“Good morning, Mr. Cheffei,” said the memory investigator sitting at his desk.

  “Good morning,” Okimoto said back, hanging his long fur robe on the hanger beside the door.

  Turning to face the man again, his eyes panned the office, seeing that everything here had donned a modern chic. The wooden desk seasoned with varnish and topped by a typewriter, ink pens, and a journal, a stack of documents towering at the edge, and patterns streaming down the fur mat floor, the metallic bling of the coffee machine ricocheting the sun into his eyes. Awaiting his ass was a leather couch already pulled out by the desk.

  “Care for some coffee?” The man asked.

  He was a northern Coronatian man with a long pale face, neat black hair, and silver eyes, and on his cheek the roundest rosette he'd ever seen. He wore a grey suit over a black shirt and green tie.

  “I hate coffee,” Okimoto answered honestly, finding his demeanor too casual considering the urgent matter at hand.

  “Tea wouldn't do either?” The man asked.

  “Thanks, but I've already had tea this morning.”

  Okimoto sat down and faced him.

  “Okay then, you've been referred to me by the State Treasury for Magically Gifted Youth. I'm Larimoto G. Bensisili, and I've been told that you must have your memories examined to confirm speculations that you have regarding an incident that took place two days ago at Toaddor University.”

  “That's correct.”

  “Right then, before we begin, you must first drink a potion that will clear up any potential manipulation of your memories. I must warn you that the cleansing effect can be excruciating if your memories have indeed been tampered with.”

  “I'm fairly confident my memories haven't been altered in any way, sir.”

  Mr. Bensisili smiled, got up, and went over to a dresser beside the window. Union Station’s clock tower was staring at Okimoto across the street, the sun poking out from the side of it, still bouncing off the coffee machine into his eyes, making him squint.

  The man sat down, slapping a small potion bottle on the desk.

  Without hesitation, Okimoto took it and drank.

  “The effects should begin immediately if your memories are altered. If they're not, it should be no different than drinking water.”

  And just like drinking water, it was. Okimoto felt not a thing.

  Mr. Bensisili chuckled before saying. “Looks like everything’s in order. Please take my hand. I will only go back as far as the incident in question.”

  Okimoto nodded and took the man’s hand.

  Mr. Bensisili closed his eyes, and his face was initially calm for a minute before his brows furrowed and he uttered, “By the grace of the one hundred and thirteen.”

  He let go of Okimoto’s hand and stood up, heading back to the dresser where he drank from one potion bottle, then spat into another empty one.

  “Your memories have been recorded, young man. I had no clue the Orion family was so corrupt. I'll send the recording to the Department of Secret Services, and they'll build a case from there. That sprite of yours is a work of genius.” he paused to laugh, then looked back at Okimoto and continued, “When that thing makes you rich, be sure to send me a few coronus for the favour.”

  Okimoto laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

  Mr. Bensisili sat back down to type on the typewriter. “Here’s a letter for the State Treasury for Magically Gifted Youth confirming that I've sent the recording to the Department of Secret Services to start an investigation.”

  Music to his ears. With this letter, he could apply for RVIS. They'd pay potentially up to thirty Coronus every thirty-one days, which was equal to three thousand Shingles!”

  Oh, baby, he was salivating at the thought. But then the twinkle in his eye was extinguished; he remembered how expensive a mage’s actual life was. Back at the university, potions and items were paid for by the taxpayer, things that cost hundreds of shingles to non-students. Three thousand shingles was barely enough for six potions, and he also had to find somewhere to live, pay bills, and rent. The average rental in the city was three hundred shingles every thirty-one days. With other expenses like food factored in, he was looking at one-third of his RVIS pay slip pissed away. Hopefully, he'd be able to get a decent mage job fast. With his degrees now in question, he'd struggle for sure.

  Mr. Bensisili handed him the letter after sliding it into an envelope. “Be sure to slip this down the post box when you leave.”

  “Right, so I guess I'll head out n-”

  “Hold on. There's one strange thing I noticed in your memories.”

  Okimoto already knew what he meant and dreaded the conversation to come.

  “You seem to talk to yourself when alone, and during these odd conversations, you refer to the name Christopher as if someone’s there.”

  “It's just an imaginary friend of mine,” Okimoto said earnestly, hoping he wouldn't be sent to a mental hospital. “I assure you I'm not insane, it's just something I do when I'm bored.”

  Mr. Bensisili sighed, his gaze becoming firm. “You shouldn't just assume these things are your own imagination. Sometimes, real entities from the astral plane can slip into our minds. They often hide their true nature by pretending to be figments of our imagination. But you can tell what they really are by certain signs. For example, they might know facts about events that you never saw yourself, or be able to notice things that are out of your view. This is something you should take very seriously; even mighty mages can be led to ruin by unknown spiritual influences.”

  “Honestly, I haven't noticed any signs like that,” Okimoto answered.

  Mr. Bensisili smiled again (poor bugger had many missing teeth). “Well, in that case, get a girlfriend or something! Stop imagining characters to keep yourself company. You look like you belong in the pages of a model catalog; it should be easy for you to bed a lass or five. What's the issue? I saw your memories of showering this morning, and you’re hung like a stallion, so that can't be it. I know you're not a poofter either because you like to ogle every bitch on the street.”

  Under the table, Okimoto clenched his fingers into fists, knowing why the man was missing so many teeth, tempted to bash out the ones left.

  After leaving the office, he went to piss in a nearby loo, then washed his hands and went to the elevator.

  While going down, he watched himself in the mirror. His hair was halfway down to his shoulders; he'd best have it cut soon.

  “I'm just an imaginary friend, huh?”

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  A certain someone stood beside him in the mirror's reflection.

  When Okimoto turned to look, he was gone.

  Back out on the crowded street, he slipped the letter into a post box, then crossed the road, not looking, and was then sent flying by a car.

  Peeling himself off the road, he found himself unharmed. The same couldn't be said for the car, now sporting a dent in its pink bonnet shaped like his bum.

  A pretty girl stepped out from the driver's side door, brown-skinned, with the classic wide hips of a Coronatian woman and curly, short black hair. “I'm so sorry, love, are you alright?”

  There was a hole in the right sleeve of his robe. Okimoto frowned and looked at her again, recognising who she was, and from the look on Crystella Anthian’s face, she recognised him too.

  “Look both ways before crossing, lad!” a man chuckled on the street where some of the crowd had stopped to look.

  Iomy got out of the car too.

  “Okimoto, it's you!” Gasped Crystella

  The cars behind them honked their horns.

  “How’s it been?” Iomy asked, Okimoto having gotten in the car with them.

  “It's been rough, but nothing world-ending.” He answered, sitting basically with his knees to his chest in the backseat of the dainty vehicle that must’ve been made for midgets. Everything was an eye-blisteringly hot pink and overly customised, paper roses lining the steering wheel, dolls sitting atop the dashboard. Kariggan’s car was much better, if less stylish. But this was how Crystella did things, a vain girl obsessed with material things. Still, it was nice of her to offer a ride. He wouldn't complain.

  “I'm sorry for denting the bonnet.” He said. “I should've looked before crossing the road.”

  Crystella laughed. “Darling, it's no problem. My dad’s bought me a much fancier Phoenix Five-hundred model; I don't care for this old thing. The only reason I'm even using this is that I had the new car painted this morning, and it hasn't dried yet. I would've smited you where you were lying over the concrete had you dented the new sexy one.”

  “Kariggan plans on cutting ties with his family.” Iomy revealed.

  Okimoto’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Dolly even agrees with him for once.”

  Okimoto pondered.

  He pondered more scrutinously.

  “I’m scared for them,” Iomy continued. “How will Kariggan manage without his family’s support, and how will Dolly deal with no longer being the future wife of an heir?”

  “She still has her father’s treasury to fall back on,” Okimoto said. “The real question is what career Kariggan’s going to have, since he won’t be able to benefit from his family’s connections. It’s gonna be a struggle, no doubt. Dolly will be under a lot of pressure, too. If the relationship crumbles between the two families, they’ll break off the engagement.”

  “How sad.” Iomy moaned. “But perhaps it's better that way.”

  “It's most certainly better that way.” Crystella laughed. “They always tried to force the whole monogamy thing. I get that it seems really sweet to some, but it really only works when too people are highly compatible, and they just weren't.”

  “Crystella, don’t talk about them in the past tense!” Iomy scolded. “It's not over between them yet, and besides, it's very romantic of them to strive to be lovers and married at the same time.”

  Crystella continued to laugh. “Goodness gracious me. Iomy, you read too many Andorian tragedies and romances. Your minds been polluted by voyeuristic foreign literature. You’ve got a heart so big it takes up all your insides and leaves no space for a brain. I love you for it, but bitch, please.”

  “Don’t insult me!“ Iomy exploded.

  Okimoto tried his best not to laugh.

  Alas, the car became far more cramped, noise taking up every inch not occupied by human flesh.

  Iomy was still on her tirade by the time they stopped before Aun’t Yohanna’s front door.

  “What have you been doing to help yourself by the way?” Iomy asked, pausing her rant as Okimoto got out of the car. “If you need help, my uncle’s a lawyer. I can give you his home phone number.”

  He scoffed. He could not afford a lawyer right now, and he would be appointed one anyway after the investigation was done, and it was time for court. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m taking the steps I can to do what needs to be done.”

  She got out, came around from the front passenger’s side door, and swept him up in a tight hug.

  “Well, if you ever feel overwhelmed and want to talk, I’m here for you, okay,” Iomy said, staring up at him, her googly eyes warm, a crescent smile on her face. “We should be finished with shopping by the fifteenth hour, and be back on campus by the sixteenth hour at the latest. Be sure to phone my dorm room ok.”

  “Of course,” Okimoto said, before dapping his fingers up and down her waist to tickle her.

  She yelped and leapt free of his grasp.

  “I’ll get you back for that, trust me.” She said, giggling as she got back in the car.

  “Take care, Okimoto!” Crystella yelled. “I hope you win against the Orions.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Take care,” Iomy said.

  “Take care,” Okimoto said back. “Both of you.”

  The car drove off.

  Aunt Yohanna’s house was one of many in an arcing row around a circular park clouded with tall trees. Segregating the park from the houses was a one-way road with a single tram track that looped back on itself, forming the start of the main road just before the station. He watched as Crystella drove around, continued under the station bridge, and was gone.

  He hated having to wait passively for things to get done, but there was a due process to matters like these. He also needed to do something about his blood.

  “Of course you can, darling.” She said, running into the kitchen to get her wallet.

  Lanalisa had brought him his things, and she was fidgeting on the sofa opposite his.

  “Are you okay?” Okimoto asked.

  She was a lanky, scrawny girl. Dark-skinned with her hair cut like a boy’s. She wore dark blue overalls and a black cap. Her rosette was star-shaped.

  he continued. “We are modern people in this house. Forward thinkers!”

  “It’s just, I feel a little nervous, since Shenelly’s not here,” She said. “I didn’t intend to stay, but Mrs. Burns insisted I stay for lunch. I also didn’t expect you to be back so early, not that I’m bothered by you being here, of course. This isn’t my house, I don’t make the rules.”

  Painfully, she coughed up a laugh, her eyes darting everywhere.

  Burns was Aunt Yohanna’s last name. Wandering to himself he asked,

  “Don’t call me Mrs. Burns, darling, call me by my first name.” Yohanna pouted as she returned to them, and after handing Okimoto the money, she continued, “Why are you acting all scared again? Is it him? Okimoto, what did you say?”

  “It’s not him at all.” She said, then took a deep breath. “I’m just a very nervous person in general.”

  “They didn’t give you any trouble on campus, did they?” Okimoto asked. “I imagine my name’s pretty hot right now.”

  “Yeah, they did.” She admitted. “The security wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “I can’t believe them,” Aunt Yohanna huffed. “They're acting like you’ve fucking murdered someone.”

  Okimoto stood up from where he sat and retrieved two fifty-shingle notes from his robe. This wasn’t a part of the money Aunt Yohanna gave him, but the last of his own money. He offered it to Lanalisa, who shook her head.

  “Mrs. Bur- I mean Yohanna already paid me herself.” She said.

  “Thanks, Auntie.” He yelled at Yohanna, who had already returned to the kitchen.

  “You're welcome!”

  He chuckled, collecting his two suitcases that Lanalisa had brought over and moving to the nearest door. “My room.”

  He threw in the suitcases, shut the door portal, and set out for the front door, then paused when something crossed his mind.

  He looked at Lanalisa and asked. “What subject are you studying?”

  “Battle ritualism.” She answered, astonishingly.

  There weren’t too many women who did that subject. Most commonly, they studied either Agricultural ritualism like Iomy did, Magical politics, or Medical Ritualism like Dolly.

  Even in Ritualistic Innovation female students were only around thirty percent of the class, and they rarely did any battle related projects for the exam. Ritualistic Philosophy did have a few more girls in it; the sex ratio was closer to an even split. Generally speaking, the closer of an affiliation a subject had with the military industrial complex, the less women tended to be involved. Okimoto wondered,