Kiyoka caught up with him halfway back to Scepter 4. Dark clouds had whisked away the sun, and a light drizzle began to litter every surface of Shizume. What little warmth was given from the gleam they witnessed earlier was gone, and in its place, a chilling fog rolled in, the coming evening drowning out the day.
Out of breath from running, Kiyoka stomped through newly formed puddles to snatch hold of Fushimi’s sleeve. “Wait up!” She called, exasperated.
Fushimi shrugged her off and kept on walking.
“Sashimi, stop!” She called more forcefully, taking up his arm.
Fushimi whipped around, nearly throwing her off balance. “Why are you here?” He snapped at her. “Shouldn’t you be off with your new king?” He nearly spat out the words.
Kiyoka felt suddenly defensive. “Just because she’s my king doesn’t mean that I have to drop everything and go to her.”
“That’s exactly what it means!” He shot back with surprising force. “When you take on the power of a king, you’re bound to that person, whether you like it or not. You have to follow them.”
“You mean like the way you followed Mikoto Suoh?”
Alarm flashed through Fushimi’s eyes and he took a harrowing step toward her.
Kiyoka didn’t budge, keeping her eyes locked with equal force against his.
“You know nothing of loyalty,” he uttered low to her, rain drops dripping down his cheeks. “You don’t know what it’s like to take on responsibility, only to have it thrown away by someone else who doesn’t give a damn about you. All that talk of being a traitor, of leaving Homra to join Scepter 4 – you have no idea the truth behind it. You don’t know what a traitor really looks like. But I do. So do me a favor and leave me the hell alone.”
With an air of finality, partnered with a look of disgust, he back away from her and began to walk away, but Kiyoka intervened.
“Oh no you don’t! You don’t get to walk away from me,” she argued, speeding up to stand before him, blocking his path. “Just like I don’t get to hang up on you.”
“This is different,” he said.
“How?”
“Because I know where I’m going! Can you honestly say the same?”
His answer struck her coldly and she staggered back, her inability to offer a reply the very thing he expected from her.
“Exactly,” he said. “Like I told you: you know nothing.”
Again, he tried to skirt around her, but she tightened her grip on his arm, setting her other hand on his chest. “Then teach me!” She yelled, desperate to keep him there.
Fushimi had had enough. He took her by the arms and shoved her to a nearby wall. “Just get away from me!” He hollered.
He was so close to her, she could feel his heated breath on her nose, her lips, his trembling rage significant, though she hardly knew why.
Mouth hung meekly open, Kiyoka had no words to say, only a look of yearning in her eyes that told him not to go.
Fushimi seemed to study this, realizing his own madness for a moment before reeling himself back.
He released her arms, hanging his own limply at his sides.
He said nothing for a moment, nor did he attempt to walk away again. Despite his order, telling her to let him go, he didn’t make an effort to depart.
It was silent. Only the sound of the rain, now coming down in throngs, could be heard. In the growing cold, the warmth of both their ragged breathing shot the air in tiny gusts, instantly extinguished by the rain.
Kiyoka was the first to speak, peeling off the wall to draw in close to him. “Listen to me,” she said, staring up into his wandering eyes that tried and failed to run from hers.
She took him by his soaked lapel and held him there, allowing her firm gaze to steady him. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, resolution in her voice. “I may not understand, but I know that this is where I need to be – where I want to be. So please,” she said, her brow pressed with concern, her eyes searching deeply into his. “Let me stay. I want to stay.”
Fushimi’s own brow quivered, his breathing coming shallow to his lungs, then letting out in small, obstructed bursts.
“Like I said,” he uttered low, his face hardening. “You do what you want.”
With his final word, he took her wrist and plied her hand off of him. Without another word, he departed from her, leaving her alone, his figure soon enveloped by the fog.
(K:Tales of Midnight is an Eso Niko Fan Fiction series based on the anime/manga series K, written by GoRa and produced by GoHands. All fan fiction works written by Eso Niko are categorized as ‘unofficial fan fiction,’ and are in no way affiliated to GoRa and GoHands.)
A mere twenty four hours had passed since Fushimi heard those startling words uttered by Rei Kiyoka.
We’re going to kill Hisui Nagare.
Like a broken record, those words ran like chills again and again through Fushimi’s sleep-deprived brain. They didn’t want to go away. The more he heard their weighted echo ringing in his ears, the more unsettled he became, which was an even greater shock to him, given his utter lack of empathy for any person ever.
Of course, this is what you wanted, he would tell himself. You want him gone. He’s sick. He’s twisted. He needs to be stopped. Yet all the while, Fushimi failed to realize just what wanting him gone really meant.
Stopping Hisui Nagare wasn’t just about defeating him. There was no halfway mark that meant locking him up and hoping he’d learn his lesson. Only one solution would ensure that no more harm would come from Hisui’s aura-ridden hands. It was simple, really, only Fushimi hadn’t gotten that far mentally. Hence the growing feeling of unease he couldn’t seem to shake. Plus, of course, the notion that, to kill a man – even a sadistic one like Nagare – would somehow ruffle the unruffable feathers of Saruhiko Fushimi. If shame was ever something to be felt by Fushimi, it would happen over something so ridiculous and highly out-of-character as this.
Naturally, these troubling thoughts succeeded in deflecting any notion of sleep over the course of those twenty four hours since his obvious wall of naivety was shattered like a fragile piece of glass. What an idiot, he kept thinking to himself, hardly noticing the world around him. Nor did he quite comprehend the mission he was currently engaged upon, partnered with Rei Kiyoka for whatever reason. Oh yeah, he realized somewhat vaguely, recalling to his mind, an instance with the Captain several moments (or perhaps hours) before.
“I want you to find something for me,” the Captain had said ominously with his insufferable air of vagueness that Fushimi couldn’t stand.
Pricked as usual with annoyance, Fushimi asked, almost like he was talking to a child, “And what might that be?”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” came the worst possible answer that the Captain could have given.
Yes, how could I forget such a stimulating talk? Fushimi wondered with a jilt while traversing through the windy, uncrowded alleyways of Shizume. Kiyoka paced several steps ahead him. The sight of her cascading waves of jet-black hair, her angled features peering into passing shops and her roaming eyes that never once appeared to him as natural, produced once more the image from the day before, equipped with those same words remarked with such a casual air as to make even his hair stand on end.
Kiyoka, on the other hand, appeared in brighter spirits – innocently bright. Once again, a slight glimmer of humanity reflected itself off of her, her current gaiety centered on the city that surrounded them: the scores of people strolling down the windy streets, the storefronts and their catchy signs, bakeries wafting out delicious scents into the air; above it all, a shimmering gleam of yellow sunlight blanketing the scene.
Kiyoka splayed her featured over every single one of them, as though the view was somehow foreign to her, as though she had never witnessed a display of the mundane, of ordinary life, of the utter simplicity of being present in the world. It was, every bit of it, new to her, though Fushimi couldn’t imagine why.
Kiyoka had spent her fair share of time out in the world since her stint at Ignatius Banks (the thought of which still made Fushimi twitch). Yet it seemed she never stopped for very long to gaze out at the scenery, to grab a cup of coffee, to shop about aimlessly, or go on casual walks, exploring every facet of the city. She had done none of those things. Instead, she had focused all her power on her mission. On me, he couldn’t help but emphasize. A slight flush surfaced on his cheeks. Deliberately, he brushed the heat away with the cuff of his sleeve, as though he were only sweating from exertion and not from something else much hotter deep within himself.
Seeking to distract his wandering thoughts (since, clearly, the silence wasn’t helping), he chose the only option he could think of.
“I have a question,” he said, calling out to Kiyoka.
Maintaining her calm interest on a tea shop they were passing, Kiyoka answered mildly. “Of course you do.”
Pricked nearly back into silence, yet preferring an argument over the current terror of his thoughts, he persisted. “Why won’t the serum work to neutralize your powers? If that was what was in the vial you left for me to give to the Captain, why haven’t you taken it?”
“That’s two questions,” she noted, eyeing a passing stray cat.
“Are you going to answer or what?” Fushimi challenged.
He saw in her profile, a hint of amusement, partnered with the gentlest of chuckles. Spinning round, she eyed him up and down, appraising him and drawing more amusement in his growing discomfort under her gaze.
“Would you trust something you stole from your enemy?” She asked.
It was a simple question, yet blatantly true.
Of course not, was the obvious answer.
Discerning from Fushimi’s sudden pause that he had understood her meaning, she flipped back around and started up again, walking with her back to him and her long hair flipping side-to-side with every skipping step.
“We still have to analyze it to see if it would even work,” she continued. “The serum is meant for those who haven’t already gone through the Imperium Procedure, given that it’s essentially a hyper sped-up version of it in one concentrated dose, giving others the same level of power that I have.” She cocked her face halfway toward him. “Without the side effects, of course
“There’s no telling what it would do to someone who’s already been through the Imperium Procedure, and frankly, I’m not too excited to find out. I’ve been through enough experiments without my consent. I’m not about to go blindly into this one when I know I have the option to discover with absolute certainty what it’ll do to me.”
She said this so matter-of-factly, it almost didn’t register in Fushimi’s mind how deeply enslaved this woman was for so many years. Did she even realize it?
Then he slumped internally. Of course she realizes it, you moron. Who wouldn’t? Especially after having been freed? And yet her casual nonchalance made him wonder. If it had been him, … But you’re not her, he made a point specifically to remind himself. We may be similar in some ways – a lot of ways, in fact – but it doesn’t mean I can expect her to behave in the same way I do. Just look at her track record so far. She’s been anything but predictable.
“What if the serum comes back clean?” He pressed her. “Would you take it then?”
At this, Kiyoka paused, all sense of her surroundings fading back into the void as she turned slowly to look at him. Her deep green eyes studied him. “No,” she said, and began to walk again.
Fushimi stopped, confused, then picked up in a jolt and darted after her, speeding up to walk alongside her. “You mean you won’t even try it? Even if it meant getting rid of…” he motioned up and down her walking frame.
Kiyoka frowned. “Better to be flawed and alive, than potentially dead.” Then her voice took on a jaded undertone. "I would have thought a narcissist like you would have understood the concept of self-preservation.”
“And I would have thought that someone so reckless as you, who takes risks as easily as a kid popping candy, would have gone for something as questionable as this without batting an eye. Knowing you even a little bit, I’d bank on you finding a way to cheat yourself out of something so trivial as death.”
He had a point, and Kiyoka knew it. Her face, borderline appalled by his defiant comeback, showed him just how little she expected it, though far be it from her to be put out by it.
After a considerable pause, she opened her mouth to speak, either with a serious remark or with some lame comment on how precious it was that Fushimi believed enough in her to survive, as had become her natural, lewd inclination to do. But instead of saying anything, her attention shifted drastically to the side, cautious of another presence, some new force encroaching on the scene. Whatever it was, Fushimi couldn’t feel it. All he sensed was Kiyoka and her unmistakable power wafting all around him.
“What is it?” He asked, peering around, attempting to catch wind of whatever it was she had picked up.
Kiyoka’s eyes darted side-to-side until she locked onto the source. Her eyes squinted to a frown, probing it, deciphering it, her brow increasingly furrowed.
Fushimi took a step toward her, his own concern growing. “Rei, what –“ he began to ask, and was abruptly cut off as Kiyoka’s eyes shot unexpectedly wide and she took off down the street.
“Hey, what are you doing! He called after her, but she didn’t answer. “Rei, stop!” He hollered, racing after her. “Rei!”
She disappeared around a corner, forcing him to speed up. In and out, he weaved through the general throng of unsuspecting people as he tried keeping up with her.
When at last, he caught sight of her, paused before a storefront with an ardent gaze on something deep within, he made at once to race to her, then stopped himself in something of a recoil, his entire body bathed in apprehension and alarm.
The store that Kiyoka chose was none other than Homra, the regular watering hole of Red King Mikoto Suoh and his clan – Fushimi’s old home. Not that it ever felt like home, he couldn’t help but recall. But what was she doing there? Rei Kiyoka had no connection, no reason, to go there. Is she just messing with me? He couldn’t help but wonder.
It was then when the Captain’s shrouded words came back to mind. I want you to find something. You’ll know when you see it. Was this what he was talking about? If so, then it’s no wonder he didn’t tell Fushimi openly about it. Fushimi wouldn’t have gone if he knew he’d wind up there. Where he was. Creepily, those memories started surfacing, yet before they had a chance to scurry up, he clamped them down, back into the hole that was his past, from which, as greatly as he tried, he couldn’t see, to escape. Nor could he find a way to make himself forget.
Cast drastically into a horrid mood, Fushimi balled his fists, took a deep breath, and strode up to Kiyoka. Still, she stood there, silent, staring.
“There you are,” he said, grabbing her by the arm. She flinched and turned to look at him, her eyes wide open, totally exposed.
“It’s here,” she breathed, hurried emotion in her eyes.
Fushimi frowned, his own urgency to get away from there obstructing his ability to comprehend her. “Rei, we have to get out of here,” He said, giving her arm a tug while glancing side-to-side, hoping no one would notice them. “You have no idea what this place is.”
“I’m going in,” she said, ignoring him.
“What?! No! You can’t —!” He tried to argue, but she slipped out of his grasp and strolled in through the door, the light ‘ding’ of the the bell atop it chiming as she did.
“Rei, get back here! You can’t –!”
“Oi! Saru!” Came a raspy young voice behind him.
Fushimi paused mid-step, closing his eyes in a dreaded blink.
“Perfect,” he mumbled low beneath his breath. Just what I need right now. Heaving out a grumbling sigh, he slid around to view Misaki Yata, the royal pain-in-the-ass that was Homra’s vanguard – and also his former best friend.
“Well if it isn’t Mi-sa-ki,” he sneered tauntingly. He eyed the young ma, who was quite a few inches shorter than he, yet with no shortness of aggression in his features.
“I told you not to call me that,” he sneered.
Mounted halfway on a skateboard with a baseball bat flung casually over his shoulder, the vanguard smiled wickedly at him. “You know, it’s too late to come back. Or are you just here so I can teach you a lesson? Traitor.” The word came like poison from his mouth.
Fushimi grinned, bursting into a wicked laugh that was anything but pleasant.
“By all means, try,” he answered. “I haven’t killed anyone yet…today. And I’ve gotta tell you, I’m really in the mood for it.”
From within his sleeves, he drew his red-soaked daggers, a rakish smile present on his face as he advanced upon an equally exhilarated Misaki. The two of them neglected what went on beyond their own immediate sphere that had, by then, completely formed itself.
Inside Homra, Rei Kiyoka had her mind on other things –of the wave of onyx power wafting through the halls, of her own power dominating fully in this tiny, compact bar that she could not, and cared not, to remember the name of. All she sensed was the same void of pitch-black darkness that entwined the very essence of her being, only it wasn’t coming from her. Her aura – that mystical force she loved, yet never knew the source of – was radiating out to her from somewhere else. From someone else.
The place itself was empty, save for the bartender, a tall man in glasses; and a woman seated opposite him with her back to Kiyoka. Her long white hair dripped past her waist in shimmery silver tendrils, and as Kiyoka entered, she turned, sending her red stare across the room to scrutinize the person, in whom, she sensed as well, a similar power.
It’s her, Kiyoka thought. It’s coming from her.
Instinctively, she knew. Standing face-to-face with a woman of so obvious a supernatural connection to her, that the person she was looking at was not just another like her who bore that same magnificent power as she, but the very source from which her own originated. At last, after so much time spent thinking she was all there was, the missing piece of her puzzle had finally been found.
“How is it possible?” She breathed, lost to understanding and entirely in awe.
The woman, likewise, shared in some surprise, for her features, though calm, seemed suddenly pleased. She rose, a regal presence standing before Kiyoka, and approached until she stood a mere few inches from Kiyoka’s face.
Gently lifting one slim hand to cup Kiyoka’s cheek, she breathed a wistful chuckle of relief. “It’s you,” she said with such affection, Kiyoka hardly realized the emergence of emotion in her eyes. “My beautiful Midnight power,” the woman said. "It belongs to you as well.”
Overcome with an emerging bliss, Kiyoka nodded. “I thought I was the only one.” Tears started streaming down her face.
“As did I,” came the response. “But that was not to be, it seems.” Her large red eyes squinted in a contended smile, calling forth a similar smile from Kiyoka as she wiped away her tears.
“What’s your name?” The woman asked.
Regaining her composure with a shaky breath, she answered. “Kiyoka. My name is Rei Kiyoka.”
“Rei Kiyoka,” the woman repeated, seeming pleased with it. “I am Anna Kushina. I’m the Midnight King. And you, it appears, are my clansman.”
Eyes shot wide, Kiyoka’s mouth dropped open. A sense of purpose filled her, partnered with a feeling of true kinship and belonging. Never before had she felt these things so purely, like a weight that had been suddenly cast off, or like a trick equation she had finally found the answer to.
“Sit down,” Anna offered her. She took Kiyouka’s hand and lead her to sit down at the bar. “Izumo, fetch another drink, will you?” She asked, and the man behind the bar nodded.
“Mei oui, mademoiselle,” he said in his slick, cool tone, and began tinkering with the bottles of alcohol stacked neatly behind him.
“Tell me,” Anna said, leaning on her elbow and leveling her ardent gaze on Kiyoka. “How did you come by my power when I don’t even remember giving it to you?”
Her presence, imperial and beautiful, was not at all oppressive or accusatory. Instead, it was kind, soft, riddled with the same power that wove about inside Kiyoka.
A mutual understanding sprung up between them as a result. Kiyouka felt free, able to speak without restraint, unbound by this new feeling of inclusion. Finally she could speak to someone who would truly understand and who would truly know her for who she was, regardless of having never known one another until that moment.
Truthfully and unabashedly, she replied. “So, you had no idea that I existed?”
Anna shook her head. “I would have come for you, had I known. Because, you see, this power is special. You know it is. You can feel it.”
It’s true, Kiyoka felt it. It was a rich, deep power, giving her a sense of everlasting will to overcome the world. It was comforting, pure. And she knew full well that if it weren’t for it, she would have died long ago at Ignatius Banks.
A sudden light sprung in her mind. “Ignatius Banks!” She said excitedly. “That was where I first came by this power.”
Anna’s face grew stern, concerned. “You were at Ignatius Banks?” She asked, a genuine pain in her eyes. “You were also at that awful place?”
Kiyoka sat up straight, curiosity in her tone. “You were a prisoner there, too?”
Anna nodded. “For a brief time. It was many years ago, long before I came to be here. I remember very little from it.” She shook her head, as though attempting to be free of some invisible force that sought to erg her down. “They did many things to me,” she went on, reflecting painfully with both eyes closed. “Later, I realized that what they were attempting to do was harness my power. To this day, I still don’t know why.”
“I think I do,” Kiyoka chimed in, prompting Anna’s attention.
Kiyoka then proceeded to tell Anna the story of her time at Ignatius Banks, of the Imperium Procedure, and how it was their mission to replicate supernatural power to be used on non-aura wielders. “They probably thought your rare abilities as a black aura wielder would help them,” Kiyoka posed.
This time, it was Anna who sat up straight with alarm. She clutched Kiyoka’s hand that rested on the bar next to hers. “Did they use my aura to harm you?” Her face was full of fear.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Kiyoka assured her as the bartender, Izumo, placed a drink before her. “Thank you,” she nodded to him. “In fact, it was your aura that saved me. I don’t even think they knew I had somehow gotten it, and to be honest, I don’t really know how it happened.”
She then recounted the day she had spent in her cell alone, how Anna’s aura burst through the walls, straight into her, and how it had remained her constant companion ever since, fueling her and aiding her in her survival against the Imperium Procedure’s brutality; how it had inevitably saved her time and time again when Imperium took her powers too far.
“That was no accident,” Anna said to this. “Your power is greater than most auras. It can destroy all that it touches. But it has another name for it as well.”
At this, Kiyoka peered a question at her.
“It’s called ‘Restore,’” she revealed. “As I’m sure you’ve already discovered, it is a healing aura that can return anything it touches to an earlier stage of its existence. Therefore, just as Midnight brings death, so also can it bring about new life. And for that, I am so glad that it found you when it did, for now I can sit here with you like this and marvel at the clansman I inadvertently created. In the midst of so much darkness at Ignatius Banks, at least this one bit of goodness came from it. You are a true miracle, Rei Kiyoka.” She smiled, relief and happiness flooding her features.
Kiyoka smiled back, her own sense of familiarity and relief breaking down a whole new set of barriers she didn’t know she had. For once, she truly felt both heard and seen.
Filled with this new sense of peace, she studied the glimmering amber-hued drink in her hand and took a sip, it’s profound flavor smooth and comforting on her tongue.
She swallowed, allowing the full potency of the liquor to waft down her throat. “That’s one good bartender you have,” she said, only then aware that he was no longer in the room but had most likely slipped off to some side room behind the bar to give them some privacy.
“He’s much more than the bartender here,” Anna laughed, and Kiyoka rose an inquisitive brow.
“Oh? Are you two, uh…” she twiddled her drink in the air, furthering her emphasis, but Anna merely laughed.
“Would you like to meet my love, Kiyoka?” She asked, fondness in her voice.
Kiyoka made to answer, stopping herself curtly at the sound of her cell phone’s muffled ringing coming from her pocket. With an apologetic glance to Anna, she drew it out and answered it.
“Hello?”
“What the hell are you doing!” Came the distinct, agitated tone of Fushimi.
Kiyoka paused. “Hello?” She said again.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
“Can you?” She snapped. “Your phone etiquette is appalling.”
Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Do you have any idea who that is?”
Kiyoka, unperturbed, peered backward to the door, glancing out the window. “Where are you?” She asked.
“You’re just now realizing I’m not with you?” Again he clicked his tongue. “Listen, that woman is with the Red King! You have to get away from her!”
Delighted, Kiyoka turned an interested expression to Anna. “Ah, so your love is a King as well – and a regular bad boy, at that. Well done.”
Anna winked back at her.
But seriously, where are you?” She said, redirecting her attention to Fushimi.
“Just forget it,” came his grumbling reply. “Just get out of – Ah! Hey!”
A residual boom erupted on the other end. Kiyoka frowned. “Sashimi? Hello?” But Fushimi didn’t answer. Instead, another zapping boom cracked painfully through the phone, causing her to wince.
“Ow,” she said into the phone. “Sashimi, what are you –?”
She paused mid-sentence, silenced by a laugh, somewhat maniacal and sounding eerily like Fushimi’s (or what he would sound like if he did laugh, for she realized that she’d never heard him do so before).
“Is that all you’ve got?” She heard him say in the most giddily twisted voice she’d ever heard.
“Sashimi…?” she ventured in.
“I haven’t even started, yet, Saru!” Came a distant, gruff response.
Another set of blasts and zapping booms commenced.
Kiyoka blinked, nearly bored. “Sashimi…” she said patiently again, to no reply.
She looked to Anna, shrugged her shoulders and mouthed the words What is going on?
Anna merely grinned, seemingly knowing something she didn’t.
One of the explosions on the other end made the ground beneath her rumble, and she glanced back to the window, witnessing Fushimi and another young man battling it out with conflicting red and blue auras that looked about ready to kill one another.
“Oh, there he is,” she said as trivially as though commenting on the weather.
Fushimi and a young man that Kiyoka had never seen before were deeply engaged in all-out war with one another in the street.
The young man wore a white sweatshirt and a beanie, donning around his neck a set of headphones, a red shirt tied around his waist, and a baseball bat in his hand as he paraded in an aura-ridden circle on a skateboard round Fushimi. He bounced around so quickly, it was difficult to determine how tall he was.
Meanwhile, Fushimi parried every red-aura blow that came by way of the baseball bat, countering with his blue sword of Reisi Munakata, partnered with his red-aura daggers in a startling display of warfare – one that Kiyoka couldn’t help but think they’d had before.
“Who is that?” She asked Anna, casually observing them.
“That’s Misaki Yata. He’s a member of Mikoto’s clan – Mikoto Suoh, I mean.”
Kiyoka gave her a sultry look. “Your love,” she crooned.
“Indeed,” Anna answered, blushing a little.
“Misaki and Saruhiko grew up together. They were inseparable,” she added.
Kiyoka nearly choked as she attempted another sip of her drink, spitting scotch into her glass and spraying it all over her nose.
Sending a perplexing glance to Anna, she couldn’t decide whether to be shocked at Anna’s casual use of Sashimi’s name, or at the prospect of him being ‘inseparable’ to anyone. With so many questions swirling in her mind, she chose to ignore all of them for the time being.
“So, they’re fine, then?” She asked, nodding to the seemingly destructive battle beyond.
Anna shrugged. “Oh yes, they’ll be alright.”
Kiyoka held the phone back to her ear. “Did you hear that, Sash? I’m going to hang up now, okay?”
No answer. Instead, “Don’t you think you’re getting a little old to be throwing temper tantrums, Mi-sa-ki?” Fushimi taunted.
“We’re the same fucking age, you moron!” Came Misaki’s reply, followed by a whooshing zoom of an aura blast that boomed over the phone.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Kiyoka offered politely, then nodded against the non-response she received. “Brilliant.”
Hanging up the phone, she smiled in Anna’s direction. “Right then, where were we?”
“You’re not worried about him?” Anna asked, amused.
Kiyoka shrugged, studying the remainder of her drink. “He’s been through far worse from me. I think he can handle this.”
Anna gave her a perceptive smile as the door burst open and Fushimi barged in, Misaki trailing behind him.
“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” Misaki hollered after a completely disinterested Fushimi. “This is Homra, idiot! You don’t belong here anymore!”
Fushimi ignored him, strolling up to Kiyoka and snatching up her arm.
“What do you mean you’re going to hang up?” He said deliberately, earning a blink from Kiyoka.
“You were actually listening?” She asked, a hint of a smile creeping along the edge of her mouth.
“Like I can tune out something so piercing as the sound of your voice,” he answered, pulling her up out of her chair. “And you don’t get to hang up on me. Let’s go. We’re leaving.”
“But Sash,” she tried to argue. “She’s –“
“I don’t care!” He shot back, dragging her toward the door.
“But I do!” She cried, emitting a brief tremor of her darkened power outward through the room. The reverberative thrust shook Fushimi off her and he turned to her, stunned.
Locking eyes with him, Kiyoka’s own widened pleadingly. “She has my power, Sash!” she conveyed to him. “My aura,” she clarified to Fushimi’s deepening scowl, and then his brow shot tall, sudden understanding flooding in.
“You mean she’s…” He peered from her to Anna and back, at an utter loss for words.
Kiyoka nodded. “It was hers to begin with. Sashimi, she’s my King.”
That word struck him like a dagger, and in a fumbled attempt to speak, Fushimi stumbled backward, eyeing her with what she could only assume was betrayal.
He cocked his head emphatically to the side. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He shouted, coming back to stare at her with malice. Taking a heavy step toward her, he pointed one long finger at her. “Is there no end to the havoc you can wreak!”
Kiyoka blinked again. This had successfully dumbfounded her.
“W-what are you talking about?” She stumbled out, her tone soft, confused, hurt. But he wasn’t looking at her. Sure, his eyes appeared to be, but somewhere deep inside, he was looking elsewhere. A darkness settled over him that Kiyoka didn’t recognize.
A weighted silence took them, Kiyoka staring up at him, disarmed; Fushimi bearing down on her, holding her ensnared.
Then that strenuous bond snapped as he tore his stare away from her, glancing briefly at the silent Anna still seated at the bar, then back to Kiyoka, an entirely new distance between them.
“Fine,” he uttered flatly. “You do what you want,” and he turned his back to her. He hardly seemed to notice Misaki’s look of hatred as he slammed the door behind him, the bell above it giving a parade of irate jingles in his wake.
Kiyoka watched him go, her mouth drawn open, emptiness abounding in the room. “Sash,” she nearly whispered, her steps drawn toward the door.
“Kiyoka, wait,” came Anna’s voice behind her.
Kiyoka turned to find the Midnight King no longer seated passively but standing tall beside the bar. Compassion and resolve swirled about her form.
With a regal step, she strode toward Kiyoka, taking up her hand.
“You will always have a place here,” she told Kiyoka. “Though, I understand all too well that a person must find her own place in her own way and in her own time.” She cast her red gaze over to the door, the remnants of Fushimi’s presence lingering like a passing scent that wafted down the street. “Whether yours is out there or in here, or someplace entirely different,” she continued, turning back to Kiyoka, her gentle features emanating warmth, “That is up to you. Go. And I promise you: we will see each other again.”
Bolstered by Anna’s words, emboldened to return a nod of certainty, Kiyoka clutched both hands around Anna’s, giving a tight squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, then raced out the door to find Fushimi.
(Chapter X: Answers // Chapter XII: Traitors)
(K:Tales of Midnight is an Eso Niko Fan Fiction series based on the anime/manga series K, written by GoRa and produced by GoHands. All fan fiction works written by Eso Niko are categorized as ‘unofficial fan fiction,’ and are in no way affiliated to GoRa and GoHands.)
"You should rest, Mr. Fushimi," The Captain offered.
"Like hell," came the reply.
While all the ranks of Scepter 4 had been deployed from Headquarters and Akira Industries to the unlit realm of darkness that was Tokyo, Fushimi wasn't about to let the tediousness of sleep obstruct him from snatching his last opportunity to catch the aggravating Rei Kiyoka, the nemesis he loathed, the one with whom he shared an equal blame in causing recent events. The blackout, having thus deposited the city into darkness, cast it likewise into chaos, a chaos that the Blue King was then forced to sweep back into order, lest the city overrun itself.
While, no doubt, the police were busy quelling violence springing up amongst the general populous, Scepter 4 had its hands full of criminality pertaining to the realm of the supernatural. Therefore, if Fushimi couldn't sleep on account of utter rage and a thirst for vengeance, it was a guarantee he would find no sense of peace when all of Tokyo lay a seething mass of lawlessness and turmoil.
Fushimi's abrupt response to the Captain's thoughtful — albeit unrealistic — suggestion, was met with no resistance. The Captain made no effort to instruct him on the proper course of action he should take (or not take), nor to inquire as to what Fushimi planned to do instead. He said nothing, which Fushimi ascertained as an unofficial signal to continue in whatever manner he saw fit. It appeared that Munakata had some faith left in his favorite of the Blues, a sentiment that, earlier, Fushimi deemed as pointless and unnecessary. Only then did he discover (however faintly) that while faith was never needed for assurances of friendliness, it did have a way of making his job easier to do.
With this in mind, Fushimi ventured out alone into the dim of early morning, that unpredictable landscape to which, from every shadow in the city, all the little terrors had sprung, wreaking havoc in abundance, free from all restraint, until societal decorum should restore itself again.
Fushimi had spent enough time in dismal situations both personally and — if one could speak thus of the likes of Homra — professionally to know what he was up against. He knew what sort of creatures lingered in the dark. He, himself, for all intents and purposes, was one of them. In places where no sense of light could penetrate, those unpredictabilities and dangers, held no power over him; nor at the very least, on his subconscious. Therefore not an ounce of fear prevailed itself upon him but the thought of Rei Kiyoka and the urge to bring her down.
Just one clue — abysmal and, in truth, perhaps a dead end — was left to him: the ‘circle’ was indeed complete, as Munakata said. The inner radius of Tachibana, Yotsuya and Yoyogi stations left some sleuthing still to do.
If I'm going to find anything down there, he told himself, now's the time: while the city's in shambles. Wait too long, and whatever evidence is down there'll be long gone — that's even assuming something’s there to begin with. That psycho played me twice already. It's not like I'm holding my breath.
Once again, Fushimi understood the sheer absurdity that came from his obsession; likewise he could see the paradox, grumbling at the actuality of it: I can't just leave a clue, no matter how pointless. What’s worse is that she knows it.
If, by some odd chance, obsession and a hunch paid off, Fushimi had hoped to pick up Kiyoka's trail. But then, when are the odds ever reassuring? He fought inwardly, rubbing tired fingers over dreary, blood-shot eyes. Either it’ll lead me straight to her, or it'll be a shit waste of time, or both. Outwardly, he sighed. “Geez.”
Not long after, he was at Yoyogi Station, the most recent place in which he'd picked up Kiyoka's signal. In the dull, deserted station, he switched on his wrist device to reveal a holographic screen: a 3D map of Shizume’s metro system. However this one carried further into the deep labyrinth of windy sewers, tunnels, all those incomplete passageways beneath the subway lines. As it was, no modern map existed of the vast, elicit network known as the Shizume Underworld, nor would one have helped. Part of the mystery surrounding the Underworld was that it was constantly evolving.
Nevertheless, Fushimi had his ways of proctoring the data that he needed, layering what intel he could find until an adequate map had pieced itself together. Riddled still with gaps and forcing him, in sections, to maneuver blindly through, he carried on, unhindered in his search.
Silently, he trekked his way down concrete stairwells, past the service doors, scaling afterward, a rusted iron ladder, to the grime-filled sewers below: the upper echelons of the Underworld.
It smelt of dank and thick precipitation, every little sound a harrowed echo running through an endless web of corridors.
Approaching a massive cavern indiscernibly deep, he found another metal ladder that descended into it, seemingly to nowhere. Without a care, he ventured down, his holographic map his sole illumination in the dark.
The ladder carried down about a hundred feet or so. When at last he reached the bottom, he was met with yet another set of stairs, at the end of which, passing through an arched walkway, he came upon a larger, surprisingly less disgusting chamber than the others; nor was it so life-suckingly dark: a vague inclination, he suspected. It was indeed a contrast to the overly decrepit halls left totally abandoned near the surface: A tactical decision, he divined. If it looks like no one's home, they won't be bothered by too many visitors — only those who come here looking for them.
Further signs of life revealed themselves the deeper in he went. Observing the walls, he found them littered with graffiti, coded guiding signals, evidence of secret trysts: messages encrypted in the slang that only those within the Underworld could read. The damp, as well, had greatly eased itself; the smell of rot and filth had faded to a mild, somewhat cool scent of stone.
Fushimi had hypothesized that many of the Underworld had stolen street-side, no doubt anxious for a chance to enter the festivities. But surely not everyone, he figured, peering all around. The place had seemed unnervingly deserted up until then, an observation that had begun to make him wary. Even those astute in keeping themselves hidden from his eyes could not have managed to conceal a sense of presence that Fushimi would have naturally discerned, and yet he felt nothing, nothing whatsoever; until at once, he did. From utter emptiness to an all-invasive force, he sensed a set of eyes, distinct, pursuant of him and him alone, approaching from behind.
Fushimi didn’t stop. Hiding his perception in his movements, he journeyed on as though he hadn't noticed. Meanwhile, his is slim daggers hidden neatly up his sleeves crept silently into his grasp.
He wound down more deserted halls and stairwells, following his makeshift map, thoroughly engrossed within the maze. The eyes followed.
After some time, sensing the inaction on the part of his pursuer, Fushimi began to feel a bit restless. Let’s see what you're made of, shall we? He decided.
Abandoning his slow and steady course, he jerked himself around the nearest corner, feigning escape.
He broke into a jog, weaving round one corner, then another. Then for the first time, he could hear the steps of his pursuer speeding up to match. Not just a pair of eyes now, are we?
Coming to a forked path, Fushimi didn’t hesitate. Picking one at random, he removed his wrist device and set it on the ground, the holographic map igniting him in dim electric hues. He quickly rose and crept his way down the adjacent fork, hiding in the shadows.
A moment later, he could hear the steps of his assailant growing, thumping ever-louder before stopping altogether.
Peering from his hiding place, he saw the darkened silhouette of a somewhat slight figure, hooded, stooping to retrieve his wrist device. Silently, he crept out from the shadows, taking stance directly in the figure’s rear.
“Looking for me?” He said. Before another movement could be made, he had the figure pinned inside a power hold, a red-soaked dagger drawn below the neck.
His captive cried out in alarm. “Wait! Hold up! I didn’t mean anything, man! I swear!“
All at once the tension ceased. Fushimi slumped with thorough agitation. “You must be joking,” he said, spinning round the figure. Swiping back the hood, he found a grungy teenage boy, staring horrorstruck at him.
“Look, man, I’m sorry!” He stumbled out, holding up his hands in a surrender pose. "I just thought I’d make an easy score, that’s all!”
Fushimi clicked his tongue. Just an ordinary nobody.
“Look, man. Clearly I was wrong but –”
“Damn right, you were,” Fushimi interrupted, releasing the boy with a shove. The boy gave back a slight, uncertain look. “Go,” Fushimi ordered. “And don’t come back.”
The Underling perceived. He fumbled back a step, nodding furiously. “Y-you got it, man! I...thanks!” And with another a cautious glance back to Fushimi, he took off in a run, scurrying back the way he came.
Fushimi ran his fingers through his hair, grumbling to himself. “Kids.”
After that, he met no other obstacles, nor could he detect the eyes of further Underdwellers lurking in the shadows far beyond. He was alone, almost uncomfortably so, and then he realized why. I must be getting close, he ascertained. Wherever there are aura-wielders, normal people tend to run and hide – If you could really call these people normal, he added, thinking back to the boy he nearly sliced up with his dagger by mistake. From the look of him, the boy was all of thirteen years of age, yet even then Fushimi saw in him a slithering creature doomed to a degrading life of darkness and betrayal, of filth in every aspect, of lying, cheating, stealing, of ignorance and carelessness to every other form of life beyond that which he knew; but above all, Fushimi saw death – not immediately perhaps, but slowly over time, a festering decay that eats the soul away until there’s nothing left to call a man human anymore. This particular thought brought to Fushimi’s mind all sorts of other things, things he had forgotten, things too close to home. Sensing this, he quickly pulled away as one might redirect himself on taking a wrong turn somewhere. Thereafter, he referred back to his wrist device, following his map as thoroughly as before, lest he start to wander once again throughout a set of mental halls more intricate than those inside the Underworld.
He guessed that he’d been wandering around for about an hour when he came across a thick metal door - the first he’d actually come to that wasn’t already open or partially broken in. On the contrary, this one seemed relatively new. Adding to suspicion, it was locked. Fushimi found this amusing. You’d be better off hanging up a sign that says, ‘Here we are,’ than putting something so obvious as a locked door here. Of course I’m going to go in.
Less than a minute and Fushimi had successfully cracked the keypad and trekked his way inside.
Standing at the threshold, he peered into a room chock-full of blinking screens reflecting neon glimmers off the lenses of his glasses. "Now we're talking," he said, slipping inside.
Near the end of the room, he found a small cluster of monitors and slid into the chair before them, pulling out a thin magnetic disk, which he plopped atop the drive. Instantly, he set to work, scanning lines of code, gathering what intel he could find.
As he did, a screen behind him sounded out a little ding. Spinning round, he found a small IM box open on the lower left-hand side. The chime had been an alert, signaling an incoming message.
Sliding over to it, Fushimi skimmed its contents, subsequently pausing as he read the final line.
“Kawaguchi Industries: Payment received from Aka Shinku Technologies - item K004: localization complete // algorithm link established.”
"A transaction?" He said, squinting. “So Kawaguchi Industries sold the algorithm? But that can't be right. The algorithm was stolen from Kawaguchi. How could they have sold something they didn't even have? And who the hell is Aka Shinku Technologies? Why do they need the algorithm? Or do they actually have it?" Skeptical, he read the message over. Localization complete. Algorithm link established. "But that would mean..."
Scowling hard, his eyes roamed out to all the other monitors, their glowing screens replete with running lines of code. Subconsciously, he followed them, searching, thinking. Something didn't add up.
"Wait a second," he said, checking them again. "The algorithm: it was never actually uploaded to any physical drive, was it? The reason why I haven't been able to find a location for it is because technically, it isn't anywhere. Or I guess, it's currently everywhere at once. It must still be swimming around in some sort of an online matrix. That way, it wouldn't need a facility to house itself, and you could feasibly tap into it from anywhere in the world and have instant, total access to it. And yet, its supernatural influence must be what's making it so impossible to find." Then all at once, it dawned on him. "So that's how she did it. The only way to keep it safe while letting it roam out there in the open is to tie it to an aura, a very unique aura, one that no-one else has. Therefore, the only person who can access it is - “
"The one who holds the aura," came a voice behind him.
Fushimi whirled around, only to be taken all at once by supernatural arms that thrust him by the shoulders to the ground. His limbs as well were bound by glowing chains that suddenly appeared — conjured by two Strains who stood on either side. The more he tried to squirm, the more tightly they would bind themselves around him.
Their task complete, his attackers stepped apart, leaving him to fidget in his place. Struggling uncomfortably, he peered up to encounter Rei Kiyoka propped inside the doorway, her features calm, her arms crossed lazily before her.
For a moment there was silence. Neither one of them moved. How long has she been here? Fushimi wondered. And how much did she hear?
"You'd be right, you know," Kiyoka informed him, stepping into the room. "As it is, you cannot access the algorithm. No one can. No one except me."
Fushimi cocked his head, sending out a look of pure annoyance. "What you're saying doesn't make sense. What about Kawaguchi Industries?”
"What about them?"
"You know damn well what. You said you created the Kawaguchi Algorithm, and yet you also stole it from them? Why would you steal something you supposedly created?"
Kiyoka tapped her fingers on her chin, humming at the ceiling. ”Is it technically stealing if you're just taking back what’s already yours?" Peering back at him, her emerald eyes took on a neon glow from that of the screens.
"Kawaguchi stole it from me. I simply stole it back,” she explained. "Or rather, I stole all of Kawaguchi Industries in addition to my algorithm. Girl needs payback every now and again. So I guess you can say, I am now Kawaguchi Industries.”
Fushimi scoffed at her. ”You?”
"What? You don't believe that I would use the very algorithm I created to commandeer the company that stole it from me, so becoming the head of my own organization?”
"A corrupt organization, I'm sure,” he mumbled under his breath.
"But you're not so sure, are you?” She said, her eyes fixated on him, glowing, searching, eerily calculated. “I can see it,” she went on. “Something in your eyes that tells me, even in its smallest form, that you believe me. But of course, it's only natural that one creator recognizes another, you being the one who built the Yuishiki System after all."
Fushimi scowled, taken aback. "How did you – ?"
“Admit it. You believe that I would create something as outrageous as the Kawaguchi Algorithm because it's something you yourself would create. You have already created it, in your own way. So why is it so hard to believe that someone else could ever be like you?”
Blinking wide, Fushimi stared at her. Like me? He thought, suddenly speculative.
“But if you insist on being stubborn, go ahead, look into it," Kiyoka offered. "Take a peek inside Kawaguchi Industries. Plug it into your prize, the Yuishiki System, and see what you find."
Hold on, He thought. Clearly she’d have a lot to gain from holding me captive. So why is she telling me all this? “Are you saying you plan to me go?” He said aloud. “Again?”
Kiyoka shrugged. “I thought I made it clear - “
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can’t kill me because He wouldn’t like it. But just who is this ‘He,’ you’re referring to? Anyone I know?”
Just then a little glimmer flashed across her eyes; or perhaps it was the haze from all the screens. Either way, Fushimi caught it, and Kiyoka blinked away, almost self-consciously.
“So you let me go,” Fushimi said, ”And in the meantime, you just get to disappear, am I right? While you send me off on another wild goose chase, off you go scot free." He shook his head. “I don't think so. I'm going to find out what it is you’re planning, and when I do, I will stop you. You don't get to be the one left standing at the end of this.”
“And I suppose you believe that you deserve that right instead?" Kiyoka asked, recovering her playful attitude.
"No one deserves that right," he shot back. "Besides, simply being the one left standing doesn't necessarily mean that I've beaten you. You will have tried, failed, and lost, all on your own. And what do I get? Some pathetic sense of victory that doesn't mean shit. That's not winning. The rules of this world don't allow us the luxury of winning. That's why I change the rules. If I'm not the one left standing, it's because I will have made sure that you're the one to fall, even if it means tying a noose around both our necks. I'll take you down with me if I have to.”
Kiyoka clicked her tongue. ”What a stupid way to go."
"For you, maybe. But not for me. Because unlike you, driven down against your will, I will have chosen for myself, a decision you will have failed to take away from me. As it happens, I will be the one who inevitably strips you of that right. That’s when I’ll know that I’ve won: when I’ve taken everything from you, even your ability to choose.”
At this, Kiyoka paused, nodding slowly. ”I see.” Eyeing a chair beside her, she reached her fingers out, fiddling the upholstery. “And are you so certain that I’ve not already made my choice? That I've not already found the path I wish to take down into hell, and that this isn't just my way of carrying it out?"
Gradually, she turned to look at him, a darkness in her eye.
“Perhaps this noose around my neck has already been tied, but it was I who tied it there; I who am now counting on you to let go of the other end, to give the final push. And for that, I can’t have you diving in head first before it’s time.”
”What are you saying?” Fushimi asked. “That you actually want me to kill you?"
“Kill me?” She chuckled sharply. Then her tone fell flat. “If only it were that easy. No, what I’m saying is this: that if I can't rely on you, Saruhiko Fushimi, then what really is the point of you?” All at once her playfulness subsided, as though it were a mask, finally stripped away. Not even in her eyes did he detect a sense of cunning anymore. As it was, her bluntness, almost human in simplicity and earnestness, had thrown him off completely.
“The hell?” He said in actual bewilderment.
Kiyoka didn’t stop. “You know, it would be one thing if you were simply unreliable. But after what you just said — all that blind talk of taking me down with you — you're not even that, are you? You're worse. Because you still can't even bring yourself to figure out why you should be relied upon, and why it is you can’t be. You’re too busy obsessing over the wrong things to even notice the bigger picture.” She shook her head slowly. “Someone with that big of a propensity for oversight is nothing more than a waste of good intellect – not even useful enough to be used.” She made a turn for the door and paused, her voice weighed down, strained. “What a disappointment.” Then with a tired flick of her hand, signaling her men, she exited the room without another word.
Feeling oddly anxious, Fushimi opened his mouth to stop her. Her words, he found, had left a sinking feeling in his chest. Not that he quite figured what to say to make her stay, only that by letting her continue, to watch her walk away, out his sight, he’d somehow lose her further to the darkness, one that no one else could see nor venture through but her. Somehow, this unnerved him, and prompted him to call her back; yet as he did, the aura-chain that bound him rung itself more thoroughly around him, burning him as would a red-hot iron pressed against his skin. He let out an instant cry, mainly from surprise, and that’s when he heard it: the item he'd been waiting on: the metal disk he placed atop the computer drive let out its own alarm.
Sudden action flooded into his face. With a rising grunt, he forced his limbs against the chains, unleashing both his auras in a two-fold blast that overwhelmed his captors, obliterating them, the chains, as well as half the computer room; more importantly, the evidence that he had seen regarding Aka Shinzu Technologies, information he was then certain Rei Kiyoka had no knowledge of. For once, he’d gained the upper hand.
Snatching up the disk, he ducked out through the newly blasted wall, only to discover a small army of aura-wielders in the presence of Rei Kiyoka, turned to witness the commotion.
For but an instant, their eyes met. Something of alarm — no; excitement, maybe? — carried in Rei Kiyoka’s gaze, and then she gave the order and her followers unleashed themselves.
Fushimi held a lasting glance on Kiyoka, observing her, then drew his saber outward in a flourish of his power, and vanished into the darkness.
He could still hear the shouts of Kiyoka issuing her orders to pursue, even when he was certain of escape, and it was several more moments before the final hints of aura flashes dwindled away behind him.
At last, he gained the fresh clean air and early rays of dawn atop the surface, though feeling somewhat strange, empty, as though inside the darkness of the Underworld, where Rei Kiyoka lingered, a part of him belonged: where the fierceness of the light forever failed to penetrate.
Exhaustedly, he stared up at the sky, sensed a gust of wind and closed his eyes against it, letting out a long, unhindered sigh.
Reflecting on Rei Kiyoka’s words, everything about her, everything that happened, none of it made sense. She won’t kill me; she won’t take me hostage; she knows I’m powerful enough, and that those chains would never have held me had I really wanted to escape. She could have used her own aura to stop me, but she didn’t. She let me go. But she wanted me — no, she wanted them to think she did everything she could.
Faced then with the unavoidable truth, he caved. She’s right, I’ve been obsessing over the wrong thing. There’s something more to it. I just can’t seem to see it yet. And that’s the thing: I do actually believe her, or rather, I believe that everything she’s telling me is just one piece of the puzzle - only half the truth. Before, I mistook that for lies, but now I get it. Only half a truth doesn’t necessarily make it a lie. It just means there’s more that needs to be told. And obviously she has a reason for not telling me, which makes her dangerous. I just have to figure out the rest of the puzzle. Only then will I be able to…
Again, he sighed, uncommonly troubled.
Opening his eyes, staring at the yellow morning glow, he hailed the Captain on the comms.
"I was wondering when I'd hear from you, Mr. Fushimi," the Captain answered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Yes. No. Hell, I have no idea, he thought. Why does that question seem so hard to answer right now? Therefore, instead, he simply asked, “What do you know about an Aka Shinku Technologies, Captain?”
There was a slight pause. ”Very little, I'm afraid. Merely that it is an organization in name only, but that below the surface lies a collection of supernatural beings with, shall we say, questionable motives."
"You could just say 'terror organization,’ Captain."
"Very well, then. From what I’ve gathered, their primary focus lies in exercising supernatural dominance over those they deem as lesser or sub-standard.”
“Sub-standard? You mean regular humans?”
“Precisely. They believe supernatural beings should be at the forefront of society. Therefore, they employ certain criminal tactics centered on aggression so as to bring about fear, and ultimately submission to that same dominance they believe is owed to them. But why do you ask? What is their affiliation with this case?”
"I believe Rei Kiyoka is working with them. Somehow the algorithm's involved, too, but..."
"But what?"
“I’m not really sure. It could be just a feeling but…whatever it is she's planning, and whatever she’s about to do…I think she wants me to stop her.”
(Chapter III: Hakkā // Chapter V: Allegiance)
(K:Tales of Midnight is an Eso Niko Fan Fiction series based on the anime/manga series K, written by GoRa and produced by GoHands. All fan fiction works written by Eso Niko are categorized as ‘unofficial fan fiction,’ and are in no way affiliated to GoRa and GoHands.)
