Yashiro stood in an operating theater flooded by a harsh, blinding light. Ryoji Hashida lay strapped to a table, his eyes wide with terror as he struggled futilely against his restraints. The cold, weighty scalpel in her hand gleamed in the unforgiving brightness.
Beside her, Touma's grip enveloped her wrist, guiding her hand with a gentle force. The scalpel descended toward Hashida's skull, eliciting muffled screams that reverberated through the air. Yashiro's heart raced as the blade cleaved through flesh and bone with precision, releasing a river of blood that painted a tableau.
Hashida's struggles grew weaker, his life force gradually ebbing away. Yashiro's movements were deliberate, almost mechanical, as the crimson tide flowed freely. With a final, decisive incision, a rush of power surged through her.
Hashida's lifeless form now adorned the table like a masterpiece. Yashiro turned to Touma, her eyes meeting his. The darkness that had clouded her mind seemed to dissipate, leaving behind an eerie calmness.
The sterile theater transformed, melting into an opulent dining setting. Yashiro and Touma sat across from each other, bathed in the soft flicker of candlelight. Crystal goblets cradled in their hands contained a deep red liquid that shimmered like rubies.
As they raised their glasses in a silent toast, the clinking sound reverberated like an echo. Yashiro brought the glass to her lips, tasting the metallic tang of the liquid on her tongue—a reminder that it was not wine she was sipping, but blood. Touma's lips curled into a smile as he drank from his own glass.
With a jolting gasp, Yashiro snapped awake, her body drenched in a cold sweat that clung to her like a suffocating shroud. She pushed herself upright, her muscles taut with tension. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she allowed her feet to touch the cool floor, sending a shiver up her spine.
Tremors coursed through her body, and she wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to dispel the lingering chill that clung to her skin. The room swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over her, prompting her to clutch the wall for support. Nausea churned within her, threatening to engulf her senses.
With her eyes tightly shut, Yashiro focused on her breath, drawing slow, deliberate inhalations that gradually calmed her racing heart. The nauseating sensation subsided, replaced by a lingering sense of discomfort.
Pushing herself away from the wall, Yashiro steadied herself, the room slowly coming back into focus. The dim light filtering through the curtains painted a gentle, ethereal glow. Her gaze shifted around the room, her surroundings familiar yet cast in a slightly different light.
Standing by the window, her fingers brushed against the fabric of the curtains, and she stared out at the delicate hues of the dawning sky. The remnants of the nightmarish vision loosened their grip, the dizziness fading, and Yashiro found herself standing resolute—a survivor of her own mind.
The grand hall of the academy buzzed with life, its lights gently flickering and conversations forming a soothing murmur. The anniversary celebration was in full swing, a blend of parents, students, and faculty members mingling in harmony.
Touma's once-disinterested gaze roamed aimlessly around the room until it was captivated by the sight of Kirino Touko's obsidian locks cascading gracefully down her back. She entered the room, accompanied by her father, a towering figure who was an honored guest at the school's anniversary: Altoromagi Abele. As she separated from her father, her warm smile illuminated the room, casting a radiant glow on all in her presence.
In that very moment, Touma found himself ensnared by a cascade of memories from the past. His thoughts meandered back to their fateful encounter on Ogishima Island when Touko was but a little child. The memory triggered a subtle trembling in his fingers, quickly clenched into a fist, as he was transported back in time. Unbeknownst to him, the words of a passing teacher dissolved into the background, submerged in the whirlpool of his recollections.
As more guests flooded the room, the serendipitous meeting of Touko's gaze with his own sent a quiver through their connection. Her brow furrowed briefly upon encountering his smile, a fleeting response that swiftly gave way to a blossoming recognition. Her smile mirrored his own as she realized that the man smiling at her was none other than the same boy her father had rescued on Ogishima Island all those years ago, a boy with a bright smile that had left an indelible mark.
"Now you'll be my princess," Touma's voice reverberated in his mind, his smile suffused with nostalgia, transporting him back to that unforgettable moment from years gone by.
Yashiro found herself within this lively tapestry, her eyes keenly scanning the room. Amidst the festivity, a familiar voice broke through the ambient noise, softly calling her name. Yashiro turned to see Shimotsuki Mika gracefully weaving her way towards her. In her wake followed a group of girls from their class, laughter flowing like infectious music. Yashiro could not help but smile, drawn in by their shared camaraderie.
"How I'd love it if there were boys here. Just imagine them mustering the courage to ask us to dance," Shimotsuki's eyes gleamed with mischief, her smile lighting up the moment with anticipation.
The other girls chimed in, their voices harmonizing in a chorus of dreams and agreements. Their circle formed a cocoon of relaxed conversations, painting a backdrop of youthful enthusiasm against the backdrop of celebration.
"Why don't you tell them about Sadao?" a calm voice joined the conversation from behind.
Turning her gaze, Yashiro found Makishima Shougo, attired in a beige three-piece suit that harmonized with the amber shade of his eyes. His arms folded casually, his intent gaze fixed on her.
"We lived in the same neighborhood when I was a child," Yashiro began. "We'd scheme to get by."
"Tell them about Shinjuku," Makishima prompted her with a casual incline of his head.
"It was during the night, at a dimly lit bar. The hour was late, and the place was quiet. That's when I met the owner's son—he was older than me."
"What did you do?" he inquired.
"We talked in the alley. A sneeze signaled Sadao to appear. I told the boy I'd meet him another day, then rendezvoused with Sadao."
"What did you do with the money?" a sly grin played on Makishima's lips.
"Our adventures included movies, the theater... until a disagreement arose about the number of books I bought. It got under my skin," Yashiro's voice held traces of nostalgia and amusement.
Amid the laughter of the group, Yashiro felt a sense of detachment, as if the narratives flowed around her. The storytelling continued, anecdotes ranging from lighthearted to profound. Yashiro seized the opportunity as her classmates remained engrossed in their tales. Turning to Makishima, she took a deep breath, signaling her readiness to seize a moment of solitude within the celebration. Together, they moved through the bustling room, a dynamic pair amidst the festivity.
"You shouldn't be here," Yashiro remarked, her tone a mix of caution and concern.
"I wouldn't miss this splendid celebration," Makishima responded with nonchalance.
"Your attitude towards this situation seems rather light. There's a police car stationed outside. They're screening everyone entering. You're involving yourself in something that might be beyond your control."
"I appreciate the company. Shall we?" Makishima's gaze met hers as he extended his hand, an inviting gesture. Yashiro hesitated briefly before placing her hand in his. Together, they began to move to the rhythm of the music.
"I understand this is very challenging for you, but we can't both lead," Makishima shook his head.
Yashiro exhaled a heavy sigh, her initial resistance fading as the music continued to wrap around them. She felt herself falling into step with his movements. He guided her with a touch that was both reassuring and compelling. Reluctantly, she relinquished control and allowed herself to be led, her steps aligning with his. Their motions flowed seamlessly, as though they had practiced this dance countless times before.
"How did you know about Shinjuku?" her voice lowered, a tinge of intrigue coloring her words.
"I didn't," Makishima admitted.
"But you brought it up."
"It was a lovely story," he raised an eyebrow. "The bar, the alley."
"I made it up," she confessed, a playful grin dancing on her lips.
Makishima's eyes narrowed, a low chuckle escaping his lips. They continued to sway, the world around them fading as they surrendered to the rhythm of the dance, paying little heed to the path they were treading or the tempo they were setting.
"There's Kirino's father, the lawyer. Behind me, on my left. Short black hair. Dark suit. Old brown watch," Yashiro's voice dropped lower. "Altoromagi Abele."
"Do you think he's planning something against her father?" Makishima's inquiry was contemplative.
"It's just a hunch."
"A hunch, huh? Your intuition seems keen when it comes to unraveling a man's motives."
"That's his daughter, Kirino Touko," Yashiro nodded towards a young woman with wavy black hair who was conversing with other students.
"I remember that name. He often said she reminded him of someone named... princess," Makishima frowned momentarily.
"That's what his mother used to call his sister. And now he killed her," Yashiro's eyes widened.
Her gaze shifted from Makishima to the unfolding scene. Touma was leaving the crowd, ascending the stairs with Kirino's father. They were engaged in a hushed conversation.
"What's she doing?" Yashiro mumbled, watching Kirino approach them. "I need to stop her."
"There's a door behind you, to your right. It'll take you to them," Makishima nodded.
"I'll need a distraction. I'm not supposed to be here due to my suspension."
"Why did you come then?" Makishima asked.
"I was curious."
"We make quite the pair, especially when we're up to no good," he remarked with a smile. "Just be yourself."
He spun her around deliberately, causing Yashiro to accidentally bump into a woman carrying a tray of glasses. The tray crashed to the ground, glass shattering and a minor commotion ensuing. Makishima turned away and melted into the crowd, skillfully fading from sight and blending with the masses, effectively diverting the crowd's attention.
Yashiro seized the opportunity amidst the chaos, slipping down an unoccupied hallway and discreetly entering the door Makishima had indicated. The academy staff seemed oblivious to her departure. As she traversed the corridor, her footsteps echoed softly in the quiet expanse, but an unsettling feeling of foreboding slowly crept over her.
Back in the main hall, the celebration swirled onward. A chill traversed Yashiro's spine, an intangible sensation she could not shake. Amidst the music, conversations, and laughter, she strained to hear something more. Above the din, a faint clicking sound emerged, resonating through the hallway.
The noise drew her attention, its source elusive. The sensation of being watched encroached upon her, casting an eerie sense of solitude aside. Doubt tainted her perception, casting shadows upon her surroundings.
Yashiro's heartbeat hastened as she pushed forward through the corridor. Guided by instinct, she veered toward the direction Kirino had taken. Shallow breaths punctuated the charged air as Yashiro approached Kirino with measured steps.
"Kirino-san," Yashiro's voice interjected with gentleness and resolve. Kirino turned, meeting Yashiro's gaze.
"Takahashi-san? What are you doing here?" Kirino's tone held a blend of curiosity and suspicion.
"I was looking for you, actually. I was just discussing cameras and photography with some friends, and your expertise came to mind. One of them is in the market for a camera but is uncertain about the make and model... I thought you could provide some guidance..."
"Oh, sure! I was searching for Touma. I thought I saw him with my dad," Kirino's gaze flitted between Yashiro and the direction she had been heading.
Yashiro's mind raced, strategizing the unfolding scenario.
"Are you entirely certain it was him? Sometimes our perceptions can deceive us. I spotted them in the main hall," Yashiro suggested in a soothing tone. "Come on, let's head back. We don't want to attract undue attention by wandering around."
After a brief pause, Kirino acquiesced. Yashiro conjured a reassuring smile and turned to lead the way back to the main hall. Yet, an unshakable sense of surveillance gripped Yashiro. Then, just as Yashiro believed they were in the clear, a distinct sound reached her ears–the faint click of a pen. Barely audible, it sent a shiver down her spine. Her gaze darted down the corridor, but there was naught but an empty passage, dimly lit.
"Takahashi-san, you seem a bit off. Everything alright?" Kirino's voice broke through Yashiro's reverie.
Yashiro turned her attention back to Kirino, mustering another smile, "Yes, I'm fine. Let's continue on."
As Kirino nodded, Yashiro's gaze involuntarily returned to the corridor, her sense of unease deepening.
As the event drew to a close, the principal delivered a few closing remarks to the attendees before expressing gratitude for their presence. Applause followed, and as people began to make their exit, a handful remained, lingering in conversation.
In the heart of the room, a cluster of students encircled someone, engaged in a search. Yashiro's gaze narrowed, revealing Kirino Touko within the group. Their eyes locked, and Kirino navigated through the crowd toward Yashiro.
"Takahashi-san, did you happen to see my dad?" Touko inquired.
Yashiro shook her head. Her attention briefly connected with Makishima, who was engaged in conversation with some faculty members. A fleeting exchange of glances passed between them before they both left the room.
Kirino's hands tightened in front of her as she scanned the surroundings. Parents departed alongside their children, yet her father remained absent. Yashiro's breath caught as her attention gravitated towards Kirino. An unexplainable force drew her to the young woman's presence.