At the Togawa Family's dining table, the light from the chandelier illuminated the exquisite tableware, making it sparkle, yet it couldn't dispel the subtle silence that permeated the air. The gentle clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates sounded exceptionally clear at this moment.
Togawa Sakiko elegantly cut the salmon steak on her plate, her light blue twin tails draped over her shoulders, her golden eyes filled with confusion as her gaze swept back and forth between the two people sitting opposite her, quietly eating.
'...Something's not right.'
The girl keenly caught the oppressive feeling that strayed beyond the bounds of polite etiquette.
Normally, while they observed the rule of not speaking during meals, there would at least be eye contact, or Fuuki would occasionally make a brief comment about the dishes, and Mutsumi would quietly watch Sakiko when she spoke.
But tonight, it was as if an invisible wall separated Fuuki and Mutsumi.
'Sure enough... the source of this strange atmosphere is those two!'
Sakiko was certain in her heart. She put down her silver fork, the crisp sound particularly jarring in the silence. She leaned slightly, closer to the blonde boy beside her, her voice barely a whisper.
"Hey... Fuuki."
Fuuki paused, looking up at her.
"Did you and Mutsumi... have a fight?" Sakiko's gaze roved between him and her quiet childhood friend opposite, who was as still as a doll.
"No, it's my problem," Fuuki replied indifferently.
Sakiko couldn't help but roll her eyes.
'What 'my problem'! This kind of vague evasion, it's so typical of Fuuki! He must have said something thoughtless and cold that hurt Mutsumi's sensitive heart!'
She knew Mutsumi too well; the girl was delicate but not good with words, not knowing how to express herself even when wronged.
'Sure enough, I know Mutsumi best!' A sense of inescapable responsibility rose in Sakiko's heart.
'How can friends deal with misunderstandings by giving each other the cold shoulder? They must communicate properly! It's up to me, Togawa Sakiko, to be the mediator desuwa!'
She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and put on a friendly smile, ready to show off her skills. Her eyes, shining brightly, looked at Fuuki, then turned to Mutsumi.
Clink.
Almost simultaneously, two soft sounds interrupted her unspoken declaration.
Fuuki and Mutsumi, as if by prior arrangement, simultaneously put down their cutlery. Napkins were silently placed on the table. Without any eye contact, they both stood up at the same time.
Sakiko's smile instantly froze, her prepared words caught in her throat.
Fuuki nodded slightly, his movements fluid and natural: "I'm finished." His voice was calm and unruffled.
Mutsumi also nodded gently: "...Finished."
Then, under Sakiko's astonished gaze, the two walked side by side, their steps in unison, leaving the dining room and heading towards the study. Their backs were so harmonious it was as if the invisible barrier from moments before had never existed, leaving Sakiko alone to face the table full of delicacies.
'...Eh?'
'What about me?'
'What's going on! These two... what kind of charade are they playing?!'
Sakiko picked up her fork and indignantly poked the innocent salmon steak.
============
The heavy study door blocked out external sounds, and the soft light of the floor lamp illuminated a corner by the desk.
Togawa Fuuki sat in front of the computer, a live video of a girl band playing on the screen.
Dazzling stage lights, a sea of glowing light sticks waved by the audience, the lead singer's explosive voice intertwined with the distorted guitar wall, drum beats as dense as heartbeats, and the bass steadily supporting the melody's foundation. The screen's light flickered in his pupils, reflecting a calm scrutiny.
Wakaba Mutsumi sat quietly in an armchair not far from him, hugging a cucumber-patterned cushion. Her gaze was not focused on the flickering lights and passionate performance on the screen, but rather on Fuuki's concentrated profile.
There was indeed a small misunderstanding between them, but in Fuuki's view, companionship itself was a more effective reconciliation than any verbal explanation.
Verbal communication could sometimes be pale and powerless, even leading to new misunderstandings, while silent companionship could convey an understanding and acceptance that transcended words.
Fuuki's thoughts were not entirely immersed in the band's performance. The light and shadows on the screen gradually transformed into the outline of another world in his eyes.
'The world where another 'I' exists... doesn't seem to have been swept up by this craze for girl bands.'
'Not just band culture, but the turning points of many historical events, the budding directions of epoch-making technology trees, and even the birth times and creators of artistic masterpieces... all show subtle deviations.'
'These deviations are not without pattern, yet they are difficult to fully explain with a single variable. In that world, the music industry might be prosperous, but the trend of focusing on girl bands and elevating them to such a social phenomenon level did not occur.'
'What exactly is the key point of divergence?'
Fuuki gazed at the screen; the lead singer was hitting a magnificent high note, and the fans' screams below almost broke through the speakers.
'The power of the Stand is certainly a variable, but it's more like a giant rock introduced into a turbulent current, whose ripples change the local flow, rather than the fundamental force shaping the entire riverbed...'
His thoughts inevitably traced back to the night that changed everything—the Starfall night two years ago.
When the cracked moon poured down a torrent of starlight, when the first meteorite fragment, carrying the ability to "foresee the future," embedded itself in humanity's mental subconscious, the existence of Stand Users emerged like bamboo shoots after rain. They bore the predetermined future, like shackles, glimpsed from the fragments.
Fuuki clearly "read" these information fragments from the memory disc. Those desperate realizations about himself—"no matter how hard I try, I can't be the center of attention," "destined to walk towards destruction in pain"—were like curses etched into his soul.
Piecing together these fragmented "future visions," a chilling outline gradually became clear—it was a perception of the powerful inertia of "fate," a sense of powerlessness for an individual to shake before a grand narrative.
This feeling... was so familiar.
His eyes suddenly deepened, as if sinking into the ultimate power possessed by another self in his memories.
Made in Heaven.
The accelerating torrent of time, the universe restarting rushing towards its end, and after the frenzy, the despair brought by countless beings forced to confront their inescapable, unchangeable 'destiny.'
'Is there a deeper connection between these two?'
Buzz—buzz—
A sudden phone vibration instantly cut through Fuuki's tangled thoughts.
The band's live performance on the screen continued, the lead singer spreading her arms to greet the roaring crowd, but the clamor seemed to be instantly withdrawn, leaving only the continuous buzzing beneath his palm, an unignorable sense of urgency.
Fuuki's expression grew colder after glancing at the name on the illuminated screen.
He raised his hand to gesture to Mutsumi beside him. Mutsumi, hugging the cucumber cushion, nodded quietly, her gaze still fixed on him, as if she had already anticipated the interruption.
Fuuki walked silently towards the study's French balcony, the night breeze carrying the coolness of early summer, ruffling his golden hair.
He swiped to answer the call, holding the phone to his ear.
A liquid purple energy quietly seeped from his side, rapidly covering half of his cheek, finally coalescing into a darkness so profound it could not be illuminated by any light.
"Takagi Naoko, I don't recall giving you permission to contact me proactively."
From the other end of the line came a sobbing voice, clearly trembling with fear and almost cracking: "My, my deepest apologies! I absolutely did not mean to defy your wishes, it's just... it's just an emergency! I've discovered something very important!"
"Get to the point." Fuuki's voice was utterly devoid of emotion, yet it conveyed a chilling coldness through the phone signal.
"It's about that band! The Wayward band!"
Takagi Naoko spoke rapidly, as if a second's delay would bring about catastrophe.
"As you instructed, after leaving school, I've been observing their movements near RiNG! Today they rented a practice room, and no one has come out since then."
She took a deep breath, her voice carrying a hint of weakness and alarm from overusing her ability:
"I... I used the method you taught me, leveraging the characteristics of Maximum The Hormone in reverse... not to exert influence, but to perceive changes..."
"Although the specific content isn't as clear as hearing it... I can only catch some vague information... but, they should be..."
Takagi Naoko's voice was filled with disbelief, as if she had glimpsed something she shouldn't have.
"They... they are all gathered inside... it seems like they are holding a..."
"Funeral."
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