Pandoraholic

“Long time no see,” the seemingly young man greeted.

That was saying something, indeed: the last time they had merely caught a glimpse of each other was probably a couple centuries ago, in a previous life. A life before the Black Wings incident… Elm Root could pretend his memories had been altered, a childish if not safer choice.

“Indeed,” he responded instead, wearing a smile that he hoped would drop ambient temperature to dissuasive degrees. “And what does Phantom Thief Dark want from a mere passerby?”

He didn’t remember a heist being announced that night…

“You do have a sound knowledge of Hikari’s personal belongings, right?”

“I wouldn’t pretend to share the proximity you have with a lot of them.”

“Come on, we both know it’s what everyone wants! Now… Does this seem familiar?”

A small piece of paper ripped through the air and hit Elm Root’s shoulder, opening as it slowly fell. Catching it between two fingers, he tilted it until it caught light, deciphered what seemed to be… a technical sketch of an ornate wooden door. The drawing didn’t do justice to the artwork’s massive height and presence – how could the thief even contemplate taking such pieces home…?

“What could possibly be the point of telling you anything about it?” The illustration disappeared in Elm Root’s pocket.

“What could a mere passerby want in return?”

This time, he didn’t find a proper response. Perhaps the thief would wrongly understand from his silence that he was considering the offer and reflecting on how much his loyalty to the Hikari family was worth, and he didn’t care. Dark could think whatever he wanted, it had nothing to do with him, as long as he didn’t consider him as a valuable. In an ideal world, however, a specific temptation would have successfully corrupted him…

Retrieve your other wing.

How impossible would this b…

Dark’s finger pressed under his jaw, slowly tilting his chin up as if to observe his neck. Petrified, Elm Root felt his blood chill, his face stiffen. What…? He stared down at the shiny eyes that inspected him once again, this time glistening with curiosity and amusement. For someone who had hoped to never meet Dark in person, that was a lot to process at once.

“Are you really able to walk around town and live amongst humans?” the thief asked, nail digging in his skin. “You’re able to exist in a body that belongs only to you and all you do is… running errands?”

In Dark’s left hand, the folder that contained the contract. How…?!

“Don’t make me laugh.”

Before he thought about stepping back, he was released, the papers pressed against his chest. Dark disappeared as he had come, leaving him confused, lost, upset. His silhouette fading, he had dropped, voice as light-hearted and ironical as before:

They really couldn’t complain: while they were warm and safe inside, some of their colleagues struggled to keep a path to the Azumano Police Department building open…

In slow gestures, he removed his glasses, taking the usual microfibre cloth out of his pocket to clean them meticulously. He hadn’t answered that many phones in… years, now. Brought back memories of his rookie times, working every day to find the right tone and attitude… Truly exhausting, but he seriously couldn’t have stayed in his office, pretending to be important, while the storm was plunging Azumano inhabitants into the typical anxious crisis. Secretaries and secondary assistant workers had been sent back home while roads still remained walkable, and most officers dispatched to local police stations, where they would have less distance to cover to reach emergencies. Synchronisation hadn’t been too bad, this time, despite the speed at which the storm had covered the town in snow…

Around the large table, almost everyone had left for a nap or a coffee machine group session, Sano had collapsed, head between his crossed arms; Saehara had shut his eyes, still reaching for his phone first whenever a scarce call arrived…

Glasses found their way back on Kei’s nose as the inspector, feeling his gaze, was peeking through closed eyelids. The man straightened his back, stretched, crossed his fingers behind his neck in an effort to look more awake. And looked again. And looked quite manly, despite the drowsiness.

“Looks like we’ll be here all night.”

“And probably part of tomorrow. Why don’t you get some sleep, Inspector?”

Saehara’s lips turned into an enticing pout for a couple seconds, and he glanced around, checking how confidential their little discussion was. Confidential enough, apparently, as he responded:

“That’s an invitation?”

“The night will be very cold, don’t you think?” It hadn’t been an invitation, but now that he mentioned it… Saehara’s warmth and neck kissing were unrivalled. A hint of excitement stirred in Kei’s stomach at the idea of a few hours together.

There were many details to figure out, such as: where would they sleep, as the tiny dormitory allowed no privacy; how far was Jirō Saehara ready to go, and would he snore as much as he usually did, driving Kei away? Yet, the latter rose from his chair, soon followed by his interlocutor. Mere reluctance stemmed from the lurking presence of other officers around them, but tiredness lowered their barriers, fixing gazes, attracting hands, moving them together in rare harmony. They’d send someone else in their place, they had done their best for now.

She never inquired about him, his opinions nor his state of mind. Upon meeting her, he had told her enough: her mother gone, his presence had become tolerated again, he would return to his supportive role. Initial resistance overcome, she had let him handle menial matters his way. No question asked, except when he had reorganised the kitchen and “hidden” the tea.

However, Rio Hikari was unlike her predecessors in a very unique, if not disturbing, way.

“I will not paint, Elm Root. You are wasting your time…”

Her cheeks had flushed under despair’s steady pressure, yet lips did not tremble, thankfully. He wouldn’t have known how to deal with… that.

How to bring her to art, however, he knew perfectly well.

“I am not eager to see you painting.”

“Then leave.”

He stared back, cold gaze meeting her troubled one. She was not angry… Only lost. She did not really want him to disappear – he cleaned, and cooked, and organised the extensive collection her parent had left behind, as many tasks she had no energy for, no will to complete. She was trapped with him, like many others before.

“I don’t understand…” she continued in front of his silence. “You’re an artwork, there’s nothing I can bring you; you see it every day.”

Did she really think he was laying there like a vase, waiting to be praised, pampered, admired, cooed at? Now, that was offending. Besides, had this been the case, he would have been destroyed by their curse centuries ago.

Her eyes on him were not what he wanted.

“You will find the way to create an artwork that will belong only to you,” he responded, softening his voice.

With this undefinable uniqueness, her potential was infinite: all she needed was the hint of determination he would nurture in her. He wouldn’t want to miss her creation for anything in the world.

In the meantime, he remained still, focussed, waiting for the water to boil. One of the boys even displayed a picture on his smartphone as an illustration of his words: an old thing he had stopped thinking about decades if not more ago. Where had they even found that? This had been a failure, caused by his own lack of power and creative skills, devoid of both meaningful potential and artistic merit. In its time, no one but a particularly indulgent Hikari had paid any attention to it, before it got discarded. Interesting…

So, at this moment, it worked…? It worked and had brought him these two little… fellows?

Two things: either these two were artworks under human appearances, which would explain a lot, including their desire to receive an important item that apparently now functioned as a portal… or they were members of the Hikari family taking advantage of the portal to visit from elsewhere. Which led him to two questions, that depended on their true nature.

What would be the most efficient way to destroy them?

Or were there more Hikaris behind the portal, ready to be brought in this version of Azumano to save his son?

Water boiled, and the boys begged. They were right before him, at his mercy, imploring for his help and for one moment, it became clear as day: only heirs of the Hikari family would do such a thing. He stopped the kettle and turned to grab three teacups, swallowing with difficulty as he repressed the proud, cruel delight that had overwhelmed him at this thought. It had been a while and he had gotten excited, that was it. It happened.

“The most surprising element in your story is that you would come to me first, you two.”

Why hadn’t they approached Satoshi, instead, assuming they were telling the truth? Because they were scared of him, as guilty artworks that would have received immediate punishment? If they thought Kei was the generous creator instead of his son, they were severely mistaken: when Rio had died, asking Kei to change his role and identity, only destructors had remained.

The possibility that Satoshi had only shut the door into their faces also remained prevalent.

To prove the boys’ true nature, a simple, but not easily executable verification existed… He served the tea, observing their stances, mannerisms, the way they stood and communicated with each other.

“It sounds like you already know where this… ‘portal’, you say, is located. May I ask where, exactly?”

He would need to touch them and analyse their magic constitution, which would require time and either force or stealth. Except that they were two, grown enough to resist, constantly watching each other’s backs, and he was not eager to show them that he could use magic himself. He could also bring them home for the night, housing these distant “relatives” in immense generosity to take advantage of their sleep to pry a little…

“And, if you want to make this functional again under my guidance, you will need to use your… skills.”

He nodded with a knowing look, prudently bringing tea to his lips. If they really were what they pretended to be, they would display the required abilities. Otherwise, if they were impersonating artworks, the truth would immediately become obvious.

Third option, although less plausible as these two seemed knowledgeable: they were ordinary teenage boys toying with him, and he would give them the scolding of the century, a serious questioning they would never forget, the pair of police officers bringing them home treatment and community service.

“Here is your choice: I am letting you rest at my apartment for the evening, where you can have the leisure to tell me everything about you two and where you come from, or we are immediately heading to this mysterious location and helping your… friend.”

Kei sat down in front of the man and bowed slightly, relieved to let his legs rest after the long walk that had led him to this ancient teahouse. He had heard about this place, about the refined beverages only they offered to their customers, but the quiet familiarity that would immediately greet him had never been part of the recommendation.

With an assured, polite hand gesture only a regular could display, Daiki-san designated the cup of tea that matched his own and had waited for their new guest. The charming tableware, all in sober and elegant dark colours, let the deep green shade of the drink and the lovely sweet treat that awaited on the side shine. His host himself, an elegant and composed older gentleman, seemed like a paragon of quiet hospitality that didn’t conceal the sharp glint of intelligence in his eyes. Kei was charmed, and forgot his soreness instantly.

However, where had he seen this man before…?

“This is my first time coming here; I hope you can teach me local customs.”

Carefully bringing the cup to his lips, Kei listened as the only other patron was getting ready to leave and exchanged a few words with the waiter. His gaze, out of politeness, remained in front of him as Daiki-san reassured him: this place was nothing special and he would get used to it soon enough. They inquired about each other’s place of residence – Azumano, nothing interesting – and how they had learnt about this tearoom’s existence – via friends, a long time ago in Daiki-san’s case, nothing interesting.

Even the man’s voice seemed familiar: he had definitely seen him, not so long ago. These thoughts almost distracted Kei from the tea’s sweet taste which, coupled with one of his favourite treats still waiting on the side, could have promised a delightful evening, had it not been for the intense scan of his memories in search of every event he had recently attended.

Suddenly, he remembered. Sentence after sentence, Daiki-san had brought the discussion towards their cultural hobbies, their recent leisure excursions, the latest museum exhibits… It all followed a script that, despite the man’s skilful camouflage, Kei was too familiar with to ignore: his venerable companion was leading him towards specific topics which, ironically, betrayed him.

“Excuse me, Daiki-san, but we have met before, haven’t we?”

“I don’t recall,” the other man responded in the purest incarnation of forgetful innocence.

“I’m sure you do,” Kei insisted, before pausing, blinking in confusion to have let such accusatory words slip out. Was he getting too relaxed? “I mean, you attended the Bashō retrospective vernissage, didn’t you?”

They exchanged a smile.

“Have we crossed paths then?”

“Your face seemed familiar; I can now explain why.”

Attempting to corner him was not Kuramochi’s style; indeed, the reasonable gentleman tended to let his interlocutors talk and open up, only reigniting the discussion when needed or asking sharp questions to deepen an interesting topic mentioned in passing. Kei swam in lukewarm, familiar waters, free to lead the exchange towards flattering directions while avoiding embarrassing topics, encouraged by tea and the man’s discreet demeanour.

Naturally, Kei was responsible for his men and their failures, thus their most recent concern (someone, under someone else’s supervision, had caused a power generator to explode, causing half of an official building to burn to the ground) had to be considered, but the whole event’s accidental nature (at least that was what the person in charge had told a rather annoyed Kei during his report) and the damaged building being vacant helped tremendously. Kuramochi nodded when Kei mentioned the temporary dismissal Kobayashi – oops – had received as punishment.

However, as if fate had decided to press on Kei’s little slip of the tongue, the conversation went downhill from there. When prompted to explain his goals for the upcoming years, he lost ground, his smile faltered for no obvious reason. He caught himself, reaffirmed his desire to always improve efficiency and coordination between each gear of the machine they polished together, but he also hesitated, thoughts evading consciousness, allowing undesirable ones to come. At one point, he alluded to Satoshi, which didn’t pass unnoticed: Kuramochi asked for more details more curtly than necessary.

Kei’s well-prepared long-winded speech about the Commander’s crucial role in the most unique case in their history disappeared, replaced by a more honest, less acceptable version.

Kuramochi and Kei both knew that the entire Azumano Police Department was not making progress, discouraging officers assigned to the case despite Inspector Saehara’s best efforts, which only sabotaged general trust in higher-ups. Other Tokyo districts saw them as incompetent and the professional future of everyone involved in the matter would have been put on halt, if Kuramochi and his awareness of the situation hadn’t manually brought fairness amongst workers.

Kei desperately tried to thank him for his support, but the damage had been done when Satoshi had appeared in the discussion.

“This son of yours should be dismissed. The ‘Hikari’ you claim as our best solution are continuously proving to be useless.”

“We both know we have no better option.”

“And we both know you may be blinded on this topic.”

Kuramochi’s tone was unlike himself, and Kei’s joined hands tensed in a desperate attempt to maintain his confused mind afloat.

“You are a capable man, ‘Hiwatari’. Find a solution, whether it involves the child or not.”

Capable or not, Elm Root was unable to catch the Phantom Thief by himself, and Satoshi’s health was decreasing with each passing year. He had considered the possibility of them drowning, but so early in their careers…? He dropped his gaze, at a loss for words.