THE PASSING WIND

-TheSilentReader-

While sitting at a small space upon the wall (a space without any upturned canvas), I watched Nee-san paint a Nihonga piece, quietly observing her stance while she took time deliberately on applying details for minute areas of the ground. Her second exhibition was one thing she had in mind, and although she had no definite deadline, she did not waste any moment idling. Maybe, it was because everything—her intense feelings, as she once describe it—was still fresh in her and those come with inspiration. Even after two years. After all, even though anger brought out words that one would really regret, in anger one could bring out the best words the lords of literature could appreciate. As she said before, one could described artistically in words how fucked up—or rather, how miserable her life was, and once they were put into paper, they were magnificently written—the words accurately depicted those intense emotions inside the writer's heart, and was able to nail it fair and square to the reader's own. She applied such a technique to her art.

The painting called now as The Passing Wind was being painted before my eyes. I could see her hatred there. It did reach me. I hated that it would remain in her heart and would never dissipate.

I noticed her stance while painting. Her back was curved; her legs were apart like those of men; and her right free hand rested at her right thighs with her arms bent outwards. It was very unlikely since the last time I saw her paint—which was when she was still a junior in college, a time when my schedule was not that much of a pain—two years ago. At that time, her back was straight, her legs folded close, her hands seemed delicate.

I asked her, "Nee-san, do you really have to open your legs that much?"

She was used to work alone and demanded it clearly to everyone, which surprised me: she allowed me inside her workroom.

She answered calmly, further surprising me . . . just look at the painting she was doing: "Only this way I could be most comfortable, Touko. I could not do it any other way." Then, for afterwards, she induced a small laughter, which was rare now to see. She asked quizzically, "Do I look bad like this?" motioning her stance with her hands.

I smiled back, joyful of that small smile that rarely appeared. And it appeared before me.

"No, you look very picturesque."

—Matsudaira Touko (1997)

CHAPTER 9:

The sound of jazz being played by a live band. People in formal costumes were dancing. Several associates of the Ogasawara Zaibatsu as well as other benefactors of the gallery were there, mingling.

There was still time before the main event—the painting to be presented was still hidden in a pure white cloth, hanging where Fukuzawa's lost work used to reside.

Mizuno Youko was drinking her second helping of the champaigne being distributed by several waiters roaming around. This was a black-tie party inside the vast Nihonga section of the gallery, and interestingly, she was invited by Sachiko herself. It was a few months ever since she'd last seen her kouhai, and that was entirely about business. Youko thought that being Sachiko's grandfather's employee had taken too much of her time, but seeing Sachiko now, she thought otherwise. She was glad seeing her petite soeur quite happy with her husband now. She watched Sachiko propped her arms to her husband in such a comfortable way. However, even with all the happiness emanated by the couple, particularly of her husband, she traced a little of nervousness in Sachiko.

Fukuzawa Yumi. Everyone wondered what happened to her until the news about her lost painting broke out in television. It had been too many years since she had last seen her (she thought that it had been since Lillian U), and that was when Yumi was still a budding art student. But when she heard from Sachiko that Yumi left for Kyoto several years ago was the last time she had heard about her.

(So, this is where Yumi-chan works. So does Sei.)

She felt a trace of acid in her mouth. She too, had not heard from that woman for a long time. It seemed that Yumi-chan had acquired the stealth that Sei innately had.

(How is she now? If she worked here as Sachiko had told her a while ago, then where is she? Is she late again? That woman never changes.)

"Mizuno Youko. It's not you to stare at space."

"Torii Eriko. It's not you to disturb me for your entertainment."

"It's Yamanobe Eriko for you."

"Finally. I thought it'll take you forever to snag that professor."

Both giggled. They greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek, and looked for a spot in the gallery that was much farther from the band and the dance floor. After all, they wanted to talk, after such a long time from being apart. Youko was able to get nibblings for the both of them, and as they situated themselves to be wallflowers, they started their conversation.

"I have no idea why I am here. Maybe a little bit." Eriko mumbled.

"Liar. For me, it doesn't matter. Seeing the news about Yumi-chan's lost painting encouraged me to see her again. After all, this is where she works. Receiving a personal invitation from Sachiko, I guess she wanted Yumi to be surrounded with old friends at the time like this." Youko reasoned.

"True. Although, I haven't seen Yumi-chan around. Just the usual familiar faces. Like Rei there. And Shimako-chan and Noriko-chan there." Eriko supplied as she subtly pointing out their underclassmen back in high school. "They sure changed a lot over the years."

"That is inevitable. Change is the only constant thing in the world." Youko stated as she sipped from her glass.

They observed quietly, vowing to themselves never to call out to their acquaintances. They just let people passed them by, unless one of their little soeurs approaches them. And they did. One by one, they emerged into their fields of vision and moments later, the pair composing of Youko and Eriko became a group of former Yamayurikai members, adding Rei, Sachiko, Noriko, and Shimako.

They were all looking for the painter. And as much as Youko hated to realize, there was more to Sachiko's letter the moment she asked her little sister about Yumi-chan. Sachiko was hiding something. She prodded more, asking if Sachiko was still in close touch with Yumi-chan, but she just held a smile and answered vaguely. When Youko observed Shimako and Noriko's reactions, they too had not seen the celebrated painter for a long time. So was Rei; however, she told them that Yoshino had been part of the investigation of Yumi's missing work-of-art. After that, she said nothing more, much to the surprise of Eriko, who was anticipating more from her petite soeur. She too, was quite anxious as Sachiko.

And Eriko and Youko confirmed their speculation the moment Sachiko asked for a private time with Rei, her best friend.

On the other side of the room, Yoshino scanned the guests. Three of the four surnames listed were found here in the party. Both the Touma (Sachiko and her husband, Ryu), Ogasawara (Sachiko's parents, sans the grandfather), Hinomura Minato (Yumi's and Sei's boss) were there, mingling with their own social circles. The last one, that phantom name—Kinomoto—still have not appeared in the roster of guests that was being handled by one of Sachiko-sama's subordinates, much for her annoyance.

(Not that she expected the dead to be here. Or expecting someone of that name to be here, at all.)

Yoshino had talked to Touma Sachiko days before the event, asking her questions related to Yumi's lost painting. She entertained her, but when Yuuki met them halfway of the questioning, the young police officer was trying his best to act professionally in front of Sachiko. The insurance agent could tell that the cop was fuming, trying hard not to smash something to the person that they were interrogating. Yoshino realized that Yuuki knew about Yumi's unrequited love for her grande soeur. But, why is it that Yuuki decided that that was Sachiko's fault? It was not his business; therefore, it was not his position to be angry with Sachiko because of Yumi's unrequited love.

Then it occurred to her: there was more to Sachiko and Yumi's relationship. There was more to it that caused Yuuki, Sei and even Touko to be hostile whenever Sachiko was mentioned.

She asked Yuuki about Yumi's personal life back in college, and reasoned to him that it was important that she knew the history. And there was. Yuuki was the one who delivered Sachiko's wedding invitation to Kyoto and found Yumi crying in the arms of Satou Sei. Back in college, he was already suspecting a secret intimacy between those two women, but seeing that Yumi had not told him anything, it meant to him that it was all a speculation. He said that they were very close; often spending too much time with each other, but for Yumi's privacy, Yuuki never asked about that.

(He said back at Kashiwagi's place that he hated it when the surnames "Touma" and "Ogasawara" appeared in the list. He hated it that Sachiko may be prodding into Yumi's life once more.)

And he was right. She did. If Yoshino did not corner Yumi that night in Kashiwagi's place, she would not know anything. And nothing would make sense.

Several days ago

It was already late at night when Yoshino decided that she would not put up with the bullshit that Yumi was projecting all day. They were here to investigate about those names, and for that, she needed Yumi's testimonial about her relationship, business and/or personal, to those four names.

She knew that this night, even though the house had guests, Yumi would still be visiting her workshop even at the dead of the night. So, Yoshino waited there, waiting for the right moment that Yumi would be all by herself—without that nosy Sei, or her overprotective brother and his girlfriend, or that creepy old housekeeper, or her enigmatic employer.

And there she was, admiring and just staring at one painting that she was restoring. Yoshino decided to open the door without even knocking. As she expected, Yumi quickly recoiled from her stupor and covered the painting with a white cloth.

"I knew you'd be here."

Yumi tartly replied. "Here I am."

Yoshino demanded flatly. "I need to talk to you."

It took several daunting seconds for Yumi to answer the question, but Yoshino already anticipated that she would flatly ignore her. Surprisingly, Yumi replied. "For your investigation?"

She fully opened the doorway. "For the investigation."

Yumi sufficed a sigh. She knew the reasons behind their visit—it would be surprising if they would never discuss the investigation of her lost painting. She knew that the visit won't be just to check if she were alright, but to sleuth to her stuff. She had missing pages of her research, after all. They did not even bother to nicely ask her. Was she that scary? But she'd forgive them. "All right."

Yoshino tapped the slide door twice. "Why don't we go outside? This room suffocates me."

(Fine). "Whatever."

When they reached the Japanese garden, Yumi sat on one of the flat rocks that were aligned along the pathway. They happened to be situated in one of the plum trees. Yoshino joined her. For a few minutes, they said nothing, just admiring the cloudless sky and the moon above. Then, Yumi broke the silence.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Yoshino then pulled out a small piece of paper that she knew would come in handy. Written there were the names of four of their unofficial suspects. Yoshino knew that it would better if she would not be as talkative and unyielding with this interrogation; after all, she needed Yumi to the one talkative, not her. If she put up the front of arrogance, Yumi would not talk. "Here," she said, "these are the names that we've found to be having dealership with Nihonga paintings in the last years. I want to ask you about your relationship with them."

Yumi snorted as she read the names. "You know my relationship with a certain then Ogasawara and now Touma."

Yoshino shifted to face Yumi. She grabbed both her friend's shoulders and said, "I know. But I need to know more. The soeur relationship would be just too general . . . too shallow. I know that there's more in that. Your painting was stolen not for money; it was stolen to get some sort of a message across. It wants something from you, something personal. I hope you'd understand that."

Yoshino released her from her clutches. The painter watched the dark sky and sighed. "Personal? Everything that I did, am doing, and will do is very personal."

"I noticed. I want to hear you out. No matter how long it takes. Even if I have to wait all night."

Several minutes had passed.

Then, Yumi whispered. "I'm going to tell this once. Use what I am about to say at your investigation's convenience. I will not include unecessary things. We are not having a fucking girl-talk; I'm the one giving out information. Raw facts. I don't want to hear your opinion nor a reaction to whatever I'm about to say. Deal?"

"Deal."

Yumi took a deep breath.

"Well, Ogasawara. There are four Ogasawara that I've known: it's Sachiko, her parents and her grandfather. But the person that I was closest to was Sachiko. She's my grande soeur and my sempai at Lillian U. We always stayed close together until she graduated from college. We used to be lovers since uni days." She stated monotonously, devoid of any emotion. Somehow, she tried not to show that this was killing her. But she had to know who stole it.

I knew it! Yoshino tried her best not to react with that one. "I don't know about that."

"You appear not surprised." Yumi grunted. "It's not your or anyone's business. But we wanted to take it on the low. Even our parents knew nothing about it. It ended before I went here in Kyoto as an exchange student. That time, she was already betrothed to another man that his grandfather picked for her. I tried to convince her to end the engagement and run away, but it was not that easy. We parted ways after I went for Kyoto. I haven't seen her for years."

"Did she ever visit you?"

She decided to be more open. "Twice."

"When?"

The memories still burnt in her brain. "Two days after my painting was stolen. The other was two days before I went here for the commission."

(Not to speak any fucking opinion!) "What was her purpose?"

Yumi snorted at the memory. "To see if I were fine. I told her the obvious. But I dismissed her anyway. I do not want to share oxygen with her in one room. Anything but that."

"What about her parents? Her grandfather? How is your relationship to them?"

She looked at her quizzically. "Her parents? The usual. You see, we kept our relationship from everyone. I had good terms with her parents, but after the engagement, I have not seen them since. Maybe they sniffed out from the grandfather that Sachiko and I were having an affair, so they decided not to speak to me. The grandfather found out about us, you see. And after all, they were all controled by that old man. Rich as they may be, they still were in the clutches of the grandfather. The parents are, and more so with the sole heir of the corporation.

"In other words, all of the Ogasawara and I had very bad blood between us."

Yoshino was not getting her story the way she perceived it would be. "What made you not to retaliate? Did they do nothing to keep your former relationship with Sachiko a secret? Did you . . . ever try to expose it?"

Yumi heartily laughed at Yoshino's words. "You see, I just don't want to hear from them. When she called it quits, that's it. At that time, I didn't have the power to change everything around me. Real power. But, I won't stoop that low." Just like Sachiko.

"Then, how about his husband? Touma Ryu?"

She tried not to cringe. "I haven't seen him. Nor talk to him. Nor spill his guts out."

"Do you think he knew about your former liaison with Sachiko?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's Sachiko's discretion whether to reveal it to her husband or not. But on second thought, maybe I should drop a line, if we happened to meet. You know about the party, right?"

"Haven't you thought that this would affect your career? The family could retaliate and even destroy you because of that."

"Maybe . . . maybe not. Touma will just be my target. It would be stupid to announce it in public. Let him suffer, I guess, being one of the few who knew about it."

"Don't do it."

The painter rolled her eyes. (Of course not.) "I did not ask for your opinion."

She defeatedly conceded. "Well then, what about Hinomura?"

"Oh, you know about it. Hinomura Minato is my boss. The owner of the gallery."

"What about the other Hinomura?"

That made Yumi fliched a little. "His uncle . . . he was my former mentor. I was under his advisory when I became an exchange student here in Kyoto. He and I . . . we had a rough past."

"That case?"

Yumi fought the urge to stay quiet. "Yes. It was a fight of intellectual property. We shared the same areas of research back when I was doing my thesis. He had a publication in an art journal that did not have any reference from my work. It became an issue when another art journal had published my thesis before that. Then it started. The thing was that he stole some vital research material that I produced and put it on his paper. I don't know the details or the law behind the proceedings, all I know is that it was resolved. It was a bad memory that I myself don't want to disclose. But you could read them anyway."

"How about the nephew?"

Yumi smirked. "He was the one who helped me after everything. We were colleagues even before that. He just happened to have a gellery here at Musashino, and I applied as his contractual worker. True enough, he doesn't like his uncle's ways. He's someone that doesn't really apply to my current view about human beings."

"What happened to that mentor?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe, he stayed at another university. He was a valuable part of the faculty. I tried not to deal with bastards like him." Yumi kicked a small pebble on the ground.

That did not sound right . . . just from the tone of her voice.

"Did you ever have more than the student-teacher relationship?"

"We . . . we had. It was also a reason why the trial took so long. I was reluctant to fight. He used that as an avenue to shut me up. But I was helped from colleagues that had the same problem with him. It became part of my illustrious reputation in the art world."

"Now, what do you think about Kinomoto?"

Yumi looked once more at the piece of paper. She noticed the characters of the surname, but curiousity paved a way . . . why was Kinomoto in the list of suspects? Setsuna was long dead—hell, everyone in the clan was dead, and how did that name came out this time? She looked for an avenue to gauge what Yoshino knew about the Kinomoto. She started with the famous ones. "Hinata? Junko?"

She flatly provided. "Both."

(That was an easy question.) "Role models. Badass Nihonga painters. Current commissions. Nothing more."

Yoshino began to examine her fingernails. (She too was beginning to produce her own trap for Yumi.) "There was a rumor that Hinata had a daughter."

"Oh, that. I said before, I don't know anything about that."

She then dropped her cards. "Setsuna. That painting that you've been staring at a while ago. That was Hinata's daughter's work, wasn't it?"

"Setsuna?"

"I saw the seal. If you're told by your employer not to disclose any information, that's fine with me. All I needed was the name. And I have it."

Yumi cursed at herself. She was careless a while ago. "What are you going to do about it?"

Yoshino decided to take the conversation without any design of trapping Yumi to her own words. If Yumi assumed that she was using some sort of a mindbending crap to get information, she'd refuse to talk more. "Someone is using that surname to buy art works. It's not a legitimate name, considering that Hinata was the last heir. We just noticed that discrepancy when we tried to extract list of buyers from your gallery. It's not entirely legal, but that's how I work. Besides, I'm not under the jurisdiction of the Musashino PD. Isn't that lovely?"

Yumi then agreed silently. "But that might not be related at all to whoever stole my painting. You are digging something else. But you're good at your job. I hope that will reflect on your current assignment."

"I want your work back. I have five percent, which is quite big."

Yumi looked at her wristwatch. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, I do." Yoshino replied with a smile. It was getting a lot colder; therefore, they left the garden quietly. When, they were about to separate, Yoshino added, "She's a bitch."

"I did not ask for your opinion."

At Present

She never hated going to the gallery. It was her home turf, the kind of place she expected to be the most comfortable. But now, she grimaced at the sight of people in their crisped formal dresses—men in their bowties, women in their long gowns and sparkling jewelries. She hated the glamour of it all, but she could not help it; the woman beside her, holding her arms, was as impeccable was everyone else.

"Sei, I don't think this is a good idea."

"It's part of your job. I could pay you for just attending."

"Pimping me out? Please. I rather am at damned Kyoto doing my commission than be here. It's soffucating me."

"You have no idea." She said. Then she felt a grip on her hand, which was rested in his arms. "You're quite talkative. Not sick. Brave this out. We'll see if Ogasawara's painting really is at par with The Passing Wind. To be its replacement. Are your pride not pounded with that kind of gesture? Really, now." She challenged.

(Jerkass.) Yumi scowled. Satou Sei really could tick her out.

This shit is full of the Ogasawara smell. She hatefully remembered those times when she was invited to parties such as this one—Sachiko had convinced her to attend because she'd take care of everything. Now, every glamorous party such as this reminded her of her nights where she used to do this, and almost enjoyed them . . . because Sachiko was there.

(Tough it out.) She knew she'll see her again here. What a sly strategy, even inviting some of the Yamayurikai of their time just so to make her tone down her anger if she happened to bump on her. Not to lash out on her, or pluck her eyes out on sight. She saw Shimako-san and Noriko getting a good look at The Deformed. She noticed Youko-sama, Eriko-sama, and Rei-sama talking at the far corner, drinking. Touko and Yuuki were dancing, enjoying their time. Thus far, she was thankful for having Sei around.

She hated this unprecedented reunion. Frustrating, indeed.

"Anyway, I'll go now. Enjoy yourself, Yumi." Sei took off before the painter could say anything. And after that, she felt foreign to the place she used to work everyday. She was surrounded with half of the people she did not know. She looked at the other top employees, but she tried not to get close to them. After all, rumors were still circulating about the new painting to be installed to replace hers. She could still not resolve her feelings with that.

(She could not handle those eyes that were looking at her, judging her, making stories about her.)

Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice familiar people surrounding her. Then, familiar faces—Toudou Shimako, Nijou Noriko, Mizuno Youko and Torii Eriko—encircled her. Her brain registered each face, thus a thought began to bud to her.

(So that's why Sei just bounced off.)

She had no choice but to greet them. She then bowed.

They were still the same; she noticed the same demeanor in Shimako's subtle voice and mannerisms, in Noriko's quick replies and guarded expressions, on the faint droopiness in Eriko-sama's eyes as she scanned her, and on Youko-sama's worried gaze at her. They never changed.

(Maybe this was because they did not see each other for a long time.)

Shimako asked Yumi for a little closeness such as a hug. Yumi, being surprised at the sudden ambush by the group was unable to decline and therefore was gently glomped by the woman. Did they even know that she's very uncomfortable now with the sudden closeness? Where was her attitude when she needed it? She looked at her surroundings, and detected some of her colleagues surprised at Shimako's sudden familiarity to her, when they knew that she was quite antisocial at present?

"Yumi-san, it's been a long time. We haven't heard a word from you." Shimako piped, gleeful at the sight of her former classmate.

"I . . . I—" Yumi cursed at herself. Shimako did not deserve a distasteful avoidance from her. Why was she still so fucking nice?

Eriko-sama began to supply, "You sure have changed, Yumi-chan. You remind me of someone so . . . rough around the edges."

Youko gulped.

That comment helped her regain composure, herself. Yumi then raised a brow, and unconsciously took a step away from the rest, "You don't say, Eriko-sama. You seemed very interested about that."

She was ready to dismiss herself from them, when two shadows joined them. When the grouped noticed the couple, they greeted them by thanking for the invitation. It was Sachiko and Ryu. Yumi's heart began to twitch in a manner that she felt coldness on her back, seeping to her head.

(She prepared for this.)

She stared at Ryu.

She looked at him with blunt eyes, examining the man who had stole Sachiko from her years ago, without any fight. He saw gentle eyes shining upon a well-chiseled face; his determined jaw had thin lips smiling. He was a head taller than Sachiko. He has a fine figure, a feature that most figure artists would look for in nude models.

He could be considered a prince, someone a typical princess like Sachiko would yearn for.

Then she quipped, "You can be a model for figure sketching. You really have fine, proportionate physique. Just for reference."

Either nobody heard that, or the rest were just so surprised they would not even utter a word.

His smile was very honest. "Fukuzawa Yumi-sensei, I am so honored to meet you." He bowed and reached out his arms for a handshake. "I really admire your works. Although I must say that it's really such a shame that I couldn't get one of your paintings to my private collection."

She was about to drop a venomous response, when suddenly Sachiko tugged on Ryu's sleeve and commented, "She's my kouhai back at Lillian, Ryu."

"Really, Sachiko? I didn't remember you mentioning that," He replied warmly to his wife.

"Can we talk for a moment?" Sachiko asked Yumi.

Yumi tried to weigh the advantages of talking to her once more. She looked at the people around them, watching their every move; Eriko-sama expecting some sort of a scene between her and Sachiko; Youko-sama looking at both of us with proud eyes; Shimako and Noriko smiling and admiring Ryu.

They knew nothing. Nothing of Sachiko and her past. It was all a memory between both of them.

She casted an indifferent look, and accepted her request. "Fine. Where do you want to talk?" She excused herself from everyone and walked away. She was heading to the elevator. Behind her was Sachiko saying her temporary goodbyes to her husband and her friends. As soon as she caught up with the walking Yumi, she hurriedly said, "Your office, please."

Three helpings of the flute filled with liquor were not enough to calm her nerves down. If there was desperation inside her that wanted to come out—to manifest itself, she refused to acknowledge it. The fact that she stayed out of the picture when she noticed Youko's group heading towards Yumi was an indication that she was still afraid of facing them. She didn't know the real reason why . . . maybe she was just very conscientious about not seeing them for a very long time, or that she left an unfinished business with them that she knew she had forgotten along the course of time. Or for much simpler explanation; she just could not face them. She was afraid talking about her life just to fuel up a conversation or asking questions about theirs.

Many years had passed ever since graduation, but Yumi's words seeped into her mind, that she was not good in keeping tabs with people she usually met and sometimes shared a significant memory. She just kept on moving forward, saddened of the fact that she could quickly leave, to easily burn bridges without looking back. Maybe, it was a defence mechanism she had acquired over the years of emotionally draining experiences in such young age—the improbability for happiness to grow in a first true love, the improbability to stay with a person that she really cared about.

Or maybe . . . with all those thoughts that have been surfacing right now, in the middle of this party, the alcohol must be getting into her system.

"Can you still handle that glass?"

When she looked at the speaker, she swirled the contents of her glass, to justify, "Yeah, I guess."

Kashiwagi Suguru replied coolly. "Don't let me carry you to your way home. I won't volunteer for it, so handle your alcohol wisely."

Sei smirked. "Thanks, Gramps."

"Where is Fukuzawa-kun?"

Sei raised a brow. "The cop or the painter?"

"The painter."

She searched with her eyes for the corner where she left Yumi, "I don't know. I left her to mingle with some old friends from Lillian," and seeing that Yumi was not there anymore, "but seeing them talking only to Touma Ryu, Sachiko and Yumi might probably alone now."

Kashiwagi took a sip from his own glass. "That woman was especially clingy to her husband."

"I don't care." Sei sourly commented. She was quite sure; it was all just an act. She emptied the contents of her glass, as she noticed a waiter coming near them.

Kashiwagi, too, emptied his. "Don't be overprotective of your kouhai. She can handle herself."

When the waiter approached them, both of them replaced their empty glasses with filled ones.

She grittily countered. "Not when that woman is around."

He looked around, observing the people around them. He said, almost in a whisper, "Are you quite sure about that? You underestimate her."

"I know her."

He looked around, as if she was not there, but he rebutted with a blank face. "Your emotions are getting better of you. This is not you, Sei-san. You planned to be supportive of her . . . reconciliation with her past. Am I correct?" Then, he took a tiny sip from his glass. "Surely, having another encounter with Ogasawara Sachiko would help her, hearing that she used to be Fukuzawa's grande soeur, a special mentor in highschool. I am unaware of the details but seeing them so stiff whenever they happen to meet, it was just so hard to ignore."

Sei's eyes turned into slits. "What do you know anyway?"

"I am an obsever, Sei-san. I know how to read subtexts, subtleties, messages hidden under your thick skin." Then, he put his free hand to a side pocket of his pants and started to walk away. "And I know you, Sei. Don't consider Fukuzawa-kun to be like you. So be watchful of your actions."

Yuuki was swirling the contents of his glass as he spoke. "So, you are part of the Touma's staff."

Kobayashi finished nibbling and gulped. "Yes. You seemed not happy about that. I mean, the pay is good."

"Let me ask you something," He sniffed a whif of the wine as his glass suspended in front of his lips. "How long since you work for them?"

Kobayashi seemed unguarded. Yuuki took advantage of this.

Masamune answered casually. "Ever since graduation. It was hard at first, but good luck and perseverance took me to higher positions in Touma-sama's staff."

"Did they . . . his wife normally partake to events such as this one? You know, about Nihonga paintings and stuff." He searched for the woman—the topic of their conversation—but it seemed that she'd gone somewhere. She wasn't attached to her husband's arms anymore.

Masamune looked at him, a little cautious for a moment, but he shrugged. "Well . . . his husband is very fond of it. Though, I remembered her to be very well versed on the area. She was, after all, Yumi-san's sempai even back in highschool. Being close that they are, I'm sure she'd picked up something from Yumi-san."

Then, Yuuki's friend brushed off crumbs of a cracker he ate a while ago from the cuffs. Afterwards, he fixed his bowtie. "But, it's very surprising. I haven't heard anything about Yumi-san from Sachiko-sama, even though I've been in her staff for a very long time. Or maybe I just could not ask such personal question at my boss. Even though we had a short history of back at highschool."

"I see."

"I could not even get really near her, you know . . . whenever we talked, it was always about business."

Yuuki looked sharply at Masamune, devoid of the easy tone he had a while ago. "Then, how about the grandfather?"

Masamune extracted a white handkerchief from his sidepocket and removed his eyeglasses. He cleaned the lenses as he murmured. "This is just for you and me, for old time's sake. You don't want to fuck with him. Those rumors about him—how stern or scary that bastard is, I'm afraid that they might be correct."

"Did you even come across with him?"

He put his glasses, and when Yuuki looked at him, he was unable to see his eyes. The white reflected gleam upon his glasses was responsible for it. "Well, yes. In very rare instances." Kobayashi said.

"Is he fond of Nihonga, too?"

"I can't tell." He shrugged. "Why, is this part of your investigation?"

"Investigation?"

Then, a woman snucked behind the detective. She presented two flutes, and took away Yuuki's empty glass. "Here." She noticed Masamune, and offered her glass to him. "Oh, hello, Kobayashi-san. It's been a long time."

A waiter happened to wander around their direction and collected their empty and unfinished glasses.

Masamune accepted the woman's offer. He stammered a bit, "Oi . . . eh, Matsudaira-san! Yeah, it's been a long time! How are you? From what I remember in senior high, you're going to medschool, right?"

Touko smiled warmly. "Yes, still am."

Masamune blushed a little. "Wow. Good, good." He adjusted his glasses as he recovered from the womanly and elegant view. He cleared his throat, "So, you and Yukichi . . . ?"

She took hold of Yuuki's arm and gleefuly announced. She finished Masamune's sentence, "Yes, we are. It's nice to see you again, Kobayashi-san. Shall we dance, Yuuki?" She asked in a low voice, just near Yuuki's left ear.

"Yeah, sure." He grinned at Kobayashi and gave him his glass. "Here, hold this, will you?"

Masamune grinned back. He muttered, "Lucky bastard."

They went at the middle of the dance floor, Yuuki taking his girlfriend in his arms as they swayed into the song. Touko whispered once more in his ear, "Kobayashi seems to be enjoying himself."

He looked down at her with a smirk. "I don't care about him; what I enjoy is this dance with you." He twirled her partner in sync with the music.

Touko could not help but dismissed the comment with eyes rolling. "Mou, Yuuki. Do not start."

Yuuki grinned playfully. "Fine, fine."

She just laughed.

"I wonder," The auburn-haired woman pulled herself close to her partner. "Where's Nee-san?"

He breathed out. "I decided not to look after her after the first five minutes."

She rested her cheek to his shoulders, facing his neck. "I decided not to check on her every five minutes. You see, I saw her leaving for the elevator. Guess who followed after."

"A random lover, perhaps?" He joked.

She did not laugh. "No, not just a random lover."

"Sachiko."

She tugged on their clasped fingers. "Don't. If we're always meddling in her affairs, she won't forgive you. She won't forgive anyone who would."

He looked down at her once again. "Then why did you let me know about it? Why didn't you just keep it to yourself?"

She looked at him with the fiercest of glares. "I know you don't want that."

"I understand." He smiled for added assurance.

(The hallway should be fine.)

They could still hear the busy sounds of the party, jazz music played by a live band. Still, Yumi braved herself once more as she walked away from the crowd. Behind her was Sachiko, walking gracefully, her evening gown swaying with the movement of her body.

She decided that:

"The hallway should be fine for both of us. I don't have my keys." Yumi said. "What do you want? You must be surprised that I even bothered attending this stupid party, thanks to my boss."

Sachiko stopped walking and took note on their large distance between each other. "I won't ask more from you, other than to stay until the end of the party."

"No one told me that."

Sachiko said carelessly, torn on how to convey this: "That's why I'm asking you." Should she speak it in a very determined manner? Or in a pleading one?

Yumi gritted her teeth. She exhaled a little too much of air from her lungs that she felt nauseous. She talked calmly, as she expected herself to be. "I told you before to stay out of my life. Now, you're doing all this crap, just to see me? What is this? Are you courting me again, just like how you asked me to become your petit soeur? Just like how you manipulated my emotions before—?"

Sachiko snapped. "I have no choice." Crushed, she whispered, "You won't listen to me."

Yumi rolled her eyes. (The little games they play.) "What excuses shall I have to endure? The past is past. We already made our choices. You chose to end everything we had before. I chose to ignore, but never to forget. Why aren't you satisfied with that?"

"Yumi . . ."

"Do not tell me that we're having the same conversation again."

"Just stay until the end. That's all I ask."

Outside, it was raining.

They parted ways after that. Yumi hoped that this night would be the last time that they'd see each other. Even with such a short conversation, they both assumed a silent agreement between them. After this party, both will leave each other alone. They'd go on with their separate lives. If they bumped to each other, there would be no more spiteful look in their eyes. It was a silent separation.

As soon as Sachiko returned to the party, she went to the makeshift stage to signal the host to gather everyone's attention.

Yumi, who was farthest from the stage, watched the host do his job, often commenting about their boss, Hinomura Minato, for being allowing them to display the yet-to-be-presented painting, which was loaned by Touma Sachiko herself. When Minato was called on stage, he expressed his sadness for Yumi's lost painting—hoping that it would be returned soon—and motioned for good luck and safe investigation at Fukuzawa Yuuki and Shimazu Yoshino. He also remarked a serious note for Yumi and sent a cryptic message that made Yumi raised her (sixth or seventh) glass of wine.

When, Sachiko was called to own the stage, she stated her reasons for allowing her a very personal work of art to be shared in the public. Yumi watched her intently at the back, particularly sensitive for things that Sachiko should not be revealing about their personal lives. She was, after all, was talking about Yumi.

"Many people didn't know that Fukuzawa Yumi and I were schoolmates in Lillian Academy, wherein I used to be her sempai . . ."

Sachiko was telling the general aspects of their high school life as if it were yesterday—as if they have been close friends forever, as if they're seeing each other on a daily basis. That made Yumi bite her lip, struggling not object anything that Sachiko had been saying in front of their friends, colleagues, business partners and bosses. And as Yumi observed from the audience, they were surprised by the information that Sachiko and she were seours in Lillian.

(She did not ever give that information. Never in idle conversations. To bury the past, maybe. A past never told is a past that never exists.)

Some of her superiors in the gallery gave her evil eyes for conceiling her acquaintance and affiliation to the heiress of the Ogazawara Zaibatsu. Deciding not to anger them more, she decided to shrug it off.

(You did not ask me.)

She looked for Sei, to at least have someone to share her thoughts with, but it seemed that she was rooted on her spot at another corner, farther away from Yumi. The painter could tell the resentment seeping out of Sei; it was obvious on how darkly she looked at the stage, her eyes glowing silver.

The best way for Yumi's situation, was to ignore, ignore, and ignore. After this, Sachiko will never bother her—which she looked so forwardly. After this night, she would resume to her work, mending Kinomoto artworks as if they were the last major commissions she could ever have in her career.

(She wished that time could run much faster than before.)

Then, she felt silence ensued.

A bleak, yellowish spotlight from nowhere was pointed at a stand covered with white cloth. Sachiko was already hidden under the shadows, but her hand was still holding a corner of the cloth. Now, the mysterious painting would now be revealed to the world—the painting that her boss, Hinomura Minato, said that would par with The Passing Wind. Yumi braced herself for its possible grandeur. Hinomura's eyes were very keen to exceptional works of art, particularly Modern Nihonga, and when he said that a painting is worthy of praise, he was right.

"An untitled masterpiece, from an un-named master . . ."

Then the cloth was discarded.

The medium of the painting was oil . . . a large portrait painting. It was sealed on a golden frame. Everyone looked at the subject, and there it was, stealing the spectators their voices.

It was a full-body portrait of an almost nude woman, covered partly by a red traditional kimono. She was sitting on wooden floor, her back resting on a pale, paper slide door. Her arms were covered by layers of kimono, but the skin of the rest of her body and her legs were all exposed. Her lower privates were partially covered with white silk obi, but the slopes were hinted there. Her legs were tightly folded, her feet covered with socks. The subject's face was slightly faced away from the observer and was shadowed, revealing only a portion of that woman's face. Her red lips were slightly apart, an invitation. But her eyes were looking directly out of the portrait and into the observer, glowing almost blueish back.

It was very titillating, erotic. Especially her eyes. But it was not fully nude. Her pose was not even outright provocative. She was just sitting there, a little laid back.

On the stage, Sachiko looked at Yumi—her eyes so full, expressive, as if nothing could broke her gaze at the young painter.

I want to show it to the world, to tell them my feelings . . . that I truly and deeply love you.

While everyone was focused on it, no one noticed Sachiko stepped away from the stage and dashed towards the painter.

But she found Fukuzawa Yumi with tears flowing upon her red cheeks, with one hand on her mouth, trying not to voice out her anguish as she cried. Her other hand formed into a fist. Her shoulders were already convulsing. Yumi, seeing Sachiko approaching her, bolted from her position and rushed out of the party, out of the eyes of others. From everyone.

"Shit . . . I never learn . . ." Yumi hiccupped.

She headed out the front door of the gallery, dismissing the security who was warning her about the rain. She made it here by Kashiwagi's limousine; she had no choice but to hail a cab. She held her purse tightly. (Fucking high heels.) Rushing out of the building, down the steps then to the sidewalk, without turning back, her dress now being soaked by the downpour, she hoped dearly that a cab should soon be there in front of her by a great stroke of luck.

"Yumi!"

There, at the front entrance of the museum, Sachiko called for her. She looked back, even though she already saw headlights darting to her direction. But her vision was suddenly fading, maybe because of alcohol, or fatigue, or the rain. She did not even know. The wheels of the car shrieked as it tried to stop. She did not even notice that the car halted right beside her as her world faded away, with Sachiko as the last object of her sight. She felt arms supporting her, preventing her to drop onto the ground.

The rain was still pouring, and she was unconscious.

Sachiko looked at the man who rushed out of the car and caught Yumi just on time. He was sporting a bowtie . . . an evening formal wear. On his other hand was an opened black umbrella, protecting them against the rain. He was fixedly staring at Sachiko for what it seemed to her was such a long time. Then, he gently put Yumi inside, grabbed her purse from the wet ground and left.

Sachiko said breathlessly, "It has to be this way, Yumi."

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: That first part wherein Touko was narrating an account of the past, I based it on a scene in Aoi Hana.

While watching the English dubbed of Utena, I began to think that the Yumi/Yuuki tandem in this fic is a little similar to Kozue/Miki. Particularly in the Akio Car arc. Except for the implied incest part. (Oh, and Juri . . . oh, Juri, what a lovely woman you are.)

About this chapter: I've been wondering how you readers feel about Ryu. I debated to myself a lot about his character, whether to keep his jolly demeanor from you, but I decided that he should have a little screen time. Yes, he seemed to be a nice guy, based from Sachiko's narration in Chapter 2.

Thank you for reading! I hope I'll see some reviews!