It was fire.
Red and orange swirled from one edge of his vision to the other. Screams, collapsing concrete, and then—the metallic sound of footsteps.
“Kujo, get back!”
It was Akira Nagumo’s voice. On that day three years ago, he had always been at Ren Kujo’s side. They had joined the department together, been assigned to the same team, and shared life and death countless times at the same scenes. Partners in every sense of the word.
There were three terrorist androids. No, even calling them three was an understatement. They were weapons. They had appeared out of nowhere in the heart of the city and were mowing down passersby one after another. By the time Kujo and the others arrived, more than a dozen people were already down.
“Damn it…!”
Kujo raised his handgun, but the bullets merely ricocheted off the android’s armor. They had no effect. Human weapons couldn’t reach these monsters.
“Nagumo, evacuate—”
He hadn’t finished speaking when one of the android’s arms punched through Nagumo’s torso.
It felt as if time had stopped. Before pain appeared on Nagumo’s face, there was something else—a look of frustration at failing to protect Kujo.
“…Ren, live.”
Those were his last words. Even now, Kujo could vividly remember the sound of Nagumo’s body crumpling to the ground. Then, in the next instant, Kujo’s own vision was dyed red, and his consciousness was swallowed by darkness.
He hadn’t been able to save him. He hadn’t been able to protect him. All he could do was watch as the partner he trusted most was pierced through by a machine’s arm and died before his eyes.
Ever since that day, the word “android” had been synonymous with hatred to Kujo.
—That was when Kujo woke up.
Cold sweat clung to his entire body. Staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, Kujo spent a while steadying his ragged breathing. The morning sun shining through the gap in the curtains seemed painfully bright.
“…Again.”
How many hundreds of times had he seen the same dream? Even after three years, the scene from that day remained burned into Kujo’s mind, undimmed by time.
He sat up in bed and headed for the washroom. His reflection in the mirror looked somewhat sharper than it had three years ago. Dark circles under his eyes, unshaven stubble, a lifeless expression—almost nothing remained of the man Nagumo used to tease by saying, “You never used to lose your smile, even at a scene.”
He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and slipped into his uniform as usual. As he tied his necktie, Kujo’s gaze naturally turned toward the single photograph on his desk.
It showed Nagumo smiling beside a younger Kujo, whose own smile was slightly awkward. It was a commemorative photograph the two of them had taken when they were newly assigned officers, fresh out of training.
“I’m heading out.”
He murmured the words to no one in particular, lightly touched the picture frame, and left the room.
During his commute, news footage was playing on the in-car monitor of the self-driving car, as it did every day.
“—The government has officially announced the Android Regulation Enhancement Bill, which was passed by the National Diet in the early hours of this morning. In response to the coordinated urban terror attacks that occurred three years ago, the bill requires restrictions on the operation of general-purpose androids and complete activity logging in order to ensure public safety.”
The anchor’s voice continued in an even tone.
“Meanwhile, opinions remain divided over the introduction of combat androids into the public-security organization—”
Kujo silently turned off the monitor. Society had changed dramatically in the wake of that incident. While restrictions on androids continued to tighten, ironically, the use of androids as an antiterrorism force was steadily expanding. People feared androids, yet they lived in an age when they had no choice but to depend on them.
To Kujo, it was a contradiction he found impossible to accept.
After arriving at headquarters, he was about to head to his desk as usual when someone called out from behind him.
“Kujo, got a minute?”
When he turned around, Kiryu, his team chief, was beckoning him over with a grim expression. Though a bad feeling stirred in him, Kujo followed Kiryu into the conference room.
The instant he opened the conference-room door, Kujo stopped dead.
Someone else was there besides Kiryu.
Silver-white short hair. Eyes that were impassive yet somehow cool and clear. Her well-proportioned body was obviously not human. Fine lines running along the seams of her entire body quietly revealed that she—or rather, it—was an android.
“This is Iris, the newly assigned android. Starting today, she’ll be your buddy, Kujo.”
Kiryu’s words seemed to reach him from far away.
“…What?”
“You didn’t hear me? Iris is your partner starting today.”
“Don’t joke around.”
Kujo’s voice dropped despite himself. He tried to suppress his emotions, but he couldn’t hold them back.
“Chief, I—”
“Nice to meet you, Special Investigator Ren Kujo.”
The voice stopped him. The android called Iris took one step forward and looked straight at him. Her voice had inflection, smooth as a real human’s. That only grated further on Kujo’s nerves.
“I look forward to working with you. I am Iris. My formal designation is Model: IRIS-7.”
“Like hell I’m going to work with you.”
Kujo spat the words out. Kiryu frowned.
“Kujo, this came from above. If you have a complaint, take it to personnel.”
“Call it a decision or whatever you want. I’m not partnering with this thing.”
Kujo’s gaze remained fixed on Iris. A feeling too raw to call hatred welled up from the pit of his stomach. Three years ago, it had been a machine like this that killed Nagumo right in front of him. He understood it rationally. Iris and the terrorist androids from that day were different. But emotions weren’t something he could divide so neatly.
“Kujo, I understand how you feel.”
Kiryu’s voice had grown quieter, almost imperceptibly.
“I haven’t forgotten Nagumo, either. But this is an organizational decision. Under the new policy for android deployment, every field operations unit will be assigned a buddy-type android. You can’t be the sole exception.”
“I know that. But why me?”
“Because they value your abilities. Iris is a new prototype still in the testing phase, and only a limited number of team chiefs can handle her. They need your judgment and field-response capabilities.”
The words themselves sounded like praise, but to Kujo’s ears they came across as nothing but sarcasm.
Iris watched the exchange between them in silence. Her eyes were impossible to read, yet possessed a strangely tranquil quality.
“I understand your rejection.”
Iris spoke without warning.
“I have access to the data from the incident three years ago. I will also make every effort to understand, as far as possible, the weight of what you lost.”
“Understand?”
Kujo raised his voice before he could stop himself.
“What could you possibly understand? That day, right in front of me, Nagumo…”
He couldn’t continue. Pain tightened in the back of his throat.
“My wording was insufficient. I will correct myself.”
Iris calmly amended her statement.
“I cannot completely understand what you experienced. However, I was assigned as your partner to protect you. I intend to fulfill that role.”
Her gaze was unwavering. Within that manufactured smoothness, something resembling firm resolve seemed to dwell. That only made Iris feel even more unsettling to Kujo.
“Chief.”
Kujo turned back to Kiryu.
“I’ll go along with it for today. But I will file a formal protest.”
“Understood. That’s fine.”
Kiryu gave a small nod. He looked between Kujo and Iris, then offered a faint, weary smile.
“You two are taking the field starting today. Begin by checking your equipment and sharing information.”
Iris followed close behind Kujo as he left the conference room. He could sense her presence clearly without even turning around.
As he walked down the hall, Kujo unconsciously clenched the photograph in his pocket—the one he had taken with Nagumo that day.
(Nagumo… Do I really have to partner with something like this?)
Hatred smoldered deep in his chest alongside a sense of loss he could never wipe away. Something new was trying to intrude upon Kujo’s time, frozen in place since that day three years ago.
Kujo had no way of knowing what it meant—not yet.
Glancing at the cityscape spreading beyond the windows, Kujo made his way back to his desk with heavy steps. Iris’s quiet footsteps followed immediately behind him, like a shadow.