The silence between Red and Nishimura stretched until the old detective was left staring across the desk with his jaw slightly open, his eyes fixed on Red as though he was still waiting for the younger man to laugh and admit the whole thing had been some tasteless joke.
"D-did you just say the Tojo Clan?" he asked at last, the words coming out more carefully than usual.
Red arched an eyebrow. "Yeeeah?" he replied, drawing the word out as he studied Nishimura's expression. "Seriously, why do ya look so damned spooked? Everybody knows the Tojo Clan's a bona fide yakuza outfit, oldest and biggest in the country, so I figured that part wouldn't exactly knock ya socks off."
"More than a decade ago, sure," Nishimura said, leaning forward as his shock sharpened into something closer to warning. "Back then, they were yakuza through and through, and I know that better than most because I was part of the investigations that brought down the former chairman. The man served time behind bars, but after Agnes Takao was named Chairwoman, she turned the whole organization around and dragged it into the legitimate world."
He gestured with one hand, his mustache shifting as his mouth tightened. "She made speeches, issued mission statements, restructured the companies, and now the Tojo Group has its fingers in transportation, medicine, logistics, real estate, finance, and even technology. They are even listed on the Tokyo Stock Exchange, and when the tsunami hit years ago, they poured billions into aid, reconstruction, housing, hospitals, and relief for families who had lost everything."
"They're also the URA's largest sponsor, with its name and logo plastered across practically every racetrack, advertisement, and promotional campaign in the country. Hell, even Tokyo Tracen runs on their dime," Nishimura continued. "Furthermore, Takao's real tight with Chairwoman Akikawa and Sonozaki, the respective heads of Tracen and the URA."
Nishimura's gaze drifted toward the takeout bags piled along the edge of the desk, their paper sides crumpled and darkened with grease while empty cardboard containers and bamboo skewers strained against the plastic bag holding them together. The black UMAI logo remained clearly visible across the front.
"And fun fact," he said, tipping his head toward the trash. "That delivery app nearly everyone in this whole damned precinct lives on? UMAI?"
Red followed his gaze to the bag before looking back at him.
"That's a Tojo Group subsidiary."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're shittin' me."
Nishimura slowly shook his head. "Like I said, it's all legit, which is why I'm going to ask you again."
His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke continued, words carried the hard edge of a veteran detective who knew exactly how dangerous careless accusations could become. "Are you absolutely certain about what you are claiming, or did you pull this straight out of your ass? Because I am telling you now, unless you have solid facts, that is the kind of thing you keep to yourself, because Takao is treated like a saint in Tokyo, and that is not even counting the people who still worship her from back when she used to run."
"Jesus Christ, Nishi, slow down for a second, will ya?" Red said, his expression faltering for the first time as he lifted both hands slightly. "Yeah, I know what I said, and yeah, I'll admit I ain't exactly sittin' on a signed confession with Takao's fingerprints all over it, but she's been on INTERPOL's watchlist for a while now, and the Tojo Clan ain't the only one suspected of holdin' a seat at the Table."
He leaned forward, tapping a finger against the desk as he continued, "You got the Sun On Yee, the Rakyat, the Commission, the Ruska Roma, the Camorra, and that's just off the top of my head, because when you're in C.H.A.S.E., you end up workin' hand in hand with the kinda people who spend their whole lives lookin' into this shadow-government criminal bullshit."
"That may be true," Nishimura said, though his tone did not soften, "but like I told you, keep it to yourself unless your facts are straight, because airing this kind of accusation without proof will not just make people angry, it will make them defensive."
His gaze flicked briefly toward the office door, as though half-expecting someone to be listening on the other side. "A lot of officers in Tokyo P.D. either have family or know someone who received aid from the Tojo Group after disasters, after injuries, or after deaths in the line of duty. Takao set up funds for widows, children, injured officers, and entire neighborhoods that the government was too slow or couldn't care less to help, and many people in uniform benefited from it."
Red raised an eyebrow. "Sounds a whole lot less noble and a whole lot more like payin' off the boys in blue."
"Maybe," Nishimura replied, his expression tightening because he could not dismiss the point completely, "but whether it is noble, strategic, or both does not change the fact that she is not only liked and respected, but loved."
He pointed toward Red. "You already have those two clowns, Okabe and Narukami, looking for any excuse to turn the department against you and Lightning, so the last thing you need is to start throwing Takao's name around and make half of Tokyo P.D. decide you are spitting on someone who helped their families."
Red held his gaze for a moment, the irritation on his face slowly giving way to reluctant understanding.
"I'm not calling you a liar," Nishimura continued, spreading one hand in a measured gesture. "From your point of view, yes, I can see how the pieces fit together, and after everything you have shown me tonight, I would be a fool to pretend there is nothing there. But until you have something solid enough to survive daylight, keep it quiet, keep it clean, and for God's sake, keep it on the down-low."
"Alright, alright, sheesh," Red said, lifting both hands slightly. "And while we're makin' a list of things that don't need to get back to Lightning, you can add my thoughts on Takao to it, because she ain't exactly thrilled about those either, especially considerin' the old lady's Melody's grandma."
"And I don't blame her," Nishimura replied, his expression tightening as he pushed himself back from the desk. "You're already ass deep in one grave, and the last thing you need right now is to start digging more holes in places where you have no business putting a shovel."
He gestured toward the files, the photographs, and the ugly spread of evidence covering Red's desk. "Keep your eyes on the Stakes, because that's where your priorities belong, and while you are at it, clean this mess up, put it through a damned shredder, then take whatever is left out back, and set it on fire."
Nishimura rose to his feet and smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt with both hands, as though forcing himself back into the shape of a detective after hearing far more than he had expected to learn before dawn. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going back to my desk, where I may take a shot or five from my trusty desk whiskey and pretend, for at least ten minutes, that this conversation did not happen."
He stepped around the chair and turned toward the door, though he stopped with his hand near the knob and looked back at Red one last time.
"On second thought," Nishimura said, his face twisting with exhausted disbelief, "maybe I will just go straight to the bar instead, because after what I learned tonight, I think I could use a whole damned bottle."
With that, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving the office to fall briefly quiet behind him as the latch clicked shut.
Red remained alone for several minutes, staring at the closed door while the weight of everything he and Nishimura had discussed settled around him like cigarette smoke trapped in a room without an open window. His gaze eventually returned to the files scattered across his desk, but instead of offering the vindication he had expected when he began his investigation, the photographs and reports seemed to stare back at him with an accusation of their own, filling him with far more regret than satisfaction.
His attention drifted toward the far edge of the desk, where he reached beneath a stack of papers and uncovered a photograph framed in dark wood. It showed an older man dressed in white shirt and black slacks, his black tie hanging loosely around his neck as he crouched beside a young boy wearing a baseball jersey. The boy rested a bat across one shoulder and grinned proudly at the camera, while the man beside him wore the unmistakable smile of a father who believed his son could become anything he wanted. A faint smile touched Red's lips as he studied the photograph.
His old man had once been the pride of the NYPD, carrying on a family tradition that stretched back through generations of career officers, including Red's grandfather and great-grandfather, the latter of whom had served as commissioner in his day. However, like his father before him, Red had inherited a relentless curiosity that refused to leave buried truths alone, and it had eventually driven the older Harlow to uncover secrets he had never been meant to discover, secrets that had ultimately become his undoing.
Perhaps that was why Red could not stop thinking about Logan Deschain, a man tossed into a maximum security facility without so much as a parking ticket to his name and found himself amongst some of the most dangerous criminals alive. There were almost no official records of the violence Logan had endured, most likely because the warden had buried every incident under Rourke's orders, but whatever had happened behind those walls had changed him. The man who had once conquered the racetrack had been cast into hell, conquered that as well, and emerged from it transformed into someone far more dangerous than the man who had entered.
As much as Red hated to admit it, some part of him regarded that transformation with reluctant awe. Rourke had possessed wealth, influence, powerful allies, and the protection of men willing to pervert the law for their own gain, yet Logan had found a way to ensure that he would never again live beneath the heel of someone like him. He had remade himself into a man who answered to no one, feared no one, and would never again be helpless before those who believed their power made them untouchable. From that point forward, men like Rourke would be the ones who lived in fear of him.
Red drew a slow breath, reached for the music player, and cranked the volume back up until the guitars and drums filled the office again, drowning out the silence as he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and let his head rest against the wall behind him.
[Linkin Park – QWERTY]
****
The rising sun carried with it the promise of a new day, casting amber light across the glass and chrome towers lining Tokyo's skyline and lending the city a fleeting warmth despite the biting chill of autumn. Remnants of the previous night's storm still clung to browning leaves and gathered in shallow pools across the pavement, while the smell of damp earth mingled with traffic fumes as the city stirred to life. Metro stations and bus stops filled with salarymen bracing themselves for another day at the office, alongside students wrapped in autumn uniforms and scarves against the morning cold.
Much of the conversation among those students concerned the approaching final examinations before school closed for winter break. The valedictorians and high achievers carried themselves with practiced confidence, while others appeared either remarkably unconcerned or one poor grade away from a complete mental collapse.
Nowhere was that mixture of confidence and anxiety more apparent than at Tracen Academy. Although Tracen was renowned as Japan's premier national academy for umas, it remained, first and foremost, a school whose students were expected to prepare for lives beyond the racetrack. Those who discovered that racing was not their calling could pursue careers in research and development, designing equipment and racing silks for future competitors, while others could study administration, marketing, social sciences, management, or training. The track might have represented the dream that brought most of them through Tracen's gates, but it was not the only future awaiting them.
Belno Light had recently become proof of that possibility. As Tracen's first uma trainer in a profession traditionally dominated by humans, the academy's newest sub-trainer had already inspired a growing number of students who had begun to see her not merely as a curiosity, but as someone whose path they might one day follow.
The first bell rang across the grounds as Tazuna Hayakawa stood beside the main gates, greeting every arriving student with the same warm smile. As Chairwoman Akikawa's secretary and most trusted aide, she had long since become as familiar a presence at Tracen as the academy's clock tower or the thunder of runners on the practice track.
Symboli Rudolf approached amid the steady flow of students, her lavender eyes following a group of first-years who hurried through the gates before the bell could catch them outside. A quiet smile touched her lips as the cool breeze moved through her waist-length hair, though the tightening of her hand around her bag strap betrayed the weight pressing against her chest.
She would be graduating next year, not only from Tracen Academy but also from the office of Student Council President, a position she had occupied for so long, and with such uncontested authority, that imagining anyone else seated behind that desk felt strangely unnatural. Before long, however, another student would inherit the title and all the burdens that accompanied it.
Rudolf chuckled as she remembered the recent speculation shared by Maruzensky, Narita Brian, and Air Groove, which closely echoed the gossip circulating throughout the student body. Tokai Teio and Mejiro McQueen had emerged as the leading candidates, rekindling a rivalry that had begun during their racing careers and now threatened to carry itself into student politics.
As Rudolf reached the gates, Tazuna met her gaze and offered a courteous bow. "Good morning, Kaicho-san. I am pleased to see that you have been keeping well."
"Good morning, Tazuna-san," Rudolf replied, returning the bow with equal grace. "I trust that everything is in order this morning."
"As much as it ever is, Rudolf-san," Tazuna said, folding her hands neatly before her as her expression grew more concerned. "Akikawa-sama has been rather overwhelmed lately. Between the end of the Shūka Shō and everything that has been happening throughout the city, she has had very little opportunity to rest. Her most recent meeting with Governor Omura was apparently quite tense as well."
"Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, Tazuna-san, but Governor Omura has never struck me as the most pleasant of individuals," Rudolf replied, her expression hardening at the memory. "I still remember our first meeting, and if oiliness were ever given a human face, I suspect it would look remarkably like his."
"I cannot entirely fault you for reaching that conclusion," Tazuna admitted before allowing a brighter smile to return in an effort to steer the conversation toward more pleasant ground. "Still, it is difficult to believe that you are finally approaching graduation. I never imagined I would live to see the day when the legendary Emperor prepared to pass through these gates for the last time."
Rudolf answered with a small but weary smile as her gaze wandered beyond the gates toward the academy's main building. "I must admit that it will require a considerable adjustment. It feels like a lifetime has passed since I first took my seat in the Student Council office, and the thought of waking each morning without putting on this uniform or reviewing the day's responsibilities will take some getting used to."
"I imagine it will," Tazuna said. "If you do not mind my asking, Rudolf-san, have you decided what you intend to do after leaving Tracen?"
"I have given the matter some thought, although I have not reached a final decision," Rudolf replied. "I am considering enrolling at a college or university, and Grandfather has suggested that I continue my studies overseas, perhaps in London, Berlin, or Paris. Afterward, I may follow Speed-neesama's example and pursue a position within the URA's administration, although there are still several possibilities I would like to explore before committing myself."
Her ears twitched as another gust passed through the gates, and Tazuna regarded her with a fondness that carried more sadness than either woman wished to acknowledge.
"Tracen will feel very lonely without you, Rudolf-san, and I am certain Teio-san would agree," Tazuna said, tapping one finger thoughtfully against her cheek before leaning closer with a playful glint in her eyes. "Of course, I am sure you have already heard that she has begun eyeing your chair, although she will not be claiming it without competition."
"Oh, I am well aware of the rumors," Rudolf replied with a light laugh. "As fond as I am of Teio, however, I must refrain from endorsing any candidate. It would be rather unbecoming for the outgoing president to place her thumb upon the scale and risk appearing partisan."
"A sensible answer, as expected from the Emperor," Tazuna said as she adjusted her hat. "In any case, I should not keep you from your duties. It promises to be another demanding day at Tracen, particularly with the Kikuka-shō approaching. Several trainers have been working their teams especially hard, and I hear Trainer Okino has scarcely left the training grounds."
"I would expect nothing less from him," Rudolf replied with a smile. "I will see you later, Tazuna-san."
She had just begun walking through the gates when Tazuna called after her. "Oh, speaking of trainers, Rudolf-san, it appears that the academy's newest faculty member has finally arrived."
Rudolf paused and glanced back, curiosity stirring in her lavender eyes. "Oh? I was unaware that Tracen accepted new trainers this late in the academic year."
"Akikawa-sama apparently made an exception in this case," Tazuna explained. "In fact, the two of them are likely meeting at this very moment, so perhaps you will be fortunate enough to encounter him later." A faint blush touched her cheeks before she added, with considerably less official composure, "I probably should not be saying this, but he is rather handsome."
Rudolf laughed softly at the admission. "Now you have succeeded in making me curious. Have a pleasant day, Tazuna-san."
Tazuna waved as Rudolf continued along the path toward the courtyard, passing streams of umas hurrying between buildings as the final minutes before class slipped away. Some greeted her respectfully as they passed, while others offered enthusiastic waves, and Rudolf acknowledged each of them with the calm smile expected of the academy's president.
She had nearly reached the path leading toward the Student Council office when something at the edge of the courtyard caught her attention and brought her to a halt.
Her ears twitched as she looked back, and her lavender eyes settled upon a GT-R parked beneath the morning sun. Its black carbon-fiber bodywork gleamed against the pale courtyard, while heavily tinted windows concealed the interior from view. Rudolf found herself studying its low frame, broad tires, and sharply raised spoiler with an unease she could neither explain nor dismiss.
The other umas passing nearby appeared to feel it as well. Their conversations quieted as they approached the vehicle, and several cast wary glances toward it before quickening their pace, reacting as though it were less a parked automobile than some powerful beast lying motionless while it waited for the right moment to awaken.
Rudolf continued staring for several seconds, troubled by the inexplicable sense of familiarity stirring somewhere beyond the reach of conscious memory. She finally released a quiet breath, forced her attention away from the car, and resumed her walk toward the Student Council office, although the uneasy feeling followed close behind her.
****
The warmth of the midday sun did little to drive away the lingering chill, and although the lunch bell drew most of Tracen's students toward the comfort of the dining hall, Melody chose to remain outside, where she could escape the crush of bodies, the endless drone of conversation, and the bright-eyed first-years staring in disbelief as Oguri-senpai assembled yet another tower of croquettes that seemed destined to reach the ceiling.
She settled upon a bench beneath one of the campus trees, allowing the rustling leaves and swaying branches to fill the quiet around her with a gentle cadence. Beyond the bench, the steady pounding of running shoes against the turf rolled across the training grounds as groups of umas raced around the track, their breathing and footfalls rising and falling beneath the sharp calls of trainers along the sidelines.
Many of them had been training since morning in preparation for the upcoming Kikuka-shō, with several trainers stationed beside the fence to record their times and study every stride. Like Melody, none of the hopefuls competing that year remained in contention for the Triple Crown, but the chance to claim a G1 title was more than enough to keep them pushing through aching muscles and exhausted lungs. Her crimson gaze wandered across the trainers gathered near the track, briefly recognizing Trainer Jo, Trainer Okino, and Trainer Yasutoshi, the young woman whose work with Diamond-senpai had helped shape a new generation of Satonos.
Her attention, however, was not truly fixed upon the training.
With wireless earphones nestled securely in her ears, Melody kept her smartphone low upon her lap as she watched an interview between Midnight Queen and the MRA's newest virtual host, Nyami Hisoka. The animated catgirl bounced around the screen with such irrepressible enthusiasm that Melody could not suppress an occasional chuckle, particularly whenever Nyami's exaggerated movements sent her digital ears and tail flailing in opposite directions.
Even so, Melody repeatedly glanced up from the screen and surveyed the courtyard, checking for passing faculty members, nearby students, or anyone curious enough to peer over her shoulder. A persistent warning continued to gnaw at the back of her mind, reminding her that watching an MRA broadcast through its forbidden app while sitting on Tracen grounds was an astonishingly poor decision. If anyone discovered what she was doing, whether a teacher, a trainer, or even another student, the consequences could end her racing career before it had any chance to reach its peak.
Despite knowing the risk, Melody lowered her gaze to the interview once more, adjusted the volume in her earphones, and continued watching, because curiosity had already tightened its grip upon her far more firmly than caution.
"Midnight-san, Midnight-san," Nyami began as her animated catgirl model bounced excitedly beside the window displaying Midnight Queen's live feed. "You're currently, like, the number-one rookie in the entire MRA, with more than fifty wins across the Quartz, Sapphire, Emerald, and Diamond divisions, including two or three Diamond titles already. You've also broken over a dozen records on practically every kind of course, from asphalt and dirt to drag strips and highways, which is seriously wild."
Her digital ears perked while her tail swayed eagerly behind her. "There have been, like, tons of rumors that you're planning to challenge the Blacklist sometime soon, so is there anything you can tell us about that?"
Queen steepled her fingers and considered the question before answering. "As much as I would like to confirm those rumors, the decision ultimately belongs to my trainer. I have trusted his judgment since the night I entered the MRA, and everything I have accomplished since then has been possible because of his guidance." A fond smile crossed her lips as she added, "In truth, I would not be sitting here today without him."
"Ooh, your Trainer-san sounds like the real deal," Nyami replied, her model leaning toward the screen with bright-eyed interest. "Speaking of major races, the Shibuya Stakes is happening in another week or two, and even though you've won that race before, everyone's noticed that you aren't on the entry list this time. Is there, like, a special reason you've decided to sit this one out?"
"Considering that I have already won the race and still hold its course record, I see little reason to run it again," Queen explained. "The Stakes could benefit from some fresh blood, and the last thing I want is to discourage promising newcomers before they have an opportunity to prove themselves." A knowing smile curved across her lips. "Besides, a little birdie whom everyone has been watching intends to throw her tail into the ring."
"Yes, Nightingale!" Nyami exclaimed as her animated tail flicked excitedly from side to side. "Her debut was totes amazing, and I seriously couldn't look away for even a second."
Queen leaned back in her chair, allowing the light to glint across the polished surface of her mask. "Hype has a habit of creating expectations that few racers can satisfy. Do not misunderstand me, because I welcome newcomers who can shatter records and take names, but sudden fame has a way of convincing inexperienced umas that they are invincible, and sooner or later, the course teaches them otherwise."
"That's so true, Midnight-san, especially since the Sapphire Stakes has one of the highest injury and casualty rates in the MRA," Nyami said, her model's tail suddenly puffing up as the animation exaggerated her concern. "The lineup is totally stacked this year too, with Rekka Blaze, Yamino Breaker, and even the infamous Captain Barbarossa taking part. Since she keeps calling herself your greatest rival, what is she actually like?"
"Barbarossa possesses an undeniable flair for spectacle, but beneath all that presentation is a formidable racer whose victories were not earned through theatrics alone," Queen replied as she folded her arms. "If I were forced to choose a favorite for this year's Stakes, I would place my wager on her."
"Ooh, that is, like, a seriously huge endorsement coming from you," Nyami said, although her model's energetic movements gradually settled as she turned to the question dominating the live chat. "What about Nightingale, though? Do you think she has a genuine chance of winning?"
Queen tapped her fingers against her arm while considering her response. "The diplomatic answer would be that we have only watched her compete once, which is hardly enough evidence from which to judge her true ability. However, if you want my personal opinion, especially after considering the racers she will be facing, then I am afraid she does not stand a chance."
Her gaze lifted directly toward the camera, and even through the screen, Melody felt the intensity behind it.
"And if Nightingale has any sense," Queen continued, "she will sit this one out."
"Ouch, Midnight-san is definitely not giving Nightingale a vote of confidence," Nyami replied as her model offered an awkward smile and rubbed the back of her head. "Still, stranger things have happened in the MRA, and if there's one thing these races have taught us, it's that the favorite doesn't always cross the finish line first."
"Hey, what'cha watching?"
Melody shrieked and flung her phone into the air as her ears shot upright and her tail puffed out behind her. She scrambled to catch it, fumbling twice as it bounced between her hands before finally clutching it against her chest. With her heart hammering hard enough to hurt, she ripped out her earphones and twisted around to confront the uma standing behind the bench.
"Gurren!" Melody exclaimed, her crimson eyes wide with alarm. "Don't sneak up on me like that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
Gurren answered with an unapologetic smirk as she stepped over the bench and dropped into the empty space beside her. "Hey, I'm not the one watching MRA streams in broad daylight on school grounds," she replied, her ears twitching as she glanced toward Melody's phone. "I gotta admit, though, you've got some serious stones. Even I'm not crazy enough to tune in while the faculty's wandering around, but I guess that win went straight to your head, huh?"
"It isn't like that," Melody protested, although the flush spreading across her face undermined what little conviction she managed to summon. She touched her fingertips together while her ears splayed beneath Gurren's amused stare. "I just haven't been able to stop thinking about what happened that night. I know I shouldn't be watching this here, and I kept telling myself to close the app, but I couldn't help myself."
Gurren chuckled and leaned back against the bench. "God, would ya look at that? Tracen's little saint has finally gone bad, which means I really must be a bad influence." She shook her head, though the teasing soon gave way to understanding. "I get it, though, because once you've felt what it's like out there, regular racing doesn't hit the same anymore. You were watching Queen's interview, weren't you?"
Melody's ears immediately perked as embarrassment gave way to excitement. "I was, and I still can't believe how incredible she is. I watched her race at the Kagetōge Kudari, and the way she moved through those corners was unlike anything I've ever seen. I didn't even know an uma could race like that."
"Tell me about it," Gurren replied, drawing a sharp breath before releasing it through her nose. "I'd give damn near anything to pull off half the moves Queen does, but the Twinkle Series would probably ban us for life for even thinking about trying." Her mouth tightened into a dissatisfied pout as her ears flicked backward. "That's the problem with sanctioned racing. Everything's so controlled, polished, and damned predictable that sometimes it feels like they're trainin' the life outta us."
She nudged Melody with her shoulder and allowed her smirk to return. "Besides, Queen wasn't the only one pulling flashy moves lately. That stunt you pulled during the Shūka Shō had half the girls watching with their jaws on the floor."
Melody's cheeks flushed even brighter as she rubbed the back of her head and offered a nervous grin. "Please, Gurren, it wasn't anything special. I only did what I had to do."
Gurren scoffed and pinched the bridge of her nose as though Melody's modesty had caused her physical pain. "Sweet tea and mochi, you seriously need to learn how to strut once in a while," she said, sweeping one hand toward Melody as he tail whipped behind her. "You bagged yourself a G1, which is more than some girls manage during their entire time at Tracen, so the least you can do is grow a spine, hold your head high, and rub it in people's faces every now and then. You earned that victory, so start acting like it."
"Hana-trainer did say that developing a little more of an ego might be good for me," Melody admitted, her fingers curling around the edge of her phone. "I just don't know if I can be loud and proud about everything without feeling as though I'm pretending to be someone I'm not."
"And that's exactly why people don't take you as seriously as they should," Gurren replied, rolling her eyes. "Whether you like it or not, you're a G1 champion now, and you didn't just scrape through by the skin of your teeth either. You humiliated some of the biggest rising stars from Honnōji and Teikoku in front of the entire country, which means you're big game now. When next season comes around, you can bet your tail that every ambitious racer looking to make a name for herself will be gunning straight for you."
"Wait, what?" Melody's crimson eyes widened as her ears stiffened in alarm. "But I didn't mean to humiliate anyone. I was only trying to run my race, and I'm not even—"
"Jeez, relax, would ya?" Gurren interrupted, raising both hands before Melody could spiral any further. "Honestly, the way you carry on, anyone would think you were actually raised in a convent."
Melody's blush deepened as she turned away, her shoulders shifting awkwardly beneath Gurren's amused stare.
"Anyway," Gurren continued, clearing her throat as she glanced toward the phone still resting in Melody's hands, "what's the deal with that Vtuber the MRA's got on its payroll, Nyami Hisoka? The whole thing feels painfully cringe, like some suit decided the best way to drag more otaku into the MRA was to slap cat ears on a bubbly avatar and teach her every piece of gyaru slang they could find."
"I think she's kind of cute," Melody replied as she looked down at the frozen image of Nyami on the screen. "Not to mention, there's something about the way she talks and moves that feels strangely familiar, almost as though I've met her before, but I can't quite put my finger on why."
"Well, to each their own, I suppose," Gurren said, giving Melody one last skeptical look before rising from the bench and turning to face her. "That being said, I'm moving up to the big leagues next season, so you'd better get used to seeing me chasing your tail around the track." A competitive grin spread across her face as she pointed directly at Melody. "After what I saw at the Shūka Shō, you can count me among the girls who'll be coming for you on the turf."
Melody stared back at her with a puzzled expression, her head tilting as her ears twitched.
Gurren rolled her eyes and planted one hand against her hip. "For the love of, do I seriously have to spell everything out for you? I'm saying that I'm going to be your rival, and when we finally race against each other, I'm gonna leave you choking on my dust."
"Oh," Melody murmured as understanding slowly dawned upon her, followed by an enthusiastic, "Oh!" Her entire expression brightened as she nodded eagerly. "I can't wait."
Gurren's grin widened, although it faltered when Melody's excitement settled into a more confident smirk.
"You'd better bring everything you have, though," Melody continued, lifting her gaze to meet Gurren's. "Next year, I'm going after the Triple Crown, and I won't stop until I've become a champion just like my mother."
"Now you're finally getting it!" Gurren exclaimed, laughing as she pointed approvingly at Melody. "That's the spark I've been trying to drag out of you."
Melody rose from the bench with renewed enthusiasm, although her confidence quickly gave way to caution as she glanced around the courtyard to make certain no one had wandered close enough to overhear them. "And, um, are you and the other girls planning to get together for the Stakes?"
Gurren raised an eyebrow as though the question itself were absurd. "Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss it for the world, although this time I'm thinking we should watch it somewhere Fuji-senpai won't be able to walk in on us."
"Oh?" Melody's ears perked with immediate curiosity. "Where did you have in mind?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Gurren replied, her grin taking on a secretive edge. "For now, all I'm gonna tell you is that it'll be a surprise."
"Now I really can't wait," Melody said, her face brightening with a grin as her tail swayed eagerly behind her.
Gurren folded her arms and shook her head, though the pleased smile tugging at her lips betrayed any regret she might have pretended to feel. "Sweet tea and mochi, I really am a bad influence on you, aren't I?"
Melody tried to suppress her laughter, but the effort lasted only a moment before Gurren joined her, and soon both girls were laughing together beneath the rustling branches, their earlier secrecy briefly forgotten amid the distant thunder of runners circling the training track.
****
At the edge of the training track, the pounding of running shoes against the turf carried enough force to send faint tremors through the ground, each passing group dragging a rush of wind behind them as they tore down the course. Kitahara Jo stood near the fence with his eyes fixed upon the glowing digits of his stopwatch, following his trainee as she swept around the final bend and accelerated into the straight.
He wore a white shirt beneath a brown blazer with matching slacks and polished loafers, an appearance he had adopted after beginning his career at Tracen, although no amount of professional refinement could persuade him to abandon his favorite beret. It remained perched firmly upon his head as he tracked every stride, measuring the narrowing distance against the milliseconds climbing across the display.
His heartbeat quickened while his jaw tightened, the anticipation and adrenaline stirring memories of the first race he had witnessed as a boy from the grandstands at Kasamatsu. That afternoon had awakened something within him, although the hardships that followed eventually buried the feeling beneath years he preferred not to remember.
Then racing had found him again, reigniting a passion that he had refused to relinquish ever since.
Now, for the first time in years, Jo stood at the heart of Tokyo Tracen as a National Trainer with a champion already attached to his name, a legend woven into his career, and another opportunity to give the world a star worth remembering. The thought should have filled him with nothing but pride, yet a shiver still crept down his spine whenever he considered the enormity of the challenge he had accepted.
His newest trainee possessed enough talent to conquer any track in Japan, but managing everything that accompanied that talent had begun to make him wonder whether he had finally reached beyond his limits and whether, for once, listening to his uncle might have spared him considerable trouble. The approaching uma surged past in a blur of black and gray, and Jo pressed the button on his stopwatch as the wind from her passage tugged at his clothes.
"Time!" he called, watching her reduce her pace before circling back toward him, her long hair flowing behind her in broad waves while her fluffy ears twitched above the yellow coloring of their inner fur. "Great run," Jo said as she accepted a towel and wiped the sweat from her forehead. "Take five minutes to catch your breath, and then we'll go again."
"Yes, Trainer-san." The uma straightened and gave a short bow in response.
His encouraging smile faltered slightly when her lilac eyes settled upon him, carrying the unmistakable impression that she had already identified every weakness in the training plan and was merely waiting to see whether he would notice them himself.
"I see your trainee is in excellent condition, Kitahara-san."
Jo glanced over his shoulder and found Hana approaching with her tablet tucked against one arm.
"Hana-senpai, it's good to see you," he greeted, offering her a courteous nod. "Congratulations on the win. Please extend my congratulations to Melody-chan as well, and apologize on my behalf for not telling her in person. I haven't seen much of her around campus lately."
"There's no need for that," Hana replied with a soft smile. "She has been away from school for most of the past week, and between the interviews, press conferences, and constant attention following her victory, I decided she needed time to recover before returning to her usual schedule."
She adjusted her glasses while glancing toward the track. "None of my other girls had ever generated this much public interest, although Melody was always likely to be an exception because of her rather famous parentage."
"I can only imagine what that must be like," Jo said as he slipped the stopwatch into his pocket. "Being the daughter of Kadokawa Hornet, an undefeated two-time Triple Crown champion, would be enough to place the entire racing world on your shoulders before you ever reached the starting gate." A wistful smile crossed his face. "I can barely imagine having my name associated with one uma of that caliber, never mind fifteen of them."
"You already have one, which means you only need fourteen more," Hana replied with a quiet laugh.
Jo turned toward her with an expression that immediately betrayed what he intended to say, prompting Hana to roll her eyes and raise one finger before he could begin. "And before you start making excuses about your age or experience, remember that your uncle Musaka is pushing eighty and still produces champions."
Jo blinked before conceding the point with a defeated shake of his head. "Alright, you got me there."
Hana's attention shifted toward the young uma standing several meters away, who continued drying her forehead while pretending not to listen. "I have always considered you a man who welcomes a challenge, but even so, I never expected you to choose her." Her gaze sharpened behind her glasses. "Dream Journey, Orfevre's older sister, has a reputation for being rather difficult."
"That may be the kindest description anyone has ever given me," Jo admitted with a nervous grin.
His eyes returned to his trainee just as her ears flicked in his direction, confirming that she had heard every word despite the distance between them. "Still, her temperament doesn't change what she can accomplish. She possesses every bit as much talent as her sister, and with Fumino's guidance supporting our training, I'm confident she can become the champion she was always meant to be."
"Keep moving, and don't lose your pace!"
Jo and Hana turned toward the shout and spotted Okino gesturing from the sidelines while one of his trainees continued sprinting around the course. His posture carried considerably more tension than usual, and even from a distance, the strain upon his face was difficult to miss.
"Is it just me," Jo asked, "or does Okino-senpai seem more stressed than usual today?"
Hana pinched the bridge of her nose before answering. "I warned him that he should have intensified his preparations sooner, but the man has an unfortunate habit of slacking off almost as badly as Gold Ship. Somehow, however, his methods continue producing results, because Spica remains one of Tracen's strongest teams despite the chaos surrounding it."
She sighed and glanced back toward Okino. "Perhaps he would feel less pressure if he exercised the same discipline with his finances, because then he might not be perpetually broke."
"Really?" Jo asked, raising an eyebrow. "Roppei told me most of his money goes to his family. Apparently, they grew up in terrible poverty, so now he spends almost everything he earns making sure his mother never has to live that way again." He chuckled softly. "He may take it a little too far sometimes, but I'm hardly in a position to judge him for that."
"Perhaps not," Hana conceded before allowing the subject to pass. "By the way, have you heard that another trainer will be joining the academy?"
"Roppei mentioned something about it, although he was unusually vague," Jo replied, his expression turning thoughtful. "It almost seemed as though he knew exactly who the man was but refused to tell me, which isn't like him at all. If anything, he appeared disturbed by the news, but I couldn't persuade him to give me a name."
"I haven't heard a name either, although I expect the official memorandum will be circulated soon," Hana said. "From the fragments I have gathered around campus, he is Japanese, spent a considerable number of years working overseas, and returns with an impressive professional record."
Jo released a weary sigh and rubbed the back of his head. "Wonderful, another celebrated trainer for me to compete against, as though the field weren't crowded enough already. Between you, Okino-senpai, Fumino-senpai, Kiryu-senpai, and everyone else Tracen has collected, I'm beginning to wonder whether I'll ever reach the top."
"Have patience, Jo, and stop judging yourself as though your career has already reached its conclusion," Hana replied, amusement softening her expression. "Richard Gunn, the Oracle of Strider, began his career at roughly your age, and you only need to look at what he eventually accomplished."
Jo regarded her with a flat stare. "You're comparing me to the one trainer many people consider greater than the Hand of God himself, Hana-senpai, which is considerably more intimidating than inspiring."
Hana offered a small shrug, although the weariness behind the gesture suggested that Jo's frustration was more familiar to her than he realized. "Now you understand how I feel whenever the media declares that I am the trainer most likely to succeed him," she said, her gaze drifting toward the runners circling the track. "I have trained what many consider the greatest lineup in Tracen's history, including the Emperor herself, yet whenever people attempt to place me upon the throne Deschain left vacant, I cannot help feeling that everything I have accomplished still falls short."
Jo's expression softened as he recognized the weight hidden beneath her reputation, while Hana adjusted her glasses and continued, "Do not misunderstand me, because Rudolf, Taiki, Hishi, Maru, and Brian are extraordinary champions who have earned their places in racing history. Even so, I believe every one of them would feel the same inadequacy I do if they were measured against the Godly Fifteen."
A faint, rueful smile crossed her lips. "The Hand Of God remains the summit that trainers across the world aspire to reach, but I have no desire to spend the rest of my career chasing his shadow, and frankly, I am content never inheriting his crown."
"I understand," Jo replied. "For what it's worth, I'm not gonna argue with anyone who calls you the greatest trainer of our generation, because you've accomplished more than Roppei-san, Hidehito, and nearly every trainer working in Japan today. You've built a reputation that could inspire anybody entering this profession, even if the comparisons make it difficult for you to appreciate what you've already done."
He chuckled as he glanced toward the track. "Besides, I'm sure even the old man knows he'll never live up to someone like Deschain, and there isn't anything wrong with that. Not all of us were meant to become gods, and personally, I'd settle for somebody remembering to leave flowers on my grave when I'm gone."
"That is morbid at best," Hana replied, regarding him with a level stare before the corner of her mouth softened. "However, I understand what you are trying to say, even if your choice of metaphor leaves considerable room for improvement."
Jo drew a deep breath and slipped the stopwatch from his pocket as Journey returned to the starting position. "Well, I suppose we'd better get back to work. If you don't mind staying for another run, Senpai, I could use a fresh set of eyes, especially when those eyes belong to Tracen's legendary Iron Maiden."
Hana rolled her eyes as she repositioned the tablet beneath her arm. "Honestly, I must remind myself to strike Okino over the head for burdening me with that ridiculous nickname."
"And that's exactly how Roppei-san feels whenever somebody calls him the Fairy Godfather," Jo replied with a chuckle, and several paces away, Okino suddenly sneezed so loudly that his startled trainee nearly broke stride.
****
Rudolf stepped into the Student Council office and released a quiet breath as her ears twitched above her head. Beyond the tall windows behind the broad presidential desk, the descending sun washed the room in amber and gold, stretching long shadows across the polished floor and filling the familiar office with the subdued warmth of late afternoon.
Her lavender eyes wandered toward the clock, whose hands had scarcely passed four, although the daylight was already beginning to fade with the changing season. Rudolf had always favored autumn, partly because her unusually fluffy ears protected her from the chill better than those of most umas, but her fondness for the season ran deeper than mere comfort.
The sight of amber leaves drifting past the windows stirred memories of quiet afternoons spent outdoors with him, when she would rest her head against his arm and listen to the soft scratching of graphite while he filled page after page of his journal. He would occasionally mouth the words as he wrote, speaking thoughts she had been too young to understand, but Rudolf had never cared what they meant because simply being beside him had been enough.
Before she could venture farther into the office, a pair of excited whispers drifted through the open doorway from several students passing in the corridor.
"Hey, did you see the new trainer?" one of them asked, barely containing her enthusiasm. "He's so handsome!"
"Do you think he'll start scouting soon?" her companion replied. "I'd die if he invited me onto his team."
Rudolf raised an eyebrow at their retreating footsteps before shaking her head and closing the door behind her. Only then did she notice the soothing scent of chamomile lingering in the room, and when she lifted her gaze, she found three familiar umas already gathered near the plush couch.
"Honestly, I still can't believe Melody managed to pull off a maneuver like that," Narita Brian said, her long black hair bound in a ponytail with braided cords of ginger, orange, and white.
She stood beside the couch with her arms folded and a blade of grass resting between her lips as she considered the controversy surrounding the Shūka Shō. "I don't know how the American racing authorities would interpret it, but under our rules, she came dangerously close to being disqualified. Hana-trainer said the stewards argued over the footage for days before deciding that she hadn't technically broken any regulations."
"I doubt she will attempt anything so reckless again, Brian-san," Air Groove replied from her place upon the couch, the yellow ribbon at the base of her left ear shifting as she lifted her teacup. After taking a measured sip, she returned it to its saucer with a quiet click. "Hana-trainer gave her quite an earful, and so did I after learning how badly she had injured herself. Honestly, this generation appears determined to shorten my life through sheer recklessness."
"Ara, Groove-san, perhaps you should not judge them too harshly," Maruzensky said with an amused smile as she poured another cup of tea. "I seem to recall that you were quite the maverick during your earlier years on the track, especially whenever someone suggested that a particular challenge was beyond your ability."
A flush spread across Groove's cheeks as she straightened in her seat. "That was different, Maru," she insisted before clearing her throat and directing the conversation elsewhere. "In any case, I hope Melody continues her ascent, because she has already demonstrated enough potential to accomplish something remarkable." Her expression softened as she looked toward Brian. "Perhaps she may even follow in the footsteps of you, Kaicho-san, and her mother."
The corner of Brian's mouth lifted. "Even so, neither Kaicho nor I can claim to be two-time Triple Crown champions."
"Well, perhaps we should both come out of retirement and try again," Rudolf remarked with a quiet laugh as all three umas turned toward her.
"Kaicho," Maruzensky greeted, tilting her head as she studied Rudolf's tired expression. "Long day?"
"You could certainly describe it that way," Rudolf replied as she crossed the office. "Final examinations are approaching, while preparations for the Kikuka-shō and Arima Kinen have placed half the academy under considerable strain." Her gaze moved across the faces of her closest companions before she added, "Then, of course, our impending graduation."
The mention of it softened every expression in the room, replacing their earlier amusement with a quiet melancholy none of them could entirely conceal.
"I'll admit that Tracen is going to feel terribly lonely without you here, Kaicho," Brian said as her golden eyes passed from Rudolf to Maruzensky and Groove. "Without any of you, for that matter. It feels as though we only walked through those gates yesterday, and now we're already discussing the day we'll leave them behind."
"I suppose our next order of business should be deciding what we intend to do once we finally walk out of Tracen for the last time," Groove said, offering a solemn smile despite the sadness behind it.
Maruzensky looked between them before releasing a gentle sigh, then lifted a teacup and saucer from the table and carried them toward Rudolf. "Now, now, let's not burden ourselves with questions that don't require immediate answers," she said as Rudolf accepted the tea with a grateful nod. "The graduation ceremony is still a whole year away, which leaves us plenty of time to decide where we wish to go next. Until then, we should enjoy the days we still have together instead of mourning them before they are gone."
"Maru is right," Rudolf said with a nod as she lifted the teacup from its saucer. "Whatever happens after graduation, and no matter where our lives may lead us, the friendship we share will remain unchanged."
"Oh, before I forget, the new trainer stopped by the office earlier," Maruzensky said, tapping one finger thoughtfully against her chin. "Apparently, he had been hoping to meet you."
Rudolf paused with the teacup halfway to her lips, curiosity lifting one eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Perhaps he wished to introduce himself formally to the Student Council President," Air Groove suggested, though a faint crease of uncertainty appeared between her brows. "I found it rather strange, however, because he spoke as though the two of you were old friends."
"That is peculiar," Rudolf admitted with a soft sigh, settling back into her composure. "Then again, I have encountered my fair share of aspiring trainers over the years, and a handful of them have mistaken a brief exchange or some passing courtesy for something far more familiar. You know the type."
"Well, he did leave a message for you," Maruzensky continued as Rudolf finally brought the cup toward her lips. "He asked us to tell you that he looks forward to seeing you again."
"He also addressed you by a name none of us recognized," Brian added, removing the blade of grass from between her lips. "When we questioned him about it, he merely said that you would understand."
"Yes, what was the name again?" Maruzensky murmured, tilting her head until recognition brightened her eyes. "Oh, right. He called you Luna."
The teacup slipped from Rudolf's fingers, striking the floor alongside its saucer and shattering across the polished wood as fragments of porcelain scattered beneath the table. Chamomile tea spread between the broken pieces, its warmth rising into the air while every uma in the room turned toward Rudolf. She had gone completely still, her lavender eyes widened and her face drained of color as her ears stood rigid above her head and her tail straightened behind her. When she finally turned toward Maruzensky, the composed Student Council President they knew had vanished beneath an expression of naked disbelief.
"W-what did you just say?" Rudolf asked, the words trembling as she stepped closer. "That name, Maru. Did he truly call me that?"
"Kaicho-san, are you alright?" Maruzensky asked, her concern deepening as Rudolf suddenly seized both of her arms.
"Where is he now?" Rudolf demanded, urgency breaking through every trace of her usual restraint. "Tell me where he went, Maru!"
The force of her reaction left all three umas staring at her in alarm before Maruzensky managed to answer. "I think he was heading toward the courtyard, and unless he changed his plans, he should still be somewhere on campus."
Rudolf released her and whirled toward the door, crossing the office so quickly that the others scarcely had time to call after her. She wrenched it open hard enough to rattle the hinges before racing into the corridor, leaving Brian, Groove, and Maruzensky behind amid the broken porcelain and spilled tea.
Her footsteps thundered through the hallway as she accelerated toward the stairwell, her breath catching in her dry throat while her heart battered against her ribs. Students recoiled from her path and watched in astonishment as she swept past them, catching a fleeting glimpse of the Emperor who had once dominated every track she entered.
Within Rudolf's mind, however, there was no Emperor, no undefeated Triple Crown champion, and no Student Council President whose composure had carried Tracen through every crisis. There was only Luna, overwhelmed by a torrent of memories and emotions she had spent years containing, racing toward the impossible hope that someone she had lost had finally returned to her.
****
"Well, thank the heavens above that's finally over and done with," Okino declared as he approached Jo and Hana, stretching both arms toward the darkening sky until several joints cracked along his spine. With a lollipop tucked into one corner of his mouth, he rolled his neck from side to side before releasing a satisfied groan. "Seriously, I could use a cold one after all that, maybe two if the night's feelin' generous. What about you two?"
Hana pushed her glasses higher along the bridge of her nose as her expression tightened. "I may consider joining you, but only if you intend to pay your own bill this time, Okino."
"Still so stingy!" Okino exclaimed, recoiling with one leg raised in an exaggerated display of injury. "I already told you I'm gonna pay back every yen I owe you eventually." He then turned toward Jo, who was waving awkwardly as Dream Journey offered him a courteous bow before leaving the track. "How about you, Kitahara-san? You interested in rescuing me from an evening of responsible solitude?"
"Like I keep saying, Okino-senpai, you can call me Jo," he replied, rubbing the back of his head as a nervous smile crossed his face. "Still, I wouldn't mind joining you. It's been a while since I spent an evening in the city without training schedules or race footage occupying every minute."
"Then you're in luck, because I know a great place over in Roppongi," Okino said, clapping his hands together hard enough to make the lollipop stick scrape against his teeth. "It's practically a second home for half the uma trainers in Tokyo, so maybe we can convince Kiryu-san to tag along and turn this into a proper night out."
"Need I remind both of you that tomorrow is still a school day?" Hana asked, irritation tightening her jaw as she looked between them. "The last thing I need is to spend my evening dragging either of you out of some Roppongi bar before explaining to Akikawa-san why two of her trainers arrived at work smelling like a brewery."
Before Okino could defend himself, a synchronized chime and vibration sounded among the three of them. He and Jo reached into their pockets for their phones while Hana awakened the screen of her tablet, and the same faculty notification appeared across all three devices.
"Oh, the memo's finally out," Okino said, his annoyance instantly giving way to curiosity. "Alright, let's see which hotshot trainer Tracen managed to drag in this late in the year."
He opened the message, and whatever joke had been waiting behind his grin vanished before it could reach his lips. His jaw fell open as the lollipop slipped from his mouth and landed silently upon the grass, while beside him, Jo's eyes widened and the color drained from his face. Hana remained rigid, staring at the name displayed upon her tablet as the fading evening light reflected coldly across her glasses.
"H-Hana-san," Okino stammered, looking toward her as though she might somehow dismiss the announcement as an elaborate mistake. "Is that name real? Please tell me somebody's playing a joke on us."
No one answered him, because all three trainers remained frozen beneath the darkening sky, unable to look away from the name that none of them had ever expected to see attached to Tokyo Tracen.
****
Rudolf burst into the courtyard with sweat soaking through her uniform despite the autumn chill biting against her skin. Beneath the fading light of the setting sun, her lavender eyes found a solitary figure crossing the grounds toward the carbon-black GT-R parked at the far end of the courtyard. His long black overcoat stirred gently behind him in the evening breeze, while both hands remained tucked inside his pockets as though his departure from Tracen were no more significant than the end of any ordinary day.
Rudolf gritted her teeth and forced her exhausted legs forward, ignoring the fire burning through her muscles as she raced after him. Every breath scraped painfully through her throat, while tears gathered in her eyes and blurred the figure she had spent years believing she would never see again. Before the distance between them could widen any further, she stumbled to a halt and cried out with every ounce of strength remaining in her body.
"Onii-sama!"
The man stopped before reaching the car, and for several agonizing seconds, he remained motionless with his back turned toward her. Then, with the measured stillness of someone who had always known she would follow, he slowly looked over his shoulder.
Sharp greenish-gold eyes settled upon Rudolf as the dying sunlight traced the dual tones of his black and charcoal-gray hair, divided at the forehead by a crescent-shaped streak of white. His expression stoic as he drew a quiet breath and regarded the trembling young uma standing across the courtyard.
"It has been a long time… Luna."
A bitter autumn wind swept through the courtyard, scattering a flurry of amber leaves across the distance between them, and as Rudolf stood beneath his unfamiliar gaze, she realized that she had never felt colder in her life.
****
"Rufus," Hana said as she adjusted her glasses, although the darkness spreading across her expression betrayed how deeply the name had unsettled her. "Symboli… Rufus."
Jo continued staring at the announcement glowing upon his phone, scarcely able to reconcile the legendary name before him with the new trainer who had apparently joined Tokyo Tracen.
"The Kingslayer," he finished.
****
Meanwhile, within the quiet confines of his office, Musaka released a long breath as he extinguished the screen of his smartphone. He removed his sunglasses and placed them upon the desk before leaning back in his chair, his weary gaze settling upon the ceiling as though he had spent years anticipating this moment and dreading everything it would bring.
"And so it begins," Musaka murmured, his expression hardening beneath the weight of what had finally been set into motion, though the word that followed did not need to be spoken loudly to carry the full dread of its meaning. "War."
His teeth clenched as his gaze remained fixed upon the darkened screen of his phone, and when he spoke again, the bitterness in his words sounded as though it had been aging inside him for years.
"God damn you, Wada, and damn the monster you helped make."