~ Adjudication ~
Of Rhyme and Reason
Wake up, leave your hesitation,
Wake up, time for us to realize,
Wake up, show appreciation,
Wake up, time for us to realize…
"Celia?"
Celia stirred at the sound of her name, for it was not a voice she was accustomed to hearing first thing in the morning.
"C'mon, C. Wake up," the voice came again, more insistently this time.
"Faith?" Celia murmured sleepily.
Faith smiled, his eyes twinkling with relief and amusement. "You must be pretty busy. I never thought I'd find you sleeping here," he remarked.
Celia looked around, finding her surroundings vaguely familiar. "Where are we?" she asked quietly.
"Where are we?" Faith echoed dubiously. His smile disappeared, replaced by a worried expression. "Are you sure you're alright, Celia? I mean, we've only met up here, what, a dozen times in the past three weeks?"
"Of course," Celia whispered, recognizing the green logo painted on the window. She shook her head, trying to shake off her dazed stupor. "It was all just a dream. Just a stupid dream."
Faith sat down beside her. "You look tired, C. Maybe you should go home and get some sleep," he suggested. "Just tell your client you couldn't make it, and ask to meet up another day instead."
Celia couldn't remember any client, and when she glanced at her computer bag, she saw immediately that it was devoid of any prints or other physical goods. "No, I wasn't here to meet anyone," she said quickly. "Well, anyone other than you."
"Then I can come see you another day, then," Faith offered. "You still have my number, right? Just shoot me a text next time you're here. Don't beat yourself up like this."
"I'm fine," Celia murmured. "It was just a dream."
"A dream?" Faith asked curiously. He studied her expression, and then smiled sympathetically. "A bad one, huh?"
Celia chuckled. "Was I that obvious?" she asked.
"Just a little," Faith winked. "Anyhow, I really should quit bothering you if you're feeling under the weather. You want me to drive you home?"
Celia shook her head, then leaned back in her chair.
"Do you want to talk about it, then?" Faith offered.
Reapers. Noise. The Underground. Blake Daniels. The Conductor. Each vivid image flashed through Celia's mind, too real to be simply a dream, but too surreal to be true. Was there even a Blake Daniels? Or had she made up the name on her own? And what of all the others she had met in the Game? She could see each of their faces as clearly as if she had just left their side.
"You were there," Celia finally blurted.
"Me?" Faith asked, puzzled.
Celia nodded numbly. "You were… some sort of demon," Celia whispered. "I died, just like everyone else. Blake, Graham, Jason, Laura, Vivian… even Selena and Dennis. We were all dead, and you were the Reaper who came for us."
"Me? The Reaper?" Faith smiled faintly.
"Never mind. I'm just being silly," Celia said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "It was a dream. That's all."
"No worries," Faith said, trying to reassure her. "If it makes you feel better, I'm definitely not a demon. Or at least, I wasn't the last time I checked."
"I know," Celia said, laughing lightly.
"Of course you know. You saw my wings, didn't you?" Faith asked.
Celia's laughter died in her throat, as Faith's crystallized, frozen wings spread wide.
"You saw them, remember? Right after you killed me?" Faith said contentedly.
"No," Celia whispered. "It wasn't real. It was a dream. This is a dream."
"Were they the wings of a demon? The wings of a Reaper?" Faith asked, continuing to smile as if everything in the world were right.
"No," Celia murmured. "No, please…"
"NO!" Celia cried aloud, sitting bolt upright.
"It's okay. You're fine, Celia. It was just a dream," Blake said soothingly. "Come on, settle down. Everything's alright."
Celia took a deep breath, then looked around, recognizing the room she had been taken right before the Game began. The sun peeked through the eastern window, resting high up in the sky, casting a soft, warm glow into the room. There were no remaining signs of the Game Master's fierce winter storm.
The Game Master.
Faith.
Celia slumped backwards, lying down to the carpeted floor once more as images of her friend's final moments assailed her. She saw again the jagged wound her lightning bolt had inflicted and every last scorched, frayed thread of Faith's torn shirt. She saw again Faith's frozen wings, the same wings that had shielded her from the wrath of the Conductor's Noise, the same wings that had shielded her from Faith's own Noise form.
"Finally," Blake was muttering. "I've been trying to wake you forever." Then he saw that Celia had laid back down. "Hey, Celia. You alright?"
"Oh, just let her rest," Laura interrupted. "That last mission was brutal."
"I guess," Blake conceded. He shot Celia another worried glance. "At least the Game's over. Cheer up, Celia. I'm sure Faith's already on his way…" Blake began.
At the sound of Faith's name spoken aloud, Celia's eyes grew moist with unshed tears.
"Hey, come on, don't cry," Blake pleaded, suddenly at a loss for words.
Vivian moved past Blake and knelt down gently at Celia's side, putting a comforting hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "You're safe, Celia. The Game is over," Vivian said soothingly.
"Cheer up. We'll all be alive soon," Laura said brightly. "Hey, Blake told us the Game Master's your friend. He'll be glad to see you safe, too, right? Though I bet he has some explaining to do…"
Another pang stabbed at Celia. "Gone," she whispered.
"Gone?" Vivian asked blankly.
Celia sat up and looked at Blake, knowing that if anyone could possibly understand her at that moment, he would.
"What happened, Celia?" Blake asked in a hushed tone, unnerved by the haunted look in his former partner's eyes.
"He's gone," Celia whispered. "I… I killed him."
Blake stared at her for several seconds, not quite comprehending her words at first. "What? You couldn't have. I wasn't there with you, remember? And even if I had been there, you saw how powerful he was. He could've erased all of us Players at the same time with both arms tied behind his back."
"Our timers ran out," Laura added reassuringly. "Vivian and I even held a little countdown party. One of the Reapers even turned up, the same one who brought us some warm clothing when we couldn't find any stores open."
"It was only a dream," Blake said patiently. "We heard you shouting in your sleep, Celia. It was a nightmare, that's all. I'm sure Faith is fine. He'll show up any minute now, I bet."
Celia took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Blake, listen to me, please," she pleaded. "It wasn't a dream. He became my partner. Then he made me attack him."
"Calm down, Celia," Blake urged. "You're not making any sense. He made you attack him, after running away from us? He became your partner? Players and Reapers can't become partners, can they?"
"She partnered up with the Game Master before, didn't she?" Laura pointed out. "On the day we had to fight those strange black Noise.
Blake grimaced. "Right. I guess it's possible, then, but our timers ran out, didn't they?" he asked in a pleading manner.
"I… I couldn't defeat him," Celia tried to explain. "He was holding back the entire time, and still, I couldn't… he won. Then the Game was over, and he stopped attacking, and…" She swallowed painfully, trying not to remember the exhilarating surge of power she had felt, and the drained feeling that had come over her after activating her psych. "I killed him," she whispered.
Blake eyed Celia silently, finally beginning to believe her words. "Then… he must have meant for it to happen," he reasoned quietly. "He must have wanted you to erase him. He wanted you to erase him, to become the winner of this game."
"To become the winner?" Laura interrupted curiously. "Aren't we all winners? We survived, right?"
Not wanting to be the one to crush the other Players' hopes, Blake ignored Laura's question. "Celia, you were right to trust Faith," Blake said, becoming more confident in his guess. "He really was looking out for you. He could've erased us countless times, but instead he let you erase him, just so you could be alive again."
Blake's theory made sense to Celia, and if anything, that only made the guilt she felt ten times worse. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, curling herself up against her knees, rocking gently as she tried her best to distance herself from the world.
"Blake, what are you talking about?" Vivian asked insistently, sensing that something was wrong. "What did you mean by the winner of this game?"
"I… uh… I can't…" Blake stammered uncomfortably. "I don't know for sure, either, but Graham, I mean… look, you'll see. I think."
Laura and Vivian both stared at him suspiciously, but the tongue-tied teen was spared further interrogation by the sound of the room's door opening.
Two men entered the room. One was Sho Minamimoto, the Conductor, dressed in his favorite black coat and jeans and wearing a sulky expression. The other man was hardly visible, for a supernatural light obscured his figure, blurring most of his features. His hair and clothing were all of the purest white hue imaginable, and though his silhouette seemed roughly humanoid, even his height was hard to pin down.
"Alright, you brain-dead binomials," the Conductor began, without any introduction. "This game's over, and the Composer has his desired solution. Now, before we move to the next step, there's a few theorems we have to…"
"Minamimoto-san," the man in white interrupted in a calm, yet firm tone. His voice was high and cold, seeming something less than human, yet at the same time, something much, much more.
The Conductor sighed. "Of the sixty Players participating in this game, only the seven of you have survived. Congratulations. However, by the Composer's decree, only one victor will be returned to life."
"W-What!?" Laura gasped.
"Only one?" another player exclaimed in horror. "What happens to the rest of us?"
"That's not fair! We were told we would all get a second chance!" Vivian protested.
"You zetta sons of digits have no voice here," the Conductor growled fiercely. "The Composer's word is the only constant!"
"Minamimoto-san!" the man in white interrupted sharply.
The Conductor rolled his eyes in disgust. "If you factoring hectopascals have a problem with the Composer's rules, take it up with the big number yourself," Minamimoto offered wryly, gesturing towards the radiant man standing beside him. "Now, then, regarding your fates. Blake Daniels, step forward."
Blake tensed up and glanced nervously at Celia. "Why?" he asked.
"Zetta slow," Minamimoto groaned. "The Composer has chosen you, you worthless zero. You will accompany him from this room, and your life will be returned to you.
Blake shook his head. "No way," he refused, gesturing towards Celia. "She should be the one to go back, not me. Forget about me. Give her back her life."
"You insignificant yoctogram, you have no value here!" Minamimoto hissed.
Blake ignored the Conductor, turning his pleading look to the Composer instead.
The Composer beckoned, and Blake found himself moving forward automatically. "Stop!" he protested, beads of sweat dripping down his face as he tried to resist the Composer's will. But the teen's body refused to obey him, and soon he stood at the Composer's side.
"What will happen to the rest of us?" Laura asked despairingly.
"There are three possible solutions," Minamimoto replied. "You incompletes can embrace your inner nothingness and accept erasure. You may play the Game again and let us erase you there instead. Or you may live again as a Reaper."
"You want us to become Reapers?" Vivian murmured.
"Those are your choices," Minamimoto said indifferently. Then he glanced over at Celia and smiled wickedly. "Except for that tasteless dodecahedron. She's made a few too many deviations from our rules. Erasing two of our Reapers, partnering with the Game Master, and fighting on after the Game's end? She'll be zetta done once the Composer's through with her," he cackled.
"What!? No!" Blake protested, though his body still felt thoroughly petrified. "You can't! None of that was her fault!"
"Urusai!" the Composer interrupted loudly.
"That means shut up," Minamimoto translated for Blake with a wink.
But the Composer didn't seem to be paying Blake any attention, and had turned to face Minamimoto directly.
Minamimoto sighed. "Hai, Shinjin-sama!" he said in a sickly sweet voice, bowing with mock deference.
Even beneath the veil of light, it seemed as if the Composer was shaking his head in frustration.
A door materialized behind the Composer, appearing so quickly that it seemed as if it had always been there. He opened the door, grasping Blake with his free hand.
Then he seemed to think better of it, and he turned around once more, stepping forward lightly until he was standing at Celia's side.
Celia looked up at him unflinchingly.
The Composer reached towards her, and only then did Celia realized she was still wearing Faith's coat. It didn't even occur to her to pull away as the Composer gently pulled the coat off of her, extracting a pin from one of the coat's inner pockets.
A sphere of ice formed around Celia, leaving her trapped.
The other Players burst into protest, Blake's voice loudest among them, but the Composer seemed indifferent to their complaints. He made his way back to the doorway, seizing Blake's wrist. "Yakusoku no nai asu dearouto, kimi no tatsu basho ni kanarazu mai modorou," he announced, his quiet voice carrying loudly over the other Players.
Then the Composer disappeared through the door, and with one final, fleeting look back, Blake followed suit.
"Alright. Which will it be?" Minamimoto asked, moving up to Laura, the closest player. "Erasure, the Game, or the Reapers?"
Soon, Celia and Minamimoto were the only two who remained in the room. The Conductor had approached each of the Players in turn. All five of them had elected to become Reapers, and when Jason, the last of the five Players to be approached, made his choice known, they had all promptly disappeared.
Minamimoto stared at the last remaining Player appraisingly, and Celia could see the malice in his eyes. She knew the Conductor was trying to decide how best to torment her further. She knew, and she didn't care.
But when Minamimoto opened his mouth to speak, another voice cut in.
"That's enough, Minamimoto."
The shock of hearing that voice finally brought Celia out of her stupor. Standing behind Minamimoto was none other than Hanekoma.
The middle-aged Japanese man looked exactly as Celia remembered him, with his white collared shirt and plain black vest. "Hey there, Snowflake," he greeted, before turning to the Conductor with a stern look in his eyes.
"An inverse matrix," Minamimoto muttered, shaking his head in dismay. "What are you doing here?"
"Start walking, Minamimoto. Your work's done for the day," Hanekoma said, offering no answers.
Minamimoto glared at Hanekoma challengingly, but seemed genuinely afraid. Finally, with a scowl, the Conductor turned and stormed from the room.
"Hanekoma, what are you doing here?" Celia asked, stunned.
"You didn't look too happy, so I thought I'd drop by and try to keep that troublemaker in line," Hanekoma shrugged. With a simple wave, he dismissed the barrier imprisoning Celia. "You've probably got a million questions for me, but this isn't really the place, you know? Let's go sit down somewhere a little more comfortable."
"But what about the Composer?" Celia asked. She looked towards the door the Composer and Blake had disappeared into, only to find that the door had vanished, too.
"He'll be along when he's good and ready. I'd say you spooked him a little with your earlier display," Hanekoma winked. "Come along, now."
There was flash of light, and Celia found herself and Hanekoma standing in an unfamiliar alleyway. Celia knew at once that they were no longer in Seattle, for it was dark out, and the nearby buildings seemed noticeably different than the old-fashioned homes and towering skyscrapers that she knew.
A giant mural in a distinctive graffiti style covered the wall in front of her, bearing thousands of unique designs. There were images of people, of animals, of places, and of all sorts of miscellaneous things. Every piece of the mural seemed to shout out to Celia, telling a different story, but they all shared one distinctive style.
"It's beautiful," Celia whispered, awed. Somehow, the sight of that mural was enough to dull the pain she felt. For the first time in days, she felt truly at ease.
"Why, thank you," Hanekoma said, smiling faintly.
Somehow, it didn't surprise Celia to learn that Hanekoma was the artist behind the masterpiece before her. What did surprise her was that she recognized a small portion of it. "That cat…" Celia whispered, her eyes settling upon an image of a teenaged woman holding onto a black stuffed animal.
"A cat? Most people assume it's a pig," Hanekoma remarked.
"I've seen it before," Celia whispered. "A friend of mine drew it for me. He said it was based off of something a friend of his drew, but I thought… I thought he just couldn't draw."
"That special friend you mentioned before?" Hanekoma asked curiously.
Only then did Celia think back to her first conversation with Hanekoma. "You knew about the Game already," she realized aloud. "When we met, you knew what I was. You recognized my pin, and the pin you gave me wasn't just a blank pin, either."
"Oh, I know the Reapers' Game quite well," Hanekoma confirmed.
"Who are you, Hanekoma?" Celia asked.
"You truly interested in an old man like me?" Hanekoma grinned. "Alright, I'll tell you a little. The name's Sanae Hanekoma. Born March 3rd, blood type A. I'm a Pisces, and one hip café barista. I'm a big gambler. My favorite word…"
"I mean, what's your part in the Reapers' Game?" Celia interrupted.
"I don't have one, at least not in the game you played," Hanekoma said. "Shibuya has its own Underground. Here, I'm sort of a guardian. I watch the Game, to make sure shady types don't start bending the rules."
"You're like Michael, aren't you?" Celia guessed. "He's the friend you went to Seattle to visit."
"Who?" Hanekoma asked, puzzled.
"Michael Ariel. He called himself the same thing: a guardian. He said he was a Producer," Celia remembered. "That's what you are. You're the Producer here, aren't you?"
Hanekoma chuckled. "You should be careful about using that title. Players aren't supposed to know about the Producers, Snowflake. Neither are Reapers, for that matter. I guess it's no surprise that you know, though, given the circumstances."
It was Celia's turn to look puzzled.
"This way, Snowflake. We can talk while we walk," Hanekoma said, leading the way down the alley. "I've never met Seattle's Producer. I've seen some of his work, though. Just between you and me, I wasn't all that impressed. You, on the other hand… you're packing some serious Imagination, Snowflake."
"Um… thanks?" Celia said uncertainly, unsure as to whether she had just been complimented or insulted. "Where are we going?"
"To my café. Dawn's still a few hours off, so it'll be a nice, quiet place for us to sit down and talk," Hanekoma explained.
"Hanekoma, I don't understand," Celia apologized. "You really do own a café? But you're an artist, too; how did you ever find time to create that mural? And you're a Producer on top of all that, too? What is a Producer, anyways?"
"Well, it's like this," Hanekoma began. "Every Underground is led by three people: a Composer, a Conductor, and a Producer. The Composer is the one who defines the Underground itself. The Conductor is a Reaper chosen to serve the Composer, and to represent the Composer to the rest of the Reapers."
"And the Producer?" Celia prompted.
"The Producer is the Composer's partner," Hanekoma explained. "No one asides from the Composer, not even the Conductor, is supposed to know that the Producer exists. The Producer keeps an eye on the Game and the Underground as a whole. He also leaves a mark on the Game, the Underground, and the Realground through his work. Consider the mural I showed you, for example. I've placed two imprints upon it, not unlike what you, as a Player, could accomplish with your Player pin. My mural holds a special allure to individuals with strong Imagination, and bids them to live in and enjoy the moment. Shibuya's Composer and I firmly believe that to be necessary in building a better Shibuya, see?"
The two of them came to a small coffee shop, with a sign inscribed with both Japanese and English characters. "WildKat," Celia read curiously.
Hanekoma opened the unlock door, politely hold it open for Celia. "After you," he said.
The two of them stepped inside, and Hanekoma began busying himself with one of the machines behind the counter as Celia sat down at the nearest table.
"As a Player, you must have come across the Producer's work, even if you did not realize it at the time," Hanekoma said, continuing their conversation from before. "The Producer creates the Player pins as well as similar protective pins for the Reapers. He also supplies props for the Game itself to be used in its missions."
"Like the castle," Celia said with a nod, remembering the sixth day's mission and the incomplete sculpture Michael had left behind.
"Here," Hanekoma said, sliding a mug of coffee to her.
"Oh. Thanks, but I don't really drink coffee," Celia declined politely.
"Just try it," Hanekoma smiled. "It'll take the edge off your nerves." He filled a second mug, but rather than drinking from it, he set it upon the counter.
Reluctantly, Celia took a sip of her coffee. It was remarkably soothing, and just as Hanekoma had promised, she felt some of the tension leaving her.
Some, but not all.
"What's going to happen to me now, Hanekoma?" Celia asked quietly.
"That's up to you and the Composer," Hanekoma replied.
"How can it be up to me? The Conductor was right. I was breaking rules left and right," Celia whispered.
"Most of what Seattle's Conductor says is nonsense, anyways," Hanekoma said reassuringly. "Forget about him, and think about what you want."
In truth, Minamimoto's words had been the least of Celia's concerns. She stared into her swirling coffee, pondering the barista's question. Returning to life seemed less appealing than ever, and certainly nothing worth enduring the life of a Reaper for. In comparison, erasure seemed to be a far kinder fate.
The door to the coffee shop swung open, and Seattle's Composer, the white-clad man obscured by his own radiance, stepped into the shop. He seemed to glance in Celia's direction, then turned towards Hanekoma.
"Konnichiwa, Sora-san," Hanekoma greeted brightly.
"Hanekoma-sama. Arigatou gozaimasu," the Composer said, bowing deeply. He seated himself at the counter, catching the remaining mug of coffee as Hanekoma slid it across the counter.
Celia felt a strange sense of déjà vu as she watched the two men converse quietly in rapid Japanese. At the same time, though neither of the two seemed to be paying her any attention, she somehow knew that they had not forgotten about her.
Hanekoma confirmed that thought a second later. "You know, Sky, I appreciate the effort you've made to speak to me in my own tongue, but we should probably continue this conversation in your language. I'm sure our guest would appreciate it, too," he said. "And while you're at it, you may as well take off the mask. If there's anyone left in the world who you can truly be honest with, I'd say it's the two of us in this room right now."
"Modest, isn't he?" the Composer remarked wryly, turning to Celia and gesturing at their host.
Though the Composer's voice remained as inhuman and otherworldly as it had been when he was speaking in Japanese, Celia found it keenly familiar this time. She froze, hardly daring to believe what she thought she had heard.
The light surrounding the Composer faded away. Underneath, his clothing changed, too.
Then it was no longer a mysterious man dressed in white sitting at the counter, but Faith.
"The mask, too," Hanekoma insisted sternly. "You may as well be honest with her, and yourself for that matter."
Faith took another sip of coffee. Then he breathed in deeply, and Celia understood what Hanekoma had meant by mask. Faith's confident, unshakeable demeanor crumbled away. Instead, the man sitting at the counter was the man she once knew from the coffee shop in Seattle. A man who, by his defeated and weary expression, had just spent a week living in hell.
"Faith," Celia whispered, rising to her feet and slowly approaching him.
Faith set his coffee down and stood, facing her evenly. A sad sort of smile came across him. "Hello, Celia," he said, and there was the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. Then he gasped in surprise as Celia crossed the last few steps between them in a hurry, embracing him tightly.
"You know, I was really expecting you to hit me or something," Faith said thoughtfully.
Laughing and crying at the same time, Celia reluctantly pulled herself away. "I thought you were dead," she whispered tearfully. "I thought I killed you."
Faith seemed quite embarrassed. "Even if you had killed me, it wouldn't have been your fault," he said quickly. "I'm the one who pushed you into throwing that bolt, after all."
Celia's face screwed up in confusion.
"I needed to see how powerful your Imagination really was," Faith explained hesitantly. "Imagination is the power of your Soul. In the Realground, it's what drives you to create, and what helps you give meaning to what you create. In the Underground, Imagination lets you power your psychs. I knew you weren't using all of your power against me, so I had to give you a little nudge."
"A little nudge?" Celia echoed.
"Up until that moment, I had been containing my own negativity," Faith said with a grimace. "The pact between us was unnaturally strong, and I didn't want to risk my own frustration and bitterness influencing you, too. At the end of the Game, I let you see all of those emotions at once."
Celia looked at him in horror.
"It's not what you think," Faith said quickly. "I didn't actually want you to erase me. You're a remarkably calm person, and I knew that you would restrain yourself quickly. I was confident that you wouldn't be able to destroy me in that short burst of anger. You got much closer than I thought, but I have no one to blame for that than myself."
"I… I don't understand," Celia said, shaking her head. "You were playing games with your own life, too? How could you do such a thing?"
"You can call it a game if you'd like, but it was more serious than anything else I've ever done in my life," Faith assured her. "But that's not really the best place to start." He sat down at the table Celia had been sitting at earlier, beckoning for her to take the seat across him.
"To start?" Celia asked, more confused than ever, obediently seating herself once more.
"I promised you answers, right?" Faith said, smiling sadly. "No more riddles, no more half-truths, as soon as I figure out where to begin."
"Could you start with who you really are?" Celia asked, though in truth, she dreaded the answer. "Faith isn't your real name, is it? Hanekoma called you something Sky just now, didn't he? And I think the Conductor called you something else earlier, too."
"Mr. H likes his little nicknames," Faith chuckled, glancing at Hanekoma. "But I suppose my name is as good a place as any to start. I don't believe Faith was the name I was born with, but it's the closest thing I have to a real name."
"You don't believe that was the name you were born with?" Celia asked dubiously.
"Do you remember when I told you about how I took a vacation to Japan, and ended up staying?" Faith asked.
"Of course," Celia said.
"I was in school at the time. Probably the University of Washington, since I still remember bits and pieces of Seattle from that time, but I'm not really sure. There was some sort of accident, and I lost my family," Faith said. "I know, I'm not being very specific," he admitted, when he saw the expression on Celia's face. "But there's a reason for that."
"A perfectly reasonable reason," Hanekoma offered with a knowing smile.
"I visited Japan in an effort to get away from everything I knew," Faith went on. "I picked up a bit of Japanese in school, just enough to convince me that visiting Japan wasn't a horrible idea, but not enough to actually do anything useful. My terrible luck followed me here. There was a major accident on one of the main roads here in Shibuya, involving a bus, three passenger vehicles, and over a dozen pedestrians. Nearly twenty people were killed in the accident. I was one of nearly twice that many who were rushed to the hospital with life-threatening injuries. I sustained a severe concussion and permanent brain damage that day, leaving any of my memories from before the accident in shambles. I lingered on for three days longer before passing away."
"And you woke up in the Reapers' Game," Celia guessed.
Faith nodded. "I had nothing left but a few scattered fragments of memories. The Reapers took that, too, as my entry fee," Faith said. "I didn't particularly care about the Game. Living, dying, it was all the same to me at the time. I ended up partnering with a former Reaper who no one else could stand: Sho Minamimoto. He got thrown into the game for crimes against Shibuya's Underground. We drifted through the game aimlessly, watching the other Players play, for the most part. That's when I got my name."
Faith smiled wistfully, as if he were thinking of better, simpler times.
"Japan's an interesting place. It has a beautiful, rich culture and a wonderfully diverse population. But there's a darker side to it, too. Xenophobia is surprisingly common here, and some of the Reapers took a particular disliking to me. They gave me the ironic nickname Shinjin, the Japanese word for faith or belief, of which I had neither," Faith said. "Not long after, I met Mr. H. He was a bit blunter, calling me Sky. Sora, in Japanese, which can also mean emptiness."
"I thought it was appropriate," Hanekoma chuckled.
"At the same time, Mr. H was the one who convinced me not to give up," Faith continued. "Do you still remember your words to me that day, Mr. H?"
"Sure do," Hanekoma grinned. Then he straightened, as if doing a serious impression of himself. "Listen up, Sky. The world ends with you. If there's truly nothing for you, either in your past or future, you can only expand your world. You're just going to have to push your horizons out as far as they'll go."
"Those words exactly," Faith grinned. "Nonspecific advice, right? Is that just so you can give it to anyone and everyone, whether or not they ask?"
"You've got me there," Hanekoma laughed.
"Anyways," Faith said, turning back to Celia. "Mr. H gave me a pin that day, too, one that I've been wearing ever since." Faith reached into one of his pockets, extracting a red pin emblazoned with a black pattern that vaguely resembled a skull. He held it out to Celia, who accepted it curiously.
Almost immediately, Celia heard the same voice that she had heard upon scanning Faith.
"To right the countless wrongs of our day, we shine this light of true redemption, that this place may become as paradise. What a wonderful world such would be…"
"What is it?" Celia asked curiously, handing the pin back to Faith.
"This is the final legacy of a great man," Faith said. "A Reaper who truly loved his people and city, who staked his very existence on the cause of making his world better. I suspect he ultimately lost, for little else remains of the man whose Soul was partially imprinted upon this pin. Nevertheless, he paid that price willingly to defend Shibuya, and Shibuya still stands today, beautiful and proud. That is what inspired me to become a Reaper. I had nothing left in life – no past to build upon, and no future to reach for – but here, in the Underground, I could play a part in making our world beautiful."
"So you survived the Game and became a Reaper," Celia said slowly. As she spoke, she thought of something else, of Faith's words to her in her dream. "But you aren't a Reaper, are you? I saw your wings."
"You're right. I am no longer a Reaper," Faith confirmed. "I spent several years here as a Reaper in Shibuya's game. Then I was sent home to Seattle to restore the Underground there."
"Restore? What happened to it?" Celia asked.
"I don't know," Faith admitted. "Maybe the former Composer abandoned it, or maybe something happened in Seattle to cause the Underground's collapse. Or maybe there was never an Underground there to begin with. I don't think it's likely, but it's possible. Regardless, I was sent there to be the new Composer, and in doing so, I went through a process we call Ascension."
"What's Ascension?" Celia frowned.
This time, it was Hanekoma who answered. "Humans belong in the Realground, while Players belong in the Underground. These are two different planes that exist side by side, sharing the same space. Noise exist somewhere in between the two, while Reapers belong to both planes, capable of shifting between the two as necessary," he began. "But there's a higher plane, too. Reapers with sufficient Imagination may eventually undergo Ascension, becoming Angels, entities belonging to this higher plane."
Celia's eyes went wide with shock. "A-Are you saying Faith's an Angel?" she asked.
"Yes, but Angels aren't really what you think they are," Faith said quickly.
"Most Producers, and all Composers are Angels," Hanekoma explained. "It gives us more freedom to exert our Imaginations on the lower planes. Becoming a Composer is the most common form of Ascension."
"You would speak of the Producers?" Faith interrupted warningly. "You have yet to shake the title or stigma from your first offense."
"Then what's the harm in adding another?" Hanekoma laughed. "Besides, Snowflake here knew of the Producers already, and with good reason."
Celia found herself slightly intimidated when she next looked upon her friend. "Okay… I think I understand," she said. "But if you're an Angel, and the Composer, why were you also the Game Master?"
"Because the new Seattle Underground hasn't developed sufficiently to sustain ordinary games," Faith explained. "All I had was myself, the Angel assigned to me as my Producer, and a handful of Reapers that the Composer of Shibuya agreed to lend me. I decided that the Conductor, Producer, and I would each administer a single instance of the Game. The rules would be relaxed in favor of the Players, which would make it easier to recruit some Reapers native to Seattle. Easier, but expensive."
"Expensive? What do you mean?" Celia frowned.
"Why don't you tell me? What do you think the purpose of the Reapers' Game is?" Faith asked.
Celia mulled the question over for several long moments before answering. "I think… I think the purpose is to look at the people who've died, and measure how much good they can do if given another chance to live."
"Precisely," Faith agreed. "The Reapers' Game isn't about preventing undeserved deaths. Most deaths in our world are undeserved, at least from a perspective of life. The truth is, death isn't something horrible or evil. Death adds a contrast to life that guides people to find meaning, and death is part of the cycle where weary and tired Soul can be broken down and reforged into something new and refreshing. Death is crucial to life, and every time we grant a victor resurrection, every time we reweave reality to bring someone back to life in a nondestructive manner, we are tarnishing the integrity of both life and death. The same usually holds true for creating Reapers. Once in a while, a Reaper can be given a wholly new life and identity in the Realground, but more often than not, creating a Reaper calls for a sort of resurrection, too."
"There were seven of us who survived the Game," Celia remembered. "Blake was supposed to be resurrected, and the other five chose to become Reapers."
"So that's six deaths so far that have to be undone, and all the strands of reality over the past week rewoven to make that possible," Faith said, smiling faintly. "Going against the natural flow of life is extremely messy, even if you disregard the paperwork."
At the mention of paperwork, Celia couldn't help but laugh.
"But speaking of the others, there's something else I must apologize to you for, Celia," Faith said. "Your partner, Blake Daniels, should not have been this game's winner."
"Really?" Celia asked, surprised.
"Your Imagination is far more powerful than his is, and your potential so much greater," Faith explained. "Blake Daniels was declared the winner for one reason alone: he was killed by the Composer. In trying to save your life, I accidentally took the life of another, which no Composer is supposed to do. As a result, in order to defend my Underground's stability, I granted Blake a handicap before the game began. If he survived, he would be the one to be granted resurrection, regardless of his performance during the Game. Since you chose him as your partner, your chance of receiving true resurrection was essentially nonexistent."
"Well, resurrecting him wasn't a terrible decision," Celia said thoughtfully. "Blake changed a lot during the game. He really became a much better person."
"But will he stay a better person?" Faith said doubtfully. "His entry fee was his skill at his favorite game."
"Huh? But he said he wasn't very good at… oh," Celia understood.
"Exactly," Faith said. "He was on the verge of achieving his dreams of becoming a professional gamer. He cherished that hope so greatly that he was willing to push away everything else in his life. It took great effort and sacrifice for him to reach where he was. When I took that away from him, he could finally reevaluate the price he had paid. What do you think he'll do when he finds his misguided dreams within easy reach once more?"
"I think he'll know better this time," Celia said confidently. "Isn't that part of the Game, too? For us to learn about ourselves and grow? He lost his entry fee to gain perspective, but he doesn't have to lose perspective to regain his entry fee."
"True," Faith agreed. "It's all possible."
"Hey, um… Faith? What was my entry fee?" Celia asked.
"And so we've come to the first question that I cannot answer," Faith said with a grin.
"Huh? But the Composer chooses the entry fees, I thought," Celia said.
"Technically, the Conductor is supposed to," Faith corrected. "However, Minamimoto was never truly fit for that kind of responsibility. Honestly, I'm pretty sure Shibuya's Composer sent my former partner back to me as a prank. He knows Minamimoto and I don't get along. After Minamimoto thoroughly botched his first Game, erasing nearly every Player involved, the Producer and I agreed to divvy up most of the Conductor's duties."
"Oh," Celia said.
"I handpicked most of the entry fees, but…" Faith began, trailing off in search of the right words. "Okay, this might sound stupid, but I couldn't bring myself to invade your thoughts," he finally admitted. "I asked Ariel to choose your entry fee instead."
Faith reached into his coat for a sealed envelope, which he handed to Celia. "I found this letter for you among Ariel's belongings, after he was erased by Minamimoto. He assured me that he could defeat Minamimoto, but when I found this, I realized that he must have understood that losing was a real possibility. Of course, since Ariel was holding onto your entry fee, it should have been returned to you upon his erasure in the middle of the game. If you didn't notice it being returned, maybe this letter will clear things up for you."
Celia opened the envelope carefully and began silently reading the letter.
Dear Miss Celia Winter,
I am confident that this letter will find you at the appropriate time. When it does, several key, foreseeable events will have occurred.
Firstly, I will have been defeated by Sho Minamimoto, the temporary Conductor of the Seattle Underground.
Secondly, you will have faced the trials of Taboo Noise, likely exacerbated by my premeditated failure.
Following said trials, you will have been reunited with your friend, the Game Master.
Finally, you will have survived the Reapers' Game, and this letter will be delivered to you by either the Game Master or the Composer himself.
They are, of course, one and the same. If he has not revealed that truth to you yet, I implore you to demand it of him. He will not refuse you.
I am writing this letter to you mostly to apologize regarding the matter of your entry fee. The fee that I chose was your innocence regarding your newest, yet closest, friend. I firmly believe that in condemning you to face Faith Hollow, I have already taken all that I can from you.
My regret is that this entry fee is fully non-refundable. By its end, the Reapers' Game will have irreversibly changed you. Many new roads await you, but the road leading back will be forever closed. For this, I humbly apologize, and can only wish you the best in finding yourself a brighter future.
I would also like you to understand that when I revealed my identity to you, it was no accident. Revealing even the existence of the Producers to a Player is a grievous crime, and under any ordinary circumstances, I would have paid a hefty price for my indiscretion. However, I am confident that I will be exonerated, likely without even a true inquiry. Your Imagination has not – and indeed, cannot – go unnoticed.
That leaves only one final matter to address. You are a kind and understanding person, and I imagine you have begun to appreciate the difficult position your dear friend was placed in. Any anger you may feel towards him is fully justified and understandable. I only ask that you not be too harsh on my former partner. A great weight rests upon his shoulders, and with my departure, he must now bear it alone… unless, of course, you choose to stand by him.
Thank you, Miss Winter, and may the light above smile upon you.
Sincerely yours,
Michael Ariel
Producer of the Seattle Underground
Celia read the letter a second time over, and then a third time. Then she offered the letter to Faith.
"It's for you, isn't it?" Faith asked without reaching for the letter.
"Aren't you curious about what it says?" Celia asked. "He mentions you a few times."
Faith shrugged. "I suspect his words were for your eyes, and your eyes alone. If you want to tell me what they said, I'll listen, but I won't pry," he replied. "Did it answer your question, at least?"
"I think so," Celia said, folding up the letter and sliding it into her pocket.
"Then, unless you have any other questions for me, it's time for you to make your decision," Faith said. He spoke reluctantly, as if he wasn't pleased at all with what was to come.
"Sure," Celia agreed. "I have to decide between being erased, playing the Game again, or becoming a Reaper, right?"
"Those are the normal three options, yes," Faith said. "If it helps you decide at all, I am fairly confident that the Reapers' Game will not break you. If you want to live again, free of the Underground, do not be afraid of the playing the Game again."
"There is, of course, another option available to you," Hanekoma interrupted.
"Yes, I was getting to that," Faith said impatiently.
"Another option? What's that?" Celia asked.
In answer, Faith reached down to his belt, drawing the handgun he had used to kill Blake. He slid the weapon gently across the table, and it came to a rest directly in front of Celia.
Celia glanced at the weapon, confused. "What's this for?"
Faith held his hands up over his head, assuming a defenseless posture. "One shot is all it will take," he said. "This is why I had to test you, Celia. As a Player or Reaper, you will always have to answer to the rhythms of others, but you have the Imagination to become something far greater. She who erases a Composer becomes Composer in his stead. Erase me, and the city of Seattle, both the Underground and Realground, will answer to your tune instead. Erase me, and I can be at peace, knowing that I've played my part and that my city will pass into hands more capable than my own."
"I think we've been over this before, Faith," Celia said, exasperated. "My answer hasn't changed. I'm not going to erase you, and if you mess with my head to make me do it, I won't forgive you this time."
"Please, Celia," Faith said quietly. "Think about it. This is your chance. When you speak, your voice will reach millions, and every person who hears you will take away something a little bit different. Something that will make their lives richer and more fulfilling. That's what you will be able to do as Composer. I accepted the name given to me when I found renewed faith in the world. Today, that faith rests within you."
"What about my life, Faith?" Celia demanded fiercely. "I didn't play the Game so I could change the world. I played the Game because I wanted to find my way back to my friend, and now that I'm here with him, I am not going to kill him. Not for my dreams, not even for the world, and certainly not for the job that's made you so miserable throughout this past week."
"I was miserable because I'm not cut out for this job, Celia," Faith said mournfully.
"That's not true, Sky," Hanekoma interrupted. "That's not true at all. This week made you miserable because you stood alone. You've always stood alone. You and Minamimoto never partners in anything but name. While you were a Reaper, you worked alone. I wasn't surprised in the slightest when you could not find yourself an adequate Producer; and even when one was assigned to you, you two were never truly partners."
"We were," Faith protested. "Ariel and I worked together whenever it counted. I even trusted him to battle Minamimoto alone, and look where that got me: Taboo Noise everywhere, an echo of Minamimoto, and an Underground that now lacks for a Producer."
"You allowed him to battle Minamimoto alone because you did not think it was your place to stop him," Hanekoma corrected. "You never expected him to succeed, did you? I doubt his work inspired any true confidence in you."
"Of course his work never inspired any confidence in me," Faith said, exasperated. "I became a Reaper under the tutelage of one of the most remarkable Producers to have ever existed. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone whose work can truly impress me."
"Which is precisely my point," Hanekoma said in a heated tone. "When I spoke of another option, I was not asking you to hand this young lady your gun! You said it yourself: your Underground now lacks for a Producer. Possibly more importantly than that, you need a true partner!"
"Hanekoma, are you saying that I can become a Producer?" Celia asked, hardly daring to believe the barista's words. "Faith's Producer?"
"No," Faith interrupted evenly, and Celia felt her hopes crumbling as fast as they had arisen.
"Why not, Faith?" Celia asked, feeling wounded. "Don't you think I'm capable of it?"
"Oh, I know you're capable of it," Faith said reassuringly. "But there's still three reasons I can't make you my Producer. Firstly, you're not an Angel. You're not even a Reaper, so Ascension is out of the question, at least for the foreseeable future."
"Producers do not necessarily have to be Angels," Hanekoma interrupted. "Producers are often chosen from Angels or Reapers ready to become Angels simply because Angels naturally have a wider scope of power. Snowflake here, on the other hand, has power to spare. Even as a Player, her Imagination is already sufficient to be a capable Producer."
"Secondly, Celia, you still have a chance to live again, and a chance to find yourself the life you're searching for in the Realground," Faith went on smoothly.
"Reapers find their lives in the Realground all the time," Hanekoma reminded.
"Finally," Faith continued, as if Hanekoma hadn't even spoken. "If I make you my Producer, I would also be trapping you in my Underground as my partner. I can't do that to you."
Celia looked at him incredulously. "T-Trapping me?" she stuttered, unsure of how he had possibly come to that conclusion.
"Don't you think I've thought of it before?" Faith said gently. "On the day we met, I felt your Imagination long before I approached you. At the time, I was only curious, but as I came to know you, I began to feel drawn to you."
"You felt drawn to her because the two of you are innately in sync," Hanekoma said. "Sometimes, two people just naturally mesh well with one another. It could be because their personalities are alike, or maybe it's a shared experience or too."
"I had quite a lot in common with Minamimoto," Faith reminded wryly. "If anything, that's what kept us at each other's throats."
"Similar interests and similar personalities, perhaps, but your outlooks were entirely different," Hanekoma corrected. "Minamimoto looks only inward for growth and beauty, while you are constantly searching the world around you for flaws to refine."
Faith shrugged indifferently. "Whatever. The point is, I already had a feeling that Celia could understand the Underground the way I do. I thought about asking her to be my Producer then, but decided against it; a Producer needs access to the Underground, and I wasn't willing to bring her here before her time."
"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" Celia pointed out.
"You're here, but you don't have to stay," Faith said. "And you certainly don't have to commit yourself to being my partner."
"But we've been partners before," Celia protested. "We worked great together, didn't we? We beat the Conductor's Noise together. We were able to use that pin Hanekoma gave me, too, the pin that Blake and I couldn't use even after spending an entire week partnered together."
"What did you just say?" Faith said sharply, his expression growing shockingly intense.
"About the Conductor's Noise?" Celia asked, bewildered.
"No, after that. The Harmonizer pin," Faith said. "You said Hanekoma gave you that pin. You mean this Hanekoma? Mr. H?" he asked, indicating Hanekoma.
"Umm… yeah. We met during the game, at the same Starbucks you and I always met in," Celia said cautiously. "Why?" She glanced at Hanekoma, and to her surprise, there was a trace of guilt in the barista's amicable smile.
Faith said nothing at first, closing his eyes as if he were concentrating hard on something. Then his eyes flickered open, and there was a dangerous glint in them.
"Faith, what is it?" Celia asked nervously.
Faith ignored her, speaking instead to Hanekoma. "Please, my old mentor," Faith said, in a soft and desperate tone. "Tell me it isn't true."
"Sorry, boss," Hanekoma said, his disarming smile unwavering. "Can't help you there."
Faith's eyes snapped open, and he suddenly stood. He rounded upon Hanekoma slowly, his eyes glinting murderously. "I should erase you for this, you know," he said conversationally, though his voice sounded strained.
Hanekoma didn't seem alarmed in the slightest. "Oh, undoubtedly," he agreed affably. "But before you do, since we're mainly here to attend to our lovely guest's curiosity, why don't you first explain to her what's going on?"
Faith glowered at the seemingly unshakeable barista. Then he nodded stiffly. "I suppose you're right," he conceded. He looked down at his own feet. "Celia, you have no idea how sorry I am about all of this," he said, pointedly avoiding her gaze.
"About all of what?" Celia asked, feeling thoroughly lost.
"That after being forced to play the Reapers' Game partnered with the man who stabbed you, you've found the misfortune to be here, talking with the two men truly responsible for your death," Faith continued, without looking up.
"What!? What are you talking about, Faith?" Celia demanded. She looked at Hanekoma, wondering if perhaps the older man had any insight to offer.
"He's lost me, too, Snowflake," Hanekoma said with a shrug.
"No, I haven't. You know full well what I'm talking about, Sanae Hanekoma," Faith growled. "Celia, on the morning of your death, one of the Reapers reported a large influx of Noise out east, in Redmond. Ariel was directing most of our operations outside of the Game. He led the Reapers, including me, out there to deal with the Noise. While we were tidying up, I traced the Noise back to what I thought was its source: a teenaged boy named Blake Daniels who had just departed for Seattle, thinking of you."
"That's how you knew I was in danger," Celia realized, remembering how Faith had been running towards her and Karen, shouting warnings. "But what does that have to do with…"
"Because I was wrong," Faith said coldly. "Blake Daniels wasn't the source of the Noise. He was just another victim. He was an emotionally unstable introvert with strong, negative feelings towards you, but he wasn't a murderer. Not until he was given a quiet nudge. Some Noise and a single imprint was all it took to send him scampering off to Seattle, his father's hunting knife in hand. Isn't that right, Mr. H?"
Celia turned to Hanekoma, a horrified look on her face. "You sent Blake to kill me?" she asked in a hushed tone.
"Sure did, but I'm still waiting to hear why dear Sky wants to claim half the credit for it," Hanekoma said nonchalantly.
"Because this was never about her," Faith said. "This was about me. For the first time since the day I was brought to the Underground, there was someone I truly cared about. An individual, alive, who resided in the Realground. This was your chance to test me, to see if I could remain the cold, merciless, and impartial judge that a Composer is meant to be even while the life of someone I cared about was on the line."
"If this is meant to be a test, do you think it's over? Have you passed?" Hanekoma questioned.
Faith reached across the table, reclaiming his handgun. Celia winced, afraid that Hanekoma's question had pushed Faith over the edge.
But Faith simply holstered the firearm. "I don't particularly care if it's over, or whether I passed. I'm giving Celia back her life," he stated flatly.
"But Faith, I thought you said…" Celia tried to interrupt.
"I don't care what the rules say anymore," Faith said coolly. "I didn't set out to become an Angel or a Composer. I became a Reaper because here in the Underground, I found reason and order amidst the chaos. I became a Reaper to help create a better world… but this? This is an abomination. Disrupting the natural order of life… throwing innocent lives into disarray… threatening the stability of a new and already-unstable Underground… all for what? Because the ones up high never trusted their chosen Composer?"
To Celia's surprise, Hanekoma began to laugh delightedly. "A cold, merciless, impartial judge? Is that who really thought you were meant to be, Sky?" the barista asked, sounding amused. "If that's what the folks upstairs were after, they had thousands of Reapers to choose from. They chose you instead, a young Reaper who's owned his wings for less than a decade."
"Then why?" Faith demanded. "Why did they choose me?"
"Because most Reapers with the discipline and Imagination to become Composer have long since distanced themselves from their world," Hanekoma explained patiently. "You were an experiment, Sky. You had the potential to be something different. You wore the mask of a Reaper suited to become Composer and you wore it well, but it was only ever meant to be a mask. We never intended for it to define you."
"And now that I've taken it off, are you satisfied?" Faith asked wearily. Without bothering to wait for Hanekoma's answer, Faith turned back to Celia. "I'm sorry, Celia. I never meant to drag you into any of this," he apologized remorsefully.
"It's okay," Celia said quickly, finding that she wanted nothing more at that moment than to ease some of the guilt she saw in her friend's expression. Strangely, she didn't even feel any anger or resentment towards Hanekoma.
"I'll try to make things right for you, Celia," Faith promised. "Next time you fall asleep, you'll wake up in your home, safe and sound as if none of this had ever happened."
"But what will happen to you?" Celia asked, worried.
"Don't worry about Sky," Hanekoma assured. "It's finished. Minamimoto and the other Reapers we sent to Seattle should be returning here to Shibuya soon. Once Sky finds himself a new Conductor and Producer, his Underground will begin stabilizing."
"Then we'll see each other again soon, right?" Celia asked, rounding on Faith hopefully.
Faith remained silent.
"Faith?" Celia asked hesitantly.
Faith took a deep breath. "You have a choice to make, Celia," he said gravely. "You can't live a normal life knowing what you do now. You're going to have to forget about the Underground, the Reapers, and the Angels. None of this can follow you back to your life… and that includes me."
"What… what are you saying?" Celia whispered.
"When you wake up, Faith Hollow will have simply disappeared from your life," Faith explained, a sad look in his eyes. "I won't be able to visit you anymore, and you won't be able to reach me, no matter how hard you try. We won't meet again until you find your way to the Underground for real. If… if you would rather not remember me at all, I can grant you that. I can go further back, undoing the time we spent together, and you can live out your life as if you and I never met at all."
Celia stared at him, speechless.
"I can't be a part of your life any longer," Faith apologized, speaking as if each word was paining him. "But the Faith Hollow you once knew, you may remember him if you wish. The choice is yours."
"Then I choose to stay," Celia said, her voice soft but firm.
Faith looked at her blankly.
"Don't bring me back to life," Celia said. "Make me a Reaper. Let me stay in the Underground, with you, as your Producer."
"I can't…" Faith began, shaking his head.
"Please, Faith," Celia urged. "I don't want to go back to my old life. I don't want to spend the rest of my life telling those around me what they want to hear, or showing them what they want to see. I want to become a Producer, like Hanekoma, able to make a difference of my own, no matter how small."
"You can do that without becoming a Producer. You should have won the Game, Celia. You should have been given another chance to life a normal life, to lead those around you with your Imagination," Faith said. "And when your life eventually ends, you will still be welcome in the Underground. You can become a Reaper, or find a Composer to become Producer for, or become a Composer yourself. You would still be free to choose then."
"I want to be free to choose now," Celia insisted. "I want to stay with you, Faith. I want to be your partner. Please, let me."
Faith smiled faintly, and for a brief moment, Celia thought she had finally reached him.
"You must be delirious," Faith said. "I know how forgiving you can be, but I've simply put you through too much already." He shook his head slowly. "Thank you, Celia. You may forget me, but I won't forget you. I'll remember you, I promise."
Celia opened her mouth to protest, but her world suddenly grew hazy, and she felt her eyelids drooping.
"Goodbye, C."
"What will you do with her memories?" Hanekoma asked, watching as Celia slumbered peacefully, her head resting upon her folded arms.
"I don't know yet," Faith admitted.
Hanekoma chuckled. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Go get some sleep, Sky. You look like you haven't slept in days."
"And whose fault is that?" Faith said sharply, turning to glare at his former mentor.
"By the look of things, I'd say it's her fault," Hanekoma said, nodding towards Celia.
"You still haven't given me a reason not to erase you," Faith reminded in a petulant tone. "I doubt I'd even get in trouble for it. You can't expect me to believe these orders were really handed down to you from upstairs."
"Then erase me," Hanekoma invited, smiling wryly and knowing that his former student would do no such thing.
Predictably, Faith said nothing, and made no move for his weapon.
"You know, there's one thing I don't get," Hanekoma said conversationally. "Maybe you could enlighten me. I thought this young lady was your friend. I thought you respected her and cared for her. When did that change?"
Faith shut his eyes tightly. "Mr. H, between your meddling, your Composer sending Minamimoto to be my temporary Conductor, and Ariel failing me in a most spectacular fashion possible, I've had one hell of a week so far," he said carefully. "I haven't slept in nine days, and all I've had to eat or drink this entire time was a single coffee veritably drowning in your imprints, which I had to peel away one at a time. I am almost certainly not thinking clearly right now, and I'm definitely not in the mood for riddles or word games. If you have something to say, please, say it clearly."
"Alright. Have it your way," Hanekoma agreed. "Judging by what you said about the young lady's entry fee, you've never once looked into her mind, have you?"
"Just a glimpse while we were partners, thanks to our pact," Faith confirmed.
"So you admit that you don't really know what she's thinking," Hanekoma said in a leading tone. "You've never known for sure. Yet, you valued her opinion anyways. You enjoyed spending your time with her, hearing what she had to say and seeing what she wanted to show you. Your relief when you saw that she understood you was palpable, and your gratitude when she forgave you even more so."
"Well, yes. That's what happens when you trust and care for someone. Thank you for stating the obvious," Faith said dryly. "Now will you get to the point?"
"What part of ignoring her wishes now is trusting or caring for her?" Hanekoma asked.
"She didn't know what she was asking for," Faith said flatly.
"She knew exactly what she was asking for, Sky. I didn't need to intrude upon her thoughts to see that, and I'd wager that if your head was on straight, you would have seen it, too," Hanekoma scolded. "She told you, loud and clear, what she wanted. You would ignore that?"
"I can't…" Faith tried to interrupt.
"You can't what? You can't hurt her again? Is that why you'd rather take from her the one thing she prizes most, and hide it from her by twisting her past and memories?" Hanekoma challenged.
Faith stiffened as if he'd been slapped.
"How many times have I told you before? Trust your partner!" Hanekoma urged. "If you aren't sure what to do and if you know you aren't thinking clearly, who better to listen to than her? Especially when it's both of your lives and futures that are at stake?"
"People make the wrong choices for themselves all the time," Faith reminded.
"And that includes Composers," Hanekoma countered. "This concerns you, too, and if you're at all afraid of making the wrong choice, trust her to make a decision for you. And if she one day regrets it, at least you'll be there for her. That's what partners are for, right?"
Faith rose to his feet with a sigh. Then he moved to Celia's side, tenderly scooping her up in his arms. "Mr. H," he called.
"Hmm?"
"Have I ever told you that you're a meddlesome, sanctimonious old coot?" Faith asked wryly.
"No, but I'll take that as a compliment," Hanekoma smirked. "Have you decided, then?"
"Yes. I've decided that what happens to her is none of your business," Faith grinned. A doorway appeared behind him.
"You know, you're every bit as stubborn as Josh," Hanekoma chuckled. "Good luck, Sky."
When Celia next opened her eyes, she found herself lying in her own, comfortably familiar bed. Her room was mostly dark, with just a sliver of light from the rising sun peering through her window.
She closed her eyes and nearly dozed off once more, when she heard Faith's farewell, spoken in a tone of absolute finality, echoing in her mind. She sat up at once, reaching for her phone.
It was July 15th, the day she had died.
"But I remember," Celia whispered, thinking of the Underground and the Reapers, of Hanekoma and of Faith. "I remember everything, Faith. Did you change your mind, then?" No longer tired, Celia hopped out of her bed and opened her blinds, looking west towards the city of Seattle.
For several minutes, she did little more than stand there, staring and wondering.
Half an hour later, Karen emerged from her room to find Celia sitting at their dining table, fully awake. "Celia? What are you doing up so early?" she asked, shocked.
"I woke up and couldn't fall asleep again," Celia answered with a shrug. "Good morning, Karen."
"Good morning," Karen replied. She busied herself with the coffee pot, then sat down across from Celia, stirring her coffee. "Hey, Celia, you have any plans for the day?"
The familiar words brought a brief smile to Celia's lips. "Yeah, kind of. I was going to go visit Faith in Seattle. What about you? Just work?"
Karen shook her head quickly. "No. The boss is out today, and he told me I could have the day off, too," she said.
"Want to come with me, then?" Celia invited, knowing that was what Karen had on her mind already.
"Hmm… yeah, that sounds fun," Karen said, pretending to think it over. "It'll be nice to meet him. You've been talking about him so much lately. Are we leaving now?"
Celia peeked down at her phone, and saw that she and Karen would likely end up on the same bus they had taken the first time. "Go ahead and finish your coffee. The bus won't get here for another twenty minutes," she said.
Upon seeing Celia glance back towards the bus stop for the fifth time, Karen finally spoke up. "Is something wrong, Celia? Why do you keep looking behind us?" she asked worriedly.
"Oh, no reason," Celia said quickly, mentally berating herself for her paranoia. Then she forced herself to keep her eyes forward until the coffee shop came into sight. There no sign of Faith, but then again, Celia hadn't really expected to find him waiting out front, anyways.
Celia and Karen stepped inside and made their way to Celia's usual table in the corner.
"So when's your friend showing up?" Karen asked curiously.
Celia shrugged. "I don't know. We didn't plan anything specific. We never do, really; he just drops by whenever his office can spare him for a bit," she explained.
Karen shot her an exasperated look.
"What?" Celia asked defensively.
"Never mind," Karen sighed. "Say, why don't you just text him and ask him when he's coming by?"
"O-Oh. Yeah, I… I guess I can do that, huh?" Celia stammered, feeling embarrassed that she hadn't thought of it before. She opened her phone, holding her breath as she brought up her contacts list.
Faith's name was there, just as it should have been, and a few seconds later she finished typing and sending her message. Almost immediately, little red letters popped up beneath her message.
Not delivered.
Confused, Celia tried again, and then a third time. Not delivered. Not delivered.
"What's the matter?" Karen asked.
"Something's wrong with my phone," Celia murmured, before attempting a call instead.
"We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again," a feminine voice replied pleasantly.
"Disconnected?" Celia wondered aloud.
"Maybe he changed his number," Karen offered comfortingly. "Well, if that's the case, I guess we'll just have to wait until he comes by, right?"
Celia nodded numbly, even as she remembered Faith's promise that the Underground would not follow her back to her normal life. "Yeah. He'll be here soon," she said, hoping desperately that her words would be quickly proven true, and her fears laid to rest.
Noon came and went, and then the afternoon grew late, too, as Celia did her best to focus on her work with her roommate hovering around impatiently. Afternoon gave way to evening, and the sun began to set, and still there was no sign of Faith.
"I guess he was busy today," Karen said, noticing Celia's distress and realizing that it went beyond mere disappointment.
"Yeah, he must be," Celia agreed quietly.
Reluctantly, Celia followed her friend back to the bus stop. Lost in her thoughts, she said little else for the rest of the evening.
Let me go, gravity,
What's on my shoulder?
Little by little,
I feel a bit better,
Let me know, set me free,
I feel a bit older,
Just once more unto the breach,
Dear friend, once more…
Author's Note:
Lyrics taken from Calling.
Most of the Japanese words were translated already. "Yakusoku no nai asu dearouto, kimi no tatsu basho ni kanarazu mai modorou" is a line from a play, roughly translating to "Even though tomorrow holds no promise, I will return to this place."