Sennin : The tale of the utterly gutsy shinobi

by Livehak-san

Hiruzen died during Kyūbi's attack on Konoha. Twenty years later, the butterfly effect of his demise has reached unimaginable proportions. But if the death of an aging man can change history that much, can the simple life of a young hermit bring it back into the right path? Sennin, the tale of the utterly gutsy shinobi.

8. The Hovel that touched the Stars, part 2

Note : Here is the second part of the chapter as well as the third one that concludes it. I had two free days and managed to translate a little more than 28000 words, that is to say a little more than 15 hours of translation. My head hurts. I have two weeks to spare, so maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to translate all that's left of the story, which is 130k, then I can continue it.

Thanks for your follows and your reviews.

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Chapter size : 16000 words

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The Hovel that touched the Stars

Part 2

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Naruto

December 31 1020, 9 :49pm

Land of Fire, Natoma

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In sync with the periodic breathing on the gravel that mixed with the cool night breeze, he buttoned the sleeves of his white shirt and pulled on the black suit jacket that matched the wool pants and leather shoes he wore just as darkly.

Amid the roar of the imposing condensers scattered across the roof where he was perched, he made his way to the edge of it, more than four hundred and twenty meters high, and let his azure gaze wander over the immense, winding streets and alleys of Natoma, forming an urban labyrinth of one of the largest cities in the Fire Country.

The city that had undergone the greatest technological development, but above all, the greatest economic growth in the past three years. The one that had benefited the most from the misery that had befallen the peninsula at the end of the Fourth Great War, and that had gathered the most fortunate people of Hi per square kilometer, welcoming the true leader of this society with open arms.

Finishing the buttoning of his newly acquired jacket, he lowered his chin to the dim orange light below, where three silhouettes, huddled around a flaming barrel in one of the many lanes he could make out, struggled against the cold.

The money.

He lifted his face and looked at the hundreds of skyscrapers that skimmed the clouds for miles around before turning his attention slightly to the huge billboards that lit up the night sky and the misty valleys that spread like a disease across the Kugiri Mountains, the only natural border between Iron and Fire.

He settled one foot on the edge of the roof as the cool breeze increased in intensity, causing his golden hair to twirl. With an exhausted gaze, he watched the huge white letters that lit up the ninety-ninth and hundredth floors of the building he overlooked.

Beginning with a gigantic B, they formed a word that was completely unknown to him a few weeks ago, but which now reminded him of the words of the most unpredictable being he had ever met.

In the north of the Fire, on the border with the Iron Country, he owns the Buranketto establishment in the center of the city of Natoma.

Establishment...

It had taken him only a few minutes after stepping into this city to find the answers to his questions. So, how... how could he not have given him more information, he who had made that word his favorite field.

Just as he had forgotten to tell him that the prisoner of Yariba was a woman, Sakutarō had also forgotten to tell him during their brief escapade in Ichidome that the notary of Buranketto was none other than Ryochi Okada.

It was as if he really wanted him dead by leaving out the most important details.

Okada Ryochi... had been a notary, but only in his youth. At the age of thirty, he had founded his own company, which, aided by the end of the Third Great War, had experienced the greatest boom of the past decades, just like this city. At the age of fifty, the man owned the fourth-largest fortune in the peninsula.

So, it was not difficult to find information about him, as every newspaper that littered the streets of Natoma bore his name.

If the multi-billionaire continues on his current trajectory, he will become the richest man in history within the next two years.

That was what was on all the front pages. That is what sold, that is what made people dream.

More than a mile from his perch, a flashing red light trumpeted its arrival at Natoma's largest station, leaving the high-speed train to empty of passengers on the platform.

Ryochi was the owner of several hundred businesses around the world and the majority shareholder of the Okada Company, the largest import-export company on the peninsula and affiliated with more than a dozen Lightning and Earth conglomerates.

And it was this last detail that made him realize that this man, besides being intelligent and certainly sociopath, had long arms. Because, in spite of the diplomatic tensions between Hi and Tsuchi these last months, the latter did not seem at all worried about his safety and allowed himself to visit the Fire, without fearing to get burned.

Taking his eyes off the tiny flaming spot below where the figures continued to warm, he turned and lowered his attention to the instinctive breathing that lay on the gravel.

The reflections of the last fiery emanations of the cigar on the floor were mirrored by the luxurious watch that hung from the wrist of the largely naked man as he reached for the tie that encircled the purple trachea.

The cloth in the grips of his numb and pink fingers, he pulled up the collar of his blouse and tied the black polyester around his neck before stepping over the unconscious man.

After a few meters, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the gravel, he stopped mechanically in front of the huge rectangular stained-glass windows and observed the rich anthill on the hundredth floor of Natoma's tallest tower.

Of the Fire Nation.

Of the peninsula.

Of the planet.

The wealthy in suits and ties, a glass of champagne in one hand and the other on their sequined bimbo, celebrating their success above the destitute with their shared blankets in the next alley, their fingers curled in their holey gloves, trying to warm themselves around their flaming barrel.

These minds that covered the world with shadows and asked those who inhabited it, suffered it, to stay close to their light. To stay close to their ambition, their judgment, without which they would be nothing.

An ironic chuckle escaped from between his frozen lips as he pulled his collar down over the many fake smiles he could see through the glass and the blinding light.

They literally could not have been more clichéd. He even doubted that the movies some of them were producing could be more of a caricature of the show they were in.

He turned on his heels and walked across the roof to one of the many-emergency exits. When he reached the thick green door, knowing full well that forcing it open would set off an alarm, he simply placed the palm of his hand on the wet steel. Black pictograms immediately spread across the greenish paint before disappearing without a trace, as if they had been absorbed into the corridor it contained. The next moment, a silent flash illuminated the roof.

He did not have time to blink before his vision lost the color of the absinthe that had animated it and was plunged into darkness. After a second without the slightest movement, during which his accustomed vision adapted to this abrupt change in luminosity, he observed the dull gray of the concrete that surrounded him and cast a quick glance at the green steel behind him, where the black ink began its disappearance in perfect silence.

This slight movement of his head triggered the motion detector, which in turn illuminated the fire escape leading to the roof and began his short descent down the concrete steps.

Stopping in front of a second door, this time bright red with the words 'Fire Door' written in white on the paint, he repeated his gesture and placed his right hand on the vibrations of it. The pictograms disappeared, he illuminated the fire escape a second time, which went back into darkness after he had vanished.

The frantic footsteps were too busy to notice his sudden appearance.

First it was the sound of cutlery, followed by the booming words of the white toques in the makeshift kitchen, before he had to dodge a waiter and his overflowing tray of champagne glasses heading for the swinging doors at the other end of the room.

"It has to be ready in thirty minutes! Not a second more!"

"I need more appetizers for the new arrivals!"

"Champagne! Where are the bottles?! I need wine too!"

It was only when the hot, air-conditioned atmosphere warmed his numb knuckles and chilled face that the voice passing by called him out.

"What are you doing here, sir?"

Finishing stapling his white shirt at the level of his wrists, he stopped focusing on the clamor that was animating the room and stared at the young waitress in front of him.

Brown-haired with brown eyes, twenty-five years old - maybe thirty - and a head shorter, she looked at him in return, from top to bottom, but more... meticulously. What reassured him immediately: it was not suspicion that made her look at him, but an indiscreet feeling, forbidden.

"Excuse me, I was looking for the bathroom and I got lost, could you show me the way?"

Following his much softer tone than usual, the young waitress raised her peon-red eyes to his friendly smile and, without even questioning his word, pointed him in the right direction with a hesitant left arm.

"O-Of course, follow me, please."

A feeling of embarrassment rose from the white tailored jacket as he followed the frantic pace of her escape.

On her way, she grabbed a tray of appetizers worth tens of thousands of Ryos per bite before continuing her crossing. Arriving at the swinging doors, she turned to give him a similar grin and pushed one of the doors with her back, opening the passageway for him.

"After you."

As he passed in front of her, he felt her indiscreet attention, accompanied by a feverish emotion, fall on his back, which had no other effect than to elicit an umpteenth amused chuckle from him.

What could he say about this most normal, most primary behavior? The seduction, the excitement, the envy of the other was certainly what living beings most often externalized. One might even think that this was all they thought about, all they wanted, all they lived for.

A second smile, but this time melancholic, materialized on his face.

He had known the most perverse and fanatical of them, nothing really surprised him any more.

His mind too preoccupied with the growing excitement of the brown pupils behind him, he hardly noticed the change in decor from sober and elementary to chic and exuberant.

Stepping up to the white marble railing that overlooked the huge room, which was nearly like a lobby since it was so open, he observed the two huge white columns on either side of his elevated position before admiring the two staircases, half covered by a red silk carpet that curved down to the checkered floor. Taking his curiosity a little further, he examined the dozen or so elevators on either side of the room, which opened incessantly, taking in the latest arrivals as well as the brave employees who mingled with the shameless crowd.

Raising his face to the twenty-meter-high white ceiling, he scanned the huge glass chandelier and the perch he had occupied a few minutes earlier through the stained-glass windows.

The hundredth floor had to be the same size as the three before it.

As he managed to make out the sky through the blinding light of the hundred bulbs of the chandelier, a voice called him for the second time.

"This way, please."

He immediately turned his attention back to the pawns scattered on the chessboard below before turning back to the young waitress and following her lead.

He immediately turned his attention back to the pawns scattered on the chessboard below before turning back to the young waitress and returning her smile before following her.

Softly and melodiously, the voice in the middle of the orchestra hummed and sang a ballad unknown to him, but the face it belonged to was not.

He watched the black hair and blue dress with some fascination, about forty meters away from his tumultuous descent down the curved staircase.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he glanced over the dozen or so monochrome suits and extravagant gowns around him before stopping at the smile above the appetizer tray to his right, pointing to one of the many doors in the huge room.

"Go to the end of the hall and turn left, you'll find what you're looking for."

"Thank you."

As soon as he expressed his gratitude, the peony red cheeks bowed to him before, not without a last look, making their anticipated escape.

Accompanied by several curious eyes, he opened the door to the corridor, which closed over the noise of the huge room, muffling it inevitably. Then he walked along the white tiles of the corridor, decorated with paintings and other frames surely worth more than his own organs, and turned to the level of the huge bay windows that gave a panoramic view of the city. Then, listening to what the waitress had done, he turned left and ventured under the great open arch of the men's room that faced the women's. Walking along the white dividing wall, he paused in front of the sinks in the middle of the room and, not feeling any presence in it, watched his reflection in the mirror and readjusted his tie.

It was not the first time he wore this kind of fabric, but every time he did, he could not help but feel uncomfortable. He didn't like this kind of suit which restricted his movements too much, and he wasn't even talking about the orchestras he wore at his feet, which were too tight and generated more decibels at each step he took than a ten-kilogram weight thrown on the ground.

Discretion was really the last thing on the mind of the wealthy, it had to be recognized. Sometimes it was even the thing they rejected the most, and that too was understandable. Rare were the personalities who didn't like to be in the limelight, who didn't like to attract attention. But he could not blame them. Because even if it didn't always mean the same thing, even if it didn't always have the same reasons, he understood what made people want to be heard.

Ceasing to stare at the black reflection, he lowered himself in front of the white ceramic. A hissing sound was heard at the level of his right hand before a fleeting puff of smoke dissipated in the air-conditioned atmosphere of the room. He then placed the rectangular piece of paper that had just materialized between his fingers under the sink.

He, too, had put discretion aside in his youth, moving on from day to day, not looking where he was going or what tomorrow would bring.

If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he was no different from anyone else. He had just been lucky to…

His thoughts stopped abruptly. No, it wasn't just that.

He had literally just lost his free will. He could no longer control his movements or even regain his concentration, completely obsessed by the sound that had just vibrated his eardrums.

Despite the resonance of the music that still reached him, the second clack of the high heels on the tile of the hallway reached him again. But it was not the characteristic echo of the feline gait that drew his full concentration and monopolized all his thoughts, it was the deep dismay that came from it.

The first unadorned emotion he had felt in the iron tower.

He crossed the toilets to circumvent the wall in front of the entrance as the steps moved a little farther away with each one he took, and passed under the arch again, leaving him only a glimpse of the door to the main room, which closed on the burgundy of the dress and the pumps.

The monotony of the high heels mixed with the hypocritical crowd and the toasting glasses and inevitably escaped him. Motionless for a moment, he managed to regain control of his thoughts and found himself pinching the bridge of his nose in confusion.

It had been a long time since he had felt such a fascination with a vibration, with a person's emotion. It had only happened to him once, and to be honest, he didn't think it would ever happen again.

Throwing his only free hand into his pants pocket, an impassive look took possession of his features the moment the door reopened. A man in his thirties, chewing the rest of his food between his teeth and with a state-of-the-art camera hanging from his neck, crossed the corridor and raised his glass in his direction.

"I don't recommend wine, it's filthy." his tone unmistakably rose as he passed the frames and his still being. "I'm going to throw it up right now."

Despite his sarcastic voice, he did hear him regurgitate the scarlet liquid in one of the many toilets a few seconds later and, more amused than surprised by this strange and fleeting character, he simply smiled before heading towards the noise of the hundredth floor.

This place was... surprising.

He pulled the door handle, and the soft melody resumed its original content, leaving him once more in the midst of the hubbub of the masquerade.

Nearly dancing on the checkered floor to avoid the small, proud and haughty groups of people, where only the hotel staff reminded them from time to time by bringing drinks and food that the world was still turning outside their little selves, he leaned against the marble railing of the curved staircase.

He didn't have time to breathe before a silver tray greeted him.

"Would you like some champagne?"

With a smile, he grabbed the last full glass on the tray, to the surprise of the waiter, who was not used to such a grin.

"Thank you, sir."

As the man ducked down the stairs to his right, a rhetorical question came to his mind regarding the reaction to his behavior: should he be cold and self-important in order to go unnoticed?

Taking a sip of the fizzy, golden liquid, he stared, for the third time of the evening, at the falsely amused looks.

These, over two hundred in number and scattered across the one thousand five hundred square meters of the hundredth floor, were grouped in clusters of collaborators who had come to represent their company as well as the percentage of shares they had amassed. Driven by a slight curiosity, he drank a second sip and could not help but listen to them, spying on their behavior as well as their thoughts.

His wandering senses naturally settled on the two strange vibrations of a young woman who, not more than twenty years old, was dressed in a green dress with sequins and a silk sweater draped over her shoulders, emphasizing her seven months of pregnancy. Discussing the name of her future child with an elderly woman who was offering her scattered congratulations, the young woman reported a few seconds later her embarrassed expression to the man at her side who was not paying much attention to her.

He stopped focusing on the two childish emotions and looked at the group a few meters away, who were discussing the profits they had made from the tragedy that had befallen the Water Nation two years earlier. The famine that had cost more than three hundred thousand lives and had caused a veritable butchery in the numerous archipelagos that made up the country.

The one that put Mizu to fire and blood and that the Village Hidden by the Leaf had helped to suffocate, to drown.

While he hoped to have reached the bottom of the immorality that surrounded him, his attention was drawn to the group of men with depraved feelings in the back of the room, withdrawn and protected from indiscreet glances. With an average age of fifty years, the group, composed only of men with the most lambdas physique, let him hear the impatience they showed. But above all, they made him feel their most immoral vice.

He swallowed an umpteenth sip and, accompanied by a visceral hatred that he knew was his own, took off from the marble to take a step in their direction.

This kind of thought, this kind of morbid and perverse feeling, he knew it very well, and he knew what the result would be. It was no longer unconsciousness, carelessness, or even detachment from the misfortune they caused. It was a deeper mental disorder. Vicious emotions that he had felt over and over again in animals, in predators. The growing excitement, the impatience they felt before pouncing on their prey, before taking action.

Thoughts shared by many bounty hunters, ninjas, when facing an opponent, when doing their duty. But these... men were not shinobi at all, he could easily feel it, see it. He only had to examine their stoic and haughty posture, which left an infinite number of openings, to realize it. These disgusting beings, these thoughts that made him want to vomit, belonged to another category of predators.

As he heard them talking about 'batch' and 'end of the evening' while taking a second step in their direction, he stopped short. The burgundy lassitude crossed his field of vision at about twenty meters from his position, taking away, for the second time, the least of his reflection. Without thinking for a second and in a reflex that he had no control over, he released a pulse of chakra, but, as he had expected, nothing happened.

It was not an illusion. He would have realized it long ago.

Slipping through the cacophony of shareholder groups, the lacy, V-neck skater dress let the atypical sound of her pumps put an end to the conversations around her and drew their full concentration to the detailed view of her C-cup and refined hips.

However, and despite the fact that he was human, it was not on that part of her body that his wrinkled gaze remained blocked, and unlike the totality of the men who ogled her, no fantasy crossed his mind.

She had them clearer.

A cup in her hand, adorned with rings and bracelets that surely rivaled the GDP of a small nation, she paused on his opposite side of the room, near the second curved staircase.

With a bored gesture, she did exactly what he had just stopped: she listened to the superfluous conversations and observed the hypocritical smiles that accompanied them. This behavior inevitably drew the jealousy of the women away from her, but especially the insatiable looks of the men.

She had them shorter.

However, he felt no embarrassment or even anger at the oppressive curiosity of the crowd, and though some consciences would express fear or satisfaction, excitement at being the center of attention, there, he felt none of it. She was releasing this form of detachment and weariness, of regret, as if this evening were nothing more than a pale copy of hundreds of others.

She had them emeralds.

Taking a sip of champagne, the young woman's gaze continued to sweep over the deceptive faces before it inexorably, and at a distance of about twenty meters, stopped on his, offering an expression that was the antithesis of everything she had been able to glimpse.

In this moment of numbness that spread through his entire body, he did the exact opposite of everything he had learned to do in order to pass unnoticed: he surmounted her silvery irises without blinking, completely hypnotized by the vibrations she emitted, but above all by the atypical color of her hair. The one that had blocked his breath.

Pink.

It was at this precise moment, after having muzzled the totality of the emotions of the hundredth floor except hers, that he really felt it. That he managed to put a finger on what had fascinated him at the first vibration. She was trying so hard not to think about it, to take it out of her thoughts, that he had missed it.

Hidden behind the false emotions she tried to believe in, her loneliness came out within a breath.

"Your attention please."

The hubbub around him abruptly faded and the room fell into an exemplary silence that did not prevent him from continuing to overcome the gaze of the other side of the room.

"Mr. Okada will speak in a few moments."

All the attention in the room turned to the stage in unison, bringing him back to reality in a myriad of sensations.

Pulling his attention away from the young woman who was still staring at him, he watched the blonde woman in the gray three-piece suit who had just stopped in front of the microphone stand in the middle of the wooden structure, noticing only now the sudden disappearance of the music and the band.

A sigh escaped his being.

He didn't know what the future had in store for him, since he didn't even know where he would be in a week's time, but one thing was certain: his death would be preceded by a loss of concentration, there was no doubt about that now.

The young woman on the platform had no time to finish her sentence that a man, small and dressed in a white suit, interrupted her by climbing the few wooden steps on her back. Slightly bowing to the newcomer, followed by two imposing bodyguards dressed in black and opaque glasses, she left the stage with an intimidated step.

Not more than six feet tall, in his fifties, with short, grayish hair and oval glasses that overhung his thick eyebrows, the man stopped in front of the microphone and took it under the resonance of the speakers.

Coughing after his gesture, he spoke as the two giants took position behind him.

"Ladies, gentlemen, dear shareholders, dear friends, first of all, I hope you are having a great evening?"

A wave of affirmation spread clamorously through the room, followed closely by the raising of several glasses of champagne and other alcohol, letting a smile distort the features of the fifty-year-old toying with the microphone wire.

"Good, good, I'm glad to hear that. I want you to know that it is my pleasure to welcome you here, at my place, in Buranketto, to celebrate a most fruitful new year, thanks to your trust."

A second wave, this time of applause, muffled the sound of his glass on the silver tray of a passing waiter.

Under a second ovation directed at the man in the center of the room, his analytical gaze scanned the two guards on the dais, who in turn watched the crowd, before settling on the other four, on either side of the two exits from the wooden structure. Without looking at them directly, he examined the ten others scattered throughout the room, blending into the crowd as discreetly as possible.

Another sigh, this time frustrated, escaped from his lips.

Logical reasoning would say that he already had one country on his tail, and it wasn't one more conglomerate or one less that was going to make his situation worse, but that wasn't really the thought that was on his mind at the moment.

In fact, it was a very delicate situation.

Though it was unlikely, if his next actions negatively impacted the Okada Company, it would be the tens of thousands of men and women they employed who would suffer, not them, not the hypocritical smiles, not the arrogant looks. But those who could not afford to lose a day's pay, those at the mercy of money.

The plan to kidnap the notary and make him talk had taken on proportions that had overwhelmed him as soon as he had put a name to it.

The thought of doing nothing, of giving up, had crossed his mind several times in the past few hours, but he was too close to his goal to turn back. This was the first time he had a lead, something that would allow him to silence the voice in his head by giving it an answer. He couldn't turn back, not this time.

He will have to find a way to achieve his goals without affecting the lives of innocent people, without collateral damage. Something that would not be easy, perhaps even impo…

As he continued his monologue, the multi-billionaire on the platform threw a quick glance in his direction, revealing, without looking directly at him, the least of his thoughts.

"I would also like to salute Fukuda Takeo and Ohira Masayoshi here, without whom all this would not have been possible. Their commitment to the company..."

Inevitably, a question arose in his mind as a result of this most unlikely scenario that was about to unfold.

"Do you think he means what he says?"

Was it really a coincidence?

Ceasing to look at the fifty-year-old man who attracted all the attention in the room, he turned his face towards the effeminate voice on his left, the one he had felt approaching for more than twenty seconds.

Dressed in a burgundy dress, she clicked her high heels a few inches away from his stoic air and, with a slightly raised eyebrow, took a sip of champagne before staring at him once more. Before waiting for the answer to her question.

He gazed at her slightly hollowed cheeks of clear complexion and the short, delicate nose that separated them before, without being able to understand the reason for his umpteenth staring, admiring her fine lips covered with burgundy lipstick.

How.

"I can't read minds, I'm afraid."

How was she able to hide it so well?

His lie, in contrast to what his impassive air externalized, was marked by sweetness, which had no other effect than to increase tenfold the curiosity that she attributed to him… a curiosity that had not missed a single crumb of his eye movements.

"Come on, you don't expect me to believe that this kind of speech can fool you?"

He did not answer directly, satisfying himself by staring at her for long seconds to replay in his thoughts what she had just said.

A talk that can fool you.

Without breaking the strange complicity of their gaze, she placed her glass of champagne on her lower lip and inevitably drowning her charming smile.

He had to admit it. Of all the roles he had seen in his twenty years of life, the one she played was the most impressive. She played it perfectly.

So well, in fact, that a mixture of incomprehension, anger, and frustration spread across the stage, giving him a hint of the possible affiliation she shared with the white suit.

"Apart from not meaning what he says, I think he is very fascinated by you."

Without paying the slightest attention to the fifty-year-old man he was talking about, as if looking at him was the last thing she wanted to do, she raised her perfectly plucked, pink eyebrows.

"I thought you couldn't read minds, were you lying to me?"

The question, more sarcastic than serious, drew a wry smile from him.

Since chakra was a kind of incomprehensible magic to most living beings, the question could only be ironic.

"I..."

"A quick photo Miss Okada?"

Pulling himself out of the bubble he was immersed in, his eyebrows furrowed inexorably as he turned his attention to the man who had just stopped in front of them.

The third voice that dared to rise even though the speech was not finished. The third voice that attracted the lightning of the surrounding eyes.

Equipped with a state-of-the-art camera, the latter gave the young woman a friendly smile before turning it to his person, reminding him of the scene in front of the toilets a few minutes earlier.

It wasn't the fact of seeing this strange fellow again that made his eyebrows frown. It was the fact that he hadn't felt him approach. He had let his guard down. No, she had made him let his guard down. For the second time.

It seems that seeing that color again affected him more than he thought.

He had no time to raise a disapproving hand against the question that a warm and soft pair clung to his left arm.

"With pleasure."

Bringing his gaze back to his left, he stared at her for a long time while the monologue on the stage turned again in their direction and let out an umpteenth sentiment.

Offering him a huge smile before further smothering her chest against the silk covering his arm, she moved her hand holding the champagne glass towards the focal. "Smile, life is too short to make such a face."

The flash blinded the right side of his pink and burgundy field of vision, but that didn't stop him from continuing to stare at her without blinking.

Anyone watching the scene and paying attention to what they saw - meaning almost everyone around them - would rightly think that this was yet another hussy taking advantage of her youth and beauty without caring about the reputation that preceded her. And from their point of view, nothing could prove them wrong.

On the other hand, anyone who knew the relationship she shared with the man on the platform and who could decipher human behavior - a minority of them - would rightly think that this was yet another rebellion by a daughter against her father, trying to upset him, to tarnish his reputation. And again, from their point of view, nothing could prove them wrong.

But even though there was a little bit of all of that, the real reason for her behavior was quite different and really reflected only one goal: the last photo. The one that would make the headlines.

Breathing in deeply as the idea of reducing the state-of-the-art rectangular object that had just immortalized his features to dust came to his mind, another rectangular object, small and white, presented itself to his half-open hand.

"You can get the pictures on my blog."

He took his eyes off the burgundy dress as she stepped back and watched the photographer for a long moment before lowering his attention to the piece of cardboard. "Here's one for you too, Miss Okada."

Turning it over quickly to make sure he hadn't missed anything, he took a second look at the strange black typography that decorated the cardboard.

"Thank you."

He may have missed the technological advances of the last five years, but he knew what a blog was, the Internet having arrived before he even began to explore this peninsula. This was not a blog name at all.

This was...

He lifted his gaze to the author of the card to greet the emptiness.

A warning.

With a shake of his head he quickly scanned the surrounding groupings, and no photograph came into his field of vision, which gave rise to a feeling of annoyance and incomprehension.

He hadn't let his guard down, not this time. So why hadn't he felt it move?

As soon as he took a step on the checkerboard floor, the positions and moods of all the living beings on the hundredth floor came to him, offering him their deepest feelings, their most intimate thoughts, without any results.

Unable to fulfill his wishes, the remaining ninety-nine floors offered him the least of their secrets to reveal a bitter truth: the seven hundred and twenty-six rooms had nothing to offer him.

His heel clicked on the checkered floor.

He hadn't just blended into the crowd; he had literally disappeared from the turret. He was no longer there.

"Beware of red eyes? What does it mean? It's not a blog name."

Turning, he stared at the silver irises which, like him, had left the piece of cardboard, only to be surprised by the photographer's disappearance. But unlike him, she didn't care as much. In fact, a sense of relief washed over her thoughts, as if she had suddenly been freed from an immeasurable weight.

His azure gaze, somewhat disturbed, rested once more on the white card in the grip of his stiff fingers.

This message was meant for him, there was no doubt about it, but how? How had this man known that he would be here, in this very place, at this very moment? And most importantly, how had he managed to hide his intentions from him?

All this was starting to add up. He was going to have to think about giving up.

"Is something wrong?"

He raised his impassive air and a smile appeared on his features.

"It's all right."

Although there was no doubt that she did not believe him, she simply gave him a similar grin, offering him her first sincere smile of the evening. Loneliness was then replaced by a touch of curiosity.

"What were we..."

But the curiosity was short-lived. This time his concentration hadn't wandered.

"Naruto?"

Turning his face at the mention of his name, which ended the question, he examined the hand that had just been placed on his forearm before staring at the brown hair and sweet voice that accompanied it.

The one he had heard singing when he arrived. The one who had run across the room at the mere sight of his golden hair.

The asymmetrical blue dress looked him upside down in return, looking almost livid. He was no longer the only one who had seen a ghost.

"Is that you?" she asked for the second time, pressing the textile around his arm, making sure that he was physically present in front of her.

The silver curiosity at his side withdrew in an instant and took a step back as the gloomy emotions once again took control of her thoughts.

"Good evening, Yum."

Without him showing the least sign of disapproval, the parma irises of the singer moistened and, the moment after, he received his meter sixty as she threw herself against his chest without bluntness.

The embrace lasted a few seconds, during which he smelled the intoxicating scent of lilac. A scent that reminded him of the Wind dunes, of the Snake's fangs.

Cleverly wiping her eyes so as not to damage the makeup that was aging her too much, she ended the hug without stopping to stare at him. She could not convince herself of what she was observing.

"It's amazing, you... since... I-I never thought I'd see you again. How... after all this time without news... I thought you were... wh-what are you doing here? ... Are you a shareholder of OC? No, t-that's not possible... y-you hate that kind of principle, but you..."

Smiling at the hyperactive, adolescent behavior, he simply maintained his playful grin and cut her off in her stammering.

"It's a long story."

At this simple answer, a look of understanding spread across the young woman's face. The euphoria of seeing him again had made her completely forget what dictated his life. What he was. Then she silenced the many questions that were burning on her lips and whose answers would not escape the indiscreet ears, and let her admiration for his person last.

With no desire for a second wave of questions, he took the lead in the discussion.

"You've grown up since the last time. How old are you now, seventeen?"

The simple fact of remembering her age was enough to bring a scarlet blush to the teenager's cheeks. The most important question of the last five years without news from him had just been answered.

He remembered her. He had not forgotten her.

"Yes, I'm celebrating my eighteenth birthday in two months." she replied, smiling more brightly. "I am no longer that orphaned child from the Windward Desert. I'm a woman now, a world-famous one."

It was clear that if he didn't know her, he would have thought she was about thirty years old, since the makeup was so misleading. And without that unique voice and that even rarer color of eyes, he would not have recognized her, it was certain.

Two distinct clears of the throat were heard behind him, ending the reunion.

Positioning himself to the left of the teenager as he turned around, the singer's sweet voice once again rose to the heights of the room having resumed its incessant din.

"Excuse me, I have interrupted your conversation." she apologized, bowing slightly forward. "Ishida Ayumi, nice to meet you Miss Okada."

A hand stretched out towards the young woman, she waited. Waited even more. The lack of movement of the heiress made her believe that she could wait indefinitely, nothing would change, but, after several seconds of immobility, the bracelets surrounding the wrist of this one tinkled their greeting against her hand.

"It's nothing."

For the first time since he had felt her, the burgundy dress exteriorized a feeling of both annoyance... and jealousy. The same feeling that could escape from a child whose toy had just been confiscated.

But if one thing had not changed, it was the personality of the orphan on his left. That naivety and kindness that characterized her so much. In this place, it was almost disturbing.

"Maybe you'd like an autograph to excuse me? I don't mind at all."

Bringing her hand against her belly, the singer showed a playful face at the idea.

- No, thank you. But if you want to apologize so much, I would like to know a little more about your encounter." she admitted curiously. "After all, no one knows about the famous Ayumi's past, I would be honored to be one of the first to hear about it."

A slight pause followed the request.

"Don't worry, with me your secret will be well kept, I will remain silent as a grave."

Turning his attention succinctly in the direction of the pink hair after the sermon, he stared at the young woman for the umpteenth time.

She really liked to play with words. It seemed that she was even having fun with her condition of mental health.

The teenager opened her mouth, letting an answer form at the corner of her lips, but she didn't have time to answer.

Having finished his speech under a flood of applause, the white suit had descended the three wooden steps and, accompanied by his bodyguards and with his tense air directed towards the stairs, he had shaken four pairs of hands before resuming his crossing. After repeating the gesture eleven times, for a total of one minute and six seconds, and with the irritation of his features growing with each forced smile, he had finally reached the reason for his annoyed air.

Seeing that they did not observe her anymore, as fascinated by a presence in her back, the burgundy dress turned over slightly to accuse the gray hair on her left and, in spite of the fact that she did not startle at all, he felt perfectly the shiver which traversed her spine.

It was at that moment that the curiosity withdrew and was replaced by an impassive face. It was at that moment that the half-empty glass surrounding the white, manicured nails moved to the burgundy lipstick, only to see its substance disappear in two sips.

"What are you doing here?" asked the dry tone that had just arrived under the young woman's second outburst of emotion.

While the voice of the white suit, almost a whisper, put an end to the chatter around them, he could only question the affiliation of the two Okadas when the father's gaze scrutinized the skater dress in all its forms.

Now the center of attention of half the room and with a forced smile, the daughter turned completely to the strolling gaze.

"I got tired of running around my room."

An amused grin, which he also characterized as simulated, appeared on the face of the father.

The one from which he could not perfectly discern any thoughts. It was as if every time the businessman felt something, he tried to replace it with an appropriate feeling. As if he was trying to play a role as well.

"I see." he opined before turning his attention in their direction, trying, strangely, to change the subject of conversation. "You don't introduce me to your friends?"

This time, an expression of both surprise and playfulness materialized on the face of the heiress.

"Introduce yourself?" she asked, letting out a sarcastic breath. "I'm not sure I understand, would you need to know the name of the singer you personally invited, Mr. Okada?" she added in a much louder voice than necessary, inevitably attracting the attention of the entire room.

Discretion... wasn't that the key word he had been harping on before arriving at this place?

With a smiling face, betraying, however, a deep anger, the man at the head of OC slowly turned his face towards the young woman before catching with a firm hand her wrist under the tinkling of the jewels which decorated it.

The authoritative whisper that followed made him understand, without needing to feel the emotions that animated him, that the false airs were gone, revealing the true face the man was trying to hide.

"Are you going to finally live up to the name you bear and stop drinking and acting like a slut, or are you going to make a scene like the insufferable child you like to play?"

Despite the immeasurable pressure on her skin and person, the unbearable child slowly approached the stern voice and, accompanied by a sly smile at the end of her lips, leaned against his ear and whispered words inaudible to the chagrin of the room, but perfectly understandable to his sensitive hearing.

"No matter what I do, we both know you won't lift a finger to my insufferable face, not in front of your precious guests, right, Dad? So, next time, if you don't want me to bother you at your little parties, be sure to check that my bedroom door is closed before you go upstairs."

Getting up, she showed her perfect teeth and raised her empty glass towards her father.

"Now, you'll excuse me, I'm thirsty."

Following her words, she heads for the nearest waiter, but her quest for alcohol was blocked by two giants dressed in black, and she even had to turn back when the grip on her wrist brought her back to her original place with a sudden movement.

The heels clicked sternly.

He finally understood. Everything was becoming more... clear.

An extreme rage emanating from the white suit submerged his own, which had been watching the scene until then, and made him understand that the man would raise much more than the little finger if the situation continued. But the most alarming thing was the aggressiveness of the heiress, who was on the verge of losing her lucidity.

"Let me go or I swear I'll..."

"I'm going to take Ms. Okada back to her suite, she seems to have drunk a little too much, she doesn't know what she's saying."

The four silver irises turned in unison, as did all those who could see them. A look of incomprehension spread across the face of the fourth fortune of the peninsula.

"May I ask who you are?" the man's voice rose immediately as the two bodyguards took a step in his direction."

Despite the many whispers that spread across the hundredth floor of the highest tower in the peninsula, he did not look at the owner.

If he ever did, if he ever met the man's gaze, with what he had just heard and the deep sense of vulnerability she made him feel, undergo, then his precious source of information would not be able to tell him what he desired.

It was not something he wanted to, not now, not in front of the precious guests.

The heiress of the iron tower stared at him in disbelief, and he did the same in return, repeating the first gesture they had exchanged. Time seemed to stand still as the aggressiveness she was projecting, mixed with the grams of alcohol in her blood, slowly subsided.

"Are you deaf or do I have to..."

The authoritative tone did not have time to complete its threat.

As soon as it was heard, one of the two guards on his right began the protocol he was used to and put a hand on his shoulder.

As soon as he touched the black silk of his suit, his wrist twisted in an awkward position, forcing him to drop one knee to the ground with a painful grimace as the pain broke his motor faculties.

The fingers of the man at the head of OC suddenly released the gold and silver surrounding the forearm of his daughter, who did not move a millimeter, even leaving her arm in the air.

The guard's scream chilled the blood of half the room and put an end to all conversation, paralyzed by this unusual sight. In fact, as the guard's scream was so deafening, he could even hear the water running in the kitchens.

The second guard took a step in his direction, ready to fight, as the other two, about ten meters away, rushed towards the man they were supposed to protect, who for his part had just taken a step back in horror.

"W-Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Seeing the glimmer of disbelief that had just appeared in the young woman's eyes as he continued to stare at her, he could only utter a sorry thought.

Sorry to have to use her.

Wasn't he, after all, the most hypocritical person in this place?

"Calm down!"

An alert and fearful hand intruded into his pink field of vision, forcing him to shift his focus to the blue dress that was now standing between him and the second guard who had stopped in his charge.

"Mr. Okada, please forgive me, he's my personal bodyguard and he just returned from a long vacation, he must have forgotten his manners." the singer apologized, turning her wide eyes to his impassive expression as the echo of his voice echoed in the deathly silence of the hundredth floor. "Let go of the poor man's arm, please.

Several inaudible murmurs spread around the room again, watching the scene with a certain incomprehension, a certain surprise. One didn't have to be a genius to know the headlines that would be written in the morning.

The idea of breaking the wrist he held between his hands crossed his mind but, seeing the parma and pleading pupils to less than fifty centimeters of his temporary mood, he released the mountain of muscle as it had just been suggested to him and looked at the impotent recoil of the bodyguard. The latter, his forearm pressed against his stomach and accompanied by a grimace of pain and rage, got help from his colleague to get up.

The man at the head of the company that bore his name regained an upright and confident posture as he straightened his suit and raised a disapproving eyebrow at the young singer, managing almost perfectly to hide his stutter.

"W-Well, I admire your words at your young age, but if that is the case, it seems to me that it is not you who should apologize, but the person in question." he said as he tightened his tie and turned his face, which betrayed a terrible fear, in his direction.

Without the slightest interest in what had just been asked of him, his attention once again fell on the one he had to make up for, and, without hesitation, he raised the palm of his hand in the direction of the pink hair. Lost and somewhat stunned by his incomprehensible behavior, she looked at him, only partially understanding the reason behind his movement.

It seemed to be the first time that someone had offered her help without her asking or giving anything in return, she simply did not know this feeling that was stirring her inside.

It was only after three interminable seconds of hesitation facing the stoicism of his azure gaze, her thoughts completely flooded with questions of all kinds, that she decided to move her skepticism as well as her hand towards his.

Slamming her left heel against the chessboard at her feet, she could only brush her fingertips before being forced back when the king's grip suddenly pulled back her right wrist.

At that moment, as he folded his arm against his anger and as she nearly stumbled upon resuming her original position, the reason for his presence in this place disappeared.

Then, and once again going against what he had promised himself before arriving here, he slowly turned his attention to the white suit.

Only the intense and perfidious vibration that the small man exuded, already imagining the next reddening of his fingers that would hit the face of the unbearable child he was trying to hold, managed to cross his thoughts, seeking only one thing, only one desire: to give back a hundredfold what he had imagined during the second that had just passed.

"It doesn't seem that I..."

First, it was his fifty-year-old, grayish eyebrows that, directed at his person, frowned tirelessly. "That I have..." Then, undoing his freshly tightened tie as he cleared his throat, a panicked look replaced his authoritative one. "Have given..." Several gasps echoed through the room, which became increasingly agitated as the man released his grip on the arm of the burgundy dress. "G-Given..." Leaning forward to place his hands on his knees, the owner of the tower took a deep breath only to realize that no oxygen was present.

The scraping of the man's lungs, deprived of their only fuel, produced a sound both disturbing and morbid which, in a panic, sent a tidal wave of high heels and pointed leathers in their direction.

"He can't breathe!"

"Mr. Okada, what's happening to you?!"

"He's having a heart attack!"

A teenage hand settled on his black suit, letting him slowly regain possession of his emotions.

Looking at the delicate fingers on his chest, he stopped contemplating the satisfying scene to cross his own reflection in the parma irises, somewhat jostled by the crowd that was forming around them.

"Stop, please."

He turned his gaze back to the businessman lying on the floor, with his hands around his neck, and watched impassively as his bluish agitation became less and less erratic, almost docile, without the slightest hint of remorse.

He was feeling nothing.

He was nothing.

Slowly, he turned his attention to the silver irises of the young woman, whose expression indicated to him, without really understanding how he could be at the origin of this sudden blow of fate, to do the exact opposite of what he had just been asked to.

To continue, indefinitely, until the dust filled the lungs of her father.

For the second time, he moved his palm towards the unhealthy emotion.

Sometimes, when he started to relive in his mind the moments he had gone through, he really wondered why he always ended up improvising when the time came. Even when the plan was simple, straightforward, and nothing seemed to be able to alter it, the result was always the opposite of anything he had ever imagined.

For the second time, but this time managing to go to the end of her movement, the heiress grabbed his hand.

A deafening breath was heard, bringing the shattered emotions of the hundredth floor back to life.

"Are you okay, Mr. Okada?!"

"Step aside, let him breathe!"

The person at fault, he knew him, after all, it was no one else but himself. He just couldn't stop getting into the minds of the people he met, and most of the time it turned against him. When he was confronted with an emotionally troubled person, he couldn't resist helping them, even if it meant putting his own feelings aside. Even if it meant jeopardizing his mission, his life, as long as the person he suddenly felt responsible for was okay.

Turning to the world-famous singer, he leaned against her ear and her panicked expression, sending an unexplained shiver down her spine.

"Get out of this place, Yum."

Standing still as she absorbed his words, the teenager nodded, understanding that this was only the beginning of a long evening.

As soon as his order was given, he began to cross the chessboard floor, followed closely by the burgundy dress, both hands clasped to his fingers.

He forced his way through the condescending crowd and made his way to the doors of the nearest elevator to push the button. The metal doors opened instantly with a short ringing sound, letting him step into the cabin.

Inside, he turned over on the linoleum as she moved to his side and took one last look at the hundredth floor of the bustling Buranketto. He looked at the black suit left behind by his colleague and sitting on the floor, highlighting his sore wrist. He watched the white suit, surrounded by a dozen of his guards keeping the crowd at a distance and helping him to get up. He observed the anthill, erratic and amalgamated in the center of the room, before glancing at the elevator on the other side of the room, which closed on a blue dress and a worried look.

He turned his face to look at the white fingernails hanging from his hand before watching the lost expression of their owner.

"What floor is your suite?"

The silence that followed his request lasted.

Her eyes were lost in the emptiness in front of her and her emotions were completely disturbed, trying to find an answer to the questions that tormented her, in vain.

It was only when the blurred silhouettes of the guards stared in her direction that she turned her panicked gaze to his, calmer than ever, and the question she had just been asked replayed in her mind.

"E-Eighty-two." she stammered. "The eighty-two floor."

Pressing the right button, accompanied by the beating of the chest beside him, the elevator made the same sound as when it opened and closed its doors on the face of the guard who had rushed at them.

The catches on his hand slowly loosened as the elevator began its descent. He took advantage of the brief moment to stare at her pink hair in the metallic reflection while a feeling of uncertainty settled over her and monopolized all of her thoughts.

"Why?"

The word echoed in the elevator and received only the almost imperceptible whir of this one in response, before a light ironic breath escaped beneath his golden hair.

He knew the real answer, but strangely, he tried not to think about it. Not to admit it to himself, and preferred to convince himself that it was only to achieve his goals.

Returning his gaze to the silver one, he examined the heiress's face, which bore no resemblance to the one that had come close to suffocation.

"I didn't like his eyebrows."

Without warning, and contrary to what she was feeling at the moment, a chuckle followed by a laugh caught her off guard, forcing her back against the wood of the elevator walls. The laughter, at first measured, was suddenly taken over by panic before becoming uncontrollable. Clinging to the railing and struggling to catch her breath, she managed to control it with an amused yet worried expression.

He continued to watch her as she placed her right hand on her throbbing chest, allowing himself the same grin she was expressing.

A smile.

Crossing her legs as she leaned against the railing, she pulled a rebellious lock of her hair back behind her ear.

"Well, do you even understand the shit you just got yourself into?"

Leaving his answer in suspense, he took the time to turn his entire body in the direction of the young woman.

"Not really, but if I can give you a tip or two, it's to step back and remember to keep the doors open."

Frowning at his calm tone, she again failed to understand what he was trying to say. But, surprising herself, she followed his advice and with a hesitant step stepped back into the left corner of the elevator.

What did he mean by remember to keep the doors open?

The sound of the automatic doors opening echoed through the cabin, letting in the air-conditioned warmth of the corridor.

"I'm going downstairs, I'll be there in two minutes. What did you tell me he looks li..."

Finishing their one and only job and opening completely, the doors allowed them to observe a man, in his forties, dressed in blue jeans and a jacket of the same color covered by a yellow vest, becoming as pale as the white wall of the corridor behind him.

The hand raised at about ten centimeters of his face, where a walkie-talkie was, the new arrival examined the face in the middle of the elevator, before zoning the burgundy dress, clutched to the railing in the corner of this one, which she returned to him his panicked air.

The unexpected encounter caused the guard to release the button of the device he was holding between his fingers.

"...to confirm?! I repeat. The elevator where Ms. Okada has stopped at the eighty-second floor, let everyone in the vicinity go there. This is a kidnapping. The suspect is white, has yellow hair and is wearing a black suit. Do not apprehend him alone. Is there anyone on this level to confirm?!"

Fear, incomprehension, and a sense of duty. This was what had followed the sizzling tone rushing inside the elevator.

From what he felt, there was no doubt that the man would press the radio button in the next few seconds, but even so, he hoped to reach the last hope he perceived in him.

His cowardice.

"Don't do anything foolish."

Turning to the man's sluggishness, his voice echoed down the corridor as a warning, and though his words were full of meaning at that moment, he realized he had been right. The cowardice the guard exuded was overtaken by bravery at the mere sight of the woman hanging on the railing behind him.

The elevator chimed its programmed closure just as a surge of adrenaline was felt behind the yellow vest. The motion sensors of the metallic doors did not have time to detect his movements.

His fingers gripped the man's windpipe as the man's eyes widened in amazement at the very moment the command to press the button on his talkie popped into his mind. A thud, followed closely by the collapse of several wall decorations, spread across the eighty-second floor.

Short and late, the startled gasp in the elevator sounded.

It was true that from an external point of view he had acted before the man had made any move, but for his defense he had previously tried another approach, another turn of phrase regarding the intentions resulting from emotions, and this one was less... understandable.

"The doors."

His words, recalling a piece of advice he had given earlier, precipitated after a second of paralysis the high heels that put an end, with an outstretched arm, to the automatic closing of the doors.

Hearing her enter the corridor, he turned his attention back to the man. Legs swaying, shoulder blades slightly embedded in the wall, the latter displayed a grimace of pain before looking at him and grabbing his right forearm with the only free hand he had.

"What is your name?"

He loosened his grip on the man's throat a little so that he could give him an answer before taking the walkie-talkie without difficulty.

"K-Koma... chi."

"Well, Komachi, would you please come to your senses and say that there is no one here?"

Moving the small black device a few centimeters away from the scowling face, he pressed the main button as the slight sizzling sound stopped.

A bit of rebellion materialized in the brown irises of his prisoner before he began to press lightly with his index finger on his neck, taking away an umpteenth grimace as well as his temerity.

With a voice mixed between pain and fear, the man then did as he had just been asked.

"Deisuke for... Komachi."

"I'm listening."

"I... am on the eighty-second floor and... there's no one there."

"Did you check the elevator eleven?"

"It opened in front of me... empty. They must have gone down to the upper floors."

"That's not possible, the screen tells me that it didn't stop on the w..."

The walkie-talkie flew into a thousand pieces under the pressure of his hand.

Reopening his fingers, he let the last of the plastic fall to the ground and could only sigh at the frightened look on the guard's face.

He had underestimated the technology. Five years without hearing from it and now it was completely beyond him. Next time he would think twice before cutting himself off from civilization for so long.

"I will release you, so please don't try anything stupid."

This time, his voice was on the verge of pleading. Putting a man out of action who was doing his job out of duty was not something he really liked to do.

The man nodded awkwardly, as if he did not really believe his words. And even after he had brought him back to his feet with a big gulp of air, the man remained in front of him, one hand resting on his freed neck.

"You can go."

Inert and in disbelief, the guard looked at him again, but this time without any rancor in his eyes. He simply wondered why he was letting him go so easily. Why was he letting him go, knowing full well what he would do in the next few seconds?

The feeling of incomprehension the man exuded was replaced by hope as he took a step to the side. Then, taking another, he managed to convince himself that his words were true, and quickly took a third. In less than ten seconds, and with a few glances in their direction, the man ended his escape behind the stairwell door at the end of the corridor.

The echoes of the hasty descent down the steps reverberated through the corridor as he turned to the only person that was sharing it with him, accusing of the shaken expression she was showing.

Glued to the wall next to the elevator, both hands resting on it at the level of her pelvis, she opened her lips and closed them the next moment... before revealing the whiteness of her teeth again.

"H-How did... you... do?" she asked, completely lost.

He knew exactly what she was talking about and even what she was thinking. What everyone who didn't have a chakra pathway felt the first time. Still, he played the ignorance card, hoping to avoid the famous question.

"Do what?"

"I... you... I don't... understand... I-I didn't see you..."

With the tip of her index finger, she pointed at the closed elevator doors. "You were... there." before moving her finger to the marks on the white wall. "and then... you... you were there." her arm remained extended towards the partition, mimicking the same gesture it had made against the man's windpipe. "And you lifted him... so... easily."

With an abrupt movement and a heavy sigh, she shook her face and brought her hand to her eyelids. With what had happened in the reception room, it was really starting to be too much for her imagination.

"I have to stop drinking..."

Caught in an immeasurable lucidity at her tired tone, she dropped her hand under the clink of her bracelets. "No, I need a drink."

One eyebrow raised, stoic in the middle of the hallway, he watched her walk along the wall of the eighty-second floor under the echo of her high heels.

This woman seemed... both strange and familiar.

The three sensations she had made him feel so far manifested in turn. A thing that had not happened before.

Anxiety.

Halfway through, the desire to turn around and thank him crossed her mind, but the feeling took away that incongruous idea.

He had said he would take her back to her room, and he had just kept his promise. She had to get that through her head. She would be alone, just as she had always been.

Loneliness.

At three quarters, the left hand placed on the wall of the same side that kept her balanced, she stopped the time of an inspiration.

Perhaps he would agree to stay a little longer? No, of course not. With what was about to happen next, he had to leave.

Apprehension.

Arriving at one of the corridor's lush mahogany doors, she dipped her hand into her lace cleavage and grasped the thin, rectangular object tucked comfortably above her right breast. With a mechanical movement, she placed the magnetic card on the small box on the handle, while the sound signal and the opening of the lock let him decipher another of her thoughts.

Would she have the courage, the pride to do it? If those words didn't tell her anything, maybe she could put herself in the hands of fate?

Hope.

Standing in the middle of the hallway with his hands deep in his pockets, he watched her enter the room. His golden eyebrows furrowed inexorably.

This feeling, however, she had not considered it before.

As he waited, as the seconds passed, and then a full minute, the hope in the suite faded little by little until it disappeared altogether. Only then did he turn the azure of his impassive gaze to the door, left ajar.

A toasting glass and the opening of what seemed to be a most expensive liquor reached his still, thoughtful ears, and even when corrosive reflections overtook her, he didn't make the slightest move, far too busy fighting his own.

He had shaken the businessman's ego enough to be certain of his arrival within the next ten minutes or so. There was no doubt about it. And even if he didn't know where he was, the guard he'd freed would make sure the script was written.

All he had to do was hide in the hallway or in the crawl space and wait for them to arrive to achieve his goals and stop the spiral he had set in motion. It was simple, effective, and out of sight. Putting an end to all of this before it got any more out of hand than it already was, was the most important thing to do at the moment.

But then... why? If the only thing he wanted was to find the answer to his questions, why had he just closed the distance between them? Why was his hand resting on the mahogany of the entrance?

Once again, he was going to put a conscience before his own. Once again, and for a number so incalculable that he had lost count, he would have to improvise even more than he already had.

With a sound identical to its opening, the lock automatically closed behind his back, sealing his fate.

The light of the corridor disappeared, his pupils dilated slightly, allowing him to get used to the dim ambient light.

The first thing he noticed was the fruity scent in the room, if he could call it that way since it was so spacious. He then turned his attention to the huge bed with its modern white structure to his left.

Wrapped in a red sheet and several pillows of the same color, it was strangely covered with clothes as extravagant as they were colorful. The dresses, pumps, and other underwear piled up on the floor and, like a trail of dust, led to a small room without a door, immersed in the dim light, from which a second smell, this time of clean textiles, emanated.

Leaving behind what appeared to be the shadow of a suitcase in the right corner of the closet, as well as the two white nightstands and the huge beige carpet that stretched to either side of the bed, he observed, less than ten feet from his position and to his right, the small tin bar where three black leather stools were waiting to be used.

The connection between what he had heard before entering and the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter made itself in his mind as he finally turned his face towards the only source of light in the room. The one that had just caught his disbelief.

With four underwater spotlights, on the other side of a sliding glass window that divided the room in two, the in-ground pool caught his eye.

Eight meters high and three meters wide, it merged with the second glass wall of the suite. But unlike the first one, this one offered a breathtaking view of Natoma and the hundred glowing skyscrapers that adorned the city, and a free fall of more than three hundred and twenty meters to the fountain of the five-star hotel. He didn't even have to look at it to know that, just like this tower, it was the largest and most disproportionate fountain on the peninsula.

An ironic breath drew a slight smile from him.

It was sad to realize that in recent years, greed had reached a point of no return. Technology had gone to the heads of the thinkers who had widened the gap between the rich and the poor. It was obvious that this society would only stop when there was nothing left to exploit. Both the planet and the people who lived on it.

Walking across the heated ebony floor of the room, he paused in front of the bar, and with an eye as impassive as he could afford, he observed the burgundy dress tossed on the last leather stool, as well as the high heels. Where his eyes settled next... was beyond his competence. Though he had respect for where he could place his gaze, sometimes the situation was... impossible to avoid.

Next to the sliding window on the pool side, another open room, also in the dark, which he had not noticed before, made a slight creaking sound. The next second she stepped out of it, unaware of his presence.

Her pink hair loose and cascading down to her shoulder blades, she walked to the pool wearing the simplest device that accentuated the shape of her hips and breasts: a black lace thong.

Gently holding a glass with her jewel-less fingertips, she stepped onto the marble rim that surrounded the demineralized water and, with a slow movement, careful not to slip, she took a sip of the amber liquid before placing it at her feet.

His azure eyes crinkled at the unexpected scene. He had never seen her in this state before, and he wasn't talking about her attire. A state of doubt. Of fear. Of uncertainty. Yet he felt no courage.

The torrent that she generated by diving headfirst in the swimming pool was sufficiently noisy to drown his advance on the wooden floor. Passing through the open bay window, he unbuttoned the bottom of his jacket and leaned against the only small piece of furniture in the room adjacent to the bathroom to continue to stare at her butterflying, diffused silhouette through the flickering water.

The logical outcome would have been for her to return to the surface after reaching the other side, but as the emotions she gave off made him understand perfectly, that was not what happened at all. Lying quietly between the two lights that formed the corners of the pool, she closed her reddish eyelids before completely emptying her lungs of oxygen, leaving only that which was present in her blood.

In less than a second, she met the white bottom of the pool, welcoming, reassuring. A deep peacefulness ankylosed the least of her muscles and calmed her chaotic thoughts. Gradually, she lost sensation in her limbs, her pelvis, her spine, before finally simply losing orientation.

Was she on her stomach, on her back, on her side, or standing in the water, her trapped consciousness did not know. But one thing was certain: she felt light. Lighter than she had ever felt before.

The state of appeasement and ecstasy lasted a few more seconds. Then, gently, so as not to rush her, not to panic her, her survival instinct gave birth to a small hesitation. This one was neither imposing nor suffocating, on the contrary. It was so tiny that he had difficulty recognizing it. But it caused such a violent anxiety, such an anarchic scrolling of memories, that her unconscious, knowing exactly where she was, propelled her out of the water with an abrupt movement of her legs.

A huge choking sound echoed in the room.

It took less than a fraction of a second for her silver irises to open again, and another breath for her thoughts to return. The orchestra behind her chest quickly returned to its usual rhythm, as if the peril she had just experienced was nothing. Everyday life.

With an exhausted gesture, she wiped her eyes and nose before submerging half of her face. A long sigh escaped in a hundred fleeting bubbles, as had been her resolve.

Struggling to stay on the surface, she raised her face and spat a stream of water against the glass and the glow of the city of Natoma. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but feel a kind of hilarity. At least she didn't seem drunk enough to think she could get through the triple glass. He himself doubted his chances of success if he ever had to do it in one shot.

Ceasing to stare at her reflection in the urban window, she tucked her hair back behind her ears before turning her dry throat to the alcohol she had abandoned… her scream was half-stifled choked in the water and, this time, her heart was not trained enough to calm down the next moment.

She struggled awkwardly with the water that dragged her into its two and a half meters of depth and made her appearance again in several claps of her hands on the surface. A second gasping breath echoed through the room as she rushed mindlessly towards the marble ledge.

Extracting herself halfway with the help of her elbows, she spat out the few milliliters of water that her lungs had ingested before trying as best she could to regain control of her breathing. Then, only, what she had just seen returned to her memory and she turned her silver irises on his impotent being.

"W-What are y-you doing here?"

His buttocks still leaning against the furniture, even beginning to go numb, he quietly observed her.

"Were you trying to break a free diving record?"

Unlike the first time, his ironic tone did not have the desired effect: the undertone it carried hardly helped its effectiveness.

Slightly shocked and with a surprised look as well as a touch of irritation, she stared at him without understanding what he was getting at. Or at least this time she pretended not to understand.

With an irritated voice, betraying the fact that she was not used to not being answered, she in turn changed the subject.

"This is the second time you haven't answered my questions. I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

Following his words, she swam in his direction, reached the edge of the pool, and stopped right in front of the alcohol she had left behind. Taking a sip, she lifted the glass from her bottom lip and looked at the burgundy stain on the glass, increasing her annoyance tenfold. "Waterproof my ass."

Once again, she drew a fleeting smile from him.

Had she just gone from thinking about taking her own life to complain about a defective lipstick?

He sincerely hoped that it was the alcohol that made her act this way and not some mental illness. He was a very poor psychiatrist, despite his more than adequate skills in that area.

"Why are you here?"

Resuming the thread of his thoughts over the finger pointed in his direction, he could not help but scrutinize the half-satisfied glass behind it, as well as the expression she wore.

He didn't know how many grams of alcohol she had in her system or how many glasses of champagne she'd had before the whiskey kicked in, but she seemed to have completely lost control of her emotions.

"You should slow down on alcohol."

A slight exasperated breath was heard. With a gesture that was both slow and tired, her face half hidden by the edge of the pool, she drank another mouthful without breaking the complicity of their gaze, as if to provoke it, before resting her left cheek on her arm leaning against the marble.

"You still haven't answered my question." she pointed out in a tone that seemed disappointed. "If you leave now, you still have a chance to get away, you know."

Still as ever, he didn't show it, but it was quite strange for him to hear those words, to find himself on the other side, the one that needed to be protected. He had gradually lost this habit over the past five years.

"Are you worried about what might happen to me?"

His question made her feel uncomfortable, which brought up a concern he had been ignoring: why was he feeling her so intensely?

From what he had understood by intruding into people's intimacy was that reserved, shy personalities were the ones he perceived the most. Since they were not used to socializing, to finding themselves in situations that generated strong emotions, they often lost their way when these emotions hit them and, as a result, they left the tap fully open.

Those kinds of people, those kinds of consciousness, if he concentrated on them for too long, they could prevent him from reaching his own thoughts. He would end up suffering their joy, their infatuation, their sadness, their fear, with no way out. The last month had been a perfect example.

But... shy, reserved... were not the right words to describe her. The simple fact that she did not hide her breasts from him when he only had to look down to see them was perhaps the most obvious proof. It didn't seem to bother her at all. And her casual way of talking to him, even though they had only known each other for an hour, was another. So, he really wondered: who was she, and more importantly, why did she look so much like her?

Slowly and finishing what was left of her drink, she took off once more from the ledge to this time cling to the railings of the half-submerged ladder.

Was she related to that damn prophecy?

"Yes."

His eyes widened unintentionally, which she didn't notice as she stood on the floor, wringing out her hair. The timing had been perfect. Maybe too perfect. Motionless, he watched her refined form as if he couldn't distinguish her for the first time.

"You know, it's not because I was born with a silver spoon, or rather a diamond spoon, in my mouth that makes me rude and unpleasant. I do feel guilty from time to time."

Releasing her hair, she resumed her walk, arching her back in front of him to catch the glass she had left behind.

The alcohol seemed to bring out her honesty, but not only that.

"And why do you feel guilty?"

Following her with his eyes as she moved towards the room, he waited calmly for her answer. She made herself beg, letting him watch her feline and drenched stride as she passed the sliding glass in a trail of water, and stopped in front of the stool where the dress and burgundy pumps lay. Slipping between the two black leather stools, she sent her arm over the counter and pulled out a glass identical to the one she was holding.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know. I just feel like it's my fault you're in this situation."

Filling them with the amber liquid, she placed the bottle back where she had found it before turning back in his direction. Once in front of the pool, she handed him the glass, which he took more out of politeness than desire.

"I am convinced, however, that I acted willingly."

From the top of her naked and manicured feet at only thirty centimeters from his seated being, she plunged her fevered glance in the azure of his without uttering a word.

He didn't know what had triggered it. Maybe his statement, maybe his tone, maybe the cocktail of alcohol mixed with what she had just experienced. Maybe all of it. But under the light of the submerged fixtures, her silver eyes dilated even more than they already were. Under the air-conditioned heat, her breasts hardened at their tips. And there was no doubt that if she were not already wet, her hips would have tightened.

Strangely enough, he didn't need to focus on the just warmed atmosphere to know exactly what she was thinking. Nor did he need to imagine what would happen next if his silence continued.

"Answer my question and I will answer yours."

Suddenly, she came to her senses, as if she had just wandered into unexplored lands. She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise at the most childish game he was suggesting she takes part in.

"We don't have much time left and I have a lot of questions."

"You'd better hurry up and accept then."

Although her childhood had passed more than fifteen years ago, she did not want to miss the opportunity to learn more about him. The first one who, after twenty-three years of treading excessive floors, had managed to intrigue her curiosity.

"All right, I'm listening."

Putting the glass down on the wood of the furniture to his right, he turned his attention back to the young woman, seeming to have lost the desire to drink.

"What would happen if I walked away while I still had a chance?"

The raised eyebrow facing him lowered until it took his partner with it in a most exemplary frown. This time, a very strong disillusionment came out of her, and in the blink of an eye, her fiery and cooperative mood vanished.

A forced sip later, her surly voice, the opposite of the one she had used until then, rose.

"Don't worry about it. It wouldn't be the first time I had to confront him. You can go."

Her answer finished and her curiosity about him gone, she made a movement full of hostility on the opposite side of his cowardice.

She knew that this judgment was hypocritical, but at that moment she could not help but feel a deep sense of disillusionment.

"You see, I'm not the only one who doesn't answer questions."

One hand resting on the sliding glass window, she stopped dead in her tracks, as if she had just stepped on something condescending. With a look of disbelief, she then turned in his direction.

"What are you talking about, I just said that..."

"If I left as you advised, wouldn't you try to kill yourself?"

Her silver irises flickered with astonishment. Her blood rushed through them before she finally opened her mouth, stunned.

"What... What are you talking about?"

His arms crossed under his face, calm as ever, he watched the return of the one he was getting to know better and better by being around her: the masquerade.

Had he been too blunt in his remarks?

"Earlier, when you spoke to me in the reception room, you asked me something. It turns out that my answer was a lie.

She tried to remember their first exchange of words, but the alcohol blocked her attempt. Seeing her lost expression, he opened his mouth again, ready to remind her.

It was at that moment, before he spoke, that it all came back to her. And it was at that very moment that a mixture of hilarity and irony escaped from between her nostrils in one breath. Closing his lips, he watched her swallow her glass dry before looking at him with disdain.

"No, it seems even drunk I can't believe your bullshit," she said clearly. "Reading minds? What's next, are you going to tell me you can fly and teleport? No better, you can fly and teleport at the same time?"

An amused chuckle that quickly turned into a smile and finally a laugh. It was the only thing he could get out of his mouth as a result of her sarcasm.

"May I ask what you're laughing at?"

Slowly, he regained his seriousness and moved away from the furniture to take a step towards the bay window, then another, and another. His final advance forced the pink hair to stick to the glass in a last, futile hope of moving away.

Leaning dangerously towards her bitter, peony red face and wet hair, he gave her another friendly smile.

"I was just wondering what kind of journey you might have been on. How hard life has been on you to make you decide to go to such extremes. Wealth, youth, beauty. You have everything that women your age dream of, yet the only thing you want is to end it. Why?"

Intimidated by his words, but more so by his sudden closeness - the closeness she had dreamed of only a minute before - she swallowed painfully, this time pressing the back of her entire body against the glass.

The thud of her skull against the glass triggered her stammering.

"I-I thought you could read minds, shouldn't you know that?"

Pulling his face away to let her breathe out, his smile curtsied and never returned.

"Oh, I know it. I just need to hear you say it. I want to make sure I don't feel remorse when he begs me to stop."

A silence filled the heated atmosphere of the room. Overwhelmed by what he had just confessed, she flinched slightly as he unzipped his suit jacket.

Withdrawing it in front of her uncomfortable face, which had a sudden desire to get dressed, he approached her again to gently remove her from the glass wall without her showing the slightest sign of hostility.

Morbid and chaotic thoughts, in which everything intersected, tore her apart from the inside. Under the slight trembling of her legs, she lifted her gaze to his intimidating six feet.

Was he, like the sociopath who had tried to kidnap her on her nineteenth birthday, another one of those mentally ill people who kept harassing her? Was that why he knew so much about her?

Her frightened blink did not allow her to regain the brightness. With her eyelids closed, she didn't have time to blame herself either, as fear presented itself to her thoughts.

Was this how she was going to die? Really? After never having any control over her life, the control over her death was also going to be taken from her?

Soft, warm, reassuring, the fabric that was placed on her shoulders stopped her sudden urge to howl. An impulse that would have had no effect anyway because of the soundproof room. Opening her eyes under the soothing touch that went from her chest to her abdomen, she watched as he buttoned the jacket with delicacy so as not to touch her.

"You have an incredible desire to survive for someone who wants to die so badly."

She just didn't understand.

Confused, she randomly focused her vision on the gold above her.

She did not understand his sharp words, his calmness in any situation, but especially his behavior. Was she in a dream after yet another alcoholic coma? That might explain what she had seen and still could not admit.

She couldn't explain how he could suffocate a man without touching him. How he had moved without her seeing him move. How he had lifted eighty kilos without effort. And now she doubted that he could really read her mind.

Who was he?

His task finished on the jacket, he crossed the silver irises that were already staring at him.

"I would like to ask you the same question."

In a jolt, she struck the glass in her back again, causing her to make a grimace of pain and incomprehension. Unable to rub her head as her arms were held prisoner by the garment, she simply let out a series of random and flayed words.

"Wh... you... how...do?"

Breathing heavily, her eyes wide open, she realized too late that he was no longer watching her. His attention had just shifted behind her, as if a ghost had just appeared on her bed.

She turned her face and, blinking in a burst of light, looked at the faint opacity of her reflection, unable to understand the reason for his sudden interest. Then, slowly, very slowly, her eyelids widened even more. A shiver ran down her spine as she continued to stare at the pale glass.

Why... why didn't he appear on it?

Swallowing painfully, she turned her face back to the pool. Her breathing stopped. She turned her face to the left, empty of life. Then to her right, into the darkened bathroom, just as empty.

Her wary gaze froze in front of her, staring once more at her reflection in the bay window across the pool, empty of any golden hair, as were her thoughts.

He was no longer... there?

All her subconscious offered was an unprecedented stoicism. Once again, she was overwhelmed by what was happening.

Like the glass she was leaning on, she trembled for the second time in less than ten seconds. But this time it was not just a simple fearful retreat: her whole body had just stiffened. Only then, and victorious over her inner struggle, did she turn her eyes back to the bedroom door, hoping not to hear again what had just made her eardrums vibrate.

A second deafening bang on the door made her miss a heartbeat.

The buzzing that came through the soundproof walls told her that the time had finally come.