The clock on the wall struck ten at night, and the room was lit only by the bluish glow of the television, which flickered with static because Miyako had never tuned it properly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she faced a messy arsenal: her freshly oiled submachine gun, a chipped hunting knife, a greasy rag, and a couple of magazines full of bullets that jingled as if eager to burst into dance.
"Well, well… guess who's got a date tonight?" she sang, twirling the submachine gun in her hands as if it were a toy.
From the darkest corner of the room, her mother's voice rang in her head, warm and stern at once:"Miyako… at this again?"
She grinned, baring her teeth without pausing in her cleaning."Oh, Mum, don't start with the lecture. If I can't have a little fun, what's the point of living? Besides… aren't you proud of me? I'm going to make history tonight."
A second later, her father's voice intruded, deep and distant:"A history of blood."
Miyako rolled her eyes."Oh, please! And what's wrong with that? Blood makes the best decoration, you know? Some people hang expensive paintings on their walls… I prefer memories."
Ren, her imaginary brother, chimed in with the shrill voice she remembered from childhood:"You're mad."
She laughed, loud and genuine, as though it were the funniest joke in the world."Exactly, Ren! That's what makes it fun!"
She finished assembling the submachine gun, tested the magazine and set it aside. Then she calmly sharpened the knife, as though it were a ritual.
"So then…" she said aloud, standing up and stretching like a cat, "young master Naoki Hoshikawa has a giant mansion, an army of guards, and some funny little gravity trick. Oooh, scary…"
She made an exaggerated gesture, clutching her face in mock terror before bursting into another cackle.
"Although, you know what would be hilarious?" she murmured, rocking from foot to foot. "If he tripped over his own shoes and cracked his head before I even arrived. Or if a mouse spooked him to death." She snapped her fingers with a grin. "Now that would be a show!"
She dropped into the battered armchair, the spring groaning under her weight. Closing her eyes for a moment, she was instantly assaulted by the voices again, all at once.
Her mother: 'You shouldn't follow this path.'Her father: 'It's far too late to turn back.'Ren: 'You're going to break.'
Miyako opened one eye and shrugged."Oh, come on, can't you lot back me up just once? I'm not asking for much… just a little homicidal encouragement."
She plucked a bullet from a magazine and rolled it between her fingers. The metallic gleam caught the blue light of the screen.
"Naoki Hoshikawa…" she whispered, tasting the name on her tongue. "So dull. But don't worry, darling, I know how to liven things up."
She stood again, slung her leather jacket over her shoulders, and glanced at the cracked mirror by the door. A fissure ran right through her right eye, doubling her crooked smile into something more monstrous than human.
"Perfect. Ready for my date."
With that last remark, she switched off the television with a sharp thud and left the flat, whistling off-key while her boots echoed on the stairwell.
The city's wet streets gleamed under the neon as if painted in oil. The air reeked of petrol and rancid frying, a blend Miyako found oddly homely. She walked along humming a nursery rhyme, hopping from paving stone to paving stone as though playing not to touch the cracks.
"If I step on one, Naoki lives…" she whispered with a crooked grin. "If I don't… Naoki dies."
She laughed to herself, nearly losing balance mid-jump. Two passers-by glanced at her sidelong but quickly looked away; in this city, everyone knew there were gazes best not held.
Miyako tucked the submachine gun beneath her jacket, ensuring it was well hidden. She stroked it as if it were a teddy bear."Don't worry, little one. Maybe I'll let you play tonight… maybe not. Depends on whether our host proves entertaining."
The echo of quick footsteps made her turn her head. Across the street, a group of drunken office workers staggered along, roaring with laughter. Miyako watched them for a moment, tilting her head like a curious cat.
"I could practise on you lot…" she whispered. "But no—Mum would be cross. It's hardly elegant to turn up at a date splattered with the wrong blood."
The thought of her imaginary mother drew a nervous little giggle from her.
As she neared the residential district, shabby low buildings gave way to lit mansions encircled by high-walled gardens. When the black gate loomed before her, topped with metal spikes like spears, Miyako halted and gave an exaggerated whistle.
"Well, well, Mr Hoshikawa… someone's got a fine eye for Daddy's money, eh?" She caressed the gate as though stroking the hide of a sleeping beast. "If only I had all this. I'd buy new weapons, a bed that doesn't smell of smoke and… maybe even an ice cream."
A sudden beam of light snapped her from her reverie. A torch shone straight into her face."Who goes there?!" barked a guard from the other side of the gate.
Miyako blinked, smiling with exaggerated innocence."The tooth fairy…" she murmured, and in a blink her silhouette dissolved, erased from the air.
The guard frowned, sweeping his torch back and forth."…Figures. Too much coffee's killing me."
By the time he turned away, Miyako was already scaling the gate—weightless, invisible, slipping between the bars like a breath. She dropped on the other side with feline grace, rolling across the soft grass.
Straightening, she brushed off her knees and murmured with amusement:"Too many guards… looks like someone's afraid of the dark."
From her vantage, she saw two patrols moving in parallel, armed to the teeth. At the back, a chained dog barked furiously at nothing, as though sensing her presence.
"Shhh… don't give me away, darling," she whispered invisibly, tiptoeing forward.
The dog fixed its gaze on the void, growling, until a guard snapped at it."Enough! There's nothing there."
Miyako nearly burst into laughter but restrained herself, gliding deeper into the garden, weaving between hedges trimmed into geometric shapes.
"How pretty. All so neat… like a green cemetery."
She stopped before a distant window, faintly lit. Her invisible fingers traced the frame and nudged it open—it hadn't been shut properly.
"Oh, Naoki… don't make it this easy, I'll get bored."
In one swift motion, she slipped inside. Her boots landed on marble that gave a faint crack under her weight.
The silence was so thick she could hear her own racing heart. Then—another beat. Not hers. A sharp pain stabbed through her temple, and her father's voice thundered inside her skull like a cavernous echo:"You do not belong here."
Miyako clutched her forehead, staggering. The pain was real, as though her skull might split apart. Voices crowded in: screams, laughter, whispers. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, and slowly the buzzing eased.
"Not now…" she hissed through her teeth, catching her breath. "I won't let you spoil my grand entrance."
And then—a sound: approaching footsteps.
The kitchen door swung open and a stout man entered, dressed in a white jacket. He muttered curses as he latched the window Miyako had left ajar."Have to do everything myself… where's the cleaner? Bloody slackers."
Still invisible, Miyako smothered both her laughter and her breathing. But a tickle betrayed her.
"Achoo!" she sneezed, trying to stifle it.
The chef spun around, eyes scanning the room."Who's there?"
Miyako clamped both hands over her mouth, straining not to giggle. The chef prowled forward like a clumsy bloodhound.
The tension broke when another voice called from the corridor:"Hurry, Kenji! Master Naoki is waiting for his dinner."
A butler appeared at the doorway, elegant, grey hair slicked back. The chef sighed."Right, right…" He set a steaming tray on a trolley.
The butler intercepted him smoothly."I'll take it."
Miyako leaned invisible across the table, eyes gleaming as her smile widened."Oh, perfect… are you about to introduce me to the host?"
The trolley began to roll into the corridor, pushed by the butler. Miyako, unseen, followed close behind, shadowing the wooden wheel with feather-light steps.
The trolley squeaked softly as it moved through the mansion's halls. The butler advanced with calm precision, each gesture rehearsed over decades. Portraits of Hoshikawa ancestors lined the walls, stern faces watching every corner.
Invisible, Miyako drifted after him like a child following a parade. She leaned in to peer at the paintings, pulled faces at the solemn visages and even poked out her tongue.
"They all look so boring…" she muttered. "Mum, Dad, Ren… don't you think we'd look better hanging here? Big smiles, blood-stained teeth. Much cheerier."
A soft laugh escaped her, though the butler didn't stir. He merely adjusted his white glove as he turned into a broader corridor carpeted in red, swallowing the sound of footsteps.
Miyako's eyes darted to the details: crystal chandeliers like frozen skies, cabinets brimming with glittering glasses and bottles, doors carved with dragons and flowers.
"Wow… now this isn't the dump I call home," she whispered, almost envious. "Ren, can you picture us playing cards in a hall like this? Dad could deliver his war speeches from the stairs, like a real general…"
A female voice, sweet but insistent, echoed in her head:"Focus, Miyako. We're not here to dream."
Miyako rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath:"Yes, yes, I know. Just let me enjoy myself a little…"
The butler marched on until he halted before an enormous door, taller and wider than any they had passed. Two columns flanked it like guardians, and at its centre a golden relief portrayed a sun in bloom.
The man tapped gently."Permission, Master Naoki. Your dinner."
From within, a calm voice replied:"Enter."
The butler opened the door, pushing the trolley inside. Miyako pressed herself to the wall, waiting for the right moment. When the old man bowed his head in respect, she slipped in after him, unseen, like a draught.
Naoki Hoshikawa sat at an imposing desk, draped in a dark blue silk robe. His hands rested upon the table with unnerving composure. He barely lifted his gaze from the papers to murmur his thanks:"Thank you. You may leave."
The butler bowed again and departed, shutting the door behind him.
Miyako lingered by the door, holding her breath. Silence claimed the room once more, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the warm aroma of freshly served food.
One. Two. Three. She counted two whole minutes in her head, as if they were beats in a nursery rhyme. When she was certain the butler's footsteps had faded into the hall, her smile slid into place like a blade in the dark.
She dropped her invisibility. Her figure appeared in the room as if it had always been there.
"Hello, Naoki…" she said playfully, tilting her head like a child greeting a new friend.
Naoki raised his eyes, startled for only a moment. Then he sighed, as though an assassin in his room were a minor inconvenience."I suppose… you're one of those shadows sent by my dear brother, aren't you?"
Miyako flung her arms wide in an exaggerated gesture, like an actress on stage."Bingo! Though you break my heart—I'd hoped you might at least pretend surprise."
Naoki laid his fork down and laced his fingers before him."So… the fool Haruto really can't wait to inherit the company."
Miyako tilted her head, that crooked smile twisting her face."I'm not interested in sibling squabbles, Naoki. I'm just here to do my job."
"Dirty work," he answered calmly, though his eyes flared with a spark of fury.
Miyako winked."Oh, don't call it that. Think of me as… an elegant solution to your little family problem."
The silence between them thickened, dense, electric—air on the verge of breaking.