Gina's POV
I knew something was wrong when a luxury sedan was waiting for us on the tarmac of the private airport where we landed. The driver held a cardboard sign with my name and Nathan's written across it. He was a portly Japanese man with a slight tan and oversized aviator glasses.
My lips twisted into a frown. Our arrival was supposed to be a secret, even from Artisan's agents in the country. Having transportation waiting for us was odd, to say the least.
Nathan, child that he was, did not pick up on this crucial detail.
"Damn. Is that an S-series?" he gawked as he climbed down the steps, shouldering his massive rucksack. "I could definitely get used to this."
"That's close enough, number twenty-three."
He froze, his fist tightening around the railing hard enough to deform it. He looked back at me.
"I told you not to call me that."
"And I told you that children do not get an opinion."
Looking back into the cabin, I called for the pilot.
Phineas.
I had known him for nearly a decade. He was one of the first people Artisan contracted. His daughter had been born with a congenital heart defect that Artisan cured with a simple touch. The cost had been a lifetime of service.
"Did you arrange a car service for us?"
"No, Miss," he said, his face flashing with panic. He looked smaller than I remembered. Greyer. He pulled a key fob from his breast pocket. "I had a car parked in the lot."
He handed it to me slowly.
I looked down at the driver and asked in fluent Japanese, "Did my brother send you?"
He seemed startled that I was speaking to him directly at all, but he nodded vigorously.
"He is waiting for you at the spot. He asked me to bring you."
Nathan had a thoroughly stupid look on his face.
"You know Japanese?"
"Tell my brother that I can drive myself," I said to the driver, tucking my hands into my coat pockets as I walked down the stairs and headed toward the parking area Phineas had pointed out.
Nathan hurried after me.
—
My brother was exactly where I expected him to be—in a local park, playing a three-on-three basketball game with some old friends from the neighborhood.
He looked different.
His hair was dyed blue, of all things, and tied back into a tight bun. However, what really drew my attention were his eyes. One of them was still blue—starkly so, like mine—but the other was green, the same shade mine used to be before Artisan had forced us to pluck it out and wear an eyepatch over the empty socket.
We had complained about it for years, of course. Never loudly enough for her to hear, but she heard anyway.
The logic behind it, apparently, was to force us to adapt more quickly to the loss of half our field of vision and increase our fine energy control.
At fifteen, she had permitted us to grow the eye back if we wanted to, but we both agreed that we were better off without it.
With a manic grin on his face, George slipped past the first defender, dribbled around the second, leaped into the air, and shot.
The ball hit the rim.
It was snatched by the opposing team before George could recover. The lanky teen who grabbed it ran with long, easy strides that devoured the court.
In a blink, he was airborne.
He dunked the ball hard enough to rattle the backboard.
The small crowd watching the increasingly heated game erupted into cheers while the players started shouting and trading insults. Some of them were directed at George, some at Renji—the one who had just scored.
Someone else grabbed the ball, and the boys immediately launched into another round.
Renji turned as he ran back down the court, his eyes sweeping the crowd.
I stepped in front of Nathan's imposing figure just before Renji's gaze reached me.
The movement had been reflexive, and Nathan noticed.
I was thankful he did not press the issue immediately.
After everything that had happened four years ago, it was baffling that George had met Renji at all.
The thought made my stomach twist, and my heart ache.
"What is he doing?" Nathan asked quietly, irritation creasing his handsome face.
Artisan had prettied him up when she sank her claws into his soul. She did not like ugly people. That was a pattern we had picked up on over the years.
"He's terrible at this. I did not know that was physically possible for people like us," Nathan muttered.
"It is not," I said. "Which is why it is so impressive. You would never guess that blue-haired, heterochromic freak could wipe out Japan in a day if he really wanted to."
Nathan's breath caught.
"He was number one for a reason."
The match continued for two more hours before the boys finally wrapped it up.
George walked off the court laughing, his hand barely reaching Renji's tall neck as they traded insults in Japanese.
The sun had gone down by then. Everyone looked exhausted except for George.
My first instinct had been to hide from Renji, but I knew my brother too well. He had probably already told Renji about me, or he was planning to.
Renji froze when he saw me.
I tensed, pulling my coat tighter around myself.
"You look so different," he said, standing a little straighter. "I never thought I would see you again."
George clapped him on the shoulder, his face practically glowing.
"Do not worry. We plan on staying for a while."
I shot George a sharp look.
He met it with such unwavering intensity that I almost did not recognize him.
"So, Mr. Sung's Noodles, like we discussed."
The other boys made various noises of agreement and protest. They were tired, sweaty, and clearly had lives to get back to.
Even Renji.
He seemed far more reluctant to leave, though I did catch him eyeing Nathan.
Was that jealousy?
"Alright, alright. Do not let me keep you," George relented. "But we have to meet up later this week."
The boys shouted their goodbyes and waved as they drifted away, though a few of them lingered long enough to stare.
George turned to me with the same bright expression.
"So. Noodles?"
I frowned at him.
Talking to him felt like talking to an entirely different person. Everything about him had changed—his mood, the awful hair, the almost bubbly attitude.
Part of me worried that this was not an act.
"Maybe after a shower. You stink," I said flatly.
He blinked, then sniffed himself.
He recoiled immediately.
"Oof," he muttered. "Come on. My place is just down the street. I will be in and out in a minute."
Without waiting for an answer, George took off, his strides lazy and exaggerated, still playing up the part of the exhausted athlete.
"What did he say?" Nathan asked quietly.
Only then did I realize that the entire conversation had taken place in Japanese.
"Remind me to get you a Japanese-to-English dictionary," I said as I followed after my brother. "We are heading to his place now."
"Is that safe?" Nathan asked.
I pondered the question briefly.
"Probably," I said. "Although I doubt he would attack us in his own home. If there is an ambush, it will happen at the noodle shop."
More likely, he wanted a fight. It was how we used to settle things before my brother unlocked Reverse Cursed Technique. We hadn't fought since, except for light sparring. There'd been no point. After his breakthrough, he was untouchable. Artisan had said as much.
"Do you think you can win?"
I stopped walking and stared up at the moon.
"Yeah," I said. "I think I can."
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