Published at 4th of December 2019 10:25 am

Volume 2, Part V: Spiral Paradox - II

This chapter is updated by NovelFree.ml

A day later in noontime, November 8, the weather is still disinclined to change its depressing overcast tint, and it shares this gloom with the office that has no light to stave it off. The office is actually a wide space, albeit littered with many assorted occult trinkets and knick-knacks from Miss Tōko’s collection. Even given this, it’s too big of an office for just Miss Tōko and me. There’s enough desks for ten people to all work at the same time, and there’s even a sofa for any unexpected guests. Of course, the concrete flooring is a dull, gray, undecorated thing (unless you count the scattered artifacts and books as decoration), and the walls tell much of the same story, with no wallpaper to call their own, but if we had enough employees to fill those desks then by God this would actually look like a halfway decent and productive working environment.

Sadly, today only three people fill this vacant space. Miss Tōko’s desk is by the window, yet the woman herself is clearly nowhere close at hand. Through the wonders of modern medicine, Miss Tōko’s flu was as good as gone when she woke up this morning, which she celebrated by going out as soon as she could throw on some clothes, leaving me to shoulder the workload. Today, the job is to order some of the materials we need for her art exhibition next month. I’m holding the list she drew up of things she needed while I sorted out my own list of people from whom I could buy the stuff on the cheap. She usually doesn’t bother with the grueling detail work like this, preferring to just show up and start selling. But I suppose this is part of what she hired me for. I spent the better part of the morning with one hand on her list and another holding the phone receiver, trying to negotiate prices, and then repeating the process for the next retailer, and so on in a seemingly never-ending chain.

While I sort out the trouble and trying to decide whether I’m really busy or just painstakingly thorough, two other people are making the room their own for the moment. One of them, Shiki Ryōgi, in her unmistakable kimono, is sitting on the sofa with a look on her face that can only imply a deep, abiding boredom.

The other, a young girl in a black school uniform, sits on the chair behind the desk furthest away from me, across the length of the room. The girl wears a head of dark hair that pours all the way down to her back, and her name is Azaka Kokutō, my sister who is currently a freshman in high school. Ever since she was small, she didn’t exactly have the best health, and so it was decided when she was ten years old to move her away from the city air and to entrust her to a relative. Since that time, we’ve only seen each other a precious few times. In fact, if I’m right, the last time we actually met was New Year’s Day of my freshman year. I remember she still had quite the childish disposition then, which is why when I first saw her this summer, I was quite surprised. I guess environment does have a role in your upbringing. She’s quite fond of carrying the air of some refined, well-to-do girl, and her demeanor has changed to become fairly active, with no trace of the frailty of body that characterized her early years. When I first saw her, I actually thought she was some stranger and not my sister Azaka, which can probably be ascribed to her changing so much in stature and appearance in the span between ten and fifteen years of age.

I steal a glance at Azaka in the faraway desk. She’s sitting there, and close at hand is a book propped open, thick enough that it’s likely to cause a concussion when used as a blunt weapon. Her eyes dart from the book to the paper as she copies something, writing it down on a piece of paper; an exercise that Miss Tōko left behind for her to work on while she’s away. While the cryptic words of Miss Tōko still hang over my mind, there is just one thing that bugs me much more at the moment.

“Mikiya, Miss Tōko has taken me in as her apprentice.”

She said that a month or so ago, to which I vehemently expressed my indignation, but with her newfound stubbornness, she brushed me aside. Goddamit, I’d thought my family to be extremely normal and boring, but why does she need to be something as eccentric as a sorcerer?

“Azaka?” I decide to take a break from kissing the phone so much and call out to her. She finishes what she was copying with one last, firm stroke before she levels her eyes with mine. Though she doesn’t speak, the clash of the temper in her eyes and her quiet, polite demeanor seems to prod me to continue. “I know that you’re on holiday because of your school’s Foundation Day, but remind me again why exactly you felt the need to travel all the way down here in Tōkyō?”

“You really should go home more often than you do, Mikiya. Maybe then we could discuss this like a reasonable family around the dinner table.” She clears her throat before she continues. “The dormitories were set on fire, and that forced it to close down for repairs. They were requesting that anyone that had homes nearby to vacate the premises temporarily if possible, and so mother called me back for the time being.” She replies with a calmness that reminds me of my high school student council president—and not entirely in a good way.

“Did the whole dormitory burn down?”

“Oh, no, only the east wing it seems—where the freshmen and sophomores were lodged. The school hushed it all up so that it wouldn’t get in the news.”

Interesting. Reien Girl’s Academy is known for raising the stuck-up little kids of some of the most powerful families in the country, and they certainly have the resources to keep the media in the dark about it. It would be a big blow to the school’s reputation and image…especially if it’s arson by a student as Azaka’s words would imply—

“Dear brother, I do hope you’re not over-thinking the situation?” Her eyes narrow as she stares daggers at me. Due to some unfortunate circumstances that happened over the summer, Azaka doesn’t like me poking my head into any more dangerous situations. A silent, Cold War argument always ensues at this juncture of conversations between us, but I decide to dispense with it.

“Heaven forbid, Azaka; I wouldn’t dream of it. But enough about that. What the heck are you doing over there anyway?”

“Nothing that has anything to do with you, I imagine.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find that it does. How do you think I should explain you trying to become a…what was it…sorcerer, mage…whatever you call yourselves! How well would that go over with dad, huh?”

“Oh, so you will show your face in the house after all.” Damn. She’s got me there. She knows that I can’t go back to the house ever since the big argument between me and my folks, the little brat. “And anyway, there is a difference between a sorcerer and a mage, you know. You’ve been working for Miss Tōko for so long and you don’t even know that?”

Hmm, now that she mentions it, I do remember Miss Tōko saying something similar. Like how it’s better to advertise yourself as a sorcerer to neophytes because it sounds mystical and they love that, but that the two are completely different things, or something along those lines.

“Yes, I’ve heard her spiel once or twice before, but there can’t be that great of a difference, can there? Both use that suspicious Art that Miss Tōko always talks about, I think.”

“No, they don’t actually. The Art is certainly a departure from consensus, but in the end, it’s only doing what was already previously possible, but doing it in ways that are logically impossible. For example—” She gets up and walks to Miss Tōko’s desk, retrieving a silver letter opener, a favorite of Miss Tōko’s and one she uses quite often. Spotting some useless pieces of paper, she traces something on them using the letter opener. In an instant, it starts spewing some amount of smoke as it slowly burns.

I watch the entire display without saying a word. Miss Tōko had once done something similar (though on a larger scale), but I’m at a loss for words when I see my own sister doing it. I guess I’ve been imagining this moment ever since she said she’d become Miss Tōko’s apprentice.

“I’m sorry, but I gotta ask…is there any trick to it?”

“Of course. To someone who doesn’t know, it might look amazing, but it’s really nothing special if you think about it. You could do the same thing with a cheap lighter, after all. Whether it’s through a lighter or your fingertips, the fact that you set fire to something doesn’t change. Not so mysterious now, is it? That’s what the Art essentially amounts to.”

I suppose then that the Art is like a substitute for technology. But from what Azaka is saying, it’s probably better to say that technology has overtaken it.

“Rain-making, for another example,” she continues, “is possible with both the Art and technology. The only difference is the way they go about it, but the effort expended is almost the same. It might look like the mage is doing it instantly, but what they don’t tell you is that there is still a lot of preparation. Once it might have seemed like a miracle, but now that’s not the case, just like once it might have been unbelievable to reduce an entire village to ash, but now we have missiles to do the same thing. In fact, that might actually be more efficient. The Art is only doing something that you usually can’t do on your own, but is still very possible, which makes it very covert. It’s not miracle working. The only miracles are things that are still impossible for humanity, things that can’t be done no matter how much time and money you expend. The ones that can make that impossibility possible are what we call ‘sorcerers,’ and what they have isn’t just a simple parlor trick like the Art, but ‘sorcery,’ or real magic.”

“Then there would have been more sorcerers than mages in the past, right? I mean, they didn’t have lighters or missiles back then.”

“Correct, and that terrifying capacity is why people were afraid of them. But it’s different now, isn’t it? The consensus has changed. There’s little need for the Art, and sorcery is slowly disappearing day by day. I mean, think about it, there’s little that isn’t possible for humanity. That’s why there are only five real sorcerers remaining.” Her voice lowers in a sadness that is beyond me to understand.

The only thing I can think of that’s still currently impossible to mankind is manipulating space and time, and maybe given enough time, even that will be possible, and magic just a fading memory. The way Azaka tells it, it almost seems like a boy that was once captivated by scientific wonders, then became a scientist and discovered the sheer banality of it all.

“Then here’s hoping the last spell is the spell to make everyone happy.” Though I say it to break the mood, the effect is somewhat lower than anticipated as she becomes silent then looks at me like she one would look upon the village idiot, then quickly turns her face away from mine.

She chuckles a bit. “Sadly, even if that were true, Mikiya, very little actually have the capacity for sorcery now. I never wanted to be a sorcerer. Just learning the Art for my own reasons is fine for me.”

“Wow, settling for something lesser isn’t like you at all, Azaka.”

Azaka shakes her head while emitting a vocal tut tut. “Let me remind you that the Art shouldn’t be underestimated. And besides, the Art was once part of actual sorcery too. It’s only because of human technology catching up that there is an Art in the first place. I should probably rephrase what I said earlier. It’s not that I don’t want to learn sorcery. It’s that I can’t. Mages are creatures of long, storied dynasties, starting out with some kind of scholarly past, and then passing what they learn of the greater mysteries to the next generation, which repeats in a never ending quest for ascension. As it happens, I am not a part of one of these dynasties. Miss Tōko said once that she was of her family’s sixth magical generation, and that her third generation produced a magical savant, so even discounting age, she has a huge head start just because she was born into a family with a tradition. For someone like me, it’s more difficult.”

“Man. Rough and tumble world ahead of you, isn’t it?” So it’s kind of like how people with a lot of doting relatives and a truckload of inheritance money get to have the best opportunities. But—“Wait a minute. Then how’d you get to be a mage when I know for a fact that our family never dipped its toes into any sort of occult or mystical stuff?”

“Yes, that’s what Miss Tōko said as well,” she says, sporting a pouting look on her face. “But she also said that I’m one of the few who get it just from chance. She said I was good at igniting things, so…” her voice trails off again.

I have to wonder what the hell her “own reasons” are for learning to light stuff up. For all I know she could actually be the one who set fire to the dormitory

“Didn’t you just tell me that you can’t build up so much proficiency with just one generation of learning? Then why don’t you just stop aiming to be a mage and try finding a real job?” Especially since today’s job climate is stricter than ever, I wanted to add, but hold off on saying so as not to antagonize her further.

Azaka’s mouth starts to form into an attempt at shouting the rebuttal at me, but is interrupted when the sound of a crash and a series of footsteps leap into the room.

“Oh, don’t mind him going on about the economy, Azaka. You’ll get job offers before you know it. Give it two years and you might even be a museum curator!”

The crashing sound was the door opening, and the footsteps belonged to Miss Tōko, who had returned.

Miss Tōko’s footsteps have such certainty of pace that you’d never know she was sick only yesterday. After taking off her coat, she heads to her desk and hangs it behind her chair, after which she takes her usual place behind the desk. Both me and Azaka see her eyebrows come close together in a frown when she looks at her desk and finds the letter opener’s position on the desk has changed since she last saw it.

“Azaka, what did I tell you about relying too much on tools to channel the Art? It’ll dull your skills. Or maybe you just wanted to show off in front of Kokutō here and not fail, hmm?”

A beat passes without her saying anything, and then “Yes, I’m sorry.” The fact that she can still answer faithfully even while her cheeks are beating red with embarrassment is one of my favorite qualities about her.

“As for you, Kokutō, it’s kind of rare for you to be talking about that kind of thing, isn’t it? I thought you had no interest whatsoever in the Art?”

“What, you have my sister make kindling out of paper and think I wouldn’t have some casual interest?”

“Point.” Miss Tōko laughs.

“Anyway, ma’am, do you remember anything about yesterday?” “Everything’s a blank after I drank my medicine. Don’t tell me I said something embarrassing now.” She takes off her glasses and cocks her head in curiosity.

“Erm…no, nevermind.”

“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug before producing a cigarette and a lighter from her pocket and putting them to use. She allows herself one deep puff before she continues. “Now Azaka, we need to discuss you talking about certain topics with Kokutō. Covertness and concealment are the best tools a mage has, and don’t you forget it. Well, I guess I can let it slip this one time since it’s Kokutō were talking about.”

“I’m not sure I like how that sounds,” I interject out loud.

“Oh, hush,” Miss Tōko hisses while batting a hand in my direction. “I only meant that you know what to talk about depending on who you’re talking to. You wouldn’t talk about the Art with a normal human being, would you? See? Praise! Who would’ve thought, coming from me, right?”

“Thanks…I guess? Anyway, from what you’re saying, it sounds like regular people knowing about the Art is bad for business.”

“It’s far more than just that. The Art sort of…loses it’s touch. Or let me put it another way. Do you know where the word ‘mystery’ comes from?” She leans her head forward on her desk, cradling it above her entwined hands. Her eyes imply the air of mischief that is always present when her glasses are removed.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s from Greek, right?”

“Yep. It comes from the Greek verb ‘mūein’, meaning ‘to close.’ It further evolved into ‘mustērion’, which means ‘secret rite.’ Both imply a nature of secrecy and a sort of eremitic quality. It’s an accurate reflection of a mage’s best qualities. They do this because the fact that a mystery is a mystery grants it a value and meaning. Reality deals with beliefs. Enough people believe that magic is gone, almost dead, and so it is. The fact that mages know this, and yet pursue their craft is what gives them the power to reshape reality to their will. In the most crippling paradox for mages, they cannot allow the Art to die, and yet too many mages will deaden it, make it mundane. Without the mystery and interaction of belief and disbelief, both the Art and sorcery, drawing their power from the same origin, would weaken, and the same thing will happen with all the mages in the world.”

While as usual I can’t grasp the entirety of what Miss Tōko is saying, I think I actually understand the gist of what she’s trying to say. If secrecy and concealment are their watchwords, then I can understand why she was kind of peeved at Azaka a while back for performing the Art in front of me.

“Then surely you use the Art when you’re in a place where no one can see you, right Miss Tōko?”

“Nope, not even there,” she says as she snuffs out her cigarette on the ashtray. “Well, if it’s a duel, then I probably have no choice in the matter. Still, a good mage knows how to use the Art without breaking his hands. A smart mage knows not to use the Art when there’s an easier way to do something, and there frequently is. Besides, mages are all organized about this. When the Ordo Magi was formed during the medieval age and started regulating the tutelage of the Art, they knew from the progression of science that magic itself would decay. So they hid the Art, made it even more of a secret than it already was so that only a select few could study it in their Collegium. They police any leak they discover with some stringent punishments: Collegium assassins are sent to kill you if you involve non-mages in performances of the Art, a probable source of that prevalent myth of a wizard losing his powers when revealing its nature to people. Every performance is a risk of discovery, and soon most mages learned to perform the

Art only when absolutely needed. Because the Ordo controlled many of the hallowed grounds with rich mana leylines, and monopolized much of the materials a mage needs for any serious research, the few rogues who disliked the decrees were at a significant—and self-made— disadvantage. Power of the majority for you.”

“Erm…Miss Tōko,” Azaka interjects with obvious trepidation. “Does that mean that I have to go over there to the Collegium someday?”

“Well, it’s not like you have to, but you’ll definitely learn faster there, I’m sure. And even then, no one’s going to stop you if you eventually want to leave mid-way. Though they may act like it many times more than most mages would like, the Ordo doesn’t control your life.”

“But then, doesn’t that sort of render their efforts at concealing the Art meaningless? I mean, any random mage could just get out and spread the word, so…” Though Azaka finishes with a noncommittal tone, Miss Tōko nods.

“That’s true. In fact, a lot of people do indeed enter with the intention of learning a few tricks and then leaving for God knows where. But like anyone’s desire to watch corny soap operas ironically, it doesn’t last long. Usually the sheer volume of stuff that the Collegium offers is enough to make them stay. To the serious mage, scholarly pursuit of the Art is supreme. Actually using it is a last-ditch scenario. Studying is what leads a mage to the greater mysteries, and eventually, gnosis. However, you have a distinctly different goal than most mages, Azaka, so I suspect the Collegium would just be poison for you. Still, if you’d like to take all of this a step up, the Collegium’s not going anywhere.”

Azaka exhales gratefully and lowers her gaze, which thankfully tells me that she too is not going anywhere anytime soon. Studying to be a mage is one thing, but to have her study it abroad in some kind of eccentric college is one thing I seriously wouldn’t abide.

“Question time,” says a lazy voice from the sofa. “Do the mages there keep secrets from each other too?” Shiki, who up to this point, had been content to sit quietly and stare at the scenery outside (and is, as a matter of fact, still doing so now), suddenly speaks. I’d assumed she just wasn’t interested in the topic, but far be it from me to assume what she is and isn’t interested in.

“Well…yeah,” Miss Tōko replies hesitantly. “It’s a very balkanized environment, where you don’t usually reveal what you’re up to or what you’re after until you pass it on to your successor—if then. Secrecy is in the blood, and secrets are power.”

“So you study for yourself to gain power you can’t use? You study for the goal of…more studying? Guess I just can’t understand what meaning there is in that sort of life, Tōko. I mean, it almost seems like all of these mages are working towards a net goal of a big fat zero.”

For a moment, Miss Tōko can only smile bitterly at what Shiki just said. “Funny you should say that, since in a way, that’s what mages are aiming for. Some call it the ‘spiral of origin.’ Others like the ring of ‘The Akashic Records’ better. That grand mass of nothingness. Whatever you want to call it, that’s what they’re after. It’s where everything came from. And if you know where everything came from, you know everything that comes after. It’s not even enough to call it ultimate knowledge. It’s something higher than that. All the different disciplines and paradigms of learning the Art flow from this single, indivisible source. Whether it’s astrology, alchemy, the Kabbalah, Shinsendō, or runes, all their practitioners harbor the same goal. The first fortunate souls that felt its presence dreamed of its potential. It isn’t to sponsor the quest for the meaning of man’s existence, because they already know it. It is to pierce the great lie of this world and find pure truth, whatever form it takes. Mages of the ideal sort cherish only themselves to live a life that will never be rewarded.”

As Miss Tōko slowly relates this to us, the gaze in her amber eyes becomes more pointed, and the color flickers like the flame of old ambition. I ask a question on the only thing I could understand.

“When you say that they’ll never be rewarded, that means nobody’s reached this origin yet, right?”

“Some have reached it. It’s the only way we know it really exists. But those who reached it never came back. They disappeared the moment they attained it. Mages think they ascended. No one can really be sure until you reach it. Because performing both the Art and sorcery means you reach out toward the origin, many mages think we have them to thank for what little of it we can do on this world, since they think that the mages who have crossed over become some sort of anchor for our Art to that side. The bad angle to this is of course, they could never have passed on what they know to anyone. The only reason ambitious mages take on apprentices or spawn descendants is, of course, to ensure that someday, their line can produce the means to get to the origin. There’s no end to their ambition and to their eventual disappointment. Personally, I think it’s just a fool’s game now, especially now when there are mages that are happy to just get in the way of other mages’ work.”

Instead of sounding spiteful in her last sentence, Miss Tōko says it with a little hint of enthusiasm, and I manage to catch a dry, silent laugh from her lips, as if delighting in the fact that these nuisances exist.

“Even if one out of the current crop of mages managed to reach the spiral of origin, they’d never be able to pass it on, never be able to give us new things to learn about the Art. The entire matter is like a fish floundering on land,” Miss Tōko says and shrugs in conclusion. Only Shiki seems compelled to speak out on the paradox Miss Tōko has just presented.

“Never heard of a stranger crowd than that. I have no idea why you mages still cling to that false hope even though you know it’s beyond you.” “Maybe because for people who can turn steel into rubber and spew fire from their hands, they word ‘impossible’ isn’t what gives them impetus in their lives, or they’re deluded fools who just don’t know when to quit.

Who knows?” Miss Tōko couples it with an amused grin.

“Well, at least you know, so that’s refreshing, at least,” she says with just a hint of surprise.

An hour later the office returns to the usual peace and quiet, with everyone busy working, studying, or in Shiki’s case, performing the necessary task of slacking. With the clock having just struck 3 o’ clock in the afternoon, I decided to take a little break and make everyone some coffee, except for Azaka, who drinks Japanese tea. The orders Miss Tōko requested me to make are done, and so it is with happy thoughts of a secure paycheck that I sit back down behind my desk and take a sip off the mug. The sound of four people occasionally sipping and then putting the mug down on a desk punctuates the afternoon silence. Of course, leave it to Azaka to refrain from holding the peace by asking Shiki the most unexpected of questions.

“Shiki, are you a guy?”

My cup almost slips from my fingers at the bluntness of the question. Shiki on the other hand, finishes her sip of coffee. When the cup leaves her lips, I see a face of genuine perplexity, and yet she shows no immediate inclination to respond to my fool sister. Azaka, however, only interprets that as a signal to continue. “Silence means consent, as they say, and that means that you admit you are a man, Shiki.”

“Azaka!” I say sternly. Goddamit. I can’t believe I’m diving headlong into this. While ignoring her is probably the best tonic for the situation, the tactlessness of the question and its delivery can’t be ignored. I stand up so fast I push my chair behind me in the spur of the moment, but without any words of scolding to throw at Azaka’s way, I end up sitting back down in silence. The whole act of sinking back into my chair feels vaguely like what I would imagine Napoleon felt like in the retreat from Waterloo.

“You obsess over the most useless details, don’t you?” Shiki replies. Already she has acquired a sour look on her face. One hand rests on her temple in her usual manner of attempting to dispel growing anger.

“Oh? But this is important and necessary information, my dear.” Just as Shiki attempts to maintain her composure, Azaka also gives back with composed placidity. With elbows resting atop the desk and the laced fingers hiding most of her face, she conjures the look of a chairman presiding over a board meeting.

“Important? I don’t think it makes much difference whether I’m a man or a girl, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t concern you. Or maybe you’re just trying to pick a fight with me, hmm?”

“I’d have thought that seemed obvious since we first met.”

Though they’re not at all looking or even seeing each other, their eyes might as well be staring each other down. While I’d certainly like to know what in the hell was “obvious,” this doesn’t seem like the right time to ask.

“Azaka,” I interrupt them again. “While it’s a mystery why you feel the need to bring this up yet another time, I will state the answer yet another time. Clearly this time, so your head full of magic can interpret it right. Shiki is a girl. That’s it. The end.” However, the interjection seems to antagonize her more than placate her.

“I know that, Mikiya,” Azaka says briskly. “Shut up for a second.” Well if you know then what the hell is this conversation even— “What I really want to know is Shiki’s gender mentally or psychologically, rather than physically. I mean, her appearance makes her look like a man, but…” As Azaka allows her voice to trail off, she risks a sidelong glance toward Shiki, whose consternation continues to build to easily observable levels.

“Whatever. I am what I am, and my gender isn’t going to change that. On the other hand, what are you going to do if I were a guy?”

“Oh, nothing really. Maybe set you up on a date with some of my friends from Reien.”

I gulp, realizing I can do very little to stem the continual escalation of force. Their animosity toward each other started from the day they first met on the New Year when me and Shiki were still in high school. I invited Shiki back to my house for a while, and that day also happened to be the day when Azaka came home for a short winter vacation stint. It was Shiki she’d met that day, the other personality with his boisterous demeanor and rough speech (perhaps even more so than the present Shiki). It so surprised and angered Azaka that she decided to sleep the day through instead of talking to me. Though I’m not really surprised to see Azaka still carrying that animosity some two and a half years forward, this is probably the point where she crosses some sort of line. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Shiki just wanted to hit her now.

I stand up and start to say, “Azaka, give it a re—” but am cut off by Shiki rising from the sofa at the same time, and saying:

“Gee, thanks, but gotta pass on that one. Those bitches probably can’t take what I’ve got to give, anyway.” Shiki utters a final harrumph before she turns and walks towards the door and leaves the office, the sway of her indigo blue kimono and the sound of her boots echoing in the stair steps the last vestiges of her presence. I briefly entertain the thought of following, but knowing her, she’d just get angrier if I try to be diplomatic about Azaka.

Already planning my later burnt offerings for the miracle that nothing happened, I sit back down on my chair so that I can, at least for the moment, enjoy my coffee. Damn, it’s cold already. Whatever. I finish it off.

“Aw man, she got away from me again. I really did want an answer, even if that meant she would’ve hit me. But her leaving without giving me neither is just dumb.” She adds a click of her tongue to punctuate what she just said as she visibly does a stand down from battle stations by leaning back on her chair and stretching, making the entire thing look like just one fun exercise to her. I’ve long since learned to selectively ignore the bitch switch that turns on in Azaka’s brain whenever she strikes a conversation with Shiki, but this time was such a close call I feel like a chat is in order.

“Alright, Azaka. Let’s have an explanation.”

“What? You and Shiki aren’t making this any easier for me to figure out, you know? Or don’t tell me you haven’t devoted even a second of thought if Shiki is going out with you as a guy or as a girl.” Though her statement is spoken clearly, I have a little difficulty interpreting what she wants to say until I see the copious amount of red blush coloring her cheeks.

“Because I think it’s stupid to think about, maybe? Besides, asking a person like Shiki what their gender is when they don’t want to is probably one of the most faux pas things ever. And again, for the nth time, what difference does it really make if she thinks like a guy but is, in fact, a girl?” Azaka narrows her eyes and glares at me with clear suspicion. “So, can I take that to mean that as long as Shiki is a girl then you have no problem, right, Mikiya? Then help me out with something. Say two people fall in love with you—”

I can’t help but snort, trying to hold back but gusting laughter.

“—one of whom is a man who underwent sex reassignment surgery for trans women, and the other is a woman who underwent the opposite process. If they both love you wholly, madly, deeply, truly, who do you choose? The transsexual woman, or the transsexual man?”

Well, that’s…difficult. The more I think about it, the more I think this is some kind of trap. Impulsively, as a straight man, I’d obviously go for the girl, but there is no such clear cut choice. The physical girl in this case has had a sex change to a man. Maybe this just goes to show how I just haven’t truly grasped yet that love isn’t bound by gender? My mind starts suggesting to myself that maybe I only do care about appearances after all, and slowly, I start to feel really bad about myself. Wait, I’m operating under the false assumption that having a gay relationship isn’t allowed. If I let go of that, then maybe I go for the girl, who’s like, actually a guy, but…oh what the hell, I give up. Wait a minute. Isn’t there a paradox in the premise? Isn’t this really a trick question? If you’re stuck in the mindset of gay relationships not being allowed, then it’s a question you can’t win.

When I notice this and look up with a face of consternation at the other people in the room, Miss Tōko has a hand over her mouth, snickering and likely trying to dam the floodgates of laughter.

“Oh shit, Azaka, he’s malfunctioning. I can practically hear the gears whirring and smoke coming out of his ears.”

“Yes, ma’am. A little Epimenides in discourse never hurts.”

“Dear god, the two of you are never boring, I swear. I do hope the entire family Kokutō are as crazy as you two.” While Miss Tōko begins to laugh her ass off, Azaka looks at me with an entirely serious look on her face.

Oh, so that’s what this was all about. Well, I guess it’s Azaka’s own trademark way of worrying about me. Now, seeing as Shiki wasn’t clear at all when she and Azaka were talking, I suppose the onus falls on me to at least be clear on my stance on the subject.

“Whatever you’re trying to say Azaka, I appreciate the sentiment. It’s just that I truly don’t care what sex Shiki may be. Hell, I don’t think I’ll change my mind even if she was still Shiki.” I feign an itch on my cheek to hide my embarrassment, but Azaka seems to take what I said quite differently because she stands up from her seat in astonishment.

“Wait, you’re saying that even if she was still that…creep Shiki personality, you’d still like her…him?”

“Mmm…yeah, guess so.” Not a second after I say that, I feel the sharp impact of something quite heavy hitting my face, leaving me dazed and confused for quite a while, during which I only hear Azaka say:

“Augh, you suck!”

Then the sounds of her running, the door to the stairwell opening, then her fading footsteps again. Once everything in the world stops spinning and returns to their correct upright position do I realize that Azaka threw that thick book she was reading at me. Azaka is gone, leaving only me and Miss Tōko, now enjoying previously unseen levels of jocularity, alone in the office as I adjust my jaw and rub the blunt force trauma inflicted on my face.

Two more hours pass after that embarrassing interlude and then it’s finally time to clock out. Shiki and Azaka never returned for the day, presumably too livid at each other (or in Azaka’s case, at me). As I brew the last coffee for Miss Tōko and myself before leaving, a practice which had long become part of the ritual of daily work, I consider whether or not I should pay Shiki a visit in her apartment.

“Oh, I forgot to ask you something Kokutō. Mind doing some supplemental work?” Miss Tōko calls out after taking a swig off the mug of coffee I just made for her, which significantly lowered any apartment visit chances in one swoop.

“What sort of ‘supplemental work,’ ma’am? Is this another case similar to the Fujin—”

“No, no, nothing like that. I say supplemental because this one’s not getting earning you any extra zeroes on the check. Remember this morning I went out? See, I heard this interesting story from my cop friend. You know the Ōgawa Apartments down in Kayamihama?”

“Kayamihama’s the reclaimed land that’s been zoned for public and commercial high rises, right? It’s supposed to be a model district for future residential plans in the city, or so I hear.”

“Yeah, and a convenient thirty minute train ride from here, too. They’re planning some real swank apartments there, the likes of which you wouldn’t see here downtown, but what we’re interested in is this apartment that I worked on for a short time back when it was under construction. Apparently at around ten last night, a white-collar stiff in her twenties was attacked in the street; probably an attempted rape. The guys doing it somehow botched it, resulting in the woman being stabbed in the abdomen and left there as the suspects ran. Without a cellphone or a single soul in sight at such a late hour, she dragged herself inside the nearest apartment complex—the Ōgawa Apartments—leaving a blood trail as she went. But the Ōgawa Apartments don’t house any residents on the first or second floor, so she had to make her way up to the third floor before anyone could hear her calls for help. She managed to operate an elevator to go up the third floor, but I guess she couldn’t move anymore. She kept calling for help but nobody in the units paid her any attention, and she expired around eleven o’ clock.”

Damn. Guess that’s what happens when apartments and condos get bigger and the walls get thicker that you don’t talk to the neighbors anymore. Maybe you can’t even hear anything outside, even dying screams. Indifference becomes the nature of politeness. Reminds me of a story I heard recently from a friend, when every single resident from a floor up heard screams getting louder and louder from a unit a floor down. No one knocked to investigate, and in the morning they just found out that the parents killed their own kid. When the police asked them, the people said they all heard it but thought it was some kind of a joke.

“Here’s where the problem starts,” continues Miss Tōko. “That woman was shouting so loud even the people in the next building over were hearing her. It wasn’t even just screams, she was apparently really shouting ‘help!’ The people in the neighboring apartments ignored it because they thought the people in the Ōgawa Apartments would help her out considering her spirited appeal.”

“Wait, you don’t mean—”

“Yep, the people in the Ōgawa building swore they never heard a single soul. I’d pass on this one of it was the first time, but my cop friend told me this is strike two. They had apparently had another similar incident, but I couldn’t check it out. Regardless, something is definitely up there, and my detective friend consulted me about it, so here I am.”

“So what do you want me to do, ma’am? Investigate the place?”

“No, no, we’ll case the place together at some point. For now, I want you to see what you can do about pulling up a list of residents from the Housing Bureau, previous addresses, employment, stuff like that. Again, it isn’t adding any zeroes on your paycheck, so you can take it slow on this one, but I’d like it at least by December.”

“No problem, ma’am,” I reply, voice brimming with confidence. Yet I can’t shake the feeling, despite Miss Tōko’s earlier waving off of the comparison, that this is going to be another weird case like the Fujino Asagami one. I take a drink from the bitter coffee, the mug now nearing empty.

“Anyway, to change the subject…Kokutō?” “Hmm?”

“You really don’t care if Shiki was a boy or girl?”

Fortunately, my well-rehearsed image of office composure holds in front of Miss Tōko, because if Gakuto asked me that question, I would’ve been compelled to spit the coffee in his face.

“I like Shiki, but if I’m allowed to have my way, I guess I prefer her as a girl.”

“Oh, well no problem then,” she says disappointedly and shrugs. “I think I need clarification on what exactly that means, Miss Tōko.”

“I mean that she’s definitely a girl, physically and mentally. Shiki is long gone, so technically speaking, there shouldn’t be any male personality in her anymore.”

I don’t know if I really agree with Miss Tōko since Shiki’s way of speaking is still quite masculine. Shikitwo years ago before the coma never spoke like that.

“See, you can compare Shiki to the Taijitu symbol,” she continues. “We all recognize it: a big circle, white on one half, black on the other, as if each side is trying to consume the other one. And inside each color, we find a small point that is the opposite color, a black point in the white, and a white point in the black. It’s a symbol that swirls and dances in conflict—a spiral of black and white.”

“A spiral…of conflict?” My head throbs a beat. I feel like I’ve—

“Yes. Yin and yang, light and darkness, right and wrong, man and woman. The original reference is to the Chinese cosmology of there once being one, but from the one comes two. In onmyōdō, the Japanese practice of divination, this essential divide is known as ryōgi, ‘the pair of extremes.’”

“Ryōgi? But isn’t that—”

“Yep, Shiki’s surname. Her life with a dual personality was long ago decided for her. Does she have it because she was born in the Ryōgi dynasty, or because the dynasty long awaited the day she would be born, the fruit of their decades of efforts? I’m guessing the latter. The Ryōgi, like the Asakami and the Fujō, are just one of the old dynasties bent on creating an ascendant being by passing on their lineage, long tampered by magic and ritual. They see ascension as their birthright, but their method is decidedly less scholarly. Among them, the Ryōgi dynasty is particularly interesting. They knew that having psionic abilities or the second sight and other supernatural abilities would make them stand out too much in the modern world, so they deliberately developed one that is hidden behind a façade of normality. Say, Kokutō, do you know the reason we have specialists in the world?”

Taken aback by the sudden shift of topic into the question, I become unable to answer. To be completely honest, I think my brain has suffered enough for today, and the amount if information in my head is about to overload. Still, I’d heard a little about Shiki’s family before, but today was the only time Miss Tōko made mention of its similarity with others, some of which we’ve had a run in with in the past.

“That’s because an expert, any true specialist, dedicates his mind for the complete and utter mastery of only one discipline. You pick the one mountain, and climb it until you can’t climb no more. You make it your bitch. The Ryōgi dynasty understands this, and so they found a way to put any number of minds in one body. Like computers installed with various software, they are enabled to excel in many, varied things. That’s why her name is Shiki. The same ‘shiki’ in ‘shikigami’, the goetic theurgy. The same ‘shiki’ in ‘sūshiki’, meaning ‘ritual.’ It results in people who, on a whim, can transcend their notions of morality, their knowledge and skills. Empty dolls waiting to be filled.”

I didn’t like how Miss Tōko summed it up in her last sentence. It seems to me a disservice to the person that Shiki is. Still, Shiki knew, and still knows all of this. The constant shadow of her unnatural childhood and rearing in a suspicious dynasty is probably the reason why she doesn’t allow herself to grow too close to anyone.

“It was Chinese philosopher Fu Xi from whom the idea that from the primordial chaos of emptiness, the ryōgi, the pair of extremes, is formed. And from the ryōgi come the shishō, the four phenomenon, and from that, the hakke, or the eight trigrams. This might be another way to illustrate what Shiki was meant to be. She’s trying to let go of her past, despite seemingly being called back to it time and again.” Miss Tōko lights her nth cigarette for the day with the flash of a lighter’s flame, then points the cigarette at me. “It’s you who broke her, really. Crazy people don’t think they’re crazy by their own. They need another person. It was you, inadvertently or not, that made Shiki think unnaturally of her own existence two years ago.”

She thrusts an unlit cigarette toward me. I don’t smoke, but I take it anyway and let it kiss the flames of Miss Tōko’s offered lighter, and put it to my lips. Recently lit cigarettes always have a curious and mysterious taste to them.

“Man, I didn’t even want to talk about the ryōgi anyway, but look where we always end up, huh? All this exposition might mean you die tomorrow, Kokutō.” Miss Tōko says with a warm smile.

“Don’t worry. I’m looking both ways when I cross the road tomorrow, all so I can spend another day working my ass off for you, ma’am.”

“Good to hear. Anyway, remember those two little opposite color points in the Taijitu? White on black, black on white? All that says about gender really is that we all carry a little of the opposite sex inside us. Just because Shiki speaks more masculine doesn’t mean she’s more yang than yin. We all have a little bit of each other. Shiki is female. Her masculine way of talking is, I think, just a way to compensate for the Shiki who died. You getting it? She at least wants you to remember him. Heh, she can still be cute in her own way.”

Somehow, I understand. She might talk like a guy, but she never acted as much like a guy as the Shiki two years before. She’s still pretty shaken up by the loss of him, and she never really fully recovered from it. She might put up a good front of it, and other people might be fooled, but I don’t make the same mistake. She’s still wracked with a guilt and loneliness that’s eating her inside out. The vulnerability I sensed about her has changed very little since our high school years.

I haven’t changed much either. I still can’t leave her alone. And it’s been two and a half years since she was last so close to asking it, but when the time comes, I’ll save her from that life.

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