Eyes Above
The afternoon sun was a blistering, white-hot eye staring down at the university athletic field. The physical education department had organized a volleyball practicum, but since the intense training had run through the lunch hour, the air was thick with the scent of cut grass, sweat, and a lingering tension. The heat was a physical weight, pressing down on the students until their movements became sluggish and their tempers grew short.
Chizuru and Epione sat on a secluded bench near the equipment shed, where the long shadows of the bleachers offered a small reprieve from the punishing glare. Between them sat two snack boxes Chizuru had bought earlier. They were lavish sets of fruit tarts, dango, and chilled sandwiches that looked far too perfect for a dusty school field.
"Eat, Epione," Chizuru said. Her voice was like a silver bell, clear and dangerously sweet. "You are vibrating. Your glucose levels are crashing, and a tired mind is a mind that makes mistakes. You cannot afford to be sloppy when the world is running fast."
Epione's hands trembled so violently she had to tuck them under her thighs to hide the shaking. She looked at the digital monitors mounted on the nearby pillars of the stadium. The news cycle was a relentless nightmare, broadcasting the latest updates from the city's ongoing investigation.
"They found those Chinese businessmen," Epione whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. "The ones who disappeared after those girls from the camp went missing. Chizuru, they didn't just kill them. They... they branded them. The report said their necks were covered in marks made to look like hickeys, but they weren't bruises. They were burns. Someone used a heated iron to leave 'The Kisser' mark on them over and over again. It's like they wanted to turn their own desires into a permanent scar."
As the horrifying details of the crime spilled out into the humid air, Chizuru's reaction was unsettlingly still.
Chizuru didn't flinch. She picked up a strawberry with surgical precision, but instead of eating it, she held it toward Epione's lips.
"Is it? Or is it just... efficient? Those men viewed women as products to be consumed and marked. Whoever found them simply spoke their language. They gave them exactly what they gave others, just with a bit more heat. It's a very honest way to communicate, don't you think?"
"Efficient?" Epione gasped, nausea rolling over her in waves. "It's demonic. To think that a human being could sit there and systematically dismantle another person... it makes my skin crawl."
Chizuru leaned across the bench, her face coming so close that Epione could see the perfect, poreless texture of her skin. Her eyes, usually sparkling with bubbly, energetic light, were suddenly as flat and dark as a shark's. There was no warmth in them, only a deep, cold calculation.
"Think about it, Epione. Those men treated those girls like industrial waste. They used them until they broke and then discarded them. So, whoever found them simply returned the favor. It's what I call the Equity of Justice."
Chizuru's gaze shifted toward another news alert scrolling at the bottom of the screen, her expression darkening with a strange, clinical interest.
"And look at this," Chizuru pointed to the screen where the names Marcos and his associates were flashing. "They found them in the warehouse this morning. The report said someone used industrial drill bits on them. One hole in each temple, and one right in the center of the forehead. They were still alive for the first two. They had to watch the tool coming for them, knowing exactly where it was going to land."
"That's the part I can't get over," Epione said, her voice barely a whisper. "The drills. Why would someone do that? It's so mechanical. It's not even human anymore."
"Because, Epione, some minds are so filled with filth that the only way to clean them is to let the light in," Chizuru replied, her voice dropping to a low, humming resonance. "The person who did that understood that the most profound terror doesn't come from a quick death. It comes from being treated like a project. If they used their minds to plan such cruelty, then their minds were the source of the infection. The drill was just the surgery."
As Chizuru spoke of justice and weight, my mind fractured, slipping back to the noise and fluorescent hum of the cafeteria an hour before.
The smell of cheap oil and steamed rice always makes my stomach turn, but today it was worse. I remember sitting at the long, plastic table, staring at a tray of food I couldn't afford while Chizuru chatted away with the other students. She was talking about the new medical technology her father was developing, something about "Neural Mapping" and "Biological Upgrades."
"Imagine a world where you never have to feel pain again," Chizuru had said to the group, her eyes shining. "A world where we can just go into the brain and snip away the memories that make us weak. It's like a surgery for the soul. We take out the parts that are broken and replace them with something stronger. Something silver."
I sat there, picking at a piece of dry bread, feeling like a ghost. Why is she being so nice to me? I wondered as I watched Chizuru laugh. Every time she touched my shoulder or offered me a bite of her food, a small alarm went off in my head. People like her don't pick people like me. There has to be a catch. Is she working with Jinhee? Is this all some elaborate prank to see how long the "pizza girl" can survive in the Dream section?
"Epione, you're drifting again," Chizuru had whispered in the cafeteria, leaning in close. "You're thinking about the basement, aren't you? You're thinking about how your parents used to look at you like you were a failed experiment. Stop it. You aren't a failure anymore. You're a project. And projects can be perfected. Just think of the surgery. No more fear. No more trembling hands. Just perfect, silent peace."
I looked around the cafeteria, and every whisper felt like a serrated blade against my nerves. I saw Jinhee at the far table, her eyes locked on us, her lips curled in a sneer. I knew she was just waiting for Chizuru to look away. I felt like a lamb being pampered by a lion while the hyenas watched from the tall grass. I wasn't just afraid of the bullies; I was afraid of the safety Chizuru offered. It felt too clean. It felt like the kind of luxury that comes with a hidden, soul-crushing price.
The memory of the cafeteria faded as the sharp clink of metal brought me back to the present moment on the bench.
Chizuru had produced a small, silver fruit knife from her pocket. She didn't use it on the fruit or the sandwiches. Instead, she took a piece of dried meat from the side of the box and laid it on the metal lid. With a hand as steady as a master watchmaker's, she began making micro-incisions, peeling back the fibers with clinical grace.
"The human body is just a series of rooms," she whispered to me. "The person who 'cleaned' those men... they understood the architecture of pain. They opened the rooms in those boys' heads and let the light in. One drill bit at a time."
She looked at her own untouched snack box and pushed it toward me. "I'm not hungry. My system is balanced. You take mine, too. You need to be strong for what's coming, Epione. The world is getting louder, and you need to be able to stand your ground. If you don't eat, you'll be too weak to hold the knife when it's your turn."
The bell for the practicum rang, forcing us to leave the shadows and return to the blinding light of the court.
The game was a nightmare. I was on the "Commoner" team, and across the net stood Jinhee and the rest of the "Elite" squad. Chizuru was our heavy hitter, a blur of white sleeves and terrifying power. Every time she spiked the ball, it sounded like the earth was cracking open.
But Jinhee wasn't looking at the ball. She was looking at me.
She was waiting for Chizuru to be rotated to the back row. She was waiting for the exact moment when my "bodyguard" was out of reach. When the ball came flying toward us, hit with a vicious, intentional spin, I tried to move, but my legs felt like lead.
Whack.
The ball slammed into the side of my head. The world tilted. I heard Jinhee's laughter through the ringing in my ears.
"Oh, sorry! I forgot she doesn't have good reflexes. Maybe she needs a pang in her head to let the common sense in," she shouted.
Chizuru was by my side in an instant, her hand cold on my neck. Checking for my pulse"Epione? Your ocular focus is drifting. You have a mild concussion. Go to the shed and rest. I will finish this. I will give them the score they deserve."
I limped away, my head throbbing, unaware that I was walking directly into a coordinated trap.
I reached the equipment shed and slumped onto the bench, closing my eyes. The wood was cold and smelled of dust. I thought I was safe because the game was still going. I thought the noise of the volleyball court would protect me.
Psttt.
Whistle.
The sound was sharp and wet. My eyes snapped open. Jinhee was standing there, her jersey slightly damp with sweat. She wasn't alone. Three other girls from the elite team were with her, flanking the doorway and blocking the exit. They must have subbed themselves out the moment I left the field.
"Hey doggy, doggy," Jinhee cooed, stepping into the shed.