"Man loves freedom, even if he doesn't know he does, and is always striving for it and running away from places where there is none. Something about the lakes and the buildings… fascinates me. Like, I can find myself here. The sound, the smell… it's just so relaxing and inspiring."
Yashiro's voice was so soft and pleasant to listen to, it seemed to blend in with the sound of the lake water below them. She was still wearing the same black suit and pants, white dress shirt and dark purple tie. With her head stretched out and leaning against the soft back of the couch, she looked younger and graceful as a statue, yet she had that confident, almost dreamy look that left some people gaping and motionless before her.
"This is what I wanted. To have you here with me," his voice was much deeper and calmer.
"We're always back where we began. Me speaking with you," she responded with ease.
When Yashiro finally turned her head towards the white-haired man, she caught a glimpse of Makishima Shougo looking her up and down. He was sitting with one leg over the other, his left arm on the back of the couch and his other hand on his thigh. His eyes narrowed with a genuine, barely visible smile all over his face. Yashiro looked at him for a while with a natural, serene expression, then picked up the whisky and her glass, a slow movement that he mirrored with his white wine.
"You are not a cop tonight. I want you to forget about your job."
His messy white hair fell down his chest, but Yashiro narrowed her eyes as she realized it looked a bit longer. Several strands of bangs tumbled over his face. While Yashiro looked more like an aristocrat with her straight brown hair falling down her back and chest, he was dressed very casually and friendly with a yellow jacket and a white shirt underneath. Anyone would say they were a rather peculiar pair, but Yashiro liked his natural, ordinary style.
"This will do nicely," she tilted her head at him, as her silver eyes focused on how the drink fell into her glass. "Like a tiny, calm island in the middle of a rough sea."
"I must warn you that I am a ruler on my island. If you mention a case, I will drown you in the sea."
The corners of Yashiro's lips curved involuntarily, as if she were about to smile, but she raised her glass and took a sip.
"Don't tempt me," she narrowed her eyes for a second. "Still better than being drowned by my own thoughts."
"It must be greed," he confessed with a dreamy expression, looking up. "I am a miser with respect to two people in this world—you and Choe. I could be immensely rich and yet own nothing. I keep my most important treasures right here. That is what I always demanded as a quality in the people I like. I always recognized it immediately, like the first time I laid eyes on you reading in the library. It is the only quality I value and admire in people. I choose my friends based on it. Thanks to you, now I know what it is."
Their eyes met for a moment as they both took a sip of their own drink, and they looked to the side again, gazing at the buildings and skyscrapers. There were no holograms or neon lights. It was not a fancy restaurant, but they went up for the view and sat down together to face the world. They were outside, without a roof, and the surrounding tables were empty. It was not a cold night, and from there they could hear and smell the lake.
"I never thought… you would admit that about yourself to anyone else. And I'm glad you say you have friends."
Yashiro did not need to raise her voice. They were so close that they could simply hear each other, like two people waiting for a movie to start at the theater.
"I even admit that I love them. But I couldn't if they were my main reason for living, or my purpose, my end. I am. I think. My mind is my property. It cannot be taken from me. Freedom and independence of thought are non-negotiable. They are the most valuable possessions of every human being worth living for. We must never lose them, sell them, or give them away. Much less allow anyone to take them away from us.
"There is no such thing as a collective mind. Each one thinks and acts for itself. Every achievement has come from an independent mind. It is my mind that thinks, and the judgement of my mind is the searchlight to find the truth. My will chooses, and the choice of my will is the only edict I must respect.
"I always choose friends among men such as please me, but neither command nor obey. We shall join hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire. On the island of his mind, of his spirit, each man lives and dies alone. As Nietzsche said, no one can build you the bridge on which you, and only you, must cross the river of life. There is one path in the world that none can walk but you. Where does it lead? Don't ask. Walk."
"If you don't respect yourself, you can't have affection and respect for others. You are in love with the impossible, the unattainable that has already disappeared from this city… but I don't care about the people of this country, Shougo. To hell with them. I care about you, and your friends."
"Yashiro," he uttered quietly and hesitantly, closing his eyes for a moment. "If this building were on fire, I would risk my life for you for reasons of my own. But I would never live for you, and I would never ask you to live for me."
Makishima gently swirled the glass near his nose, losing his gaze in the drink and feeling the aroma of the wine.
"What would these reasons be?" she asked in a whisper.
He put the glass back on the table.
"You are the one I would never meet twice in my life. Finding you was such a lovely accident. I have never seen a person who matches inside and out," he spoke in a deep, masculine voice.
Makishima looked more like a politician making a statement or a man declaring his own principles, and yet he made her heart skip a beat. Yashiro was unable to react or say a single word for a long time, until a smile finally covered her lips. They were still seated facing the world.
"You must be a dreamer," she slightly tilted her head towards him as if sharing a secret. "I always found it ironic that you, of all people, would like to teach. You, who no longer believe in the integrity of man and people's independent thinking. Is that why you continue to teach at the Ousou Academy? Could it be that you have hope after all, or is it something else?"
"I just want to see a world where people can pursue their own happiness," he looked down his glass, then up the black sky, holding out his hand as if pointing to the audience. "Human beings act according to their own will. Say, Yashiro… don't you think these men, who let themselves be led by Sibyl without questioning, are worth anything? They live under control and love to be controlled. And there is nothing humiliating in it for them, as if it were their vocation."
A grim, dark expression came over his face, as if he had suddenly become someone else, and he put his right hand on his thigh again. His voice was a little deeper and more mocking than before, full of resentment, as if he only wanted to be heard by her. It was then that Yashiro looked at him, studying his features.
"The hive man," she remembered his words, causing him to turn to her slowly. "Not living for yourself… is like not living at all. But even if I believe they're wrong, I have no right to correct them by force. They must seek the truth by themselves and for themselves. What you want is to impose on others your way of understanding the world—to attack the freedom and rights of all. Be careful with that little dictator in all of us."
"I don't like what you say," his narrowed, dangerous eyes met hers.
"I don't care. History is littered with people who started with good intentions and ended up committing atrocities. Why is your morality good and the morality of others is not? Why is what you consider good and bad the only right thing to do? And above all, why do you think you have the right to impose it on others? You believe you're a god, is that it? You think you can act like Sibyl?"
"I would not have any fun being a god."
"Of course you wouldn't," she squinted for a moment in a softer voice, and smiled. "You would defy God instead, by showing man."
"What is the wrong and right thing to do Yashiro? Do you believe in this false belief that because most people approve of something, it must be right? Then you don't know how wrong you are. Especially in a country with so much ignorance. Must I denounce myself a monster? I have always been the rebellious protagonist of my story—just as you are with yours. And we are both readers who are concerned about each other's chapters.
"The only difference between us… is purely aesthetic. If I were planning bloodshed in the city, people would soon blame me. But if you were the one to do it instead, in that inspector's jacket, it is the right thing to do, and I bet people would clamor for you to kill, or even bomb cities. No—they would not even question your actions. Don't you think Sibyl would love it, too? Killing must feel so good to her. She does it all the time."
"Remember upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all."
"Alexander the Great," he guessed with a softer tone, smirking down at her. "Just as Caesar, Charlemagne, even Napoleon… built empires. On what did the creations of their genius rest? On strength. Sibyl was founded on fear. And you know, as Napoleon said—men are moved by two levers only: fear and self-interest."
Yashiro sighed and pursed her lips. Her eyes were widened and fixed on the table, unable to look at the man next to her. She lifted her glass for a moment and set it back down on the wooden surface.
"Power is granted only to the one who bends down to take it, is that so? You never sought to justify the right to power—you don't need it. You never cared whether your actions would make you feel righteous or miserable. You wanted to act for yourself—even if that meant painting outside the lines. For there's no law stopping you, and somehow, you think you're one of those men who have the right to commit all kinds of crimes."
Her upper lip remained slightly raised, as if she could no longer hide her anger. She seemed not to notice that her voice had trembled for a few moments, as if she were holding back from yelling at him.
"That's not true," he shook his head in a casual remark.
"Like Touma, you believe you have the right to disregard the law because you're above it. You would commit a crime out of a desire to prove something to yourself—that you can act. Have you ever considered working within the very Sibyl System, Shougo? Because wherever Touma is… I know nothing would thrill him more than to be part of it. He would just love it. Feeling… omnipotent. Touma was always more of a politician than a teacher—good speeches, his inherent desire to control the masses and gain power. He was fascinated with immortality and expanding his mind…"
"How can you compare me to that twisted little man?" Makishima responded with dangerous calm, curling his lip and staring at her.
Yashiro smiled triumphantly, almost arrogantly. He did not even move. After half a minute, however, she narrowed her eyes and laughed. Makishima raised a perfect eyebrow as he listened to that soft, quiet sound for a few seconds.
"I know you'd give anything to see the NONA tower collapse. I would too," she looked away and touched her glass with her fingertips.
"I contend that men have the inner right to decide in their own conscience to overstep… or paint outside the lines, as you call it," he lifted his chin and frowned.
"What a dangerous argument," Yashiro slowly shook her head. "Some people would use it to carry out all kinds of crimes. The end justifies the means."
"This is not a way of justifying murder… or robbery, Yashiro," his voice wavered for a second, despite being so rough, almost pleading. "I am simply stating that there is greatness in men when they act according to their own convictions and values, without sacrificing them to the wishes of others, be it the whole of mankind shouting pleas or threats against them—when they are true to existence and their own consciousness—"
"You don't need to justify yourself to anyone yet here you are, settling this philosophical debate," she cut him off with a sigh. "You consider yourself above social and moral laws, you believe you have the right to kill… so why are you here? You don't need to ask permission, nor look for forgiveness."
"I simply came here to adjust my senses," he blurted out in a much lower, gentler voice than her own. "You once said… that people are a product of circumstances. Do you know why propaganda is much more effective when it incites hatred than when it tries to promote friendly feelings?"
"Because we are more prone to hatred and cruelty than friendship," Yashiro responded instantly.
"Hatred is a basic human emotion. It brought us together. It gave us purpose. A reason to live. Life is meaningless without purpose. Your priority has always been to find the truth… mine has been to destroy it. We could have chosen to stay alone, but instead… we used our loneliness and hatred to go after our creator."
"And yet whenever I am with you…" her voice came lower, weaker, and trailed off for a moment. "Everything changes."
Still gazing up the black sky with narrowed, dull eyes, one leg crossed over the other, Yashiro clenched her fist for a moment, then slid it to his thigh. Makishima frowned and lowered his head, utterly oblivious to her warm hand holding his with intertwined fingers in a not so strong, but possessive grip, as if she feared rejection. He watched her hand like a child studying an insect. He seemed to analyze, try to understand the meaning of her touch. And yet he did not let go of her either. When he looked up, Yashiro was staring into the distance with a tired, almost melancholy countenance. For the rest of the night, neither of them spoke again.
