#ips2025

in other news, i suppose i don't have to sign with -? anymore, not that i was doing it in the last few posts. because it's obvious who i am, right?

Ginoza was tempted to clean his glasses, just to make sure he was seeing correctly. But these didn’t have his old lenses, that he’d last used five years ago; the fragile exterior was recording the gala and its host, the head of a company exporting to the mainland.

“Well, even if this is your first solo undercover job, it should be simple enough.” Hanashiro’s introductory words were damning in hindsight. “President Shoriki’s pouring embezzled funds out of the country, so let’s start with identifying his contacts.”

The plan was to serve Shoriki’s table and cause a minor spill, creating the opportunity to bug him. Since Ginoza scored highest in the simulation at SAD headquarters, he was the mission pick. He’d cut his long hair and let his bangs fall over his forehead, and when he looked in the mirror, he had a lurching flashback to that same appearance except with an Inspector’s jacket. He immediately turned on the Holo of the establishment’s standard for waitstaff: a white button-down shirt, a charcoal waistcoat, hemmed trousers, and black leather loafers. Kougami had outright laughed, the bastard, and Sugo mildly said that he pulled off the part. Passable for strangers, sure.

But I don’t think she will be convinced…

Ginoza was about to make an excuse, to leave the kitchen and contact the team, but instead, he was ordered to deliver the menus. Grimacing, he stepped into the dining area. He passed the timed flicker of flameless candles, the walls projecting a romanticized garden, and the quartet of musicians playing a serene melody. His focus was solely on the people at his table, and he reviewed who they were, with one last correction.

There was the president, with his iron hair and beard, in a black suit and bowtie. Next to him was his wife, wearing a sage green dress and a dour expression. Their son, who was fiddling with his golden cufflinks. The elderly vice president was in brown corduroy and his third wife stood out in her jewel-toned ballgown. She was closer in age to his grandson, Shoriki’s nervous secretary, whose half-rimmed glasses matched his fiancé’s. She was in the next chair, her hands folded in her light blue skirt. The last seat should have been occupied by the heiress of a shipping company, an obvious matchmaking attempt for the younger Shoriki.

Instead, there was a familiar face. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, with a gilded ribbon. Unusually, she had foundation concealing her freckles and dark lines sweeping above her eyes. Her pale pink evening gown had embroidered flowers, cascading from her shoulders to the cinching of her amber-colored sash. And of course, she just had to be sitting opposite the president, although her stare was firmly fixed on her water glass.

So, Shimotsuki didn’t see him approach.

Ginoza passed behind each chair, explaining the dinner courses in a brisk monotone. No voice modulator either, but perhaps, she wouldn’t notice…? Then, her ponytail shifted as she curiously peered at him. He pushed up his glasses, as he replied to Shoriki’s wife.

“Yes, that’s right.” And in a point of weakness, he glanced at Shimotsuki. Her expression had contorted into horrified recognition, and any lingering hope died. What exactly about that tipped her off?!

Nobody else had seen the lapse in composure, but now, he really had to go. As he pivoted, she announced. “Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.”

Taking the hint, he waited in a nearby alcove. Although the circumstance was unexpected, it was admittedly funny to see her rose-colored figure march towards him, like a princess whose crown had been stolen. He inclined his head. “Good evening.”

“What are you doing here?!” She hissed.

“I was thinking the same of you. I wasn’t aware you’d be attending, and under your real name.”

“As if I wanted to! The other girl got sick with gastritis, so Sensei asked me.”

“Sensei?”

“The woman with the glasses. She was my literature teacher at Ousou Academy.” She crossed her arms. “But I asked you first.”

“I can’t share everything, but the person of interest is President Shoriki.” He provided the bare minimum, as much as he was permitted. “What have you heard?”

Shimotsuki pressed her lips together. “Nothing about money, but…a few society wives acting off, like they were sedated with mild hallucinations, while attending parties held at the Shoriki estate. I might as well record the table conversation.” She activated her wristlink, now in a matching rose-gold.

“Thank you, that’d be helpful.” And he meant it.

“I’m doing it so you won’t hover and be more suspicious.” She retorted, and he suppressed a smile. “So, how do I alert you?”

“It’s alright. I still remember your number.” He confirmed it with a quick message, and she was visibly surprised.

“Oh…good.” Then, she cleared her throat and turned. “You go first, you’re actually working.”

He didn’t argue, but couldn’t resist a parting question. “How’s Unit 1?”

She flashed a baleful look. “Emptier. Do you have any news about Senpai?”

“...No. Unfortunately not.”

“I’m not surprised. Just tell me when there is.” However, her voice possessed an undercurrent of worry.

And after so long, his response was habitual. “Understood.”

***

Mika was insanely bored.

Sensei was pleasant, but her attention was pulled towards her fiancé and Shoriki’s wife, who had biting advice about marriage. The other married couple wasn’t better, the vice president already dozing. His wife, flaunting the pastel dress code, seemed to relish the disdain from other guests. Chikaru, the Shoriki heir, needed to be prompted to talk to Mika. She desperately wanted to shoot down his feeble small talk, but forced politeness for the sake of information.

It wasn’t like she was impressed; it was just another frivolous party, in a long parade that spanned her childhood. Since she left her family home, she’d never missed this lifestyle.

Her gaze strayed inevitably to Ginoza, clearing their appetizer remnants. His left hand barely moved, to prevent any accidental touches. She moved her empty soup bowl to the edge of the tablecloth, for him to easily access.

He gave a deferential nod. “Thank you, miss.” But the corner of his mouth twitched. She shot a glare at his departing back.

And then, her knife was too dull. She valiantly sawed at her quail, irritated by Ginoza’s presence silently moving around and refilling their glasses. Damn him, he was saving her for last.

“Excuse me, do you need a replacement?”

Begrudgingly, she replied. “Yes, please.” Without thinking twice, they swapped the knives. A quick and clean transfer, muscle memory developed over long cases.

“That was smooth.” Sensei’s fiancé noted as he raised his glass.

Sensei agreed. “You’ve become adept through your work.”

Mika hastily deflected. “Ousou taught me well.” There was a scoff from her other side, which sounded like the idiot beside her. When she spared a look, however, he was preoccupied with a game on his wristlink. She hoped her own caught something in this rotten mess.

Profiteroles were the meal’s finale, and she tensed in anticipation, when the spotlight unduly fell upon her. President Shoriki stated. “So, you work for the Ministry of Welfare.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And do you plan to stay there? The public’s been disturbed by the recent scandal.”

“That’s a matter we’re continuing to investigate, but trust will be restored.” She coolly responded.

“Oh!” The vice president’s wife exclaimed. “You ran onstage before the live video was cut.”

Mika was clasping her hands together so tightly, her fingertips were going numb. “I’m surprised you were watching so closely, Tokuda-san.”

“There are enough Tokudas here, I’m Tsumugi.” She said dismissively. Her husband, who was now awake, either didn’t hear or was choosing not to hear. In the periphery, Sensei’s fiancé nervously downed his water. Sensei glanced pitifully at Mika; she actually felt sorrier for her former teacher. Tsumugi resumed. “But back to President Shoriki’s question. Why do you want to stay at such a place, when its own leader isn’t safe?”

“I believe in the work I do.” Her answer was succinct and honest. She was saved from further explanation, by the splash of Ginoza’s interruption.

It was actually convincing, how he ‘accidentally’ knocked over the vice president’s glass. Shoriki stood to avoid the spill, and Ginoza apologized as he wiped the puddle. There was the brief touch on Shoriki’s pocket as he helped the man resettle in his chair. He spun on his heel; that was it, and he’d disappear.

Shoriki headed out when the music swelled to an opening waltz. But not even a minute later, someone else did too. She followed Sensei’s line of sight to her fiancé, hurrying past the door. So did Mika, it made sense for the secretary to follow his boss’s money-

She halted, gaping at the swinging door of the men’s restroom. Seriously?! Gritting her teeth, she had to admit defeat. She messaged Ginoza. Secretary’s in the men’s room, can’t you go in?

However, the reply was a call. Ginoza’s hushed voice intermingled with static. “That’s not where the bug is. It’s in the coat room.”

Simultaneously, two things occurred. The secretary emerged, looking significantly relieved and tucking his shirt. All that water drinking, she realized. Then, red-violet fabric flashed in the lobby below, rippling in the direction of the coat room. Just one person wore such a flagrant color tonight.

“Tsumugi.” She hissed.

“Excellent, you spotted her.” That was definitely nearby, and she whirled around. Ginoza nodded towards her, then downstairs. “I missed her leaving. Is she having an affair with the president?”

“I genuinely couldn’t tell.” They ducked into a blind spot, blocked by a marble pillar. Then, Tsumugi emerged, her heels rapidly clicking.

Ginoza frowned. “The bug’s reporting Shoriki’s vitals dropped. As if he’s in REM sleep…or drugged.”

“Like those society wives. I can’t let her escape!”

“You’ll need evidence to justify a Dominator.”

“And we know who can help.”

After the third ring, Hinakawa tremulously asked. “H-hello…?”

“Good, you’re still up. Here’s my location, are there scanners linked to the garage cameras? Flag any abnormal Hues.”

He rewound the footage. “It’s not much…there’s a spike but still within normal. This woman, when she’s helping an old man out of their car.” He sent the video; the vice president and his wife were instantly recognizable. “A-actually, the scanners just picked up the woman again, but her Hue is c-clouding more…she’s closest to the south exit.”

Ginoza loomed over her shoulder. “Good work, Hinakawa-kun.”

That thump sounded like he’d fallen over. “Ginoza-san…?!”

“Quickly, Hinakawa!” Mika insisted. “I need a drone with a Dominator.”

“G-got it. But w-why is Ginoza-”

“It’s a coincidence. How long until the drone?”

“Five minutes.”

“That’ll do. Thanks.” She hung up. “Let’s go!”

But Ginoza shook his head. “I have no jurisdiction over domestic arrests.”

Her stomach dropped. “I see.”

His smile was strangely bittersweet. “Go on, Shimotsuki. My priority is making sure someone finds Shoriki. Call if you need backup.”

“That won’t happen. I refuse to be responsible for blowing your cover.” She grabbed her skirt and broke into a run.

It was a miracle she didn’t trip on the emergency stairs. She planted her feet in front of the exit, shouting at Tsumugi’s stumbling figure. “Public Safety Bureau! You’re under arrest!”

She faltered but mockingly laughed. “For what reason?”

“Drugging your affair partner, among others.”

“We were using each other anyway, I wanted a cut of his money and he wanted his ego stroked. Like all business arrangements.” She tilted her head at Mika. “You could’ve been my customer, like other Ousou alumni. So many women, in what they believed were perfect matches. Then, they find out their strings were pulled for the family company, and come crying to me…all I do is soothe them.”

“You take advantage of them.”

“Their fathers and grandfathers already take advantage of us!” Tsumugi suddenly screamed, and Mika tried not to flinch. “Treating us like trophies and playthings until we’re too old, discarding us if their Hues change. I take some of it back. Don’t I deserve that much?”

Inevitably, Mika thought of the fixed smiles and furtive whispers in her mother’s parlor. The things done for family, success, reputation. “It’s true, you were treated unfairly. Even in this age, unforgivable things happen…that’s why justice exists. But you committed a crime and hurt other people instead. So, it’s not me, but Sibyl will tell you what you deserve.”

Right on time, the drone zoomed inside the garage. The Dominator snapped into position, and she took hold, watching Tsumugi’s shrill breakdown through the blue film of judgment.

Crime Coefficient 295. Enforcement Mode is Non-Lethal Paralyzer.

And Mika believed in the work she did.

***

Ginoza followed the bug’s movements, the slow pace of Shoriki’s family dragging him to bed. Then, he switched to the cracking mode and it latched onto Shoriki’s wristlink, copying the data. Overnight, everything would be transmitted to SAD. He discreetly used the building’s blind spot and turned off the uniform Holo; his slim black clothes were suitable for his ride, a motorbike a block away in an empty lot.

Except, it wasn’t empty. A Public Safety Bureau car’s front window rolled down, and Shimotsuki called out. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yes, thanks to your help.” Then, he noticed she was still in the pink gown. “You weren’t wearing a Holo?”

“This is a real dress! Any socialite buys outfits for these occasions.”

“I hope you can keep it. You look fashionable.”

She snorted. “Well, it’s probably the last time you’ll see me in it, or maybe at all. You have different priorities now.”

He saddled the motorbike but paused. “You can reach out any time.”

“And why would I bother you at your new job?”

“Because I know what it’s like, to be the one left behind.” He simply said.

He’d been in her place, watching his partner dive into the abyss and then both Kogami and Tsunemori hurtling on a separate path while he struggled to maintain control. This time, he’d chosen the risk as well, and although it was a decision he’d make again, he saw the same pain reflected in Shimotsuki’s eyes. The feeling of abandonment was suffocating, a slow toxin to a person’s Psycho-Pass.

The wise learned from history, after all. Ginoza wouldn’t let the mistakes of the past be repeated again.

“Will you get in trouble for making contact outside SAD?”

“I won’t. Regardless of what it is, I’ll answer as soon as I can.”

She stared at him, until abruptly, her head jerked aside and she hastily wiped at her eyes. “Okay. Then, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Until later.” He echoed, watching her drive away before putting on his helmet. His undercover work had ended, but the data was next, as was his formal report tomorrow. And his ultimate purpose extended beyond this mission.

After the Kamui case, Bureau-appointed psychologists mandated a break would be beneficial—even if Tsunemori’s hue indicated otherwise. She acquiesced reluctantly, leaving Mika as interim Shepherd 1.

No way she was going to let this case be passed to another unit.

She says as much, and Ginoza continues, "It’s likely another detainment could aggravate her. Since information’s all the family’s requesting anyway, it's worth trying."

Yayoi purses her lips. "If she blows her cover? We’d end up with nothing and a pissed off family.”

"She won't let that happen. Shimotsuki knows the importance of the job.”

​No shit. Yet from his assumption, it doesn’t sound like facts as much as it sounds like faith.

A chasm grows, planted in her before this. Tsunemori's absence is loud, and knowing she'd agree with Ginoza has Mika grappling with all of it. She doesn’t know what to feel.

That alone makes her scowl. "Well? Are we going to drag this out or what?"

-

She orchestrates their introduction easily. Her target is a creature of habit, easily tracked by internet activity and surveillance cameras.

A day later, Mika’s holo device dresses her in a fluffy, white jacket with heavy jewelry and brand-name heels. She wears the wealth as if she doesn’t know how to spend it.

She is Keiko. Blonde curls. Nouveau riche, newly married, and has the brain of a rabbit.

She joins the wife's book club, an invitation she manages to finagle courtesy of her own Oso connections. This month's book is some government-sponsored wellness drivel Mika absorbs through a summary. And true enough, if she repeats "accountability" and "self-growth", she can breeze through.

Instead, she fixes on her target. Sasaki's wife is slightly older than Keiko. Her blonde tresses hang limply. Her expensive white cardigan and designer shoes look uncared for.

Mika stands ready as the other woman sidles over to her after the meeting.

"Not that I care. But wear the same thing as your senior again, and you’ll be asked to change. It’s common courtesy."

Mika exaggerates her contrition. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I meant no offense!"

“None taken. I figured I’d warn you because some of these women care about that.”

Mika thanks her effusively. The next few days, she commits various faux pas that would make anyone with a brain balk.

Sasaki’s wife accosts her each time with a crash course on social mores. It’s constant enough that Mika thinks, surely this woman couldn't have done anything to her husband.

Surely.

-

Reports state that Sasaki had jumped.

Surveillance showed he had done so of his own volition. No one had access to the rooftop, save for him. But Sasaki, third son of a third son, was still a limb of one of the most influential families in the country. It’s easy enough for strings to be pulled for an inquest and re-investigation.

All attention, perhaps inevitably, falls now on his upstart wife.

The gossip says she cursed him. Her apparent grieflessness and a middle-class upbringing does not help.

Other than rescuing stupid Keiko, the wife remains a non-entity: she makes no waves, rarely speaks in the discussion, and spends most of it lost in a stare at the beige wall.

Mika is adamant to pull her out. One weekend, she invites her to a movie as thanks. Mika’s fatigued from four hours of sleep but it’s a brainless activity, some toothless drama about brothers.

"Do you have siblings?" is naturally asked at tea afterwards.

She risks the truth. "I'm an only child. Although my mom did say I ate my twin in the womb."

​"Cutthroat."

"She'd call it ambitious."

They languish in the pretentiousness of the overpriced bistro. Sasaki’s wife offers, "Your mom and mine seem to have the same humor. She jokes that I'd been switched at birth."

"Some other family’s got your parents' real kid then?"

"More like some imps decided to play a trick and exchanged a human baby with a demon."

"So, which one are you?"

Sasaki's wife falls quiet for so long that Mika feels a ringing in her ears. An uncanny stillness settles in the wife’s face and posture. Then she stirs, holds her teaspoon aloft in an unnatural bend. Her smile pulls slowly into a full show of teeth.

It’s the most genuine smile she's worn.

“What do you think?”

Mika pauses, unsettled. She pretends to be flippant but looks away to fuss over her tea. It’s turned murky and brackish.

"Does it matter?"

“I suppose not,” the wife says, amused.

-

Mika doesn’t need charm to draw her out. It’s simple economics: everyone has a demand, and Keiko provides the supply, a blank canvas for Sasaki’s wife to project her own neuroses.

​It’s during a fundraiser when Mika sees her being approached that she learns that the other woman also follows this logic.

Sasaki’s wife is a dealer in secrets. Her repertoire ranges from mundane to scandalous, and she doles them out for secrets of equal value.

“Why was she talking with you?”

"Such a tone of surprise.” The neon red of the wife’s dress makes it easy to look away. "Am I that unpopular?"

Mika doesn’t even have to force Keiko’s embarrassment. “No, but it’s strange considering they’ve always ignored you. I don’t know why you engage in these functions. You don’t seem to enjoy any of this.”

Sasaki’s wife leans, her gaze criticizing the silk of Mika’s dress. She reeks of alcohol.

“Have they ever told you about my husband?”

​Mika doesn’t flinch. “No. I did hear about it. I just never gave it much thought.”

“Never?”

“Maybe the first time we met. But if you were guilty, the System would have judged you. And it hasn’t, so you can’t be,” Mika asserts, wondering why she herself is so insistent.

“Regardless, aren’t you curious?"

“It’s not my business.”

"Conscientious girl," Sasaki's wife sneers cooly, snapping Mika from anxious to irate. "So was there a point to this questioning?"

“I guess I’m trying to understand what’s in this for you.”

“I could ask you the same. Why are you really here?” For a second, the light of the chandelier casts a strange shadow on the wife’s face, and Mika’s palms sweat.

"The hors d'oeuvres, obviously," she retorts.

“Hm.” Sasaki’s wife holds the load between them before shrugging, no harm done. “I’m bored with this conversation. Unless you have anything else you want to exchange?”

Mika weighs the truths she buries—their costs. Anyone’s mind would break, but something in the wife’s expression defies that expectation. Something says she wouldn’t.

It’s as if she already knows.

But that’s absurd, of course.

“I don’t. Unless you count my skincare routine.”

"Fine. I get it," the wife says, waving her off. "Come back when you’re ready."

-

​The more Mika spends time with Sasaki’s wife, the harder it is to keep Keiko at the forefront. And the more galas, functions, and clubs they attend, the more the other woman comes to life, like a puppet granted his wish to be a real boy.

One day, she starts mouthing off vulgarities during the club unprompted, and the leader demands she leave. Mika follows, too exhausted to argue. Uncharacteristically, she refuses the usual tea invitation and bids her goodbyes early. ​

She can’t stand being in someone else’s skin for a second more.

-

That night, Mika wakes, jarred into consciousness. Her floor mirror from across barely grasps the right of her silhouette.

Something stirs.

Nothing, of course. After a half-sleeping spell, she burrows, head ringing again when a crawl prickles her neck and legs.

"Who's there?"

Mika.

Mika jolts. Nothing has been altered yet everything seems to have dropped its veil. Her reflection looms, as if it has grown, as if it observes. The silhouette curiously leans, pressing against the glass.

"Mika,” something says. It is the voice of a woman in a level, neutral tone.

It doesn’t sound threatening.

Mika hurries for the lights, and everything looks as it should. Her reflection stares with gaping eyes. She throws a blanket over the mirror and keeps the lights on until the sun peeks through her blinds.

It doesn’t sound hungry.

When Yayoi confronts her later, she tilts on the precipice of something.

Is this what Sasaki felt like?

“Listen, I want to apologize. It’s not that I don’t trust you or I think less of you. I'm just concerned. You haven’t been acting like yourself even before all this,” she says directly, measuredly, the only way Yayoi can.

​Mika says nothing.

​“Shimotsuki, are you okay?” She hesitates. “Have you been sleeping at all?"

Stupidly, her eyes dampen. She finds the chasm is actually the maw of a monster, and for a moment, she considers succumbing.

"It's none of your business, Enforcer."

It’s the only time she's ever been short with Yayoi.

-

"I’m taking you up on your offer,” Mika says flatly. They meet at a park near Oso. It is sunny and warm, and the fountain from across their bench is populated by giggling schoolgirls. For a moment, she thinks of statues and her best friends.

Sasaki’s wife has dyed her curls brown and straightened them. She’s even cut her bangs.

“I’m listening.”

“How about an exchange?”

Sasaki’s wife, whatever she is, grins. “I’m listening intently.”

Mika has her own repertoire. She can tell her about her aunt, who was deemed clinically insane.

Hallucinations, delusions–the works.

There’s a predisposition, but Mika has never been diagnosed. If the System says she’s fine, what’s there to fear or dispute?

Her mother is the opposite. She had buried evidence of her twin’s existence as if it would pollute them to bring her out.​

It's in the blood, her mother would repeat. Stay vigilant.

When she announces her career plans fresh off of graduation, her mother balks like she is an unpinned grenade fallen onto her lap.

"Do you have a death wish?” she scorns. For one moment, Mika sympathizes with her aunt.

The unspoken cause of her fate had always been the treatment itself, a last-ditch effort. Her aunt’s delusions had stopped, but she had been carved out into a desensitized shell. She met her end with a car collision while out on a walk. The cause of death was an accident, but Mika knew.

The woman couldn't cope. Death was the price, and she would rather pay it than be made less than herself.

-

But that’s not the secret Mika tells. Among them all, she chooses the one that feeds the monster the most.

As promised, Sasaki's wife listens. She looks thoughtful, like she cares. But instead of reacting in disgust or sympathy or any human emotion, she wastes no time and proceeds to tell her how she killed her husband.

​"I didn't push him obviously…”

She is a dealer in truths after all, and she simply dug out what he kept buried. She spoon-fed him his sins, gradually and gently like slow-acting poison. If not the guilt, it was the unworthiness, the indigestible reality that he could only rise by acting like the criminals he purported to be beneath him.

“If he couldn’t handle what he did, how was that my fault?”

Mika absorbs the words and lets them linger. There’s no achievement to any of this. She stares at the fountain and says haltingly, hollowly, “I don’t know if it was. But I feel like you should be punished anyway.”

“Is that your final verdict?”

“Mine doesn’t matter.”

Insanely, Mika leaves and doesn’t even grapple with what to do with the information.

​In the end, she doesn’t have to.

The next day, Sasaki’s wife strides into the Bureau building quite casually for someone who intends to confess. ​Mika’s coworkers are stunned and pepper her with questions. When Interrogation takes the helm, they redirect to the suspect for answers.

"I was persuaded,” she says, eyes drifting until they meet Mika through the two-way mirror. "Sometimes, you have to say what you did out loud in order to move on. And I’ve said all I needed to say.”

The outcome is a blur, and Mika relinquishes her role in it. After all that, despite the family’s outcries and because her hue cleared her of legal guilt, Sasaki’s wife is released after a brief stint at a holding facility.

She’s sure she’ll never see her again.

-

(When Mika sees a woman who resembles her in passing a year later, the other woman glances over her without recognition and keeps walking.

Must have been someone else, Mika thinks and almost believes it.)

-

Their steady, annoying rudder returns looking like the break didn't do anything.

"So, what did I miss?" Tsunemori asks.

"Report’s on the tablet."

"I'd rather hear it from you."

Mika wonders if the difference is enough for it to matter. But Tsunemori clearly thinks it does. This team would rather rely on her than facts on a page.

She manages to brush away any of her feelings about that well enough to revert to a template of how they expect her to react.

"If you insist.” She makes sure to roll her eyes and tells her about almost everything she missed.

Almost.

-

In the end, Mika finds her omission again when she’s not looking. It’s in the archives of a news site she visits while working on another case.

By coincidence, the obituary is next to Sasaki’s.

There is no mention of the grisly details.

Instead, they list: A retired librarian. Avid member of her community. Liked to write and garden. Survived by a son, his wife, and one granddaughter.

​The accompanying picture is of her in a yard. They don’t opt for the customary funerary portrait but an unfiltered candid instead. The sun hat’s shadow obscures her face, but her laugh lines are still apparent and at home against a backdrop of colorful flowers. She can see where Tsunemori gets her smile from.

​Mika says it all aloud again, the whole secret she had paid Sasaki’s wife, in the seclusion of her bedroom, the words regurgitating out of her.

She still doesn’t know what to feel.

But when she takes the blanket from her mirror after all these months and stares at her sullen and driven expression, she at the very least feels almost like herself.​