Kenn shoves his hands in his pockets and leans toward Hideo. “You were going to agree with me on this, remember? That this whole suicide thing was a rumor. Then you have one conversation with Emika, you tell me you’re not interested in seeing her again—and now you’re having Mari start a whole investigation.”
Hideo’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t deny it. “This isn’t about her.”
“Isn’t it?” Kenn replies. “For a girl that you claim you don’t care about, that little wild card sure has a grip on you.”
“That’s enough.” Hideo’s words cut the tension between them like a pair of shears, and Kenn halts immediately, his unspoken words practically dangling in midair.
Hideo glares at him. “I expect us to do this right. Up until now, I thought you had the same standards.” He nods once at the door.
At that, Kenn turns slightly pale. “You’re dismissing me?”
“Well, I’m certainly not asking you to dance, am I?”
Kenn scoffs and pushes up from his chair. “You used to get these insufferable airs in uni, too,” he mutters. “Guess nothing’s changed.” He waves a flippant hand. “Do whatever you want. I just never took you for an idiot.”
They watch as Kenn steps out of the room. Down below, another burst of excitement comes from the crowd. Jackie Nguyen, the Phoenix Riders’ new Fighter, has managed to seal the Andromedan Fighter in a crevice on a mountainside. Asher targets Shahira with a purple-gold Toxin power-up and slows her movements to a lurch.
With Kenn gone, Hideo lets his shoulders relax for a moment. He stares down at the arena with a grave expression.
“He’s too eager,” Mari says to Hideo as she glances at the sliding glass door. “He wants to see the positive impact in our bottom line already.”
“He’s always been eager,” Hideo replies in a low voice. He leans his arms against his knees and watches the game halfheartedly.
“It will be fine,” Mari says gently. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I want Kenn to be right, that the suicides don’t have anything to do with the algorithm.”
“And if it does?”
Mari doesn’t answer. She clears her throat. “I’ll field the calls today,” she finally says.
“No. Let me deal with the Americans. You get back to me with results on this investigation as soon as you can.”
“Of course,” Mari replies with a bow of her head.
There’s a brief silence between them. Then Hideo gets up and walks over to the glass window. He rests his hands in his pockets. On the holograms, Roshan and Hammie are in a heated battle with two of the Andromedans, each team protecting their Captain’s Artifact while trying to break through to grab the enemy’s.
“Any other news for me?” Hideo says after a while, turning his head slightly without taking his eyes off the game.
Mari seems to know exactly what he’s talking about. “I’m sorry,” she replies. “But we still have many other potential suspects left in Japan.”
Hideo’s expression is bleak, his eyes lit by dark anger. It’s the same fury I’d seen in him when I’d once hacked into his Memory, when I saw him training with the ferocity of a beast. I recognize it as the look he gets when he’s thinking about his brother.
“Dozens of predators that had previously escaped the justice system have already turned themselves in,” Mari adds. “Did you hear about the two men responsible for running illegal sex shops in Kabukicho?”
Hideo glances at her. His shoulders are stiff now.
“Well, they showed up at a police station this morning, sobbing. Confessed everything. Tried to stab themselves before they were brought into custody. You’ve taken a lot of dangerous people off the streets.”
“Good,” Hideo murmurs and turns back to the game. “But they’re not the ones, are they?”
Mari tightens her lips. “No,” she admits. “Nothing in their mind palettes generated by the algorithm matches Sasuke’s time and location of disappearance.”
Of course. Now I understand why Hideo refuses to let the algorithm stop running.
He’s using it to hunt for his brother’s kidnapper, probably scanning through millions of minds in search of a memory, a spark of recognition, an emotion that hints at someone being responsible for what happened to Sasuke.
Perhaps this was always his goal, the entire reason why he created the NeuroLink in the first place.
“Maybe Emika was right,” Hideo says quietly. His voice is so soft that I barely catch it. But I do, and my heart tightens. “That we’re not here to bring the world peace.”
