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If Kako could’ve managed it, we’d find her dressed in a ruffly secretary-blouse, sneaking into corporate offices to investigate her parents’ murder. We’d find her hiding clues from her brother Ima, like poisonous candy tucked against the side of her mouth. Keys in her prim shoes, leaving imprints against her skin; passwords woven in with her hair ribbons. She’d tell him everything, finally, when she uncovered the answers, or she’d warn him with shaking, grabbing hands when someone dangerous was coming and they had to escape.
“I’m supposed to be your detective’s assistant, Sister Dearest,” Ima might’ve sighed. “I wish you’d trusted me.”
“We have to get out of here…! I can’t let them take you, too —”
“Have a little faith: I’ll make quick work of these pests.” Ima’s too good with a knife. Normally, he would’ve hidden Kako’s eyes before showing off a skill like that, but now she’d see him clearly. They could’ve sliced the answers right out of the Tokyo Residential Complex together. If Kako could’ve managed it.
If any of it was real.
Instead, they’re visiting the remains of the artificial satellite, today, space-walking in garish Sirei-themed suits developed back at the academy. Ima’s only wearing something like this for Kako’s sake, she knows. He doesn’t especially care what was scripted for their history, in their make-believe backstories. They never had parents to murder, after all.
It feels like, “Oh, well!” to Ima, but Kako still wants to know what there is to know. So, they take a ship up and drift through the rubble, the unrotting dead, the splintered pieces. Toys, shops, schools, cars. It was all left dangling above them, after whatever happened here. Another mystery. Kako’s sure it’s a big one, like the conspiracy of her own creation. Sirei won’t say much, considering the academy’s for living happy lives and repopulating Futurum eventually, but… if the scripts of their backstories are anywhere, they’re here.
Ima finds a corpse clutching a laptop that has a Last Defense Academy seal on it, after a while, and he casually plucks it from the dead guy’s grasp. Lets the information-guardian float off into darkness. He beams at Kako and she leads him back to their ship.
When they force their way through the laptop’s security, there are answers. Even if those answers are only, “No one cared enough to even give your pretend parents’ killer a name.”