Steps echoed in the stressful monotony of night, and when the shadow of the stranger was cast beside Yashiro, the latter instinctively gave him a threatening look, receiving raised hands that indicated she would not be harmed. Still, she could see that he was carrying a gun on his waist, just below the black trench coat. The subject was tall and athletic, though his features were cordial instead. Despite being rebuked by Yashiro's furious glance, he remained calm and silent, connecting the green of his eyes with those of the young woman, in such an understandable way that he even softened her expression.
Yashiro looked down. The head of Kirino Touko rested on her thighs like a sweet angel, with her eyes closed. She removed a black tuft from her face, placing it behind her ear with an almost motherly delicacy. The man took some steps forward cautiously as if asking for permission, and knelt down beside her bringing a hand toward the neck of the young girl, in order to check her vital signs. Yashiro was so far away that she did not even notice.
"Makishima asked me to escort you, and that is what I will do," the subject declared with a deep but no less warm voice.
Yashiro arched an eyebrow and returned to reality just in time, to discover that the man was standing with the body of Touko in his arms. She found the scene surreal and distant as if she were a mere spectator, yet she managed to imitate the movement and follow him closely, though she had to make a great effort to keep herself up, for her entire body weighed her down and a huge dizziness had taken over her senses. At no time did she look away from the fragile body of the girl, though something told her she was in good hands.
They arrived at a desolate and dark street where a van and another car were waiting for them. There were three men talking, and as they turned toward them, Yashiro felt a shudder run down her whole back as she glimpsed the white hair of Makishima. However, it was the other man accompanying him who came up to them, and Yashiro stopped almost unconsciously when she noticed that she herself had become the center of attention. The man pointed at her showing off all his yellowish teeth, and pulled his black hair back to get a better look at her.
"You… you were the one who killed Hideaki-san," the subject snapped clicking his tongue.
Yashiro closed her eyes when the sound of a shot broke her mind, showing her the robust body of the one who had attacked Sasayama, with a bullet hole in his chest, from which blood was gushing. She was not even able to perceive the breath of alcohol emanating from that young man, who had grabbed her by the neck with a beastly force until he hit her against the wall. The pain in the back of her neck was devastating and yet, her hands did not seek for a way to defend themselves. She did not feel the solidity of his gun's barrel on her cheek, even though when she opened her eyes, she looked at it in silence.
To her surprise, the characteristic sound never reached her ears, and suddenly the young man was pushed back by Makishima himself, who grabbed him by his black jacket and made him turn around. The subject tried to shoot, but the gun flew out of the air and as soon as he clicked his tongue, he was greeted by a kick in the chest that knocked him against the wall and made him bounce, as if he were a tennis ball. Makishima turned on himself leaning forward, and with renewed vigor kicked him again in the face, which instantly turned dark crimson. The man spat on the floor and when he stood up again, Makishima sank his skull into the wall, stretching his hands as he saw his body collapse like stone.
Yashiro had stepped aside as soon as the conflict began, and was breathing heavily as she felt her neck. She could distinguish the light skin of the aggressor on the pavement, and in front of him the enigmatic figure of Makishima. His knuckles were stained with blood, as was his white shirt and part of the cuffs of his jacket. Yashiro's eyes opened suspiciously, her lips remained slightly parted, unmoving in front of him and still, when Makishima took a few steps in her direction, denoting the glow of sweat on his face and neck, Yashiro did not move from her place.
"I am sorry you had to endure this insolence, Yashiro," Makishima stated in a voice still shaken by the effort. "Cattle will always be cattle in the eyes of a farmer…"
For some seconds they exchanged glances, until he revealed an indecipherable gleam in his eyes that the only thing it conveyed to Yashiro at that moment, was an extravagant sense of isolation. It reminded her of the transparent, smooth gaze of Sasayama Mitsuru, as he completed one of his many jobs. To the fleeting and ephemeral glow on Touma's empty face, the day he confessed the death of his mother. A few cold drops fell on the tip of her nose and Yashiro looked up to the sky, noticing the drizzle that gradually increased in intensity, soaking her entire body.
"Even if his own hand is the one feeding and providing shelter," Yashiro complemented in a barely audible whisper.
Makishima took several seconds to process her words, and when he did so, he was slowly illuminated by an authentic smile on his face, like a warm and spontaneous dawn. She did not know how long they had been standing there watching each other, but Yashiro arched an eyebrow as she heard the echo of her own steps on the pavement, while moving toward the vehicles to join the other men, who did not care at all about the death of one of their companions. Makishima, on the other hand, persisted in his stance for a few moments while contemplating her walk.
Yashiro stopped some meters away from the van and tilted her head toward its trunk, which was then closed. Her eyes slowly narrowed as if life had abandoned her consciousness, and she had to force herself to keep walking to get to the subject that had carried Touko, who gently opened the car door for her despite the threatening look that her iron eyes exposed. Yashiro just got in and sat down when she saw a nod from the man, whose skin under the eyes seemed to wrinkle with a placidity that reminded her of her mother. Her legs thanked the long-awaited calm for a long time, and she could finally relax a little, resting her head on the back of the seat.
"I never imagined the girl would resist," Makishima remarked next to the big man.
With arms crossed, he enjoyed the raindrops and ignored the fresh wind that had risen.
"She was unconscious when I found her."
Makishima tilted his head toward the passenger seat, where Yashiro was sitting with her eyes closed prey to a dismal and sickening self-absorption. She could not hear them from the inside, and watched her for a while. Even though he did not usually drive because he preferred someone else to do it for him, that night he felt an irrational interest in doing so.
"Proceed with the arrangement," Makishima ordered, heading for the car. "And make sure you deliver the package in good condition."
Katsumoto's crooked smile indicated that he could be trusted. He was no fool, and possessed the gift of knowing when to speak and when not to, which is why Makishima considered that he could count on him in cases of utmost importance. He was a loyal and faithful soldier, though a double-edged sword, for he could turn against him if he touched his daughter. That was the only weakness he had found in him until then. The others, on the other hand, turned out to be mere packs of dogs that could simply be bought. They lacked motives to do something different and meaningful. They were dispensable and replaceable tokens to him.
When he got into the car and started the engine, Makishima drove slowly so as not to attract attention, though the truth was that at those hours there was no one on the street. He wondered where the other enforcers and inspectors of the Public Safety Bureau would be. A bold smile danced over the corner of his lips, but it faded away when he noticed from the corner of his eye that Yashiro leaned her elbow against the door, bringing her hand to her head as she lost her sight outside. As he contemplated her, he could not help but be lulled to sleep by the enigmatic magnetism her entire being emitted, with Yashiro as the only one who was not aware of it.
"I did not want her to get involved," she whispered in a husky voice from beyond the grave. "I tried to keep her out of this mess, but I could only… only watch her go down."
Makishima tilted his head in her direction for a few moments. A glint in her eyes threatened to drown her, and he frowned as she fleetingly took one of her hands to her eyes. She still did no trust him enough to show herself so vulnerable, something she always tried to avoid. The effort she must have been making was enormous, and Makishima respected her for it. However, he could not see her regretting her actions, he wished that she would learn not to look back, only forward.
"You can't foresee everything, Yashiro. The human mind isn't something that simple. A machine has defined the different conditions to follow according to the problem to be solved, but a mind is unpredictable… you can't know for sure how it's going to react: if it will succumb to fear or on the contrary, it will desire revenge…"
There was a long pause where everyone was immersed in their own thoughts. However, Makishima knew that he had been listened to carefully. Yashiro kept staring at the outside, as if searching for answers in the monotony of the suburbs, but she was concentrated on his words.
"What will happen to her?" Yashiro finally asked.
Makishima sighed deeply. Somehow, he could sense that she would ask something like that, yet at least her voice was not as broken as before, but rather determined.
"We can't let her talk."
Yashiro clenched her fist tightly over her leg, and at no time did she turn to him. She was unable to make sure that he was at her side. It was as if she did not really want to recognize him.
"We can convince her…"
Makishima narrowed his eyes looking straight ahead. Yashiro still could not let her go. She was chained to her, a mere student, and squirming with guilt inside, something Makishima could not and would not tolerate. Suddenly, his entire face darkened as if he had received the worst of news, one that incited him to violence.
"I see you haven't taken into account Machiavelli's lessons, Yashiro. Especially, when he claimed that, men ought either to be well treated or crushed because they can revenge themselves of lighter injuries, but of more serious ones they cannot. Therefore the injury that is to be done to a man ought to be of such a kind that one does not stand in fear of revenge."