There was a quiet warmth in Miyabi's step.
Tucked against her chest lay the first "bookmark" — the aged one she had received from Hari.
The faint scent of old paper and the gentle heat it gave off from time to time opened a small space of stillness within Miyabi — a breath of "empty margin" amid the harsh air of Eight-Hundred-Eight Cyber City.
Clank. Clunk.
The sound of movement behind her had changed, too, from what it had been before.
The old paper merchant had made what adjustments he could: the joint at Kareno's right shoulder, which had been throwing sparks, was now bolted fast, and the iron frame stood with both feet planted solidly on the ground — ungainly, but steady.
The precarious, about-to-collapse fragility of before was gone.
Now it simply followed Miyabi's shadow with the air of a slightly awkward "stray child" who had not yet learned how to walk properly.
And then, without warning, a gale of vivid colour swept down upon the two of them.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho! I wondered what on earth you were doing in a backwater like this — and here you are, wearing the most damp, dreary expression, Miyabi!"
A crimson kimono so vivid it threw the neon back at itself.
Hair pinned up without a single strand out of place, a beautifully lacquered maki-e yatate at her hip.
Standing there was Hanabishi Tsuya — Miyabi's self-proclaimed greatest rival and, equally self-proclaimed, greatest admirer.
"...Tsuya. Still as grating on the ears as ever."
"My, how ungracious — even for a greeting.
But that 'bookmark' tucked in your collar...You acquired something that interesting without telling me? Perhaps a little punishment is in order?"
The instant Tsuya snapped her fan open, the air around them took on a physical heat.
Not waiting for Miyabi's reply, she drew a crimson brush from the maki-e yatate and began to cut blazing characters into the void.
"—— Spring thunder; slicing through the dark — a robe of crimson!"
GYARIIIIN!
What was released was a verse of absolute, resplendent force — gorgeous and merciless in equal measure.
Every character scattered electromagnetic sparks as it closed in to surround Miyabi.
Miyabi drew her brush in the same instant, loaded the damp chill of the alley into her ink, and struck back.
"—— Autumn wind; a hole punched clean through — the gaudy robe."
The deep, heavy weight of Miyabi's ink met Tsuya's crimson thunderclap head-on.
The walls of the alley shook with the impact; Kareno's sensor flickered wildly in the shower of sparks. Their strength was evenly matched — character meeting character, each carving into the other. Yet in the depth of the pause that preceded the strike, Miyabi's words began, just barely, to push Tsuya's brilliance back.
"Ngh — still as charmless as ever, aren't you——!"
The thunderclap Tsuya had released was swallowed by the dark depths of Miyabi's ink and dissolved to nothing.
Aware that she had lost the test of strength, Tsuya stepped back — cheeks flushed with mortification, but her fan folded with perfect composure.
"Hmph. I'll let you off today, out of pity for that worn-out kimono of yours. ...But don't expect the same mercy next time!"
With a peal of laughter, Tsuya swept her crimson hem around and disappeared into the curtain of night.
Miyabi exhaled, smoothed her disordered hair back with the butt of her brush, and turned her steps once more toward Ame-an.
She finally reached the shop and pushed through the noren — then stopped short.
Behind the counter, the proprietor had frozen in place with his knife, wearing the expression of a man witnessing the end of the world.
And the source of that expression — the seat that was Miyabi's by rights — was occupied by the woman she had only just parted from, sitting there as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You took your time, Miyabi. The saba misoni here is surprisingly decent, isn't it."
Tsuya sat before a set meal already half demolished, sipping her tea with an unrepentant smile.
"...What are you doing here."
"Oh, a woman can eat wherever she pleases. Besides, I am doing you the very great kindness of bringing you useful information."
Tsuya drew an electronic chip from her collar and slid it across the counter.
"There's a 'Verse-Gambling' bout being held in the pleasure district ahead — apparently with a rather unusual prize. Word is it may be a 'bookmark.'
Your opponent would be Inzaki Gen...
The sort who makes preparation look like improvisation. Exactly the type you despise most."
Miyabi picked up the chip without a word and tucked it away.
Tsuya rose with an air of satisfaction, settled her bill, and headed for the door.
Just before passing through the noren, she stopped in front of Kareno, who had been sheltering from the rain beneath the eaves.
Tsuya looked Kareno up and down with her fan — taking in the exposed bolts, the rusted circuitry — and laughed through her nose.
"Listen here, scrap heap. If you intend to follow Miyabi around as her shadow, you might do something about your appearance.
Words and form alike — they must be refined to be worth anything. Looking at you in that sorry state is an affront to the eyes!"
She said her piece and vanished into the rainy street.
The sensor of the Kareno left behind flickered in small, bewildered pulses.
Miyabi had not missed the way Kareno quietly moved its damaged right arm — the one Tsuya had pointed at — behind its back, as though ashamed.
"...Nothing wrong with you. ...Eat. Before it goes cold."
Miyabi set the fresh set meal the proprietor had brought out in front of Kareno.
A machine could not eat. Yet Kareno stayed there, perfectly still, its sensor tracing the warm steam rising from the bowl as though to commit it to memory.
Battle Haiker Miyabi.
With her insolent rival's words tucked close to her chest, she steps into the pleasure district where desire runs thick — in search of the next bookmark.
It was the rainy night that something like devotion first began to stir within the shadow of iron.