She woke up again in the same old, deplorable house, stunned by the screams of desperate parents, who at first argued with their hands until they were submerged in violence, both of them only warned by a teenager, their daughter, who hesitant and terrified shook from head to toe by the situation she thought she had provoked. The father's eyes had always been gray, but that day they seemed to burn with fury, and he demonstrated it by his actions in front of the defensive posture of his wife, until the latter lost her balance and fell directly on the floor, hitting her head with the chair.

By the time the man turned around in search of his daughter, she had already gone to take a big knife out of the kitchen, which she held with her two trembling and inexperienced hands, while she looked weeping at her mother's body on the floor and understood then, that she was alone; her innocent and youthful aspect only made her father laugh, who pounced on her like a wild beast, while she simply closed her eyes tightly, as if that way she could undo the inevitable.

Time seemed to stand still, as did her entire heart. The teenager felt her hands completely wet and warm, and when she opened her eyes again, she noticed, to her shock, the blood gushing like a crimson spring from her father's chest. The dark eyes stared at her in confusion and fear, as if he no longer recognized her, and he let out a deep groan of pain as the knife buried itself even more in his skin, causing him to stagger and fall backwards, with the teenager on top of him.

Terror, hatred and despair merged into a single feeling, and when the man tried to smother her as the last maneuver of salvation, she was already releasing all that force in a frenzy of blood she had never experienced before; she felt the adult body quivering with pain under hers, drowning in his own sea of suffering, whose waves were disturbed by the uncontrollable desire of the young woman.

The father had a twisted and bitter smile, he kept looking at her full of satisfaction and victory, but he had long since given in to deep sleep, and yet the teenager could not bear the weight of that face, she wanted to make it disappear, she needed to destroy it in every way possible, even if there was no face in him to look at.

After some eternal seconds she stopped, and the shock hit every part of her mind like hundreds of needles, her heart was beating so fast that she could not think clearly, she did not even notice how her father's body had been left, for her sight was fixed on some distant point, while she succumbed to the inexplicable feeling that took over all her senses, to the point of leaving her numb, in complete harmony.

By the time the mother regained consciousness, it was too late. She had a bleeding head wound and a cut on her lip, probably from the blow, yet she did not seem to mind. First thing she did was to turn to her daughter to get her out of that mess, taking away the knife that was still clutched in her hands, as if she could not or would not want to let it go, and then she gave her a deep hug, transmitting the longed-for warmth of a mother.

However, the young woman was no longer able to feel her, for she was immobile like a corpse, as detached from reality as if she had ceased to exist, as if she had left with her father. And at that very moment, the sound of a door breaking came from the other room, followed by footsteps, which alerted the woman prompting her to take her daughter's hand, who was so self-absorbed that she did not understand the situation at all, and let herself be carried away as much as a clam being caught by the tide.

"We are from the Public Safety Bureau!" a short, black-haired man snapped in an authoritative manner. "Drop the knife!"

The woman had become stained with blood and separated from her daughter with her hands up, instantly dropping the knife. This time, however, the teenager blinked when she saw that automatic weapon aimed at her mother's shaky, thin body, and witnessing its fearful transformation, she threw herself at the executioner as a shot in the dark. Her hands grasped the air, half a meter from the man who was preparing to carry out his work, with a dazed smile as if it were a simple game for him, when the black-haired and gray-eyed one held her back.

It was already late for the woman, and in a fraction of a second, she was reduced to guts and flesh in front of the three people present, like fireworks. The shot and the smell of death dragged her into reality, and Yashiro suddenly opened her eyes and settled into the seat. She had instinctively extended her right hand forward, just as she had done as a child. She felt a tightness in her chest as if she were suffocating, yet little by little her pulse returned to normal and she rested her head again on the seat back, lowering her hand. Her body was a cold, wet blanket, as if she had finished a marathon while at rest.

She did not know at what point she had fallen asleep during the trip, but when she woke up she was alone in the car, and discovered the figure of her companion when he opened the door for her to get out. It was only for an instant, yet she got a glimpse of the decrepit reflection of her face in the rearview mirror. Her eye sockets were wrinkled and red due to insomnia, the paleness of her skin giving her a sickly look.

When Makishima offered his hand to help her out, Yashiro unconsciously responded to the gesture, for her mind was still in a deep sleep, and memories exerted a force over her entire body, taking away her desire to continue; her own weight seemed to wear her down and she suddenly felt old, as if time had gone by faster than expected. Makishima tightened his grip for a thousandth of a second, and when they parted Yashiro managed to recover her senses, having to squint for a few moments to incorporate herself to reality, and finally be able to raise her gaze again.

She did not know where Makishima's income came from, in addition to his salary as a professor, but it was clear that he received external help to buy everything he needed. From the extraction team, made up of several men who followed his orders, to the sites they established as their own clandestine centers. They were located in a sort of empty subway parking lot, which was no longer in use. As they moved forward, she could not help but feel inhibited by the darkness that reigned in the air, almost completely dominated by a simple light above the elevator.

The van she had seen before was also parked, but Makishima's men were not around, so she concluded that they would have arrived before them. As she looked around for signs that might reveal the location, all she found was a comforting silence. They must have been far from the center of the city, or at least somewhere uninhabited. Knowing Makishima, she was sure that the latter option was more feasible. She could not hear any sound, no cars passing by or people coming home from work. She was beginning to wonder what had happened to Sasayama, since she had not seen him again.

"The enforcer is upstairs, waiting for you," Makishima broke the silence, in a dark and mesmerizing tone.

Both walked slowly side by side, through the huge parking lot in the direction of the small elevator. Makishima's eyebrows were arched in a solemn and indecipherable manner, and for long seconds they remained in silence, barely exchanging a single glance. When Yashiro finally tilted her head toward him squinting, she stopped short provoking the same reaction in the other, as if he could sense each of her thoughts.

"Waiting for me?"

The abrupt and hoarse tone she used caught Makishima's attention, who turned gently to face her, at first losing himself at a higher point than her, until he arched an eyebrow and bowed his face, with a look that seemed to soften as he studied her then confused features, as if the question posed were so obvious, that he found it amusing. Yashiro stared at his eyes, falling once more into the abyss they displayed. One that was beginning to clear up, like the distant light in a lonely tunnel.

However, before Yashiro parted her lips to ask again, she was suddenly drawn to a movement behind him, and looking over his shoulder, she discovered two figures coming out of the elevator. One of them was carrying a gun, and as soon as he saw Makishima he ran into the darkness, followed by the other smaller, slower figure. When he was a few feet away, he raised his arms to aim at him.

Sasayama's hair was a mess, its natural color blending with a dark red. The clothes had folds everywhere, a reminder of the fights he had gone through. It took almost a whole minute before he finally tilted his head toward her, slowly and distressingly as if even gravity affected him. His lower lip was slightly cut and a trickle of blood fell from his nose. One of his eyes was half closed, and the skin around was a little red.

When Sasayama connected with her his eyes burst open in frustration, yet especially, in bewilderment. He was speechless in her presence, as if he thought it was a hallucination produced in response to the loneliness of the parking lot. Still, as seconds passed and he realized that the young woman was a real image, his lips gently closed, until he gulped and just closed his eyes, unable to keep looking at her.

Yashiro stepped aside faster than she would have admitted, placing herself a few steps ahead of Makishima. The enforcer looked at her more closely and a smile lit up his dismal face. At that moment, the figure of Kirino Touko emerged from the shadows, approaching Sasayama until she stood right behind him, like a small guardian angel fluttering around. When Yashiro's gaze met hers, she felt a heaviness in her entire chest and her eyes narrowed, unable to see her again as she had once done.

"Takahashi-san," the enforcer whispered in a pitiful tone, more to himself. "You were right. I walked down a steep path and now, you slipped with me."

It was then that Makishima turned toward the voice, remaining totally upright with a mournful, almost cadaveric expression, as if the interruption exasperated him to such a degree, that he wished to disintegrate the intruders with the simple amber of his eyes. He was unarmed, yet he did not seem to care at all. Yashiro felt her breathing become heavier; her range of vision centered entirely on Sasayama's stolen revolver. She turned to Makishima, who watched impassively and casually as he threatened to take his life, as if silently prompting him to pull the trigger.

"It can't be," Kirino Touko whispered in a broken voice, as she pointed to the other student. "After all we've been through…"

Yashiro filled her lungs with air as she perceived the pain in each feature of Touko, who went on to look at her like a stranger in the middle of the street. She remembered then who had knocked her out, yet a part of her did not want to believe it, and when she saw her next to the jailer her whole appearance was transformed to let hate pass.

"There is only one way to put an end to this," Sasayama sentenced in an animal and inhumane grimace.

Yashiro felt time stand still as she noticed the movement of the trigger, and the relieved sigh of Kirino Touko reached her ears. She caught a glimpse of a trickle of blood on Makishima's forehead, she could see him falling backwards onto the floor in slow motion, and the sound he made against the pavement stuck in her mind, echoing loudly across the parking lot. Touko's scream of horror left her breathless, in the same position, unable to feel the cold night air, or Makishima's modest yet somber smirk fixed on her back.

The first projectile was directed very close to Touko, but when the enforcer tried to change the direction to aim at Yashiro, she pulled the trigger again, reaching the side of his abdomen. Sasayama let out a muffled scream and his body rolled over like a spinning top, before hitting the concrete floor on his back. Yashiro was unable to feel Touma's gun in her own hands, yet the echo of the shots made her look up.

Makishima clicked his tongue, taking a few steps around as he watched Yashiro, who continued to hold the weapon with trembling hands, as if attached to its touch in body and soul, unable to let go. Barely breathing and with her eyes more silvery than usual, she came to the enforcer, who had taken his hand to his chest in a futile attempt to contain the bleeding, and was shaking at the scarlet warmth that colored part of his belly.

"Takahashi-san…"

The young woman lunged at him like a beast, extending her hand with unintelligible speed. The enforcer threw his head back slightly and squinted. His face started to sweat and his breathing quickened. The barrel of the gun remained fixed aiming at his forehead. Yashiro's eyes were completely cold and dark, as if she had suddenly stopped being herself. Sasayama gulped. He was shaking like a dog in the rain and his teeth hissed at the warmth of his skin.

"This is an opportunity you must not pass up, Yashiro," Makishima whispered magnificently, like a snake surrounding a mouse. "What you've always dreamed of from that moment on, you can now make it come true."

During all that time the enforcer watched both of them with a dull gleam in his eyes, one that Yashiro had never seen before but was capable of understanding. Silence continued to grow like a morbid spectator, and when Sasayama noticed the strange bond between the two of them, he instinctively shook his head, stopping at Yashiro's figure as if to ask for help. Still, the young woman did not answer his silent prayers, she just stared at him with her eyes narrowed, like a small child spotting an insignificant ant on the ground.

The eyes of the enforcer glittered as if he wished to shout something, but from his throat came nothing but moans of pain, and his body was petrified, impotent before the transparency that such a glance exerted upon him. Yashiro grimaced with her lips, wanting to get him out of her sight at that very moment, and just as her finger touched the trigger, the figure of Touko stepped into her line of sight, standing next to the young man to try to help him with the bleeding. As she turned to her, on the verge of tears, Yashiro saw the horror in each of her features.

"Go ahead, shoot," snapped the enforcer. "Isn't that what your mother would want?"

Yashiro clenched the revolver with renewed vigor, half opening her lips and showing her teeth in a repulsive grimace. She could not help but see the dominator in action, the innocent and dazed face of the enforcer carrying out the orders imposed by the system. She could even glimpse the red liquid bathing the entire floor in front of her, while contemplating the remains of what had once been a human body.

"She didn't deserve that. It didn't have to end that way. Why didn't it choose me? What's different about me? How does it then distinguish a murderer from an innocent?"

Sasayama slowly squinted his eyes, allowing himself to be obscured by the meaning behind the words. Suddenly, the sting that covered his chest like a vine had faded into the background, and he focused on the vulnerable yet dangerous image of Yashiro, with faint but clear tears running down her cheeks. Sasayama shook his head, unable to believe his ears. He did not seem able to face the reality that her eyes were displaying, and for several long seconds his lips remained firm, containing the cold avalanche that was sweeping down his throat.

"You…"

Yashiro was unaware of the remorse in the voice of the enforcer, who frowned in an exacerbated manner when he realized horrified, that the case that had been closed years earlier, had a different culprit. He had killed an innocent, and there was nothing he could do to make up for it. He did not even dare say another word, for he feared that Yashiro would become even more enraged and put a bullet in his skull.

Yashiro felt the blood splatter on her cheeks. She could see the way the enforcer's head was stretched backwards, decorated in an almost mesmerizing red. And then, her mother's body replacing it until it became a mass of crushed flesh. Yashiro's hands trembled at the image, while her index finger danced beside the trigger with a certain shyness. She looked down to focus on the gun barrel, and her entire body detached from her mind, leaving her adrift.

Like Touma Kouzaburou with his own mother, Yashiro had dreamed of that moment for years. In different ways, in different places, yet she had always longed to reach those circumstances. At that time, a part of her desired, needed to pull the trigger. To make him disappear, just like her father. The enforcer was beginning to lose consciousness, his eyes could not stay open much longer.

Yashiro leaned slightly forward, raising the weapon again to aim directly at his face, with surprising yet fleeting energy. Her eyes narrowed and turned to glass, and behind her back Makishima flashed an expectant and satisfied smile. But once again she was unable to pull the trigger. The memory of her mother invaded every corner of her mind, but it faded almost instantly, and for the first time Yashiro felt the icy embrace of the most absolute emptiness.

The first one to be surprised was Makishima, who when contemplating the way she stood upright, slowly lowering her arm, arched an eyebrow without being able to believe in what he saw. The enforcer was unconscious under the arms of Kirino Touko, due to blood loss, and the last thing she heard was a bitter sigh. Yashiro noticed that the younger girl was relaxing her body, yet she kept looking with the same suspicion, reminding herself where the bullet had come from.

"How disappointing," Makishima expressed in a deep, authoritative voice, shaking his head. "After everything he did, you forgive him?"

With a final nod in the direction of the enforcer, and although she was aware that he might die if he did not receive medical attention, Yashiro turned around, connecting her gaze to the disappointed Makishima. At first her whole body went numb, reluctant to approach the man a few feet away, until she managed to control her impulses and started walking forward.

"Wait!" Kirino Touko blurted out. "You can't just leave him like this!"

Yashiro turned halfway around and watched her out of the corner of her eye, just as she stretched out in her direction, collapsing to the floor. Her cheeks were red and there was a dull glow in her eyes. Although Yashiro had dodged one last bullet, Sasayama Mitsuru was dead to her. Every time she looked at Touko her chest swelled up, leaving her breathless, and that time the effort she had to make in order to continue was twice as great. Makishima noticed the way her eyelids closed, more than usual, while the silvery iris sparkled with a peculiar discretion.

When she turned to Makishima he slightly frowned, being illuminated by her iron determination like a rough diamond. For the first time, the amber in his eyes glowed with frustration, and his features darkened as he melted into the young woman's gaze. But in a fleeting moment he changed direction to see something behind her back, and Yashiro heard a thud, followed by a sharp sound like something crawling on the floor.

Touko had slipped to where Sasayama's revolver was, and in a blink of an eye managed to get to her feet, starting to shoot in the direction of Yashiro, who ran to stand behind a column dodging the projectiles. Touko was not a good shoot, yet one of them left a trace on the pillar, inches away from her arm, and Yashiro felt a chill run down her back, until the shots stopped and she heard a low noise, as if from something breaking. When she bent down to look for the girl, she could distinguish Makishima's silhouette behind her, wrapping one of his arms around her neck.

As she left the column, Yashiro recognized the gun in Makishima's hands, which was just a few inches away from Touko, grazing her cheek. However, at that moment what Touko cared least about in the world was her own life, and her hungry gaze was fixed on hers. By then Makishima's men had arrived and were standing around, forming a circle. Yashiro did not need to utter a single word, she just stared at him, with more desperation than hate, and it took Makishima a few seconds to accede to that plea.

Yashiro let out a sigh of relief when Makishima released her. He was a man who seemed to have no scruples about making the life of a human being dance on a thread, even if it was an innocent one. For him, there was nothing more important than ensuring victory in his game, and the pieces on his chessboard were simply controlled by his hand, or abandoned as soon as they ceased to provide an advantage. She was able to glimpse that face under the mask, getting in the way of reality.

Yashiro took a few steps toward the young woman and when the latter noticed her proximity, she twisted like an animal and tried to reach her from the floor with her hands, surprising her to the point of making her fall backwards, yet one of the men managed to stop her at the moment she tried to pounce on her neck, holding her on the floor. Kirino Touko grunted like a hyena that is caught, with bloodshot eyes. Yashiro blinked at the sudden blow and took a few moments to stand up again, thus finding the figure of Makishima at her side, who seemed to scrutinize her like a crow until he decided to return to his men.

"Take the enforcer away," he ordered, without waiting for a reply. "Do not let him die, I need him alive."

Yashiro glanced at one of the subjects, and instantly recognized him as the one who had found her in the alley beside Touko. Despite showing seriousness in his work and in directing others, Yashiro could tell by his appearance that he cared about Makishima, just as much as a right hand. He followed his orders without a shadow of a doubt on his face, yet he did not seem as meek and blind as the others, he had his own motives and money must not be one of them.

"What do we do with the girl?" a younger man asked, pointing his thumb at Touko.

"Lock her up," Makishima answered with conviction. "And make sure she does not get away again."

The men set off, ascending through the elevator until Yashiro lost sight of them. She had become so engrossed in Kirino Touko's head down that she was slow to notice the recent presence of Makishima, yet when she did, she walked slowly toward him and stopped about three feet away, being scanned from head to toe as if it were their first time meeting each other.

"I will never forgive him," Yashiro rebuked, tilting her head in his direction. "But his death won't bring my mother back, and the pleasure it will give me… will be only for a moment…"

Makishima raised his eyebrows for a fraction of a second, absorbed by both her words and the exceptional sharpness of her voice, until he released an ironic and deep chuckle, shaking his head.

"In my life I have known many who have slipped down the slope of revenge… but this is the first time I have ever met someone aware of its perpetuity, how quickly it corrupts your soul and how useless it is to quench your thirst."

Yashiro could not help but feel a shudder at his words, which resembled a melodious whisper and at the same time, a cry drowned out by memories to which only he had access.

"You fooled us all from the very beginning," she admitted looking straight ahead. "To Touma, to prevent him from killing Sasayama, and to me… to try to take revenge. All this… to what end?"

Yashiro furrowed her brow, trying to find the answers for herself. It was then that she realized how little did she know him, even though the similarity between the two of them was inexorable. The abyss had opened up in front of her, and she could feel gravity pulling on her mind, guiding her into the darkness.

"Since I was a child, I like to listen to the stories that others have to tell—"

"You look at a painting and idealize its artist," Yashiro stepped forward. "You finish reading a novel, and first thing you wonder is what inspired the writer…"

"Everyone has secrets, desires that they suppress in order to be part of society," Makishima continued in a dreamy ecstasy. "I teach them to accept them, to realize them, and I observe how intense the light they emit is."

"And when that light is no longer attractive enough, you let it go out on its own or promote its obfuscation—"

"You look surprised," Makishima replied in an amusing tone, placing one hand on his hip as he lifted his face and returned it to her. "If you accept that not all roses emanate the same smell, wouldn't you be willing to let the valley burn, just to save the one you saw blooming?"

Yashiro did not respond and eluded his gaze for a thousandth of a second, gulping and losing her sight in different directions. Her eyes were shining even though she retained the glow with all the willpower she had left. Makishima on the other hand, observed her with great joy, aware that he had her in his hands. When Yashiro finally decided to turn around and turn her back on him completely upright, she stayed in the same position for several seconds, with the intention of leaving and at the same time, listening to the sound of his voice for the last time.

"How do I know you will keep your word?" she asked in a stern tone, casting a sidelong glance at him.

"When the time comes, you will know."