Her hand drifted lower, fingers brushing along Shirakawa Hibiki's cheek, to his chin—then lingering on his neck.
The warmth of her touch startled him. Instinctively, he wanted to retreat.
But the more he thought of her behavior, the more it irked him. So instead—he abruptly raised a hand and pinched Mei Rokuro's soft, porcelain cheek.
…And admittedly, it felt far too good.
Topaz and Charles, standing nearby, both stiffened, horrified.
It's over.
Not only is the collaboration ruined, but they themselves might face heavy punishment from the upper board.
After all—every member of the Genius Society was someone the Interstellar Peace Corporation courted endlessly. When Herta herself agreed to cooperate, IPC had trumpeted the news across the galaxy.
So why would Rokuro Mei suddenly take interest in Hibiki? They didn't know.
But one thing was clear: such rudeness could only sour her regard.
Yet, Hibiki simply tilted his head, chuckling lightly.
"…Is it fair now?"
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted slightly, gaze unfocused.
Because—this was exactly what he used to do. That same mischievous boldness, teasing her with a scoundrel grin. The eyes, the bearing, the air about him—it was almost identical.
"I apologize, Ms. Rokuro Mei. Hibiki didn't mean offense," Topaz interjected quickly, seeing the faint tremor in Mei's composure.
But to her surprise, Mei merely drew her hand back.
"It's fine."
Her almond-dark eyes swept over the room. Her tone smooth, gentle.
"Greetings. I am Rokuro Mei. Please forgive the earlier display—it's simply my habit, to open perception through touch."
Though she spoke calmly, Hibiki sensed something deeper. That gaze of hers—calm on the surface—held suspicion, searching, as though checking if he was a mask or a lie.
So… the events of the simulation had truly happened.
If those twenty-two years of memories were real—then what was this relationship between them now?
As Hibiki pondered inwardly, Mei continued:
"To the esteemed guests of IPC, I understand the purpose of your visit. The Astronomical Society and the Simulated Universe both seek to study Aeons. With the same goals, we may as well discuss cooperation."
Charles's eyes flickered with surprise.
"…Ms. Rokuro Mei, what do you mean?"
"This is only my personal opinion. For the details, I will speak directly with the Astronomical Society's representative." Her gaze, calm and piercing, returned to Hibiki.
At that moment, Herta—bored at the table with her plate of pastries—spoke up casually:
"In that case, I'll leave this to them. You two, come with me. A little tour of the station."
Topaz and Charles exchanged glances. Since this also served Topaz's purpose of pressing Herta about last month's frozen bill, they followed without protest.
And so, the conference room fell silent—left only with Hibiki and Mei.
"Please, sit," Mei gestured lightly.
Hibiki took the offered seat without fuss.
"Tea?" She poured him a cup herself, graceful and unhurried.
"Thank you," Hibiki replied, taking it.
"Try the pastries. I made them myself," she said calmly, as though hosting an ordinary guest. Not the emotional reunion Hibiki half expected.
He took an elegant crabapple pastry, chased with a sip of clear tea. But before he could comment, her voice cut through the stillness—
"…Are you him?"
The room hushed. So quiet one could hear the rhythm of two hearts.
Hibiki blinked. He hadn't thought that would be her first question.
And truthfully, he didn't know the answer himself.
After a pause, he studied his reflection in the tea's ripples and murmured softly:
"…I am him. And I am also not him."
Mei's lower lip quivered as she bit down gently.
He is him, and also not him…
Reincarnation? That was her first thought. But her heart insisted he was not lying. She could administer truth serum—but something in her resisted doing so, not with him.
Repeating his words in her mind, she asked her second question:
"…Then, do you still remember me?"
Hibiki noted her voice falter—the barest catch of breath.
Meeting her gaze—clear water, fragile and searching—he smiled faintly.
"Of course I do. At my one-year-old ceremony, instead of coins, I grabbed your hand. It was tiny, warm, and smelled softly of plum bloom. Another time—you insisted on comparing our lips… My father nearly beat the life out of me when I returned home. Oh, and the time I praised your pastries so extravagantly—you handed them to every servant in the mansion. That night, every toilet in the house was occupied."
He spoke one memory after another, rapid, careless, light.
For a moment, she almost smiled—relief warming her expression. Yes. Only he would know those things. Only her Hibiki could say them so.
And yet—her brows furrowed deeply. That bland smile she gave him was a blade wrapped in silk.
What did he mean, she insisted on comparing lips? Wasn't it the other way around?! That embarrassing first kiss—nearly stolen away in trickery…
And that pastry humiliation too—hadn't she only shared them because of his earnest praise? Yet here he recited it to make her sound a fool!
"…Shirakawa Hibiki," Mei said, her lips curving in a faint, cold smile. "You are still as glib-tongued as ever."
Hibiki paused, feeling the tension shift.
"…Eh? Uh—thank you? Though, Mei, you—"
"Call me A Ruan." Her interruption was sharp but quiet.
"…Ah—well… A Ruan." He cleared his throat. "You've changed. In temperament, I mean."
"Is that so?"
From her sleeve, she drew a silver cube. It twisted, collapsed, then reshaped—transformed into a battle-worn silver longsword, nearly four feet long.
Though scarred with nicks, its edge gleamed sharper than steel.
Mei regarded him with a smile-too-kind, voice soft as silk:
"This sword is called Nameless. It was left behind by an old acquaintance. I've guarded it for over six hundred years… foolishly hoping one day to return it to him."
Her gaze hardened.
"But what I don't understand is this—if you hold those memories, if you still recall our past, why is it only now you've reappeared before me? Hibiki… can you explain?"
The edge of Nameless glinted silver between them.