply depart at the university.

He should have predicted it sooner, of course. Akio did not bring him to the university. When he noticed that they had taken a turn off course and were heading in the opposite direction, he demanded, "Where are you going? The university is back that way."

"You have hours before your morning class. We're taking a scenic detour. There's someplace you should visit."

"I have no interest in scenic detours. Take me to the university, now!"

At the sharp note of command in his voice, Akio chuckled. "Oh, you'll like this detour," he said simply.

"I think not." Nemuro reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone.

It was not there.

He frowned, his precise memory drifting back, sorting the events of last night. He always kept it in his coat. The battery was running low, so he had plugged it into the charger…

… and this morning he had left in such a hurry that he had forgotten it.

"You can use mine, if you want," offered Akio, producing from his pocket a sleek black cell phone that he held in Nemuro's direction.

The professor knew better than to bother. He turned his face blankly ahead and waited, having no choice but to remain until Akio stopped the car. The cell phone disappeared back into its owner's pocket, and no more words were exchanged until the car slowed, turning off the highway and onto a smaller country road.

Dawn had come, lighting up the eastern sky pale grey and pink. As the car climbed a small hill, Nemuro noted that the environment seemed vaguely familiar, though he had not been to this place before. The car pulled to a halt halfway up the gentle slope. Stretching out before them was a graveyard, lonely and beautiful in the morning light.

Akio stepped out of the car. "We're here, Nemuro."

In part out of curiosity, in part because he knew he would never get back to the university until he complied with his driver's whims, the professor got out and followed Akio over the grass. They had only gone a few steps when Akio put out a hand to stop him.

"Wait."

"Why?"

The Chairman pointed. "Someone has gotten here before us."

Nemuro was significantly shorter than Akio, and could not make out clearly whatever shape had caught his attention at the top of the hill. He climbed a few steps up the slope before he stopped, arrested by the sight of the woman who stood at the crest, flowers in her hands.

Her back was to him, concealing her face; but he knew her anyway. He would have known her in a crowd of a thousand. All his thought processes ground to a halt, uniformly blinded by the flash of remembrance this woman brought. It burned brightly inside him, and simultaneously chilled him to the core.

"Toki… ko…"

He backed up quickly, his eyes wide and his face haunted. He came up short against Akio, who had moved up behind him. The Chariman's large hands closed on his shoulders, his warm breath brushing the top of Nemuro's head.

Under any other circumstances the discomfort he experienced at this intimate proximity to the Chairman would have been profound, but he was wholly absorbed by the presence of that woman. All sorts of emotions he had never known he possessed were stirring in him, and most painful of all, guilt. Longing, adoration, jealousy, hurt, remorse, sympathy, desire, shame… and piercing deep into his soul, that horrible guilt, the irrefutable knowledge that he had done something unconscionable.

It felt like an eternity, but in fact it took only a few seconds for his swimming senses to recover. He moved for the car.

"I'm leaving."

Akio's firm grip on his shoulders held him back. The Chairman released one hand to wave as he called, "Tokiko! Over here!"

Nemuro tensed. He peered up the hill as the woman turned slowly to face them. He was not sure what he expected to see in her eyes, but he was certain that when she came near to them, she would slap him. It was an instinctual knowledge, and with it, worse than the slap itself, the understanding that he deserved it.

She waved and descended.

Nemuro schooled his features into their usual impassive mask.

Tokiko's eyes widened with surprise when she drew near and recognized him, but no slap came. "Chairman," she said politely to Akio, shaking his hand. Then she turned to him. "Professor Nemuro," she said simply.

He gave a nod. "Tokiko."

"It's been a long time."

"How long?" He was genuinely curious about the answer. Up close, he could see lines of age around her mouth and eyes. She should be younger.

"Years," she answered him, which was hardly helpful. After a moment, she added, "Come to pay your respects, at last?"

"To who?"

The look of puzzlement she gave him was accompanied by a full minute of silence before she said, "My brother. Mamiya."

"Your…" To his credit, very little of his surprise registered on his face. It was a moment before he responded, however. "Mamiya. When did he die?"

"Shortly before you set fire to that building."

He blinked. "I see… how many years ago was that?"

"Many, many long years ago," Akio answered for her. "Now, let us pay our respects."

Nemuro hesitated, his gaze lingering on the face of the woman who knew him, and knew Mamiya. A dozen questions were on his lips, but he did not give utterance to them; the deep sense of shame silenced him. He suspected she despised him, and worse, that she had good reason to. It kept him from speaking as she turned away and walked down the hill.

Akio's arm around his shoulders steered him up the slope. Nemuro strode ahead, pulling away from the Chairman's touch. Akio exuded an overpowering sensuality that he found invasive and rather disconcerting. He climbed the slope to the grave Tokiko had laid her flowers on.

Roses. Roses of assorted colors. The scent overwhelmed him with memories.

He stood silently, lost deep in reverie as he tried to piece together the fragments of things forgotten, to try to make some sense out of events. Akio stood near and uttered a prayer for the dead. Afterwards, they descended the hill in silence. Without speaking, they got into the car, and Akio headed back towards the university.

It was only as Nemuro was getting out that Akio spoke to him again.

"It is a difficult thing, to be divided into two realities. I can free you from your dreams."

Nemuro paused. He turned back to regard the Chairman.

Akio smiled and held out an envelope to him. "My contact information. I am looking for my sister. She's lost, and I'd like to bring her home. You'll know her if you see her, I'm sure. She has purple hair. The scent of roses follows her. Contact me if you find her, and I will put an end to your dreams."

Nemuro looked at him silently for a moment, not reaching for the envelope. Finally, he turned his back and said, "Find her yourself. I will have nothing to do with you."

Akio's chuckle followed him as he walked away. "Is that so?" The Chairman's low voice stuck in his consciousness, an ominous warning. "We shall see…"

(later
that
day)

Utena chewed on the end of her pencil and stared off into space. The page to which her notebook was open was already covered in doodles of all kinds, including another monkey-rodent picture. She had made a list of things connected to the sensation of déjà vu: the scent of roses, Wakaba, Professor Nemuro, the color red, fencing, the monkey sketches. She had stared out the window for ages. And now, with twenty minutes left to sit through, she had run out of things to do in her History of Greek Art class.

For awhile she tried actually listening and scribbling notes, but the teacher droned onto too many tangents, and it seemed a worthless endeavor. She could read the textbook later.

Sigh. Glance at the window again.

She froze, the pencil dropping from her mouth. Out on the lawn stood the familiar figure of a woman with dark skin and long, purple hair. She was talking to squirrels, throwing them bits of food. Her demure posture, her gestures, her smile as she spoke to the animals – everything came together like pieces of a puzzle in Utena's thoughts.

It's you! she realized, standing without giving the droning professor a moment of consideration and bracing her foot on the windowsill.

"Ah – Tenjou? What are you—"

Her teacher's startled objection faded out of her hearing as she leapt out the window, onto the lawn, and sprinted over to the woman who had sparked her memories. She waved and shouted.

"Hi there! Hime…" Her voice trailed off. The name eluded her.

"Hello." The young woman turned to her, smiling, and Utena was struck again by how familiar she was. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Anthy Himemiya."

"Himemiya." Utena smiled. Tears had come into her eyes, with the buoyant sensation of light filling her; she felt as if her heart would burst from joy. Why, she had no idea. It was the most inexplicable feeling – the most incomprehensible, silly, ridiculous emotion, flowing so strongly towards this person she had just met. It was as inexplicable as the mistrust she felt around Nemuro. But it was also unmistakable. For the first time since she had arrived at this university, she felt whole. "I'm… Utena. Utena Tenjou," she said, a rare blush turning her cheeks pink.

"Would you like to feed the squirrels?" Anthy offered a chunk of bread to her. If she thought there was anything odd in the fact that Utena had just leapt out the window to come running over to her and meet her, she did not say so.

"Sure." Utena took the bread and broke it into pieces. It felt oddly… right, somehow. Her behavior, this woman's reaction. As if some unspoken secret lay between them that each knew the other was aware of; but for the world's sake, they had to pretend.

"If you sit down and hold it in your hand, and keep very still, they will take it right out of your palm," advised Anthy.

Utena did as instructed, sinking into the grass while from the building behind her, her classmates stared out at her as if she had lost her senses. Anthy stood watching, smiling over her. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, though to any passerby both women would have seemed strange.

And that was how Utena met Anthy Himemiya.