Pink-dawn light fell upon the commercial district of Shinjuku. The bakery was shuttered, but shadows of movements could be seen as prep for the morning rush carried on inside. A faint, sweet smell of yeast tinged with cinnamon and chocolate lingered at the entrance. Outside, just beyond the display window, Henry and Jeri stood in quiet contemplation.
They breathed together. It was slow, steady—the pattern of nature reflected through the physical human body. That which was eternally true, eternally real, alluded to via the measured gestures and movements they made in unison.
A bright jingle disturbed the tranquility. Takehiro poked his head out the bakery, a rush of savory scents flooding out in his wake, and watched them curiously. Henry turned first to look at him; Jeri was a beat slower, stirring as if woken from a dream.
"Did we go over?" Henry asked.
"Oh, no, sorry. Just wanted to check on you."
Takehiro hefted a worn cardboard box. "Had to throw some stuff out."
A skeptical 'ha!' could be heard from deeper in the bakery. Takehiro reddened.
Henry smiled. "You can always join if you want, you know."
"Oh, no no no. I'd probably pull something." Takehiro laughed, readjusting his grip on the box and sidling out the door around toward the back. "But thank you, Henry. I appreciate it."
Henry appreciated these sessions as well. He enjoyed the Matsuki's company, and more importantly, they helped him maintain a sense of calmness and relaxation after the events of the past few days.
"Do you need help?" Jeri asked.
She was more alert now, the dreaminess fading from her dark gaze. Takehiro shook his head, apologized again, and vanished from view. Other shopkeepers were beginning to stir. The lights in the shops turned on, electric gold mingling with the naturalistic tawny of dawn.
Henry checked his phone for time. "We're almost done, anyway. How're you feeling?"
"Not bad. A little stupid sometimes, though, especially when we do this where anyone can see. Like people might look at us and just know I'm screwing up," Jeri admitted, sheepish.
"The most important part is that you practice every day. Whether it's wrong or not doesn't matter," Henry said.
"Easy for you to say." Jeri looked put out.
"Sorry."
"I'm just teasing you, Henry." She giggled. A brief pause followed. "It's hard to shut it all off, too. My thoughts are so loud sometimes."
Henry knew exactly what Jeri meant by that. He said:
"When meditation is mastered,
The mind is unwavering like the
Flame of a lamp in a windless place.
In the still mind,
In the depths of meditation,
The Self reveals itself.
Beholding the Self
By means of the Self,
An aspirant knows the
Joy and peace of complete fulfillment.
Having attained that
Abiding joy beyond the senses,
Revealed in the stilled mind,
He never swerves from the eternal truth."
"Is that from the Dao De Jing?" Jeri asked.
"The Bhagavad Gita, actually."
"It's nice."
Henry liked the weight and texture words from ancient scriptures carried with them. They were an anchor, a means of connection to something genuine, authentic, in a world rife with artifice. Inexplicable melancholia suddenly struck him.
"You know," Henry began, "if you—"
Mei came bustling out with fresh baked roll cakes and water. She offered the refreshments to Henry and Jeri. "Ten more minutes, then I'll need your help with inventory."
"Yes, ma'am," Jeri said.
Henry wasn't hungry but accepted the food without complaint. It tasted wonderful, same as always. The warmth spread from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his ears and toes. Mood improved, Henry stifled a yawn. Whatever half-formed notion he had planned on saying slipped away, forgotten. Mei nodded curtly at both of them before, in a whirl of her dough-encrusted apron, striding back inside.
"I suppose it's too much to expect Takato's up yet, huh?"
Jeri gave him an odd look. "No, he left awhile ago. Couldn't sleep at all. I'm surprised he didn't tell you."
Henry was surprised, too. They had talked late into the night about the strange attack, and Takato made no mention of any plans before meeting at the office. Judging by Jeri's reaction, he had not told her anything about what transpired either. Henry filed that away for later—but really, it was none of his business.
It occurred to Henry, suddenly, that this visit could have easily gone very differently. His friends could have been seriously injured yesterday, or worse. Panic flitted on the edges of his tai chi-induced calm. If anything happened to Rika or Takato, it would be all his fault. Henry re-collected his composure.
"We've been swamped recently. A lot happening at once. You know, there's an opening at the agency…"
Jeri was already shaking her head. "Thanks, Henry, but Rika already suggested it a while back. I don't think—I've left that behind me, and I'm at peace with it. Why not ask Suzie? When we meet up, the receptionist job is all she ever talks about."
If Rika or Takato had brought the subject up, Henry probably would have shut down the conversation. But he felt comfortable confiding in Jeri. She was easy to talk to about most matters.
"Suzie doesn't listen," he complained, "she respects me about as much now as she did when she was six years old."
Jeri was quiet, mulling over the response. "I think you should give her a chance. She might surprise you."
Henry wanted to argue. He opened then closed his mouth, frowning. After a moment, he sighed heavily, frown transitioning into a rueful smile.
"Maybe."
Shibuya always stoked Takato's anxiety. He could never quite pinpoint why, but there was a claustrophobia to it that other districts lacked in comparison. Maybe Akihabara came close, but tourists never bothered Takato much. (This was not an opinion Henry and especially Rika shared—but Takato had grown up in a household where tourism benefited them immensely, and had fond memories of foreigners attempting to speak Japanese in clumsy, stilted phrases while bearing earnest expressions.)
It was easy to locate the half-finished Kamishiro Enterprises building. Scaffolding decorated the structure like cobwebs on a skeleton and plastic packaging lay scattered around the perimeter like shed skin. A golden sigil with EDEN romanized had been affixed at the top of the skyscraper, bearing down upon everyone.
Takato stifled a yawn, hunched over his coffee cup. He blew on the lid and watched steam spiral out to mingle with the chill autumnal air. Workers were already gathered just outside the building, in a semicircle, their heads bowed. Ryo had explained it once as respect and appreciation and gratitude for the day before them, in addition to a form of solidarity. They wore clean white jumpsuits with their safety glasses and hard helmets tucked under their arms.
Speaking of Ryo, Takato caught sight of him on the group's cusp. He waited until they finished their early morning ritual, more and more nervous the longer it took. Crap, this was a mistake. He shouldn't be here.
Takato cleared his throat then chanced a tiny wave. Ryo glanced over at him. A curious thing happened, next. Rika had once described Ryo as someone capable of flipping a switch and becoming a different person entirely at a moment's notice. His face visibly shuttered before a brilliant smile spread across it, a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. He murmured a few words to his coworkers before approaching Takato.
"Mr. Matsuki," Ryo said, polite and charming as ever, "It's good to see you again."
Takato fought the strong urge to look around for his father. The other workers were staring at him curiously. One whispered something to another, who stifled a laugh. Takato rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. "Oh, uh, just Takato's fine. No need to be so formal."
"Of course. How can I help?"
"I guess I just… um… have you heard anything from Cyberdramon?" Takato asked, words tumbling out faster and faster with each progressing beat, as though it would be easier the sooner they escaped his lips. "I-I've been looking for him and we sorta found a lead the other day, and also it might tie in with other weird stuff going on, so… sorry."
He finished with an apologetic shrug, fighting the urge to descend into full-scale flail.
"Yeah, Rika mentioned it last night."
"She did?" Takato blinked. "I mean, cool, that's great! Uh—did you, then?"
The other construction workers had lost interest in the conversation and were beginning to set up for the day. Measurements, tools, door frames and walls were proceeded with the order and experience of time-ingrained routine.
"No. I'm sorry. I haven't heard anything."
"Okay." Takato felt stupid. He wasn't quite sure where to go from here. "Well, I mean, do you have any ideas where Cyberdramon might've gone?"
"You know I haven't contacted the Digital World since it closed, Takato." Ryo's words remained pleasant, but there now lingered an edge beneath them.
"But why?" Takato was shocked by his own boldness. He breathed in, a sharp intake, as if to suck the question back within himself.
Ryo seemed caught off guard as well. The mask faltered, slipped—revealing someone tired and worn down by life—before the smiling visage returned. It happened quickly enough Takato wondered if he only imagined the reaction.
"I'm sorry—"
"No, don't be," Ryo said. "I'm glad you asked. Look, it's like this: I gave so much to Cyberdramon, to Digimon in general, things I'm never getting back. And when I first lost him, back—back then, I was devastated. But then I had this realization that I was… free."
"I don't understand," Takato said.
It made no sense. His partnership with Guilmon had paved the way to freedom. Before that there had been nothing more than a sense of going through the motions, set along a path laid down long before he had been born.
"It's complicated. We were complicated." Ryo turned somewhat misty eyed. "I thought I was being heroic, but mostly I was just an insufferable kid stuck in a situation I didn't understand. I don't want to go back to that. Ever. It's just another form of running away, you know. Heroism. Or, at least, the kind I thought I had. It wasn't real. You have to learn how to live in the world eventually. I like my life as it is, I like my job. It's… tactile."
He bent down and picked up loose concrete debris, inspecting it. "It's like I'm putting a piece of myself into the city. Even if people don't realize it, or f-forget, it's still there. I get to build things up instead of tear them down."
They both fell silent. In the background, one of the workers dropped a plank of plaster, the clatter against pavement loud in the morning quiet. Ryo tensed, jaw locked, a muscle twitching in his cheek. A beat passed. The workers laughed and jostled each other, picking the plaster back up with minimal fuss. Ryo relaxed and chuckled, expression shifting to wry amusement.
Someone, likely a supervisor given their authoritative stride, called for Ryo to hurry. Ryo waved back, calling out reassurances. It jolted Takato out of his own melancholic reverie.
"Well, you don't have to, you know. That's why we're here," Takato said. "If you hear anything, promise you'll let me or Rika know. We can take care of it from there."
Ryo regarded him impassively. His thoughts were impenetrable and opaque. It was like peering upon the surface of a pond clouded by stirred silt.
Whenever Rika felt depressed, she would put on her headphones and visit the gym. The endorphin high always helped fend off intrusive thoughts.
Sometimes she even saw Riley there; they had met unplanned several years back, Riley in the mood to rant after dumping Yamaki for the nth time. Master from a young age at the art of listening to jilted women, Rika had nodded along and made sympathetic noises in all the right places.
On that, a professional friendship of sorts was born. If they chanced across each other at the gym, they would work out together and exchange anecdotes about their lives that hinted at private sadness while never crossing the boundaries into over-sharing. Riley wasn't there today, however, so Rika finished her reps alone, cleaned up and changed in the shower room, and walked into the agency late but feeling better.
The door opened, Takato and Henry seated waiting alongside—
Rika blinked. She was sucking on a piece of hard candy picked up on the way in. She found it helped when the nicotine cravings hit hard, almost better than a patch in some ways. The candy rolled around behind her molars, pressing against the inside of her cheek, and almost lodged in her throat due to surprise.
"Rika! It's so good to see you!" Suzie squealed, throwing her arms around the other woman. Rika awkwardly patted her on the back, maneuvering to quizzically stare over at Henry. He shrugged, resigned. The man was useless to her.
"It's good to see you too, Suzie."
This was true; Rika liked Suzie. They had never been close, but the younger girl had an innate charisma and warmth that made spending time with her memorable even in small doses. Rika also sensed Suzie had always felt beholden to her for keeping a watchful eye out those many, many years ago. Whenever pressed about it, though, Suzie would deny the suggestion.
"Your newest secretary, reporting for duty." Suzie drew back, relinquishing Rika from her death grip, and saluted cheekily.
"It's a temporary situation," Henry said.
Rika rolled her eyes.
"Technically our only secretary." Takato chuckled. He was rather pale, hair more a mess than usual, clinging to a cup of coffee like it was a lifeline. Rika wondered if he had gotten much sleep.
"Which also, technically, makes me your best secretary!" Suzie puffed out her chest.
"Please don't make me regret this," Henry said.
"Stop being such a downer, Henwwy." Suzie put on an exaggerated affectation, bounding over to the desk buckling under untouched paperwork. She poked around, flicking through a few leaflets without reading them, and tutted. "You're such a clean freak at home, what's all this about?"
"I've been busy," Henry said, defensive. Rika and Takato just observed the verbal sparring match volleying back and forth before them. Judging by Takato's expression, the sense of amusement was mutual. "But, never mind that. Suzie'll hold down the fort while we're in the Digital World. You can attend your interview without any issue."
"Sweet. Let's get started then. Time is money and all that." Rika rolled the hard candy to the opposite side of her mouth. The boys nodded their agreement.
"You'll be careful, right?" Suzie asked, frowning. She still stood behind the desk, some of brilliant, excitable energy fading the further the conversation progressed. "You only just got released from the hospital."
Rika was a little worried about Takato too, if she was honest. But whatever had happened yesterday didn't seem to be bothering him. He mostly just looked tired—but then again, they had all looked tired recently.
"Of course. I have some safety precautions in place. Besides, we're going to see Azulongmon—can't get much safer than the presence of a Digimon Sovereign."
"Right." Suzie seemed unconvinced. But the uncertainty faded, replaced by another brilliant grin. "I'll have everything here spick and span, count on it!"
Takato blanched. "Try not to change things up too much. I've adapted to the chaos. I was born in it, molded by it."
He laughed at his own joke, which brought a twitch to Rika's lips.
"I won't let her go too crazy," Rika promised. Suzie pouted.
"Fiiiine, whatever."
After Takato and Henry left, Rika spent the first couple minutes letting Suzie putter about and bombard her with questions. The responses were terse and absentminded, Rika lost in thought about the events of the previous day. Maybe she should e-mail Ryo something clever by way of a proxy apology.
"Oh, enough about the boring shit. Tell me everything that's happened recently! I swear, you never answer my texts." Suzie looked rather put out.
"Ah, sorry." Rika forced herself to focus. She moved to help Suzie with the paperwork, sorting it into useful and outdated categories. "I don't often have anything to say."
"Jeri never leaves me on read. Even if it's just a cute cat gif, she still responds."
"I'll keep that in mind next time," Rika said dryly.
The mundane nature of slowing down and cleaning up the office space was more therapeutic than Rika expected. Suzie could chatter about anything and everything, fluttering around like a tiny bird, but she had the same detail-oriented knack as Henry for management and organization. Just watching her dart everywhere increased Rika's exhaustion.
"Whenever I ask Lopmon how things are in the Digital World, she says it's good as can be expected. Is that true?"
The question caught Rika off guard. She glanced up, sheaf of paper held in a loose grip. The remnants of the hard candy dissolved on her tongue. Suzie was staring from across the room, expression worried.
Rika hesitated. "It is what it is, for the most part."
Suzie tilted her head. Then she laughed, bright and warm. "Life really be like that, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so." Rika smiled back. She had a sneaking suspicion she would enjoy having Suzie around.
The data stream deposited them in Azulongmon's domain. It wasn't what Takato expected, although if honest, he hadn't quite known what to expect. They had never been invited here before now.
They stood on a boat in the middle of a lake, the water dark purple with flashes of electricity running through its currents. Leather wings jutted out either side of the boat's bow, twisting and contorting around its length. Strange runes glowed purple and blue along the fluted bone railing. A crystal filigree umbrella stood in the boat's center, canopy shaded with the tide of a trillion tomorrows.
The boat rocked gently beneath their feet. Takato could see the encircling shoreline, leafbare trees frozen as though paused in the motion of waving goodbye. Guilmon crouched at the railing and stared at his reflection in the water below.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Henry asked.
"Hey, don't blame me! I put in the address Mr. Moustache himself sent us!" Terriermon's ears ballooned and he puffed out his cheeks. He bore a curious resemblance to Suzi, then. "Unbelievable. I do everything right and still take the blame."
"Calm down, I was just checking."
"This place is cool," Takato said, intrigued despite the unease pricking his skin.
Guilmon jumped overboard. The others shouted in surprise, Takato loudest of all, but he didn't sink. The water's surface tension held, Guilmon able to stand before them atop the lake. He grinned, fangs bright white in a dark red maw.
"Look at me, I'm walking on water," Guilmon said, laughing.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack, boy," Takato complained. The toothy gin faded, became conciliatory, and Takato felt a stab of guilt. "Sorry, that's my bad. Let me see…"
He gingerly crossed one leg over the bow, touching the water with a tentative toe. It soaked through almost immediately, a sharp shock numbing his extremities, and Takato jerked back with a yelp.
"You alright?" Henry asked, concerned.
"Oh, just great. I love a little electric shock therapy in the morning…" Takato groused. These past few days had been less than stellar.
"It needs to be a leap of faith, Takato," Guilmon said. His eyes held a solemn gleam.
Takato stared. Henry started to say something, but Takato ignored him, choosing instead to jump overboard without thinking about it further. His feet hit water hard and firm like concrete. Takato straightened, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants, then bowed with a theatrical flourish.
"Whaddya want, applause or something?" Terriermon sounded unimpressed. Takato deflated slightly.
"Knock it off." Henry frowned and shaded his eyes. "Is it getting darker?"
It was.
Storm clouds were gathering overhead. Lights in the water came alive. They wriggled free of the current and rose upward while purple rain fell slantwise upon them. The lights resembled electric will-o-wisps. A tingle spread from the tip of Takato's ears and nose to cover the entirety of his face. He held out a hand and saw their souls flash there in particles of purple-gold.
Guilmon snarled.
A pale shade hurtled from the shore toward them. The movements were unsettling, unnatural; aerodynamic yet shuddering, as though it longed to shatter inward and scatter to every cardinal direction simultaneously. Takato tried scanning it with his D-Power:
NO DATA
Malevolence radiated from the creature, spiraling out in twisted fractals, a malevolence ancient and unknowable in its depth—a malevolence that stemmed from the misery of stars gone supernova.
Peculiar terror struck Takato, the sort he had not experienced
since
(he was transfixed)
"Oi! Henry! Takato! HENRY!" Terriermon bellowed.
Henry jerked to attention, eyes snapping open almost as if freed from a nightmare. "Yes, yes, go."
"About damn time!"
Terriermon jumped off Henry's shoulder, ears billowing outward. Light engulfed the Digimon as he floated above them, face twisting into a grimace as his skin ripped away to reveal seething layers of code underneath. Gargomon fell from the sky, gatling arm extended, and struck the oncoming monster once they collided.
An unearthly shriek echoed over the lake. The water rippled. Takato was jolted out of his trance; he stumbled back, falling into the boat.
"G-Guilmon!"
"On it." And with that measured reassurance, Guilmon became Growlmon. He moved with surprising grace for such a large Digimon, like a waterfall unspooling into the magma of a volcano, the calm right before the explosion.
The cephalopod-shaped monsters' maw parted, revealing unfurled tentacles. They wrapped around Gargomon's arm and crawled up it, grotesque in their writhing. Gargomon shouted and fired a round of bullets in response, but if they affected the monster, it showed no external sign.
Growlmon flanked it, white mane flowing freely, whipped tail following like an angry red echo. The spikes on his elbows glowed effervescent and he drove them into the monster's silvery-black hide. Another unearthly shriek sounded, forcing Growlmon to stumble back, claws clapped over ears.
The monster's stranglehold on Gargomon's arm tightened. With a wrenching jerk, it dragged him below the surface of the lake. Henry let out a strange noise; Growlmon immediately dove in after them. The water swallowed them whole with a soft burble.
Stillness pervaded.
"I need to help him." Henry ripped off his jacket and stepped toward the prow.
"Henry, wait." Takato grabbed Henry by the arm. "It's dangerous. We should…"
Henry turned fast, face dark—for a split second, Takato thought Henry might strike him. For a split second, he was afraid.
Figures exploded out of the water. Growlmon had the monster in an awkward chokehold, spikes driven deep into its flesh. Gargomon carried a wild look in his eye as he propelled himself backward, fractal tattoos turning his metal arm the same silver-speckled color as the monster. Takato suddenly realized information was showing on his D-Power. There was only one word, repeated over and over again:
EATER EATER EATER EATER EATER EATER EATER EATER EATER EATER EATER
The lake water turned to glass as lightning arced across the sullen sky. Growlmon's head jerked up, then he released the monster and scrambled away.
A bolt of electricity fell, striking it and evaporating it instantly. The boat groaned under Takato and Henry's feet, umbrella spinning like a top and leather wings stretching free as it drifted upward into the sky.
Azlungmon descended from a gap in the storm clouds to meet them. Holy light radiated from the Sovereign's delicate white-blue fur and hair from his beard descended to offer Gargomon and Growlmon a lift. Takato had forgotten Azulongmon's massive size; even Growlmon was dwarfed by his presence.
"What brings you to my domain?" Azulonmon's deep voice boomed like thunder. It set Takato's teeth ajar, and the meaning took a moment to sink in.
Henry recovered first. "You're the one who asked for us."
Azulongmon bore down upon them, coiled body tightening as though preparing to spring. Electricity crackled along the length of his jagged horn. A familiar figure popped out of his beard, waving her arms around in pacification.
"Forgive me, oh mighty Sovereign, for I was the one who requested their audience in your guise! The deception pained me, but I thought it best given the circumstances!" Lopmon said.
She glanced at Gargomon, a bit worried, but he was silent, the mechanisms in his arms revolving slowly in a series of click, click, clicks as he clung to Azulongmon's bear. Growlmon, however, waved at her. Lopmon waved back with a floppy brown and pink ear.
"What's going on?" Takato blurted out.
Lying seemed almost antithetical to Lopmon's character, so what could have driven her to such lengths? Henry crossed his arms. There was still a shadow lingering on his face.
"Very well," Azulongmon said after brief consideration, "what's done is done. I have striven to conceal the true state of the Digital World from you all since your return."
"But why?" Takato asked, bewildered.
The sky darkened further; lightning grumbled around them; Azulogmon loomed enormous.
"Because you abandoned us! We presented you our gifts and our trust, and we were betrayed in return! The D-Reaper might have vanished from your world with nary a trace left behind, but we were not so lucky. Powers stolen, territories desecrated, order shattered with no one power to refashion the pieces!" Azulongmon's eyes flashed with barely contained fury.
Growlmon and Lopmon suddenly looked uncomfortable.
Takato quailed under the enraged stare, lanced by guilt. "There was nothing we could do, our one chance—the portal was walled off…"
"Excuses," Azulongmon growled, visibly seething. The sky around them turned even more sullen.
"Where are the other Sovereigns?" Henry asked out of nowhere.
Lopmon gasped. Azulongmon reared back as though struck, almost knocking his passengers loose in the process. The boat trembled in a surge of abrupt turbulence.
"Oi! Watch it!" Gargomon complained, snapped out of his malaise. He was ignored.
"They are gone. What we lost, what we sacrificed—you will never understand." But Azulongmon's hard edge had vanished, replaced by a morose sadness. "I had no choice. It may well have been that this form was never recovered otherwise…"
Takato thought he might be sick. Surely not, surely...
Henry's expression remained blank.
"What's done is done, right?" he asked, retort drenched in caustic sarcasm. "If you have information to share with us, you should share it. I can't change the past, but I'll do what I can now that I'm here."
Azulongmon considered Henry. At last:
"New groups of powerful Digimon have risen and fallen in the time you were gone. I have maintained order to the best of my ability, but I am alone now, and the Digital World has grown massive indeed. One of them presented a consistent challenge: the Kowloon Co. They are talented builders, helping reconstruct and expand much of the destroyed Digital World. They used their knowledge to lure in desperate Digimon and download their data. It allowed them to swiftly reach Mega. They are dangerous, unpredictable. And they have disappeared."
Takato was still reeling from the revelation that Zhuqiaoumon was dead. Why hadn't he ever thought to check on the Sovereign? He had been so wrapped up in Cyberdramon and the Tamers' Digimon, it never even occurred to him that there might be other aspects of the Digital World amiss.
Careless. Takato had been careless.
Henry nodded. "I see. I have a pretty good idea where they went. And that… thing, that attacked us?"
"It is corruption," Azulongmon said. He now seemed uneasy, shifting, lithe body undulating in slow rolling waves. "It touches not the Digimon but destroys that handled by old gods: human and DigiGnome both."
"Alright. One other thing. We can't biomerge anymore, it seems. Do you know why that might be?"
Azulongmon started. He seemed surprised. "I know not. There is nothing here to prevent you. The catalyst endures."
Henry and Azulongmon stared at each other. They had reached an understanding, an epiphany beyond Takato's ability to grasp. Takato felt as though he was steadily falling behind, left in the dust by those around him, and could not stifle the tinge of resentment.
Mr. Yoshimoto lived in a small, cute apartment in a small, cute suburb of Shinjuku. It was not far from where Takato lived, actually. When Rika knocked on the door, she was greeted by a dumpy older man with long whiskers and deep-set eyes.
"You must be Rumiko's girl. You look a lot like her," Mr. Yoshimoto said. Rika bowed politely. "Ah, that's not necessary. Come in, come in."
Inside the apartment was modern and neat, filled with knicknacks organized in meticulous fashion. Even so, there was something seedy about it, a hint of not-quite-right lurking beneath the surface. Record labels of various girl groups and models decorated the walls. They all huddled around Mr. Yoshimoto in various stages of his life, some of the pictures in black and white or grainy low definition—it was like viewing time capsules of both the man and technology itself.
"Saké?" Daiki asked.
Rika paused, uncertain, then nodded. "Thank you."
"How is Ms. Rumiko, anyway? A good girl, rather the type to use people though, I daresay. Then again, to make it in the industry, that's almost a necessity."
Mr. Yoshimoto busied himself at the stove, heating up water to dip the saké in. Rika didn't respond right away, somewhat taken aback by the man's bluntness. He continued speaking, distracting her from deciding whether to be offended or not.
"So, how can I help you?"
Rika let the original comment pass. "I was hoping you might know something about the idol group TKC96. I'm helping them with a delicate issue."
"TKC96? That's an idol group." Mr. Yoshimoto scowled, demeanor souring. "I don't work with idols, not anymore."
"I thought you were retired."
"You know what I mean." Mr. Yoshimoto harrumphed. "The most artless form of entertainment to ever exist—no, not even entertainment! It's manipulation, subjugation, commodification: objectifying for both the idol and the audience."
"You feel strongly about this," Rika said, somewhat acerbic.
"Because it's true!" Mr. Yoshimoto looked agitated, pulling out a box of cigarettes. He lit up, ire fading, and spared Rika a sly glance. "You want one, Miss?"
Rika shook her head, tight-lipped. Mr. Yoshimoto turned smugly knowing, briefly, as though he had figured her out in that split second of weakness—as though he knew her better than she knew herself. Rika resented him for it, for stoking the nagging insecurity that he might be right. That deep down, she was still the same girl that used others the way junkies used drugs.
Mr. Yoshimoto continued:
"Art is meant to straddle the line between fact and fiction. A celebration and understanding of life through creativity. But idols instead straddle the line between fact and celebrity. 'Intentionally engineered intimacy.' Bah." He exhaled a plume of smoke, took the sake out of the heated water. "They are the pre-fab gods, is what they are, manufactured to be worshiped in a society of spectacle. Make no mistake about that. They create nothing and sell everything; everything is crafted for them by their production companies to fetishize the consumer."
They kneeled at the dinner table and Mr. Yoshimoto poured out the warmed saké for them both. Rika took a sip, resigned to listening to him wax poetic about the issue. There was truth to what he was saying—part of her had always been aware of it, even if it had gone unacknowledged and with far less melodramatics—but it was hard to care about a rather banal issue given everything wrong with the world currently.
"Hiroshi Aoyaga once said, ahh, what was it?" Mr. Yoshimoto checked his phone, a light flush creeping up his neck. "Right: Idol fans and audiences enjoy creating their own epoch-making stories as they relate themselves to their idols. The mass media functions here as by-standers that direct people's interest toward preferred readings of the time."
He stared at Rika expectantly, as though she should be wowed by the information.
"I've seen Perfect Blue, I think I get it."
The gap between what was real and what was performance had grown difficult to distinguish in the age of digital media.
"You really are Rumiko's daughter," Mr. Yoshimoto said, in a tone that could have been either a compliment or an insult or both. "But yes. The act of creating narratives is intimately bound up with the enhancement of specific forms of desire."
There was something reprehensible to Rika about a person profiting off an industry, retiring, and then decrying it in its entirety. She stared at the pictures of smiling idols surrounding Mr. Yoshimoto. Parasitic, that was the word. His self-righteousness felt parasitic. He could take credit for all the good, turn a blind eye to the corruption while in the midst of it, then safely decry it from the comfort of a home bought off the profits of women.
"Mr. Yoshimoto, I appreciate the sociology lesson, but I'm here to discuss TKC96 specifically, not issues with the industry itself. Unfortunate as they are, there's not much I can do about them."
"Of course, of course, I understand. Forgive an old man, it's not often I have an attentive audience." Mr. Yoshimoto cleared his throat. "TKC96… they're under Jackpot, yes?"
"Correct."
Mr. Yoshimoto tapped his cigarette in the ashtray, letting the glowing amber-gray flecks tumble loose. The smoke made it hard for Rika to concentrate, so she busied herself by pouring more saké. "You're familiar with the concept of Jimusho?"
"Vaguely. They're the managers for idols."
"Management company. The men behind the curtain; the Wizards of Oz." Mr. Yoshimoto frowned. "If the record company is the father, they are the mother. They organize and plan everything, dole out subsidiaries and make the final decision about which talents get what project. Most Jimusho are privately owned and obfuscate financial transactions, which means they have a great deal of power—the most dangerous form, the unseen kind. They're some of the most powerful men in Japan.
"Jackpot is a smaller company, but their idols have been rapidly rising up the charts. Usually small companies will work behind the scenes within a larger companies' network, beholden to them via cash payouts and music rights agreements. My understanding is that Jackpot, until recently, was affiliated with Burning Productions, but they broke away after a change in ownership. Jun Hideyoki. No public photos of him exist, but supposedly he's young and ambitious with ties to Kamishiro Enterprises."
Rika exhaled sharply. They had assumed a connection, but to hear it confirmed was still bracing. She had to set down her saké and take a moment to compose herself. "I see."
"Apparently want to revolutionize the world." Mr. Yoshimoto snorted. "I'll believe it when I see it. Nothing ever really changes, you know. Just takes on new forms. When you've seen as much as I have, you'll come to recognize that."
They sat in the office, silent, digesting the information each had discovered. Suzie had been sent home hours earlier, because Henry wanted her to have no part in this venture. The setting sun cast long shadows on the reorganized room. He fought the urge to take everything apart and remake it in its former image.
"We need to go to that concert," Rika said. "I bet you anything we'll find a way to interface with EDEN."
Henry could feel a headache coming on. He rubbed his temples. "Are we sure that—you know, Burning Productions—isn't involved instead, somehow? I doubt they'd be happy if Jackpot really broke away."
He kept searching for other possibilities, even as the other possibilities evaporated and left him with the only option, viewed through a looking glass darkly. Rika tilted her head, purple gaze clouded.
"Maybe. But we still need to investigate. This is something only we can handle properly."
"You're right," Henry said, resigned. "Mr. Ogawa sent us tickets."
"So, we already have an in?" Takato asked.
Henry nodded.
"I have Miss Hada's number as well. She could probably get me there early, before the concert starts, so I can poke around." Rika was staring at her D-Power, reading whatever Renamon had sent her.
Henry had messaged Terriermon a few times upon returning from the Digital World, but all the responses had been glib obfuscations. Whatever that Eater creature had done to him wasn't manifesting physically—not even in scans at the DigiLab. But still Henry worried.
"And we're all in agreement that the three of us need to be available for this?" Takato asked.
"Yes." The answer came out harsher than intended. Henry swallowed and softened. "Yes. Any other cases are lower priority."
A somber moment passed between them. Henry stared out the window at the people walking home from work or school. He wondered what it was like to be them—did they feel overwhelmed, as he often did, by their personal anxieties? Or was it easier for everyone else and he had missed that specific life hack.
"You know what this means, right?" Takato broke the silence first. Good humor crept into his tone, warming the office space. Henry needed a second to understand Takato's implication.
"Oh, hell no," Rika said, even as a reluctant smile broke across her face.
"You don't get to back out now! I was promised karaoke for three-man missions!" Takato grinned, triumphant. "It's important and necessary to ensure success! For good luck and improved camaraderie! I've been practicing Hitoto Yo just for this moment!"
"You're such a gogglehead," Rika said, affectionate.
Henry laughed, unable to help it. He was grateful to have had Takato as a lifelong friend, more now than perhaps ever before. Everything was too serious when it was just Henry, or even Henry and Rika. Joy unto others was perhaps Takato's greatest gift.
"Yeah, let's go," Henry said. "Let's do this together."