Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

TO IDIOT & HECATE::

IM DOING GREAT, DONT WORRY A ME, LAVINA IS TEACHING I WRITING AW@ESOME RIGHT?

IM TELLING YA S@YNDICATE IS SO DIFFERENT NOW. THERE A LOT OF PEOPLE BUILDINGS TALL. TALL BUILDINGS!

HELA

The Chief of MBCC chuckles to himself at the comically hideous handwriting of the once resident mouse of the Bureau. A quick mental check confirms that the invisible Shackle between him and Hella is still intact, the energy faintly felt on the other end is a picture of good health. Looks like Lavina has been taking good care of her.

“How’s she doing?” a tired but clear voice interrupted Chief’s thoughts. He looks up at his most trusted subordinate. Adjutant Nightingale has recently commandeered one of the desks in the Chief’s office, and the two have pulled more than a few all-nighters together getting Chief back up to speed since his return.

“Good. It’s almost impressive that she managed two full sentences in just a couple weeks.” 

Chief stands up from his seat and walks over to the coffee maker, where a half full jug is kept hot. “Then again, the little rascal is smarter than most would give her credit for.”  Pouring two cups, he ponders for a second before adding ten cubes of sugar to one. “Worried?”

“As strange as it might sound, S-0… Hella… is one of ours, has been for a long time now.” Nightingale pauses to accept the black coffee with a grateful sigh, the silent suggestion to take a short break is not lost on her. “Despite everything that happened, the situation in the West Districts is still tenuous. It’ll take some time before peace and order is restored. I worry for her safety.”

“Ninety-nine caught up with her a few days ago. They’ll be fine together.” Chief raises his own cup. Mmm, just sweet enough . “If anything, it’s us who’ll have a hard time getting used to not fixing water pipes and cell walls after the two of them. What are we to do with all that money saved?”

“Ha, I’m not sure if you would want Faye to hear you say that.” Nightingale quips, the corner of her lips curled up into an easy smile as she relaxes into her chair. A moment passes before she turns subdued again. 

“Have you heard anything from her ?”

Chief stops for only a second. Something tugs at his chest, and he gently tugs back on the Shackles.

“She’s alive.”

Nightingale says nothing, her eyes searching and perceptive. It is clear that she has not left the topic. Chief takes a deep breath and half-sits against the edge of the desk before continuing. “With the Sinner Bail Regulations being approved, there’s no more reason to go after her.”

“Is that why you personally joined in so many dispatches since you came back?” Nightingale pointedly asks. 

Of course she’d catch on . Chief mentally sighs. Shortly after returning to the Bureau, Chief has found every excuse to venture near or inside West Districts, often taking detours to follow that faint tug of the Shackles. Yet every time, the one on the other end retreated from him.

“With the Black Ring gone she can feel me through the Shackles as well as I can feel her. And by now news of me being alive would’ve reached every corner of the region.” Chief takes another gulp from his cup, the hot liquid relieved some of the tightness in his chest. “She’s avoiding me.”

“She’s very fond of you.” Nightingale corrects, her features softening. “Give her time.”

“What makes you think time will fix this?” Chief’s voice raises before he can catch himself. Shaking his head, he quickly deflates and looks off to the side. “For 8 months I was linked with that damned Black Ring. How much Mania must’ve passed through me everyday. I’ve caused her enough pain… I’ve caused everyone here enough pain,  just because I’ve bound them with my Shackles.” 

Nightingale considers for a moment before she quietly puts down her cup off to the side and leans forward in her chair. “The Sinner Bail Regulations were approved three days ago. Everyone in the Bureau knows it. So far, only Ninety-Nine has asked to leave to chase after Hella. The rest of the Sinners are all staying.”

Chief snorts humorlessly “Must be MBCC’s 5-star accommodations.” 

“They are staying because of you, Chief.” Nightingale's insistent voice catches Chief by surprise, as he turns to face his Adjutant. “Because they know how much Mania you take on everyday so they can live without fear. They know how many nightmares you go through every night so they can sleep in peace.”

Touching, Chief has to admit. Still he shrugs. “They’ll find something worth leaving for.”

“Perhaps. When the day comes we'll see them off with a smile, but until then… no, even then, they have a home here. They have a home with you .” Nightingale stares intensely at Chief, as if daring him to raise any objections. Seconds go by before Chief nods and offers a heartfelt smile.

“...Thank you.”

Nightingale exhales and smiles back.

“Although, I dare say I’m not the only one the Sinners are staying for.” Chief’s expression turns into a teasing grin. “I hear you’ve taken on a protégée.”

Nightingale’s hand halts midway to her coffee. “...Miss Cavendish is very meticulous and professional. She’s a valuable asset to the Bureau.”

“Professional, huh?” Chief raises his eyebrows, not letting his poor Adjutant off the hook yet. “I assumed the two of you have gotten quite close, seeing how she even imitates your walks and postures”. A knowing pause, Chief continues with more kindness. “She admires you greatly, you know.”

Nightingale clears her throat and takes a long sip from her cup. Her ears are not blocked from view and slightly pink. “Miss Cavendish… Matilda is an outstanding person…” 

“... with a good head and a good heart.” 

“It’s… flattering that she thinks so highly of me.”

Chief considers his Adjutant for a moment, before he offers unhurriedly. “Officially, MBCC is not a military organization. And despite their work here, the Sinners aren’t exactly employees”. There is no need to worry about fraternization . The implication is left unsaid.

Nightingale flushes a bright red at that. Nevertheless, she fires back in good nature. “...All the more reason to get your lovely assassin back, then.”

“...Touché”. The two colleagues share a moment in quiet comradery.

“We should get back to work, Chief. There’s still some work to do”. 

Chief nods and drains the remainder of his cup, feeling energized. “Alright, what’s next on the agenda?”

Nightingale chuckles at Chief’s sudden liveliness. She reaches out to the two piles of documents on her desk and skims the top from the much smaller one. 

“The Sinners have penned a petition to have an actual Outdoor Activity Area instead of the simulated one we have on level B2. The cited reason is so that they can enjoy the real Sun, for better mental and physical health. Every Sinner except S-075 has signed the petition.”

“...****ing 5-star accommodations…”

“It feels just like a dream…”

“Maybe it is a dream. Just take a nap here. It’ll all be over when you wake up. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“It’s me who will protect you.”

“Alright. You will protect me.”

“You don’t seem to believe it at all.”

“I never doubted you.”

The first of December snow gently falls around Chief, who pulls up the hood of his black cloak, the weight comfortable on his shoulders. This particular article he has kept from his time in the Drifter’s Camp, along with its tattered edges and numerous patchworks. Back when he first put it on, it was to shield him from hostile eyes. By now it has become a mantle of belonging among the people of West District. Underneath, Chief opens up two small packets, the heat from the hand warmers flood his palms and he quickly pockets them into his light gray cardigan. Despite it being night, the clouds are thick and the wind is slow. This should do for a while.

The unassuming silver minivan felt oddly empty on the drive here without a rowdy group of Sinners seated at the back. It has been Chief’s go-to when transporting small groups around the city without attracting attention, and is barely stylish enough that the more materialistic Sinners at the Bureau would still oblige with only tolerable amounts of complaints. Chief locks the car behind him and leaves it parked on the side of a suburban road, where it would not look out of place among the sparse traffic. The rest of the trip he will have to continue on foot if he does not wish to leave his vehicle where it might attract attention from authorities and thieves alike.

A small Far Eastian style mansion is situated on the very outskirts of the DisCity Eastside, not close enough to the Rust to fear any Corrupters, but close enough that no Eastsiders would show any interest in this property. The surrounding walls stand solid and tall, obfuscating the courtyard and the main structure from any unwelcome observers. A perfect gathering place for those who wish to venture into the city under cover. Not taking chances of going through the front door, Chief circles to the back of the building before scaling the perimeter wall and landing in the courtyard, much like he did the very first time he set foot in this place.

It is not so long ago that he and Sumire narrowly avoided their deaths from the Garden in their now abandoned abode, but to Chief, it feels like another lifetime. 

“Is this your decision, Sumire? You will be betrayed eventually.”

“I… don’t care.”

Stubborn and foolhardy as he tends to be, Chief is not so insensitive as to be oblivious of Sumire’s feelings for him. Despite being tasked with killing him, the beautiful assassin openly defied her Mentor’s orders, and even foiled many attempts on his life by those she called sisters. When the full scorn of the Garden finally turned towards her, Sumire offered up her own life in exchange for his. 

Avoided death huh? No, we were spared on a whim. Chief thought bitterly to himself. If the Mentor of the Garden weren’t so prideful that she wanted to prove us wrong, we would’ve died that night. 

This mansion is supposed to be vacant after it was marked as a crime scene associated with the Garden and warded off from the public. Were it not for the Eastside metropolis and the skyward searchlights in the distance, the courtyard would’ve been in total darkness. The bright yellow tapes and surveillance drones left by the FAC at the front door would’ve turned away any squatters, and there have not been any reports of trespassers. By all accounts, this place is abandoned. 

Yet, Chief can feel a faint trace of warmth. The air does not smell of hollow or decay, and there’s the tiniest hint of tea leaf that almost might have been imagined if it weren’t so familiar to Chief. The tall cherry trees and the small flower bushes alike look well taken care of, despite losing most of their greens to the winter cold. 

“Chief, welcome. Would you like to join me? I must say this latest batch of Chamomiles has been most delightful.”

“I’m sure, I’ve only just heard Lisa of all people gushing about it. You must have put a lot of love and care into cultivating them.” 

“Love and care… mmm, I suppose I do often find my heart overflowing with love and care since coming here, Chief.”

“That’s… good... Anyway, I also brought offerings. Ignis has been trying her hands at making dangos so she can join you more often. She gave me her second attempt. I can’t guarantee the taste, but I do vouch for her efforts.”

“Oh my, I must thank her properly next time she visits. Please, come in.”

The interior of the mansion is modest and undecorated, but also without clutter or debris. Whatever fixtures and accessories this place might’ve once had have all departed with the previous occupants. The wooden flooring creaks quietly under Chief as he enters, guided by a small flashlight he brought with him. It takes him a few moments before finding the light switch.

Click

Nothing. No lights spring to life. No hums of fans. Not surprising, since this vacant manor would have been without any electricity for months, but nevertheless sombering for Chief. Gas and water should be cut off too. It would be difficult for anyone to shelter here for any meaningful length of time. 

What if he was wrong? 

While the Shackles can point him in the correct direction and gauge the approximate distance, Chief would never be able to pinpoint a location. In fact, after a week of drawing lines and circles all over the city map, most of them covering entire neighborhoods and barely overlapping, his little escapade tonight is based on little more than a wild guess. But Chief is sentimental, and he knows Sumire is too.

Turning back towards the main hallway, Chief continues his exploration. The paper walls and doors that partition the interior rooms seem to glow under the bluish light in his hand, giving the space an ethereal hue. Yet somehow, the chestnut wood frames radiate a sense of welcome, as if the one who might be living here has left her warmth every time she gracefully passes through.

Briefly pausing in front of an unassuming room at the very end of the hallway, his heartbeat loud against the silent backdrop, Chief takes a deep breath, welcomed again by a familiar fragrance, and slides open the door.

Empty…  

…Save for a small arrangement of flowers at the far end of the small room, hanging in front of the large closed window. 

“Ah. Good morning Sumire. Beautiful, as always.”

“Yes, I am quite proud of my creation for this week.”

“I meant you, Sumire. But yes, the flowers are beautiful too.”

“... Chief…”

“...Sorry, I must be more sleep deprived than I thought if I’m throwing cheesy lines around...”

“...Another late night?”

“Yes unfortunately. Thank you for always bringing me something so lovely at the start of the week. It really brightens my day whenever I look at your flowers.”

“It is my greatest pleasure to hear you say that.”

“...”

“...”

“Speaking of… I’m not very versed in flowers. Would you like to stay a while and maybe teach me a little about your art? Over black tea, perhaps?”

“...I would like nothing more, Chief.”

Absent-mindedly, Chief slips out of his winter boots and crosses over the tatami mat. He carefully inspects the work, finding its craftsmanship familiar despite his limited knowledge of the art. The vessel is a section of bamboo, split in half into the shape of a boat, hanging from the top of the window frame using strings of cotton. On one end of the boat is a bed of white lilies, atop which blooms of violets stand proudly, framed by their heart-shaped leaves.

Violets. Sumire. She was staying here after all.

A pang of guilt hits Chief almost as soon as he breathes out a sigh of relief. It is obvious that Sumire has been alone. Orphaned at a young age, the Garden has been the only home that she has ever known, and she has given up that whole life for him. Where else could she have turned to now, if she had also given up on the Bureau? If she had given up on me .

Now that he is sure that Sumire has stayed here at least recently, Chief becomes more determined in his search, starting by sliding open the large window.  A small clearing outside is pebbled with smooth stones. Tiny clusters of flora, slightly overgrown, dotted the landscape. The perimeter wall is far enough to allow an unobstructed view of the night sky. Were it not overcast with snow, the moon and the stars would’ve been a fabulous sight. Sumire has always enjoyed gazing at the moon on a clear night.

The closet on the edge of the room reveals a set of neatly folded thick futon bed and blanket. The fabric is soft and smooth to the touch, meticulously cleaned by hands and dried by Sun. Laying next to the beddings is a large pack tightly wrapped in a piece of dark cloth adorned with flower patterns. The wrapping is knotted in a way such that the entire baggage can be easily slung across one’s shoulders and carried like a backpack. 

After a long hesitation, Chief unwraps the pack, carefully studying and untying the knots as cleanly as he can to avoid scattering its content. At the very top are toiletries and towels, followed by a few stacks of clothing, socks, and, to Chief’s embarrassment, undergarments. There is no way for Chief to restore the pack back to its original conditions, and he’ll have to eventually apologize to Sumire for essentially raiding her bedroom drawers.

Fighting down the heat that’s rushing to his face, Chief re-examined the items in his hands. Even for a minimalist life-style that needs to be relocated at a moment’s notice, this seems far too inadequate. Gears turning in his head, Chief starts inquisitively tapping on the walls in the closet, until he hears hollow echoes behind one of the boards. A firm push, the board gives way and a section of the wall comes loose, revealing an opening big enough for him to hunchback through, into a sizable hidden room behind.

Packages of dried foods, cans of soup, bottles of drinking water, even bags of tea leaves. Not enough to be called abundant, but enough to last weeks for one person. Kitchenware and cutleries, as well as a portable gas stove and some propane canisters are stored methodically on a tall shelf. But what catches Chief’s full attention is the box of Medical kits innocently placed near the entrance, off to the side but easily accessible.

“When were you going to tell me that you are having troubles with your injuries and headaches?”

“I… am uncertain what you are speaking of, Chief.”

“Sumire…”

“They are very old injuries that have all fully healed. The headache is very mild, no more than what you yourself might’ve experienced after a late night. They are not worthy of your worries. Truly.”

“Well let me put it to you this way then Sumire. You can either let me know right away, at which point I’ll fuss about it, get you some help, then sleep soundly that night, OR I can find out in the middle of the night through the Shackles, at which point I’ll worry about you for the rest of the night, get you some help, then fuss about it.”

“...”

“And before you say anything, remember that it’s both my responsibility and privilege to fuss and you can’t stop me.”

“... I see. If you put it like that, Chief, it would certainly be rude of me not to let you ‘fuss’ over me at the earliest possible chance.”

“Exactly. Now come along, I’ve asked Anne to have a look at you and maybe prescribe some medicine that can help.”

Chief anxiously searches through the medical supplies, and is again relieved to find that bandages, disinfectants, gauze pads are almost entirely untouched, indicating a lack of serious injuries at least recently. Several drained Hyperpyramids causes Chief some pause. West District inhabitants rely on scavenging Black Ring precipitation for their Hyper substances and almost never have access to complete Hypercubes or Hyperpyramids. Rather than taking any of these precious resources from the struggling locals, Sumire must’ve stolen the more condensed Hyperpyramids from the FAC to suppress the worst of her Mania outbursts.

Deciding that he has seen enough, Chief shuts the medical kit and retreats out of the hidden room, not making any effort to cover up his entry. One way or another, he wants Sumire to know that he was here, that he came to find her. Stepping back into his footwear, Chief navigates to the exterior porch of the manor, with a clear view of the courtyard, and sits down. 

The snow has since subsided and clouds have parted slightly, allowing the gibbous moon to peek through. Chief turns off the flashlight, letting his sights adapt to the natural darkness. Faintly he feels the Shackle pulsing. His presence has long since been discovered, and he knows that Sumire is watching him, but only she can ultimately decide if this reunion should happen. Though I am forcing her hand a little when I barged into her home like this.  

Nightingale initially objected to Chief coming here without an escort of security details, but they both knew that he had to do this alone. He also had faith that the one he’s waiting for would not let any harm come to him, and that was enough to pacify the Adjutant. After quickly sending an update through his phone to signal his safety, Chief wraps his cloak tightly around himself and pops open two more packets of hand warmers. He can wait all night.

“It’s late Chief, you should rest for the night.”

“Thank you Sumire, I will soon…”

“Is something troubling you?”

“I… wanted to talk to you about this. There are some addendums to your records based on recent psychoanalysis.”

“I meant what I said during the assessment. Now that I have parted ways with the Garden, I will only take life on the battlefield, and only in service to you. “

“I’m not looking for servitude from you, Sumire.”

“Indeed. Yet it shall be yours nevertheless. From this day on, I will be a sharp blade that only you could wield.”

“...I understand.” 

“As for my other comment, I also meant what I said.”

“...”

“I do plan to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“...One day, and sooner than you might think, Sinners won’t need to be bound by the Shackles anymore. You won’t need to spend your whole life in the Bureau.”

“That is not what I meant. I want to always be by your side.”

“...”

“Is that… alright?”

“...Are you sure?”

“I am. More than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Then that’s what I’d want too. But I will not see you as a tool. You are my Sinner. My dear companion.”

“...Chief…”

“I mean it, Sumire. I want you by my side.”

“...Always?”

“Always.”

Minutes go by, slowly coalescing into an hour as Chief waits, sustained by all the precious memories. A quiet rustle to his side sends the hair on Chief’s neck standing up in alertness, but he quickly relaxes. Any assassin worth their salt would not have announced their presence so readily. 

“Hello, Sumire.”

“...Chief.” 

Clad in her favorite pale violet kimono, with a layer of dark colored shawl over her shoulders and head, Sumire stands beneath the flowerless cherry tree as if she has always been there. Under the moonlight, her complexion is paler than Chief remembered, and she has definitely lost a lot of weight. Her slender figure looks almost ghostly as her sleeves flutter in the light breeze. 

Instinctively worried, Chief quickly stands up only to stop after barely a step when Sumire shuffles back, almost childishly half hiding behind the impressively wide tree trunk. Confused, but not wanting to scare her away, Chief held out his hands in peace before gingerly starting again.

“It’s good to see you.” 

“Yes. I’m… overjoyed to see you as well.” Sumire’s words quiver.

There was no resentment in her voice. No condemnation. Just longing, hesitant longing. Silence stretches between them. Chief did not know what he expected when he finally met her, but it certainly was not this. It was Sumire who finally broke the stalemate,

“You’ve become so thin.” She looks Chief up and down. Even with the heavy cloak on him she could tell.

“Yeah… an eight month coma does have that effect.” Seeing a grimace, Chief immediately regrets bringing up his incident. “Wouldn’t recommend it for weight loss though.”

“You are not resting?”

“A little. No thanks to those pig bastards up top of course. Now that we are no longer just a prison, it’s a lot of work to make the Bureau more… habitable.”

A flash of hostility tainted Sumire’s features at the mention of Paradeisos, before quickly overwritten with worry. Chief offered a soft smile before continuing to placate her. 

“I’ve met them. Those arrogant dickwarts.” Consistently inconsistent and reliably unreliable. “I managed to kick them out of the Bureau altogether. As it turns out, when you save someone's ass after they tried to kill you, negotiations are simple. They will leave us alone from now on.” It’s a weak attempt at lightening up the mood, but it seems to work as Sumire’s shoulders visibly relax.

“I wish you would have negotiated for a more humane sleep schedule.” 

“You know me, can’t leave all the troublemakers alone. But most of them have been good recently, so I only had to deal with the easy and boring stuff.” Chief chuckles to himself at the obvious sarcasm. It’s never a boring day at the MBCC. Sumire knowingly does not press the matter.

“Is Lady Garofano well?” Sumire’s voice is filled with concern for her Garden senior, who was mercilessly tortured by Paradeisos. Despite her departure, Sumire still very much cares for her sisters and has always regretted every drop of Garden blood she had to shed to protect Chief.

“She is.” Chief quickly reassures her. “There is still a long road ahead, her injuries are… you know.” Yet another casualty of the senseless war between Paradeiso and Underground. “But the worst is behind her. We transferred her back to the Bureau a few days ago. It’s good that you left her with SALVA while I was gone.”

“Yes. Doctor Iron and Ms Anne escaped shortly after I did. It was fortunate that the clinic was spared from Paradeisos’ meddling.” Nostalgia warms the air around Sumire briefly. “The two of them have been very kind to me… They are good friends.”

“You have many good friends back at the Bureau.” They all miss you… I miss you.

A sudden draft of wind sends a streak of Sumire’s hair across her face. She turns to the side and shields her eyes, waiting for the gust to blow by. “...Eventually I did not wish to burden them with my presence, such as I was.” She does not bite the bait. So Chief tries again.  

“The two of them returned to the Bureau after the Black Ring was gone.” You should too.

“Good.” A faint smile graced Sumire’s lips. She absent-mindedly brings the disheveled truss back under control, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes remain hooded, unreadable. “My mind is at ease knowing that everyone in the Bureau is in good hands.”

Silence descends on the reunion once more. Tired of beating around the bushes, Chief decides to rip off the band-aid.

“You sound like you don’t plan on coming back.” 

Sumire’s eyes shoot open as a breath is caught in her chest. Chief held his own in response, and for a few long suffocating seconds Sumire looks as if she will flee again. Until finally she quietly utters, barely a whisper.

“You would be disappointed with me.”

“Why would I…” Chief stammers in confusion. He certainly did not expect this. In all his time knowing Sumire, she has never once let him down. Gears grind in his head, finally catching up as realization slowly dawns on him. “...You rejoined the Garden.”

Sumire recoils as if Chief just struck her across the face. “You were dead. I did not know what to do. I… I needed something to happen. To them.” Her words are laced with panic. It takes a few deep breaths before the tremble in her voice fades, replaced with sadness.

“And before I knew it, I lost count of how many. Most of them might have deserved death. Some might have not. Some did not even know the reason.” Sumire looks down again, staring down at her gloved hands, now tightly clenched fists. Her voice is solemn, almost confessional. “I just killed as many as I could find, anyone that had a hand in hurting you.”

Chief looks on wordlessly, his chest tightens painfully as his heart breaks along with Sumire’s. From the other end of the Shackles, her raw agony stings like needles. Surreptitiously, Chief tries to redirect the influx of Mania which now threatens to overwhelm his remorseful companion. It takes several tugs before the deep frown that blemishes Sumire’s perfect face relaxes a little.

“I thought that I could wash my hands of my old life. Those precious few months that I was with you in the Bureau, I truly felt that I could walk on your path for the rest of my life. It was… it felt just like a dream.” Once again longing and nostalgia briefly colors the Shackle, before once again diminishes hopelessly. “But without you, Chief, it has taken me no time at all to go back to the Garden, back to killing. It really is laughable.” Sumire chokes out a pained laugh at her own expense. “Worse yet, every kill was personal. No mission or orders. Only I was responsible.”

Sumire shakes her head in misery, her hands drop to her sides in defeat. “Mentor warned me that I would be betrayed. But in the end, it was I who betrayed you.”

“I don’t care.” 

Sumire looks up in surprise, her eyes widen at the unexpected forcefulness in Chief’s voice.

“I’d never condone it, but I'd also be lying if I said I hadn't thought of ending those bastards myself.” Chief grits his teeth, muting the cold hatred that creeps up at the mere memory of the betrayals and the exploitations. But this is not about him. He slowly walks towards Sumire, as if approaching a wounded fox silently crying for help. “You were lost. You killed because you thought it’s the only thing that could make you feel better.” Sumire shrinks further behind the cherry tree at that, and the Shackles ache. He could’ve easily commanded her to stay, to return with him, but he will not. This must be her own choice. “And I know you. I know for a fact that you never once felt better.” 

“Never. Not once.”

Chief is close enough now to study Sumire’s eyes, and he finds only honesty in those amber irises. Nodding in understanding, he continues forward. “Because the kills were never what you were looking for in the first place. Because all you could do was just flailing in the dark, and couldn’t find what you truly needed.”

Chief lets out a deep sigh and lowers his gaze in introspection. “I left you to suffer all by yourself. Not only that, I added to your suffering through the Shackles. It’s not fair that you should carry this burden alone. I’m also responsible.” When he finds Sumire’s eyes again, Chief speaks with conviction “I will shoulder it alongside you.”

“You must not, Chief.” Sumire blurts out, before shaking her head, looking as if she’s biting back tears. “I have already broken so many oaths. To Mentor. To you.” She hangs her head in shame as she laments, hands clenching her dress. “I’m scared of letting you down. I keep letting everyone down.”

Self-loathing invades Chief’s heart and he can not tell whom the emotion belonged to. The woman he cherishes is breaking herself apart, and he can only offer so little solace. “Suffering is a boundless sea. You must look to the shore, Sumire.”

Sumire looks up at Chief, her gaze meeting his own, embers of hope desperately flicker there. “You are my shore. Ever since you appeared in my life, you have been my beacon. But I drifted so far away.” Her voice is barely a whisper, vulnerable, ready to shatter. Nevertheless, she keeps her gaze locked with his, letting him see all of her demons. “I’m scared that I’ll always drift away. No matter how hard I try to reach you.”

“Even then, you must. Otherwise you’ll keep flailing in the dark, aimlessly, meaninglessly. Until one day you can’t take the futility of it all, and you’d drown.” Chief stops within an arm’s reach of Sumire, and he cannot help but lose his breath at her delicate beauty. Part of him wants to simply wrap his arms around her and protect her from all the cruelty of this world. But he knows that it’s not the world that is hurting her right now. “No matter how far you drift, safe harbor is closer than you think. You just need to grab on and hold tight.”

Sumire stares up at Chief in wonderment, her small nose flares charmingly as she trys hard to calm herself. For a split second Chief thinks that he saw a flash of ironic amusement. As if in confirmation, a brief, soft, breathy laugh escapes Sumire. A beautiful sound that Chief missed dearly. “You and Mentor are more alike than you know. She has told me the exact same thing.” Sumire says with adoration and admiration, for whom Chief could not tell for certain. “And even after I went against everything that the Garden stood for, she was willing to accept a traitor like me back to the fold.”

“But you must not, Chief.” Sumire’s tone turns serious again. “Everyone is watching you closer than ever, looking to you to do the right thing. You must not be burdened by my sins. You must not harbor a sinner like me.”

“Do the right thing huh.” Chief snorts at that, startling even himself with the facetiousness in that sound. More humorlessly he says  “You know, Paradeisos did the right thing when they sent me to die.”

“Chief, that’s not…”

“They did the right thing.” Chief repeats with more insistence. Feeling a heat flaring up, he turns and leans his back against the tree trunk, letting the sturdy, rough bark cool his body and nerves. “Because the alternative is to purge six million souls from the West District. It almost came down to that anyway because I refused to sacrifice myself.” He bitterly thinks back at the choice forced upon him by the Paradeisos. Either use himself as the fuse to ignite the Corpus at the core of the Black Ring, or watch as Paradeisos obliterate the entire West District in their attempt to cut off the supply of Mania. An impossible choice, masqueraded under the veneer of altruism and pragmatism. “So much of the deaths in the last 8 months could’ve been avoided if I just did the right thing and died with that Corpus like how they wanted me to.”

Now it’s Sumire’s turn to be at a loss. Of course she would be. For as long as she has known Chief, he has had an exasperating habit of sacrificing his own well being for the sake of others. To now see him speak so dismissively of that very idea must have come as a shock. 

It had also shocked Chief after he recovered from his coma, when he realized that the very idea of ‘doing the right thing’ has become too convenient, too grandiose. Too convenient, that it can disguise every cowardice, apathy, cruelty and stubbornness behind its dazzling sheen. Too grandiose, that it can encompass all times and all possibilities, and therefore justify any sacrifice, no matter how precious.

Chief grimly shakes his head. “No. BR002 was not destroyed by one heroic prison director sacrificing it all to ‘do the right thing’. It was beaten by countless selfish Syndicans refusing to give up on what little they have left. I’m just one of them.”

Sumire carefully studies Chief’s face, as if seeing him for the first time in decades. So much has changed for him, so much has changed him, and he can only hope that it has been for the better.

“You might be disappointed with me too, but I'm no saint. If anything, I’m more of a sinner myself.” Chief straightens himself to face Sumire, his shoulders back and his head held high.  “You are my sinner, and I won’t give up on you, not even with the world at stake.”

Sumire’s quick gasp is almost inaudible. Hesitantly, she reaches forward as if wanting to touch Chief’s face, before finally deciding to let her hands rest above her heart. “You are still Chief. Sinner or saint, you are still my Chief.”

Ever so slowly, Chief reaches forward and takes Sumire’s left hand, gently wrapping his fingers around her slender wrist. Her first three digits are unclad, long and delicate, showing only hints of calluses that have since been softened with care. Black leather covers the ring finger and pinkie, the soft fabric is worn and faintly stained. While the wearer is too skilled an assassin to allow splatters onto her beautiful kimono, her hands are inevitably stained by blood that she, despite her best efforts, could not scrub away. 

Still holding onto the wrist, Chief lightly tugs on the tip of the glove with his other hand, peeling the leather away, all the while he looks up at Sumire for any signs of rebuff. Her bare hand feels slightly cooler than his own, and after seeing only wonder and a little shyness from her eyes, Chief raises her hand and softly presses his lips onto the knuckles, one after the other.

Sumire draws in a quick inhale, but does not retract her hand, letting Chief tend to her as he pleases. Only after he reaches the pinkie, does Chief let go, before reaching for her other hand and performs the same ritual. This time more longing, more loving.

“Come back with me, Sumire.” Chief whispers as his lips reach the end of the journey. “Come home.”

When tears finally break free, Sumire is already pressed against Chief’s chest, sobbing quietly in his arms. Chief tenderly strokes the back of her head, fingers running through her silky smooth hair, coaxing out a deep breath of relief and contentment.

The pair of leather gloves, dropped onto the thin layer of snow, lay there, forgotten.

“Is it truly alright for me to stay by your side? To… always… stay by your side?”

“Always. I’ll protect us. I promise.”

“I never doubted you.”

Chapter Text

The Chief’s Office at MBCC is a small fortress in and of itself. The long corridor leading up to the entrance has multiple heavy security doors and is lined with automated anti-Mania defense systems. The windows are reinforced with titanium grilles and can be further fortified with a thick blast shield. At a moment’s notice, the office can be converted to a nigh impenetrable fortress. That is, if the occupant ever bothers to use it as one.

The Chief tries his best to maintain an open-door policy for his office, half jokingly cutting back on the costs of inevitable door repairs. The more bombastic Sinners most definitely took advantage of this, often marching straight in and wrestling his attention onto themselves. 

Sumire always announces herself before entering. Partly because she respects Chief's privacy, and partly because she simply enjoys even the most mundane of decorum when it comes to their exchanges. There is a certain charm to having him personally invite her into his space.

“Come on in.” Chief’s clear, crisp voice rings out from the intercom. 

Or, perhaps she just needs a warm-up for her heart before it invariably quickens at the sight of him. 

Taking a breath, Sumire rounds off the corner and steps past the threshold into the spacious office. Despite mostly metal and concrete, the room has just enough decoration to feel personal. Chief looks up at Sumire from behind his large desk, upon which is a small ornate vase adorned with a familiar arrangement of flowers.

“Hello Sumire.” There’s a cheerfulness in Chief that Sumire wishes would never leave. His eyes light up upon meeting hers.

Ah yes. That warm-up was indeed needed.

“Good afternoon Chief.” Sumire returns the greeting politely, her own giddiness bubbles up inside her. She then looks to the two other occupants in the office, unsurprised by the presence of either. “Adjutant, Hecate.”

 “Good afternoon, Sumire.” Nightingale is seated on a couch at one end of the large coffee table at the center of the room, flanked by two neat piles of documents. Her greeting matches Sumire’s own for brevity and politeness. 

Hecate sits on the opposite end of the table, sketchbook in hands. The young aspiring artist quickly glances up at Sumire in acknowledgement before looking back down to resume her drawing, having long since determined that the ex-Garden assassin did not demand full alert attention. Behind her, a small section of wall is covered with pages upon pages of sketches. Most of the sketches are of Chief, but several include another Sinner that Sumire recognizes to be Hella. Warmth fills Sumire’s chest as she looks back at Chief.

His complexion has been getting better. The relative normalcy of the Bureau life has given him a chance to finally start to heal from his recent ordeals.

Normalcy, and a better eating schedule.

“I brought lunch. Please do share.” Sumire unwraps a cloth package revealing a beautifully decorated box, and nods appreciatively at Nightingale who starts to clear the coffee table for space. Chief walks over to join them as Sumire lays out the three-tiered Bento lunch box. Inside is an assortment of onigiri, takoyaki, sausages, tamagoyaki, and a variety of vegetables and fruits, all meticulously prepared and arranged.

“There’s enough here to feed half the Bureau. You’re not fattening me up for slaughter are you?” Chief sounds genuinely impressed.

“No slaughter of course. Just fattening you up, is all.” Sumire fondly looks up at Chief, absent-mindedly reaching out to run her fingers over his sharp cheekbone. Chief leans into the touch, then captures her wrist and plants a quick peck on the back of her hand, sending her heart into a bout of fluttering.

Ever since their reunion a week ago, Sumire and Chief have gotten much more comfortable with physical intimacy. A gentle touch on the arms when greeting each other in the hallways. A soft bump of the shoulders when sitting together at the cafeteria table. A lingering brush of their hands when she hands him new flowers for the week. All very discreet, of course.

Nightingale softly clears her throat, re-announcing her presence; to her side, Hecate silently stares with wide eyes. Heat rushes to Sumire’s face, and she can see the same on Chief even as he gives a bashful but cheeky smirk that she secretly loves.

Perhaps not nearly discreet enough.

Feigning nonchalance, Sumire tries to ease the moment over. “Ah, Chief, I suppose it’s still work hours.” Chief raises an eyebrow at that, looking at Sumire with a bit of incredulity. It takes Sumire a couple seconds before she realizes what she’s just insinuated, and she feels her face burn even more. 

The finishing blow comes from Nightingale of all people. “All this food looks amazing. You will make a good wife someday, Sumire.” The Adjutant looks not so innocently at her superior, who tries in vain to hide a furious blush.

Desperately searching for an escape from the embarrassment, Sumire stammers “There are, uh, there are a few… things that I’m still working on. I should return to my quarters.”

Mercifully, Hecate chooses to speak up just then, her voice flat. “May I also step out, Chief? I agreed to join Mess and EMP for lunch later.” Chief eagerly gives her several nods of approval.

“Let’s depart together then, Hecate.” Sumire also gives Hecate a quick smile, thankful for the rescue. “Enjoy the lunch, Chief. You as well Adjutant. And please, do not overwork yourselves.”

Exiting the Chief's office, the two Sinners walk side by side through the hallway, a comfortable silence between them. Rather than rushing off to the cafeteria, Hecate seems to keep pace with Sumire, even when the older Sinner mindfully slows her steps here and there. 

Charmingly awkward kid. 

Sumire stops in front of her room and peeks back at her companion who also stops in her tracks, not moving past towards her supposed meeting place.

“Hecate, am I correct in assuming that you wish to speak with me?”

Having been found out, Hecate looks up at Sumire but hesitates. Sumire can almost hear the cogs turning as the younger Sinner debates her actions. Hecate eventually tightens her hands gripping her sketchbook. 

“... May I sketch you?”

Surprised silence stretches on as Sumire waits for some elaboration; it does not come. She finally decides to confirm. “You wish to… draw me?”

“Yes.” As expected, Hecate’s short and flat answer offers no new revelation.

“I suppose I am not opposed to it. But may I ask why?”

“Chief is smiling more lately. I want to draw what makes Chief smile.” A flat, matter-of-fact answer from Hecate.

Definitely not discreet enough.

“You ought to do a few self portraits then.” Sumire politely returns the compliment. Yet, being affirmed by Hecate brings a special joy to her heart. “I am honored. Would you like to come in? I’ve recently come to enjoy company while I work.” 

Ever since the reformation of the Bureau as a rehabilitation and care facility, long term residents are able to apply for private quarters, and most of the Sinners who are not under intensive surveillance jumped at the opportunity. Sumire has heard from Chief that it was a mammoth effort to repurpose much of the Bureau’s real estate from holding cells to comfortable living spaces. However after a series of cunning and tenacious negotiations between Chief and Paradeisos, as well as some very generous donations from a few of the more “well-off” tenants, the renovations were completed in mere weeks.

Sumire’s room is one of the most well decorated in the Bureau. Despite being more than twice the size of a typical suite, it is filled to the brim with various crafts and artworks. Umbrellas painted with marvelous flower views, folding fans carved with scenes of heaven and earth, lanterns inscribed with texts of prayers and blessings; all made by the ex-Garden artisan before her temporary absence from the Bureau months ago. 

Faye painstakingly kept these all safe in her inventory during Paradeiso’s takeover. Afterall, the Bureau stands to lose hundreds of thousands DisCoins in honest income if these well-sought-after art pieces were to be confiscated instead of reaching their buyers. It is a small wonder that when Sumire returned, she was afforded such a large quarter, if only so she could use it as a workshop and storage for her art. 

At least, that’s the excuse Chief used to justify pampering Sumire with one of the largest suites in the Bureau, much to her embarrassment. 

Passing by the well organized mountains of her own creations, Sumire leads her guest around an unfinished umbrella lying in the center of her workshop. Behind a beautiful shogi screen is a small kitchenette, and the beginning to what most would consider to be Sumire's actual living space deeper in the unit.

“Would you like some tea? I also have snacks.” Sumire gestures towards a rosewood tea table surrounded by several well cushioned seats for Hecate to sit at. 

“Ignis made this batch only yesterday. I can vouch for their taste wholeheartedly.” Opening a small cupboard, Sumire unwraps a sizable plate of dangos and places it on the table. “The pink strawberry flavored ones are particularly good.” She watches with a tinge of amusement as Hecate’s figurative ears perk up. 

Taking one tentative bite, Hecate’s eyes widen in barely hidden delight and she chews tastefully on the soft dumpling. Sumire smiles in satisfaction and turns to brew tea from the matcha that she prepared a few days ago.

There was a time when tea was but a way for Sumire to host guests whom she needed to entertain. Somewhere along the way her frequent visitors became quite content with simply enjoying the teas she prepared in advance and the peaceful quiet of her workshop while she went about her work. An arrangement Sumire is all too happy to oblige. 

After ensuring that Hecate is well settled and well sated, Sumire pours herself a cup of tea as well and returns to the workshop area of her room, folding up the shogi screen as she goes so Hecate can see her work.

The unfinished wagasa umbrella is an elegant arrangement of treated bamboo stems joined together with colorful strings and elaborate mechanisms. Sumire carefully examines the structure of the umbrella, making sure that the ribs are evenly spaced and that the umbrella properly opens and closes. It has taken Sumire two days to reach this point, and now she is ready for the most difficult step.

Gluing sheets of washi paper onto the ribs of the umbrella is an exercise in utmost concentration and patience where there are no second chances. One mistake and the entire piece could be ruined. Sumire carefully applies tapioca paste to the bamboo ribs as adhesive, and stops to take a deep breath. 

Slowly. Gently. Accurately. 

The first pale lavender sheet is lowered into place and pressed onto the umbrella frame, exactly where it should be. 

Perfect.

Sumire breathes out.

Seven more sheets to go.

At some point, Hecate has pulled out her sketchbook and started to draw. The quiet sounds of pencil on paper makes Sumire more awake, more focused. Normally, Sumire would never have attempted this crucial step unless she was alone, the risk of distraction is simply too great, and too costly this late into a project. So far, Chief has been the only exception, the warmth from his Shackles cleared her mind and steadied her hands. Hecate’s quiet and calming presence might just be the newest addition to that short list.

Now with a well established rhythm, the next washi sheets are applied smoothly one after the other, until the eighth and final sheet falls into place. No gaps, no overlaps. No need to trim any excess or fill in any blanks. The adhesive needs one day to cure, and then finishing touches can be painted on.

Sumire steps back to examine her work. The frame is sturdy and straight, as a precise instrument should be. The canopy is smooth and unblemished, just like a perfect canvas. 

White lilies would look beautiful on this.

Having made up her mind, Sumire reaches into her sleeve and draws her tanto dagger. Hecate is immediately alert.

“What are you doing?”

Sumire gives her confused guest a small reassuring smile, before pricking her index finger with the tip of her blade, and drawing a small symbol on the crown of the umbrella with her blood.

“Just a little charm I put on the works I intend to keep for myself.” Sumire explains as she gently suckles her finger to stop the bleeding.

It takes the crimson insignia only a few seconds to dry to a dull red. In turn, the umbrella appears to gain a faint sheen, becoming brighter, almost glowing.

“Mania.” Hecate's voice is even quieter than usual. “You imbue your weapons with the Mania in your blood.”

“Mania bends reality with ideation. It needs only a thought to turn paper to steel” Sumire clarifies simply. Hecate more than anyone would know that it is no small feat to exert such precise control over even this tiny residue of Mania. The rampant Mania crisis that decimated Syndicate for over a year is a testament to the madness of using such volatile powers as weapons. With a bit of self-ridicule, Sumire adds, “Distasteful, isn’t it? To taint a work of art with such filth.”

“No.” Sumire looks at Hecate in surprise. The young girl, whose body still bore scars from Mania weapons, continues. “Your powers protected Chief. Many times when I couldn’t.”

Sumire takes a few seconds to consider. It is true that Hecate has fought countless enemies alongside Chief, becoming ever stronger. By now, she and her familiar Nightmare are truly formidable in battle. 

But only if it is a battle. 

Cunning enemies strike from behind when the target is at its weakest. And Sumire, who has always known trickery and subterfuge, had to be there to deflect them away. 

“Of course. Whatever it takes to keep him safe.” 

It is a promise between two unlikely comrades who both have pledged themselves to him, both sworn to protect him in their own ways. 

Hecate stares for a little, before nodding and giving a rare, knowing smile. 

More than just strength in combat, the young Sinner has also matured greatly since the last time Sumire has seen her. Gone was the empty shell who was unable to even make decisions for herself, the Hecate now is more expressive, more assured, more insightful.

Perhaps one day, Sumire will discover just what has given this once hollow girl so much heart.

Undoubtedly deciding that this rendezvous is at an end, Hecate closes her sketchbook, finishes the tea in her cup and stands up to leave. Perhaps she will finally join her friends in the cafeteria for a late lunch. Sumire walks Hecate to the door, but once again, the young Sinner pauses.

“I think… cherishing someone means more than just keeping that person safe.”

For the third time today, Sumire is caught by surprise when her guest speaks quietly almost to herself as much as to the host. Sumire waits for elaboration; it does not come. Before she can ask, Hecate steps out into the corridor and turns around.

“Thank you for the treats and the tea. They were delicious. And… I’d like to visit again.” A quick bow, is that a blush? and Hecate is on her way.

Charmingly awkward kid. 

The Medical Bay of MBCC not only treats injuries that are regularly sustained by its rowdy residents, but also Sinners and personnel who return from dangerous dispatches battered or bruised or worse. As such, although it is one of the most important facilities in the Bureau, it also needs to be one of the most rapidly accessible.

However, to Sumire, her current trip to the Med Bay feels anything but rapid.

Hurried footsteps echo as Sumire dashes through the lobby of the guard barracks on the way to the Med Bay, deftly avoiding onlookers. Most of the security personnel who are not on patrol are stationed here, ensuring that the Med Bay remains heavily defended in spite of the lack of physical barriers. The location of the barracks also makes it easy to reinforce the Main Atrium, the primary entrance into the Bureau where security checkpoints are more abundantly installed. 

Being one of the least troublesome Sinners in the Bureau, Sumire has earned a certain level of trust from the guards, many of whom frantically step out of the way, receiving quick nods of gratitude from the ex-Garden assassin as she rushes by towards her destination. 

Just one more corridor…

The heavy automatic doors of the Med Bay hisses open as Sumire bursts through breathlessly.

“Iron, Anne! Where is Chief? Is he safe?” 

A loud clank hits the floor as the pink haired Head Nurse twists around in surprise, her eyes wide at the sudden entrance. Bright white lights illuminate a row of clean beds neatly lined against the wall, empty and uncurtained. Sumire worriedly looks past the sick beds at the hallway leading to Intensive Care deeper in the Med Bay, fearing the worst. Anne quickly comes over, ignoring her dropped clipboard on the floor and putting her hands on Sumire’s arms.

“Sumire. Relax. It’s okay. Chief is… okay.” Sumire lets out a quick sigh of relief as Anne continues with a little less urgency. “You just missed him. We discharged him about two hours ago.”

Discharged. Meaning Chief was indeed seriously injured. 

“What happened? I returned as soon as I received the recall. Secretary Wynn wouldn’t tell me anything.” Sumire remembers pleading and demanding and almost threatening the poor Secretary over the phone, who has been ordered to not disclose anything over an unsecured channel.

“You didn’t know?” Doctor Iron walks out of her office behind Anne. With a small huff she reaches down with her good arm and picks up Anne’s clipboard, handing it back to her Head Nurse with a slight look of reprimand.

“What do you mean?” Sumire blinks, more confused than ever.

“There was a major raid operation against the remnants of the Garden three days ago. I don’t know the details, but they captured the Mentor.”

Sumire’s eyes widen with a renewed fear. “Mentor is here? At the Bureau?”

“Yes. She’s in Intensive Care right now.” Iron’s calm demeanor belies the devastating implications in her message, as Sumire panickedly looks again down the hallway. “Unconscious.” Iron quickly adds. “After Coquelic was detained, Chief went to interrogate her the following morning. It didn’t go well. ”

“Please Doctor Iron. Tell me everything.”

Iron and Anne exchange a quick look before the Doctor adjusts her glasses slightly. “You should sit down.”

It feels almost surreal to Sumire, listening to Iron and Anne recount what they know of the raid and the disastrous interrogation. Everything that she has feared has come to pass. The Mentor of the Garden has personally made an attempt on Chief’s life, and even now is threatening his life.

“... Currently Coquelic has been in a coma for two days. Her Mania is overflowing and slowly Corrupting her body.” The jaded surgeon grits her teeth and tsked at the mention of her most hated affliction. “Chief is keeping it under control with the Shackles, but it can’t go on like this. Eventually the Mania will overwhelm them both.” Iron finishes solemnly, without any sugar coat.

Sumire lets go of a breath that she was unknowingly holding, suddenly thankful for the Doctor’s advice to be seated. She grips at her knees to stop the slight trembles in her legs. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? Why did he send me away on a trivial dispatch and did all this behind my back?”

“Would you have fought against your Mentor?” Iron’s words cut like a scalpel.

“...”

Although Sumire has indeed fought off assassins from the Garden multiple times, would she truly have been able to raise her blade against the woman who has given Sumire a name, a home, a life? 

“I think… Chief didn’t want you to make that choice.” Anne quietly speaks up after giving her partner a quick but stern look. “He sent Gekkabijin away on a long dispatch too. The only reason for suddenly recalling you two is because we needed Garden members to help save Coquelic.”

“Save Mentor? How?” A confused hope shines through the storm raging in Sumire’s troubled mind.

“There is a treatment plan being formulated for Coquelic.” The Doctor explains succinctly. “She’s unconscious but is still responsive to external stimuli. We need Garden members, individuals that Coquelic is familiar with and trusts, to call out to her and anchor her consciousness. In the meantime, Chief will pull in as much excess Mania as he can to…”

“Iron.” At Anne’s warning, Iron stops right away, perhaps realizing that sharing the last bit of information with Sumire might not have been the best course of action.

“... He’s risking his life again…” Not even hours after brushing with death, Chief is already putting his life on the line once more. Sumire’s heart clenches painfully as she looks down on the floor. 

His own life, instead of mine. When it should’ve been mine.

Anne kneels down in front of Sumire, gently putting her hands over Sumire’s. “I think you need to go see him. He needs to be the one telling you all this.” The Head Nurse’s soothing voice helps ease the tightness in Sumire’s chest.

Nodding wordlessly, Sumire stands up, bows her head in gratitude, and walks past her two good friends to leave through the back entrance. Her steps now heavy, lacking any of the quickness they had during her arrival.

The back of the Med Bay leads into the Bureau, again easily accessible. In her current distraught state, Sumire simply cannot bring herself to return through the guard barracks back to the Main Atrium for processing. Adjutant Nightingale would understand.

Walking through the hallway, Sumire passes by the Intensive Care, not a wholly unfamiliar place for her. There have been a few occasions where she found herself waking up here after throwing herself in front of a deadly blow meant for Chief. An earful of fussing and a new deep scar on her body were a worthy price to pay for his safety. And honestly, she might have even found the fussing to be endearing.

Through the glass window of one of the several rooms, Sumire sees a familiar figure lying on the bed, surrounded by instruments but is otherwise unattended. Without thinking, her feet bring her into the room and to the side of the bed. 

The sight makes Sumire gasp. 

In all her years with the Garden, Sumire has never seen Coquelic looking anything less than perfection. Despite being much older than Sumire herself, Garden's newest Mentor maintained a youthful, almost childlike appearance. Now under the cool white lights, a sickly purple blemishes her once pale porcelain skin and her strikingly captivating features now look worn and withered. The sound of her shallow breathing smothered by the oxygen mask, accompanying the slow beeping on the heart monitor.

“Would you have fought against your Mentor?”

Iron’s question keeps playing back in Sumire’s mind. 

Chief was right in keeping her away. Hesitations like this would’ve been the death of her on the battlefield. And the longer she looks at this woman, whom she might have called mother if the latter would allow it, the more a nauseating shame threatens to suffocate her.

I have never truly left. 

Despite all the trust placed in her by the MBCC staff, fellow Sinners, Nightingale, Hecate, Chief, they could never know that a part of Sumire has always remained with the Garden.

A lifetime ago, when the Mentor had demanded Sumire’s return and her unwavering loyalty to the Garden in exchange for sparing Chief, Sumire had agreed without a thought, even if it had meant never seeing him again. It was Chief who risked his life and daringly took Sumire away with him.

And when Sumire had crawled back to the Mentor’s feet after Chief’s demise months ago, and oh how easy it was to fall back into the welcoming arms of her Mentor , it was once again Chief who pulled her back from the depths and cleansed away all the sins on her hands.

Although Sumire has never hesitated to risk her life for his, she has always cowered behind Chief as he fought tooth and nail to free her from the trappings of her old life.

The first rule of the Garden has always been Might Makes Right. Coquelic herself only came to be the Mentor after killing her predecessor. To keep herself and Chief far away from the meddlings of the Garden, Sumire only needed to best the Mentor. Yet not once has she ever raised a hand in challenge, if only to prove her conviction to follow Chief. 

No. She has simply been wishing her problems away, praying that this day would never come. Now, the one she proclaims to love is again hurt because of her inaction.

And the one who is threatening his life even now is lying unconscious in front of her.

Whatever it takes to keep him safe.

She could make it right. Here and now. To the Garden, honor in battle was meaningless. Strike when the target is at its weakest. Strike from behind. That was the way of the Garden. 

Without Coquelic, even if the Garden would not follow Sumire as the new Mentor, no Garden assassin could ever pose a threat to Chief, not while he is under Sumire’s protection. This is the one chance to not only save Chief, but to set them both free from the ever looming threat of the Garden. She could literally kill off her old way of life, removing any temptation of going back. She could finally walk beside him in the light.

Just this one last act as an assassin, one last act of murdering a defenseless woman, something Sumire has already done so many times in her life.

Whatever it takes to keep him safe.

The sound of a dagger drawn from its sheath is deafening in the quiet Care room, yet only audible to Sumire. 

Whatever it takes to keep him safe.

Her hand is steady. A swift cut across the neck would be quick and silent and painless with her skills.

Whatever it takes to keep him safe.

…

“I think… cherishing someone means more than just keeping that person safe.”

Her vision blurs, and suddenly it becomes hard to breathe.

Cherishing him means more than this.

Sumire has wondered from time to time what Hecate had meant, but despite never fully understanding, Sumire knows in her heart that Hecate was right.

It has to be more. I want to be more.

More than just being next to him and shamelessly basking in his warmth. More than just being terrified of losing him and selfishly clinging onto his existence.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking someone. Instead of giving your heart away, why don’t you get him to give his heart to you and hold on to it tightly?”

How ironic is it that even now, it is the Mentor’s words that still offer Sumire guidance. 

More than anything, the greediest part of Sumire wants to hold Chief’s heart close, treasure it, fill it with so much love, and watch it blossom in true happiness. Just like how he has been filling Sumire’s heart to overflow.

It takes Sumire many tries to resheathe her trembling blade. 

Chief has kept Sumire away from clashing with the Garden, and he has asked for Sumire's help in saving Coquelic. Even though he of all people should want to banish the Garden from his and Sumire’s lives forever, he is still desperately trying to save the Mentor.

Because he knows. 

He has always known that a part of Sumire’s heart will always be tied to the Mentor. And Chief would sooner break his own body than break her heart.

I almost broke his, along with my own.

On the bed, Coquelic’s brows furrow slightly and her breathing is labored, as if in pain. Almost out of instinct, Sumire kneels beside the bed and holds onto her Mentor’s hand, flinching slightly from the heat.

But what about the Mentor? What does her heart truly desire? Does she even want to be saved? 

Will she ever stop hunting Chief?

Many months ago, when Paradeisos’s Hush attacked the Garden hideout while the Mentor was away, Sumire was the one who sent the rest of the members into hiding in the West Districts while she herself carried Garofano to SALVA. She has since kept watch from a distance in case Paradeisos takes over the clinic as well, all the while praying for Mentor’s safety.

When the West District Census was put into effect during the final days of the BR002 conflict, all avenues of communications with the Garden survivors were cut off. Sumire could only take comfort in the fact that she had not uncovered any intel regarding the Garden or the Mentor during her repeated infiltrations of the FAC. For them, no news was the best news.

After the BR002’s defeat, Sumire has pieced together clues that the Mentor has found most of the Garden survivors, but by then, they have gone into hiding as FAC and Hush resumed their pursuit; and Sumire has someone else she was dying to see first.

“If that idiot is still alive, find him and take him back.”

After telling Sumire to follow her heart, why would the Mentor come to destroy the one whom Sumire has entrusted her heart with? Instead of going deeper into hiding after finally reuniting with the Garden, why did she intentionally walk into the den of her enemy? Despite being the most skilled assassin even without her powers, why did she purposely use her waning lifeforce to challenge Chief’s Shackles?

Is this the final defiant whims of the prideful Mentor who wishes to burn brightly before she fades?

“Then why are you still here, as if waiting for us to appear? Do you really… have no attachments left? Mentor…”

As if hearing Sumire’s voice, Coquelic visibly relaxes, her breathing becomes more even as if a weight is lifted off her chest, and her fingers curl around Sumire’s hands as if reluctant to let go.

Sumire presses her forehead against her Mentor’s hand, silently regretting that she has never had a true heart to heart with this woman who has cared for Sumire since she was a little child. Sumire wants to hear her voice again, to ask her face to face about anything and everything that a good daughter should know… 

“WARNING WARNING Intruder alert!” 

A violent rumble rocks the Bureau as alarms blare to life.

Three figures dash through the nearly empty barracks, passing by the few limp bodies splayed out across the floor. The improvised sleeping gas bomb is crude and inefficient. Luckily most of the guards are occupied elsewhere.

Below them, distant explosions faintly shake the ground.

“I hope Thistle is alright.” Yuzu gives voice to what all three of them are thinking.

“She knows what she’s doing.” Running at the front of the pack, Hasu announces without looking back. Upon reaching a closed sliding gate, beyond which is the passageway leading to the Med Bay, she stops to let the last and youngest of the trio work on the keypads.

“Don’t worry Yuzu,” Perhaps realizing that she has not assuaged her companions in the least, the leader of the group adds. “If she follows the floor plans, she can reach that idiot Chief and take him hostage before getting boxed in. How much longer, Tsubaki?” 

“We are in.” A jolt of electricity fries the circuits. The doorway slides open as the group rushes through. 

Just one more corridor…

All three stop dead in their tracks in front of a familiar figure, waiting for them just in front of the Med Bay.

Pale violet kimono gracefully adorns the woman. Smooth, straight black hair cascades behind her like a waterfall,  spilling over a katana at her waist. Despite being indoors, the woman carries with her an elegant wagasa umbrella. 

Lady Sumire.

Someone they all once admired. 

“You… How…?” Hasu grits her teeth.

“Thistle may be hot headed, but this ruckus is much too audacious even for her.” At this distance, Yuzu can tell that the faint smile on Sumire’s face is of fondness, not mockery. “I suspect that she means to draw away the guards, leaving this place undefended.” As if to highlight the irony in her own words, Sumire turns to squarely face the intruders, fully blocking the way forward.

“I can also surmise that you’ve managed to steal the floor plans of the Bureau during the recent reconstructions. Such a rushed project does tend to leave many things unsecured.” Sumire adds, slightly looking down in thought. “An impeccable effort. Mentor would be proud.”

“Save your patronizing.” Hasu spits venomously. “Step aside. We are taking Mentor with us.” 

“Mentor needs medical treatment beyond the Garden’s skills.” Sumire states unhurriedly, matter-of-factly. “You should leave her with us.”

“And let her be locked up like an animal? Traitor! You don’t deserve to speak of her!” 

Hasu rushes forward with a gust of wind, drawing her katana and cutting towards Sumire’s neck with blinding speed and deadly precision. Their opponent is the most skilled assassin in the Garden after the Mentor, and certainly not someone they can afford to hold back against.

Sparks light up the corridor along with a loud clang. Despite appearing to be made of paper and bamboo, the umbrella parries away the katana with the weight and the sturdiness of tempered steel, almost ripping the blade from its wielder’s hands. At the same time, Sumire herself moves as if her weapon is no heavier than a twig, unrelentingly sending a horizontal swing that would have easily caved in one’s ribcage. Hasu barely steadies her weapon to block before the impact sends her off to the left and painfully into the wall. Without missing a beat, Sumire’s third strike is aimed directly at the Garden swordswoman’s head.

“Hasu!” 

The two electrified kunai daggers thrown by Tsubaki are accompanied by her cry of warning, desperately hoping to divert attention away from her leader. The umbrella stops on a dime mid swing and opens up to full, revealing its lavender canvas and elaborate paintings of white flowers. Sumire easily maneuvers her new shield, and the two sharp projectiles ricochets off the paper canopy without as much as a dent.

Wanting to capitalize on this small break in Sumire’s attacks, Yuzu flanks right, under a cloud of vapor, looking to blindside their opponent. A split second later she finds herself running head first towards the sharp tip of the umbrella, somehow still tracking her movements despite the wielder’s seemingly obstructed vision. Even as Yuzu stops dead in her tracks, the spear swifty thrusts towards her chest, before she can make a retreat.

She is going to be impaled.

With a battle cry, Hasu throws her full body weight behind her katana and clashes against the canopy of the umbrella like a gale, stopping its advance and allowing Yuzu to hop back unscathed. Suddenly the umbrella folds back inward, throwing Hasu off balance just as another overpowering swing catches her blade and launches her back down the corridor.

Breathing heavily from this brief yet punishing exchange, the two melee Garden fighters take only a second to steady themselves before promptly resuming the engagement, albeit with much more caution.

However, it quickly becomes apparent to everyone present that the intruders are not making any progress at all. 

The kimono-clad former assassin effortlessly stands her ground. The weapon being swung with speed and precision, as if weightless in her hands, somehow impacts with the force of a massive halberd. Every attempt made by Hasu and Yuzu to break through is met with a fierce counterattack that drove them back and forced them to cover each other’s openings. The narrow corridor also denied any chance of flanking their opponent, forcing them to attack one at a time; and whenever they moved out of the way for Tsubaki to throw her kunais, the large umbrella opened to easily cover most of the pathway and deflected away the assault.

The distant explosions beneath their feet have all but ceased. It is only a matter of time before the guards return to the barracks and encircle them from behind.

“We need to find a way around that umbrella.” Hasu maintains a steady voice despite taking deep breaths to sustain herself.

Yuzu exchanges a quick look with Tsubaki, who nods in understanding without a word being spoken. The dagger wielder makes another charge at Sumire. No feints, no trickeries, squarely upfront.

“Left!” 

At Tsubaki’s voice behind her, Yuzu twitches her head to the left as a kunai grazes past her right ear, flying straight at the Sumire’s face. Again it is deflected away as the umbrella opens up once more. Just as planned.

Yuzu slams her shoulder against the top of the umbrella and grips the spear tip with her left hand, gritting her teeth to ignore the sharp pain. With her right hand she hooks her dagger over the side of the canopy, trapping it and stopping the umbrella from closing. Now in a deadlock with Sumire over the weapon, Yuzu leverages her whole body weight to the side and forces an opening.

“Hasu! Now!”

The seasoned fighter does not let this chance slip by and rushes forward on the now unprotected side with a devastating overhead slash aimed to split her opponent cleanly in half.

Only to cry out in agony as gashes open up on her left shoulder, right arm, right abdomen, left hip, left thigh and right knee, almost simultaneously. 

Yuzu quickly disengages from her own entanglement with the umbrella to catch her leader stumbling, throwing up another barrier of mist while rushing them both as far back and as fast as she can. She has witnessed this brutal exchange up close, and saw an unassuming short dagger in Sumire’s left hand. The small blade only several inches in length striked with impossible reach and speed, stabbing Hasu six times in a blink of an eye from beyond even her long katana. 

It is at this moment the three assailants realize the same thing, and Hasu makes the call for all of them.

“Fall back.”

Sumire watches as the intruders withdraw back through the barracks. They fought with skills and senses worthy of the Garden. The coordination between the two young ones were flawless and the leader made sound judgment calls based on the development of the situation. Intriguingly, the three covered for each other with surprising protectiveness, something never taught within the Garden. Had they been more willing to disregard each other’s safety in favor of eliminating their enemy, they might have had a chance in overwhelming Sumire.

Sumire herself has held back much of her own powers. Having briefly trained all three assassins in the past, she adjusted her strength to match theirs in an attempt to prolong the engagement while waiting for reinforcement to arrive. However, that last exchange forced her to show her hands and made her opponents realize the futility of this fight. 

If allowed to leave, the intruders will likely double back through the Main Atrium following the path left behind by Thistle and catching the guards in the back. In their desperation, who knows how many casualties they will cause before being subdued.

If Sumire gives pursuit, she will find herself in the lobby of the barracks, a much wider space where she would be easily flanked and greatly disadvantaged in a battle.

But only if it is a battle.

Swiftly, Sumire follows the retreating Sinners, stopping just outside of their would-be battleground. While the Garden may have learned the layout of the Bureau, few have studied the various functions and vulnerabilities of this facility as deeply as Sumire has. Finding the exact spot, Sumire unsheaths her own katana from her waist and takes careful aim.

The thin blade slices through solid conduits and severs the circuits within, cutting off power to the barracks and plunging it into darkness.

Ten.

“We are closed in!” A young voice cries out, as the fail-safes within the barracks seal off the rooms in response to the loss of power, preventing any passage.

Nine. Eight.

“Don’t panic! Yuzu, with me. Tsubaki, get us out.” The leader’s voice is hushed, but no less urgent.

Seven. Six.

Hurried steps shuffle in the dark as someone fumbles around looking for the exit. A mistake, giving away one’s position while separating from the group.

Five. Four.

Sumire stays low and circles along the perimeter, the layout of the room clear as day in her memory. 

Three. Two.

She silently approaches the figure near the door, and closes her eyes.

One.

Bright emergency lights flood the lobby as backup power springs online, stunning all except one of the occupants within.

The one near the exit, Tsubaki was her name, stood no chance as the edge of Sumire’s palm connects with the side of her neck, knocking the youngest assassin unconscious in a single strike.

Before the first body even hits the floor, Sumire opens up her umbrella and flings it like a buzzsaw towards Yuzu. The dagger wielder recovers from her momentary blindness just in time to see the incoming threat, but is somehow frozen in place, unable to bring up her weapon to defend herself.

“Watch out!”

The leader of the group, Hasu, rushes in front of her comrade and blocks the whirling death head on with her katana, barely managing to deflect the powerful spinning weapon off its trajectory at the cost of her own sword being ripped out of her hands. Her relief is short-lived.

Sumire emerges from behind the wide and opaque umbrella, perfectly obscured from view during her advance. Taking full advantage of the opening, she drives the hilt of her katana into Hasu’s solar plexus. With a painful gasp, Hasu doubles over and loses all air in her lungs. Yuzu could only stare as her leader collapses senselessly to the floor.

“What… did you do…?” Yuzu struggles in vain to raise her weapon, unable to even lift her arm.

“Poison is an assassin’s first and last weapon.” Sumire quietly lectures, the same way she did back when she trained new recruits. “You should assume every injury you receive is your final demise.”

Yuzu’s eyes widen as she looks down at her left hand, the one that has grasped the spearhead of Sumire’s umbrella earlier. The wound is now sporting scores of blackened veins tracing up her arm, undoubtedly all the way to her heart which has been circulating the venom throughout her body. Color drains from Yuzu’s face as her knees give out under the weight of hopelessness.

“Lady Sumire…Please…” Tears well up in the young Sinner’s eyes.

Even though Sumire has long since become numb to the cries of mercy from her enemies, she nevertheless always had to steel herself when hearing them from a sister.

“... Help her.” Yuzu’s words come in gasps of air. “If you still have even a shred of love left for Mentor… Please help her.” 

She’s not begging for her own life?

“When Mentor told us that Garden was no more… she looked so sad.” Yuzu’s lips quiver as she recounts. “She never said anything, but we all felt it in our hearts… that she was dying.”

While Sumire had known of Coquelic’s failing health, it was something the Mentor had taken great care to share with only the most senior of the Garden. If even trainees have suspected it, just how dire has the situation become?

“You would sacrifice yourself for her… even when you know she’s already not long for this world?” Hiding her surprise, Sumire quietly asks, her question is a double edged sword. “Is it so dreadful to live in a world without her?” 

It was too dreadful to live in a world without him. 

“We just want her to see a beautiful, flourishing Garden… in her final moments…” Yuzu’s words are increasingly broken and slurred as even speaking is becoming difficult for her. “She’s given so much to us…  given us so much of herself. She… of all people… deserves happiness.”

Once again Sumire finds it difficult to steady her hands as she slowly kneels down in front of Yuzu and gently cups the young trainee’s face, wiping away the tears with her thumbs.

Behind the surprise, Yuzu’s eyes are wistful, full of fear and regret but also courage and determination. These are not the lifeless, aimless eyes of someone who has lost everything, driven on only by pain and hatred. They are not the eyes Sumire, Garofano, that FAC warrior , and every veteran Garden member once had.

When did it start? When did assassins start protecting each other instead of dispatching their target? When did they start sacrificing their own lives out of love for their master? When did they start treasuring the organization that trained them to be ruthless?

Of course Sumire knows when. Ever since Coquelic acceded as the Mentor, the Garden has been slowly changing.

“If you’re crushed, you’ll bloom again next year. If you’re burned, you’ll sprout new buds from the ashes. Fate can break you, but can never destroy you… as long as you keep your roots firmly in the ground.”

It is only now that Sumire finally understands. Coquelic’s words were not an instruction or a sermon, they were a promise she made for herself; to make the Garden a sanctuary for all her flowers so that they can find the strength to face the cruelty of fate again and again.

No longer is the Garden a mill where sprouts are crushed as fodder and fed to the hunger of ambitions. No longer is it a kiln where blossoms are burned as fuel in the fire of vengeance. Before Sumire realized it, the Garden had become a place of healing, a patch of good tilled earth where flowers can freely grow and flourish.

And these flowers are willing to sacrifice themselves not because they are terrified of a world without their protector, but because they also want to protect the Garden in their guardian’s heart. 

Because they want to love her as much as she has loved them. 

Because they want her to be happy.

Because cherishing her means more.

“You… have eyes like ours.” Yuzu’s words break Sumire out of her reverie, her voice is so quiet now that it is difficult for Sumire to hear over the thumping of her own heart. “You must know… how we all feel. Please… help her.”

Sumire closes her eyes and feels a sense of elation welling up in her chest, ending up in a breathy sigh and a chuckle that surprised even herself. Mentor and Chief, they are truly so very much alike. Perhaps there is finally a chance… 

“Yes. I’ve indeed found someone to cherish again. Just like you.” Having made up her mind, Sumire holds Yuzu’s gaze and declares with heartfelt sincerity. “If you can bring yourself to trust me, we will save Mentor and the Garden together.”

Sumire reaches for Yuzu’s hand and retreives the dagger, making sure that the Garden Sinner is visibly unarmed and harmless. Cutting off the power would have undoubtedly alerted someone in the Bureau of trouble within the barracks. Guards will surely be arriving soon. 

Moving around the room, Sumire swiftly gathers all the weapons scattered about and places them in the center of the lobby, out of reach of everyone present. Lastly, she stows away her own weapons and returns to Yuzu’s side, just as the doorway bursts open and a squad of heavily armed guards rush through. 

Half a dozen rifles are immediately trained on Sumire, who is the only one standing in the lobby. Beside her, Yuzu panics but is still unable to move due to the poison. 

“Hold fire.” A commanding voice orders the guards just as confusion turns to recognition on all their faces. “Sinner S-120… Sumire, what happened here?” 

“Sergeant Eugene. Please be at ease. There are no casualties among the guards, they are only asleep.” Sumire calmly addresses the officer in command and reports the situation. “I have neutralized two of the intruders; they are unconscious but alive. The third is temporarily paralyzed.”  Sumire adds as she looks down to meet Yuzu’s confused eyes with a mixture of amusement and guilt. She may have neglected to tell the young Sinner that the poison was not lethal. After all, the Bureau has children running around.

The Sergeant looks to his side, giving two of the guards a quick tilt of his head. The troopers waste no time in checking the bodies around the room, before reporting that the sleeping guards are indeed uninjured. With that, the Eugene lowers his weapon; his men quickly follow suit, some start waking up their colleagues with smelling salts while others keep watchful eyes on the disarmed intruders.

“Good work, Sumire. The explosions destroyed most of the coms in the Bureau, we are down to shortwave radios now. Damn floor plans must’ve been leaked.” Eugene quietly curses under his breath. “We only suspected a second attack after the power loss… I guess that was your doing too, huh?”

Sumire only gives a quick nod in reply. There is something more urgent on her mind. 

“Is Chief safe?”

“He is. Hecate was with him when the first attack hit. The attacker was subdued.” Sumire breathes out a long sigh of relief and silently thanks Hecate in her heart. Eugene continues. “Chief is getting ready to interrogate her already. You should come with me and report the situation to him.” 

Every instinct in Sumire wants her to fly to his side right this moment; but there is something that she needs to do here, something only she can do.

“Sergeant Eugene. If I may be so bold. Can you please report the power loss as just collateral from the explosions?” Eugene’s eyebrows arch in surprise and bewilderment.

“You mean don’t tell the Chief about this attack?”

“Only until after his interrogation.” Sumire quickly clarifies. Now that she knows Chief is safe, a part of Sumire is also glad that it was Thistle who went after him.

“She does everything for herself, and wouldn’t sacrifice herself for others or let herself be taken advantage of. From this perspective, she’s more like me. She makes me less worried about her than the rest of you.”

Out of all of the Garden members, Thistle is the one most attached to the Mentor, and may very well be the one person who loves Coquelic the most as her own family. If it’s Thistle, Chief will surely be able to learn what he needs to know. He will surely understand.

“The one who attacked him, Thistle; she has valuable information on the Garden. It is very important that Chief interrogates her without any delay.” Sumire explains, hoping that whatever trust she has earned with the guards is enough to carry her through. “In the meantime, I would like to stay here and interrogate these three Sinners myself before Chief arrives.”

“How do we know you are not in leagues with them?” One of the guards raises his voice, but the question is already losing its edge even before he finishes.

“Idiot. If she was, these three would've been long gone already along with Coquelic.” Eugene rolls his eyes and shakes his head before addressing Sumire again. “I assume you have a good reason for this?”

“I believe I can help Chief resolve this conflict.” Sumire does not explain more. Regardless of her history, Sumire hopes that at least her motives would be trustworthy.

Eugene takes a long, hard look at the ex-Garden Sinner, and finally acquiesces.

“Alright, you got your interrogations. Under. Supervision. Boys, move these three to the Med Bay.” The Sergeant gestures to his subordinates, who hesitate for only a moment before complying. “I will go find Chief and bring him here after he’s done.”

Sumire acknowledges the Sergeant as he leaves before turning back to the remaining guards. 

“Please be mindful. The one by the door has a concussion. This one has a bruised rib. I’ll carry this one with me.” Sumire cautions, but she need not have worried. After working with Chief and his Sinners for so long, the Bureau guards, unlike the FAC, have come to treat even the most dangerous Sinners with due respect. Hazu and Tsubaki are carefully moved onto stretchers, while Sumire slings Yuzu’s arm over her own shoulder to help the still wobbling Sinner stand up.

Iron and Anne are anxiously waiting for them inside the Med Bay, clearly having been anticipating casualties this whole time. No questions are asked as they receive their new patients, dutifully tending to each while cautiously using sedatives and restraints to keep them from panicking as they wake or lashing out in agitation.

With their earlier aggression mostly curtailed, and with a little assistance from Yuzu, Sumire is finally able to pacify the assassins and find out from them what has transpired in the Garden for the past months. In turn, Sumire brings each of them up to speed on Coquelic’s condition. As a show of good faith, she escorts them one by one to see the still unconscious Mentor, all under the watchful eyes of the guards. 

Seeing the state that Coquelic in, even Hasu comes to realize that the Mentor will not survive even a day if taken away. They need the Bureau's help. But how can they possibly expect their sworn enemy to help them? 

Why would that Chief, who has been marked for death by the Garden, help them?

The heavy automatic doors of the Med Bay hisses open once more as Chief bursts through breathlessly. Searching around the Med Bay, Chief looks past the rows of occupied sick beds and finds Sumire behind a crowd of surprised guards and Sinners. 

Sumire meets him halfway.

“Sumire, you are safe!” Chief’s voice is rough and strained. “I just heard… but Eugene wouldn’t give me any details…” He glances back at the entrance, just as Eugene enters along with Adjutant Nightingale and Hecate. The expression on the Sergeant's face is a clear indication of the dirty look he just received. Sumire makes a mental note to thank him properly after. 

Following close behind them is a chirpy girl in patterned garments, whom Sumire vaguely remembers. And is that an ax? Beside the cheery ginger is a slightly flustered Thistle. It seems that Chief did manage to get through to her, perhaps with some help.

Looking back at Sumire, Chief gently holds onto her shoulders. “Are you hurt anywhere? I’m so sorry. I should’ve anticipated another attack… ” Sumire’s heart aches at the sight of Chief frantically checking her up and down looking for injuries, all while sporting fresh cuts and bruises all over himself. It takes all of her willpower to not lambaste him over his recklessness, to not protest her grievances at being kept in the dark, to not sob her worries and reliefs into his arms. 

Instead, just as Chief is about to launch into a bout of his endearing fussing, she places her index finger over his lips.  

“Chief, it’s still work hours.”

As if awakened from a trance, Chief’s eyes glance around the room to see the curious spectators, before returning to find Sumire’s. A thousand words of “I’m worried”, “I’m glad”, “I’m sorry”, “I understand”, “I need you”, “I’m with you”, pass between them in mere seconds. Sumire lightly runs her fingers over his sharp cheekbone and Chief leans slightly into the touch, giving her a quick nod in return.

Very discreet.

Stepping back, Sumire takes on a serious tone. “Chief of Minos Bureau of Crisis Control, I have interrogated my former sisters in arms and informed them of the situation. I trust you have done the same with Thistle.” After exchanging a look with Thistle, who averts her eyes in shame, Sumire bows deeply to Chief.

“I apologize sincerely on behalf of my sisters for this incident, and will take full responsibility for all the damages they caused. Furthermore… ” Sumire pauses to take a deep breath before straightening from her apologetic gesture and taking a dignified stance. “Until Coquelic recovers from her ailment, I shall assume the position of Mentor of the Garden. ”

All around her, Sumire can feel the confused shock from not only the Garden Sinners, but also the MBCC staff. Yet, Sumire is oddly at ease. Compared to everything that she hopes to achieve, the outrageousness of her declaration feels trivial.

“Don’t drift with the current. Don’t let fate push you around. Don’t let external things lead you astray.”

“The Garden seeks asylum within the MBCC. We ask for the Bureau’s assistance in healing Coquelic. In return, the Garden offers its collaboration with the Bureau under the condition of anonymity.”

Murmurs spread around the room, but the four Garden assassins only stare wide-eyed. To outright declare one’s position as the Mentor and pledging the whole of the Garden under the Bureau is unthinkable, even more so coming from someone who has left the Garden more than once. However, the first rule of the Garden has always been Might Makes Right. With Coquelic unconscious and Garofano absent, who else other than Sumire is qualified to speak on the Garden’s behalf?

“After Coquelic’s recovery, I will yield the position of Mentor back to her; and should she decide to rescind the Garden’s collaboration, I will do everything in my power to ensure an amicable separation.” The room falls silent as Sumire concludes her proclamation, most of the occupants are too stunned to speak. Unsurprisingly, Chief is the one who recovers first.

“As the Chief of MBCC, I accept your terms.” Chief’s words match Sumire’s in formality; his voice matches hers in earnestness.  “However, I will add one stipulation. For as long as our collaboration persists, members of the Garden will be given the same rights and accommodations that MBCC offers to every Sinner it associates with.”

Warmth fills Sumire’s heart as she barely keeps her adoration for him from bursting forth, allowing only a smile to slip through. “While I am familiar with the Bureau’s rules, my pupils are not. Chief of MBCC, will you be so kind as to explain to them?”

There’s that cheeky smirk Sumire secretly loves. “As you wish, Mentor of the Garden.” 

Sumire steps back to the side of the room, and watches Chief charismatically outline his plans to integrate the Garden into the Bureau, to save Coquelic’s life, and to protect everyone from reprisal from Paradeisos and the Underground alike. 

She watches the expressions on the Garden Sinner’s faces turn from cautious suspicion at the prospect of being Shackled, to intrigued skepticism at their Mentor’s recovery and longevity, and finally to desperate hope at finding safe haven from Paradeiso’s pursuit. 

She watches the sentiments of the Bureau staff turn from hesitant relief at the end of a looming threat, to determined conviction at protecting another group of downtrodden Sinners who were taken advantage of by the Underground.

She watches, all around her, his family and her family are coming together under one vision. There is now a chance for lasting peace, and they are all going to protect it. 

Sumire’s heart soars as she allows herself to remember that she is playing a part in making this happen.

At some point, Hecate walks over to stand beside Sumire.

“Thank you for keeping him safe.” Sumire offers her gratitude.

In lieu of responding, Hecate takes out a page from her sketchbook and hands it to Sumire.

Under the still slightly clumsy pencil strokes, Sumire is gracefully working on a wagasa umbrella. Behind her, seated at a tea table, Hecate is silently drawing on her sketchbook. Chief is enjoying a cup of tea across the table, watching and smiling. All of them are enjoying a quiet moment of peace.

Hecate closes the distance between their shoulders and softly holds onto Sumire’s arm. Perhaps Sumire is beginning to understand what has made this once hollow girl so warm.

“I will treasure this.” Sumire promises as she carefully rolls up the humble sketch, so gently, as if it is more valuable than any of her own artwork.

It is a bond between two new companions who both have come so far since meeting him, both now free to love him in their own ways.

“... I’d like to draw more of us.” A small smile, that is definitely a blush, and Hecate looks away.

Charmingly awkward kid. 

Chapter Text

Supervision Terminal>> Initiating… Complete

>>Identity Authentication…

>>Fingerprint Scan… Complete

>>Voice Recognition… Complete

>>Identity Confirmed… Chief of MBCC

>>Complete

>>Access Granted

Record Review>> Initiating… Complete

>>Loading Protocol…

>>Record Mode: Text ONLY

>>System Notification: ON

>>Action Interpretation: ON

>> Complete

>>Unreviewed Record(s): 4

>>Loading Record… Complete

 

<Incident Investigation Record #114021901>

Urgency: Low

System Notification: You are inspecting the newly constructed Outdoor Activity Area on the surface of the Bureau. A group of Sinners are gathered here to enjoy the sun.

EMP: But have you heard about DisCity's Hundred Days’...

Hecate: Seven days.

EMP: Uh... Seven Days’ Power Outage? That was my doing.

EMP: I am the Archer Queen of Syndicate.

Gekkabijin: Pfffft, Did you hit your target a single time today, O Archer Queen ?

EMP: Who needs precision when you are a weapon of mass destruction like me? 

>> Keep Listening

EMP: Little Garden sister, it is impressive that you knocked out the power in the barracks. But that tiny spark of yours has a long way to go! How about it? Want me to take you in as my student?

Tsubaki: Ummm.

Mess: I’m pretty sure it was Sumire who cut the power; with a sword…

System Notification: Mess notices you but does not tell EMP.

Mess: Say, Pan… who’d win if you fought Sumire?

Gekkabijin: Oh, I’m interested too. Maybe after I defeat her you’ll be my next opponent.

EMP: Ah. I mean… I wouldn’t wanna usurp the order in the Garden…

Tsubaki: It's no trouble at all. In fact, you will have to defeat Lady Sumire if you want me to study under you. We of the Garden live by Might Makes Right.

EMP: Geh… Ahem. Sumire is indeed a skillful opponent. It will be a difficult fight, but out of respect for her and the Garden, I may just let her win on purpose.

>> Expose EMP

Chief: I wouldn’t be throwing if I were you, Emy. Garden contests are to the death you see…

EMP: CHIEF!?!? You are here… you… heard all that?

EMP: Wait… What do you mean, to the death?!

Chief: You know, assassins. In fact I think the only rule is to kill, regardless of methods.

EMP: Ah...uh… Please… Chief… don’t tell her.

Hecate: I recommend packing your own food and drinks from now on. Ms Sumire is an expert user of poison.

EMP: CHIEF!!!! PLEASE SPARE ME!!!! TELL SUMIRE I DIDN'T MEAN IT!!!

<End of Record>

 

>>Save To Archive? (Y/N) Y

>>Uploading… Complete

>>Next Entry? (Y/N) Y

>>Loading Record… Complete

 

<Incident Investigation Record #114021902>

Urgency: Medium

System Notification: You, Nightingale and Hecate are inspecting the newly constructed Picnic Shelter. Garofano and Ignis have prepared snacks for fellow Sinners.

Ignis: It’s not fair! We learned how to make these cookies together, but how come hers is tastier? We even used the same dough and seasoning!

Garofano: Oh my. I suppose Sumire had some secret ingredient. 

System Notification: Garofano and Ignis greet you when you approach.

Garofano: They do say a maiden in love makes the most delicious treats. I’m sure Sumire had someone specific in mind when she made these cookies.

>> Deflect

Chief: Your cookies are also good, Ignis. Hecate loves them too.

Ignis: Really?

Hecate: Yes. Ms Sumire often shares them when I visit. She praises them as well.

Chief: And if you really want some “secret ingredient”, we can bring your next batch to your parents and your little sister.

Ignis: YES! I will make the most delicious cookies in the world! 

System Notification: Ignis runs off towards the kitchen. Supervision target(s) updated.

System Notification: You high-five Hecate.

Garofano: Nicely done, Chief. Here’s a little reward for you. Did you know that a maiden in love also knits the cutest wrist cuffs?

>> Tease Nightingale

Chief: Ah yes. Matilda seemed very pleased with her Valentine’s day present.

Nightingale: Wait, how did you know that Chief?

Chief: You forget that this is my Bureau. I know everything.

Nightingale: … 

Nightingale: Garofano, when I asked you for knitting advice, I remember saying it was strictly confidential.

Garofano: Oh but Chief was very persuasive. He hounded me for days after I let slip of his dear Adjutant’s secret crush.

Nightingale: So you DID let it slip!

System Notification: Anne and Iron arrive to join the picnic. Supervision target(s) updated.

>> Greet

Chief: Morning Anne. I see you managed to drag the good Doctor out of the Med Bay. 

Chief: Sorry about that Valentine’s Day fiasco.

Iron: Chocolates… Half of the Bureau still has stomach problems. 

Iron: I’m a goddamn neurosurgeon for crying out loud. 

Anne: You did enjoy the chocolate I made you though.

Iron: … But that’s different, it’s from you. It’s special.

>> Express Curiosity

Chief: I didn’t know you made chocolates Anne.

Anne: I had some help from Sumire. She also made something nice for Chief , didn't she?

Hecate: Chief encased Sumire’s chocolate in a special glass container to be preserved forever.

Anne: What? You didn’t eat it?

Chief: But… It’s… special.

Nightingale: I’m sure she will make you another one next year. 

Chief: … I’ll save that one too.

Iron: … Just eat the damn thing, Chief. Doctor’s order.

<End of Record>

 

>>Save To Archive? (Y/N) N

>>Save Local Copy? (Y/N) Y

>>Saving… Complete

>>Next Entry? (Y/N) Y

>>Loading Record… Complete

 

<Incident Investigation Record #114021903>

Urgency: Low

System Notification: You are inspecting the newly constructed fountain plaza. Hasu, Yuzu and Pepper are transplanting flowers from the Greenhouse to the area.

Pepper: Chief!!!! Look at all these flowers we grew!

Chief: Morning Pepper. Good to see that you made so many new friends.

Hasu: Of course, Chief. Ms Pepper is already an honorary sister of the Garden.

Pepper: Eheeee. It’s still a little embarrassing to hear that.

>> Inquire

Chief: Why not join officially?

Pepper: Well…  their Mentor is a little intimidating. I never know where to look. 

Pepper: And she keeps trying to make me bathe with her… 

Hasu: Yeah… Mentor is like that. Sorry. 

Pepper: But Ms Sumire is cool though! She knows so many exotic flowers that I never heard of.

Yuzu: Ms Pepper is a natural. She could grow just about anything after Lady Sumire teaches her just once.

Pepper: Ehehehe… I’m just happy that more people finally appreciate the Greenhouse now.

Chief: No kidding. The Garden practically took over the Greenhouse as their base.

Hasu: Although we dealt in death, the Garden always had great love for living things that grow. 

>> Express Surprise

Chief: Still, to even build a bathhouse there. You guys plan on sticking around that long?

Yuzu: Well… it’s my home now. So I want to make it better, even if I do leave eventually. Plus, it’d be nice to come back and visit from time to time. I think I’d miss the people here.

Yuzu: At least… I’d want to come see you and Lady Sumire. This “Garden” that you two are building is warmer and greener than even Mentor could ever dream of.

<PAUSED>

…

<<Calendar Reminder: Untitled Event. Location: Unspecified. Organizer: Hana-shi. Today. 9:00 PM (2 Hours). >>

>>Snooze: 30Min

… 

>>End Record? (Y/N) Y

>>Record Review Interrupted

>>Next Entry? (Y/N) N

>>Unreviewed Record(s): 2

Record Review>>Terminating… Complete

Supervision Terminal>>Signing Out… Complete

The Far Eastian mansion stands opulently against the backdrop of a beautiful night sky. After the Garden was reportedly disbanded, the property was no longer under FAC jurisdiction and was put up for auction. Due to its peculiar location and its grim history, the palatial estate was cheaply snatched up by an eccentric ikebana master known as Hana-shi, the Florist. It is now the residence and workshop for the famous yet reclusive artist and her students. The array of surveillance equipment were all cleared out, and the front entrance is now a welcoming sight as Chief parks his minivan and steps out onto the walkway.

Owing to the lingering heat from the Sun Crow, the night is uncharacteristically warm for February, almost as if it is already in the height of spring. Chief loosens the red string across his chest that is holding together the collar of his dark green cape blazer, allowing the night air to seep through the thin satin white shirt he is wearing underneath. This intricate oriental outfit was a parting gift from DuRuo of the Eastian envoy, after he had worn it with authority during their coalition against the Apostle. Regal yet relaxed, it feels to be the most appropriate attire for a meeting with his gracious host. 

After all, he and Hana-shi sensei are quite close.

A lone, unexpected figure awaits him at the front gate, pacing back and forth. The young Sinner’s eyes widen slightly as Chief walks up and greets her.

“Good evening Thistle.”

“He…Hey.” Thistle lightly clears her throat, perhaps a little parched. “You cleaned up nicely. And I see you have the sense to bring goodwill with you.” She gives Chief a quick look over and nods towards his hand. 

“The finest sake from the Far East, courtesy of the Mentor herself.” Chief lifts up the package wrapped in silk and chuckles slightly at the memory. “She threatened my life if I let a single drop go to waste.” 

“I guess this is her way of giving you her blessings.” Thistle huffs in good nature. To have Coquelic personally arrange a gift for him to bring was a high endorsement indeed. And it appears that Chief has more sponsors yet. “Here, YanYan asked me to pass this along. Said it’s for you and your intended. ”

“That little…” Chief shakes his head in mock exasperation, but gratefully receives the small flowery pouch bearing the young Eastian Seer’s present, pocketing it in his blazer.  “Hopefully she wasn’t too much of a handful for you.” 

“Not at all. I had fun makin… playing… with her.” The young Garden Sinner stammers a little before she puffs up her chest. With the most smug grin on her face, she continues. “The rest of the Garden are staying at the Bureau tonight. You’ll have this place to yourselves.”

“Phew, what a relief. I only brought enough sake for two.” 

Surprise flashes across Thistle’s face at Chief’s apparent nonchalance, before turning into feigned irritation. “Tche. You are too cocky for your own good.”

“Thanks.” Chief’s voice is genuine, without a hint of jest. “I mean it. Thank you for everything.”

The Garden Sinner rubs her cheek with her index finger, a faint flush forming underneath.  “Ye… yeah. You bet.” She clears her throat again and glances back towards the mansion. “Now go on in. She’s waiting for you in the courtyard.”

Passing through the impressive wooden gate for only the second time ever, Chief cannot help but feel the prickly amusement at the wonders of walking in rather than climbing. The short pathway leading up to the main building is sheltered from the elements, cozy and private. The sliding door is left unlocked for him.

Chief steps out of his shoes and into a pair of comfortable, conspicuously laid out slippers. The well polished wooden floors remain silent beneath him as he navigates the mansion interiors. The hallways, now familiar, are dimly lit with a warm ambience reverberating off the paper partitions. Accents here and there highlight the many potted floras displayed on pedestals and shelves. It is truly amazing how this home can feel so alive, even when so unoccupied.

Turning one final corner, Chief is greeted with the fresh air and the starlight spilling onto the open porch from the courtyard.

There she sits in seiza atop a soft zabuton cushion, gracefully gazing at the night sky. Beside her is a spare cushion and a plate of exquisitely arranged kamaboko fish cakes. Suddenly Chief is thankful that he has approached Coquelic for gift ideas. It is obvious that his host has carefully prepared for this rendezvous. 

Although she must’ve sensed his presence, he nevertheless calls out to her.

“Good evening Sumire.”

Even from the back, Chief can feel her smile. “You came. Good evening Chief.” As Sumire eases off of her posture and looks back at him, he forgets to breathe.

An ornate set of hair pieces perfectly adorns Sumire’s straight black hair, elegantly tying it back to expose a lace choker softly wrapped around her tantalizing neck. Her black yukata leaves almost nothing to the imagination as the thin, sheer fabric serendipitously slips off of a slender, tattooed shoulder. A beautiful obi sash gently hugs her thin waist, its majestic butterfly knot is tied just below her chest to accentuate her modest curves. 

And were her legs always this long? 

Chief swallows as his eyes trail along the smooth, milky skin of Sumire’s thighs, wholly uncovered when she relaxed from her seiza and shifted to face him. She has left her sandals to the side, her delicate, supple bare feet…

Chief hurriedly shuts down any thought along that line as he desperately tries to find an appropriate place to look.

Eyes… eyes are safe.

Taking a quick breath to gather himself, Chief finds and locks onto Sumire’s curiously wide eyes and stutters out the only half-coherent thing he could muster.

“You are so… so incredibly beautiful.”

Silence falls between them as Chief quietly berates himself for his disastrous attempt at a compliment. But when it drags on, he calls out to his stunned companion in worry.

“...Sumire?”

“Eh?” As if awakened from a trance, Sumire blinks a couple times before suddenly turning to the side, flushing a lovely pink under the pale moonlight. “Thank you Chief… Lady Garofano insisted on dressing me up for tonight.” She mutters as she sneaks peeks at Chief here and there. “... You look utterly dashing as well.”

Seeing a bashful Sumire steadied Chief’s own fluttering heart a little, and he holds up the small package in his hand. “Our dear Mentor sends her regards.”

A warm smile graces Sumire’s face again, setting off fireworks in Chief’s heart. “Ah, how thoughtful of her. Please, come sit.”

Side by side, with spirits and savors between them, Chief sits at the edge of the porch while Sumire returns to seiza. For a moment, the two remain quiet and take in the marvelous view. 

The moon is bright and the stars are sparse. The orb of silver hangs low in the cloudless night sky, and casts a gentle bloom around the magnificent cherry tree, already in full blossom from the unnaturally early spring. Soft breezes here and there quietly rustle the petals, scattering them about like snowflakes and coloring the air with a faint fragrance. Many flowers make their landing in a nearby pond, where the bamboo of a shishi-odoshi periodically lets out a tranquil, satisfying bonk every time it tips over from a small flowing stream above.

“Shall our first toast go to the return of the illustrious Hana-shi sensei?” Chief pours the sake for Sumire after receiving the same courtesy from his companion. “I hear the exhibition was a smashing success.”

“You flatter me. It’s thanks to everyone that we were able to put up such a wonderful display.”

Indeed, it would have been difficult for Sumire to put together so many elaborate flower arrangements without help from the rest of the Garden. Even Coquelic herself contributed with several of her own creations. Still, more than half of the pieces were made by Sumire, and Chief will completely unbiasedly say that she has surpassed her Mentor in this one art. 

“Quite the modesty there, sensei.” A proud smirk spreads across Chief’s cheek, an occurrence more and more common as of late whenever he is with Sumire. “Weren’t you the one who raised the flowers, directed the themes and arranged the venue? You even managed to get Lisa lavishing praises on the event. And trust me, that woman could not have been bought or threatened when it comes to art.”

“...You are far too kind to me.” Sumire dips her head, almost fully retreating into herself under the onslaught, only letting her eyes betray how pleased she is.

Chief raises his cup with both hands and turns to face the blushing master of the house. “Here’s to your dazzling return to form. May your art ever be as beautiful as their creator.”

“Oh you…” Sumire’s shy smile is quickly becoming a favorite of Chief’s. 

“Kangbai.” A quiet but heartfelt cheer, a crisp bell-like clink, and the two empty their first cup of the night. The fragrant, floral aroma is rich and intoxicating, yet the rice wine feels clean and smooth on the palate, and leaves a faint sweet aftertaste on the tongue. A pleasant heat wells up at Chief’s center, and from the way Sumire quietly exhales with hooded eyes, she’s feeling just the same.

Their gazes meet, and both unabashedly exchange their delight. The sake is truly divine.

“Let’s also have some kamaboko to soak up the alcohol.” As Sumire picks at the assortment of fish cakes with the chopsticks, the only pair of chopsticks Chief belatedly notices, a sudden mischievous grin flashes by her features. “Here, say ‘Ahhh.’” 

Shaking his head slightly as blood rushes to his face, Chief decides to indulge in Sumire’s rare playfulness and leans forward to take the offered treat into his mouth. He does not miss the sparkle of glee in her eyes even as a burst of umami washes over his taste buds and he hums in satisfaction. 

Seeing the positive reaction, Sumire takes a smaller piece of the kamaboko for herself. Something tickles at Chief’s heart when her mouth closes around the tip of the chopsticks where his lips had been a few seconds ago. Had he not noticed the pinkness on the tip of Sumire’s ears, even as she tries to appear unbothered, he might have chalked it up to his own silliness.

A soft, tender warmth blankets over them as they enjoy the picturesque view of the full moon and the cherry blossom; the rhythmic music of the trickling stream and clacking bamboo; all the while making quick work of the savory snack and taking slow sips of the sweet sake.

“Are you moving ahead with the fundraiser?” Chief puts away the chopsticks that he managed to gently wrestle from Sumire’s hand. He has insisted on feeding her the last piece of kamaboko, as a little payback. “I hear Chelsea is getting involved.”

“Ah yes. Countess Chelsea has found a way to preserve my flower arrangements as gems so that they can be auctioned.” Sumire explains cheerfully after unhurriedly swallowing, her lips hidden behind her fingers and her cheeks still slightly flushed from Chief's latest antics. “She’s very skilled. You’d never know she ever left lapidary.”

“I'm surprised she's so eager to help.”

“She was positively ecstatic when I told her that the proceedings will help the Bureau’s initiatives in the West District Reconstruction. Although…” A corner of her mouth peeks out from behind her hand in a wide, teasing smirk. “She did mention something about settling for being the sugar mommy-in-law.”

Chief cups his face with both palms, embarrassment mixing with incredulousness. “That woman…”

Sumire snickers softly before quickly offering a kind reprieve. “Isn’t it fine? It is for a good cause after all. And it won’t exactly be her money that we spend.”

“Fine… I can live with her pampering you to get to me.” Sighing in resignation at the Countess’s endless persistence, Chief can only hope that Sumire will keep a lid on his new supposed “in-law”, and spare him from being buried in an absurd amount of second-hand gifts.

“Speaking of pampering. Our Eastian Seer has also prepared a present for us. And I suspect Thistle had a hand in it.” Chief opens YanYan’s gift pouch and produces a couple unlabeled round containers. He examines one closely. “Hmmm. Ceramic. Glazed. The clay was fired recently. Tight-fit lid… Ah, I think it’s hand cream… Freshly made, too; it hasn't completely set yet.”

“Always the detective.” Sumire giggles lightly at Chief’s intense inspection of a simple skincare product. She leans slightly to take a slow whiff from the small vessel, before letting out a longing sigh. “Mmm, I do love the smell of lilies. It reminds me of the scent you always wear.” 

Feeling simultaneously a little bashful and a little bold, Chief absentmindedly nibbles on his lower lip as a whimsical thought intrudes his mind. “Say… will you let me have a little bit more payback?” 

After a couple blinks of bewilderment followed by a smile of unspoken understanding, Sumire moves the tray of sake to the side and turns towards Chief as he shifts closer. A quick, shy look is exchanged before he takes her hands onto his lap.

Dabbing a small amount of the hand cream to each of Sumire’s knuckles, Chief starts to softly spread the ointment on the back of her hands. The delicate cream absorbs quickly into the skin, disappearing like melting snow and leaving behind a cool, moist sheen. He glances up at her face here and there, observing the myriads of expressions as he continues the gentle massage down each digit, giving special care to the dexterous joints and the lightly calloused fingertips. Their eyes meet when he tenderly flips over the hands and lovingly traces the lines of her palms with his thumbs, earning a few ticklish twitches and gasps of contentment. Only when his ministration ends at the bases of her wrists does embarrassment catch up to them.

Their locked gazes are broken as they turn to face the courtyard again. Their joined hands remain connected. 

“That child really went out of her way to make this.” Chief swallows a small knot, slightly overcome with gratitude. 

Sumire’s own appreciation for the little Eastian girl is just as heartfelt. “Yes, it is so very sweet of her. Even with Thistle’s help it must’ve taken a lot of effort to hand make everything.” A tiniest frown creases her brows. “I must find ways to repay her.”

The sense of unease on the other end of the Shackle was picked up right away. “You know she did this purely out of the goodness of her heart.” 

“I know. But Chief, you practically became her favorite hero Huntsman in the legend.” Her proud smile falls slightly. “I barely even spoke with her.”

“She knows that you are always there for me.” That you are dear to me.

Sumire blushes a little at that, but still looks troubled. It has been difficult convincing her that she deserved every ounce of kindness she has received. Even though it is a sentiment shared by a growing list of people at the Bureau, Chief suspects that this challenge may very well last the entirety of their lives. For now, he can only toss one more pebble into the pond.

“Believe it or not, YanYan told me once that the legend of the Huntsman was not her favorite story.” As expected, his companion appears to be slightly taken aback; Chief adds. “She preferred the tale of the Moon Goddess, the Huntsman’s wife.”

“Oh?” Sumire’s curiosity is immediately piqued.

“It is said that after the Huntsman shot down nine of the ten Suns and saved his people, he was awarded a bottle of elixir. A single drop can extend one’s life by a decade, and drinking the whole bottle would allow one to become a deity and ascend to the Heavens.” Chief takes a sip of the heavenly drink in his own cup, the invisible Shackles faintly pulses in time with his slightly erratic heart.

“Over time, the Huntsman started to use the elixir to gain influence over others, promising longevity to those who would bow to him. Eventually, he became a tyrant.” A shiver runs down Chief’s back despite the warmth in the air and in his body. He pulls on the red string in front of his neck to wrap the cape a little tighter around his shoulders.

“His wife feared that he'd come to terrorize the very people he once protected, so she stole the elixir one night and fled when he slept.” Chief looks to his side at his companion, finding intrigue and concern in those sweet sangria colored irises. “The Huntsman’s wrath was so terrible that he pursued her to the edge of the Earth and she had to drink all of the elixir to escape to the Heavens. But she stopped mid way and lingered on the Moon to look back at him.” 

Sumire’s eyes soften along with her unknowingly tight grip on his hand. “Even with his curses at her back, her love for him must’ve remained. She would not have wanted to leave him behind.”

Chief chuckles. It is very much like Sumire to be so touched by love. He turns back to the night sky, briefly captivated by the bright but gentle silver, illuminating like a beacon and gleaming like a mirror.

“The Huntsman soon learned the error of his ways, realizing that his kingship was built on false promises of the elixir and not on the strength of his character. He eventually relinquished his throne and took up his bow once again to vanquish demons and safeguard his people.” A corner of Chief’s lips twitches when he feels Sumire let out a small sigh of relief and pride, perhaps pleased at the Huntsman’s returning to his old heroic self. “The wife has long forgiven him but was unable to come back to the realm of the mortal. She became the Moon Goddess. On the darkest nights she would shine blessed moonlight to guide her husband on his hunts.”

Chief takes the sake from the tray and refills for both of them before looking to Sumire again. “People would come to honor her sacrifice and forgiveness. Once a year on the night of the Harvest Moon, they would make cakes known to be her favorite treats, and toast the Moon along with their loved ones.” 

His silent suggestion is answered just as quietly. The two clink their cups and down their drinks, their eyes never leaving each other. 

“A poignant tale indeed.” Sumire contemplates for a moment, and then the gentlest smile forms on her lovely face. 

“But would you not say that in honoring her forgiveness, the people also honored his redemption? Afterall, every third year the Harvest Moon coincides with the Hunter’s Moon.” 

Her soft crimson eyes, candid and compassionate, stare deep into his pale gray, widened by surprise. At that instant, all of him is laid bare for her to see. 

“I think the people saw themselves in the Huntsman.” Sumire goes on with a charming, tiniest flare of her nose. “Flawed. They are destined to step into pitfalls. But the ones who love them will give them the strength of character to make things right, to live on with their heads held high.”

Under the mellow glow of the moon, surrounded by the sweet floral scents, Sumire in all her virtuous beauty, appears as if a dream was made real. It is at this moment, Chief is certain. He does not exactly know of what yet, but he is sure of it.

“... You are right.” is all he managed to say after a long while. 

Brightened and joyful, Sumire eases off her seiza and shifts to the edge of the porch, mimicking Chief’s posture and letting her calves hang off the verge. The tiny little kicks of her bare feet are carefree and relaxed, her earlier insecurities seemingly faded away. A serene silence follows, and the only thing Chief could hear is his own entranced heartbeat in his ears.

“Do you think the Huntsman and the Goddess were ever reunited?” Sumire's question hangs in the air for a moment before Chief answers.

“YanYan said that in Eastian legends, Heaven and Earth are separated by the breadth of the universe. And for every day that passes in Heaven, a year goes by on Earth…” Chief hesitates to finish. The refutation is not exactly subtle, and he slightly regrets his instinctual pragmatism when Sumire’s face falls a little. 

“Shame… I would’ve loved for them to have a happy ending." 

For the many-th time just this month, Chief finds himself at odds with these Eastian legends of old, often left cryptic, unfinished or tragic. If only he could… 

“… Why not write it ourselves?” His sudden suggestion pulls both of them out of wistfulness. “Let’s write that story, Hanashi sensei.”

…Afterall, when legends became insufficient, people revised them to better serve those who believed. 

Sumire would not have missed the allusion to the second meaning of her alias; but at the moment, her surprise is greater. “You want to alter the legend? Like you did with the Seer and the Sun Crow… ” Realization dawns on her face, followed shortly by reservation. “But how can we make people believe it?” 

“It’d be a legend just for us. Only we need to believe it.” 

Wonder, exhilaration, and endless possibilities dance across in her lovely features, Sumire nods excitedly like an adorable child before slipping a hand into the sash at her waist to retrieve her phone, only to timidly hide behind it. “... May I write the continuation to the Goddess’s story? And maybe you can do so for the Huntsman…”

Chief pulls out his communication terminal, his own heartbeat quickening at the true meaning behind her suggestion. “Sure. Let's see if their stories are fated to align.” If our stories are fated to align.

Living up to her lesser known moniker, Hanashi the Storyteller takes only a minute before starting to type, her eyes glistening as inspirations flow forth from her fingertips. 

Meanwhile, Chief considers for a bit longer while staring at the moon, finding himself drawn to the bluish shapes on what is otherwise a pure white surface. 

Bonk. The crip sound of the shishi-odoshi signals yet another beginning in the endless cycle.

An idea finally comes to mind and Chief begins to write. 

“After the Huntsman finally finds forgiveness for himself, he would greet his wife every full moon and sing her favorite tunes, but he yearns to be beside her once more. So he wagered with the Heavens that he would make Earth such a place of peace and plenty, even a rabbit could roam under the night sky unafraid. The Heavens agreed that should he succeed, he would reincarnate as an immortal rabbit and make the voyage…”

A quiet, long exhale beside him signals that Sumire has finished her story, and Chief can feel her eagerness fall upon him. The urge to look up is strong, but he cannot afford to lose his focus now.

“... And so it was, on the day of his death, a rabbit of pure white was seen hopping out of the treelines and onto the clouds. No starving bandit shot at it with arrows, no raving demon snatched it out of the sky. The rabbit hopped from nimbus to nimbus, until finally it arrived at the Goddess’s side. Since then, you can see the shape of a rabbit on the Moon, working tirelessly along the Goddess to concoct a new elixir so that one day he may reclaim his form.”

After he finishes, Chief takes a deep breath and finds his patiently waiting companion, feeling like a bundle of nerves. However, when their eyes meet again and he sees that she is just as giddy as he is, the anxiousness fades away.

“I’m ready.”

“I am as well, Chief. Shall we?” 

A nod is exchanged, the two hold their breaths.

Send.  

A beat later, the message pops up, and Chief begins to read.

“After the Goddess came to reside on the Moon, she missed her husband dearly. Every hour of the day in Heaven, she’d borrow the light from the Sun to search for her husband; month after month on Earth the cycles of the Moon shifted the tides and foretold the changing of the seasons. Just as he protected the people from vile creatures and provided them with food from his hunts, she guided them through the nights and helped them with harvest. Even when separated by both time and space, the two of them are together in their love for each other and for their people…”

A small gasp draws his attention. Sumire’s face is flushed, and she has a hand over an endearing smile. Chief briefly wonders where in his story she has gotten to, before deciding to curb his curiosity and return to his terminal, not knowing that he is wearing a similar expression.

“... After he passed on, she continued to watch over the people year after year. The people in turn continued to honor her and her husband, century after century, immortalizing both of them in their memories and traditions. The Goddess never felt lonely again, for she saw her dear husband in every person that has ever come to cherish this story.”

Unable to contain himself, Chief snorts a delighted laugh after finishing the story. He looks up at his companion and is rewarded with the image of Sumire with the cutest pout, a sight that he will sear into his memory.

As if sensing the incoming bout of teasing, Sumire preemptively protests. “Oh Chief, please don’t make fun of me…”

“I’m just thinking… how very romantic of you to make the Goddess’s love so faithful and everlasting.” The teasing comes nevertheless, but it is interlaced with so much affection and admiration. “You truly are living up to your name, Sumire.”

Caught between embarrassment and elation, Sumire flounders around adorably searching for a response before ultimately deciding on retaliation. “You are one to talk, Chief. Your Huntsman overcame death and literally brought about world peace!”

Now it is Chief’s turn to feel flustered at his overly innocent and idealistic take. “Ah, I guess it was a little childish wasn’t it?”

“No. It was VERY romantic.” The amusement quietly shifts into wonder as Sumire exhales with trembles in her breath and slowly shakes her head. “To dedicate his whole life bringing about peace and prosperity, then to spend who knows how many lifetimes traversing the stars… ” 

“He couldn’t have done it alone, not without the Goddess’s help.” Chief assures her right there, also feeling a strong rush of excitement at the fortuitous coalescence of their two stories. “And he certainly would’ve been disappointed if she hadn’t waited.”

Sumire’s smile at that moment is more stunning than the brightest moon and more charming than the fullest blossoms. In lieu of saying anything, she gingerly reaches out for the sake and pours for the two of them, her hand swaying only slightly; Chief answers her call for one more toast.

"To a story well told, Sumire. May it bring joy and blessing to all who treasure it.” 

“And to us. Chief, may we live as long and as peaceful as the moon.”

Clink.  

The companions finish their final round of the night, both grinning ear to ear. The intoxicating warmth is becoming a little overwhelming, and Chief decides to lay down onto the wooden floor, letting it cool his back through his cape. Sumire giggles a little at this, herself no less affected by the same heat that is enveloping them both if the pink on her cheeks is any indication. She empties the remainder of the bottle into one last cup, and carefully puts away the empty porcelains.

Looking up from the floor, Chief is once again left breathless by the view. The moon has risen higher, taking its place amongst the stars; its tender glow streams through Sumire’s yukata and drapes over her like a veil of pale light. The cherry blossoms frame around her face with reverence, the soft hue accentuating the faint blush; one lone petal flutters by, dancing its way into the cup to rest atop the sake.

Only one thing is left unsaid. Chief is certain of it.

“The moon truly is beautiful tonight.”

Sumire freezes.

Slowly she turns towards him. Her lips are parted wordlessly, her eyes wide and searching, as if not believing her ears. Chief does not shy away, returning her stare with sincerity.

“It truly is…” Sumire replies after a long while, her voice quiet as a whisper, wavering a little under the tension behind Chief's unmoving gaze. She reaches out with a hand to gently run her fingers over his cheekbone. “But… are you not missing the view?”

“Because my heart wants you.” Not one to beat around the bushes, never with her, Chief captures Sumire’s hand with his own and leans into her touch, loving the coolness of her palm against his scorching skin. His stunned companion has no such relief from this heat, blushing furiously. His eyes soften, simultaneously imploring and permitting. “It wants to be yours... if you would have it.”

The scent of a hundred flowers embraces Chief when Sumire surges towards him, sailing on a whirlwind of emotions. Faintly he hears a small clink to his side, but it is immediately forgotten when he feels the delicate petals of her lips on his own. For all its urgency, their first kiss is chaste and inquisitive, merely a gentle caress; hesitantly exploring something new, eagerly wanting something more.

Too soon he feels Sumire timidly pulling away, perhaps to ask if she has overstepped. His own yearning for her unabated, Chief chases forward to answer that unspoken question, sealing their lips again. A split second of surprise, and Sumire sighs in satisfaction as she melts into him, feeling like a soft putty as she lets him wrap an arm around her and press her flush against him. The kiss this time is more demanding, but also unhurried. Their eyes closed, shutting out the world as the two allow themselves to taste the sweet sake from each other, breathe the scent of lilies on each other, hear the muted murmurs of each other, feel the thumping heartbeats against each other.

Only when they missed the sight of each other do they finally separate to exchange longing, intimate, affectionate looks. Seeking refuge from this warmth that is consuming them both, Sumire nuzzles into the nook of Chief’s neck, pressing against his racing pulse. Her hand glides across the thin satin shirt to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I'll cherish it.” As if laying claim, Sumire draws small insignias above his heart with her finger, beneath the red string. “I'll cherish us. I swear.”

That last cup of sake, knocked over earlier, pours into the courtyard ground like a libation to the Moon above for witnessing this vow.

Chief presses one more kiss to Sumire’s forehead, and whispers a reminder that he is prepared to repeat for the entirety of their lives.

“I trust you.”

OMAKE#1 (may or may not have happened)

EMP: So, Sumire… are you and the Chief, like, a thing?

Sumire: A thing?

Mess: Yeah, you know, an item?  A couple?

Sumire: Oh. I believe we are… Chief and I are indeed courting.

EMP: Huh? Courting?

Mess: Dating.

EMP: Oh. Right. Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Mess: So Pan and I are just wondering. How come you never call Chief by his real name?

Sumire: His real name?

EMP: Yeah, I mean, wouldn’t it be something you’d do if you are dating? Like how Mei calls me Pan.

Sumire: Hmmmm. Now that you mentioned it, it has never occurred to me. I have always called him Chief for as long as I could remember. 

Mess: Ehh, but Chief is his title right? Wouldn’t that sound a little too distant?

Sumire: Chief once told me that he can’t remember a time when he wasn’t the Chief of the Bureau, so even his real name felt strange to him, like it belonged to someone else. I think I understand. Afterall, “Sumire” was given to me by Mentor after I joined the Garden, and it’s the only name I need now.

EMP: But… Wouldn’t you rather call each other something a little more… you know… intimate? 

Mess: Like, something that’s only between the two of you? That makes your heart race?

Sumire: But… my heart already races when I call him Chief and when he calls me Sumire.

Mess: Urgh… loverhead…

Sumire: …Apologies.

EMP: Hey, how about pet names?

Mess: Oh yeah, maybe Darling? Sweetheart? Honeybumbum? Actually no… I can’t take the image of that last one.

Sumire: But I much rather call him Chief, since it’s Chief that I’m in love with.

Mess: Urgh…

EMP: Mmmm… how about adding something to Chief? Like… Chief-nugget?

Mess: Baby Chief?

Sumire: Baby Chief…

Mess: Okay no. Bad idea. We can’t make Chief cute… that’s too gross. Think manly. Strong. Big. 

EMP: … Chief daddy? OW! Mei! That was your hammer!

Mess: Yeah, be glad that you didn’t get the fire sword instead!

Sumire: … Master Chief?

EMP & Mess: NO!