"You're quite the chef, Touma," Makishima commented, his gaze drifting across the table adorned with an array of dishes.
"Want to try a bite of this?" Touma offered.
"I don't indulge in meat," Makishima declined.
"That's too bad. Choe Gu-sung, how about some soy sauce?" Touma continued, his attention shifting.
"This food is a revelation. Nowadays, people don't prepare their own meals—they use printers. It's cheaper and faster, but the taste is not the same," Choe remarked, savoring the flavors.
"Few folks know the joy of smoked human flesh," Touma added casually.
Choe raised his head, his expression turning serious. "Wait, don't tell me this is…"
"Oh, damn, it's a joke," Touma laughed.
Makishima let out a subtle smile, his eyes glancing at Touma.
"Your sense of humor sucks," Choe stated.
"I've heard that before," Touma narrowed his eyes, taking a sip of whiskey. "I wonder what your heart would look like in the palm of my hand."
"Try me, boy," Choe raised his knife, elbow on the table, pointing it at him.
"Can't we get along?" Makishima sighed. "It's so rare to have us together."
"Why did you bring him, Shougo-kun? I don't need a babysitter."
"You walked into the PSB headquarters," Choe warned.
"Oh, yes. The cafeteria they have is big and quiet. Did you know that the enforcers can't leave the building because they basically live there? How boring."
"How do you know that?" Choe asked.
"I heard about it from one of them."
"You talked to an enforcer?" Choe's voice echoed.
"Yes, he had some free time, so we got chatting. The women in that place are scary," Touma raised an eyebrow, eyes fixed on the table.
"Are you crazy?" Choe's lips parted.
"You should be grateful. Now you know some of their blind spots," Touma's expression turned serious. "And I didn't have much of a choice. They wanted to know about Altoromagi, and I was a witness."
"You should've listened," Choe shook his head.
"And you should enjoy the pleasures of life more."
"If you've learned anything from me over these years, his body and history should in no way lead them to you," Makishima commented, frowning as he watched Touma lower his gaze. "What is it?"
"I killed before I met you. Before I learned to protect myself. That's why I had to kill Hashida and then Altoromagi. They may discover the physical resemblance I bear to her. My first work."
Makishima sighed and grabbed his cup of white wine, "Time is still on our side. Worst case scenario, we will have to buy more."
"I'll be forever grateful for everything you've done for me, Shougo-kun. Just remember I don't play by your rules. My work belongs to me," Touma frowned slightly, his voice more serious.
"How disappointing if it didn't," Makishima narrowed his eyes and smiled briefly.
"I wish… my sister was still here. I spent so much time with her, but now… I can no longer visit her in Ogishima. She's not there to talk to me anymore," Touma looked down and sighed.
"Do you hold regrets?" Makishima asked.
"No. It is through death that she lives. Nothing will separate us now."
"Have you considered the precise botanical selection for Altoromagi's memorial ceremony? Orchids, with their subtle yet profound symbolism of beauty and strength, or perhaps lilies, embodying the restoration of the departed soul. Each floral choice carries nuanced significance. It's a contemplation akin to deciphering the hues of nature, wouldn't you agree?"
"Thanks for the suggestion, Shougo-kun. But I don't care as much about the deceased as I do about the guests."
"You want to see his daughter."
"You should consider laying low. The PSB will be monitoring the ceremony," observed Choe.
"Yes, but they must already be busy studying Shimizu's background and those of other teachers. I left them plenty of homework to keep them entertained. Choe Gu-sung, you haven't tasted a single bite. I didn't know you didn't have the stomach for even a simple joke. Go on, eat your lunch. I like to see you both eating. I wish you two were broke, so that I could feed you this lunch and know you really needed it."
A stretch of time unfolded, elongated by the rhythm of their leisurely meal. The ambient glow from the dining area mingled with the luminescence of Tokyo beyond the expansive window. As they lingered in the apartment, the city outside transitioned through its own kaleidoscope of colors. Tokyo, adorned with the evening hues, painted a canvas of skyscrapers against the darkening sky.
Minutes melted away like the remnants of daylight. The city, now a tapestry of muted city lights, witnessed the peculiar camaraderie within the apartment.
Eventually, as the last morsels were savored, the trio moved toward the door. The glow of Tokyo, now fully immersed in its nocturnal palette, framed Makishima and Choe as they stepped into the corridor, bidding farewell to Touma's hospitality.
As the metallic sheen of a black car reflected the city's luminosity, Makishima and Choe seamlessly disappeared into the night, leaving behind a lingering echo of their presence in Touma's apartment.
"Touma has truly taken an interesting turn," Makishima commented.
"He went crazy. Are you sure about this, Makishima?" Choe asked.
"I think I'll linger a bit longer, observe the play," Makishima responded, his gaze narrowing as he turned towards the window. The apartment complex gradually receded into the urban tapestry.
"What if you're just nurturing the serpent that will eventually bite you? What kind of brother kills his own sister?" Choe's skepticism crept into his words.
"He's an intriguing individual."
"But he doesn't heed our counsel. Despite being the prime suspect, he persists in his antics. He won't harm anyone from the police. He's never engaged with them like this. Once he spots that girl, he's likely to vanish with her," Choe shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
"Then I'll ensure he remains unwavering, free from doubts. We're a team," Makishima asserted, meeting Choe's gaze.
"I wish I could witness it up close like you. This seat feels more like that of a spectator."
"It's not merely a spectator's seat—it's the director's."
As they drove away, Touma found himself engulfed in the silence that settled over the apartment. The distant hum of the retreating car gradually faded, leaving him in a cocoon of stillness. His eyes lingered on the disappearing vehicle, a contemplative gaze devoid of any discernible emotion.
Alone in the now-silent apartment, Touma stood with a sense of solitude that echoed through the empty rooms. His footsteps created a subtle echo as he moved to the expansive glass windows, overlooking the city sprawled beneath him like a vast, pulsating organism. Neon lights flickered in the distance, casting an otherworldly glow on the metropolis.
The dance of colors and shadows played upon Touma's face as he stood in quiet reflection, the vibrant cityscape creating a poignant contrast against his contemplative demeanor. The rhythmic pulsation of the city seemed to resonate with the thoughts that occupied his mind, hidden behind a mask of inscrutable expression.
"I wish you had experienced Tokyo," he whispered, his voice barely more than a murmur. "I've encountered peculiar souls there."
The dimly lit room enveloped him in an unsettling calm as he delicately ran his fingers over the cold glass, the chill permeating his very bones. His sister's frozen countenance reflected in the glass, her unblinking eyes holding a silent intensity—an echo of an unexpected fate.
The cool surface beneath his touch felt almost synthetic, like the smoothness of a preserved moment. Her gaze, frozen and unwavering, hinted at a stillness that defied the natural order of life. It was as if time itself had been captured, leaving her essence suspended in a perpetual quiet.
Touma's eyes narrowed as he lifted his head, casually sipping whiskey from his glass. The neon glow outside painted his face, revealing nothing of the memories that simmered beneath the surface. Turning on his heel, he gravitated toward the brown wooden bookshelf, pausing in contemplation. His eyes traced the volumes until they rested on an upside-down photograph. Retrieving it, he strolled over to a long armchair, settling in with a relaxed demeanor. With both hands, he turned the photograph—a man and a girl with matching black hair and gray eyes—his head tilted slightly to one side, sinking into the armrest with an air of introspection.
The distant reverberation of footsteps echoed through the long, sunlit corridor, abandoned and bathed in sunlight streaming through the windows. Touma hesitated beside a door, allowing a moment to linger before sliding it open. As the door closed behind him, he took in the room, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings that reflected the divergent lives of its occupants—two beds neatly arranged with white sheets, two bedside tables, and two desks on the other side of the room.
Touma's expression tightened as he absorbed the contrast between the two roommates. One bed bore the signs of occupancy, with disheveled sheets and a pillow casually tossed aside. A graphics tablet and a digital pencil on the bedside table hinted at the presence of a creative soul. Moving further, he noticed a crumpled piece of gum paper. In stark contrast, the other half of the room appeared untouched, as if patiently awaiting its owner. The second bed was meticulously made, the pillow perfectly positioned, and the desk immaculate, bearing no trace of human touch.
Seating himself on the neatly arranged bed, Touma directed his gaze out of the window, allowing the gentle sunlight to bathe his face. In a moment of quiet introspection, he closed his eyes, relishing the hushed ambiance of the room. His fingers moved with a peculiar tenderness, caressing the fabric of the pillow beneath them.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he opened the drawer of the nearby table, revealing a chaotic assortment of items. Touma's fingers, guided by some unseen force, explored the objects, lingering on a worn copy of "The Voluntaryist Creed and A Plea for Voluntaryism" by Auberon Herbert.
His touch traced the contours of the book, and as his attention was drawn to the bright yellow bookmark protruding from the pages, he found himself immersed in the words before him. In this stolen moment, he could not help but conjure the imagined voice of the room's elusive inhabitant, a peculiar connection forming between him and the unseen soul who had left their imprint on these silent artifacts.
"Why should you desire to compel others; why should you seek to have power—that evil, bitter, mocking thing, which has been from of old, as it is today, the sorrow and curse of the world—over your fellow-men and fellow-women? Why should you desire to take from any man or woman their own will and intelligence, their free choice, their own self-guidance, their inalienable rights over themselves; why should you desire to make of them mere tools and instruments for your own advantage and interest; why should you desire to compel them to serve and follow your opinions instead of their own; why should you deny in them the soul—that suffers so deeply from all constraint—and treat them as a sheet of blank paper upon which you may write your own will and desires, of whatever kind they may happen to be? Who gave you the right, from where do you pretend to have received it, to degrade other men and women from their own true rank as human beings, taking from them their will, their conscience, and intelligence—in a word, all the best and highest part of their nature—turning them into mere empty worthless shells, mere shadows of the true man and women, mere counters in the game you are mad enough to play, and just because you are more numerous or stronger than they, to treat them as if they belonged not to themselves, but to you? Can you believe that good will ever come by morally and spiritually degrading your fellow-men? What happy and safe and permanent form of society can you hope to build on this pitiful plan of subjecting others, or being yourselves subjected by them?"
He closed his eyes briefly before setting the book aside. A muted, almost bitter laugh escaped him, his mouth closing. Shifting his focus to the cluttered drawer, he discovered black earphones, a pen, a smaller book with a bookmark marking its final pages, and an e-reader that held his fascination. Placing it on the bed, he continued his exploration. His eyes narrowed at the sight of a small, white bottle—surprisingly light, hinting at its meager contents—sleeping aspirin. Two more vials caught his attention: one for headaches, the other labeled Escitalopram. Both were full, suggesting they were either new or unused.
His gaze lingered at the end of the drawer, where an upside-down white picture frame lay. Turning it over, Touma's lips curved into a slight smile. The photograph revealed a man and a girl with matching black hair and gray eyes—an unmistakable father-daughter duo. The man leaned toward the younger girl, his arm draped across her shoulders. Touma marveled at their youthful appearances, estimating that the father had become a parent at a young age. As he scrutinized the photo, he noticed a barely visible smile on the young girl's face, a rare sight considering the Yashiro he knew. Her hair, now a different color, momentarily deceived Touma, making him question if it was indeed her.
Carefully removing the photograph from its frame, he pocketed it, returning everything to its place. Straightening the sheet on the bed, he left the room with the stolen image, a secret treasure in his possession.
Touma's eyes closed, his index finger stroking the photograph's edge before he set it down on the wooden corner in front of the couch. His hands rested on the red shirt on his belly, the room enveloped in a contemplative hush.
The funeral ceremony unfolded in the heart of Tokyo, a city that had seen its fair share of macabre incidents, yet this one bore a unique air of unease. The venue seamlessly integrated traditional Japanese funeral practices, reflecting the rich cultural heritage of the city.
Mourners, draped in subdued black attire, filed into the ceremonial hall with somber faces. The atmosphere was thick with grief and lingering fear from the horrific incident involving Touko's father. Holographic projections adorned the hall, projecting serene cherry blossoms—a stark contrast to the grim reality that had befallen the deceased.
The polished ebony casket, adorned with minimalist designs, commanded the room's center. Surrounded by carefully chosen floral arrangements symbolizing mourning and respect, the scent of incense wafted through the air, a customary element meant to guide the soul to the afterlife.
In a corner, a virtual shrine displayed images of the deceased—a respected lawyer and a loving father. However, the haunting image of his body displayed in a zoo defied tradition and decency, lingering in everyone's mind.
As the mourners exchanged hushed condolences, the blend of cultural customs and technological nuances was under the watchful eyes of security drones, a constant reminder of society's reliance on the Sibyl System.
The ceremony proceeded with speeches, carefully curated to uphold the memory of the deceased while sidestepping the disturbing circumstances of his death. Traditional eulogies intertwined with holographic projections, creating an unsettling juxtaposition between the serene virtual world and harsh reality.
As the mourners paid their respects at the casket, a tall, brown-haired man approached. His perfectly tailored three-piece black suit, dark tie, and a mole under his left eye gave him an air of calculated nonchalance amid genuine grief. Mourners observed him with a mix of curiosity and wariness, unsure of his connection to the deceased.
The ceremony concluded with the lowering of the casket, efficiently captured by the watchful drones. As the mourners dispersed, a male voice broke the quiet, "Touma-kun? Look at you, all grown up now."
Touma turned, offering a smile with slightly narrowed eyes. "Oh! It's been a while. I knew your brother for quite some time. He was a good lawyer, a real professional."
Family members, still immersed in grief, nodded in acknowledgment, appreciating the sentiment.
"I remember the time he took me out for a round of golf. We had a good laugh," Touma reminisced, injecting a note of normalcy.
The family members, initially reserved, began sharing stories of the deceased outside the professional realm. Laughter, albeit subdued, echoed through the hall as they recalled anecdotes, painting a more human picture of the late lawyer.
"I heard you work in the school my niece attends."
"Yes, teaching has always been one of my interests. I'm flattered to work in such a conservative school. How is she, your niece? It must be hard for her with everything that happened. I would like to ask how she's holding up, but I haven't seen her."
"I saw her with a friend of hers. She told me they went to the zoo," he shook his head.
"Kirino Touko was present at the crime scene?" Touma asked.
"Yes, but a friend didn't let her go closer right in time."
"Her friend saw the body? What happened then? Was she sent to therapy?" Touma continued.
"No, her hue didn't cloud. Lucky girl, considering many employees at the zoo had their hues jeopardized."
"I saw them around too before they left. I wasn't aware she was invited," his wife responded.
"Touko called her. Just let her be. She's been through too much. She needs someone of her age now."
"Why her?" she asked further. "I can't believe she had the nerve to show up after she refused to attend her own parents' funerals."
"Why, what happened?" Touma raised an eyebrow.
The relative leaned in, lowering their voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Her old man was a real piece of work, a criminal and all. Got what he deserved. But then her mom... well, she snapped, and the Sibyl System had to intervene. She's the only one left, and folks around here treat her like she's got the same darkness in her. Can't blame them, can you?"
"Nature versus nurture," Touma commented, raising his gaze.
"After the Oso Academy's scandal, I'm surprised and disappointed that the principal didn't expel her. She's dangerous."
Touma's eyes widened slightly for a moment.
"That's not it. It's the rumors."
"She was too young. People say she has a beautiful clear hue. There's no way she could commit the same crimes. Touma-kun, forgive us. We're just worried about our niece."
"It's understandable," Touma nodded.
"People like her father should be dead."
"Don't say that. Not here."
"Come on, they're trash, not human at all. Who would you trust your life to, Touko or her?"
His wife paused hesitantly with a frown until she changed the subject with a nervous smile. "Have you been drinking? Touma-kun, excuse us."
"It's okay. It was nice seeing you again," Touma bowed slightly, his smile fading as they walked away.
As Touma continued to navigate through the mingling mourners, condolences and memories flowed around him like a quiet river. His eyes subtly swept the crowd, seeking a familiar face amidst the sea of mourning expressions. The information about Kirino Touko's departure from the relative lingered in his thoughts, becoming a beacon directing his steps.
Amidst the somber exchanges, a distant relative approached him, offering a polite nod. "Touma-kun, is something wrong?"
Touma shook his head. "Not really. I was just looking for Kirino Touko. Did she leave?"
"Yes, she went in that direction," the relative gestured subtly, indicating a turn. "I think she needed some air. It's been quite overwhelming for her."
"Thank you," Touma responded, his eyes narrowing with concern.
Following the indicated path, Touma made his way towards the direction where Kirino Touko had sought solace. Outside the funeral venue, the fading sunlight cast long shadows on the quiet pedestrian street.
"I wanted to apologize," Touko began.
The sun dipped low in the Tokyo sky, casting long shadows on the narrow, two-way pedestrian street lined with small houses. Yashiro glanced sideways, a wry smile playing on her lips.
"For what?" Yashiro raised an eyebrow, her smile lingering like the fading sunlight.
They strolled side by side, the rhythmic click of their footsteps blending with the distant hum of the city.
"For bringing you here."
"It was my choice."
"You're the only one who doesn't keep talking about my dad or ask me how I'm doing. That's a relief. Until I understood why you get it so well, the way they don't. You shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have called you. I didn't know. I'm sorry about what they said behind your back," Touko's gaze dropped to the pavement.
"What did they say?" Yashiro frowned briefly, her voice a calm breeze in the quiet street.
"Awful things. About your dad. About you," Touko met Yashiro's eyes.
"I don't blame them," Yashiro shrugged with a nonchalant grace.
"You must be so angry. With me and with them."
"I'm not."
"But—"
"Forget it," Yashiro shook her head, gracefully perching on one of the swings in a nearby playground and then swinging forward to sit.
Touko settled into the other swing, her fingers gripping the chains, eyes fixed on the ground.
"Is it true, what the cops were saying about you?" Touko asked.
"What were they saying?"
"That you… stood there. At the zoo."
Yashiro gazed down at her black dress shoes, a silence weaving between them until she responded, "Yes."
"Why?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I'm just worried."
"You wouldn't believe it," Yashiro shrugged, shaking her head.
"You can tell me."
Yashiro took a deep breath, her smile fading as she gazed up at the houses in front of them. "I felt responsible."
"What? You're telling me that… you felt like you killed my dad?" Touko's brows furrowed, her eyes widening.
"Yes. No. It's… hard to express," Yashiro tightened her grip on the chains on either side of her body. "It's not just your dad. It's all of them. Hashida. The girl. I'm sorry. I'm making you talk about this."
"Why are you apologizing? I'm the one who brought it up. I know I'm stupid asking after everything we've seen so far, but are you okay?"
"Yeah. Do I look different?" Yashiro raised an eyebrow, looking at her.
"You never look different. It's a brilliant strategy of yours, that way you don't look vulnerable and no one asks how you feel."
"How would people know if something was up with you?"
"They wouldn't know, but I would tell them if they asked me. Will you return the favor next time?" Touko slightly tilted her head, not taking her eyes off her.
"Okay," Yashiro chuckled.
"I also wanted to thank you."
"Why?"
"Because I messed up at the zoo. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"I just did what anyone would have done," Yashiro shrugged her shoulders.
"Not everyone risks their own hues for others."
A silence fell between them until the sound of a call caught both of their attention. Touko pulled out her phone from the small beige purse she had and turned on the screen.
"It's Emi. She's spamming me because she thinks I'm ignoring her. She's a few blocks away. We're meeting at a friend's house. Honestly, I don't feel like going out anywhere or talking to anyone, but she insisted," Touko sighed deeply and rolled her eyes. "Do you want to come?"
"No, I have things to do. But say hi to Emi for me."
As Touko walked away, Yashiro watched her, a small smile lingering on her lips. Touma, engrossed in his own thoughts, continued navigating the narrow streets. The city's hum surrounded him, and the dimming sunlight painted the urban landscape with a soft glow.
Touma, led by the vague information about Kirino Touko's departure, followed the direction she had taken. The city's holographic projections danced around him, displaying a seamless blend of technology and tradition. As he walked, he passed through a holographic barrier, a construction zone indicated by caution signs and bustling drones.
Amid the hum of machinery and flickering holograms, Touma's gaze was drawn to a figure seated on a nearby wall. A holographic projection suggested that the area was off-limits for pedestrians, likely undergoing maintenance or cleanup. Drones buzzed around, their mechanical precision evident in the meticulous tasks they performed.
Touma, almost about to continue past the restricted area, caught a silhouette among the holographic barriers. The silhouette, framed by the artificial glow, seemed oddly familiar. Something in the posture or the subtle movement made him pause.
With curiosity overcoming him, Touma approached, eyes narrowing as he tried to discern the figure's identity. The holographic projection shimmered, creating an illusion of an impassable barrier, but there, seated on the wall, was Yashiro.
"If you're searching for Kirino Touko, she's already left," she remarked, petting a cat between her thighs.
"I can see that. It seems you're the one trying to isolate me. Was this your intention from the start, Miss Marple?" Touma tilted his head slightly, his voice serious. The holographic projections around them flickered as if responding to them. "Where did she go?"
Yashiro looked down. She saw Kirino Touko walking below, her long black hair waving in her back.
"She wouldn't say," Yashiro responded.
The holographic barriers seemed to shimmer between them, a dance of light and shadows.
"Did you know that body language changes when we lie?" he asked, a note of cold observation in his tone. His eyes, sharp and discerning, focused on Yashiro. "Especially the eyes."
"Wasn't Edgar Allan Poe, a prominent figure in the Romantic period, the proponent of ocular identity, positing that the eyes serve as both the embodiment of one's identity and a portal to the depths of the soul?" Yashiro lifted her head slightly.
"Do you believe that?"
"No."
"Your eyes spill the beans, you know? When you're spinning a tale, there's this tiny telltale dance, a sly twitch in the corners that spills the secrets. It's not just the lowering gaze and the fashionably late replies—it's in the curve of your lips, the quick moves of your hands. Most people lie out of convenience. Others do it for the sheer pleasure of it. When I was younger, I played a little game with a girl who had a crush on me. I made her believe I cared, that I liked her. She fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. And when I decided it had run its course, I revealed the truth. The devastation in her eyes, the tears streaming down her face—it was an intoxicating rush."
"Thanks for the enlightening lesson in body language. It might just save me from falling prey to people like you one day," she responded, prompting him to laugh.
"How did you know it was me before I said anything?"
"Because of the sound."
"What sound?" Touma's brows furrowed.
"Everyone has a unique way of moving. Whether it's the shuffle of their feet, the length of their steps, or the subtle rustle when they take off their coat. The sound can reveal a lot about a person. Over time, you even learn to recognize who's entering your house," she mused, making his expression darken.
"How perceptive. Were you excessively curious or protective, studying people's patterns and memorizing their movements as a child?"
Yashiro's eyes widened slightly for a moment. Instead of meeting his gaze, she turned her head towards him, her stare still fixed on a distant point.
"I think yes is the answer to that," she responded slowly.
"I wasn't aware this was the location of your father's funeral," Touma remarked.
"Neither was I."
"You mentioned attending his funeral," Touma looked down, a brief frown crossing his face before he met her gaze again. "You lied."
"I was compelled to attend. So, I made my escape," she shrugged.
"Much like now."
"No one ordered me to come here," Yashiro frowned, her voice raising slightly.
"That's not what I meant."
"I'm not fleeing, I'm... taking a stroll," she softened her voice, casting her gaze downward at the cat while gently stroking its dark gray fur.
"In this secluded place, contemplating life's mysteries with your feline companion?" Touma's voice took on a sardonic tone as he gestured to the quiet, isolated surroundings. "Not exactly the typical spot for a leisurely walk."
Yashiro's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. She continued stroking the cat, maintaining her composure.
"Not everyone finds solace in crowded parks or bustling streets," she retorted, her gaze shifting from the cat to the cityscape below.
Touma chuckled softly, a knowing glint in his eyes. "It seems you still have a knack for discovering hidden corners. Or perhaps a habit of seeking places where no one can find you."
Touma's observation hung in the air, a challenge evident in his gaze. Yashiro occupied a narrow ledge on the rooftop, her perch providing a breathtaking view of Tokyo's city lights and the people meandering below. Seated against a column, she seemed at ease in the elevated solitude.
"Are you aware that you're sitting on an edge 100 feet off the ground?" Touma's question disrupted the silence.
"Then you better not distract me," she responded calmly.
"Will you come down?"
"No."
Touma sighed, cautiously approaching. His eyes flickered uneasily between the dizzying height and Yashiro. The rooftop unveiled a panoramic spectacle, yet the low wall accentuated the precarious balance between the urban sprawl and the vast sky. As he touched the opposite side of the column, the cat, previously curled up on her legs, darted away, startled by the intrusion.
A subtle discomfort lingered with Touma, amplified by the proximity of the ground far below. The low wall felt insufficient against the expansive city and the vastness of the sky. Yashiro, perceptive, stood up, taking a few slow steps toward the opposite side, creating distance.
"Afraid of heights?" she remarked, her raised eyebrows showing a hint of amusement.
Momentarily distracted by the departing cat, Touma felt unease creeping in. He shifted his gaze from the thin ledge to the sprawling city below. The realization of his vulnerability in this elevated setting took hold. Redirecting attention, he delved into technicalities.
"It's not about fear," he began, his voice a velvety cadence. "Consider the intricacies of the human body. A fall from this height orchestrates a dance of bones and tissues, a symphony of fractures and contortions. The impact on their skeletal structure and physique is captivating. The human body, akin to a delicate machine, undergoes a sequence of fractures, dislocations, and injuries when subjected to such forces. It's a testament to the marvels of our anatomy, responding to the ballet of gravity."
"For someone who fears death, you certainly seek it out," Yashiro interjected, cutting through the air.
Her gaze swept over Touma, dressed in a black three-piece suit that contrasted sharply with his brown hair. The white of his shirt and the four buttons of his vest gleamed in the ambient light, imparting a sense of formality and correctness to his appearance.
"You speak as if I were a sinner," Touma raised an eyebrow.
"The way you always push people to get what you want, you're no saint at all," she frowned, shaking her head.
"If I've been guilty in my life, I feel vindicated," he smiled.
"Why?"
"I don't know," Touma admitted, his smile softening as he gazed at her. An inexplicable urge to laugh bubbled within him. Furrowing his brow with curiosity, he looked her up and down quickly, studying her black two-piece suit. "Yashiro, everything you've done in your life goes against the ideals of this society. Yet here you are. In a way, it's like a mockery of this absurd world."
The sunlight seemed to caress each object with deliberate pleasure, emphasizing its beauty and stamping approval on the scene.
"A mockery of us. Every person on the street. I observe people when I'm on the train or in the subway. I like to see what news they watch, what they talk about with others. I used to hate them deeply—now I just think, why, poor fools?"
Touma remembered one morning when he ran into her a block outside the school. Instead of reprimanding her for running away, he approached and asked, "Care for some coffee?"
Soon, they found themselves at a nearby coffee shop near Oso Academy.
"Nothing," he shrugged. "Just had an unpleasant half-hour and wanted to wash the bad taste out of my mouth."
"What happened?"
"Had a chat with a friend and got wind of the news about Arakawa Asahi."
"Who is Arakawa Asahi?" Yashiro asked.
Touma burst into laughter, momentarily forgetting the sophistication of his white dress shirt, black vest, and red tie, as the curious looks of people around them hovered over them.
"That's why I suggested coffee with you, because you can say things like that."
"What's that about?"
"But you like to read. Don't you know that Arakawa Asahi is one of the best-known intellectuals we have? He was just voted author of the year by Sibyl. His most famous book delves into the limitations of human reason and the necessity for guided wisdom. As Arakawa articulates, human reason, for all its perceived prowess, is confined within a cage of subjectivity. It's a deceptive light, leading us astray more often than not. He argues for a collective consciousness, a harmonious unity where decisions are made for us, not by us. Picture this: a world where the blind are led by someone who denies the existence of light. It's a curious dance, isn't it? However, you haven't heard of him. Come on, finish your coffee. I wish you didn't have any savings of your own so I'd have to pay for it."
Touma's laughter, soft and slightly low, filled the air, carrying echoes from the corridors of his own past. As the echoes subsided, his smile faded, and his expression turned serious. A contemplative frown formed on his face as he studied Yashiro.
"Were you forced to go see your mother too?" he asked, taking a few steps toward her.
"I wasn't," she replied, avoiding eye contact.
"No?" Touma pressed.
"There's no funeral without a body. I wouldn't have gone anyway."
"My mother didn't have one either. Sometimes I think maybe she hated us," he shared, moving closer.
"Why?"
"Her psycho pass started to cloud during her pregnancy. Maybe we were the reason. When she saw the possibility of being sent to a correctional facility, she escaped from the hospital and gave birth to us alone. And then she never let us out of the castle. She provided everything we needed until the day she took her medicine for her psycho pass and fell asleep forever. My sister was so happy. I didn't realize it then, but she didn't let me go outside and started bringing back things just like our mother."
"You mean stealing them," Yashiro pointed out.
"She changed after bringing expensive things. I couldn't get it back then. I saw her with a bloody ballpoint pen every time she came back. Until the day she returned covered in blood, and told me that an evil sorcerer was about to find us."
"The human rights activists," she guessed.
"I didn't lie about my sister," Touma's voice slowed, his frown deepening. "Even if she disappeared, she's dead to me. She destroyed our world. I pretended to have amnesia to bury her memory."
"So that nobody finds out she killed people?" Yashiro asked.
Touma's gaze tightened, a flicker of unease betraying his usually composed demeanor.
"So that I can keep her for myself, like a butterfly in a jar—fragile, beautiful, and eternally preserved," he admitted, his words hanging in the air.
Yashiro's breath caught, a subtle tension vibrating through her. The hum of a security drone filled the silence, but they remained unnoticed in their secluded corner.
"Ever caught one with your own hands?" Touma's words resonated, his eyes intense as they held Yashiro's gaze.
Yashiro met his stare, the distant buzzing of the security drone fading away. Alone in that quiet corner of the city, her heart began to pound. She shook her head.
"But you must have visited a natural science museum and seen a collection of butterfly specimens. I had one when I was a kid," he said, hands in his pockets. "Do you know why I made specimens? Because I wanted them to belong to me forever. Frozen in time. Because that way, they will never be parted from me."
"Did it work?" Yashiro asked, curiosity momentarily overpowering the unease in her voice.
Touma's brow furrowed, and he lowered his gaze. "To be honest, it felt somewhat lonely. Like—"
"No matter what you do, they're still dead," she blurted out.
Touma observed her, his eyes thoughtful, as Yashiro turned away, navigating the narrow wall with measured steps. He matched her pace, walking parallel to the wall.
"Yashiro, have you ever held power over a human being?" Touma asked, his gait calm but purposeful.
"No, and I wouldn't take it," she replied.
Touma shook his head, a skeptical smile lingering on his lips. "I can't believe that."
"I've been offered it and I refused, Touma," a hint of effort tinged Yashiro's voice.
"Why?" Touma's curiosity persisted.
"I had to."
"Out of respect for that man?" he probed deeper.
"And myself."
Touma sighed. "You're quite the puzzle. At times, I feel I've got you figured out, and then there are moments when it seems we're poles apart."
"Thought that too," Yashiro mumbled.
"And now you don't?" Touma challenged gently.
Yashiro widened her eyes, looking down. "I don't know."
"Don't you despise every act I've ever committed?"
"Most of them."
Yashiro hopped down from the wall, taking a few steps toward a narrow, downhill path between low houses. A young man on a bicycle rode slowly past her. Seeing more people walking ahead, she stopped, feeling her heart pounding slowly but strongly against her chest.
"What made you change your mind?" Touma's question lingered in the air.
"We've committed the same kind of treason in some way," Yashiro replied, thoughtful steps guiding her forward.
"If I have, I feel myself forgiven," Touma smiled. "Why do you say that about yourself?"
"Because it's the truth."
"You never learn, do you?" Touma teased gently.
"You don't know," she muttered, her expression darkening.
"No?" Touma pressed, a challenging glint in his eyes.
"You weren't there—you saw nothing."
Touma chuckled before he asked, "What didn't I see?"
Yashiro stopped, staring at the roof and windows of a house on one side of the narrow street, her face serious.
"It was my fault. Because of me, my parents died, and the families around were ruined. All I think about is that cop, and it's terrifying," she raised her eyebrows, letting out a chuckle. "I shouldn't be thinking these things, but I can't help it, it's something I can't walk away from."
"That's incorrect. It's just a choice," Touma reminded her.
"Not for me," she sighed, lowering her gaze.
"Don't fall into the fallacy of the false dilemma. The truth is always there. If you can't see the answer, one of the assumptions you've made and taken for granted is false."
"The truth is, I should have been the one who died. That gun should have worked against me."
Touma lowered his head toward her, his expression becoming more serious.
"Yashiro," his voice deepened. "Your parents knew exactly what they were doing. You're not responsible for them. You didn't fail anyone. They did."
Yashiro's eyes slightly widened for a moment, and then she sighed, looking away again. "How do you stop being guilty? When is it over?"
Touma observed her calmly for a moment. She appeared serene, with a relaxed expression and her eyes narrowed, as if keeping them open demanded great effort. A memory flickered—a recollection of her visit to the zoo and her encounter with Altoromagi's lifeless body. A brief furrow creased his brow.
"I'm not sure. I wish I could help you decipher this riddle," he finally responded. "There is no regret or guilt in me. Details slipped by, but I don't question. I've embraced every moment, even the gaps and mismatches. If there were a supreme judgment, I wouldn't present crimes but my pride in not seeking external validation. I am the author of all acts, except despising the wonder of existence and seeking justice outside myself. I don't cry out for meaning as others do. I am the object and the meaning. Some claim happiness is unattainable. They strive for pleasure, yet it eludes them. They say they don't understand the meaning of life. There's a particular kind of people that I despise. Those who seek a higher purpose or universal goal. I find it repulsive, this constant quest to find oneself. The noble confession of our age, don't you think? Maybe the most shameful."
Yashiro gestured to the skyline. "See that up there? That's the meaning of life."
"A building?" Touma questioned, his attention now drawn to a specific structure in the distance.
"Your work. It starts from raw materials, from the very foundations, evolving through meticulous craftsmanship until it stands tall, a testament to your creativity. It serves multiple purposes, just like life."
"Are these works not astonishing?" Touma swept his arm across the panorama. "Just a few centuries ago, the less fortunate toiled for fourteen hours a day, and women dedicated their lives to washing clothes and fetching water, while the privileged enjoyed luxuries like running water. But now, thanks to increased productivity, we all revel in comforts such as running water, electric light, dishwashers, and automobiles. Whether you choose to start your own business as a woman or traverse the country by train and plane, whether you're an average worker or a millionaire, the common citizen achieves feats that were once out of reach for the wealthy. You call them social benefactors, heroes. But consider this: due to the magnitude of their successes, which we cannot match, we could argue that a leaky roof is preferable to a dazzling skyscraper with neon lights, if the roof reflects the extent of our own creative capacity."
"Don't expect me to understand," Yashiro frowned.
Touma laughed, and as he turned to her, his gaze lingered for a moment until his expression grew serious.
"Those recurring visions from your dreams that you shared with me, the things that chase you, they are real. Have you thought that maybe it's the guilt? Instead of evading and hiding from them, confront them head-on next time they appear. Allowing them to persist might have detrimental consequences. It might as well set you free."
"That's what worries me."
"Freedom," Touma's voice echoed. "The past cannot be undone. Recognizing the moment to move forward is crucial. Have you thought about which university to apply to?"
"Not yet."
Touma pondered her response, his gaze distant for a moment. The wind rustled through the nearby trees, and the distant sounds of the city below carried on the breeze.
"Life does have a way of diverting our attention. Yet, education offers a unique sanctuary. A space where you can explore, question, and refine your understanding of the world. What intrigues you?"
She remained silent for a moment. "I've always been drawn to human behavior. The motives that drive us, the masks we wear, and the stories we tell ourselves."
Touma's demeanor shifted, his gaze piercing and intense. His eyes, sharp and analytical, seemed to delve into the depths of Yashiro's thoughts. Without a word, his stillness conveyed a profound understanding, as if he were deciphering the intricacies of her soul before he spoke.
"Psychology, criminal profiling, perhaps? Delving into the complexities of the human mind to unravel the mysteries that drive individuals to extremes. The study of patterns, the art of deduction. It mirrors your interest in deciphering the hidden, doesn't it?"
Yashiro's eyes widened slightly as she met his gaze.
"Understanding the minds of those who deviate from societal norms, deciphering the tales written in their actions," Touma continued.
Yashiro's body language betrayed a mix of captivation and unease in response to Touma's understanding. Her eyes, usually composed, now held a flicker of irritation, as if he had intruded upon a realm she preferred to keep private. The subtle clenching of her jaw and the tension in her posture hinted at an underlying frustration.
"I always questioned whether their commitment to saving souls matches their desire to salvage their own. It's a perpetual wonder for me. Whom are they truly attempting to rescue, and from what?" Touma remarked, but she chose to remain silent. "There's still much for you to discover. Perhaps even about yourself."
"And are you absolutely certain you've got it all figured out?"
"I always am," he smiled.
"Why teaching?" Yashiro challenged.
"I don't follow…" his brows furrowed as he turned his head to the side slightly, his expression turning serious.
"You studied politics, yet you ended up in a mundane classroom in a conservative school surrounded by people you disdain. Instead of commanding attention in grand scenarios followed by cameras and thunderous applause, you choose to deliver lessons day by day like a drone. The only aspect of teaching you seem to enjoy is the moment you can finally step out to admire the sculpture."
Touma laughed, shaking his head briefly.
"That was true initially," he narrowed his eyes, pausing as his gaze fixed on her shoulder and his expression became more composed again. "I think I was drawn to the idea of being able to influence or be a meaningful part of someone else's life."
"You mean to direct it for them."
"I prefer to say guide," Touma tilted his head to the side, waving his hand in front of him gently. "If people were wrong less often and had their own ideas, my life would be much easier."
"And less smug."
Touma raised an eyebrow. "Consider it a side effect of wisdom."
A subtle, almost imperceptible smile graced Yashiro's face—a rare sight, a delicate curve playing on her lips, catching Touma off guard. He found himself mirroring the expression, realizing that, perhaps, he had witnessed the first smile of her day.
As Yashiro turned and continued walking down the middle of the street, Touma easily caught up with her due to the height difference, standing by her side. His gaze scanned the silent houses around. A security drone whizzed past them, disappearing behind without reacting to their presence.
A flash blending with reality made him frown, and he lowered his gaze to Yashiro, who was one step ahead of him. With her hands in the pockets of her black dress pants, the holographic lines of her blazer flickered for a moment before disappearing.
"I really must introduce you to a good holo-designer to fix that for you," Touma commented.
Almost at the end of the street, Yashiro stopped, looking at the corner that opened onto another street and then the narrow passage beside her, between low houses and a low wall with a railing stretching along the road, revealing people walking many meters below. When Touma halted beside her, Yashiro changed direction, entering the passage.
If she had done it a moment earlier, Touma would not have frowned or adjusted his black tie. His smile faded. Accustomed to aimless walks, the abrupt change prompted him to scan the surroundings again. No security drones or scanners here, but unlike the previous quiet and empty street, they observed a young couple and two men on this one.
"I've had it since I was a child. It can still last a few more years," sighed Yashiro, taking her white compact from her pocket and deactivating her outfit. Its hologram disappeared in a second.
Touma noticed a line on the compact when Yashiro closed it, indicating it had fallen out several times over the years. She then tucked it into an inside pocket of her black bomber jacket, hands in the outside ones. Unlike her holographic blazer, it came to her waist and, together with her black jeans and sneakers, contrasted with Touma's three-piece suit without holograms.
Touma could not understand why her attire gave an impression of luxury until he realized it was the luxury of austerity. Modest in monetary value, yet she turned every house they entered into a castle.
He raised an eyebrow, recalling her recoil when he approached—an almost imperceptible movement he had never seen before. He did not need to chase people; others sought him out.
Yashiro had not taken her eyes off him since his arrival, not turning her back on him when they were alone. She looked like an animal, a wary cat analyzing surroundings, though her exterior showed no such signs.
Touma squinted as he heard screams, gasps, banging on metal, and strains of a piano. He felt a warm liquid cover his hands, a trickle running down his wrist and following the veins. Clear in the light, in its absence, it turned black. On the sleeve of his red shirt, it seemed a dark shade coloring the fabric.
A laugh made him suddenly open his eyes. The first thing he saw was Yashiro slightly turning in his direction, walking at a slower pace. Her gaze, relaxed and serious, shifted from him to the couple walking near them, laughing as they shared anecdotes, until she turned back to the road.
Touma's gaze rested on her brown hair, a serious expression and a frown as if solving a mathematical problem. The faces of Hashida and Altoromagi crossed his mind—a kind of face he expected in humans. Yet, he faced someone conveying something different, though of a thinner and more fragile build.
The path Yashiro chose, with human presence but lacking security drones and scanners, seemed eccentric. People usually gravitate towards the security of the Sibyl System, yet Yashiro opted for the latter, as if more confident that the presence of fellow humans would act as a deterrent for any potential harm. It was as though she believed in the unspoken pact of societal norms, where the watchful eyes of others were a greater safeguard than the protection of drones.
Touma could not help but wonder if her choice was a strategic one, a subtle challenge that relied on the assumption that, in the presence of witnesses, any potential threats would be held at bay. He pondered whether her trust in the societal fabric, where the watchful eyes of fellow humans served as a deterrent to harm, was a deliberate safeguard against dangers that might lurk in the absence of the protective gaze of the Sibyl System.
Touma understood the discomfort he felt since she changed direction, prompting him to follow her—a discomfort and satisfaction that should come from sensing the presence of an animal fleeing a predator. Yet, she revealed no such indications, only simple understanding, and the only thing he felt was a need to laugh without malice.
"What is it?" Yashiro asked without looking at him.
Touma raised an eyebrow, his mind going blank as if slapped.
"I've been thinking about you," he began, the words hanging in the air with a certain weight.
"Me?" Yashiro's voice echoed.
"In this transient world, where everything is fleeting and forgotten, there exists an unconventional path to eternal remembrance. I believe I've found a solution to the immortality puzzle we were discussing the other day."
"You have?" Yashiro's tone retained its measured coldness, devoid of malice or indifference.
Touma studied her for a moment, a subtle smile playing on his lips.
"For millennia, it's been right in front of mankind, but your existence has cast a peculiar light on it for me."
"What is it?"
"The beginning and the end of it all—death."
Yashiro's gaze, once steady and distant, now carried a weight, as if the gravity of Touma's words had settled upon her shoulders. Her posture, rigid yet fragile, hinted at the conflicting emotions within. A subtle tension in the line of her jaw and the slight furrow of her brow betrayed a mixture of sadness and anger, like an intricate dance of emotions beneath a composed exterior.
As they continued down the narrow passage, the cityscape transformed. The hustle and bustle of a larger street emerged, with traffic and a sea of faces surrounding them. Yashiro turned towards a side street, and Touma, catching up with her, could not help but remark, "I've got to ask you, Yashiro. It's been driving me crazy."
Yashiro halted and turned around.
"What?"
"Your phone."
"What's wrong with my phone?" Yashiro pulled her black phone out of the outside pocket of her bomber jacket.
"I notice you checking the time every five minutes like a little girl on her first date."
Yashiro sighed and looked away. "You're annoyingly observant, aren't you?"
"Only you can be?"
"It's important to keep track of time, isn't it?"
"Only the right one."
"It's no big deal, Touma. I just have an appointment with my landlord," she shrugged. Touma's brows raised, and his lips parted as he gazed at her. "What?"
Touma sighed and smiled, silent for a moment.
"Now, this is the kind of motivation anyone needs to forgive you for skipping classes or being late. I know you've been working hard all these years. You must be really proud."
"I'm missing the point. And I doubt the teachers would see it that way."
"They don't know you're on your own. You should be proud. I am," Touma's relaxed and serious gaze lingered on her until he made a slight nod.
A moment of silence hung between them. Yashiro's eyes met Touma's, a flicker of surprise hidden beneath her composed exterior. The weight of his gaze, usually analytical and composed, now carried an unexpected gravity, a touch of genuine concern.
"Yashiro, I'd love to go wherever you're going, but our paths diverge here," he let the words linger, a thoughtful expression on his face. A rare pause, a break in the usual banter. "Take care of yourself."
Yashiro nodded slightly, the unexpected sincerity leaving a subtle imprint on her features. Touma, still oblivious to the unspoken pause, turned around and headed in the opposite direction. Yashiro's gaze followed him briefly before she turned around and crossed the street.
After a few minutes, Touma glanced back, hands tucked into his pants pockets. Observing Yashiro on the block across the street engaged in conversation with a man taller than her, he witnessed the amicable exchange before the man gestured toward a building—presumably her new residence for the next few years. Touma's gaze lowered for a moment, a subtle smile gracing his lips. Then, he turned away once more, blending into the bustling crowd.