Under the dim light of a lamp, on a black desk, a blank sheet of paper lay. A man walked through the neat, clean study until he reached the desk and sat down in front of it. Then he put on white latex gloves and opened the desk drawer to take out a pen. He did so with smooth, quiet movements, standing still for a moment with his hands brushing the sheet. Tilting his head to one side, finally the black ink began to flow across the paper. His computer screen was in front of him, synchronized with a live video feed from a social network.

"Tonight we have a great friend joining us from Tokyo. She has written some articles in which she spreads freedom and discusses several political topics. How are you, Takahashi-san? Always a pleasure to have you with us," a red-haired man who was always called by his English surname, Wilson, turned to another screen.

The others greeted her and welcomed her as well.

"Nice to be here. Thanks for having me," Yashiro responded through her earphones, using audio only.

"Well, thank you very much for joining us. We are using our backup channel because the other was suspended. The algorithm is able to censor us for saying certain words. Let's refer to our law enforcement organization as the oracle from now on, shall we?" Wilson looked at the camera on his laptop again.

"Freedom of the press, freedom of the news media, are subordinated to the overriding needs of the integrity of Japan. And then they are the ones who say we are against freedom of speech," a man with brown curls commented in a louder and faster voice, who was called by his name, Benjiro. "Independent journalism is not valued in this country, unless it speaks well of the oracle."

"Public opinion has always been determined by the intellectual classes, since most people don't generate or disseminate ideas and concepts, on the contrary, they tend to adopt those promulgated by others," a smile lit up Yashiro's face as she recognized the voice of Hisakawa Izumi, a former classmate from the Ousou Academy. Her temples and back of her neck were still shaved, and her short brown hair was falling in curls. "Today those who censor ideas are not people, but algorithms. Question is… who creates and manages these algorithms? Companies that benefit from the government of the day? The Sib… the oracle itself? Honestly, how do you walk down the street talking with us, Takahashi-san?"

In a huge shopping mall, Yashiro stepped forward and began descending a long escalator. The ceiling was made of glass and the dark sky was visible. The building was fully illuminated, but her face seemed almost indifferent to the vastness of the place, as if she were part of its decor rather than something apart. Although she did not share the video like the others, at one point a couple passed by talking too close and could be heard.

"We don't need to be overwhelmed by the madness of the crowd. We are free individuals and we can think for ourselves," Yashiro replied in a calm, soothing voice.

"Not everyone can, or dares to. Thinking differently, coming out with an idea of your own, is to become a criminal," Chino spoke, stroking his two-day dark beard that he always managed to maintain. "Under this premise, everyone is guilty because they could be considered dangerous to others."

"The eternal and indeterminate sentence. Reminds me of the trial described by Kafka. A man is arrested, but can't seem to find out what he's accused of, not even after navigating a labyrinthine network of bureaucratic traps—a dark parody of the legal system. We sentence someone for the state's judgment of his psyche. One of the worst forms of tyranny and dehumanization," Yashiro explained.

"Or we lock them up under the pretext that they need therapy, because we believe they are more likely to commit crimes in the future," Chino pointed out.

"Compulsive institutionalization and therapy aggravate and perpetuate mental illness—if there is any—rather than cure it," Yashiro reached one floor below and kept walking with natural grace. "Hospitalization is designed to get rid of troublesome patients rather than help them. The reason behind this is simple—they may be dangerous to themselves and others. The police not only get involved when a crime is taking place, but when the law judges that such an act might occur, which leaves the way open to unlimited tyranny."

Nagai, an older man in his sixties with some gray in his short hair, and who had been silent all along, suddenly leaned over his desk, looking at the faces on the screen. Behind him was a very large bookcase.

"As in the time of the Inquisition," Nagai explained in a calm, gentle voice, like that of a teacher. "For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, because history is not taught in schools now, the Inquisition was a court created in the thirteenth century to inquire into or investigate cases of heresy. The heretic persecuted was someone who openly opposed the Church and society. The most dangerous man to any government has always been the one capable of thinking for himself. If he is a romantic he will try to change it, and even if he's not, he can spread discontent among those who are."

"Anyone could be considered capable of committing a crime someday, and on that basis anyone could be legally locked up for therapy, not because they have committed a crime, but because the oracle thinks they might commit a crime," Yashiro nodded and watched the people pass by. "This justifies the permanent incarceration of anyone under suspicion. I think, however, that all people are capable of free will and free choice, that no one, no matter how exposed they may be to committing a crime in the future, is inevitably predetermined to do so, and that it is in any case an immoral, violating and criminal act to coerce someone who is not a criminal but at most a suspect."

The man had finished writing on the paper and placed it on a corner of his desk, clutching the keyboard of his computer. His fingers quickly typed a question that was soon seen.

"Someone asks in the comments section... why do you think that society does not have the right and duty of care for those individuals who are judged to be dangerous to themselves and others?" Wilson read on his screen.

"To begin with, let's not consider society as an independent entity with its own existence," Yashiro responded after a pause. "Sometimes society is treated as a divine figure with superior rights and properties, or as an existing evil to be blamed for all the evils of the world. Individuals are the ones who exist, think, feel, choose and act. Society is not a living entity, but simply a name given to a group of interacting individuals. Viewing it as an entity that chooses and acts, only obscures the real forces behind it.

"The idea of helping people by imprisoning them is a religious concept, like saving witches by torturing and burning them at the stake. I believe that a man's body and mind are his own, not the state's; that each individual has the right to do with his body as he pleases, as long as he does not hurt anyone else or infringe on the right of others; and like John Stuart Mill, that power can be rightfully exercised over anyone, against his will, only if to prevent harm to others."

"What are your thoughts about the oracle? Do you think that death as a punishment for committing a crime is more useful than the so-called prisons of the past?" the red-haired man asked further.

"In the old system, the victim was not recompensed, and had to pay taxes to support the incarceration of his own attacker. I think the focus of punishment should be to force the criminal to make restitution to the victim for his crime. A similar practice came to exist in the United States. Instead of imprisoning a man who had stolen, he was forced by contract to work for the other until his debt was paid. In the Middle Ages restitution to the victim was the dominant concept of punishment, but as the state became more powerful, government authorities increasingly interfered in the compensation process, by confiscating larger and larger portions of the criminal's property for their own benefit, and disregarding the rights of the victim. Later, the emphasis shifted from restitution to severely punishing crimes committed against the state itself."

"Rothbard," Nagai guessed, making Yashiro smile. "He talked about that system of criminal punishment, and those prisons where the criminals work until they earn the money to pay for their stay there, and the sum to compensate for the victim's assault. If the criminal could choose, the quality would increase significantly. A market would be generated among penitentiary centers to offer services where criminals can be most productive to repair the damage. A solution to institutionalized aggression. But you know such a prison system would never exist here... because it would mean the end for the oracle."


The sun was shining in a blue sky. Yashiro walked slowly, sometimes staggering forward and slightly hunched over with parted lips, dry and chapped. Her body weighed her down to the point that time seemed to pass slowly and she could not think of anything but water. She raised her head rubbing her eyes, but all she could see was an empty desert. It was at that moment that she looked at her arms, and her face contorted into a grimace of horror. They were blistered and she began to rub them desperately. However, she could not get them off, nor did she feel any pain.

Swaying, she went on across the sand, stumbling, faltering as if she were drunk. Her legs were growing weaker and weaker yet her conscience only thought of going on. She had to get out of there. The weather was so hot, she could hardly breathe. She did not notice there was a hill ahead of her until she crawled up on her hands and knees. She rose to her feet again on top of the hill, but her smile faded as she realized there was nothing but sand ahead, with no mountains in the distance. The hill ended sharply at the edge, and she stumbled and rolled down in a whirlwind of sand and arms trying to hold on to something. When she hit the ground, she lay on her back with her eyes closed, for she knew she could not move and would not get up again.

Then she opened her eyes, staring at the dark ceiling of her room. Yashiro felt a light cold sweat on her back. Her cat had woken up on the pillow, and started sniffing her hair. As she pawed at her bedside table, she reached for her phone and looked at the time. The brightness of the screen made her close her eyes for a few seconds, and she squinted realizing that it was four in the morning. Yashiro rolled over in bed, but was unable to sleep again. Finally, she jumped out of bed to take a bath. She felt as hot and tired as she was in the desert.


"Suzuki-san, your wife's body was found in Hachikokuyama Park almost 30 miles away. Can you think why she would be so far from home?" Katashi asked.

He was sitting in a chair with a long wooden table in front of him, his voice was very calm and polite. The dining room window let in the morning light, and the owner of that house did not need to have the lamps on.

"I… I don't know. She never used to travel."

Suzuki was a man in his thirties with very short brown hair. He was in the chair adjacent to the enforcer with his hands clasped on the table, and his legs close together. His eyes were slightly narrowed and his voice was somewhat low and weak. Both he and his son were going to therapy.

"Did she have any friends in Higashimurayama?" Katashi insisted.

"If she had, I would know," Suzuki frowned.

"We are just trying to get a picture of her. She got up early for work, took her son to school… everyone knew her around…"

"What is this all about? You've already caught the killer behind the murders of these women."

"What he's trying to say is that your wife's death doesn't fit the modus operandi of Endo Seiji," Yashiro made her way to the kitchen with hands in her coat pockets, avoiding stepping on the spider-like drones that were inspecting the floor for footprints or any kind of evidence. "He targeted abusive mothers, but the stage was different. And she was pregnant."

"What… what does that mean?" Suzuki gulped and looked down.

"Someone murdered and mimicked his MO in the process," Yashiro blurted out.

"The surgeon was always with the abused children before the murders, but we checked that your son had no contact with him in the hospital. They never met each other. Moreover, he never worked there," Katashi explained further.

"Couldn't he have… killed her just because?"

"No," Yashiro cut him off. "Each of his crimes had a motive. He thought he was saving those kids."

"By killing human beings?" Suzuki raised an eyebrow.

Both looked at her for a moment.

"Most of them get away with it and you know it. There is no justice," Endo Seiji's voice rumbled in her head.

Yashiro blinked a couple of times and took a step back, moving her hand away from the drawing stuck on the fridge.

"There's something you need to see. It was on my bedside table, addressed to me," Suzuki moved a piece of paper towards them on the table.

"Can we read it out loud?" Yashiro asked, finally looking at him from behind the kitchen bar table. "Would that be all right?"

"Of course," he nodded, waving his hand.

Katashi grabbed the white sheet with his black gloves. The room divider slid open and a head with tousled hair peeked up to enter and join them.

"Dear Mr. Suzuki, I saw your wife's name on the news and I apologize for putting both you and your son through such a stressful situation. Please understand that I would have never killed her if I had known she was pregnant. I have always felt protective of babies and children because they are innocent and should be treated as such. You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame; how could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes?"

For a moment, all they could hear was the dog scratching his ear under the table. Katashi blinked and raised his head.

"We'll take a look at these fingerprints, paper analysis, ink analysis," Katashi looked at the man and lowered his head a bit. "This could be very significant for us."

"What about the dog?" Yashiro asked with ease.

"What?" Suzuki frowned.

"How is it? Was it weird this morning?"

"I... didn't notice. He was asleep," he shook his head.

Yashiro walked past the dog's plastic dish, which was full of fresh food in the kitchen.

"Haven't eaten yet?" she commented more to herself.

"No, uh, not yet. He's not hungry. Usually he wakes up earlier and barks for me to feed him. This time, he didn't. But it's not like he's feeling sick or anything."

Daiki approached Yashiro, and she tilted her head towards him, "He fed the dog, kept it silent."

When the dog jumped on Yashiro, wagging his tail, she grabbed his front paws and gently dropped him on the floor again, barely looking at him.

"I take it you don't like dogs," Daiki smiled and bent down to pet its sleek, light brown fur.

"Too loyal. Too trusting. Hey," Yashiro knelt down in front of the dog and began to pet it on the neck, her voice lively and sweet all of a sudden, thought low enough for the others not to hear. "See, he doesn't even know I could strangle him."

"Not everyone hides a knife in their back," Daiki frowned.

"Want some advice? Keep your expectations low so you'll never be disappointed."

Yashiro's grin faded as she stood up again and headed for the front door of the house. Katashi had not heard the remark, but as they walked out, the younger enforcer could not take his eyes off her.

"There's been another development," Daiki leaned over the open front window before getting into the back seat of the car.

Yashiro exchanged a glance with Katashi, who was sitting next to her. This time Yashiro switched to automatic driving and updated the route on the holographic map, selecting the PSB building. Daiki sat in the middle and rested his forearms on the backs of both seats, as if he wanted to tell them a secret. Slowly, the car began to drive away from the house.

"It's from his son. Apparently there was someone in the house last night, a man who said he was a friend of his mother's. The kid watched him going off, crossing the street. Someone who called himself Ichiro."

"He makes a profile of his victims, calculates the risks, plans it all out… the killing of Nakamura was different. He didn't do the groundwork. It was impulsive," Yashiro's lips parted and she turned her head to the window.

"We have no chance of identifying this guy. He always manages to sneak out through places where there are no scanners."

"There is a way," Katashi suggested, gazing up at the buildings as they crossed an avenue. "Memory scoop."

"What?" Yashiro turned to him.

"It's a helmet-like device that can visualize a person's memories by reading them from their brain waves," he explained further.

Yashiro's face contorted in disgust, "Sounds like a risky procedure… especially for a six year old."

"It's not highly recommended, but he is probably the only one who saw his face."

"He is just a kid," she uttered slowly, her voice a little louder than before. "If he is forced to relive that moment, what else would he remember? His memories will jump from one to the next like a sequence of images, and his hue will cloud faster than that of adults. It will break him. Besides, we need his father's authorization because he is a minor."

"She is right. You can't see the risk because you're a criminal, like me. We live in a game where we've already lost the attempts. But the kid can still play. With therapy, but he can. Let's not screw it up. Besides… we don't know for sure if he saw his face completely. It was night. And I bet his father would refuse. I wasn't going to add this to my report anyway," Daiki leaned his back against the seat. "Don't you think they've had enough? Let's leave that family alone for once."

"I wasn't suggesting anything. I was simply stating that the option exists, it just needs to be applied in real life," Katashi waved his hand and stroked his short beard.

"That's your problem. You never give an opinion of your own. You never know what you want. How can you live without knowing?" Daiki sighed deeply and looked out the window.

"Maybe it's safer to keep looking down."

"You don't believe that yourself."

"I don't know," Katashi shook his head and glanced at the inspector. "I'm tired of believing, of wanting to see more than is expected or allowed. The ones who suffer the most are those whose eyes are too sharp in a city full of blind people, knowing they have something they should lack."

"More impossible and more of a torture is lying to yourself, pretending to be someone else," Yashiro commented quietly, observing the buildings outside.

"You'd be surprised what people are capable of, holding two completely opposite ideas. Sometimes I wish I could lose my sight and desire nothing, think of nothing, like those people who never do, nor miss it."

"Zara...thustra," Kozuki leaned forward as he read on the screen.

"Nietzsche," Yashiro nodded.

"You think it's him?" Aoyanagi asked from her desk. "Expressing remorse?"

"Yes, but not about the murder as Nakamura's family would like to think," Yashiro rested her cheek on one hand and leaned her elbow on the armrest.

"Then remorse about what?"

"He must have spent a lot of time with her, preparing her body to make a perfect stage, but then he heard the news that she was pregnant. I believe him when he says he wouldn't have killed a pregnant woman. There's some truth in his words."

"At least we know he didn't study medicine like the surgeon or have the same equipment. Otherwise he would've known she was pregnant," Daiki suggested, tossing a green tennis ball to Kozuki, who instantly caught it in front of his face and sent him a glare.

"Did you find out anything else?" Aoyanagi narrowed her eyes, staring at them.

"No,'' Katashi concluded.

Yashiro and Daiki raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance.


"He is charming, charismatic. And intelligent. He knows a lot about literature and probably art," Yashiro took a step to one side of the long office, and folded her arms over her dress shirt and open coat.

"You mentioned he quoted a specific passage in the letter. Why is that important to you?"

"As a rule, I don't let my guard down when someone quotes Friedrich Nietzsche," Yashiro turned her head to the woman sitting in a black chair, without moving from her place.

"You wouldn't quote him, but you surely make room for him on your bookshelf. The will to power… the supermen," Kasei Joushuu curled her lips further up.

Yashiro glared at her for a moment, then looked away with more relaxed features, and put her hands in the pockets of her black pants.

"I won't deny Thus Spoke Zarathustra was my bible when I was in high school. I always liked the individualistic part of it. I never thought... there was anyone who would go that far in praising the individual," Yashiro admitted quietly, widening her eyes as she realized she never said that to someone else. "I became disillusioned over the years."

"Why?" Kasei narrowed her eyes and shook her head for a second.

"Man doesn't always act rationally, but he possesses the faculty of reason. And the way each man uses this faculty is what distinguishes him from others."

"A rational animal," Kasei pointed out with a barely visible nod. "According to Aristotle's definition, rationality is what separates man from all other animals."

"Reason is man's primary mental faculty, not the slave of his emotions. Man's mind is his own property. He's not driven by innate impulses or instincts. His emotions are a consequence of his thinking… or lack of it."

"Then what is an emotion?" Kasei squinted for a second. "A cause?"

"An effect," Yashiro lowered her head a bit. "A rational man knows or wants to find the source of his emotions, which are the premises from which they come. Emotions are responses to value judgments."

"You recognize free will and reject Nietzsche's deterministic view of human nature," Kasei slightly raised her head, making Yashiro blink and lift a perfect eyebrow. "And you must be against Kantian principles on the premises that emotions are opposed to reason."

"Thinking is an act of choice. Every man is responsible for his own actions. And the use or misuse of his cognitive faculty determines man's choice of values, which determine his emotions and character."

"Not thinking is an act of choice, too."

"Yes," Yashiro's eyes narrowed, she looked completely detached for a moment. "We are not rational beings. Rationality is a choice. The will doesn't have to be without reason, or motivation, to be free. One's acts may be motivated by external reasons, but choices are our free will. Zarathustra is poetic and metaphorical, but this idea of innate determinism... that someone is born noble in soul, and another is born to be a slave… I consider it wrong. I am very much opposed to any doctrine that says that your decisions, choices, and thoughts are determined by any factor outside of your mind. Everyone is free to form their own convictions. And maybe that's what I object to Nietzsche most now—the idea that people are determined, that someone is somehow born good or inferior."

Yashiro was standing two meters away from the desk, with her back turned and her head slightly raised. It was a casual posture, with her shoulders relaxed and her hands still in her pants pockets. What others would find rude, for them had become a habit. Kasei was not looking at her either, she was sitting sideways with one forearm resting on the desk.

"Do you think this killer considers himself extraordinary?"

Yashiro smiled for a brief moment. She was not surprised that the case of a man who had managed to kill for so many years, evading the law, had caught Kasei's attention.

"He believes he has the right to decide who lives and who dies. But he is like an addict," Yashiro gently shook her head. "Too caught up in those… little emotions, that he can't stop himself. He thinks he's some kind of artist, but he's not. He's a slave to his desires."

Kasei frowned, staring at her, then stood up with her eyes closed and walked towards the inspector.

"Reason is a slave to passion. You can make them think you're in control, but I see right through you. You and I are just alike."

Slowly, Yashiro turned around and sent her a glare. Kasei narrowed her eyes with a smug smile that somehow made the other hold her breath. They were a meter away from each other.

"I'm not driven by a will to power," Yashiro measured her voice, thinking carefully about her next words. "I don't desire to control anything or anyone. And I despise all supporters of dictatorships and collectivism. I don't understand that there are men who claim the right to decide on the lives of others."

Blinking, Kasei walked past her with smooth, graceful movements, as that of a queen, but it was a cold, mocking, inhuman calm that would make anyone turn away. Yashiro could not take her eyes off her nonetheless.

"And I don't understand that there are men who lack self-esteem to the point they would grant others the right to dispose of their lives," Kasei sat on one of the black couches, looking up at her. "I despise those men more than any other."

"And yet you would accept having the right over them."

"To lead those men where I think is best for them, by myself. Who gives you a better cost-benefit for your vagrancy, that is, giving up your ability to think and act for yourself, letting others decide for you such as administering your education and telling you what to study, what is right and wrong and best for your life, which we all always do, for example deciding not to be engineers to create an airplane, and yet we consume that service, who gives you a better cost-benefit Yashiro, the market or the State?"

"The market," she instantly replied, raising an eyebrow.

"People, as consumers, have chosen the Sibyl System as their guide and provider of happiness. It's not an artificial monopoly."

"Sibyl is the monopoly of violence, because it's the protection service in society. We can turn to the State or the police to protect us from private criminals, but who can protect us from the State itself? People are forced to accept the only law enforcement organization. Everything is censored and questioning custom clouds their hue. Have you heard of the allegory of the cave?"

"Do you honestly believe that these men will want to fight their way out of the cave, let alone find a light? You can't, or won't accept that these people have given up their will. They don't see or feel anything, they're comfortable and happy in their ignorance. And there's nothing wrong with that for them."

"The ideal citizen," Yashiro nodded.

Kasei frowned, still sitting with her legs slightly apart, one elbow on the armrest and the other hand on her thigh.

"In the 18th century, John Trenchard and Thomas Gordon wrote a series of essays taking their pen name, Cato, from the Roman statesman who had defied the emperor Julius Caesar," Kasei commented in a deeper, more cautious voice. "They called for liberty, accountability, and checks upon the wealthy interests who manipulated the government for their own ends. No single work had as much direct influence on the revolutionary generation's understandings of free speech and conscience as did Cato's Letters."

Yashiro's eyes widened a bit and she averted her gaze. The fact that she knew so much about history gave her a strange feeling of nostalgia, like a shiver running down her spine. Yashiro wondered if the pressure she felt in her chest was due to the fear of being disappeared at any moment, or the fact that this woman knew her far more than she expected.

"What does that make you then?" Yashiro talked back, choosing her own words. "Julius Caesar?"

Kasei watched her with narrowed, pleased eyes.

"You admire our ideals, but loathe our methods."

"I loathe both your ideals and methods. Man is not a means, but an end. He must not live for a State or a Sibyl System. If you deny the best the right to reach the top by themselves, there will be none of them left. Just as it's happening with art, music, cinema… and I dare say science. What is society if not a group of individuals? Individuals without thoughts, without dreams, without will of their own, and for these men we must sacrifice the few who move the world? I hate your ideals, no matter what paradise you promise, because men are not equal and can't be treated as if they were, nor forced to be. And because I loathe most of them."

"So do I. Only I don't agonize over them. Let's say you're walking home, and suddenly you see a wounded cat on the floor. What would you do?"

"I would help it," Yashiro said in a casual remark.

"My first thought would be the same, that it's vulnerable, therefore weak, and yet I would consider crushing it instead. It's in our nature to reject weakness," Kasei paused as her eyes darted to the right. "Of course, I wouldn't crush it… but my first primal thought is to do just that."

"Because you're afraid of finding someone who can crush you the same way you would crush that cat? If you had a large company, you wouldn't compete against a startup that offers better quality or lower priced services. You would call for higher taxes to break it, since you know it wouldn't affect you."

Kasei raised an eyebrow for a few seconds, then smiled.

"I find some solace in the fact that there are minds worthy of being raised to my level. Only time and circumstance will change what you think of me."

"I have less in common with the likes of you than the people who threaten you."

"You have the brass to stand alone against society. But you're not an active enemy," Kasei looked her up and down for a second, reading the unspoken question upon her lips. "Not everyone is understanding and tolerant like me. Yashiro, I don't waste my time with people I have no interest in. I trust you for reasons of my own. But don't ask me why. I never knew that myself."

Her words did not match with her empty, indifferent gaze. Yashiro widened her eyes a little and finally took a step forward, reaching the opposite couch. She stood beside it, unable to sit down in the face of that intense stare, and rested her left hand on its armrest.

"I think I do. You see… if we had souls, they would tear each other apart until they'd realize they came out the same. It sounds abstract because, well, I don't believe in souls."

"I don't either," Kasei blurted out. "But I understand. What is the root?"

Yashiro turned her body to face her, pulling her hand away from the back of the couch.

"Do you believe in God?" Yashiro asked.

Kasei blinked and frowned, "No."

"I think anyone who places whatever God he prays to above his own possibilities, either doesn't value his life or thinks little of himself. It's a rare gift... to feel reverence for your own life and to want the best, the highest for yourself, in a world where events, including human action, are ultimately determined by causes external to the will. We believe in ourselves and in life so strongly, but you would fight for it, kill for it. I just want to live it."


Fingers danced fleetingly on the keyboard of a dark grand piano. The man sitting in front of it had his eyes closed and his head tilted to one side, with a few black locks falling over one ear, utterly lost in the old melody he was playing. It was Franz Schubert's Erlkönig. One could actually hear the different melodies representing each character in the original song in his performance, and imagine the dialogue of the story. He was able to play at full speed, changing the voices for them. Until he finished, and opened his light blue eyes to look at the man standing by the large picture window with a view of real trees ahead.

"Would you say that advocacy brings order to a world full of chaos, Makishima-kun?"

The white-haired man blinked and raised an eyebrow, as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, but did not turn around. He was dressed formally in his teacher's disguise, while the other wore a simple black dress shirt slightly open at the neck.

"Why did you warn him that they were onto him?" he asked instead.

Makishima Shougo's voice was much softer and gentler, but his features were shadowed by the sudden silence, his gaze still focused on the mesmerizing view before him, totally oblivious to that neat and tidy room that was then lit by the sun. The room was spacious and a brown carpet decorated the floor under the piano. On the walls were all kinds of pictures from the Romantic era. One of them was Fuseli's strange and macabre painting depicting a woman draped across a divan with a small, hairy incubus sitting on top of her, gazing menacingly at the viewer. Behind her, a mysterious black mare with white eyes and flaring nostrils entered the scene through lush, red curtains.

"I was curious what would happen. I wanted to see what she would do."

He gently closed the lid over the top of the keys. The golden eyes glittered, reflected by the light.

"She?"

"An inspector from the Public Safety Bureau. It seems her name is Takahashi."