2: The View Below the Water II

16 October, 0853 Hours (Japan Standard Time)

Jindai High School, Chofu, Tokyo

It was the fourth day of midterms, and their first subject was world history. Twenty-three minutes had passed since the test started. The only sounds in the room were the rustling of answer sheets and the scratching of pencils. Things were so quiet that even the cars passing outside the school seemed intrusively loud.

Kaname’s eyes ran over the question sheet: the Golden Age of the Roman Empire; the Five Good Emperors; Augustus; Cicero; the Sicilian revolt. One thing after another, all kinds of words she’d memorized but didn’t really understand—She’d probably forget them all the moment the test was over, too.

Honestly, standardized tests are such a pointless ritual... she thought, glancing in the direction of the window. Sousuke’s seat was empty. She hadn’t heard a word from him since she’d called him before the test two days ago. She assumed he’d come today, but he was still absent. He’d been AWOL since the day tests began.

Darn it... For some reason, she found herself sighing. Sousuke’s absence had left things at school pretty quiet, and in theory, this should have been a load off her mind... So why did she feel this strange impatience, like she was missing out on something?

Crud. I’m in the middle of a test. Gotta focus... Kaname directed her attention back to the question sheet: the fall of the Han Dynasty; the Mongol Invasion; the Yellow Turban Rebellion; Emperor Ling; Cao Cao; the Battle of Red Cliffs. One thing after another. She’d read manga about the Three Kingdoms period, so she knew the material pretty well. She couldn’t remember all the name kanji, though... How did you write the ‘Zhuge’ in ‘Zhuge Liang,’ again?

Where even is he? she couldn’t stop wondering as she struggled with the question. What kind of job is he on? Something dangerous again, I guess... I hope he’s okay. Or did he go off to meet that girl? That’s right. He sounded pretty weird on the phone the other day...

She snapped out of the line of thought. Ugh, not again. My mind keeps wandering away from the test...

“Darn it...” she muttered. It’s all his fault, for skipping school and missing his tests. That’s why I can’t stop worrying. I am a class representative, and we have been through some things together... That’s the only reason it bothers me. What a pain in the neck... If he’d just come to school, I’d be able to focus!

Just then, the classroom door opened. “I’m sorry I’m... late.” Panting and breathless, Sagara Sousuke entered the classroom. He looked like he’d been in quite a hurry; his sullen face was covered in sweat. On top of that, instead of his school uniform, for some reason he was dressed in dark green fatigues, completely different from his usual battledress. On the chest were the words “US MARINE.”

“Sagara... You’ve come to take tests now? And why are you dressed like that?” the teacher proctoring the test asked.

“I’m extremely sorry,” Sousuke apologized again. “I didn’t have time to get changed...”

“Fine, never mind,” the proctor sighed. “Just sit down.”

“Right.” Sousuke quickly moved to his seat.

On his way there, his classmate Kazama Shinji whispered to him. “Sagara-kun. Why are you dressed like that?”

“Circumstances,” he responded shortly as he sat. He accepted the test paper from the teacher, took out his pencil box, and quickly started looking through the questions.

Kaname gazed at him, glassy-eyed, from afar. A wave of relief washed over her; it was like a weight had been removed from her chest.

Their eyes met for a second. In lieu of a greeting, Sousuke held up his pencil. Kaname quickly broke off her gaze and focused back on her test.

17 October, 1609 Hours (Australian Standard Time)

Mithril Operations HQ, Sydney, Australia

This is my second time visiting an interrogation room with Major Kalinin like this, Tessa thought. The last time, they’d observed a boy in his mid-teens; this time, it was a middle-aged man. Vincent Bruno, the man Mao and Kurz had brought back from Sicily, sat on the other side of the one-way glass. He was reclining in his seat impudently, arms folded, and wearing a thin smile on his face.

It had to be false confidence, she decided—This wasn’t a police station, it was the headquarters of Mithril’s operations division. He had no attorney, and there wouldn’t be a trial; the man had to know that.

Tessa was only wearing a thin coat over her usual uniform; following her arrival in a Mithril jet, a limousine had fetched her straight from the airport, which had kept her from civilian eyes. Kalinin was with her, similarly clothed in his olive green battledress. The minute they’d heard about Bruno’s successful abduction, they’d taken the first flight to Sydney from the Merida Island Base in the West Pacific.

This was the man whose scheming had nearly gotten her submarine destroyed—Tessa knew that for a fact, yet somehow, it didn’t feel real to her. She should be seething with rage towards this man for what he’d done, but right now, all she felt was a kind of even-tempered scorn. “It’s hard to believe,” Tessa whispered. “How could someone so... worthless... have come so close to sinking my vessel?”

“That apparent worthlessness might be what allowed him to do what he did,” Kalinin said. “And it’s easy to imagine someone like him being vulnerable to an enemy’s overtures.”

There were two others with Bruno on the other side of the glass: a first lieutenant and a corporal, both assigned to operations headquarters. Kalinin had informed her that the lieutenant came out of their intelligence division in Peru and could easily handle an interrogation like this.

“Let’s start simply, Mr. Bruno,” the lieutenant began. “You were formerly a secretary of human resources. At the end of June of this year, you arranged to have John Howard Dunnigan and Nguyen Bien Bo placed with the SRT of Mithril’s West Pacific battle group, the Tuatha de Danaan. You effectively forced the understaffed Tuatha de Danaan to accept them by downgrading or deleting data on four other active NCOs, as well as up-and-comers from Belize and other training camps. Is that correct?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bruno boasted, gazing calmly into the distance.

The lieutenant gave him a placid smile, then addressed the corporal waiting beside him. “Do it.”

“Yes, sir,” the burly corporal responded, then immediately socked Bruno in the face.

Bruno cried out and nearly fell out of his chair, but the corporal grabbed his collar and hefted him back up. He slapped his hand down onto the table, seized his pinkie finger, and began to wrench it upwards. “P-Please, no—” There was an unpleasant crack; Bruno’s pinkie had been broken, and a chilling scream echoed through the interrogation room.

“Don’t worry. That’s the end of it,” Kalinin said to Tessa, as she cringed and averted her eyes from the sight.

He was right, of course: Bruno was already a sobbing wreck, and as the corporal prepared to move on to his ring finger, he abruptly shrieked, “No... please, no! I’ll tell you anything! Please... just don’t hurt me!”

“Answer me, then. Did you arrange Dunnigan and Nguyen’s placement with the TDD-1?” the lieutenant repeated icily.

“Yes! It was me!”

“Who asked you to do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie,” the lieutenant warned him.

“Wait! I r-really don’t know the names!” Bruno told him. “They just said they worked for Amalgam!”

“‘Amalgam’?” the lieutenant questioned. “Like an alloy?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t! I assumed they were some intelligence organization; the Soviets, maybe... and they didn’t deny it,” Bruno insisted. “At first... I just thought it was easy money! They paid me 200,000 dollars in advance... can you imagine? 200,000! Who could say no to that? I agreed on the spot!”

“What do you think?” Tessa asked Kalinin, breaking her silence.

“He doesn’t appear to be lying, and I can’t imagine why he’d hide it. It appears he simply never knew much to begin with,” Kalinin said, gazing at a nearby LCD screen, where a computer was analyzing Bruno’s speech in real time. This system was like an improved version of a polygraph: it could read a subject’s subtle vocal inflections and detect, with considerable accuracy, if they were lying. The interrogators’ initial act of violence had been partly to fluster their suspect, which made him easier to analyze.

“‘Amalgam’... the name feels like a slight at us, somehow,” Tessa mused. “Mithril” was a fictional kind of silver; it seemed like some kind of spiteful joke that the enemy would call themselves Amalgam, after a real-life term for a metal-mercury alloy.

“I don’t know who they are! I mean it!” Bruno wailed from the other side of the glass. He turned a glare towards their dimly lit room, his pale face covered in cold sweat. “Are you happy now?! I know you’re listening! Stop hiding and show yourselves!” he frothed. “You call yourselves Mithril... the ‘silver that slays evil’... but I see how you treat people now! You can go to hell, you wannabe-hero wolves in sheep’s clothing!”

“Calm down, Mr. Bruno,” the lieutenant advised.

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Bruno claimed. “To the devil with you, murderers! You bastards! You’re all bastards!”

Tessa tried to let the abuse roll off her back, but she couldn’t keep a few words from slipping past her lips. “How dare you...” The faces of the men she’d lost that day flashed into her mind, and she suddenly felt like her blood might boil. She wanted to flash the lights on in the dark room, reveal herself to this man, and lay into him with all her might.

You’re the murderer here, she thought savagely. You killed my men. You’re the one who should burn in hell. What would you know, anyway? You’re a pathetic man reduced to spitting venom in an interrogation room; nothing but a low-born, greedy coward! How dare you speak to me this way? Learn your place, before I order that corporal to break the rest of your fingers! The dark, violent emotions rose higher inside her. This was more than just anger; it was an urge that stemmed from a place of deeper arrogance.

“Colonel.” Kalinin’s voice snapped her back to reality.

Tessa’s palms were soaked, and her head was swimming. She was filled with a sudden self-loathing. She couldn’t deny it—I’m happy to watch this man suffer...

“Colonel, let’s let the lieutenant finish his work,” Kalinin said. “I’m told Admiral Borda is waiting.”

“I see,” Tessa responded weakly after a moment. She turned her back on the still-raving Bruno. “It’s not a pleasant way of doing things...” Not for him, and not for us, she added internally.

“I won’t disagree, but it is effective. He’ll live—and a single finger will heal soon enough.”

“I know that, but...” Tessa hesitated, casting a glimpse at Kalinin’s expressionless face. Doesn’t he feel anything? Wasn’t he shaken in the slightest by what we just witnessed? Kalinin lost men to Bruno’s actions, just as I did...

The instant after she’d thought that, the Russian added coolly, “If I were the one in there, I would have cut the finger off.”

Tessa and Kalinin left the interrogation room behind and headed for the office of the head of operations. They were currently at Mithril’s operations headquarters, in a corner of downtown Sydney.

Most people, if you told them that a central office for a worldwide organization like Mithril was located here in Australia, would look at you with skepticism: It was common knowledge “in the business” that transport convenience, inter-organization communication, and various other factors made it far more convenient to house your operation in Europe. That belief, though, was twenty years out of date—Satellite communication and the Internet had flooded the world with information, which made the physical location of a group’s headquarters much less important than before.

Moreover, cities like Paris, London, Brussels, and Geneva were already well-populated with storied old intelligence agencies, which made it harder for a new organization to establish a large-scale headquarters there—It was, to put it simply, an issue of settled turf. Mithril was still young; they had been founded just about ten years ago, and while there had initially been plans for an operations headquarters in Europe, a series of minor issues had ended up inclining them this way, instead. Currently, most of Mithril’s outposts in Europe belonged to the intelligence division, but even their scale was minuscule.

The Sydney-based operations HQ was located in a building not quite tall enough to be called a skyscraper. On paper, it was owned by a security company called Argyros; this was one of Mithril’s front organizations, although they did, in fact, operate security agencies all over the world—a side business that brought in quite a bit of income. Most of Mithril’s current personnel were Argyros employees on paper, and since this was a common career path for decommissioned soldiers, anyway, it made for a very convenient form of camouflage.

Mithril controlled a few such companies, in fact—Roth & Hambleton, which had created the M9’s generator; Umantac, the core of their marine transport; the legacy corporation Martin Marietta, which produced their aircraft. Everything from cutting-edge enterprises on the rise to well-established companies that they had rescued from near bankruptcy fell under their umbrella. They had dedicated investors and shell corporations; fronting, funding transfers, equipment supply, personnel recruitment... if Mithril had a need, there was a company to fill it, even if most of their employees didn’t even know of Mithril’s existence.

Despite its old-fashioned exterior, security for the Argyros building that housed their operations headquarters was strict. It was covered in listening devices and surveillance cameras, and plain-clothed security guards were on constant lookout for intruders.

When Tessa and Kalinin arrived at the door to the head’s office, the man’s secretary came to greet them. “It’s been a while, Colonel.”

“Oh, Jackson-san. It’s so nice to see you again,” Tessa said. “But you really don’t need to call me ‘colonel’...”

The man in his early 40s smiled cheerfully in response. “I can’t exactly call you ‘dear’ anymore. I’m told you’ve been doing a fine job since you left us, so I want to show the appropriate respect.”

“I... appreciate it. I’m doing the best I can, of course.” Before being appointed commander of the Tuatha de Danaan, Tessa had spent some time on staff here at operations HQ. She had served as an aide to Admiral Borda while also conducting research on amphibious maneuvers, special operations, and underwater combat. This meant that she’d spent a lot of time around his secretary, Captain Jackson, who tended to call her ‘Dear’ and ‘Little Teletha’; the rank of colonel had only come with her new assignment.

“Is the admiral in?” she asked.

“He’s on the phone right now, but he said you could go in,” Jackson told her. “Be warned: he’ll probably do his best to get you back with us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

With that, Tessa and Kalinin entered Admiral Borda’s office. It was a room about the size of a small cafe; the wall behind him was covered in tall shelves packed with books. Most of the furniture was made of aged wood and had a dull sheen. With the mellow natural light and indirect fluorescent lighting, it had the look of an old library.

Admiral Borda was seated at his desk, speaking on the phone. “Yeah. ...Right. Understood. ...Yeah. ...I could say the same to you. We’ll clean up our own mess, thank you. I’ll send you the interrogation record, of course. Don’t be so suspicious. ...To him? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” While speaking to whoever it was, Admiral Borda returned Tessa and Kalinin’s salutes, pointed to the chairs, and mouthed “sit down.” “...I’d say that’s up to you. ...Right. We’ll discuss that another time. ...Yes, it’s worth considering. ...No, I have visitors. I’m hanging up now.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned off the phone, dropped the receiver onto the desk like it was something dirty, and then slowly stood up.

“Welcome. Can I get you a drink?” the admiral asked, heading towards the minibar in a corner of the room.

“The offer is appreciated, but I’ll just have water,” Tessa replied.

“Major?”

“The same, please.”

“You two; no taste at all...” With a shrug, Admiral Borda fetched a bottle of Perrier from the fridge. “How are those M9s doing you, Major?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Sir. There’s always room for improvement, but they’re serving us well, more or less. There are still a few issues on the maintenance side. There’s not much in the way of part compatibility with other machines, which could lead to inventory issues if it comes to it,” Kalinin replied briskly.

“Still the same old Kalinin... but I’ll keep that in mind,” the admiral said with a smile.

At a glance, the head of the Mithril Operations Division, Jerome Borda, looked like your average, kindly-faced older man, with a mild demeanor that made him seem more suited to a hotdog vendor’s apron than a military uniform. Though he was approaching 60, he had a full head of hair—black, with streaks of white—which made him look ten years younger. Even Tessa, who was young enough to be his granddaughter, found the admiral’s appearance quite charming. He probably wouldn’t have liked to hear it, but she found that the gentle droop in his eyes and mouth gave him the air of a cute little dog.

That’s not to say he was entirely without gravitas; anyone who met him could see that he was brimming with intelligence, experience, leadership, and grit. He’d spent over thirty years with the US Navy, in fact, where he had ascended from sailor to admiral, and there was a world-weariness in his eyes that made him not so different from Kalinin.

“That was the head of the intelligence division,” Admiral Borda said, pouring the water into glasses. “They’re furious that we made a move on Bruno without informing them. They’d found him in Sicily, too, see—and they were keeping close tabs on the Partholón to make sure we didn’t get the drop on them.” The Partholón was one of the four battle groups that served in the operations division. Normally, they’d have been the ones sent to carry out the operation in Sicily; the decision to have Tessa’s West Pacific battle group, the Tuatha de Danaan, take action instead—and to mobilize only a very small number of their forces—had caught both Bruno and the intelligence division off guard.

“Intelligence wants you to hand Bruno over to them, then?” Tessa asked.

“Yes,” Borda affirmed. “I refused, of course. By the way, did you catch his interrogation?”

“Yes...” Tessa trailed off.

“There’s something you need to learn from that... if you want to keep serving as a commander, anyway. It’s a bloody road that lies ahead of you—the long and treacherous path of a soldier.” A mysterious tone entered Borda’s voice.

It occurred to Tessa, then, that he must have arranged for her to see what she saw. The NCO who came to meet her when she arrived had said, “The admiral is occupied at the moment. Would you like to watch Bruno’s interrogation?” What could have been his reason for making sure she saw it? What was she supposed to learn from it? That there was no such thing as ‘clean’ and ‘dirty’ where combat was concerned? That seemed a rather elementary sort of lesson for someone like him to give. Of course she knew that she hadn’t seen as much of the ‘dirty’ as adults, like he and Kalinin, had—She was well aware of that fact.

What that middle-aged gentleman had wanted to teach her, then, had to be a more abstract concept, something complicated despite its simplicity. Was that scene meant to symbolize something that couldn’t be expressed with conventional words and logic? An ominous premonition, a melancholy microcosm, a shard of future events? Was it a hint as to some unyielding dilemma she’d face herself, someday? Was there some principle at work that a teenager—even a genius one—could not possibly grasp? And was that principle presenting itself to her now, through the admiral’s actions?

“Don’t stress yourself about it now,” the admiral said, holding a glass out toward her. “You’ll find out eventually, sooner or later.”

“What’s going to happen to Bruno now?” she asked after a pause.

“The rules allow for capital punishment—or so I’d like to call it, but as we’re not a proper military, it’d be more like a lynching—in the form of execution by firing squad. We’ve never done that before, though... The more reasonable punishment would be long-term confinement, then: We just need to hold him until his knowledge of Mithril’s equipment, hierarchy, and personnel becomes out-of-date.”

Tessa knew the rule in question. Five years of holding wouldn’t be enough; it would more likely be ten, or maybe fifteen. But would the organization still exist that far into the future? The question drifted into her mind, apropos of nothing.

“This isn’t some light-hearted gentlemen’s club. He needs to be dealt with in an appropriate fashion. Of course, the council won’t decide what that is until after the interrogation is over.” Borda sat down on the sofa across from them and changed the subject. “Now... I called you here to consult with you about something else: I think it’s time to do some reorganizing.”

“What... What do you mean?” Tessa asked.

“I looked through the reports of the Perio Archipelago incident. Those two Japanese kids... Chidori Kaname, and Sergeant Sagara,” Borda clarified. “It’s impossible to overstate their value to us. Judging from your report, they’re also the ones who saved the TDD-1.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Tessa agreed.

“It’s becoming hard to deny their significance. The Whispered, the ARX-7... We can’t treat them as developing issues anymore. We’re getting complaints from the intelligence division about that... and regarding Wraith, as well.”

Tessa said nothing.

“I think it’s about time to reconsider how we treat them. Don’t you agree, Major?” Borda asked.

Kalinin averted his eyes and responded, hesitantly. “Of course, sir. But—”

Borda immediately raised his hand to cut him off. “Spare me the bureaucratic response. Excuse it all you like, but the fact remains: the way we’re doing things now is inefficient.”

“Sir,” Kalinin acknowledged noncommittally.

“What do you think, Teletha?” Borda asked, turning towards Tessa.

She hesitated. “You’re correct, of course. But...”

Borda assumed an exaggerated scowl and looked straight at her. “But what?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Let’s hash out some details, then.”

17 October, 1459 Hours (Japan Standard Time)

Jindai High School, Chofu, Tokyo

One week after tests, the school held a post-graduate guidance assembly. Despite the grandiose name, though, it was really just a long series of lectures from school staff.

First, the principal: “—I’m sure you’re all thinking, ‘I’m just a second-year; I don’t need to think about this.’ But your second year is the best time to start considering your post-graduation plans. Especially these days—given the state of the economy, employers will be less interested in your schooling credentials and more interested in what you’ve learned, and what you can do. So think carefully about that when making your plans—” One thing after another.

That’s all pretty vague, Kaname and the others thought.

Then, their class adviser: “—Get it? Don’t assume you can afford to take a year off after graduating. That self-assurance will always be your undoing. Most sekitori never make it to yokozuna, so they’ll tell themselves ‘I just need to make it to juryo.’ But once they start thinking that way, will they even make it that far? Of course not. The world is an unforgiving place. What I’m saying is—” One thing after another.

We’re not going into sumo, though, Kaname and the others thought.

None of the 320-or-so second-years gathered in the gymnasium could muster up much enthusiasm. Kaname was starting to nod off from boredom by the time the final lecture reached its end: “—So, please keep that in mind from now on. We’ll leave a variety of materials in front of the post-graduation guidance rooms, so be sure you take what you need.”

The students dispersed, leaving the gymnasium in class order. The assembly had taken the place of 6th period, which meant they’d be able to go home soon.

Sitting in the largely empty train car as they headed back home, Kaname let out a big yawn.

“Looks like you got a nice rest, Kana-chan,” Kyoko said from the seat beside hers.

Sousuke was standing in front of them, wearing his usual sullen expression. There were bags under his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. He’d spent nearly every free minute he’d had since Sunday fixing Ms. Kagurazaka’s car.

“I mean, yeah. Who can take that guidance stuff seriously?” Kaname said, stifling another yawn. She wished they’d focus less on that abstract stuff, and more on practical information, like ‘here’s the average yearly salary for a defense attorney,’ or ‘here’s how hard it is to get into so-and-so famous company,’ or ‘if you’re thinking about becoming an animator, don’t.’

“I dunno, some of it was pretty good. It actually got me thinking.”

“Huh! Kyoko, you actually listen to that stuff?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s my future we’re talking about,” Kyoko defended herself. “I was thinking about going right to work after graduating, but now I’m not so sure...”

Kaname let out a vague, thoughtful hum. Kyoko, who typically had a very childish air about her, suddenly seemed like the more mature of the two.

As if noticing Kaname’s gaze, Kyoko shot her a slightly abashed smile. “I mean, I’m not taking it that seriously... Anyway.” Kyoko turned her gaze intently to Sousuke. “Sagara-kun, I’ve been wondering... have you been growing your hair out lately?”

Sousuke looked back at her dubiously. Following Kyoko’s example, Kaname also turned to stare at Sousuke. His hair was as disheveled and haphazard as ever, but when she looked carefully, she could see that it was all-in-all longer than before. More of his bangs seemed to be falling into his eyes; from certain angles, you couldn’t even see them. It wasn’t quite to the point of “unsightly”—it helped that he had a very masculine face, and it hadn’t grown out that much—it was just long enough to be bothersome.

“Now that you mention it...” Kaname mused.

Sousuke picked at a lock of his bangs as Kaname expressed her concern. “Does it look strange?” he wanted to know.

“Nah, it’s not that bad or anything...” she reassured him. “Hey, that reminds me. Do you go to a stylist or what?”

“What’s a ‘stylist’?” Sousuke asked.

“Like a barber.”

“Ah. No, I’ve never been to one. I cut it myself.”

“With scissors?”

“With this.” Sousuke produced a heavy-duty combat knife from beneath his uniform.

“Ah-ha. There’s one mystery solved.” Kaname finally realized why his hair was so messy and uneven.

Just then, something seemed to occur to Kyoko, and she raised a finger and spoke with glee. “Hey, I just had a great idea! Why don’t we take Sagara-kun to a stylist? He’d be super hot with a makeover, I bet!”

“Hmm. That... That is intriguing,” Kaname decided.

“Right? I say we go with a pompadour.”

“Nah, he needs a crew cut.”

“How about a mushroom cut? And some color-tinted glasses to go with!”

Kaname snorted, then burst out in snickers. “Or how about a punch perm? I’d die!”

“Like in Honki to Kaite Maji!?”

“They could give him dog ears, too.”

“Oh, like a stylist could do that!”

The two girls joked around with each other, oblivious to Sousuke’s feelings on the matter. But though their conversation was purely in the spirit of fun, Sousuke’s next words gave it a dimension of reality: “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Huh?” Kaname blinked.

“Visiting a stylist,” he clarified. “That’s where high school students typically get their hair cut, isn’t it?”

Kaname and Kyoko ended up taking Sousuke on a short walk out the south entrance of Chofu Station. Their destination was a slightly upscale salon. It’s very different from the barber shops in Afghanistan, Sousuke thought as he examined the shop’s exterior.

There had been barber shops in the war-torn region where he’d grown up, but he’d never been inside one; his desire to visit one now signified a degree of ambition for personal growth. It was a sign of the new motivation that had begun to work inside him, invisibly: He had to try harder to adjust to life here, in this city. The idea probably wouldn’t have occurred to him if not for Mao’s words to him the other day—and of course, simple curiosity also played a role.

“Is this place okay?” Kaname asked.

“Yes,” Sousuke answered her. “I trust your judgment.” With that, the three of them entered the salon.

“One haircut, please. For this guy here,” Kaname said to the stylist who met them. The man seemed to understand the situation immediately and urged Sousuke to a seat with a smile.

“Hmm...” With awkward movements, Sousuke sat in the chair. The stylist wrapped a towel around his neck and then covered him with a plastic sheet. “So, what are we going for?” the stylist asked Kaname and Kyoko.

“What did we decide on, Kana-chan?”

“Let’s see... we should probably drop the obvious gag stuff,” Kaname said, “like a mohawk.”

“I think a mohawk would look great, though. I’ve always wanted to try one myself,” the stylist joked.

Kaname and Kyoko laughed and batted around a few ideas. After about three minutes of consultation, they arrived at a safe choice: “Just make it short enough that we can see his eyebrows. Also his hair is way thick, so try to thin it out some. Is that okay, Sousuke?”

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“Go to it, then. We’re leaving him in your hands—We’ll be over there.” Kaname and Kyoko waved as they withdrew to the waiting area.

Sousuke suddenly felt very alone. No, that wasn’t all—there was a feeling of unease about him. Even though there was nothing suspicious here, he still felt butterflies in his stomach. Instincts cultivated over years and years told him that something was wrong here.

Is it... my imagination? He couldn’t be sure. Then again, his instincts had never been right about anything here in this peaceful city, so it was probably safe to ignore them. How many humiliations had he suffered due to trusting his instincts?

“Okay, sir. I’m going to shampoo now.” The stylist was about to pour the shampoo on Sousuke’s head.

“Wai—” he started, but stopped himself.

“Yes?”

“No... please, continue.”

The stylist looked at him dubiously, then poured the shampoo onto his head and lathered it up. This complete stranger—this man he’d never seen before—was moving his unfamiliar fingers around his scalp.

“Any itching anywhere?” the stylist asked.

“No,” Sousuke grunted out. He was actually itching all over, but he kept his answer short.

He was nervous, extremely nervous. What if the bottle contained some kind of a transdermal toxin? What if this man had a poison needle in his finger? What if he was hiding a small automatic pistol under that white smock of his? There would be no way for Sousuke to fight back.

Stop worrying, he told himself. It’s just soap... he’s just a barber... There was no way the man could be an assassin. They’d come here on a spur-of-the-moment decision, and Kaname had chosen the location. It couldn’t possibly be an enemy trap.

“Now, right this waaay,” the stylist told Sousuke, as he filled the sink in front of him with hot water. Sousuke watched him questioningly. “We need to rinse out the shampoo,” the man clarified.

“Right...” Sousuke agreed. The man seemed to be asking him to plunge his head into the basin. But if he did that, he’d lose all visibility—he’d also leave his neck exposed to others. It would be a trivial matter for the stylist to plunge a knife into his spine, or stick him with a syringe—someone outside the shop could take the chance to target him, too.

“What’s the matter?” the stylist wanted to know.

“Er... is this strictly necessary?”

The stylist stared a moment, then smiled awkwardly. “Of course it is. I can’t cut it like this, can I? Come on, now.”

Sousuke said nothing. He was in agony as he hesitantly bent over and plunged his head into the basin. As he did, he pulled his pistol from its holster under the plastic sheet—it made him feel a little safer.

The stylist spoke as he massaged his hair. “How does the water feel?”

“Fine,” he managed to answer, but he was completely beside himself. He couldn’t even feel the water. Will this man try to kill me if I show a moment’s weakness? he wondered. Why does he keep encouraging me to lower my defenses? Have they anticipated my movements in a way I couldn’t predict, and sent this man ahead to pose as a stylist? Or is there another enemy here that might try to come after me in my moment of vulnerability?

That’s right, he remembered. I have no reason to think I’m safe. People are still after Kaname... If I die here, who will protect her?

“There, all done. Great job!” Mopping his hair with a towel, the stylist slowly eased him back in the chair. The towel compromised his vision in a way that felt like torture. “Okay, let’s get cutting!” The barber snipped the scissors eagerly and seized a lock of his disheveled hair. A total stranger was now standing behind him, holding a blade...

Something in his head started blaring a warning. Can’t do this. Stop it. If I don’t stop it—

Sousuke’d reached the limit of what he could take, and his body acted instinctively. Before the scissors could even get close to his head, he grabbed the stylist’s arm, stood up from the chair and smashed him against the mirror.

“Wh-What are you—”

“Don’t move!” Sousuke barked. He trailed his eyes, and the barrel of his gun, over the other surprised employees and customers, scrutinizing them carefully... But there was no sign of a possible enemy. The stylist he’d shoved against the mirror just let out a weak groan, and squirmed in confusion.

Sousuke realized that he’d failed again, as always. There’s no threat here. Neither inside nor outside the shop...

“Sousuke?!” Kaname was charging at him from the waiting area, a rolled-up fashion magazine in hand. She was clearly furious.

Correction. There is one threat... Sousuke bravely took the improvised club to the top of his head.

“I can’t believe it!” Kaname was fuming as they walked back to the apartment. “You asked me to take you, so I took you. What on earth possessed you to lash out like that?!”

“I’m extremely sorry.” Sousuke followed behind her, sluggishly.

Following the chaos, he and Kaname both bowed and apologized, but the stylist still asked them to go elsewhere, forewent payment—as if the two of them were yakuza of some kind—and then shooed them away. Once they were out, Kyoko had laughed and said, “Well, it is what it is.” Then they’d parted ways, and headed for home.

“It was simply too dangerous to remain so unguarded that close to an armed stranger,” he argued.

“Oh, yeah? Don’t tell me to take you to a stylist then,” Kaname snapped back. “Didn’t you realize they’d have to do all that to cut your hair? You could have really hurt that totally innocent guy! You’ve gotta get it out of your head that you’re always surrounded by assassins and enemies!”

“I can’t do that.” This was one matter on which Sousuke held firm. “The enemy is out there; that is a fact. You could be attacked at any moment.”

“But...” Kaname hesitated. She tended to forget that until it was pointed out to her. Her strange existence as a Whispered really had made her a target.

“Protecting you from the enemy must remain my number one priority,” Sousuke said seriously.

When he put it that way, Kaname couldn’t find the heart to lecture him anymore. Instead, she just whispered, in a slightly resentful tone, “But... that only happened the one time.”

“True,” he agreed. “But that’s no reason for me to let my guard down.”

“Oh, come on...” she moaned. Since the field trip incident, the so-called ‘enemy’ hadn’t made a single attempt on her directly—at least, as far as Kaname could see. She’d been in danger quite a few times since then, but that was always the result of her getting dragged into something unrelated. Her daily life in Tokyo was the picture of peace and quiet—well, maybe a little more chaotic than a normal teenager’s, thanks to Sousuke’s constant troublemaking.

Is there really an enemy out there? Couldn’t he and Mithril just be making a big deal over nothing? Kaname frequently found herself wondering, and her doubts were only natural.

They found their pace slowing. It was just before evening, and the residential district was full of people. It was getting deeper into autumn; the weather was turning chillier, and the sun was setting earlier, too.

“It’s been about half a year now, hasn’t it...” she mused. Sousuke had come into Kaname’s life in the spring; that was almost exactly six months ago. “Time sure does fly, huh?”

“I suppose,” Sousuke agreed.

“And yet you haven’t made an inch of progress.”

“Haven’t I?”

“Nope.” She giggled at him, and Sousuke tilted his head. Since he’d never actually gotten his hair cut, it was still damp and disheveled, which gave him a bit of a “shaggy stray dog” air. He looked so pathetic, it almost felt irresponsible for her to leave him on his own. “Hey...” she said, after thinking for a minute.

“What is it?”

“You want to stop by my place?” Kaname suggested. “I can finish the cutting, if you want.” Her invitation must have come as a complete surprise; Sousuke showed a rare widening of the eyes and blinked at her. “Is that a no?” she asked.

“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just...”

“Worried I might attack you, too?” she teased.

He shook his head rapidly. “No, not at all. You’re different.” Kaname found herself enjoying his indignant denial more than she expected to.

Family circumstances had left Kaname living alone in a three-bedroom apartment, but her bathroom turned out to be rather cramped as she dragged in a chair and said, “All right, sir! Please take a seat.” As Sousuke did so, she briskly wrapped a bath towel and a plastic sheet around his neck. She’d already gotten changed into a flimsy T-shirt and jeans. “Not choking you, is it?” she checked.

“No, it’s not an issue,” he told her.

“Okay, then here we go.” She laughed wickedly and snatched up the scissors with a grin.

Sousuke, suddenly nervous for reasons unrelated to assassins and enemies, asked her, “Chidori, do you... have any experience cutting hair?”

“Nope,” she responded lightly. “I’ve messed with Kyoko’s hair before, but never cut it.”

Sousuke fell into nervous silence.

“Hey, calm down!” she protested. “At the very least, this has gotta be better than cutting it yourself.”

“Please attempt to avoid cutting my ears off,” Sousuke begged.

“Right. I’ll try my best.” After another laugh, she grabbed a lock of Sousuke’s hair and gave it a snip. Then, she repeated the motion. Kaname started off carefully, but as she went on, the snip, snip, snip came faster and more rhythmically. “Hey...” she said, still cutting. “You had some job or other that made you miss the tests, right?”

“Yes,” Sousuke agreed.

“More fighting stuff?”

“Yes... Why do you ask?”

“No reason... Were you hurt at all?”

“Just a few scrapes. Not an issue.”

“I see...” Kaname cut his hair in silence for a while. Occasionally she’d cast a glance between his head and the mirror, at which time she’d hum to herself speculatively, screw up her face, then start cutting again. Hair tumbled down the plastic sheet in clumps.

“Hey...” Kaname finally whispered. “Tessa told me that there was someone else protecting me. Someone besides you.”

“Did she?” he asked casually. It was Kaname’s first time talking to him about this, and Sousuke wondered if she’d been thinking about it since their conversation on the way home.

“But I haven’t... seen any sign of them, you know?” she went on. “So sometimes I forget it’s all really out there. Like... everything that’s happened, all this Mithril stuff... doesn’t feel real.”

Sousuke’s primary mission in Tokyo was to protect Kaname, but in practice, he couldn’t watch her all by himself. An agent from Mithril’s intelligence division had also been dispatched to stay close at all times; it was that agent’s presence that allowed Sousuke to leave Kaname’s side to go overseas. Members of the operations division like Sousuke and Kalinin referred to that agent as “Wraith.”

“Sousuke,” she asked, “have you met that person?”

“No,” he told her. “I haven’t talked to them, either.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“No. It’s probably not someone you’ve ever met.”

“You think I can really trust them?” Kaname wanted to know.

Sousuke said nothing.

“And, um... Mithril and stuff, too.” There was a thick anxiety behind her words. No matter how cheerily she might go about her day, she was always under threat—it was a fact that Sousuke always took for granted, but in that moment, it felt very real to him. If somebody really was after Kaname, Mithril would be the only ones she could count on. The police were in no position to help her.

“Of course, you can trust us,” Sousuke assured her, but he didn’t fully believe his own words.

Wraith was always a remote presence. They were outside the school when classes were on; when Kaname was at home, they were a few blocks away from the apartment. They were watching her from afar, distantly, but persistently—that was why Sousuke didn’t have to be with her every hour of every day. If Kaname called to the agent, they wouldn’t respond under any circumstances.

Wraith also hadn’t acted when Kaname had found herself in danger in the past—when she’d been accosted by delinquents in town, or taken off to a stranger’s mansion, or abducted by A21 terrorists. Of course, she’d gotten out of each situation safely enough... but once the danger was past, Sousuke always felt a certain irritation. Why didn’t they act? Why weren’t they protecting her in my place? he wondered.

His reports to his superiors frequently contained the phrase, “I have strong doubts regarding the abilities of intelligence agent, codename Wraith.” But the reply was always: “We’ll take it under consideration. Continue your mission.” Neither Kalinin nor Tessa would offer him an explanation, either. “Just keep going,” they assured him.

As a result, Sousuke felt extremely nervous whenever he was away from Kaname. Even if his orders told him to leave it to Wraith... he found it hard to believe that this agent was actually taking their mission seriously. Was Wraith just waiting patiently for the “real” enemy to appear? Were they treating Kaname like bait on the line—not to be pulled up until a big fish bit, no matter how much the bobber moved? That would explain Wraith’s persistent absence in the field.

No... it still didn’t make any sense. Letting Kaname die before the enemy struck would defeat the entire purpose of the exercise. It was chilling to think back on those times, but she’d been in several situations now where she easily could have died. Why hadn’t Wraith ever offered their assistance? Sousuke didn’t know. A cold, calculating theory was beginning to form itself in his mind: Could the intelligence division have discovered something they weren’t telling him?

“Sousuke?” Kaname called Sousuke out of his reverie.

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You looked miles away just now.”

“Well...”

“If you’re worrying about what I said, don’t. Because, um... no matter what I might say...” Kaname stopped her clipping and hesitated a moment. Then, as if making up her mind—but with eyes still turned away from the mirror—she said, “I do trust you, Sousuke.”

Sousuke didn’t respond at first. He felt a strange feeling washing over him; something warm and gentle and unknown began to envelop his heart. His face felt hot, and he felt something rising up from deep inside him. He didn’t know why, but it felt familiar. He’d felt this feeling before. What was it called? he wondered, but he couldn’t remember.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed.

“You’re very welcome,” she said smoothly, then resumed her clipping. “Hey, could you turn a little more to the right?”

“Ah... sure.”

“Not that way, the other way.” Kaname’s slender fingertips nudged his cheek. They felt cool and pleasant to the touch. It was like a moment’s gentle breeze in a sweltering jungle.

In a corner of his vision, Sousuke could see the swaying of her black hair and white T-shirt; the cheap, thin cotton fabric was a little transparent in the light. When she came around in front of him to cut his bangs, he could make out the vague contours of her body, from her underarms to her hips. The smooth, slender lines of her legs... Sousuke averted his eyes, as if he’d looked into the sun.

Kaname smirked triumphantly. “I think I’m getting the hang of this...” From start to finish, she was gentle and careful with him. She took off more hair with thinning shears, evened the edges with a razor, and then combed it out carefully... As it went on, Sousuke found himself dozing off.

What’s going on here? he wondered. There’s a potential weapon near my head, yet I’m getting sleepy... This can’t be happening. It seems impossible... I don’t know why, but I feel so comfortable. Chidori. Is it possible, I—

“Okay, rinse-off time!” She plunged his head into the basin then dumped on the cold water, and that was the end of his daydreams.

“Not bad, if I do say so myself,” she said with satisfaction as she turned off the dryer.

“It doesn’t seem very different to me,” Sousuke commented, peering closely into the mirror. It was definitely shorter than it had been, but he didn’t feel like there was much of a change. It felt more like he was back to where he’d been a month earlier. The cut was still shaggy and haphazard, though maybe a bit more symmetrical than before.

“What are you talking about?” Kaname retorted. “You look totally different.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s way better,” she told him confidently. “Ask around at school tomorrow.”

“Hmm...” Sousuke peered into the mirror once again, and then stood up. “Well, I appreciate the aid. Perhaps I’ll cut your hair next time.”

“Heck no,” Kaname said, wrinkling her nose.

He helped her clean up the washroom. They shared a simple dinner, and then as Sousuke said goodbye, he got the vague impression that Kaname didn’t want him to leave.

By the time he left, it was dark outside; it must be past 8:00 already. There were still a lot of people on the sidewalks—office workers on the way home, kids returning from cram school, housewives walking their dogs... Cutting across the flow of people, Sousuke headed for his own apartment, which stood across from Kaname’s.

For some reason, there was a lightness in his step. No... he felt truly elated. Perhaps it would be most correct to say that his morale had greatly improved. Now, things were different. Now, he felt like he could take on the world. Guarding Kaname, dealing with Japanese society, training at Merida Island, live combat... anything he did, he would do well.

She’s counting on me, he told himself. That means I need to have faith in myself. “That’s right...” He could kick himself for his failings another day. For now, he had too much to do.

First, he’d return home and write a report to Merida Island about the day’s events. He’d do his maintenance on his supplies and his weapons. Then he’d check the various sensors he’d set up around the neighborhood. After that, he’d study for his makeup exams.

Sousuke returned home swiftly, turned on his satellite-connected laptop, and spent five minutes writing up a basic report. He ran it through a powerful encryption algorithm, then sent it immediately. Shortly after, a “report received” message came from the Merida Island communications center, and a new encrypted file arrived in his mailbox.

Sousuke looked puzzled. The file was a tasking message from command.

Priority order 98J005-3128

191121Z

From: West Pacific Battle Group Command (Merida Island Base)

To: Uruz-7/Sergeant Sagara Sousuke

A: Operations leadership and battle group command hereby issue cancellation to priority order 98E001-3128 (Operation: Guardian Angel) effective today 1500 hours (GMT).

B: Uruz-7 to withdraw from current safehouse, return ASAP to Merida Island Base via Route 3b.

C: Uruz-7 to submit letter of withdrawal by post to Jindai High School. Reason given for withdrawal to be left to the discretion of Uruz-7.

D: Ongoing protection of Chidori Kaname to be entrusted exclusively to codename Wraith.

E: Further contact with Chidori Kaname is prohibited effective today 1500 hours (GMT).

Message ends.

Sousuke rubbed his eyes and read over the orders one more time. The content didn’t change. He read them again and again, but there was no interpretation that could lead him to any other conclusion: he was being permanently removed from bodyguard duty for Chidori Kaname. The fact that operations leadership was mentioned meant that someone above even Tessa or Kalinin was involved; there would be no room for Sousuke to protest.

Silently, he looked down at the LCD screen. He remained perfectly still for some time—it might actually have been more than ten minutes—not moving a muscle. He could hear his back teeth grinding.

Ongoing protection of Chidori Kaname to be entrusted exclusively—

The next thing he knew, he had slammed his fist down on the computer. The alloy frame warped, and keys freed from their board were sent flying through the air. A maddening unease rippled through his body. He left the computer—which now reeked of burning plastic—behind him, and headed straight for the veranda. He passed through the glass door, grabbed the railing, and looked around.

“Where are you?” Sousuke whispered, shoulders trembling. He saw the residential district at night. It was as peaceful as ever... “Come out, Wraith! Come talk to me!” he shouted with all his might.

Anger wouldn’t solve anything. He knew there was no way he could appeal the decision. Yet he couldn’t stay quiet. “I know you’re here! Why don’t you answer me?!” His shout echoed through the neighborhood. People walking below looked up in curiosity.

No response came. Sousuke knew well that this wouldn’t be enough to get the spy to come out, so the next thing he shouted was this: “I am Sergeant Sagara Sousuke! Mithril operations division, West Pacific battle group, Tuatha de Danaan! I was ordered to Tokyo on the twentieth of April to guard a certain individual! She’s believed to have been targeted for the following reasons: One, due to her status as a special entity known as a Whispered! Two, because Whispered possess classified knowledge related to military—”

Suddenly, the phone in his apartment rang. Sousuke immediately stopped and went back inside. He picked up the phone beeping mechanically on his desk, and turned it on.

The speaker on the other end tore into him immediately. “Are you insane?!” The voice was low, thick, and digitized; whoever it was must be using a voice changer. As inhuman as the voice sounded, though, it was clear that its owner must have called him in a panic. This had to be Wraith, the agent deployed by the intelligence division. “What kind of agent bellows classified information to the whole neighborhood?” the voice continued. “You’re compromising our operation.”

“I had to. You were ignoring me,” Sousuke said coldly.

“You must know it’s dangerous for us to talk like this. Uruz-7, what you’re doing now is—”

“Answer me. Is your mission to protect Chidori Kaname? Or is it simply to monitor her?”

“I don’t owe you an answer,” Wraith told him.

“I could spend the whole night shouting what I know off the veranda,” Sousuke said flatly. “I’m being relieved either way, after all.”

“Is that a threat, Uruz-7? I’ll file an official complaint with operations.”

“Go ahead. But answer my question, first.”

He heard a sound like a tongue clicking. After a few moments’ hesitation, Wraith seemed to relent. “To protect her, of course.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sousuke denied.

“That’s your prerogative. I was tasked to keep codename Angel from falling into the hands of another organization. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Then why won’t you help her?” Sousuke wanted to know. “She’s faced danger multiple times in the past.”

“Danger from bands of minor hoodlums,” Wraith replied scornfully. “I’m not obliged to interfere in the affairs of the local riff-raff.”

“I see. But then what about the A21 incident? You didn’t even try to save her then.” As he said it, Sousuke began to wonder if it was less ‘you’ in the singular and more ‘you’ in the plural.

The agent said nothing.

“Well?” he demanded. “Answer me.”

“I was watching the situation develop when things abruptly escalated beyond what I could handle,” Wraith replied coldly. “I was terrified by your battle at Fushimidai Academy, but in the end, my decision not to interfere was the correct one, as the terrorists never seemed to realize her importance. They were little more than thugs themselves.”

“I don’t buy that excuse,” Sousuke argued back. “I don’t think you really intend to protect her.”

“I’m not seeking your approval, so you can fret all you like,” the composite voice mocked. “The intelligence division should have taken this mission over right after Sunan, but operations intervened to keep you on it. They said you would be useful as a decoy—but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been nothing but a hindrance. I even considered killing you and making it look like an accident.”

“It’s not too late,” Sousuke challenged. “Try me.”

“I’m kidding. I wouldn’t expect to win a fight with you unscathed. Though I did get some entertainment out of considering it...”

“What?”

“You seem to get nervous when a rifle barrel is trained on you from afar, or if the bolt of a submachine gun is moved in the shadows. Your soldier’s instincts are incredible, but they frequently lead you err,” Wraith pointed out. “I enjoyed the chaos at the salon today, as well.”

“You...”

“Don’t be so mad. What’s done is done.” Wraith’s voice took on a note of triumph. “Either way, the games end today. You’ll return to base and resume your standard missions. I’ll keep things up here. We’re both professionals; let’s not squabble over petty details.”

“I can’t do that,” Sousuke denied. “What about Chidori?”

“Her safety is no longer your concern. You’ve received the order to withdraw, haven’t you? Unless you’re planning to go rogue...”

“I...” Sousuke was at a loss for words.

“Don’t forget that it was Mithril who gave you this life in the first place. You’re not really a high school student,” Wraith reminded him. “You’re a mercenary; a killer. Even your family register and school records are forgeries.”

Sousuke said nothing.

“You can criticize me all you like, but do you really believe you’re capable of protecting her? You’ve had no success in adapting to Japanese society in the six months you’ve spent here. Your presence with her is at best unnecessary, and at worst, an active threat.”

Sousuke felt like he’d been slapped, as the air around him seemed to grow heavier and stickier. Wraith wasn’t wrong.

“Sorry to inform you,” the composite voice went on, “but you’re a third-rate bodyguard. You’ll never be anything but a burden to her, and your presence might even increase the risk to innocent bystanders.”

Sousuke remained silent.

“It’s over, Uruz-7. Follow your orders and return to base.” Sousuke remained silent, unable to retort, and so the other person just hung up on him. Listlessly, he set down the receiver.

It was only a few moments later that the feeling of rock-bottom helplessness washed over him.