Chapter 9: Ability Nine: Fighting Back

Haruki left the school with a lighter heart and more confident steps. He aced out everyone that stood his way on the dodgeball, making his team win and earn a perfect grade.

The school murmurs spoke truth about his athletic ability, already above average, but none of it could cover the pain of seeing the girl that rejected him smile and be comfortable with a boy that can make distant stars reachable.

Ino was way out of his league. And maybe, only Ino can meet Takamine's standards.

All of these thoughts surfaced just as he headed home. He wasn't distracted unlike before. There are no friends, no activities and no things to take his mind off his problems. It was just the bustle and hustle of the afternoon street.

“Take it as a fine advice, these emotion inhibitors don’t sit well with AURAs. Use it on them and then they go berserk.”

Haru’s ears perked at the words. He slowed his pace, turning his head toward the shadowed corner of a small alley. A group of hooded men stood huddled around an older man, who was clutching a bundle of credits tightly against his chest.

“Emotion inhibitors…?” Haru muttered to himself, the phrase triggering a faint flicker of familiarity.

Emotion inhibitors. Colloquially “grafts”. He knew about them—illegal devices that hacked into a sentinel’s system, suppressing their emotions and memories. They were outlawed for good reason; the side effects were catastrophic, especially for sentinels designed with emotional capacity like CARE and newer types of LUNAs.

Currently, only the black market scoundrels are known to circulate it.

He stood behind a vending machine close to the alley, careful not to draw attention from the group.

“Is your Sentinel an AURA type, gramps?” a mean-looking guy with a rough voice asked.

Haru blinked as he heard the unfamiliar type of sentinel.

The older man stammered, clearly intimidated. “A-AURA? I…I’m not sure what you mean. She’s just…she’s my wife.”

Laughter erupted from the group.

“Your wife is a damned machine?!” Another gruff man, his voice dripping with mockery, spoke up. Another cacophony of laughter echoed from the alleyway.

“Gramps, you’re really out of the loop, huh?” the gruff guy questioned. “Advanced Universal Relational Android. Top-of-the-line tech from back in the day. Purpose? Caregiving and medical models for people, because they carried emotional will and intellect. They were discontinued, though. Too advanced for their own good. Goddamn scientists can’t even tell them apart from the real thing. Whispers say that there were two research savants that developed the model.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” the other rude man added. “They were designed to mimic human emotions, right down to the tiniest detail. Problem is, they were so good at it, people started mistaking them for actual humans. Pretty sure there are only, what, twenty-five of ‘em still out there? If you’ve got one, you’re sitting on a goldmine.”

The older man’s face paled, his grip on the credits tightening. “She’s not…She’s not a Sentinel. She’s my wife. You’re mistaken.”

“Sure, sure,” the mean-looking guy sneered. “Doesn’t matter to us. You want her to last longer, don’t you? DARTs in casual use last for 36 years, minus 12 at wartime. LUNAs are good for 25, but those working at enterprises usually last for 18. Battery life for AURAs is crap, especially if they’ve got strong emotional imprints, lasting only for 10—make them emotionally gripped they’ll last for just two. That’s where this baby comes in.” He pulled out a small, unmarked metal device, its sleek design betraying its sinister purpose.

“I know.” the old man answered. “Emotion inhibitor, that’s why I’m here.”

“Heck yeah!” the mean-looking guy exclaimed excitedly. “Slap this into your AURA’s system, and it’ll suppress all that emotional baggage. No more memories, no more feelings, just pure functionality. Makes ‘em last way longer. Think of it as…maintenance. A second life.”

Without a question, the old man snaps and hands them his credit.

“Easy money,” the mean man said, chuckling. “These things sell themselves.”

But from a distance, Haru’s blood ran cold. He clenched his fists, his mind racing.

Something flashed within him, too hidden and too long ago.

Red hair.

Hazel eyes.

Apron.

A glass of milk.

And then—

Car crash.

He snapped, the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

"Shion..." he whispered behind gritted teeth.

Could she be one of these AURAs? The uncanny human-like emotions, the unyielding devotion, the almost too-perfect empathy—it all fit.

AURA sentinels. Emotion inhibitors. A device that could strip away everything that made them empathic.

He brushed the thoughts, and it was replaced by something deeper.

More painful.

What if his parents’ deaths had something to do with this? What if they’d been killed by a Sentinel driven berserk by one of these grafts?

He cursed under his breath, his heart drumming. His darkness took over his limbs, making his feet trudge forward on their own.

One of the men shifted his gaze at Haru’s approach. “Hey, you!” he called out, pointing in Haru’s direction. “You chiming in or what?”

Haru stepped into their view, his hands in his pockets and his face calm, though his heart raced beneath the surface. All of their narrowing eyes sent daggers to his position.

“I’ve got questions,” Haru replied, his voice steady. “About those inhibitors.”

The men exchanged glances before the mean-looking one chuckled, crossing his arms. “Questions cost money, kid. We’re not here for charity.”

Haru didn’t hesitate. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, tossing it toward the group. The men’s expressions shifted from suspicion to greed as the bills fluttered into one of their hands.

“Well, well,” the mean-looking man said, grinning as he counted the money. “Look at you. Rich little punk, huh? Guess you’re not just some nosy brat after all.”

“Talk,” Haru demanded.

The mean man nodded, pocketing the cash. “These ‘grafts,’ as we call them, are a game-changer. You slap one of these onto a Sentinel, and boom—no more emotions, no more memories. They’re just machines after that. Work harder, last longer. No backtalk, no feelings. Perfect tools.”

“And what happens if you use one on an AURA?” Haru asked, his voice cold.

The men exchanged uneasy glances before one of them spoke. “AURA types are tricky,” he admitted. “They’re already too close to humans, you know? The inhibitors mess them up worse. Suppress their emotions and memories, sure, but they can’t handle it. Something about their advanced programming. They go nuts—berserk. Think about your memories being forcibly deleted right before your eyes. You scream as they fade one by one, your emotional hold tormenting you. You lashing out at anything and anyone, tryna’ stop crap...”

The man's lips curled into a devilish grin.

"...we call them 'Drifters'."

Haru's eyes narrowed in contemplation, and somehow, shivers creeped to his skin.

AURAs.

Sentinels that were very human.

And then they transform into 'Drifters'.

Another man leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Why are you asking, kid? Got an AURA at home you want to keep in line?”

Haru ignored the question. “What about mongr…” he held his tongue for a moment, realizing his own resentment towards them surfacing. “...Sentinels used in public services? Like transportation?”

The man shrugged. “Same deal. They’re machines at the end of the day. You put an inhibitor on ’em, and they do what they’re told. But if it’s an AURA on the driver seat…well, you better hope it doesn’t snap while it’s working. You don’t want to be around a drifter when that happens.”

The pieces began to fall into place in Haru’s mind. His parents’ deaths had been caused by a sentinel—a supposedly foolproof machine, things better than humans in service. But if that Sentinel had been tampered with, forced into a berserk state by one of these inhibitors…

“What happens to the people around an AURA when it snaps?” Haru pressed.

“They don’t just stop,” the gruff man replied grimly. “They go berserk. The system overloads, starts issuing conflicting commands. It can’t tell what’s safe and what isn’t anymore. Speed limits, obstacles, passengers—it all becomes meaningless. They just…keep going. Have you ever seen a truck plow through a crowded street like it’s chasing something? That’s what happens. Poof.” the man motioned his palm as if something was exploding.

The memory of his parents’ accident replayed in sharp detail—the screech of twisting metal, the screams drowned out by the roaring engine of the out-of-control sentinel-driven car, followed by the faces of the hooded men standing before him. Haru clenched his jaw, his nails digging into his palms.

The gruff man tilted his head, eyeing Haru carefully. “Why all the questions, huh? What’s your deal?”

Haru’s voice was cold and low. “I’m just making sure I know what I’m dealing with.”

Haru said nothing as he turned and walked away, their laughter fading behind him. His mind churned with the information he’d just gathered.

The old man, the illegal grafts, the talk of AURAs—it all pointed to something bigger, something darker. And possibly involved in his parents’ deaths.

***

It was already dusk when Haru reached home, two plastic bags hanging from both of his hands.

At the entrance of his apartment door, a cold howl of wind traced through his skin, making his spine shiver. The atmosphere thawed as his steps slowed down. Below the door was a mess of dirt imprints from large boots scattered on the mat and one of Ayase’s sandals lying on its side, its mate nowhere in sight.

With skepticism accumulating, he slammed the door open in hurry and stepped inside, expecting to find Ayase in the living room.

But the room was empty.

“Ayase?” Haru called out, not even letting go of the bags he carried. “Ayase?!” he repeated, his eyes starting to dart in each corner of the dimly lit house.

No answer.

He scanned the room, a mere sight of a flower vase lying on the floor in jagged pieces, its water soaking the carpet floor.

His heartbeat hitched. Something was definitely wrong, and Ayase’s absence added to the tension.

He turned towards the kitchen, steps brisk and uneven, and a mess of utensils and broken plates. Even the faucet is left open, and the water is already streaming down from the kitchen sink.

Haru’s chest tightened, a gnawing sense of dread creeping in. The air felt too still, too quiet. But the house echoed screams of struggle and tension—a fight that had unfolded in his absence.

Ayase wouldn’t just leave, would she?

His mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Has someone found her? Taken her?

Or...had she run away?

He stumbled back into the living room, his eyes capturing one detail and to the next. His early premonitions of Ayase being taken either by kidnappers has been realized.

His head swung sideways feverishly, trying to brush off the feeling. He needed to think. He needed not to yield to the pressure. He craved composure more than ever.

Yet something hit him—something amiss. The vase, lying meters away from the main mess, caught his attention again. Why the vase? It didn’t seem to fit the pattern of the struggle in the kitchen.

Haru crouched beside it, his fingers brushing against the shattered porcelain.

Was this intentional? A signal?

His mind raced, piecing together fragments of the scene. What if Ayase had tried to fight back? What if the vase had been her attempt to leave a message?

As the realization struck him like lightning, the bag of new clothes and stacks of parfait he bought for her—slipped from his grasp, the sound of it hitting the floor barely registering in his ears.

“Ayase...” Haru whispered, the word barely escaping his lips.

Without a second thought, Haru bolted for the door, his legs carrying him as fast as they could. The streets blurred past him as he ran, the chill of the night air biting against his skin.

He couldn’t afford to waste time. Whoever had taken her couldn’t have gone far.

He didn’t know where to start, but he didn’t care.

All he knew was that he needed to find Ayase—before it was too late.