"These new toys make this facility not so lonely," Ouryou Rikako argued as she walked back and forth, running her index finger over the surgical table in the center of the room.
Makishima Shougo followed her with his eyes from the darkness, wondering when she would stop her incessant, unpleasant gait. She always used to be calm, but when she let her emotions get the better of her, her unpolluted barrier of absolute coldness and reflection would break down to give way to a corrosive and childish mentality. At such times, he found himself watching a woman whose mental age resembled that of a child.
If he took the materials away from her, she would get as angry as a child who is scolded by his parents and she would throw all kinds of tantrums. If he placed her in a borderline situation where her life was in danger, the fear would probably be so strong that it would cloud her mind, blurring all her hatred in one breath. And that behavior only reminded him of the limits she possessed as a tool and an individual.
Ouryou Rikako was a young woman who could simply be turned on by the weakest of blowers. She was a flame that burned as the very sun even in the deepest, darkest places. She was capable of going to hell and back to earth to spread the worst of the torments, but she was only that; a spark which could wipe out an entire forest until it consumed itself, as soon as the fire began.
Her hatred was an exceptionally sharp knife, whose glowing blade hurt both others and its own bearer. And to top it all off, in her fatal arrogance, she had the audacity to believe that the circumstances were a product of her introspection. Ironically, she enjoyed bending the will of others when she, in turn, could be easily manipulated. Makishima frowned for a split second as he watched her, feeling a current of pleasure lull his senses.
Then, as it was becoming usual and inevitable for him, he wondered what Yashiro would say in those moments. He came to imagine her standing in the room, contemplating the different materials with curiosity, until she noticed the fragile presence of Ouryou Rikako and quoted Zarathustra, perhaps, when he said: those you cannot teach to fly, teach to fall faster. And he was excited, both to see her spread her wings and to greet her as she melted into the darkness, falling so fast that it was even impossible to distinguish her. He had the feeling, and hoped, that Rikako would put on quite a show for him. He longed for Yashiro to be there to enjoy it as well.
"Now only the protagonist of the play is missing," Makishima echoed behind the spotlight that illuminated the scene.
Ouryou Rikako took a scalpel placed on top of a metal side table, in order to contemplate the reflection on its blade and caress it in the process, with a sweetness he understood. She had the look of a child on her birthday after receiving the gifts, and he truly hoped that in the near future she would use them to create works of her own.
"Touma-sensei is interested in a man called Ryoji Hashida," she informed, turning the blade in the air.
Makishima had previously conducted his own research, so the commentary did not capture his attention. He was a politician suspected of corruption and falsifying crime rate reports. Despite the criticism and opposition, it was very likely that he would continue to outwit the system, after all, money was an advantageous resource that he had the luxury of giving himself, as was the case with Senguuji.
Touma had some rather unique tastes, and he wondered what his intentions were with that man. He could not help but feel the emotion coursing through his veins as he envisioned the panic reaction of the audience, the impact it would have on society. The foundations of the Sibyl System would tremble with shame and accusation. What would Takahashi's reaction be? Fear, hatred, indignation… hope?
"I see you have not told anything to your partner," he brought Yashiro into the conversation, just as he had planned.
He knew they were very close, but he did not think it was appropriate to call them friends. Whereas Rikako was always accompanied by other students, Yashiro rigorously chose who to have at her side. The former believed she had many friends, the latter accepted solitude. They were excellent partners and would never hesitate to support one another, but he did not feel they were friends. A part of him wanted to keep it that way. Yashiro comprehended friendship in a more complex way.
When he returned to focus on the student, the way her eyes blinked with a brief but intense hesitation did not go unnoticed by someone like him, who enjoyed studying her behavior so much. Rikako continued to examine all the equipment she had been given, even if she was not looking for something specific, she was only rejoicing over and over again in the pleasure those materials gave her.
"I prefer it to be a surprise," she replied without giving the matter much thought.
Makishima could sense, in a way, an apparent unease whenever he mentioned her. She seemed to be afraid, deep down, or perhaps worried. He narrowed his eyes without ceasing to examine her, and felt the presence of Yashiro Takahashi as if she were standing right there. The guilt twisted her mind, though only in an almost imperceptible way, as time passed. Rikako was still too young and so she was driven by what others thought of her. In that case, Yashiro. She must have been someone very important in her life, although she would probably never admit it. Her pride would not allow it.
"How do you think she would take it?" he asked, crossing his arms.
Rikako's lips remained half open and slightly trembling, as if it had never crossed her mind and acted as a thorn in her conscience, firm and unyielding. There was a strange glow in her eyes that captured his attention, as grim as the night itself.
"It wouldn't be the first time she saw cruelty in front of her eyes."
Ouryou Rikako stopped for a few moments, reflecting on the edge of her own words. Makishima took a couple of steps forwards, leaving the darkness behind to reveal himself to her. That was what he was so eagerly seeking, what he hoped to receive from the young woman. He held her in his hands now, and was ready to squeeze her dry. He lifted his head a few inches, tilting it to the side as he tested the waters.
"I must assume you know much about her," he stated with a distant look.
There were seconds of utter doubt, as if a part of Rikako remained fully loyal to the other student, and refused to reveal more about her life. She was a great influence on her and he would have to work harder at that relationship. The ice seemed to break at last, however, and her entire thin body relaxed, as if a large weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
"Ever since I first laid eyes on her reading in a hallway instead of being in literature class, I knew that somehow she was different from the others."
Makishima let out an incredulous smile as he pictured the scene. It was definitely Yashiro. No one else would escape from a boring literature class to read, besides him and perhaps, Rikako herself.
"I witnessed how she simply transforms a student. It is not the first time she has done it, am I wrong?" Makishima declared, walking around while looking at her inquisitively.
Ouryou Rikako closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, inflating her entire chest, like someone who is discovered and no longer looks for an exit to hide in the shadows.
"No, it's not. She always acted that way, conscious or not of the power of her words," Rikako went on, who suddenly paused to cast a glance at him, considering whether she should continue or not. "In fact, her words can either illuminate or obscure the psycho pass of others, like a mirror."
Makishima arched one eyebrow and stopped his graceful walk, as if a huge cliff were opening up in front of him. The girl's words floated into the air, like a dark, piercing echo that twisted the minds of all who dared to listen.
"A mirror?" he blurted out, stunned.
He no longer cared at all about pretending to be uninterested, he longed, wanted to know more about it. He sensed that Yashiro was a chest full of unsolved mysteries, and he would do everything in his power to obtain the key. Rikako's eyes twinkled as if she had suddenly remembered something. Despite that he had always considered himself a patient person, the wait was endless.
"Yes, but that's not the weirdest thing," she began to explain, lost at a fixed point on the stretcher while Makishima stared at her closely, immersed in a strange complacency. "An ordinary person would break in the first few days. To observe a person's darkness without being affected is practically impossible. Yashiro, on the other hand… keeps her hue in perfect condition."
There was a deafening silence. Makishima stroked his chin in complete abstraction, trying to give meaning to the words. His entire body remained immovable as if his will had suddenly been extinguished. He could hear the slow beating of his heart, expectant murmurs in the face of a truth that had not been revealed, but which he was eager to discover from the depths of his being. A part of him believed that the level of insensitivity that Yashiro had was probably so advanced, that she avoided being affected. Yet he could not believe it, he refused to.
"Even after what happened," Rikako added in a cool tone, considerably catching his attention. "According to the little information I found, there was a night when her father tried to kill both his wife and herself. The mother murdered him with twelve stab wounds, however," she paused to exchange an in-depth look with him, making it clear that the amount was, from her perspective, a visible revelation of the hatred in that relationship. "As a result, her mother's psycho pass became so cloudy that therapy was no longer in her reach. Back then, Yashiro was fifteen years old."
Makishima had researched Yashiro's past after meeting her at the library. He even remembered the hours he had spent immersed in the network searching for her, though that was not something he was passionate about. From the first moment he knew that she was hiding something, or that her mind was trying with great insight to avoid the inevitable. He had even asked indirect questions about Yashiro's past and her current lifestyle to other teachers and students. She was known to virtually the entire academy, and yet none had crossed the bridge, either because they did not dare or because they had not really been able to.
"Not only did she see her father die at the hands of her mother, but she also witnessed her mother's death in Sibyl's vigilant arms."
Makishima's eyes shone with satisfaction and he smiled fully, drawing the situation in his mind with extreme detail. At such a young age she had witnessed death in her own flesh. She had lived through hell, and somehow managed to escape its burning flames, using that fire, that suffering, to be herself. Yashiro was the spark herself and spread the flames according to her needs, without ever consuming herself. A blast of complacency ruffled his skin.
"And yet," Ouryou Rikako brought him back to reality, squinting with a somber glow in her eyes. "I suspect Yashiro played a role during the conflict, one that… Sibyl could not judge."
Makishima shadowed his face instantly, reflecting on the chasm those words contained. He wished to look, but was not sure what he would find. Nor did he wish to draw any deliberate conclusions. From the beginning, it was both rewarding and strange to feel watched by Yashiro in the courtyard of the academy. At that moment, he had the feeling that she had something different from the other students. His senses never failed and he was able to confirm this later, when he met her, or rather, when he met a simple part of her. Her disguise was so well developed that he could barely see her real face.
And it was that same uncertainty that filled his lungs with indescribable enthusiasm. He wanted to know more about her, and he wanted to teach her about him, too. For the first time in his life someone had challenged his words, made him doubt, rethought his ideas, when in fact no one else had been able to before. Yashiro was one woman among many, a student like so many others at the academy, but she was entirely different and perhaps did not even know it. He had the feeling that she was like him and he was eager to show her the way.