"Many happy years to you and your -" he gestured towards her with his hand and hesitated, looking vaguely at the empty spot next to her, "your, eh, husband."

"Why thank you," Momiji beamed, pretending not to notice his uncertainty as she gave him her best smile.

Warmed by the friendliness of such a pretty young lady, the old man smiled again and bowed. His wife was clinging to his arm, and he sensed rather that saw her continuing to stare with rampant curiosity at the young bride in the elevator. He realized that the lovely lady sensed it too, for her green eyes shifted away from him to his wife and he prayed that his wife would hold the words he knew were crowding on her tongue until they were out of earshot. But alas, as he tried to turn and direct her down the hallway, he felt her fingers seize upon his coat sleeve, holding him rooted to the spot as she stood on her tiptoes and leaned towards him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched in utter dismay as she put her hand in front of her mouth. It was the common stance she took when she wanted to say something meant only for his ears. The only problem was she was stone deaf and so anything she meant to whisper came out ten times louder than it was meant to be.

His heart sank to his shoes when he heard her all but shout, "D-do you think she’s one of those ladies they hire to – to – you know - sing and take their clothes off? What do they call them nowadays… a stripper?"

He cringed, his false teeth grinding together in mortification as he watched a startled expression flit across the face of the young lady still in the elevator. The last sound that he heard before the doors slid closed was a soft, trill of laughter.

Poor man, Momiji thought, chuckling as the elevator smoothly surged into motion. She glanced down at herself, mulling over the old woman’s remarks. A stripper, eh? She’d never thought of herself as having the sultry looks like the kind you would need for such a profession. The irreverent thought popped into her head that that was more Sakura’s style, than hers. But, she supposed in a considering way, most real brides wouldn’t be all alone on an elevator without a groom - or at least a relative to escort her.

A stripper.

Still looking down, she tried a little jiggle - the kind she imagined a stripper might make when shaking things up a bit - and was overcome by the absurdity of it. It just didn’t fit. With the wave of her hand, she dismissed it from her mind as the elevator reached the top floor.

Looking at the suite number on the card key clutched in her hand, she headed down the plush hallway. She traveled the entire length of the hall, her head swinging right and left as she glanced at the brass plated numbers on the doors until the hall ended with three doors: one to the right one to the left and one right in the middle of the wall. The left and right respectively had no brass numbers on them at all but the one in the middle was hers, bearing the same number that was on her key.

"It looks like we have the whole end of the building to ourselves," she mused as she swiped the digital key through the reader and heard the lock release with a loud click.

Hurriedly grabbing up the train of her dress and draping it over her arm so that it wouldn’t get caught in the door, Momiji went inside. Absently shutting the door behind her, Momiji removed her shoes and put her card key on the table in the entryway. Carefully, she pulled the veil from her hair, letting it hang by her side. She clutched it between her fingers as she slowly advanced into the softly lit room, looking around in awe at the suite Kusanagi had reserved for the two of them.

"This place is huge!" she breathed in amazement.

She came to a stop near the sofa, her fingers brushing over the lush, striped fabric along its back as her eyes moved around the room. Besides the sofa, there was also a loveseat upholstered in the same rich fabric. Both were complemented by a rosewood coffee table and two end tables. The walls were papered in muted silver and grey and the color was repeated in the thick, opulent carpet beneath her toes. Several artful floral arrangements in delicate, porcelain vases graced the tables and on the walls in gilded frames hung art that even to Momiji’s untrained eye appeared to be prohibitively expensive. On either side of the main room there were white double doors and across from her was a window or a balcony. She couldn’t tell which it was, because at the moment the heavy brocade curtains were drawn across it.

More interested in what lay behind each set of double doors than what was behind the curtain, Momiji chose to investigate those first. She found a bedroom with a king size bed behind each, along with a door leading to the outside – the unnumbered doors she has seen from the hall, she surmised – Each bedroom was also accommodated with its own separate, private bath as well; complete with marble flooring a giant tub and a spacious shower.

After inspecting the second bedroom, Momiji wandered back into the first, where she’d left her veil lying across the bed. She assumed this was to be her and Kusanagi’s room since she’d spotted their luggage in here. Kusanagi must have given directions to the bellhop to have it brought up, because it had been placed discreetly in the corner next to an ornately carved cherry-wood armoire.

Feeling overawed, Momiji sank onto the firm mattress next to her veil and stared off into space. Everything was so; so perfect, so - elegant, she thought, bemused, absently reaching for her veil and fingering the seed pearls along the crown.

She couldn’t believe that Kusanagi had actually picked this suite for them. Not that he would pick a bad hotel room, she told herself, hastily. She’d fully expected a nice room, with emphasis on the word nice – meaning, a comfortable bed, maybe a few comfortable chairs and a comfortably sized bathroom. Comfortable: she could definitely see Kusanagi picking something like that. But this…. Momiji’s eyes went around the room one more time and she shook her head, at a complete loss. He’d never shown the slightest interest in such elegant detail as was found everywhere she looked. A muted rumble interrupted her train of thought and Momiji rose and drifted back into the sitting room part of the suite to pull aside the heavy silver curtains and discover whether it was a window or a balcony that was hidden from view.

It was a balcony. A very dark and blurry balcony, at that, she thought, rubbing at the fogged glass panes of the French double doors as she squinted to see outside. The rumble of thunder that she’d heard had already alerted her to the fact that the rain the weathermen had doggedly predicted had finally made its appearance. And what deluge it was. Massive amounts of water were being thrown against the glass doors by strong, sporadic gusts of wind. It cascaded down the cold glass, turning the lights from the city into twinkling, squiggly blobs.

"What a horrible night to be out," she murmured with a grimace, distractedly fingering the heavy gold wedding band that newly encircled her finger. She was glad that Kusanagi had taken Midori home. She would have hated to think of Midori trying to make it home on her own on a night like this.

Momiji sighed, her mind now roaming freely over the troubling thoughts surrounding her best friend. Despite the uninteresting view and the draft that radiated from the window panes to brush against her skin, Momiji continued to stand there, staring with glassy eyes at the odd squiggly lights until the tips of her toes and fingers began to feel icy and a voice interrupted her musings.

"I hope it’s me that you’re thinking so deeply about," Kusanagi’s soft, sultry voice whispered from behind her.

Momiji jumped a little when she heard him and then she felt his warm fingers brush lightly at the nape of her neck.

"Y-you startled me!" she gasped, as her heart shot into her throat.

Putting her hand against her chest, she looked, wide-eyed, over her shoulder at him, noticing that he had removed the bow-tie and jacket to his black tuxedo and had slung them over the back of the sofa. He looked so relaxed having unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his shirt, and Momiji’s eyes were drawn to the swath of bronze color that now lay exposed. His skin radiated with warmth, the seductive power that he always wielded over her pulling at her, battling with the thoughts that preoccupied her mind.

"I didn’t hear you come in," she murmured absently, finally dropping her hand to her side. Her heart, while not exactly settling into its regular, peaceful rhythm because of his sensual presence, was at least no longer in danger of choking her when she tried to swallow.

"I’m not surprised," he replied evenly, his hand shifting to rest against her shoulder. "You seemed a million miles away."

"Sorry," she sighed in quiet apology. She looked away from him as the sound of another fresh wave of water beat against the door. "I can’t seem to stop worrying about Midori. How was she when you left her?" she asked, turning to look anxiously into his face.

Kusanagi weighed his answer before he replied neutrally, "She seemed tired."

"Just tired?" Momiji asked, not satisfied with his answer.

"Yes," Kusanagi said, but when he saw a furrow form between her brows, he abruptly changed it to, "well, no." And then, as the furrow became a confused look, he threw up his hands and exclaimed, "Jeez, Princess, I don’t know!"

Feeling slightly frustrated now, he turned and took a few steps away, giving himself some room to move as a vague restlessness began to settle over him.

" - She didn’t say much, really," he said with a dismissive gesture, "- Other than to apologize four or five times for taking me away from time I should be spending with you. She seemed most distressed about that, even though I kept telling her that you and I wouldn’t have it any other way."

"Poor Midori," Momiji sighed again, biting her bottom lip. Her eyes lost their focus as she thought about her friend’s plight. "- I wonder why he didn’t come."

There was a moment of silence before Kusanagi responded.

"Hmm?" he grunted in a blank way. He was too busy looking at her to pay any attention to what she was saying.

Still wrapped up in her thoughts, she stood with her head slightly bowed, the long, tight lace of the sleeves of her gown accentuating her slender arms and the delicacy of her hands. The cascade of white satin that began in a v-shape at her waist and ended at her feet glowed with a soft sheen as it caught the light, adding to the alluring aura that surrounded her.

She seemed so ephemeral, so graceful, so… well, so damned sexy in a kind of chaste and demure way, he thought. Suddenly he didn’t want to be talking about anything or thinking about anything. Making love to her: that’s all he wanted to be doing. She obviously wasn’t feeling the same, however. Or at least not that he could tell anyway, because she brought up the last person on earth he wanted to be talking about or thinking about; forcing him to do both.

"Murakumo," Momiji replied, sounding aggrieved, "I don’t understand why he didn’t come. I was so sure he would."

Momiji heard Kusanagi mutter something and even though she strained her ears to make out what it was, she couldn’t. Although, judging by the way he folded his arms across his chest, and the tight line of discontentment his mouth had suddenly become, she wasn’t so sure it was something she really wanted to know anyway.

Belatedly, she realized that she was putting her new husband into an extremely foul mood with her conversation, and she shifted uneasily feeling extremely guilty and foolish.

"I – I… S- sorry," she stuttered, her fingers nervously crushing the soft satin folds of her skirt, "I – I didn’t mean…"

Kusanagi silently eyed her contrite expression for a few moments, his dark expression not lifting. She might be sorry for bringing it up, but Momiji was Momiji. She couldn’t stand it when her friends were unhappy, and he knew he would have no peace until she’d had a chance to talk about it to her satisfaction.

Watching him apprehensively, Momiji heard him mutter a few more grumbles and then, Kusanagi said in a rather flat voice, "Murakumo was there, Momiji."

A stunned look washed over her countenance and Kusanagi sighed heavily, stalking past her to take his turn at staring out the darkened, rain-splashed window.

"H- he was?" she stammered, turning her head, her eyes following his movement. "- Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Kusanagi replied, a grim note creeping into his voice.

"But, I looked!" she protested feebly as another distant rumble of thunder invaded the room, "and I didn’t see him anywhere!"

"Did you look up?" he asked a trifle flippantly. Raising an eyebrow, he looked back over his shoulder at her, his jaw brought into strong relief by a brilliant flash of lightning. When she didn’t reply, he sardonically added, "He was in the cherry tree above us, Momiji. My guess is he was there for the entire ceremony, although I can’t be sure, since my attention was otherwise occupied the moment you arrived."

Momiji gaped at him.

Murakumo had only been a few feet away from her and Kusanagi during their entire wedding and she hadn’t even been aware of it.

"But why in the tree?" she wondered aloud.

Kusanagi was willing to bet that the only reason Murakumo had shown up was just to goad him. He’d known how much Kusanagi would have preferred not to have him there. Hadn’t Kusanagi made that abundantly clear to him? So why else would he have hidden in the tree where no one but Kusanagi and Momiji was likely to see him?

That had to be the reason. It was the only one that made sense to him, anyway.

But Kusanagi wasn’t about to say that to Momiji. That would only make it worse and delay getting what he wanted even more. To his way of thinking, they should have been in the bedroom no more than thirty seconds after he’d walked in.

"Momiji," he called softly, letting none of the aggravation that Murakumo always riled up in him find its way into his voice.

"Mmm?" she sighed absently, her distant eyes staring through the glass panes behind him.

"A seed will not grow in the winter, no matter how much you water it. In fact, mixing the two together can bring about snow, further delaying the seed’s growth," he observed, taking a step towards her.

His words and his movement finally served as a distraction and she gave him a puzzled look. "Eh?" she blinked. "I don’t… think I follow you," she mumbled slowly.

"Yes, you do," he contradicted with a smile. Reaching her side, he pulled her close, dropping a soft kiss on the top of her head. "You think if you nurture something enough, you can make it bloom, no matter what. Especially when it comes to people. You see that Midori is unhappy," he murmured. "so you’re trying you’re best to help fix it. You want there to be a happy ending for her, and since there doesn’t seem to be one in the making, you’re doing your best to manufacture one."

"Is that… so wrong?" she mumbled defensively, pressing her nose closer to the opening of his shirt. He smelled enticingly good.

"No," he laughed softly, "I don’t suppose it is. But the small seeds of emotion that Murakumo may be harboring for Midori are going to have a tough time breaking through that cold exterior of his. And I don’t think any amount of ‘watering’ from you is going to help." Putting his hands on her shoulders he held her away from him so he could look down into her face. "There comes a time when you have to realize that there is only so much that even you can do, Princess. And in this case, I think we’ve long past that point."

Momiji’s expression clouded over at his words and she ventured in a troubled voice, "But doesn’t it bother you – how unhappy Midori has been. Especially knowing that it’s because Murakumo refuses to acknowledge how he feels for her?"

"Of course it bothers me, Momiji," he told her. "She’s my friend too, but no matter how hard you or I try, we cannot make Murakumo do something that he doesn’t want to do."

"I know," she sighed resolutely. "I just thought… " she trailed off into silence.

"I know what you thought, " he replied bracingly, squeezing her shoulders. "You’ve done your best, but now it’s time to leave the rest up to them. And if nothing happens between them, well then, you need have faith in Midori - that she’s strong enough to overcome the unhappiness she’s suffering right now." Momiji looked dissatisfied at what he was saying, but she slowly nodded her head. "The best thing we can do for her now," Kusanagi added, "is give her room. She knows we’re here for her if she needs us."

Again Momiji slowly nodded her head.

Kusanagi gave her a long searching look, and when it appeared that she had taken his advice to heart, he wrapped his arms around her, his voice lilting and soft against her ear as he said in a low voice, ""I meant to tell you at least one hundred times today, how beautiful you looked, but I just couldn’t seem to find just the right words. Even now," he breathed, his arms tightening, "the words don’t seem to be enough. I love you," he whispered fiercely.

"Kusanagi," she responded tremulously, overwhelmed at how hard he was trying to convey to her how he felt. Even though he had already told her he loved her, the fact that he was continuing to try and open up to her, reach out to her, meant so very much. Suddenly she felt like crying. Which was silly, of course. Pressing back the tears, she struggled for something to say, "I – I, love you too-hoo!"

Her sentence ended in a slight whoosh as he moved unexpectedly and with lightning speed to lift her off her feet.

"Hmm. Do you really?" he asked, his mood changing with quicksilver speed as he raised a challenging eyebrow, a sensual smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. "Would you care to give me a personal demonstration?" he teased.

"A demonstration?" she asked nervously. "What kind of demonstration?"

"Ah," he sighed in satisfaction, turning lightly on his heel without difficulty despite her added weight. "That’s just the question I’ve been dying for you to ask me ever since I got here. I think all the answers lie in that direction." He inclined his head towards the bedroom and then added, "I have been – hey -" Kusanagi stopped as Momiji shifted restlessly in his arms.

Something about the word demonstration brought to mind the old couple on the elevator and how the old woman thought she was a stripper. Momiji felt her face begin to sizzle and suddenly couldn’t seem to sit still.

"What’s wrong?" he stopped moving and asked after a concerned look at her red face. "Would you," he paused trying to discern just what had ruffled his wife’s feathers. "Would you rather stay and here and talk some more?" he asked, wondering if maybe he had made a mistake in thinking that she was ready to end their conversation about the situation with Midori.

"N-no," Momiji shook her head. "That’s not it. It’s just that on the elevator – " she broke off. "No, it’s nothing," she replied hastily, unable to bring herself to tell him about the incident.

"What about the elevator?" He asked, suddenly alert and Momiji realized that because of her reaction, he thought something bad had happened.

"It was nothing, really," she hastened to reassure him, wishing she had better control over her composure.

"Did someone say something to you? Do something to you?" he asked, unwilling to let it go now.

"N-no, not at all," Momiji declared, her wide green eyes staring up into his cat-like ones, silently begging him to let it go.

This seemed to make him all the more suspicious, however and his brows drew together in a frown as he almost demanded, "I can tell that something happened, Momiji. It’s written all over your face. So tell me."

Her face glowing brightly in embarrassment, Momiji relayed to him what had happened. She would have been relieved to see the frown disappear from his face had it not been for the shrewd, appraising look that took its place.

"A stripper, eh?" he murmured speculatively.

"Yes," Momiji nodded with a faint, uncomfortable laugh. "- Seems rather silly, doesn’t it?" she said, becoming even more uncomfortable when he didn’t respond right away.

"I dunno, Princess," he said, as he considered it, beginning to move slowly towards the bedroom again. "It’s so hard for me to picture it."

"I couldn’t quite believe it either," Momiji told him, relief washing through her when it seemed he felt the same way about it as she did.

"I guess you’ll just have to show me," he decided, and grinned when he felt her stiffen in his arms.

"Wh – what do you mean?" she stammered suddenly on edge. Surely he wasn’t suggesting what she thought he was suggesting…. Was he?

"I mean, I need a little – visual aide – to help me grasp the idea. I’m sure you won’t mind demonstrating for me just exactly what it was the old woman meant, will you?" He asked with a wolfish grin.

Oh dear god, she thought, her sense of modesty flying its flag full mast at what he had just suggested.

"Kusanagi –" Momiji began, her voice latent with dread.

"I’m really looking forward to this, Princess," he murmured teasingly, "I’ve never seen a stripper wearing bunny underwear before –"

" Wh - wha!?" Momiji forgot for a moment to be worried about having to strip for him in light of the possible ramifications of what he’d just said. "Are you!? – Did you!? You’ve seen a stripper without her underwear, Kusanagi?"

Of course he hadn’t, he thought wryly. But why spoil a perfect opportunity to tease her? And besides, if he pretended he wanted to use the idea the old lady had given her, it might help Momiji to lose some of this sudden nervousness she seemed to be exhibiting when he finally let her off the hook.

Kusanagi’s face assumed a blank expression, and he said in a muddled way meant to invoke her irritation, "No… yes… No, wait…" he stopped as if struck by a sudden thought, and then made the observation, "I didn’t know that strippers wore underwear… What was the question again?"

Momiji made a frustrated noise, thumping her hand against his shoulder as he carried her through the bedroom doors.

"So you HAVE seen a stripper in her underwear!!" she exclaimed peevishly, and then "why are you laughing!? I’m serious!"

When she had returned to Tokyo, she had thought that her emotions could sink no lower. She’d been wrong. As of today, she thought disconsolately, they had performed a spectacular nosedive into the abyss of misery. She was completely mortified that Kusanagi had been forced to drive her home on his wedding night – something she would never forgive herself for letting happen – but her emotional free fall had started before then.

Long before then, as a matter of fact. Somewhere between her first waking moments of the day when she had risen from her bed with an unsettled stomach and the commencement of Kusanagi and Momiji’s wedding when her stomach had moved from unsettled to extremely nauseated, threatening outright to make an unsightly spectacle of turning inside out as a flicker of movement had drawn her eyes upward into the boughs of the Great Cherry Tree.

"Murakumo," she murmured thickly to herself in the darkness. A dull, heavy pain began to throb in her chest and her stomach again pitched in despair at the memory of it.

She had seen him there, crouched on a tree limb, and her heart had come to a crashing halt. She hadn’t given much thought as to why he’d chosen to attend. Although it wouldn’t have surprised her to learn that perhaps his reason had everything to do with that strong sense of superiority that seemed to rule him. Watching the humans with whom he had temporarily allied himself as they took part in a ceremony fraught with emotions would have justified his prideful belief that feelings were for the weak.

No, what had ruled her thoughts was the knowledge that when he had seen her gazing up at the tree, he had pulled back; perhaps realizing that she might possibly see him. He’d been hiding from her. Avoiding her. And all of the pain she had experienced when he had walked out of her brother’s house after their intimate encounter came rushing back just as new and as raw as they had been on that day. Whether or not he knew that she could see him didn’t matter. Because it didn’t change the fact that his actions had been those of complete and total rejection.

Taking several gulps of air to keep a sob from tearing free, Midori finally put her body into motion. Mechanically turning on the lights, she dropped her purse and keys on the counter next to the phone and then took her coat off and hung it up, neatly placing her shoes beneath her coat in the bottom of the small coat closet. Just completing those mundane tasks helped her to recover a small portion of her composure so that her eyes remained dry, and she was able to softly pad into her kitchen in search of something to put into her empty stomach.

Food was out of the question. As traumatized as her stomach had been just from the sheer stress of the day, it wasn’t about to accept anything more solid than a hot cup of tea. Midori managed to get her cup on the counter and a pot of water heating on the stove before she changed her mind and turned the stove off. She would take a shower instead, she decided, thinking perhaps it would help to relax the almost unbearable tightness plaguing her entire body. Fifteen minutes later, she wandered aimlessly back into the kitchen wrapped in her bathrobe with a pair of soft, fluffy slippers covering her toes. She slowly finished making her tea and then, holding the warm ceramic between both hands, she carried it past the counter that served to divide the kitchen from the living room. Stopping in front of the sofa, she turned sideways and sat down. Propping her back against its arm, she drew her knees up, her feet resting flat against the cushion and cautiously took an experimental sip from her mug.

The warm liquid slid down her throat, its soothing warmth spreading across her midsection without further upsetting her stomach. With a relieved sigh, Midori took another sip, her eyes drawn to the thick curtains covering her patio doors. She could hear the wind rattle against the glass, despite the louder sound of thunder that also invaded the quietness of the room.

She liked rain came the idle thought. Putting her tea on the coffee table, she slowly got up, going over to the patio door to pull open her curtains. She listened for a moment, listlessly watching the drops bounce of the cement of her patio wishing she were home in Ise. It was hard to appreciate the rain here in Tokyo. You couldn’t see its color here; the way it became blue when it fell upon the water, or green when embraced by the grass or the trees. Here it had no color at all, falling unappreciated upon the hard, unforgiving asphalt and the cold glass buildings.

This was terrible, she thought, raising her fingers to rub her at her eyes. She was actually feeling sorry for the rain.

Better the rain than yourself, a quiet voice pointed out.

How much longer was he going to continue like this? he thought scathingly.

Coming here day after day, sitting outside in the darkness where it was cold and uncomfortable before finally making his way to his own abode, returning just before sunrise and staying here until the sky went from grey to the palest of blue - and then leaving only when he felt sure that Midori herself was no longer inside her apartment. Pushing away from the wall, Murakumo stepped towards the patio railing, watching as the sky erupted with light in the distance and thunder rolled towards him, dying in a hollow echo.

Wrapping his fingers around the wrought iron metal of the railing, he leaned against it, staring blindly at the buildings surrounding him. He remembered what this place looked like so many centuries ago, long before he had come to inhabit this human body. His dream had been to return it to such a time, but his efforts had yielded such poor results. And his dream had slowly died, ringing just as hollow and as empty as the distant thunder. All that remained now were the fragments of bitterness and uncertainty that lodged within his soul as he groped through the darkness, looking for a path to the future.

Another bout of lightning ripped across the sky and Murakumo could feel his gaze being pulled backwards to what lay behind him. Turning his head, he peered through the long, wet strands hanging in front of his eyes to where light from the glass door spilled out unimpeded by the curtains. It fanned outwards like a search light stopping a few feet short from where he was, an assurance that his presence would pass undetected and yet at the same time, it seemed to be reaching out for him, beckoning him to come closer, to follow the luminous path that cut through the darkness.

This was the first time he’d seen the curtains opened since he’d started coming here, he mused. He’d been pressing his body against the wall for shelter when he first became aware that Midori had opened them, and he’d turned his head in surprise to see her silhouetted against the golden color that spilled across the ground. Even in shadow he could see that her head was bent and when her silhouette receded as she moved slowly away, he knew that she was suffering.

She was suffering and he was the reason.

Just remembering made his fingers clench hard against the railing and he turned away, his eyes grimly swinging back towards the city.

He shouldn’t have gone to the wedding today, he thought harshly. It had been a mistake. He’d thought it would be safe, thought he wouldn’t be seen. He’d thought it was a perfect opportunity to catch a glimpse of her without anyone noticing. He’d been wrong. Midori had seen him, although he hadn’t realized it until it was too late, until he’d instinctively pulled back when her gaze came to rest upon the tree and that hurt, frozen look had claimed her expression.

You shouldn’t be here now, his pride told him grimly, but more and more he turned away from its voice, since it was riddled with the scars of his dead aspirations. She’s just a distraction to you, it whispered, an ordinary human.

"No." His voice fell as a whisper into the rain. "She is… different… special…" That word: special. It reminded him of how that irritating simpleton Kusanagi had described, Momiji, the Kushinada.

‘she is special… giving me something to fight for; a reason to keep going, to keep hoping that together, we can find an end to this…" That was what Kusanagi had said.

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