THE PASSING WIND

-TheSilentReader-

If I were enjoying something that I really love, that something was when I used to be together with Sachiko. I have always been the ordinary one, just like others in the rest of the class; but when I became her petit souer, my life changed forever. She chose me among all those that admire her, and persevered to stay together until she graduated. For me, she was an angel from the heavens, a vision. She always struck me as the sole inspiration for me to continue my dream.

I was a nobody back when she picked me from normalcy. I had no clubs, no committee, no exemplary academic background. Nobody expected something from me, which was fine in general. But when she brought me to the Rose Mansion, and urged me to stay, I realized that I must be something to be worthy of her. She told me before that I should not be strained by my status as her petit souer, and I complied. She said that I could do anything I want to, either to aim high, or to aim low. I joined the art club, improved my academics, charged my leadership skills. In a subtle manner, she would praise me, securing me that she would always be there, the older sister to protect me.

But then, something in my heart tugged me—there . . . deep within my soul, the realization:

That I was using her for me to gain the courage to expel from the ordinary.

I never told her, I never did. I tried to euphemized her as my sole inspiration—my role model. But the idea that her majestic presence was the one that raised me to the pedestal. I tried to remain there by my own power—but it was not enough. My love for her and her love for her hoisted me up there.

Deep within my heart, I abhored the realization that my love for her was the reason I stayed in that pedestal, and never beyond that.

Thus, hatred began to fill my heart the moment she relinquished all connections from me, matching the intensity of my love for her, I felt that I was moving up, up, up away from that pedestal. Yes, hatred, that emotion that I never thought I could wield inside me. I suddenly felt the wind all over me, never restricted from the ground. I felt that I was flying high solely because of my willpower. I felt that hatred was a good thing too. I felt that the gray area between the absolute right and wrong was much vaster than those two combined. I realized that my ideals before were all bullshit.

If there were someone that I would like to thank, it would be her. Sachiko. That angel surrounded with red roses—the person who introduced hatred to me.

—Fukuzawa Yumi

CHAPTER 7

A week ago

"It's not about the money." Yoshino said.

"Huh?" (He remembered that line somewhere from before.)

The former Rosa Foetida sat on a steel chair as she scanned small prints of paintings at the Nihonga section. "Someone is bored enough to steal it from the gallery. See? A 25 million yen Fukuzawa. Just one. The others' prices come close to it, like The Deformed, with 20 million. Distance, with 21 million. Why only one painting? Why not three Fukuzawa's? Why not the others? There were also 500 million yen-paintings in the same wing. Not to mention a Higashimaya on the opposite wall."

"Because no man could steal three paintings in less than two minutes."

"Let's not take down the fact that they could be two or more. Even footmarks are useless. With all the people visiting that section that day . . ."

They were discussing on Yuuki's workstation. Beside the table was Yuuki's "murder board", where gathered info about Fukuzawa Yumi's case was pinned and displayed.

Yuuki glanced at the prints of the artworks at the Modern Nihonga section of gallery. With dozens of works of art installed there, five of Yumi's paintings were exhibited there, scattered among all else. He sorted the rest of the Fukuzawa nihonga and placed them all on the table, arranging them in one line. None was oil. Two of them were landscapes. All traditional pigment on paper. On his hand were general information of all her five paintings; information include the list of people who formally requested the gallery to sell the Fukuzawa's displayed. Simple enough, all were rejected, much to the gallery's owner's nerves.

The buyers wanted her works because of its strange mix of traditional pigments and modern technique. They knew their art. Apparently, all of them attended their college lectures. It was very hard to gather information from those collectors because they were on the high end of the proverbial social pyramid. It was one of the reasons why Yumi was able to bypass the typical struggling life of a newbie artist—her works were the tastes of those with new money. If they were not able to own it; at least have something from Yumi's hard work—her restorations.

At a young age, she had gained prestige that most art graduates could not accomplish. It seemed that her life was a lie.

"In this case, no matter the 'other party's' number, one painting was still stolen. It could be done by one. " Yoshino murmured as her and Yuuki's eyes stuck upon the small-sized prints. All of them were exceptionally beautiful—to the point that one could value intentionally morbid, fleshed-out human anatomical details of the woman in The Passing Wind, and the overwhelming physical manifestation of a very old, dying, fraught body of an ill woman at The Deformed.

"He's not selfish." Yuuki said. "He's rich. With the technology behind the smoke bombs, I say that they were very handy and were not even recognized by the front door's security's metal detectors. But it could be anyone. However, it's possible that he was able to pass because he frequents the museum, and the staff might know him, thus bypassing strict security procedures. Still, he could be some dog playing Frisbee for his master."

Then, he looked a picture of a detonated smoke bomb, a metal cylinder with at an inch of height and circumference of 2.5 inches. "No smoke bomb could be that stealthy. But the problem is, they could be remotedly activated. He knew that some of the paintings there were of acrylic and water-based, but did not hesitate to smoke the wing. He knew that there were metal plates installed to protect them."

He continued. "But I still could not figure out when he activated it—before of after he took it."

Yoshino sighed. "You handle the technicalities, I'll handle the people. Though, in my part, I already had the list of those people who I want to ask."

"On what grounds?"

Yoshino took the list in front of her. Her eyes scanned the paper unceremoniously, rapidly reading from one line to another. "Their love for Nihonga and their insistence on purchasing one. Many local art collectors these days want Western paintings, particularly those that belong to the Classical, Baroque . . . but have equal interest to van Gogh, Gauguin, Picasso, Monet from the Impressionism . . . modern and postmodern . . . the usual names. But Nihonga is a very small world, when you consider Yumi's style and movement."

She was not making any coherent sentence out loud, but her mind seemed to see it. Whether she analyzed it subjectively or objectively, it did not matter for her.

Touma.

Ogasawara.

Kinomoto.

Hinomura.

The names she definitely knew.

Present day

Yumi started on working for the restoration on her first day at Kinomoto's compound. She tried her best not to wander away from the room, or even from the house, in alarm of going outside once more and face the memories of the past. She was that cautious, to the point that she could not remove herself from the room. She requested a computer for her extensive research about Kinomoto, and it turned out that she still had hope from her old friends and affiliations back in college. There were many unpublished and published theses about the painter and her art, and she was lucky enough to gather them in softcopy. She used to read about her strictly inside the premises of the thesis section of Lillian U library, but now, she could access everything.

The internet was a very revolutionary invention indeed. (She was still not going out of the Kinomoto compound.)

Even her affiliations from the modern museums at Kyoto were hardly ever inconvenient. She was very lucky to be given trust from them. The feeling was almost mutual with her very minute hope for humanity. It was so unlike when she was doing her undergraduate thesis, when she traveled several levels of hell just to get a manuscript.

Her work was going smoothly, that she began to suspect her surroundings.

Kashiwagi, who she always saw during dinner, was on clockwork—he would always inspect improvements every night, before dinnertime. He would knock his way to her workroom, then he would ask a verbal report from her. At her end, Yumi was irritated to the point of practically covering her mouth to stop herself from verbally assualting her employer. She needed solitude before, during, and after her work; but now, his presence, which used to be scary, was now downright irritating. But when she'd do her talk, He'd check Kinomoto's work as if Yumi was not there (not fucking listening), and just stared at it.

The impeccable food from dinner with him afterwards did not even balm her irated stress.

But she could not blame him for it—Kinomoto's works were enough for a person to be lost inside the image. Even Yumi was not immune to her greatness, even with her education at art school, where every piece of art was measured by some sort of a twisted standard.

Even the old lady caretaker of the house was even more disturbing—she had this air of antiquity that she could not decipher, that every time she talked to her, it was as if she was part of a horror movie. She tried not to talk too much, wary of the consequence she might endure if she pushed the old lady's berserk button.

(The old lady might crack her bones and attack her if she did.)

It was too much for her character—she liked to trigger berserk buttons from time to time. But in this house, she was unable to move freely.

But no matter; with Kinomoto's works at the reach of her undeserving hands, she preferred to be alone, succumbing to visual masturbation.

Until now, she could not touch it. Her first procedure was making sure that she had good information of Kinomoto's style and skill, before she proceeded on gathering paint and brushes. For the first few days, she did nothing but research, not only for the first painting that she extracted but also for the rest.

But when she opened the rest of the crates before, she found that Hinata was not the only Kinomoto painter. There were others.

The man with glasses was sitting comfortably on a leathered bench in front of Distance. He was watching a paint-on-paper landscape by Fukuzawa Yumi, who was now away for a commission from the gallery's sponsor. Even with the pack of visitors loitering and blocking his vision of the fusuma, he did not trouble whisking them away; he knew that it was inevitable. He wanted to move less than to be tired because of standing in front of it. That's the use of the bench. It was for him to sit there and admire the piece.

He was just simple and practical as he was since high school, and that did not change.

The gallery's owner agreed that this is the right place to talk about business was in front of Distance, which was very ironic on his part. They would be talking about a replacement painting for The Passing Wind, wherein he suggested a painting to be swapped and posted on the missing painting's blank wall. It was the owner's plans since there was no lead reported by the police and his own appointed art insurance agent, Shimazu. It was better to move on while they wait for the painting's return.

He wondered whether Fukuzawa was informed with about it, or the meeting was still not that good an agreement. He was sure that Fukuzawa had a very broad connections and backing from the art world, and he was not sure if such a move would anger benefactors. She was a favorite, after all. But he was under his employer's orders, and he was tasked to wedge between them to make himself known. He represented a very valuable and influencial person; he could not be ignored easily.

That's why when he insisted the meeting to be so casually here, in front of a Fukuzawa, just so to get his point across.

He wanted another painting to be the center of attention.

He was very confident about it, and when the meeting is done, he would show it to the owner. And he will agree to his wishes.

He adjusted his glasses upward.

Someone called to him. He jerked at his surprise but when he found his old friend ready to give an overwhelming embrace, he stood up and met him.

"You look very loaded now!"

He answered casually, as if they were not separated for a long time. While he studied Economics at Hanadera University, the other pursued Criminology at the Academy. They were separated by time and place, but the bond renewed the moment they saw each other.

"And you look much dignified."

"What are you doing here?"

"Just business. You?"

"Business. Looking for an employee here named Satou Sei. She used to be the Rosa Gigantea back in our first year high school. You remember her?"

"That hot blonde?" He feigned unawareness. It was not his first time seeing that woman, given the fact that he was visiting the gallery frequently ever since the painting was missing.

"Yeah. Ah, sorry, I'm in a hurry. I need to speak with her fast. Catch up later?"

"Sure, sure. Just like old times."

Fukuzawa Yuuki went away to the administration offices, while he just propped himself down where he originally sat. He knew that he's one of the investigators assigned to find the painting, and his presence inside the gallery proved that it was not found yet. But very few days just passed since the formal investigation began, and from the looks of it, they were having several leads now. But that was what he thought, as he adjusted his glasses once more. Fukuzawa was known for his diligence, leadership, and intelligence; but surely, having a case as complicated as this once was very tough.

(Best of luck, old pal.)

He was thirty minutes early from the supposed meeting time, but he made himself punctual to enjoy the works before him. For an Economics major like him, one could account art in a very strict standard to of money. But he intended to perceive it otherwise. His friend's sister is one of the most celebrated artists of his generation, and with that, he changed his view towards art.

Then, the boss finally came out to the scene. He looked at him and said, "I'm sorry for being late."

He bowed and said. "No, I was very early myself." Then they sat down facing Distance. He took the initiative to be forward and asked, "Have you thought about it?"

"Yes. I am very curious of the work. It's like reminiscing a part of the past. I absolutely love it to be part of the gallery. But are you entirely sure that it was unnamed?"

He smiled at the progress of the conversation. "Yes, it is. Nevertheless, excellent decision. Then, shall I give you the pleasure of seeing it now? It would be better you'd visually experience it not in print but in its true form." he asked.

"You're right, Kobayashi Masamune-san."

"Excellent service is what you get from the Ogasawara Zaibatsu, sir."

Yoshino and Yuuki were welcomed in Satou Sei's small office at the administration section of the gallery. The insurance agent was there two hours before Yuuki came, and therefore already had gathered enough information from relevant sources. Yuuki came later to check the data, and gather other files that Yoshino was unable to extract. That was the stratery; lame but they still do it. Yoshino was already talking with Sei when Yuuki came inside.

"Where is she?" Yuuki asked as he took a freshly brewed tea from Sei's hand.

"You were not informed?"

"Nope. I visited the apartment once, and found out that she'd be gone for a long time. But she did not mention any place in particular. Touko pretty much went apeshit for Yumi's lack of communication." He said as he took a sip from the cup. "Ouch!"

Yoshino grinned at Yuuki's statement.

"I'm sorry." Sei said. "She's behaving carelessly since it was lost. I should have informed you, but then again, there goes my trust for Yumi to let you know about it. She's having commissions for a benefactor at Kyoto."

Then, Yuuki looked at her surprisingly. "Would it be beneficial for her to be there?"

"I convinced her to take it. Look, I'm not only talking of her career. She had withstood removing herself from everyone for the last years. Even though she thought she moved on, she was not making any progress. She needs to face them. The past. I cannot do anything to remove sadness from her. She engraved it deeply."

"Touko wanted to see her."

"I thought she's busy with her studies."

"She's tired but she manages. Few more efforts, then she'll be an intern. And she'd not seen her for a long time. Do you think you could arrange a meeting for them?" Yuuki asked.

"It's possible."

Yuuki smiled at Sei's response. Yoshino and Sei felt the palpable mirth Yuuki have been emanating whenever Touko was being inserted into the dialogue. They both thought that Touko must have been worried ever since Yumi's loss, but did not have the time to visit her Onee-sama. They've understood how frenzied Touko's schedule was, given that she'd be applying as an intern at her family's hospital after a semester.

The police officer must have been arranging the meeting in secret. (The things he does for those two.)

She wrote on a piece of memopad the address Yumi was currently residing at Kyoto. She looked at her organizer to ensure the correctness of the address. When she handed it over to Yuuki, she asked, "How's the investigation?"

"It's not for the money." Yoshino said nonchalantly.

"It's obvious, given the Higashimaya . . ."

"But we're still digging on names. It's still a nearly hopeless case, you know. This is the other reason I came here. We needed information about several benefactors and art collectors that have been purchasing Nihonga in your gallery. We had few names in mind, and I think they're just suspiscious."

"Names?"

Yoshino handed a small paper.

Touma Sachiko walked out of the conference room after having a meeting with her staff about. She took her time inside, arranging all files and shutting down her laptop even though the rest of the staff already left. She had a meeting scheduled within fifteen minutes at the top floor of the building and she rather not mess with it. When she closed her laptop, the door of the conference room opened suddenly, revealing her secretary, who took the initiative to get Sachiko's load and escort her outside.

All the while, she thought of herself as stupid for rushing herself in seeing Yumi. In little idle moments such as this, her mind was not helping her, as it wandered to the memory when Yumi and she had last spoken. She was not helping herself, neither helping the painter. If there was one thing that she should have done, it was to avoid any connections with her former imouto.

"Buchou, is everything alright? I could get the president to the phone to cancel the next meeting if you're not feeling well." Her secretary and junior said. She did not notice that she was staring at the fine long table of the conference room, absorbed into her thoughts. Her secretary, however, was already opened the door and was waiting for her to proceed first.

"Please, no." Sachiko said to her secretary. "There is nothing to worry about."

With that reply, her secretary gave her a folder containing a report she expected today.

She walked out of the room. She dismissed her secretary and proceeded to the elevator. After pushing the button for the uppermost floor of the building, she rested her back to its wall.

She felt helpless that Yumi was not listening to her anymore. Their last meeting, she was supposed to express everything that she felt after they separated, but unlike her usual confidence in conversing with other people, she was unable to catch Yumi's attention anymore. Yumi locked herself from anything that Sachiko had said, and the latter knew it. Of the years had gone by, only this time that she gathered all her courage to face her.

Or was Yumi listening to everything she had said but did not like what the former was hearing?

At that time, Sachiko told her that she wanted to reconnect. To at least be civil with each other. To accept what happened before and moved on together. Sachiko wanted to face everyday of her life knowing that Yumi had forgiven her. Only that. She needed nothing more from her but that.

But then, Yumi had gone too far by breaking into Sachiko's defences and plucked once more her weak spot. It was so hurting that Yumi had brought out inside of Sachiko that the latter was trying to suppress wth al her might whenever Yumi was around. She knew that being much more intimate with Yumi was far from possible, but Yumi shoving that idea in front of her—it was downgrading. Sachiko knew her place—she always had, and if Yumi had not done it, she would still know her place.

She clutched on the folder she was holding.

The door of the elevator slid sidways revealing a large hall; she walked passed a secretary that was posted at her table, and she greeted her warmly. The secretary then nodded and picked up the telephone receiver on her desk to tell her employer that Touma Sachiko was waiting beyond the door of the president's office.

Then, Sachiko got an approval to advance inside.

"Hello, Grandfather; Father."

Few days later

Yumi dug the covered tip of her highlighter at the surface of her scalp when a sudden itch began to spread from the back of her head. It was even hard to ease her irritation because of her tight ponytail, preventing the highlighter from thoroughly locating the source. It was already late evening, and a few hours ago, she just shared dinner with Kashiwagi, along with the old woman and his butler. Kashiwagi was very loose on the bounderies between masters and servants—she saw his middle-aged butler, Shimata-san, patting his master's head one time, as if he was Kashiwagi's old uncle. She happened to witness such a lenient act of closeness between them when she opened one of the sliding doors of her room.

She was reading the documents she downloaded and printed—which consumed several reams of bond papers when she printed them. Some papers were sorted out and stapled; pictures of paintings were clipped above them. Documents were scattered even beyond the confines of her room, as she leasurely lie down at the adjacent corridor, reading and highlighting a section of a document on her hand. The flourescent light inside her workroom served as her light source.

She did not realize that her thoughts were not on the page she was reading.

She felt foreign among the rest of the staff here, which was quite fine with her. The things that made herself calm down were the paintings that she was assigned to restore. They were all works of geniuses, only that they came from one line of family, the Kinomoto, as depicted by the similarity of the signature seals. Yumi felt as if she were in a detective drama—she felt compelled by the names—three, in fact.

Hinata.

Junko.

Setsuna.

When she searched for these names in the database of Japanese painters of Nihonga (all in strict regulation), only Hinata and Junko appeared, naming them two of the masters of Nihonga—accompanying a certain art movement of their time. Hinata was famous during the pre-war and post-war, creating a tremendous showcase of transfomations in style and movement during that revolutionary time in history. Junko was a female turn-of-the-century painter, who had pursued her dream as an artist and rose even amongst the sea of male artists who dominated during her days. Their works were highly sought of by fastidious and demanding art collectors because of their rarity. Who would have thought that Kashiwagi—that scary of a man—would have treasures such as this?

(So that's why he insisted that Yumi should look at the paintings first. They were from the black market.)

On second thought, Kashiwagi might fit to the fastidious and demanding type—it's just that it's not easily impressed with his rough, unpolished image.

Junko's and Hinata's works did not require extreme restoration; they were taken care of, the fact that they were quite famous. Each of them having two paintings to be restored, Yumi would have no problem of fixing them because their works and painting styles were already thoroughly researched and properly documented. And the fact that they have significant exhibited contributions to the community even during their times. It was different for Setsuna.

She was nowhere to be found in the database. Yet she found nothing less brilliant to the technique and skill that Setsuna did bestow in her two paintings. She had silimar signature seals with Junko and Hinata, but it seemed that it was not as recognized and welcomed as the first two.

(What happened then?)

It was when that she heard footsteps. She looked sideways and she found Kashiwagi and the old lady walking side by side, the latter had a tray with small two small cups and a bottle of rice wine. Kashiwagi, donned in a dark green kimono, sat beside Yumi, while the old woman settled the round, wooden tray between them. She settled down the document and highlighter at her side. She looked at him and shrank inwardly.

(I think I need a bath.)

Kashiwagi began to pour one small cup. He told her to relinquish their business relationship and just drink. Yumi took it and drank its contents. She returned the favor and served him too. The exchange continued for several servings.

He noticed the papers scattered around Yumi and picked one random document.

"I could not find Setsuna. Damn, this commission's hard." She assumed that he knew what she was talking about. "I could not even find a trace of her works in Kinomoto's library." She talked about the library situated at the compound. "Who's she, anyway?"

She expected him not to answer, but she heard one after a few moments. He smiled, looking at the moonlit garden in front of them. "Setsuna was Hinata's daughter."

(She cringed inwardly the moment Kashiwagi began to show cryptic emotions such as this. Scary man.)

"This is the secret?" She felt incredulous of what she was about to hear.

"Yes."

Yumi shrugged, trying to act unsurprised. "Well . . . that's cool; should it really be kept secret? I never knew she had a daughter. She must be in her fifties or sixties now. Where do you think she is? It's very ironic—I am restoring paintings of a person still alive . . ."

"She's dead."

"That made sense."

The next exhibition of the Kinomoto includes works of an unknown painter—her postmortem debut.

"If you want to have information about her, then why did you just ask me?" Kashiwagi raised the question as he poured wine to Yumi's empty cup.

When Yumi finished it, "I assumed that you're just a typical art collector . . . you cared about the work, but never the painting's life." Yumi shrugged.

Then Kashiwagi pulled out a folder from his kimono and handed it to Yumi. He mused, "Kinomoto Setsuna, the unknown daughter of Hinata. Very fascinating, isn't it? It's really hard to find information about her."

A blood vessel at Yumi's forehead convulsed. (Scumbag, you richbrat of shit, you had this information all this time. Are you trying my patience, really?) Yumi struggled to calm herself. She was about to stand up and punch her employer—she'd really take advantage of the 'No Employer-employee Policy' here—when Kashiwagi handed a fancy envelope. Yumi opened it, and she found herself forcing her anger not to blow up.

"Ogasawara Zaibatsu." She seethed.

"Something wrong about the company?"

"Nothing. Just . . . just the name."

"The gallery loaned a Nihonga from the company to replace your missing work, until it's found." He said. "They're going to have a party for it at the gallery. That invitation was forwarded by your senior, Satou Sei, along with a note." He gave her a letter.

Yumi, Kashiwagi-san would have explained to you

why the Ogasawara Zaibatsu sent you a letter. Even I

did not know of it, until the boss handed me another

copy of that invitation. Even I did not know the details.

But it's his gallery. Anyway, Yoshino, Yuuki and I will be

visiting you sometime, so we expect a warm welcome.

Sei.

P.S. Touko will also be with us too. She wants to see you.

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: Hi there! Thanks for reading this chapter. One thing that I would say for this chapter was that this would lead Yumi to face Sachiko once more. Many details were put into this baby, but I should tell you, they were relevant. Although, it was hard for me not to put the real deal about Sachiko and Yumi's past. I'll try for the next chapters.

I really ran through this chapter many times because I was not all comfortable of the detective part of Yuuki and Yoshino. It seemed to be dragging, but this was the only improvement I could do to at least tell you that they are actually having leads. So, once again, I ask the readers to please comment about the detective part—I suggest that you rely on first instinct about this stuff.

Also, thanks for those who subscribed, read. Although I really want to your reviews (please, may I?), for the sole reason that I could have a discussion with you.

Oh, yeah, I happened to bump on the movie of Revolutionary Girl Utena called the Adolescence of Utena. I was very lucky to stumble upon this classic. It's SCENERY PORN (LOL). I really like the short-haired Utena.