Warcross (Warcross #1)(69)
“They believe that objects have souls. The more love you put into one, the more beautiful it becomes.”
I smile at the affection in his voice. “They must be very proud of what you created.”
Hideo just shrugs, but he looks pleased at my words.
“You don’t have any augmented reality overlaid in your home,” I say as I sit.
Hideo shakes his head. “I like to keep my home real. It’s too easy to lose yourself in an illusion,” he replies, nodding at his physical book.
I’m very aware of our proximity to each other, as if I could feel the ghost of his presence against my skin.
I take a deep breath. “Do you have any enemies you can think of? Someone who would want to hurt you like this? Maybe a former employee? An old business partner?”
Hideo looks away. After a while, he replies, “There are enough people who dislike Warcross and the NeuroLink. Not everyone appreciates the new. Many fear it.”
“It’s ironic that Zero fears it so much, then,” I reply, “but uses his own knowledge of technology to try to stop you.”
“He doesn’t sound like someone who bothers with logic.”
“And what about Ren? You should disqualify him from the games immediately. It’s pretty clear that he’s involved with this plan. He might even be involved with potentially harming you. What if the file I saw today had been meant for him? What if he had somehow sent a signal from within the game to the person who tried to attack you?”
Hideo pauses for a moment at that, before finally shaking his head. “He’s been a reliable source of information, and he might lead to more clues. If I remove him now, it’ll be obvious to Zero that we know about him. They might suspect you.”
I sigh, wishing I could argue with that reasoning. “Why don’t you want to leave Tokyo? You could have died today.”
Hideo looks at me. His eyes reflect the light of the fire. “And signal to Zero that he’s won? No. If his entire plan is just a threat against me, then I’ll be relieved.”
Our conversation fades into silence. I struggle to figure out something to say, but nothing that comes to mind seems appropriate, so I just end up staying quiet, prolonging the awkwardness. My eyes wander back to the shelves, and then to the portraits on the walls. There are photos of Hideo as a child and a teen—helping out in his father’s shop, reading by the window, playing games, posing with a bunch of medals around his neck, smiling for early press photos as he first hit the newswires. Curious. As a child, Hideo didn’t have the silver streak in his hair or the few silver threads sprinkled throughout his dark lashes.
Then my eyes stop on one particular photo. There are two boys pictured in it.
“You have a brother?” I say without thinking.
Hideo is silent. Immediately, I remember the warning that I’d gotten right before I first met Hideo. Mr. Tanaka never answers questions about his family’s private affairs. I must request that you do not mention anything in that regard. I start to apologize, but my words fade as I realize it’s something even more than that. Hideo’s expression is strange now. He’s afraid. I’ve hit an old wound, a yawning abyss thinly scarred over.
After a long moment, Hideo lowers his eyes and looks toward the rain-dotted windows. “I had a brother,” he replies.
Mr. Tanaka never answers questions about his family. But he had just now, had opened up to me, however briefly. I can hear how foreign the words sound on his lips, can see the discomfort it brings him just to say them. Does that mean he never invites others to his home, either, where such a vulnerability is hanging right on his wall? I watch him, waiting for him to say more. When he doesn’t, I say the only thing I can. “I’m so sorry.”
Hideo spares me by leaning toward the table. “You mentioned you wanted tea,” he says, sidestepping my words the same way he did on the night I’d met him at his headquarters. His moment of weakness that he’d offered me has already vanished, gone behind the shield.
This is the piece of his history that haunts him, I think, recalling the beat of grief we’d shared when I’d mentioned my father. Whatever had happened, he hasn’t made peace with it. It might even explain his stubborn refusal to stay safe. I nod in silence, then look on as he pours a cup for me and another for himself. He hands me my cup, and I hold it with both hands, savoring the heat and the clean scent.
“Hideo,” I begin softly, trying again. I’m careful to steer clear of whatever mystery shrouds his past. My eyes linger on the faint scars of his knuckles. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. You didn’t stand with me in the Pirate’s Den and feel the ominous presence of that guy. I don’t know what he’s up to yet, but he’s obviously dangerous. You can’t play with your life like this.”
Hideo smiles a little. “You came all the way here tonight just to persuade me to leave Tokyo, didn’t you?”
His teasing makes me blush again, which makes me irritated with myself. I put down my cup and shrug. “Well, I didn’t think it was something I could properly discuss with you without being here in person. And I wanted to warn you without somehow being overheard by my teammates.”
“Emika,” he says. “You don’t need to give me a reason for coming over. I appreciate you watching out for me. You saved my life today, you know.” Whatever I was going to say next fades away at the look in his eyes. He puts his cup down, too, and leans closer to me. The movement sends a jolt up my spine. “I’m glad you’re here.”