"Two Earl Grey teas and some madeleines, please," Shibata asked as they sat at one of the tables farthest from the audience, where it was absolutely quiet.
Yashiro remained silent studying his refined manners, until minutes later a girl approached them politely, bringing them what they had asked for. No sooner had she stepped away again than the man picked up a madeleine with a peculiar sweetness, then dipped it in the tea in front of him while Yashiro watched the scene intently, like if it were his private ritual. In all that time he did not say a single word, although she had the feeling of being under full watch. Yet she was so immersed in how the madeleine was becoming soggy, that she kept thinking at some point it would break and fall into the cup, splashing tea on the table.
"I love drinking tea and dipping madeleines in it," he said in response to her thoughts, as he put one of them in his mouth.
Yashiro was standing still, following each of his movements with bewilderment. Anyone else would have been uncomfortable by the weight of her gaze, but that was not the case with the man. She could not believe that he was using such an ordinary tone with her, when minutes earlier he seemed to have wanted to crush her literature teacher, merely because she was in his way. Again, she focused on the next madeleine he picked up, to dip it in the cup. A grimace of disgust rolled off her lips, causing the man to stop halfway, without dipping it. It was then that she intercepted his eyes, as if he had finally noticed her presence.
"If you keep dipping them, the tea will lose its aroma," Yashiro warned him.
For a few eternal seconds they watched each other as two travelling companions, who, after dividing their journeys, met again to tell each other any and all of their experiences. Yashiro felt that he was someone who knew how to listen to both the sweet words and the revealing whispers of silence. A playful yet defiant smile lit up his fine face for one fleeting, short second. Rather than listening to her, he simply dipped the madeleine into the liquid, never ceasing to look deeply at her, as if trying to appreciate every detail of her skin. Yashiro frowned, but did not allow herself to become entangled in the clear provocation.
"Perhaps, but its essence will remain intact," he objected, absorbed in an endless number of questions and answers. "Do you believe the essence of your classmates will also remain intact? Or will it succumb to your words, as it did with Hisakawa Izumi?"
A shiver of pure pleasure ran down Yashiro's spine, as she let out a brief smile and lowered her gaze to take a sip from her tea cup, allowing herself to be intoxicated by the sweet aroma it emitted.
"It is true that words have a great influence on the way we think, after all, we are the product of circumstances; however, I agree with Sartre that man is condemned because he did not give himself existence, but he is free because he is solely responsible for what he does," she pondered aloud, losing her gaze in different directions.
The teacher left the cup of tea on the table and stared at her before answering, as if he were actually searching for a meaning to her words.
"We limit ourselves to a reliance upon that which is within our wills, or within the sum of the probabilities which render our action feasible," he quoted Sartre, bowing his head slightly in silent approval.
Yashiro looked back at him and smiled, slowly squinting, like dawn on winter days that are only perceived by those who enjoy contemplating what is beyond their reach. She had the feeling that this man shared much more with her than she could or dared to admit, never before in her life had she been so curious about what was going on in the mind of another individual. How could he, a mere stranger, be so close? Who was he under his disguise?
"Yet, we are in a society where the potential capacities of each individual are chosen in a standardized way, suppressing the possibility of error through condemnation… to fail once in Sibyl's eyes is to have failed as a human, and therefore, it is no longer possible to be part of society…"
Yashiro plunged back into the cold waters of her mind, and her attentive companion joined the current flowing alongside her, such a log lost in the middle of a river trying to keep her afloat. A log that could save her, and at the same time, sink her into the depths of uncertainty as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Whenever a topic related to the system in place in his country arose, the appearance of the professor took a huge and visible turn. His face was darkened like a beautiful flower withering, the glow in his amber eyes went on to burn anyone who dared to look at them.
"And when error is no longer allowed, the human being is stuck, with no possibility of evolving. If the Sibyl System is terrifying, it is because it nullifies all possible human evolution. The perfect dictatorship, since it freezes all possibility of the passage of time. People don't have to worry about anything, just let themselves be lulled to sleep by the sweet whispering where work, art and thought remain immovable forever, in a stagnant water in which all the following generations will think the same as the first…"
Yashiro could not help but think of the exuberant number of talents that were lost, the research or inventions that were suppressed as unchangeable sacrifice to find order and peace. She understood then the meaning that all utopia required great sacrifice, but she could not, and would not accept, that the sacrifice to achieve it was to abandon everything that made them human. She simply did not wish to live all her life in such a world.
It was only people like the professor in front of her, who made that world a place where she would be willing to live. Being understood in a world that lacked all meaning, was somehow comforting to her. Yashiro finished her tea and nodded gently, staring at the surface; the distant murmurs from the other tables had long since ceased to be of any importance to them, they were just listening to one another. She found it hard to believe the direction in which her thoughts had gone, as if of their own free will.
"The problem… is that a system that doesn't evolve, in the long run is as fragile as glass," Yashiro exposed, with a slightly cold tone. "The Sibyl System will collapse… but only when it becomes unsustainable, when it contradicts itself."
Professor Shibata opened his eyes wider as he ate a madeleine with the usual calm that represented him, and again he glanced at her speechlessly for a long minute. He seemed to be analyzing every word, every feeling found in hearing them. He was astonished in a way that he did not mind hiding, or at least not in her presence.
"How do you believe it can be achieved?" he asked at last, overflowing with an impressive, human curiosity.
Yashiro was moved by the fact that his voice sounded as if he really wanted to hear her opinion, as if he needed advice. It was something he would not do with others. The effort he must have made in order to break a part of his disguise and show himself more to her, was exuberant.
"I've always asked myself the same question. I believe that, like any system, it's susceptible to change from within."
The teacher grinned softly and victoriously, shaking his head. He had caught her in his question and was enjoying it inwardly.
"Inside everything is structured, perfect," Shibata declared extending his hands on either side of the cup. "Outside is where chaos is found, it is where individuals willing to destroy it can be born."
Yashiro was in complete agreement, but she was conscious that they were talking about structural changes and reforms that could take years, decades, or even centuries; the human mind was far too complex, even for something as rational as the Sibyl System. To convince society that there were alternatives, that the system had to change—and disappear, in the even more distant future—would be an almost endless war, which would pass in the slow passage of time. The revolution would be subtle and imperceptible, which they could only witness once Sibyl's foundation had collapsed on its own, haunted by the voices and cries of its own citizens, those it so vowed to protect.
"Careful," Yashiro warned with a mischievous grimace and a somber tone, leaning her body forward a few inches, while resting both arms on the table and clasping her hands together, as if about to reveal a secret. "With that tongue, one day the entire Public Safety Bureau will fall upon you."
Before those bold words the young man curled his lips gently, until he flashed a sly grin that was incomprehensible to her; the mere mention of the organization that was dedicated to fighting crime in society amused him, or rather, enthused him to a degree she did not fully grasp. His eyes were dilated shining like gold and honey, constantly fixed on the person in front of him. He was not just any person to be found, for his mind was intriguing even though his face or expressions did not reveal what he was thinking, besides which his disguise as a professor was used very often and chose well who to approach.
"I could say the same about you," he replied slowly in an almost hoarse voice, narrowing his eyes. "Although in your case, it already has…"
Yashiro's mischief faded after a few seconds, following an unconscious sigh in complete irony. Deep inside, she could feel the fire longing to escape, rising to the heavens, burning her into a scarlet landscape that blended with every observer. For some strange reason, when she found herself in the presence of Professor Shibata, the sea that usually drowned her became calm at the sound of his voice, and she was able to rise to the surface. She wanted to speak, but only silence came out of her throat, and a sense of isolation tore at her lungs as if she were gradually running out of air.
Yashiro half-closed her eyes staring at a fixed point far above the professor, as if looking at the sky through a window. Her body was utterly stiff due to his words, even though the stupefaction she felt was the greatest she had ever experienced in her life. If the sea of her mind had remained calm until then, at the time it seemed to be washed away by the violent waves, but there was no one to offer her a hand; Professor Shibata seemed to wish to contemplate both her sinking, and her coming out of the waters of her own free will.
The amber eyes kept studying her with that subtlety that so characterized them, but at that moment she realized that they expressed something else, since they sparkled in pursuit of success, they held a hidden truth that was waiting to be discovered. He was neither a friend nor a companion; he acted as a mere observer. Yashiro found herself strangely absorbed as if the world were passing before her eyes, analyzing her, waiting for her response. He knew far more than she would have expected and he displayed it in his gaze. Yet, he seemed to ask permission to continue and Yashiro finally focused her attention on him, moved by such courtesy.
"It is the ghost of your parents that is haunting you, isn't it?" the man asked, bluntly as if he had been waiting for that moment all his life. "You can see their faces in your dreams, and guilt twists you."
Yashiro frowned, blinking for a moment. She could not help but look away when the very familiar female face stood in front of the young man, like a faint distortion of reality. He noticed it and then stretched backwards, bowing his head slightly in her direction. For a long minute, neither of them spoke. Yashiro's face was a gray and almost transparent stain in the midst of the darkness that was trying to take over her. Her mind was a cold, wet jungle that entangled her, and everywhere she looked, the past was swirling around like raindrops on her forehead. The curiosity her companion must have had for her was far greater than she had expected, and she wondered how deep he had dug.
"Only my mother's," Yashiro emphasized solemnly, and with some disdain in her voice added, "some parents don't earn the love of their children."
The teacher arched an eyebrow, not at all bothered to hide his reaction. If he had trusted his words would drive Yashiro to despair, he had ultimately failed irrevocably. And that mistake provoked a fleeting smirk of admiration, implying that he had underestimated her. He half-opened his lips and was speechless for a few simple seconds, concluding in a dark, impenetrable smile. To him, that situation was nothing more than a game, but he had realized that Yashiro was not just another piece. He found it amusing to be talking to her, he enjoyed watching her go from complete stupefaction to the deepest hatred in a matter of seconds.
"Do you think if your father had not died that day, your mother would still be alive?" Professor Shibata asked in a peaceful and innocent tone.
Yashiro held his gaze for a few long seconds, absorbed, in truth, by the direction the conversation had taken. It seemed that the man sitting opposite her, had been waiting a long time to ask her such questions. The teacher's disguise was beginning to crumble and she could spot the real face underneath, the one he was trying so hard to hide. He wished to wear her down to her shell and discover how interesting she was inside.
"He would have killed us both," she muttered in a bitter sigh.
Yashiro's sharp words gave way to a half-minute silence, in which both remained engrossed in their own thoughts. Responding in such a manner caused her a sense of peace that she had never appreciated before. Her whole body relaxed in the chair instantly, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. And only then, did she realize how important the need to share that feeling had been, the same one that night after night was eating away at her. In the end, it was true that an innate desire that all human beings had in common, was to be recognized by their peers. After all, existence is defined by the perception of others; if a person dies and everyone forgets about him, how can one corroborate that he ever existed?
"What did you feel when you killed him?" he just blurted out.
Nothing in her finite existence could have prepared her for that question. Yashiro looked into his eyes, noting the radiant interest they displayed. She closed her eyes in despair as the images raced through her mind, causing excruciating pain in her chest. She perceived the warm blood back on her hands, which doubled with each stab. Life had abandoned her father with the first ones, but she continued to handle the knife with a suddenness that was not like her. Her mother was safe, but she believed that body could awaken at any moment and harm them.
When she finally stopped her action looked at what she had done, panting from exhaustion. The scene seemed so unreal that for a moment she felt disconnected from her body, as if she were not herself, as if she had ceased to exist. A shudder ran through her whole body as if she had suddenly taken a bath in cold water, and she abruptly returned to reality. Lying was such a simple thing that one could quickly get used to its action, but something in the young man's eyes prompted her to tell the truth, to describe the unheard of.
"I felt like everyone was approving of my answer," Yashiro whispered avoiding eye contact. Then she closed her eyes, feeling like a child again. "I was… relieved. I felt good."
He, to her surprise, nodded slowly and deeply. The warmth in his fine features expressed an indescribable complicity and Yashiro contemplated a smile lightening up on his face. All the fear she had felt until then was soon gone.
"That's why I'm here," the young man stated in a whisper. "To prove that the pleasure you felt, was from trying to save your mother. For surviving. Not for killing your father."
Yashiro blinked several times, as her thoughts flowed of their own accord and took shape and meaning in her mind. Her lips trembled with suspicion, being noticeable enough for someone who observed as accurately as Shibata. It looked like they were about to utter a word, but a second later they regretted it. Blood was returning to her hands and she could still sense the smell of death permeating her own skin, as if it were already part of her own.
She lost her sight in another direction, but her mind was still processing that horrible image with the efficiency of a machine. She remembered in great detail the enormous peace that had swept through her after she finally realized that her father had died. At that time, she could think of nothing but her victory. She had not even wondered how her mother, who had suffered twice as much, would be. The only thought that crossed her mind, in that situation, was that of having successfully dispensed justice.
"I'm not sure I didn't mean to hold that knife," she admitted in a quavering voice.
The professor raised his face a few inches, apparently moved by the sincerity of her response. Yashiro saw the reflection of her face on the knife blade, felt the cold of the material clinging to her skin, complementing her entire soul. Her hands clenched into a fist and she rested them on her legs, trying not to show her condition. The professor stayed properly seated with his arms together on the wooden surface. His eyes were glowing like those of a child on his birthday.
"If your intention was to kill him, it's because you understand his motives. It's beautiful in its own way, if you can analyze it," Yashiro gave him a quick glance, frowning, and he continued in a melodious, imposing tone, while leaning forward a few inches as if to share a secret, "expressing the unmentionable."
The young man tilted his head to the side, as if seeking her approval. And Yashiro understood, she had been through it herself. It was not like solving a problem in the logic of an algorithm or repairing a car, whose solutions were predictable. However, she could not help but look out, embarrassed, in a way, by those extravagant feelings that lay beneath her skin. The isolation that seeped into her bones was something she found hard to struggle with, and the atmosphere was stifling.
"You feel bad because you enjoyed killing him?" he asked slowly, savoring the words in a tone bordering on sarcasm.
Yashiro knew then that he was trying to get inside her mind, to go even further than she thought. She studied his features, the action of those words he so skillfully used. He was definitely no ordinary person. He seemed to enjoy people's reaction, the attitude they took towards extreme situations, even if they crossed the fine line of the socially accepted. She managed to calm her hands, which until then had remained tightly closed over her legs, and gave him a penetrating glance, as threatening as death itself.
"I feel bad because I couldn't save my mother."
With those sincere words, a deep and bitter silence was formed. As the man examined her every expression, Yashiro simply stared at the table, her lips pursed. She felt that she was on the verge of tears, she could sense the wetness in her eyes, but she held back with all her might, reluctant to appear vulnerable in front of him. The thin body of her mother had been reduced to ashes, right in front of her eyes. Beside her stood the perpetrator of the slaughter. So small, and yet it managed to take away the will of the bearer, succeeding in judging people with its own voice. It was easy to take a life when one's will fell on something else.
"Sibyl must enjoy it too," he remarked, leaning forward gracefully. "It always does."
Yashiro blinked, noting the obvious contempt reflected in both his voice and his burning amber eyes. He was truly willing to do anything to see the system that ruled the country crumble. He fantasized about watching it destroyed by the free voice of its own citizens. He longed to stand before its fall, observing the fire consume everything in its path.
"And it feels good about that?" she asked in a raspy voice.
The young man paused, looking in another direction to seek inspiration, until he returned to the silvery eyes of the student.
"As expressed by Tamora, the Queen of the Goths: is the sun dimmed that gnats do fly in it? The eagle suffers little birds to sing and is not careful what they mean thereby, knowing that with the shadow of his wings, he can at pleasure stint their melody."
His words echoed in Yashiro's consciousness, but instead of slowly fading away they remained present. Some that were understandable and robust enough not to be forgotten.
"Have you ever felt the same, Shibata-sensei?" she suddenly asked, with a sly and inquisitive grin. "Or should I say… Makishima Shougo?"
If the man was surprised, he did not show it; he just released a sweet, gentle smile, narrowing his eyes. Yashiro stayed impassive for a few moments, completely upright, until she softened her expression and stretched out in the chair, looking at him with clear complicity. He must have had his reasons for concealing his identity and decided not to ask any more about it. If in ancient times all people were innocent until law proved otherwise, at present-day everyone was a potential criminal waiting to be judged. And his presence was, for the first time, certainly threatening.