The analysis office was illuminated by the light from the screens, and all that could be heard was the soft cooling of the computers and the fan spinning in the ceiling. Division 1 was studying the locations of the victims. On one screen was the dismembered body of politician Ryoji Hashida, and on the other the body of a young woman whose identity had not been identified.
"She could be an illegal immigrant or a teenager who was not included in the census."
Analyst Karanomori Shion swiveled in her chair, lighting a cigarette. One of her hands fumbled on the desk. Her wavy blonde hair fell over her face and she fixed it so that it no longer bothered her brown eyes, which had dark circles under her eyes. She wore red lipstick.
"Just like the politician, she was turned into a human specimen. They have to be related," Sasayama lit up a cigarette.
Kougami stood behind them with one hand on his waist, while the other brushed away cigarette smoke. Ginoza was standing with his arms crossed.
"Human specimen. It couldn't be clearer," Masaoka repeated with a wry smile.
Karanomori pointed the cigarette at Sasayama and turned back to the screen. Her hands danced on the keyboard. The autopsy results appeared on the screen and she placed both profiles in front, side by side, with each victim's data.
"Voilà!" Karanomori exclaimed with a smile. "After performing autopsies, I found that indeed both bodies were eroded by the same chemical. And that can only mean that the two murders have the same culprit."
Sasayama took a few steps forward to stand behind Karanomori, watching the screen closely. For a second, his lips parted and the cigarette almost fell out of his mouth.
"Shion, could you show the images of the places where the bodies were found?" asked Sasayama.
Karanomori typed some instructions into a console. Kougami stood next to Sasayama, and when the information was displayed with a brief transition, he raised his head at the same time as him to look at the screen.
"They don't look like simple murders, they were cut into pieces and then displayed as works of art, as if the killer was saying—"
"You get what you deserve," Kougami noted.
Sasayama exchanged a glance with Kougami and blew a puff of smoke in his direction. Kougami gave a faint smile, though he reached back to try to wipe the smell away with his hand. Ginoza frowned at the sight of them.
Masaoka, who was sitting on the couch behind them, put a hand to his chin and stroked it, still studying the images. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened as if he were trying to solve a complex puzzle.
"Plastination is not a simple procedure," Ginoza interjected, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "It requires extensive knowledge of pharmacology and chemistry. The man we are looking for must be an expert in one of these fields."
Karanomori drummed her fingers on the desk and exchanged a glance with Kunizuka, a woman with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail who was leaning on the couch with her arms crossed.
"It's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack," Masaoka scratched his head.
The second victim was a teenage girl, her true identity remaining a mystery. Discovered in a public park by a student capturing scenes of the grounds, her body bore resemblances to the previous victim, politician Ryoji Hashida. Unlike before, this case of plastination went largely unnoticed by the media due to extensive censorship. News outlets instead fixated on trivial topics, sidestepping the gruesome incidents.
Inside the school's computer room, Yashiro was engrossed in her research on plastination, her focus intense as she combed through information at the last desk. The room had only a handful of students scattered around, their keyboard clicks forming a quiet rhythm. The quest for images depicting the preserved bodies was challenging due to the imposed censorship.
Displayed on Yashiro's screen was an image of a man, likely no older than thirty, sporting short brown hair and clad in a black suit. The label below was Sasayama Mitsuru.
"Looks like you've been quite occupied," a voice startled her, causing her to hastily close her computer tabs.
Yashiro turned with a smile to face Hisakawa Izumi, seated at the adjacent desk.
"Within these walls, we're detached from the world. NONA Tower could be collapsing, and I'd remain oblivious here," Yashiro responded, accompanied by a casual shrug.
"It's not advisable to delve into those matters within school premises," Izumi warned, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Why, is Big Brother watching us?" Yashiro's smile grew mischievous.
Izumi rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.
"Your actions could incite unrest. I was suspended once for similar pursuits. Unlike you, I didn't contain my findings discreetly; I shared them with others. Basically, I heightened stress levels, though not to the point of alarming the administration. Still, I have no regrets. Even a byte of information holds value these days," Izumi explained. "Did you find what you were seeking?"
Yashiro leaned back, her fingers absently fiddling with the armrests.
"Partly," Yashiro admitted. "It seems that news coverage is heavily restricted regarding these murders. And what little is mentioned is conflicting. Navigating school security measures to access information has been tough. I'm contemplating stepping out to some off-campus café."
"News outlets care more about sensationalism than truth. They aim to keep you on the edge of your seat, entranced by their narrative. I can offer a helping hand," Izumi declared, retrieving something from her backpack.
She glanced around cautiously before producing a black USB drive, inserting it into Yashiro's computer. The device caused the computer to reboot with a different operating system.
"When you're done, turn off the PC and remove the USB. I have a class to attend now, but feel free to message me if you need anything," Izumi instructed before departing.
"Let me guess," Yashiro quipped, glancing at Izumi. "You're off to study engineering."
Izumi smiled knowingly and left the room. As she disappeared from her view, the smile on Yashiro's face waned. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, bringing forth the desired information on the screen. An image captured by a student at the park appeared, accompanied by numerous comments. However, Yashiro's focus zeroed in on the young woman depicted—the way her skin had been meticulously altered, reshaped. She furrowed her brows when she noticed how the skin on the thighs resembled a skirt draping over the hips. Scrutinizing the face further, a slight, inexplicable pain flickered in her head.
"It's my sister," Touma's lips curled into a faint smile, his gaze fixed on an image on his phone. The photo might have been taken when he was between ten and fifteen, while the girl appeared younger. The resemblance between them was undeniable, prompting Yashiro to instantly recognize them as twins. "She was my responsibility."
"Was?" Yashiro inquired.
"She's dead," Touma's smile waned, his eyes narrowing.
As Yashiro blinked her eyes open again, the image of the brown-eyed, brown-haired young woman remained on the screen. Her heart quickened its pace, prompting her to power down the computer and remove Izumi's USB. She rose from her seat and strode out of the room, her footfalls echoing in the corridor.
Walking down a corridor, Touma's stride faltered as his attention was ensnared by a student with brown hair neatly tied into a ponytail. She was engrossed in a conversation with another young woman, their voices forming an indistinct hum that permeated the air. As he approached, his steps measured and deliberate, the pair seemed to materialize more vividly.
"Excuse me," he interjected politely, his gaze falling upon the brown-haired student. His eyes, while seemingly warm, held a distant glint. "Have you seen Takahashi-san around?"
Their conversation paused, the two students shifting their attention to him. Within the depths of the brown-haired student's eyes, a glimmer of recognition flickered to life. It was a spark that kindled familiarity, even as it remained shrouded in the sea of faces he encountered every day.
The students bore an uncanny resemblance to one another, a sea of youthful countenances that merged into a single tapestry of academia. But within this tapestry, there existed threads that only he could discern. Threads woven from moments spent in the classroom, interactions that carried the weight of mentorship and instruction.
However, if he had crossed paths with her a mere five minutes earlier, he would have merely seen another student, indistinguishable from the rest. It was only the knowledge of her connection to Yashiro that granted him the ability to identify her: Hamada Saori, a name he could place due to her presence in Yashiro's class.
Her gaze shifted towards him, a moment of hesitation threading through her features. Her posture mirrored the sentiment, a brief tensing before the walls of tension crumbled, replaced by a semblance of ease.
"Yes, I saw her in the computer room," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of concern.
Touma bowed his head. A soft smile curved his lips, the kind that carried warmth and understanding.
"Is something troubling you?" His voice was gentle, encouraging her to open up.
Hamada's fingers toyed with the edge of her uniform's sleeve. With a sigh, she finally relented, her voice laced with a measure of concern, "I overheard her talking with Hisakawa-san. I'm worried about her. She's getting too obsessed with everything that's been happening."
"What's been happening?" Touma's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze reflecting a mixture of empathy and understanding.
"The recent murders," Hamada whispered, glancing around as if wary of being overheard. "There's a belief that someone from within the school might be involved."
"Spreading speculations and rumors will only escalate the prevailing tension. We should exercise caution," Touma's expression softened further, and he offered a reassuring nod.
A hint of guilt clouded Hamada's features.
"I know, but the thing is... I shouldn't have mentioned to her that even the Public Safety Bureau is showing an interest in our school," she bit her lip.
"Why do you say that?" Touma's voice held genuine curiosity.
"Ever since I told her, she's been consumed by investigating further. I'm concerned it might affect her hue," Hamada admitted, her gaze troubled.
"Takahashi-san likely has her reasons. Thank you for sharing your concerns with me. I will look into it and offer my assistance," Touma reassured her with a warm smile.
"Thank you," Hamada bowed slightly before turning to leave, her footsteps gradually fading down the corridor.
As Touma's gaze followed the young woman's departure, his smile gradually receded. He carried on along the deserted corridor, his footsteps echoing softly. Upon reaching a flight of stairs, he began to ascend, the rhythm of his steps synchronizing with the distant sounds of footsteps overhead.
The cadence of those footsteps grew louder, intermingling with the reverberations of his own. Touma instinctively halted his ascent, his attention drawn to the spectacle unfolding above. A figure appeared, descending the stairs with an almost urgent intensity. Each step seemed to meld into the next, a fluid cascade of movement.
Yashiro navigated the stairs with an agility that bespoke both determination and haste. Her fingers curled around the railing, a gesture of balance and purpose. The interplay of light and shadow danced upon her features, momentarily revealing a fleeting glimpse of concentration.
With a suddenness that mirrored her rapid descent, Yashiro came to a halt. Her gaze locked onto Touma, a mere fraction of the staircase separating them. In that suspended moment, her posture exuded an air of poised anticipation, as if teetering at the edge of a profound revelation.
Touma's presence seemed to cast a spell over the scene, freezing the tableau in time. The tension in the air was palpable, a delicate thread connecting them across the expanse of stairs.
"Yashiro," Touma's voice was a soft cadence that reverberated through the space between them. His eyes held a mixture of delight and intrigue, the lines of his expression softened by the genuine pleasure of their unexpected encounter.
His gaze flickered momentarily to her concealed hand, then returned to meet her eyes once more.
"Going somewhere?" he inquired, his words a gentle invitation that hung in the air like a beckoning melody.
Yashiro met his gaze, her own expression composed yet betraying a trace of anticipation. The weight of his attention settled upon her, and her heart quickened in response.
"I was looking for a friend to return something," she responded, her voice measured, a veneer of control maintained.
Touma's attentive gaze persisted, an aura of nonchalant interest enveloping him as he absorbed her explanation. He closed the remaining distance between them with a single step.
"Is that so?" he questioned, a glint of curiosity lacing his tone. "It's quite a sight to see you bounding down the stairs like that."
A flicker of surprise danced within her eyes, revealing a sliver of vulnerability that swiftly vanished.
"I didn't realize I was in such a hurry," she admitted, her fingers involuntarily tightening around the USB clutched in her hand.
"Returning something, you say?" Touma's voice held a subtle note of intrigue. "It must be quite important if it led you all the way to the computer room with a USB drive, I presume?"
A fractional pause, a fleeting moment of uncertainty, flickered across Yashiro's countenance. It was a fleeting instant, a minuscule chink in her emotional armor. Yet, Touma, an adept observer of subtleties, captured this detail with his perceptive gaze.
"Yes," she affirmed, her voice steady, albeit tinged with a trace of uncertainty. "It's a USB drive that a friend lent me. You see, our school's computer system has these... limitations when it comes to accessing certain websites, and my friend provided a way to work around it. I was just testing it out."
"I see," he nodded, his tone mild. "Resourceful of you."
A weighted silence settled between them. He took another step closer, the space narrowing even further.
"Curiosity often propels us beyond the confines of the ordinary," he mused, a twinkle of intrigue lighting his gaze. "It's a quality I've always found fascinating. And that's precisely why I was looking for you."
"What did you want to talk about?" she inquired, her heartbeat quickening.
"A trip," he continued, his voice a gentle invitation. "No set destination, no specific agenda."
Her eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and curiosity painting her features. In the depths of Touma's gaze, a fleeting touch of emotion stirred, like a shadow passing over a sunlit landscape, as he awaited her response.
"I don't know if that's a good idea considering my recent suspension," Yashiro confessed, her voice soft and tinged with caution.
"Following conventions has never been your style," Touma sighed.
"You want me to wander around town?" Yashiro's eyebrow quirked.
"With my supervision. We'll be back before they know we're gone, as usual," he reassured, his gaze briefly lowered. "Do you trust me?"
Yashiro's gaze held his, a silent exchange passing between them.
"I'll think about it," she finally replied, her voice soft yet tinged with a hint of uncertainty.
Descending the stairs, Touma's gaze remained fixed ahead, his stance unyielding. Her footsteps grew fainter, each echoing step pulling her away. Touma's fingers tightened on the railing, knuckles paling as he fought the urge to turn, a heavy sigh escaping him. The corridor embraced him in its silence as she continued to move away. He stood there, a solitary figure on the stairs, consumed by the fading echoes of her presence.
As the corridor's silence settled around him, Touma's unmoving form gradually melded with the shadows. Meanwhile, Yashiro's steps led her away from the staircase, her thoughts a maelstrom of contemplation.
The corridors of the school seemed to whisper with the passage of time, and Yashiro navigated through them until she reached an unassuming classroom. Her gaze swept over the door, checking for any signs of lingering occupants. The hallway was empty, the residual echoes of students and teachers long faded.
With a determined exhale, Yashiro stepped inside. The room was bathed in soft daylight, the remnants of a recent class still palpable in the air. She spotted Makishima placing a book into his bag. As the door closed behind her, Yashiro's fingers tightened on it. The sound echoed in the room, a subtle declaration of her intent for solitude.
"Can't block your dreams?" Makishima's voice broke the silence.
Yashiro squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, then rubbed them.
"Dreams and reality, they're both haunting me," Yashiro replied, her voice a soft confession.
"Has the recent interest in the murders unsettled you?" he inquired.
"The second victim... the girl... that's her... Touma's sister," Yashiro murmured. "I think he killed her... just like Hashida."
Makishima's footsteps reached her ears, his gaze keenly fixed upon her. Serenity radiated from him, head slightly tilted.
"Have you reported your suspicions?" he questioned.
Yashiro turned, her brows furrowing as she met his gaze, before she shook her head.
"Why not?"
"We are using plastination as an expression of our will and desire to leave a unique imprint on this world, regardless of the structures and systems around us," Touma's voice echoed.
"I understand. It's like we're making our own mark on history, a mark that defies convention and reflects our own vision," Rikako responded.
"I'm concerned about Ouryou Rikako," Yashiro slowly continued.
Makishima sidestepped, his footsteps muffled as he moved within the room. He came to a halt, turning his gaze towards her.
"Everyone is responsible for their own actions," he stated.
Yashiro's connection with the courtyard faded, a building tension in her chest.
"You're curious how it will all end, isn't it?" she asked in a soft voice.
A smile curved on Makishima's lips as he approached, hands slipping into his pockets.
"Aren't you?"
Yashiro squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. Makishima's presence shifted to her side.
"If anything happens to her—"
"Responsibility rests on her shoulders. Did you force her down that path?"
"I can't let him..." she muttered.
"We're the only ones who can protect her," he offered softly, his tone a gentle reassurance. "You mustn't tell anyone."
Her nod conveyed understanding. Unexpectedly, Makishima drew closer, his hand resting briefly but firmly on her shoulder before he turned away.
"He asked to see me," Yashiro began, her voice tinged with concern.
"An attempt to manipulate you," Makishima responded, stopping in front of his desk and raising an eyebrow.
"And if I accept his invitation?"
"It reveals your own intent to manipulate him."
"I don't think I have a choice," she frowned.
"You don't know what he has in mind. Why must you see him?" Makishima asked.
"Refusal will reveal too much."
"There's more you're not telling me."
"He wants... a witness," Yashiro sighed, her voice lower, and closed her eyes. "I don't expect you to understand."
"I certainly don't. It seems you're giving him what he wants."
"You never fully understood him. If you had, you wouldn't help him," she opened her eyes again, frowning with an exasperated tone.
Makishima turned, his stance steady as he regarded her.
"Why assume that I do?" he asked.
"Because that's precisely what you would do."
"You possess an aptitude for delving into one's mind. What do you perceive when you focus on me?" he raised his chin slightly.
Yashiro turned around, looking him up and down for a moment.
"You have taste, yet you prefer to remain unassuming. Although... that Nietzsche book on your bag, it's a subtle test for those who might recognize it," she noted.
"Even ordinary men read," a hint of amusement touched his voice.
"No car keys. Someone else drives you. Public transportation, preferably the metro."
"No one looks at anyone on the subway."
"That's true, especially at night," she briefly lifted her gaze until she studied him again, her expression serious. "No wallet or billfold, only cash and a phone in your pockets. Now, when it comes to your thoughts... I'd wager that bolder souls have delved into your depths and succumbed. The things you bear, the way your smile seems to hold back in your eyes—it's just humor and darkness. A life with little left to gamble. Except life itself."
"You've overlooked something," Makishima noted, his expression turning serious as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
"I'm not going to frisk you for concealed items," she replied, arching an eyebrow and avoiding his gaze.
"Back pocket," he narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"A knife," she finished, her voice steady.
Makishima's smile deepened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. He turned away, retrieving his bag from the teacher's desk, the soft rustling of the fabric blending with the hushed ambience. Yashiro followed suit, her steps barely audible as they left the classroom and entered the corridor, their presence leaving only fleeting echoes.
In the hallway, their paths converged for a moment, a silent exchange passing between them. A fleeting connection, like two parallel lines briefly intersecting before diverging once again. The hours flowed by, marked by the gentle passage of time within the hallowed halls of the academy.
Seated in the library's cozy corner, Makishima reclined in an armchair, legs casually crossed, a book resting upon his thigh. Across from him, Touma occupied another armchair, his legs slightly apart, elbows resting on the armrests. A black pen twirled between his fingers, a silent rhythm of contemplation.
"The murder is being investigated by the PSB," Makishima's voice resonated, its cadence a quiet melody within the library's ambiance.
"Good," Touma's response was a mere murmur, his gaze wandering among the rows of books that adorned the shelves.
Makishima's piercing gaze fixed upon him, "Do you wish to be captured?"
"I want them to try. Let them investigate me," Touma's gaze shifted, his focus momentarily captivated. "Their pursuit is inevitable. If they find me, I'll kill them, and then I'll disappear."
"Reckless as ever," a fleeting gleam danced in Makishima's eyes, a trace of amusement coloring his features.
"It's my life to wager," Touma's eyes narrowed, his response clear and unwavering.
"Your recklessness may impact more than just your own existence," Makishima's measured tone carried a subtle undercurrent of concern. "You won't be drawing attention only to yourself. You betrayed my trust. You've jeopardized not only your life but mine as well. I deserve more than that. I need to trust you. What if I can't?"
"This isn't about us," Touma's gaze met Makishima's unwaveringly. "There's something else that concerns you."
"Takahashi," Makishima's voice was a quiet declaration.
"Yes?" Touma's pen paused its twirl.
"Don't kill her," Makishima's voice was almost a whisper. His gaze shifted downward, gently turning a page of his book.
"I've contemplated it. I've even envisioned it. Actually... I've dreamt of killing you," Touma's fingers tightened around the pen, the tip hovering over his lip.
"Of course you did. Unlike Hashida, I'm wiry. Wiry creatures house the most resilient core. Why haven't you killed me yet? Or does the notion still linger in your thoughts?" a sly smirk graced Makishima's lips, his voice dripping with wry amusement.
"Every day," Touma's voice was deeper, his response swift and direct. "But I can't bring myself to lose a friend like you. Someone who understands me, who sees the world and the people in it the way I do."
"I know exactly how you feel," Makishima's detached gaze locked with Touma's. "Why this intense aversion towards her?"
"I don't hate her," Touma's response was swift, his voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. "I never did."
Makishima's gaze held steady, "Then why this urge to end her life?"
"It's not about ending her life," Touma's voice grew firmer. "I want her to accept, not out of blind obedience, but out of her own volition."
"You seek to make her betray herself," Makishima's gaze bore into Touma's, a knowing glint in his eyes.
Touma leaned forward, a wry smile curving his lips, "You see, there are things far more terrifying than death."
"And what might those things be?" a hint of curiosity gleamed within Makishima's eyes.
"Death is a release, a finality that, for some, might even hold a certain allure. But to truly dismantle a person, to strip away their essence and reshape them into something unrecognizable... now, that's a power beyond death itself."
"You speak of a more profound kind of destruction, one that transcends the physical," Makishima's expression remained inscrutable.
"When you can unravel the very fabric of someone's identity, when you can manipulate their desires, their beliefs, and ultimately force them to betray their own core principles... that, my friend, is the true art of destruction."
"So, you seek to reshape her soul in your own image. To unravel someone's very essence and rebuild it according to your design... it's a gamble."
"Isn't life itself a gamble, Shougo-kun? And I love playing the odds," Touma's gaze lifted, fixating on a distant point on the ceiling, until he stood up, walking towards the window. "I did a knowledge transfer with Ouryou-san earlier. While she's a novice, she will find herself quite engaged."
"Good."
"I will be out all day. I find myself in need of a respite, a temporary escape. She offers me that, a way to ground myself in a world that often feels disconnected. You understand, of course, that this isn't an attempt to distance myself from you. It's more like finding solitude within companionship, a balance between isolation and connection. Being with Yashiro is like being alone, but with more peace."
"It's all right. It doesn't matter," Makishima's frown deepened, a shadow passing over his features.
"Shougo-kun, I think you're jealous," a mischievous glint danced in Touma's eyes, his voice a calculated taunt. "I've always considered jealousy to be a powerful base... but in your case it's quite endearing. If that makes you jealous, then I'm more grateful to her than ever."
As they departed from the Academy's confines, Tokyo stretched its futuristic labyrinth before them. The skyline was an intricate tapestry of steel and glass, piercing the sky. Yashiro's full-body hologram dissolved, replaced by casual black attire that seamlessly melded with the urban landscape. Beside her, Touma strode with a confident ease, each step purposeful and unrushed.
Amidst the bustling streets, their footsteps wove a unique rhythm, a tempo that was brisk yet exuded carefree elegance. They gazed ahead, absorbing the towering skyscrapers that seemed to ascend boundlessly towards heaven. Amidst the uniform sea of faces, the city's denizens moved in synchronized harmony, as if synchronized by an inaudible melody. Yet, Touma and Yashiro's footsteps resounded with autonomy, as if crafting their own symphony in harmony with the city's bustling hum.
Within the urban maze, surveillance drones and psycho pass scanners hummed in the background. Undeterred, they navigated the crowd, their shared journey punctuated by the city's auditory tapestry—the distant traffic hum, the murmur of pedestrians, and the soft neon glow that painted the streets with vivid hues.
After a leisurely walk, they reached a slightly elevated vantage point. Pausing, they took in the sprawling cityscape before them. Yashiro's poised demeanor complemented Touma's assured stride as they stood side by side, their gazes tracing the distant city lights dancing on the horizon.
"Remember when we talked about skyscrapers and sculptures?" Touma's voice sliced through the ambient noise.
"Yes," Yashiro's attention shifted to him, captivated by his words.
Touma's eyes shimmered with a reflective gleam as he continued, "Seeing a person beside a sculpture is like reducing them to the size of an ant. Yet, humans created these marvels. Our adoration for sculptures and buildings springs from their creative essence, the heroism inherent in mankind."
Yashiro turned towards him, "Do you believe that?"
"No, but I like to think of it," Touma's finger pointed towards the distant lights, his expression shifting into contemplation. "That's where I was born, Ogishima. When I was fourteen, I ascended to the rooftop of an abandoned factory and gazed upon the city, much like now. That's when I decided what I would be. You came from below too, didn't you? From a poor family."
"How did you know?" Yashiro's brows furrowed, revealing her surprise.
Touma's lips curled into a wry smile, "By the way you tackle challenges, be they achievements, ideas, or fortunes. I came from the lowest too. I never knew my father. Did your childhood involve a medley of various jobs?"
"Yes," Yashiro replied.
"I've done worse. I've taken on countless roles. Which job or setting did you find most fulfilling?" he inquired.
"As an assistant in a mechanic's shop," Yashiro revealed.
"I was a cleaner in a fishing port. It might sound distasteful, but it held a peculiar allure. It granted me proximity to the sea, to the boats. I recollect gazing at Tokyo's skyscrapers' brilliance on clear nights. Even when I ventured out to sea, I always returned. It was as though I believed escape was impossible. Have you experienced the hardships of homelessness and hunger?"
"Occasionally," she murmured.
"Did it trouble you?"
"No," Yashiro confessed.
"Nor me. Did you ever yearn to shout out your frustration as a child, burdened by the mediocrity and conformity surrounding you? Witnessing the potential for excellence yet lacking the power to manifest it? Have you known the feeling of obeying the uninspired commands of those who neither think nor judge?" Touma's voice deepened, his hand clenching into a fist as he gestured.
"Yes," Yashiro whispered.
"Did you suppress your anger beneath a veneer of smiles, envisioning the day you'd rise above mediocrity and surpass everyone else?" Touma's gaze intensified, locking onto hers.
"No."
"Are you certain? Or have you buried that sentiment?" he inquired, his gaze probing.
"No. I never aspired to rule or teach. My preference was always to execute my tasks on my own terms, independent of expectations, even if it entailed great personal sacrifice. It's a desire for freedom—freedom from dependence on anything or anyone."
"Your audacity and innocence mirror that of an empress," Touma chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement.
The conversation wove its threads, guiding them through time and space as they traversed the city's landscape. Hours slipped away, the urban tapestry shifting around them. Eventually, they found themselves at another secluded spot, offering a breathtaking view of the city. The gentle breeze whispered tales of the metropolis, continuing their shared journey.
"You erred in allowing Kaneko-san and the others from the club to become the faces of your ideas. It should be you. They're your ideas," Touma's voice reverberated through the air.
"I think I'm too egotistical for that," Yashiro sighed.
"An egoist would just love it."
"I don't want to be a symbol."
The city lights shimmered around them, illuminating their path traveled and the path ahead. Slowly, the cityscape transitioned to the warmth of a living space.
Within the apartment's confines, the ambiance shifted from the city's bustle to haven. Soft illumination bathed the room, revealing clean lines and minimalistic décor. An inviting aroma wafted through the air, hinting at a delectable meal in preparation.
Touma stood before the white kitchen counter, deftly maneuvering a knife through vegetables and meat. Each cut was a rhythmic cadence, a soothing contrast to the city's vitality outside. Yashiro settled onto the black couch, her gaze fixed on Touma's actions—the precision of his movement, his attire blending practicality and personal style.
Observing him, Yashiro's attention wandered to their surroundings—a sanctuary in the heart of the bustling city. The holographic system, capable of transforming their space into myriad virtual realms, stood dormant, allowing their immediate reality to shine through.
"What's on your mind?" Yashiro's voice punctured the silence, redirecting his focus.
"What?" Touma's smile tugged at his lips, his attention divided between her and the culinary creation.
"You seem... content. But content isn't quite the right word."
Touma's chuckle resonated softly, "I feel rejuvenated, more carefree in a way. Not as naive as I was at your age, but there's a lightness now—a sort of nostalgia, though it's a paradox. I've always been truthful to my desires, never hidden from them. It might sound abstract, but my life's journey has been marked by exploring those desires, everything I've both done and refrained from."
"Isn't that what people feel when they meet someone? Usually a woman," Yashiro mused.
"What's odd is that it's not a woman who evokes these feelings, but a man. I never thought it was a miracle that you still see me, until I met him. He reminds me of you, especially when I see you engrossed in that book," Touma nodded towards her.
"Why this book?" Yashiro inquired.
"He lent it to me."
"Who did?"
"We've spoken with him before. You know him as Shibata Yukimori," Touma's smile broadened for an instant.
Upon hearing the name, Yashiro's visage flickered, her brows furrowing as she turned a page.
"Isn't it fascinating how the books we gravitate towards mirror our own essence?" Touma remarked.
"Yes," Yashiro responded.
"Some argue that books are the embodiments of our souls. Though, of course, neither of us is inclined to believe that," Touma shook his head.
"No."
"I've amassed an array of possessions throughout my life, but I've never yearned for something as intensely as that book and the ones you've shared with me. It's a peculiar longing. Regardless of my efforts or the price I'm willing to pay, it always feels as if true ownership eludes me—much like a sculpture, meticulously crafted for my sake, remains ultimately the architect's creation, or a symphony composed in my honor belongs to the composer," Touma's voice deepened, his hands resting on the counter, his gaze locked onto Yashiro. "I may lay claim to many things, yet when I'm in your presence, when I'm with both you and him, I'm like a savage discovering the very concept of private property."
"They would be yours, but in a personal way," Yashiro clarified.
"In what way?" he puzzled for a moment, leaning back before resuming his culinary endeavors.
"When we admire something, we express acceptance and approval. It's a connection to what we value and a testament to our own existence. The ability to assign value is an intrinsic aspect of our souls, if you will. Saying yes or no is a fundamental expression of our values and possessions. It's the essence of affirming oneself," Yashiro elucidated, glancing at the book resting on her lap.
"Would you share your appreciations with others?"
"It's not exactly sharing as if taking something the creator imbued. When we admire a skyscraper, we're not appropriating the architect's work. However, when someone else also acknowledges that creation, they experience a personal connection, and in that way, they possess it. It's heartening to know someone else forges a personal bond, claiming ownership in their own manner."
Touma's gaze lingered on her until he finally said, "You've taught me a lesson in your unique manner, I hope you realize."
"I suppose so. You're the one who accepts it. Nevertheless, this isn't merely about appreciation. What is it, an obsession?"
"It's possible," he shrugged. "I think it's natural that you're drawn to him."
"I never said I was," Yashiro retorted.
"I can discern it," Touma's eyes gleamed with a hint of a smile. "I don't blame you. It doesn't surprise me, really. It's simply who you are. You and him share a bond—something unattainable. He lacks it, while you possess it. Yet neither of you can truly claim it. It vexes you because he's the type of man you believe you should be drawn to. Would it make sense if I confided that since meeting him, I've had a greater yearning to understand you? It's a heightened sense of purpose."
"Why do you think he lacks it?" Yashiro's eyes met his, probing.
"Because he's human."
"You contradict yourself," she observed, scanning his bookshelves.
"Where?"
"You claim everyone lacks integrity, yet you affirm I possess it," Yashiro countered.
"The exception to the rule."
"I've never considered myself one."
"You know, he'd never admit such a thing about himself. He wouldn't even acknowledge it in the first place. If I told him he lacked integrity, he'd assert that his interpretation of the concept diverges from mine and is therefore invalid," Touma mused, glancing at her and then turning his attention back to his food preparation. "And my appreciation isn't contingent upon yours."
"Your appreciation is flawed," she remarked.
"That's not for you to determine. Let others ascribe their value. Even if it opposes your perspective," Touma's tone grew more serious.
"I didn't seek compliments or pity," Yashiro replied.
She walked towards the full-length windows, her gaze encompassing the illuminated panorama of Tokyo's skyscrapers. Dusk cast a contrast between the neon lights outside and the apartment's interior. Touma observed her, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, her eyes set on the towering structures.
"Do you feel undeserving? Is that why you're like this?" Touma's question made her frown and cast her eyes downward. "Oh. Wow. You're so damaged. You're the most egotistical and self-aware woman I've ever met, yet you hold such intense contempt for yourself. Most would argue it's a lack of self-esteem, but that's not your case. Maybe I don't even need to dismantle you. When confronted with reality, you will unravel. Both of you are self-destructive... seeking the unattainable."
"That must infuriate you," Yashiro murmured.
"Why?"
"Because you'll never achieve it yourself. And yet there's something that troubles you even more."
"What?"
"The notion that I haven't suffered at all."
"Who gave you the right to make that claim?" Touma's brow furrowed.
"You did."
"Very well, then. Continue," Touma nodded.
"Your greatest fear is the possibility that I'm not kind or malicious, but indifferent. It astonishes you that I agreed to come. You'd never admit it, but you yearn for validation from both me and him. You fear he might lose interest in you. You mock those who cannot exist alone while you dread dying alone, forgotten, in a grave."
"Alright. It's all true," his voice was nearly a whisper. He slouched, his hands on the counter, his body leaning forward. He paused for a prolonged moment before continuing. "When did things turn sour between us?"
Yashiro observed him briefly, "When I saw you for who you truly are and recognized what I didn't want to be."
"You're astonishingly candid," Touma remarked.
"Why not?"
"It's just... rare. Either you're remarkably perceptive, or I'm exceptionally transparent. I've never found myself so exposed before. The women I've encountered have typically been... well, girly. More pliant, smiling, agreeable. But not you. You're discerning, hard to satisfy. Ah, if you were a man!"
Touma fetched a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the kitchen, passing them to Yashiro to take to the table. He approached with the prepared food, settling across from her. He poured a half glass of whiskey for himself, gesturing for her to reciprocate. Then, he began serving both of them.
"I want to join the PSB," Yashiro confessed, prompting him to pause mid-pour. He held the bottle for a moment, regarding her, before filling her glass and placing the bottle back down. "But they wouldn't allow it, right? Because of my father."
"Only if they think you share his nature," he smirked.
"You're glad they're dead," Yashiro ventured, studying him intently.
"What other possibility exists? That he might have killed you?"
"I can't say for certain he would have," she admitted, her gaze lowering.
"No, you can't," Touma responded in a hushed voice, his posture relaxing. "Every person bears responsibility for their own existence. Nothing can alter that—not even you. Cease this self-inflicted suffering. Dwelling too heavily on the past will inevitably erode both your present and your future."
Yashiro sighed, her eyes briefly closing. As he served her a plate of food and began eating, her attention lingered on the meat before her. A momentary doubt flickered in her eyes before she cut a piece, her gaze shifting to his plate. The image of his sister crossed her thoughts—the body dissected and rearranged. Her fingers tightened around the knife on the table, her heartbeat accelerating.
With measured precision, Yashiro brought the piece of meat to her lips, her taste buds registering the complex flavors that unfolded. Her expression softened, the enjoyment evident on her face. Yet, amidst the pleasure, a sense of unease lingered beneath her facade.
Across the table, Touma observed her closely, his eyes holding a mixture of curiosity and calculation. He sensed her hesitation, the subtle pause as she deliberated over that morsel of meat.
Touma's gaze was expectant, his lips curving up slightly, almost as if he knew the turmoil brewing within her. And then, as she tasted the meat, a subtle change swept across his expression. A knowing satisfaction lit up his eyes, his smile deepening.
Yashiro's uncertainty did not go unnoticed by Touma, just as Touma's subtle delight at her response was not lost on her. Their gazes held a complexity of emotions—an intricate interplay of suspicion, understanding, and a certain shared knowledge. And as they continued their meal in a silence laden with unspoken questions, their eyes remained locked, revealing more than words ever could.
"We suspect that Hashida, who was the first to be discovered, might not have been the initial victim. If the girl was killed before him, the killer might have chosen a more brutal method for Hashida's death to create a stronger impact, leading the girl to believe she was the next target immediately after the murder. As a result, we've been collecting information on any sightings of the girl in the period leading up to the discovery of her body. Unfortunately, we haven't found much yet, but Shion, I need you to swiftly locate image data that matches the victim girl's face. Examine all available historical image data, not just recent records," Kougami informed the team in the lab.
"Do you really want to go as far back as possible?" Karanomori asked, her fingers dancing across the holographic keyboard.
"There's a possibility the girl's murder happened before Hashida's," Kougami explained, his eyes fixed on the projection of the crime scene photos.
"That's right. The culprit is an expert in embalming corpses," Karanomori nodded, extinguishing her cigarette in the ashtray. The soft hum of machinery filled the silence.
"Any lead, no matter how insignificant, is valuable to us," he emphasized.
Karanomori continued typing, her holographic keyboard displaying multiple windows on the screen. After a moment, she leaned back in her seat, opening a report.
"No family register, child protection in Ogishima," observed Masaoka, his voice low and gravelly.
"This is a photo of him when he was taken into care at the facility. His facial features are almost identical to the victim girl," Karanomori revealed, raising her head as the profile of a smiling child with brown hair, brown eyes, and a mole under his left eye was displayed on the screen.
"Well, what's the child's name?" Sasayama chimed in.
"Check the facility's personnel files. It's the same man who was seen around the exhaust compartment the day before the first victim was discovered," Karanomori typed on the keyboard again, and a sound echoed through the lab until a window with information opened.
"Touma... Kouzaburou?" Kougami and Sasayama asked in unison.
A soft, short laughter filled the air.
"What?" Yashiro asked.
"Well, you've been absent today, and I found myself strangely missing your company. I realized it's your final year before college. Tell me, what is friendship to you?"
Yashiro took a moment, her gaze wandering as she considered the question. "Mutual interest and sharing values. It shouldn't involve sacrifices or compromises that undermine one's principles and beliefs."
"I see. You prioritize values, goals, and mutual respect for each other's integrity," Touma continued in a softer tone, taking a sip of whisky as he glanced at the table. "I had a friend just like that, but I lost him when I was ten or so."
"In your homeland?"
"Yes. We met while I was in Ogishima, but we went our separate ways. He left the island before me. I don't know where he is or what he's doing now. I was never good at friendship or love. I've come this far myself without either. But whenever I am with you, these concepts pique my interest. Perhaps someday I'll find their meaning. We walk our own paths with distinct values and goals, yet here we are, converging in a way."
Yashiro raised an eyebrow, sighing and gazing toward the glass at the side of the room, observing the skyscrapers. "I guess I still have to navigate around the concept. It's like trying to solve a puzzle without knowing all the pieces."
"What about you?"
"What?" Yashiro looked at him.
"Any childhood friends?"
"Sure," she raised her eyebrows for a second, turning to the glass window again.
Touma sighed with a smile. "You don't sound so sure."
"I never had somewhere to belong like you," shrugged Yashiro. "We traveled a lot, my father and I."
"Yes, you told me."
"Making friends was always easier than keeping them," she continued, her tone tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "It's like I was a fleeting presence in their lives. Never really rooted anywhere."
"I envy that," Touma admitted, surprising both Yashiro and himself with the confession. "Growing up in Ogishima, I always wished to break free, to see beyond the boundaries of the island. It felt like a cage, and I yearned to explore Japan, experience the world outside. Expecting things to always stay the same is not life. It's a delusion. We need courage, the type not even a God any longer beholds. To know fear, but conquer it. To see the abyss, but with pride. Everything we gain in this life, we will eventually have to lose. Do you remember that passage from Nietzsche?"
"How could I forget it? You've been drilling it into my head ever since I lent you the book," she sighed.
"There's a different kind of yearning. The desire to venture into the unknown, to break away from the familiar. It's a longing for a life I could have had, different from the one I knew. But now I'm free. The money and reputation I've earned I can use for whatever I want. To follow my beliefs. To travel or take detours like this."
"I hope so," she looked at him.
Touma noticed that her voice showed a displeasure that almost sounded as if it were sadness. "What is it? Why do you have that tone?"
"I'm sorry. It's something I was just thinking about."
"Thinking about me?"
"Among other things. Sometimes I envy you and your life," she frowned briefly, her gaze drifting toward the city lights like realizing she had said something she would not have wanted to say. "And I shouldn't."
Touma's eyes opened wide for a moment. "No, you shouldn't. That must have been hard to admit."
"There were times when I wished for a quiet, ordinary life, like the one you had. And that courage you hold dear."
Touma leaned back. "It's like we each hold a piece of the puzzle the other longs for, yet we're unable to see it within ourselves."
Yashiro sighed, a mixture of melancholy and acceptance in her voice. "We always yearn for something we lack."
"Ever felt lonely?" Touma asked.
"Yes."
"I mean really lonely. That no matter what you do or who you're with, you still feel it, like you can see the whole universe and life unfolding around you but you can't truly feel it and time just passes?"
"I know what you mean."
Touma leaned in, his expression growing darker. "And have you ever felt so lonely you could do something out of boredom you should regret, only to prove that you can act, that you can live?"
"No," she quickly responded, frowning.
"No? Never? Or have you held back that desire because you're ashamed of it?" he smirked with narrowed eyes briefly.
"I never felt a need to prove anything to anyone. I just always wanted to be left alone. To live."
"The essence of the Übermensch, wouldn't you say? To forge one's own path, unrestrained by societal norms. Unlike Sibyl, I've chosen to embrace my desires, to revel in the power of my own will. Nietzsche wrote of the eternal recurrence—the idea that every moment of our lives will be repeated infinitely. For me, that's not a burden—it's liberation. The power to transcend the ordinary and define my own existence."
"It may offer liberation in your eyes, but it sounds like an excuse for indulgence and a rejection of responsibility. I know you mean more than what you say. The pursuit of one's desires without considering the consequences on others is a selfish endeavor, not a noble liberation."
Touma took another sip of whisky, the amber liquid reflecting the soft glow of the room. His chuckle echoed in the room, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, Yashiro, you always cut straight to the core. Well, we can agree to disagree on that, can't we? I have two words for you: moral relativism. Responsibility can be as confining as societal norms. Have you ever thought about the liberation it offers? You have a way of making it sound almost... poetic."
Yashiro's glare hardened, a mix of exasperation and a reluctant smile appearing on her face. "Poetic responsibility?"
Touma grinned and leaned back again. "Don't let my words distract you from the essence of our conversation. We're not plotting a heist or planning a murder here. No need to summon Sibyl to pass judgment on our philosophical banter."
He chuckled, creating a brief moment of levity that seemed to ease the tension in the room. Yashiro sighed, her shoulders relaxing. "Your sense of humor sucks."
Touma laughed and softly shook his head with a smile, as they both paused to savor the aroma of the meal before them. Their gazes lingered on each other, Touma's eyes momentarily entwined with Yashiro's, a subtle smile playing on his lips, before they took a moment to cut into a succulent piece of meat, the flavors mingling with the rich undertones of the whisky in their glasses.
"Just trying to add a touch of Nietzschean absurdity to our otherwise serious discourse. Life's too short to take everything too seriously, especially when debating the meaning of it all."