Chapter Text
I rested the coffee cup on the edge of my documents just as a draft of air passed between the small tables outside the café. Even during the comfortable afternoon sun, the eternal winter tried its best to remind the inhabitants of Belobog of their cruel existence, always looking for loopholes in the artificial air conditioning — made from ingenious geomarrows heaters — to cause sudden chills.
“Are you really working?” Kafka complains, as she returns to the table with her glass mug filled with a generous dose of creamy hot chocolate. “I thought we were trying to enjoy our free time with fun things.”
She walks to the opposite side of the table, sitting elegantly on the metal chair. Her lips are momentarily occupied with the sweet drink, while her body tilts slightly and her face droops to read the header of one of the sheets I had filled with dozens of complex mathematical formulas.
“This is fun! These are calculations to put a satellite into orbit,” I explain when I notice a tiny trace that indicates genuine curiosity in those purple eyes. “Since the Astral Express helped Jarilo-VI seal the Cancer of All Worlds , I have helped to revitalize this planet whenever possible.”
Kafka laughs, also placing her own drink on the table. She places one of her feet on the seat of the chair, abandoning the rigid posture she cultivates to reach a moment of greater comfort.
“Have your concepts of fun also been corrupted by the Fragmentum?” She asks in a mocking tone, curving her lips in a half smile.
I'm used to these types of jokes, I've been the target of them since our first chaotic interaction. Still, even listening to all the clever variations over the years, their damage never becomes more tolerable. Kafka has this hidden ability to always mock me at just the right moment, with the perfect choice of words, making me instantly angry.
“I don't care what you think, Kafka,” I say, trying not to raise my voice and without hiding my irritation. “This work is important to me.”
Kafka rolls her eyes, lifting her mug to take another sip of her hot chocolate. She doesn't verbalize her darkest thoughts, saving me an extensive list of complaints.
“Let's do something more intense!” Kafka says, sullenly. “I don't want to watch you do calculations for the rest of the afternoon. We could cause problems for the IPC, how about that? I heard they are planning to build a new arena for that Aetherium Something here in Belobog…”
“Are you forgetting that you top the IPC's most wanted list, Kafka?” I question rhetorically, dropping the pencil on the paper. “I recommended this planet due to the low IPC activity. I don't want to have unnecessary problems or be part of some crazy prophecy from Hélio.”
My companion sighed, looking away and keeping it there for long minutes. Silence permeated the space between us, making the atmosphere extremely uncomfortable.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't go back to my spreadsheet, my thoughts only focused on the relationship between me and Kafka.
I noticed at a glance that Kafka and I interacted very little during our lives, the overwhelming majority of the time during events steeped in action and adrenaline that required organized teamwork. The Stellaron Hunter has never verbalized anything beyond strategic commands and occasional flirting, while I've never done anything other than complain about her crazy plans and say how annoying she is most of the time. In some inexplicable way, our dynamic works, making us friends , or something like that.
“How about we just talk?” I ask, after sipping the bitter coffee to gather some fragment of courage.
Kafka turned her face to me, the eyebrow arched in curiosity.
“We barely talk in this life, Kafka,” I say, leaning back against the chair and crossing my arms in front of my body. “Which is quite strange, since we see each other constantly. We should know more about each other, but all I know about you is that your brain, frighteningly, is capable of producing crazy plans that are extremely functional.
She was silent for a few moments, her face still in a neutral mask.
“Is that your academic way of saying you want to get to know me better?” She says, a smirk appearing on her mouth, creating a flaming spark of hope in the center of my heart.
“Maybe,” I say, my face heating up as I look away to avoid looking at her. “We're friends, right? We should know more about each other, that's all.”
“ Friends… ”
She whispers to herself, looking at the pink sky with a thoughtful expression, making me more curious than ever about her thoughts that, perhaps, could be about me, about us and other things that made my feelings become confused.
“May I suggest a game?” Kafka asks, drinking the last of the hot drink she bought. “A way to get to know each other better.”
“A game?” I curl my lip at the suggestion. Apparently, for Kafka, talking directly is something more difficult than killing an Aeon.
“Truth or Lie,” she says, gesturing as she explains the rules. “It's a game I constantly play with Silver Wolf. We will both ask each other two questions, but we must answer with one truth and one lie each. In the end, we should not say which we lied or were truthful, letting our minds play with the deductive process.”
I took a deep breath, trying to assimilate the rules without showing my current fear. I imagined that trying to get direct answers from Kafka would end up being a futile effort, her life as a constant fugitive prevented her from sharing her experiences and feelings with other people, a simple way to protect herself — but, against all my attempts at prediction, Kafka accepted to open up a little, even if in an enigmatic and charming way that seemed more like a way of playing with my curiosity.
Joke or not, I would play.
“Okay, do it,” I say, also taking a last sip of my coffee, which was already a little cold. “But what stops me from cheating and telling two lies or two truths?”
“Because you're Himeko!” She says, smiling her classic smile. “Your nature prevents you from doing this kind of thing, it’s in your DNA code.”
I curl my lip, admitting defeat by not arguing. Kafka was right about that, I would never stop following rules even if they were for silly games.
“And if you're worried, I don't like people cheating in my games. Therefore, I must set an example and be a fair hostess, don't you think?”
When she says this, I notice that the thought of Kafka cheating hasn't even crossed my mind. Maybe fairness in mind games is in her DNA code, just as not breaking rules is in mine.
“All good. Who starts?” I ask.
“You, of course!”
My eyes rolled on their own, the answer was obvious and I still made a point of confirming it.
I spent a group of minutes thinking about the best way to emerge victorious, in a game where there was no direct competition. Extracting information from Kafka is always impossible, I couldn't take this unique opportunity in a relaxed manner, I need to discover something.
“Stop thinking about complex strategies,” Kafka says, looking at me. “If you think too much, the game won't be fun. Follow your heart.”
I don't respond to her provocations, but I can't deny that her words reached the core of my feelings.
Follow your heart. Is this really something I can try?
“What made you want to be an intergalactic criminal?” I ask, unpretentiously. The answer to this question is not extremely relevant, Kafka could answer what she want.
“Money,” she answers quickly.
“Just that?” I choke on my own words, in disbelief at the speed.
“Is that your second question?”
“No!”
“Right,” she lets out a short laugh.
Sigh. A quick, short answer that didn't suit Kafka at all. I know little about her true personality, but I know that, as much as she has a great fiction for her coat collection, Kafka never cared about money. If a Stellaron Hunter really cared about money, one of them would have already turned one of their companions over to IPC and collected billions in bounties, more than enough to live four or five entire lives without needing to work.
“Did you like the gift I gave you today?” Kafka asks suddenly, her body leaning slightly on the table.
I blinked a few times, still lost in my tangled thoughts. I spent so much time planning that I even forgot that Kafka can also ask questions.
“Not much” I reply, trying hard to put on a neutral face that helps me corroborate the lie said. “I'm not a fan of collecting coats, I'll probably barely wear this one, as I always wear my favorite.”
The lines of her face remain as still as a rock, showing no sign that she is building a complex game. Kafka's mind and heart are as clouded as the irises of her purple eyes.
“A shame,” she sighs, her voice in a disappointed tone. “I put so much effort into choosing the perfect coat for your body.”
I ignore the provocations in front of me, keeping my train of thought focused on working on the current goal. Kafka had clearly lied in her first answer, perhaps luring me into a deep trap.
Asking about her life seemed so superficial and weak, questioning her about her past seemed tempting, but I would probably receive a vague and already planned answer.
I needed a simple and surprising question, which at the same time can satisfy my intense curiosity.
“What do you think about me?” I ask as soon as the idea hits me, spitting out the words so naturally that they even caused me some level of surprise.
Kafka takes a while to respond, maintaining the same cloudy and rigid expression as a statue. Her eyes pierce through mine as the air grows thicker and thicker.
Seconds, maybe minutes, are lost as she stares at me quietly.
“It's a difficult question, Himeko” Kafka's shoulders fall back, and her eyes are lost in the landscape. “Will you really be ready for the answer? Can it be very impactful…”
“I will be,” I reply, faint fear growing in the pit of my stomach as she watches me from the corner of her eyes.
“The answer is simple: I love you .”
My body is completely paralyzed. Breathing and heartbeat seemed null. The response ripped through me quickly and brutally, reaching a level of damage that not even Kafka's terrifying sword could manage.
She had lied in the first question, and assured me that the next answer would be a concrete truth. A perfectly engineered trap, designed to stun me in the most effective way possible.
“I told you, stop thinking too much…”
My head was a mess, a chaos that inhibited me from noticing how hot my still body was. And then, when I came to, Kafka was standing in front of me, leaning carefully, her painted lips touching mine affectionately, generating instincts that called for something even denser and deeper.
Her gloved fingers caressed my face, smoothing a rebellious strand of my red hair between the lines she drew. Only when Kafka moved away, just a few inches, did I notice how empty the workshop in my mind had become.
“At least close your eyes when someone kisses you, Himeko!” Kafka laughs loudly, arching her back. A laugh so long and genuine that I would never expect from her seductive personality, but that, somehow, suited her face.
“I'll pay our bill,” she says, recovering from her own comical blow. “Don't run away from me, okay?”
The Stellaron Hunter walks away, taking a part of me with her. My purest feelings are tied to Kafka, intrinsic to every part of her complex personality. When she pulls away, my heart tightens with anticipation, waiting for the moment when she will slide down my back and whisper a silly phrase next to my ear.
Now I understand perfectly what causes the inexplicable effect Kafka has on me.
It is not an ancient power granted by an Aeon, or a supernatural ability to control human feelings and decisions, but rather something simpler and, at the same time, difficult to fully understand. What connects me to Kafka is nothing more than a long-hidden love, covered up by our complex lives as travelers in the infinite cosmos.
Understanding this made me lighter and happier, I felt like I was capable of doing things I would never do normally. I felt like hugging her or talking about an irrelevant subject that would only be there to bring us together for long hours somewhere — a world of possibilities and new experiences opened up in my mind, making me even forget that Kafka could still have asked one more question...