THE PASSING WIND

-TheSilentReader-

/ Ne, Sei. /

This was one telephone conversation that she really considered to have undone her.

Yumi's voice was flavored with faint static as Satou Sei heard it on her mobile phone. This were one of those rare calls that allowed them, intimate friends that they were, to be with each other closest and farthest at the same time. There was this element of stealth—while she could hear Yumi's voice clearly, she could not see the expressions she made with her face, the mannerisms she did with her hands, the consequent tapping of her fingers against a hard surface, or the continuous spinning of a pencil or a paintbrush by her fingers. But whenever Sei heard that kind of greeting after she aswered the phone, she knew that Yumi called because of a question that was in dire need of an answer.

She was in her office at the gallery, looking once more on a document containing the list of artworks that would be displayed for the next month. She fumbled at the pages as her attention drifted from there to Yumi's solemn voice.

"What is it?" Sei asked.

There was a little pause, as if Yumi was preparing herself for the worst.

/ How did you get over Shiori? /

It was a question Yumi never asked of her. They talked about Shiori, that beautiful angel, from time to time in their most intimate conversations, but Yumi never asked for more information regarding her. Sei was usually the one very honest and spontaneous in revealing parts of her failed love; Yumi did nothing but listen.

". . ."

It was surprising that she heard that name once more. She felt that that she was transported back to the past, but the hurt, resentment, and longing for her were not there anymore. Sei loved Shiori, she truly did with all her heart, soul, and being, but that emotion (whatever that is) was not as passionate and eternal as it appeared or felt before. It was like a memory of laughter, without feeling happiness. She felt blank, not a little happy, or sad.

She felt smug, though.

/ Sei? /

Yumi interrupted.

"Shiori?" Sei repeated the name. Still nothing. She felt nothing. It was a different kind of numbness. It was not because she had adapted or used to the endless and greatest pain she felt before, but it was because she just felt nothing. None at all.

She was sure of that.

/ Yes. How did you do it? /

Oh, that. It was easy.

"I got rid of her." Sei admitted casually, an inflection of the voice was heard at the last syllable—as if she were answering such a question everyday.

Those were very simple, albeit heavy, extreme words. It was a suprisingly easy solution, but she must warn: it was a very hard endeavor. There was a long pause at the other end of the line.

/ Got rid? How? /

Sei pushed the length of her back down to the leathered cushion of her seat, and looked up at the pale ceiling. It had several pencils pinned to it, which she darted there a long time ago, usually when Yumi was not around to entertain her. Coincidently, a pencil detached from it and fell down. She caught it with her free hand. "I killed her. I killed her in my heart. And killed her without a motive. Void of emotion, I guess. I just felt that slowly, she was wasting away in my heart."

/ I don't understand. /

Yumi's voice trembled with the static.

A second pencil, very sharp, detached its tip from the ceiling. "She fed off my heart, you see. I just filled mine with poison. Feeling nothing is the heart's poison. Soon, she was weak inside me, saturated with it. Then, she died."

/ Then . . . /

Two pencils fell. She took no effort to catch them, unlike the first two. They fell on her office table. She emphasized, "Got rid of it. Everything that I've felt for her. My emotions were her nourishment. My hate, my love, everything that drove my heart to beat for her, she fed from it. So I got rid of them. That is the poison."

/ Did it work? If ever you'll see Shiori, will it work? /

Yumi asked guardedly, as if preparing for an onslaught.

Sei grinned at the questions. They did not disturb her, not a bit. She was not surprised by that. She said softly, "It did. It is tried and tested, Yumi. I found her so many times and I felt nothing."

She thought that her painter friend was weighing the credibility of her answers.

/ Will it work on everyone? /

Sei chortled. The rest of the pencils fixed at the ceiling of her office darted down all at once, and took their own miserable fall on Sei's desk, pinching and dirtying pristine bond papers with random lines and dots.

"If it worked for me, then, it should work for you, too. Right?"

CHAPTER 11

The elevator opened, revealing Fukuzawa Yumi and the owner of the building, Kashiwagi Suguru. A footman at the elevator bowed to his employer and the painter as he ushered them outside the compartment. The hotel manager approached them with a bow and gave his pleasantries to his most esteemed guests, and gave a black folder with the insignia of the hotel, confirming to his boss that it was given by Shimata-san, his butler. All the while Yumi looked around, spotting some of the female employees gawking at Kashiwagi. She smirked as she deposited her hand to the side pockets of her jeans, which was quite big. On her other appendage, a paperbag containing her evening dress hung on her digits.

Her employer dismissed the manager.

"Kashiwagi-sama, nine o'clock."

His eyes shifted to the supplied direction, and when he got Yumi's message, he looked blankly at her as if she were stupid.

"Your female employees are almost eating you with their eyes. Others were jealous, obviously getting the wrong idea," she taunted. "Their thoughts were as plain as day: who is that tiny woman with him?"

His eyes were blank, unmoving, unable to show reflection. "The painter restoring my Kinomoto." He dropped a snarkly remark.

"Yeah. What a boring person you are." She smugly replied. "Ne, why don't we give them a little disservice?" She gave her the eye for reminding him of what happened a few hours ago, before sunrise. She still was making fun of the idea that he actually asked her for sex. Even though she knew that, he would not budge from his unsmiling and arrogant façade. He would not show such attachment in front of his hotel empoyees; she was betting her life on it.

He did not respond to the taunt.

"Ogarasawa Sachiko was looking for you last night."

Apparently, he was not himself this morning. A moment that she could consider never to happen again. Wrong move, Yumi; you just got yourself a coffin. Yet, with that insight, she thought that this painfully reminded her once more of Sachiko—being not her controlled self in the morning.

That stopped all Yumi's brain function. She mentally got a grip from instantly frozing on the spot and show weakness before her employer, who she doubted giving her trust. She had been thinking about it all morning, while she looked for spare clothing from his closet, while she showered, and while she ate her breakfast heartily. Sachiko's cheerless face was the last thing that she saw, and even with that, she still pragmatically insisting that it was all just a dream.

She was lyng to herself all morning.

A dream that supposedly removed from her memory the moment she woke up from slumber. And when she remembered the existence of that evening, her brain was very decided on recalling memories that hardened her in the first place. Was this a defence mechanism for her not to break down? For her not to be swayed by Sachiko's ministrations? But that painting . . .

Even that blasted painting . . . she had forgotten about it all this time. She had forgotten that she made an oil portrait of Sachiko, and now, she was using it to sway her heart.

Very nice move. She'd give Sachiko that.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

A footman informed Kashiwagi that Shimata was already outside with the limousine. It was their cue to leave for Kyoto, as they agreed a while ago.

"She was chasing you until the doors of the gallery. You seemed to be avoiding her. Yet," When they were inside the limo, he continued, "She paraded you to the public as her close friend, but then I found you running away from her. Why is that, Fukuzawa-sensei?"

"She is not my friend."

"Not until she said so. Others think that you were. You usually push away people that you don't like with malicious words and smug stare, yet why were you doing otherwise with her? Avoiding her, I mean."

Yes, there was a big difference between avoiding and pushing people away.

As he answered nonchalantly, her fuse was suddenly getting shorter and shorter as she could not help negating his comments. She sat there, hating how comfortably she felt while sitting on the impecabble cushions of the limousine's passenger seat. She countered, "They were not informed."

She regretted that she trusted him, back there, at the summit of his hotel.

"Touma Sachiko herself did not get the memo." Kashiwagi drawled.

Yumi fumed in her seat, considering of punching the tinted windshield because she could not think of any verbal counter to block her employer from talking. She knew that any physical torment is less painful than a verbal one—she recognized that as absolute. She learned from the best. But now, she felt extremely pathetic. "Now that you know how to trigger my berserk button, are you happy?"

He muttered. "No. I expect you to be more resilient than that."

"Well, thanks for the encouragement." She growled.

He abruptly look away from the window and faced her, leaning his head to closely just to meet her death stare. He was too near that he invaded almost half a foot of her anterior personal space. "You needed it. Everyone is putting up with your bullshit. I will not." He said sternly and cold.

"As far as I'm concern, only my friends put up with my bullshit. Are you my friend?"

She had used this in many situations, to many different people. Those who tried to get close, and to those who tried to spite her. To those with hidden motives, and to those who were just curious about her. Therefore, what would he answer?

She could not believe that he was very calm even when she knew he was displeased.

"Maybe. You can assume that."

She narrowed her eyes to him. "What do you suggest then?"

"Get rid of your weakness. Whatever it takes. Get rid of it."

Yumi considered. She heard that a long time ago.

Ogasawara, Touma, Kinomoto, Hinomura.

She was itching to cross out at least one surname.

Yoshino stared at an old, crumpled piece of paper that contained these four names. She was sitting on her temporary desk table at Musashino PD, just adjacent to Yuuki's table. Soon, when this was all finished, she would leave the city again, and go back travelling, spending her well-earned money for silly things, and goes home to her simple abode far away from here. She just came back here for an old friend, a request by a respected sempai. All the while, she stayed at her parent's house, occupying her old room. She almost thought that she would be greeted by Rei the moment she moved in, as she expected if Rei did not ever leave the house beside Yoshino's—but many things have happened since graduation. Rei was in Todai, so was she, but they did not share apartments. It was not as if Yoshino was against it; it was because Rei did not ask. And it was fairly surprising that they soon came out from their nests, and never feeling guilty about it.

Weeks ago, when Yoshino's parents heard that she'd be coming back to Musashino, her parents lept in joy in their only daughter's news. It spread up to the next house, and days after she moved back, her family and Rei's prepared a surprise party for her. That was the first time that she saw Rei in years that she could not bit back the tears flowing in her eyes. Rei brought her family too, and Yoshino met her niece and caught up with their stories of their own—Rei's domestic life, husband, her and Yoshino's current occupations. Somehow, being here in Musashino, she regretted that she moved on to another city.

She missed home terribly.

When she heard about Yumi's confession during their one-night stay at Kashiwagi Suguru's place at Kyoto, the first person that she needed to talk to about Sachiko was Rei. Hearing that Sachiko and Rei were still kept their personal correspondence with each other through the years, Yoshino wanted to use her own hold on her dear cousin to extract information. It was worth a try. It would be much better to face Rei first before she could sleuth some from and about Touma Sachiko. Thus, she visited Rei two days before the party.

Rei greeted her with enthusiasm, followed by her very energetic niece. Their house was of the traditional Japanese one, a property fit enough for Rei's budding family. It was a decent property with a little garden at the back. She went inside and settled her shoes on the foyer. Rei's husband was has been scheduled to do the dishes. Yoshino asked him to steal Rei for a while, and gleefully, he told them to stay at the living area, for he was bringing tea. Rei grinned at her, obviously parading her husband's hospitality.

Soon, tea was brough to the low table, and Rei's husband excused himself. He took Yoshino's niece in his arms and once again, the living area was relatively quiet. Little mists were released from the cups, and both of them took a sip on their own. Yoshino was the first person to settle her cup down.

"You and your husband have the same temperament." Yoshino commented.

Rei's cup was still suspended near her lips, savoring the warmth from the vapor of the freshly prepared tea. "Well, I always go for the romantic, domestic types."

"Does he cook?" Yoshino teased.

The former kendo captain smugly grinned. "Excellently."

"I was so sure you'd be catching someone with a samurai background, or some kendo champion." She slumped at the table, surprised herself as she found this act normal. As if she was in Rei's living erea during their old days.

"Well, he's my duel partner." She sipped her tea. "So, what brings you here?"

She sat properly this time. "I was hoping to talk to you about Sachiko-san."

Rei tensed in her seat, but it was so fast that if Yoshino weren't with her for almost all her life, she would miss it. "What about her?"

"How often do you see each other?"

"Er, not habitually."

"When was the last time?"

"I don't see the point of you asking me . . . ?"

Yoshino snapped. "Just answer the question."

Rei smirked. It seemed that some things never change. Still short-tempered as ever. "She personally gave me an invitation at a party at Yumi-san's gallery. She said that . . . it would help Yumi-san cope up if there are friends surrounding her."

The agent raised a brow. "She said that?"

Rei also put an identical expression. "What more would she say? Why are you asking this?"

"It's for Yu . . . it's for the investigation. Somehow, she's connected to this."

"I don't believe you."

"I would not be here asking you if she's not."

Rei sighed for her defeat. "For the past couple of months . . . we sometimes talk about her. She said that she wants to patch things up with Yumi, but she could not think of a way to approach her. She said that she was now reaping what she sowed."

Yoshino tried to act neutral as possible—Rei was the closest person she could get her information without pinging Sachiko-san directly. Only this way she could assess Touma Sachiko's behavior indirectly. Because Yoshino couldn't trust her completely. She could act like a real Ice Princess, and could get away with anything by it.

"Yumi-san was not particularly happy to be reunited with her Onee-sama."

"That is . . . understandable." Yoshino reluctantly agreed.

"Then, you must have known about it."

"I do." She toned it heavily with her voice. "Now, what was she telling you about Yumi . . . before Yumi's painting were stolen . . . before this happened?"

"She said," Rei gulped, accepting the fact that she was violating an informal contract between bestfriends, and once she opened her mouth, she'd fail to look straightly to Sachiko's eyes without any hint of guilt and nervousness. If she knew about this, trust would be lost. "She said that she doesn't want Yumi to suffer. But what she had done before, it had to be that way. Even I never knew what that meant. She had many things in her life that she did not want to divulge, even to her closest of friends. Even to me, her best friend."

Yoshino looked at her tea. She felt that way with Yumi, too. She thought that she failed to support her as a friend.

"She said that I would be repulsed if I knew the things she had done. But, it had to be that way."

And she did not have the right oppurtunity to reach out once more until two days later, after The Passing Wind was stolen.

Could she had orchestrated this, Yoshino wondered. It was plain as day that the woman in the unsignatured portrait was a young Ogasawara Sachiko. It was a very bizzare theory, but could she planned the painting to be stolen so that she could draw attention from her former lover, masquerading herself into the gallery and then just reveal the painting? How bizzare and ridiculous that plan was.

Because Yumi could not be budged anymore by just a visit in her workplace. She was not as civil she used to be. Maybe Sachiko already anticipated that manner of treatment.

Looking back at the paper, she gently fiddled the knob below her seat, and was now adjusting the bottom-rest of the chair in different heights. She must talk personally to Touma Sachiko. She does not like her involvement at all.

"Cross him out."

"Who?" She asked his onofficial partner.

"Hinomura."

"Why? Did you get anything from the trip?"

Days before the party, Fukuzawa Yuuki came back again to gather information about Hinomura and his uncle. Shimazu told her about Yumi's confession back when they visited in Kyoto, thus enabled him to check Hinomura on or off the list. It was very hard to accomplish, since Hinomura's uncle—Yumi's temporary academic adviser back when she was in Kyoto as an exchange student—had a recond on him on bold red letters. That time, Yumi was already messed up with her personal life and here came her professor further screw her up. Literally.

He was indeed, off the list. After their visit in Kashiwagi's residence at Kyoto, he too a long detour to where that middle-aged professor was and asked him questions, trying to lid up his annoyance to see this old lecher. The man was fairly civil, took no awkwardness in answering questions. He was even cooperative when Yuuki asked for documents that he needed to verify his answers. Thus far, the man was innocent.

He reasoned that he want nothing to do with Yumi. As far as he was concerned, he ended all his connections to his former apprentice the moment their quarrel ended. He did atone for his sins against Yumi, but never would he think of stealing her painting for spite. Yuuki could not help but believe him.

Therefore: that man was crossed out from the list. Three more to go.

Ogasawara, Touma, Kinomoto.

That third name, Kinomoto. They found that name inside Yumi's workroom—six masterpieces from three generations of women painters being restored by a budding master artist. That compound that Kashiwagi Suguru owned once belonged to the Kinomoto family, bonded by their innate talents; their pride in securing greatest artists is produced in every generation. That family always had been matriachal. In the last three generations, the sole heir of the family always had been female. Superior artists.

Yuuki always had viewed Kashiwagi Suguru as an enigma to the very essense of the word. He was his sempai at Hanadera, had experienced his leadership in his first year there, served him and appointed as his apprentice. He was even nominated to the precidency for the second term by Kashiwagi. He was everything a kouhai expected for a sempai, but never once that he had seen Kashiwagi more than in the confines of Hanadera campus, neither beyond council duties.

Now, he asked himself: who was Kashiwagi Suguru many years ago? Who was he when he was still in high school?

He could not remember about Kashiwagi talking about his personal life—his family—nothing.

Those thoughts occurred to Yuuki when he happened to pass at Kashiwagi's study when they first visited Yumi. As former school mates, Kashiwagi welcomed him and offered him tea or liquor. Instantly, the butler quickly excused himself. They talked a little about the past—Hanadera related—until Kashiwagi brought the investigation up, like an exposed coffin that was long burried below a murky river.

"Were those men had not helped you in bringing that painting back to its place?" The host asked his former apprentice.

He answered squarely, "They were just ordered to do be there, not knowing that they're decoys."

"Decoys?"

"That painting was not stolen by a man who is in impatient in earning money." He looked at the tea that Kashiwagi served. "That person stole it maybe for fun, for spite, for the alleviation of his boredom—the hell I'd know. He could probably just a stalker or an avid fan, who wanted just a piece of Fukuzawa Yumi, thus he stole that painting, which was considered as her greatest masterpiece."

He bit his lower lip. "That man wanted attention from Yumi."

"I hope that I am of help to your sister."

"Yes. The commission gave her time to forget things. She loves Kinomoto."

"I'm honored that the three Kinomoto are getting her attention." Kashiwagi smiled.

Kashiwagi's eyes were filled with familiar brightness.

Yuuki tried not to react violently for that comment. It was too normal, too innocent that joke was. It came to him: Kashiwagi had been too intertwined with Kinomoto—the paintings, the compound, the commission—were he just a rich variation of dedicated fan? Whenever he was mentioned, the Kinomoto comes afterward—his collection of masterpieces rare enough to acquire, but he spoke of the names with pride, like how Yuuki and Yumi reveled their family name.

(Could it be?)

"Kashiwagi-sempai, what makes you like Kinomoto? You seemed to be living in their world—this house, their works . . . do not tell me that you have more of their paintings than those six resting in Yumi's workroom." He joked, wishing for the gods that Kashiwagi would see this jest as a way to rekindle their friendship and brotherhood back in high school. He remembered Touko's words: when I am on stage, I forget myself. I am a different person. It's, in a way, the same to lying glibly; to lie effectively, I forget my current self.

"What I like about them is that they never die."

Yuuki let himself show his confusion; when you set a trap, don't forget that you set it for your prey and for yourself. "What do you mean?"

Kashiwagi seemed to realize that he spoke rather cryptically for an honest, straightforward man like Fukuzawa Yuuki and reinforced, "Their paintings, I mean. Their message transcends through time."

What a stupendous answer.

He showed nothing of his collections.

Later that night, Yuuki strode along the compound, unable to sleep because of Kashiwagi's words. Was he playing with Yuuki, the latter could not tell. But one thing was for sure; his involvement with Yumi and how he was wedging himself in her life was beyond coincidental. There was something to him that drove him to help Yumi; he was right after when he presented himself to the police as witness for those hired men.

And when he stumbled upon the main hall of the Kinomoto at this late of night, he found himself amazed with a room full of Nihonga.

This man had more than simple fanaticism with the Kinomoto; he was preserving everything that the former owners of the house had.

As if the Kinomoto themselves handed him the responsibility to keep everything in place.

Yoshino interrupted his silent musings, "The Kinomoto is more than a dead, obsolete family. Kashiwagi was keeping the Kinomoto compound arranged, alive, as if he was just taking care of the house until the true masters arrive from a long journey. He was collecting Kinomoto and restoring them. He was bringing everything back to the place it originated."

Yuuki looked at her and said, "Kashiwagi could be related to the Kinomoto. A close family friend, a relative . . ."

"And how could that relate to Yumi's painting?"

"I don't know."

"She is beginning to defy me." The old man gritted against his teeth, that Kobayashi was trying to not to flinch from the sound—like fingernails grating against blackboard. He still maintained not to move from his standing position.

Once more, he was called again to the President's office about the party Sachiko organized. He was at loss that the old man wanted a very detailed oral report on that event, when he did not even bother to check on his granddaughter's whereabouts before this one. He was even called in more frequently than before.

Masamune couldn't understand his superior's statement. Why would Touma Sachiko be "defying" her? She was doing well in managing her own division in the company, and projected to improve this fiscal year. There was nothing short in everything in his granddaughter's work. So, the anxious, protective phase?

Maybe, the man was beginning to feel the strain of old age?

Masamune doubted that. While stifly standing several feet away from Ogasawara, he thought of the events at the party last night. He did not mention several details to his employer, the fact that he was beginning to suspect the motive behind the old man's careful surveilance of his granddaughter. He should have hired someone else to do his bidding—not Masamune. Instead, he was the one on the move (a proxy for his employer), calling a very reliable person to watch over Sachiko. At first, he was just ordered by Sachiko-sama to forward an important document to Ogasawara personally, and after that meeting, he asked him about his granddaughter.

Whether the President asked that on impulse, Masamune was not sure.

What was he trying to prove? Was he measuring his loyalty for the company? His competitiveness? His ability to get every job done?

Because if he were to ask himself of those questions, he would doubt his proffessionalism as a way down to hell. He should have kept away from matters nearer to the family. Their reputation in the business world was enough to avoid the family . . . a family that was traditionally strict, shunning itself from everyone below them. Sachiko was almost an exemption. But curiosity was getting better of him. Why was President Ogasawara specifically sensitive to matters pertaining to Sachiko-sama's personal life?

(Again, he asked himself: Why am I here?)

And why was he drawn to it like Arisugawa-kun used to be?

Fukuzawa Yuuki had been putting things in his head; the way he asked him yesterday about the Fukuzawa family and Nihonga . . . it was as if he was in a small interrogation room, with an incandescent bulb glowing above him like a giant firefly, rocking back and forth. It was making him dizzy. It was just a matter of time before they were interrupted by his girlfriend. On second thought, should he ask the President?

"President, may I ask," Masamune gulped, "do you like modern Nihonga?"

"I have no interest in them." was his definite, immediate answer.

"How about Miss Fukuzawa Yumi?"

"She is a boorish clod."

For him to hear that from the president of the Ogasawara Group, it was considered that the Fukuzawa Yumi is dead meat. Why was he selectively vile to the painter? Had anyone mentioned before to the grandfather that Yumi and Sachiko were soeurs at Lillian? Wasn't Yumi almost considered as part of the Ogasawara family the moment she inherited the silver rosary from Sachiko's neck?

What did Fukuzawa Yumi do to Sachiko-sama for the President to hate her so much?

Why was he angry that Sachiko-sama was communicating with Yumi?

For he was beginning to feel that Touma Sachiko would be making another move. And as Ogasawara's doormat, he would be in big trouble, just by reporting that.

Sachiko was again at the Nihonga section of the gallery, looking at the untitled portrait. It was already nearing the closing time, and even though several ushers and security were there to usher them out, Sachiko insisted for another five minutes. As usual, it worked. "If you keep on looking on that picture for quite a time and frequently, why did you even bother to loan it to the gallery?" A voice broke out.

"Whatever do you mean, Rei?"

Her friend was standing with her, seemingly claustrophobic, when she should not be. The woman with light chocolate hair crossed her arms. Her voice was solid, as if her ebony-haired companion was her kendo student. Firm, solid and strict.

Rei, who appeared so princely even with her shoulder-length hair and straight back, exhaled as she was dubious of Sachiko's queenly denial. "You kept that painting for a long time, never to be seen by eyes other than yours. I know it, Sachiko. What were you thinking?"

She persisted. "You should have done that a long time ago—no, you should have not done that now. Involving yourself with her would only hurt you."

That made Sachiko raised her calm voice in slight concern. "Why are you saying this? Did something happen?"

The former Yellow Rose blushed, and looked away from her. "Yoshino talked to me. She was asking about you . . . if we still see each other on the regular basis. I told her too much."

Red. "Did you tell her . . . ?"

Five minutes allowed for them to linger at the gallery were consumed. The usher were pleading them with his eyes to let him do his job.

"No." Rei then put her hand on Sachiko's upper back and led her reluctantly outside. Sachiko took a second to linger her eyes at herself—at the painting, while Rei muttered lowly, "She knows about you and Yumi-san. Yumi-san must have told her. Do you think she'd do that? Tell other people?"

They continued to walk. "What . . . what do you think would she gain from that? And besides, she wanted nothing to do with me. Nothing."

"Why are you still defending her?" Rei was not surprised.

Sachiko breathily admitted. "I hurt her. She'd done nothing to deserve it. I just want her forgiveness. I . . . I want settle everything."

"Why like this?"

"That painting . . . has a history." The ex-Red Rose stated.

"Who cares?" When they were outside, they were met by Sachiko's car, and together, they went at the back, beside each other. The driver greeted them, and afterwards, he stayed quiet as if he weren't there. Sachiko briefly reminded her that Rei would have tea and cakes with her afterwards. But when they have nothing else to talk about, Rei opened up the topic with much more grit. "You should have thought of this. Why are you doing this in the middle of her lost painting's investigation? You'd be entangled to all her problems. What if this investigation would reveal the truth between you and Yumi? Have you thought of the repercussions of your actions?"

"It was already revealed! To Yoshino, of all people!" Rei glared at the person beside her. Sachiko continued, "You yourself told me that she knew about it. When she visited me for a little questioning, I realized that she knew nothing about it. She assumed that Yumi and I were just soeurs separated by time and circumstances, nothing that went deeper—that's why her questions are not too personal. Now, who knows what she'd dig? She'd be ensnared in a tragedy more than just a lovers' quarrel."

She could not look at Rei's critical eyes. She stuttered, "I never told Yumi the whole truth because I was powerless to do so. I think I have it now. I owe Yumi that."

Torn Rei was as she weighed Sachiko's moves. Rei sensed that Sachiko was no more than a pawn in this unknown game; however, she was convinced that whoever was manipulating everything above them would struggle to place her forward, from block to block, until she reached the opponent's end. Then, she'd gain being the queen once more.

She was powerful by herself, but would her sphere of influence be?

When she would battle for Yumi, she would place herself in a trap everyone expected her to fall.

The former Yellow Rose reasoned, "Soon, you'll be trapped to Yumi-san's problems . . . not only you, but everyone around you. You'll open up old wounds. You'll be digging your own grave. You'll be replaying history. What will your grandfather do, if he knew your motives? Your plans?"

Sachiko proclaimed. "He doesn't have the right to control me forever."

"You've fail her once." Only discouraging Sachiko was the most logical thing that Rei could force to her friend's skull.

Yet, Sachiko did not falter. "I've failed her so many times. I intend not to anymore." She looked at her friend as she closed both her hands into fists—the only way she could release the tension inside her. "I will do anything for her to . . . hear me out."

"But that doesn't include leaving her alone. It's her decision to forgive you or not." The once Lillian Prince muttered.

Rei looked away, to the road ahead, and noticed that the driver was eying them, ostensibly listening to their conversation. She glared back, and the chauffeur turned his attention back to the road as if he did nothing. He understood his position; he did not see or hear anything.

Still, he annoyed Rei, but she dismissed it. Surely, what did he know?

"If I weren't me, like I am now," she gulped the building saliva in her mouth and breathed deeply, "If I were like before, then, how would you think of me? Would you prefer that?"

Matsudaira Touko stopped pouring the freshly prepared tea that the old caretaker had given them a while ago. She looked at her sister with concern, anticipating questions that were more hypothetical, and even rhetorical.

Days had passed ever since the party and none of them had talked about it all this time. While within Yumi's range of hearing, the event was as if the world had gone by without a soul able to remember it, but when she was not around, people were talking. Touko had assumed that this was the case, assuming that Yumi was still had her pride a little tender when the gallery seemed to be too comfortable that that untitled painting now hanging onto the wall where The Passing Wind used to occupy. She was expecting annoyance from her beloved sister, soothing her ego by being a little grumpy, but now, she did not expect that Fukuzawa Yumi would openly show angst in front of her.

They had few moments of sharing honest thoughts every time they happened to be together, but not as long duration as of now. She thought that it was because she was the only person present inside the workroom besides Yumi that she somehow had the liberty to explicitly release contained emotions since that faithful evening.

This day, she found time to rush to Kyoto for her older sister after that party. Being busy sometimes was not helpful—she wanted to support Yumi as much as she could. And having a longer freetime, she thanked the gods for it.

She resumed filling tea to traditional clay cups and settled one at the table near Yumi. She looked at the painting tha Yumi was restoring; the painter's hands were covered with a palette of blue shades, and secured by the fingers of her left hand was a very small round-tipped paintbrush. She was obviously completing small details to a Kinomoto painting, which according to Yumi, was totally a "pain in the ass" to master.

Back to the question, she challenged Yumi with another one, "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Yumi let loose of her back and gently moved away from the ground. "Yeah, I guess."

Touko snorted as she replied, "You know the answer already: it doesn't matter." She took a little sip from her cup (even when she was standing—a very inappropriate gesture) and supplemented, "All that I'm glad for is that you've never closed me from your world. You still treated me as your little sister like before. And you've been exceptionally nice to me. Do you think I didn't notice that?"

Yumi could not comment on that; she stayed quiet as Touko explained. "And it's not at all nice, just being nice just only to me. I hope you'll extend it a little to my lovely boyfriend."

The painter snorted, "He's my brother. He's used to me being such a bitch since forever."

"And he's concerned for you, like I am." She quipped. "So be nice."

"We should switch places. You being my onee-sama, I mean."

It was meant to be an innocent joke, but after a few moments of letting the joke sink into the conversation, its effect chained into a bitter afterthought, like she was given rotten egg and force feed it to her.

"It was not at all nice, Nee-san."

"That kind of nice is something that was now foreign for me." She argued feebly.

Touko fearlessly pointed out, "You know you can't hide the fact that Ogasawara Sachiko, no matter what she did in the past, was still a good older sister to you." She expected a quick retaliation from Yumi, a very malevolent example of how Sachiko had played with her heart.

But Yumi said something that she did not expect.

"Even though I know that's true . . . I acknowledged that fact from the bottom of my heart, but that was not enough. I don't know why." She tenaciously admitted. She removed the delicate paintbrush from her hand, so as not to break it.

Insight got the better of Touko. "Is this about that party?" then she quickly negated herself, "no . . . about that painting?"

The older woman gave no reply.

Touko whispered. "Not everyone will notice it. Not unless they know that Sachiko-san was once your lover. You were still experimenting on your style, so it's different from the rest of your work. She was that woman, the model. Am I correct, Nee-san?"

"Yes."

"I see. Are you beginning to think differently now that you've seen that artpiece once more?"

Even with Touko's daring grilling about Yumi's thoughts of Sachiko and that painting, she realized that she still could not be at all transparent to her little sister. Touko had proven herself for so many times and various occassions, but she was still painful revealing her feelings whenever Sachiko was being brought about. Before everything happened, she felt no hesitation in expressing her contempt against her former onee-sama—Touko understood that. But now, examining the events that happened, even her heart still overwhelmed with hatred, a little speckle of weakness was now slowly eating her current feelings.

Hope? No; impossible.

"You are putting things in my head, Touko."

Forgiveness? It was long gone.

"That's pathetic."

Why can't I be stronger?

Kashiwagi Suguru was in his study when his butler knocked his door and motioned inside. He was in his usual plain expression bore at his employer. On his hand was a tray with a porcelain pitcher, a single cup and saucer. Beside the containers were sealed envelopes. He proceeded and settled the tray on the low table among the sofa set.

"Tea, Sir?" He was already pouring freshly made tea to the pale white porcelain cup.

"Yes, please." Kashiwagi answered without looking up to Shimata.

He settled the cup of tea within Kashiwagi's reach at the table, along with the bulk of mail and settling them neatly. The former Hanadera council president took both of what his butler arranged at his table, holding the saucer with the tips of her left hand and the mail on the other hand.

As he looked at them, flipping envelope after envelope, he noticed one for her employee, Fukuzawa Yumi. It was plain; a return address was not written on it. He narrowed his eyes to the paper and sensed what was inside, as he sipped his tea. He flipped the envelope, but nothing was written except her name.

The butler raised a brow as Kashiwagi looked intently at the unopened, plain, dull letter. "Is the tea not your liking, Sir?"

Kashiwagi answered absently, "No, it is good, as usual." He lifted his arms and showed the letter to his butler. "Tell me, did you see whoever sent this letter?"

"I'm sorry; it just appeared in the mailbox."

Shimata smiled at him, deficient of worry, which should have been expected from such a report. Kashiwagi leaned back to his cushoned seat, and fiddled with the sides of the envelope.

"You know what they say: bad things do come in pack."

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N: This is a breather chapter, a sort of calm-before-the-storm thing. You must also notice that I've been referencing few lines from the movie and anime of Utena. You must have also noticed last week that I had updated two of my titles, and for me, that was quite rare. This is the last week that I would prompt you for updates on a weekly basis. For the next weeks, I'll be quite busy because . . . I am growing up.

(Whatever that meant.)

The next chapters would be longer than the usual 4K to 6K-word bulk. So, I guess, I need more encouragement for me to supply another. Reviews will be highly appreciated!