Hideo stands there for a moment, breathing heavily, his expression hard. As if he were seeing someone else lying there. Then, the fury in his eyes fades, and for a moment, he looks like himself again. He offers the trainer his hand and pulls him back up to his feet. The session ends.
I watch in stunned silence as Hideo bids farewell to his trainer, then heads out of the room’s double doors with his bodyguards flanking him, his hands still wrapped in bloodied bandages. Then the Memory ends, and I find myself in my own room again, jolted back into a peaceful scene. I finally exhale, realizing I’d been holding my breath.
So that’s how Hideo gets his bruised knuckles. Why does he train like a demon possessed? Why does he strike as if he wants to kill? I shiver at the memory of his expression, of those vicious, dark eyes, absent of any hint of the playful, polite, charismatic version of himself that I thought I knew. I shake my head. Best if I didn’t mention watching this Memory to anyone. Aside from his own bodyguards, Hideo probably didn’t intend for anyone to see that.
The shifting light in my bedroom starts to reflect from the pool outside my balcony, and the glow startles me back into reality. I’m here for a job, not to spy on Hideo’s private training sessions.
I exit from my account and remind myself to focus my thoughts on Ren instead. In the back of my mind, though, Hideo’s conversation with me plays on repeat. And when I finally leave my bedroom to join my teammates in our training for the day, it’s the memory of his dark eyes that lingers, the mystery behind his bloodied knuckles and furious gaze.
15
Three days pass in a blur of training activity. The Phoenix Riders run drills of every possible combination. I’m paired with Hammie, then with Ren, then with Asher and Roshan. I’m paired with two of them. I’m paired against them. Our environments change from jungle to city to towering cliffs. We practice in levels from past championships and everything in between.
Asher trains us with an intensity I haven’t seen before. I struggle to keep up. Every new world I play is a world everyone else has already played, every new maneuver a familiar one to the rest of my team. Just when I think I’m getting the hang of something, Asher will halve the time required of us to do certain missions or perform certain moves. Just when I start getting used to a world, Asher moves us on to the next one.
I end my days exhausted, slumped against the couches with my teammates, my mind crowded with new information as Asher reviews with us what the next day will be. My dreams are filled with our drills.
While Hideo had made sure I would end up on a team, he can’t help the Phoenix Riders win. If we lose, my teammates will disband for the season, and it’ll be that much harder to follow Ren around. Hideo is counting on me to fulfill this end of the bargain. If I don’t, I might end up forfeiting the bounty to some other hunter who can stay in the Championships.
“You’re new to this.” Roshan tries to reassure me one night as we pile against one another on the couches. Wikki is making his rounds to each of us, handing us plates of piping-hot dinner. “It should take you time to wrap your head around everything.”
On my other side, Hammie digs a fork into her food. “One of these days, Roshan, your bleeding heart is going to bleed all over us.” Her eyes flicker to me before she brings her loaded fork to her lips. “We can’t afford for her to go easy on herself.”
“She shouldn’t have been in the draft,” Ren interjects.
Hammie scowls at him. “Easy, wild card.”
“I’m just saying.” Ren holds up his knife and fork in defense. “I didn’t DJ international events on my first try. It’s not healthy.” He looks at me. “Don’t force her into situations she’s not ready for. You might kill her.”
I look away from him, but not before his words send my sixth sense tingling. Does he suspect me? Is he watching?
Roshan nods in reluctant agreement at Ren. “We can’t afford for her to burn out. There is such a thing. But you already know that, Hams.”
“That was only because I was a Titan that year, and Oliver was a pitiful captain compared to Ash.”
“I appreciate the flattery,” Asher says as he pops a fry into his mouth, then looks at me. “You’ve been missing your cues in training, Emi.”
“She hasn’t slept through the night all week,” Roshan interjects. “I can see it on her face.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, trying to rub away the dark circles under my eyes. I need to get away. If my teammates start poking around too much, they’ll find it’s more than just our exercises causing my sleepless nights.
Asher clears his throat from where he’s seated, and the others settle down. He nods at us all. “No training tomorrow. Sleep in, eat a late breakfast. We’ll start up again the day after that.”
I give Roshan a gentle nudge of gratitude, while Hammie shoots Asher a sullen look. I’m reminded of the relentless way she played speed chess in her Memory. “You know who isn’t taking tomorrow off?” she says. “The Demon Brigade.”
“You know what’s useless to me? A mentally exhausted Architect. Emika’s been making mistakes all day.” Asher nods at where Ren is eating quietly beside him. “Ren has a call with his recording studio tomorrow, anyway. Day off will do us good.”
I watch Ren in silence as we finish dinner and drift off to our rooms. I’ve been analyzing him each day, looking for an additional sign, some further clue. Each night I comb through his data with the new key Hideo had given me. Nothing. He’s heading into the Dark World tomorrow, and I still have no answers as to why. And for all I know, he’s watching me, too.
“Em,” Hammie calls to me as I head to my door. I turn around to see her hurrying toward me, a package tucked under her arm. She holds it out to me. “Wear this around your head when you sleep. It knocks me out pretty fast.”
I squeeze the soft fabric. “Thanks,” I say.
She shrugs once. “I don’t mean to keep pushing you.” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You can tell me, you know, if you’re having trouble with something. I’ll train one-on-one with you.”
I can see her chess mind sorting through the pieces of my words, not quite believing my excuses, looking a dozen steps ahead for what I might do next. She senses something’s bothering me. “I know,” I reply, giving her a smile. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“It’s a plan.” She smiles back and I feel a twinge of guilt. I’ve never been a part of a group like this—a tight-knit group of friends that do everything together. We could be closer, if I let her in.
Instead, I just bid her good night. She does the same, but I can see the doubt in her eyes as she turns away and heads to her own room. I watch her go before sliding my door shut behind me.
That night, as I’m taking a late swim in my balcony’s pool in an attempt to clear my head, I get a message from Hideo.
You’re frustrated.
I pause in my laps, blink warm water out of my eyes, and tap on Hideo’s hovering text in my vision before I can think it through.
My chat request is sent, and a moment later, Hideo accepts it, appearing at the edge of the pool as a virtual image. He’s in a room dimly lit by warm light, pulling his tie loose. Without it, he looks more his age, impossibly young and less authoritative. To my annoyance, my heart tugs sharply at the sight of him. His knuckles don’t look bruised tonight. I guess he hasn’t been boxing in the past few days.
I lift my arms out of the water and fold them on top of the pool’s tiled edge. Droplets of water on my tattooed skin catch the moonlight. “How can you tell?” I reply.
“I haven’t heard from you in days.”
I’m in no mood to share my training insecurities with him. “What if I’m just saving up info for the next time I report to you?” I say instead. “I haven’t even gone into the Dark World yet.”
Hideo turns away for a moment as he puts away his cuff links. “And is that why I haven’t heard from you?” he says over his shoulder.
“Is this your way of telling me I should be making faster progress?”
He looks back at me, his expression partly hidden in shadows. “It’s my way of asking if I can help you out.”
“I thought I was the one helping you out.”
He pauses again, but in the dim light, his head turns slightly toward me to reveal the hint of a smile on his lips. His eyes hold mine for a moment. I’m glad for the darkness that hides my reddening cheeks. “I know you’re exhausted,” he finally says.
I look away and brush beads of water from my arm. “No pity needed.”
“None given. I wouldn’t have put you there if you couldn’t handle it.”
Always with his knowing attitude. “If you want to help me out,” I say as I sink back into the water, “you could always offer some moral support.”
“Moral support.” He turns to face me, his smile turning playful. “And what kind of moral support would you like?”