21 One Step Away From Waking

Rachel remembered that she didn't usually get carsick—or perhaps it was simply because there were very few vehicles in her hometown to ride in.

In any case, the dizziness she felt now was quite unpleasant. Yet, she was also remarkably clear-headed, so lucid that it felt as if she weren't suffering from motion sickness at all.

One or two fragmented images flashed before her eyes, like discordant frames spliced into a coherent reel of film. They were quick, fleeting, and had she not known in her subconscious what these images signified, Rachel likely wouldn't have been able to make sense of them at all.

There were only three.

The first image showed her furious at two Hounds, though she wasn't berating them or using any other language inappropriate for children; she was singing at them.

And those two Hounds—Rachel felt she wasn't so face-blind that she couldn't recognize them—looked exactly like the members of the Hound family who had, through sheer luck or otherwise, intercepted the actual stowaway just moments ago.

They were even dressed the same, wearing denim overalls paired with colorful shirts.

The second image was of the young stowaway lady. She was thrown into mid-air, and a "monster" with many eyes was swinging its wing-blades toward her chest.

Then, with a sickening "shing," the sharp wing-blade pierced the stowaway's chest. Rachel felt a pang of pity: although her job was to capture this stowaway, she had absolutely no intention of letting her die.

She closed her eyes, but the scenes continued to flicker before her.

She saw in vivid detail a wound stretching across the stowaway's chest, purple and surrounded by a ring of crystalline growths.

What kind of monster was that?

How could it cause such an injury?

This event had taken place in what looked like the lobby of the Reverie Hotel—but Rachel knew that the Reverie's lobby did not have such an aesthetic.

To turn the bright, luxurious lobby into such a grim and gloomy scene, one would need to layer it with at least twenty meters of hellish filters.

She had never seen such a place in her dreams, and she was certain she had never been there. How long had she even been in Penacony? A little over a month in total. She hadn't even finished visiting all Twelve Moments, let alone a space as sinister as this.

Why would such a scene appear in her mind?

The third image was in a much darker space. Here, she saw herself, Gallagher, the entire Astral Express crew (those whose avatars were registered on the guest list), Aventurine, and even Robin and Sunday.

She seemed to be talking to someone, though Rachel didn't know what was being said.

These scenes flew past rapidly, leaving only a lingering sense of dizziness in her brain. She held her temples with one hand, still pondering the images.

By the time the scenes vanished, Rachel realized that these visions bore a striking resemblance to many dreams. She knew she wouldn't be able to retain all the memories of them while awake, so she immediately forced herself to commit them to memory.

There was one common thread: the moment she saw these fragments, Rachel felt an urge to open her mouth and sing a few lines, even though the urge vanished as soon as she stepped off the vehicle and the dizziness subsided.

These were definitely not scenes she had witnessed. Why, then, were they appearing in her memory?

Was it her intolerance to Memetic substances? If so, it shouldn't have erupted only after she had been in Penacony for over a month, should it?

Had someone played a trick on her? But to what end? Had she come into contact with too many secrets about Penacony while working with Sunday? ...It seemed she actually had encountered quite a few.

However, those secrets shouldn't have been enough to warrant someone taking action against her. There were countless opportunities to get rich in Penacony, and what she knew wasn't the final conclusion; it still required her own investigation and analysis.

Rachel stepped off the vehicle, suspicious, her legs still feeling a bit weak as she landed.

*So, this is what it's like to truly live in a dream...* It was the first time Rachel had felt this dizzy. She pinched the bridge of her nose several times before she finally managed to pull herself together.

A very strange day, a very strange experience. Rachel sighed. She remembered that there was also the name of a Memokeeper on that list of visiting guests.

Black Swan.

Even without an invitation to the Charmony Festival, the Memokeepers of the Garden of Recollection loved coming to places like Penacony. After all, with so much Memetic substance and so many people, it was a paradise for them. Still, Penacony would never fail to send an invitation to the Garden.

After all, in Penacony, every task related to the manipulation of Memetic substances had, at some point, required the help of the Memokeepers.

Technology—that was everything.

Now that she was no longer particularly short of funds, Rachel thought she might be able to afford the services of this Memokeeper. She hoped the price wouldn't be too high; after all, she didn't have that much money, and she certainly didn't want to go from "moderately wealthy" to "penniless" after just one therapy session with a Memokeeper.

*

Sunday had already returned to the Dewlight Pavilion.

Unlike usual, he sat behind the round table. The feathers on the wings beneath his ears looked wrong—as if they had been broken, yet he hadn't had the time to repair them.

This was highly unusual, especially for someone like Sunday.

As Rachel stepped onto the final stair, the young man behind the table looked up. "You're here."

Rachel was blunt. "You look terrible."

Sunday was stunned, admitting only after a moment: "Yes."

At a time like this, the hierarchy between superior and subordinate mattered little. Rachel stepped forward quickly. "What happened?"

"Robin," Sunday said. His tone was calm, yet the words made Rachel's heart leap into her throat. "She..."

He lowered his head, his gaze falling upon the glowing screen on the desk. Rachel walked behind him and saw the image on the display.

It was Robin.

She was lying on the ground, a massive wound piercing her chest, the edges of which were covered in a layer of purple, crystalline growths. It looked...

It looked identical to the wound she had seen on the stowaway lady when she had succumbed to that dizzy spell on the vehicle.

Beside the image was an analysis report from the Family regarding Robin's condition. It stated that she had seemingly encountered something ominous in the dream. Her consciousness should have been pulled back to the safety of reality the moment she suffered the injury, but even now, her consciousness had not returned to her body.

Rachel had visited Sunday many times and had spoken with Robin on several occasions. She liked this lovely young lady very much, and liked her songs even more—whenever she was in the library looking through archives, she would put on her headphones and play one of Miss Robin's light, sweet songs.

Compared to someone like Sunday, who wasn't exactly the most likable person, Miss Robin was the kind of beauty everyone would adore. The few times Rachel had chatted with Robin, they had been pleasant, and regarding her current situation... she was deeply saddened.

Rachel said to Sunday, "Please don't be too sad. Miss Robin... her consciousness will surely be found."

Sunday nodded. "Thank you."

Rachel was quiet for a moment. Then, Sunday turned to her. "Tell me about the stowaway."

Rachel's gaze remained on his profile, but her voice was steady. She had already prepared what to say on her way here.

*

Black Swan was not hard to find.

Although she was elusive, it wasn't particularly difficult for Rachel. She went to the Hour of Midnight, found a secluded spot, and sang to the full moon in the sky:

"Who sent you to my side~
Is it the, round and bright moon~ the moon~"

Soon, a beauty draped in a veil appeared within the heart of the moon. She drifted down gracefully. "I heard someone calling. May I ask, Miss Caller, what is it you seek of me?"

Rachel cautiously confirmed, "Will you charge me money?"

Black Swan paused. The mysterious charm cultivated by her attire, voice, and entrance vanished by more than half in that moment of hesitation.

Black Swan: "...No. I collect memories, miss. Precious memories."

Rachel patted her chest. "That's good. Well, Miss Black Swan, I would like to ask you to play the role of a doctor for once."

Black Swan had played the doctor before; in the realm of memory, Memokeepers were almost omnipotent. She nodded. "Although it will end with me reading your memories... if expressing it verbally makes you feel more comfortable, you may tell me your situation first."

"Please rest assured, in the name of Fuli and the honor of the Garden of Recollection, I swear I will not tell a third party about our conversation."

The Memokeepers did possess that much integrity.

Rachel then organized the strange occurrences she had realized and told them all to Black Swan.

Just as Black Swan had said, one could not hide anything from a Memokeeper. In Penacony, anyone might lie, but memories would not. If she wanted to solve these problems, she would eventually need to open her mind to Black Swan; hiding anything was meaningless.

Thus, she also mentioned that she could hear other people's background music and could perform miraculous feats through song.

"...Actually, I also feel that Mr. Sunday's situation is a bit off."

As she reached this point, Rachel's speaking speed slowed significantly, as if she were thinking about how to phrase her words while speaking.

"Miss Robin has met with an accident, and I feel Mr. Sunday... his state is very fragmented. On one hand, I know his feelings for Miss Robin, and I think his distress should stem from her accident, but he is very calm—you see, I can hear music."

"The truth is, when a person's emotions are intense, the rhythm and tone of their song change."

Rachel could hear these things; her ears were quite sensitive. She had previously thought this ability wasn't important, used at most to judge whether Sunday had eaten pudding tarts today based on whether his tune was lighter than usual.

Often, on days when the music was relatively light, the sweet scent of leftover pudding tarts would linger in his study.

"I thought I would hear a very sad, heavy tune, but in fact... that is not the case. Miss Black Swan, everything is as usual. He seems to have anticipated everything."

"Of course, it is possible that I have misjudged my own ability, but at least for now, I do not intend to change my assessment."

Rachel looked up into Black Swan's beautiful eyes. In that instant, she suddenly realized there was a certain luster in the other woman's eyes that she could not describe in words.

"Yes, my dear." Black Swan reached out unhurriedly and pulled a beautiful, deep purple card from behind Rachel's ear—Rachel had no idea when this card had been placed on her. She stared at Black Swan in shock.

"Don't be nervous. This is a small, empty Light Cone, the result of a wager you don't yet remember."

Black Swan winked at her. "You are about to touch the true light, my dear miss. You are truly remarkable. Relying on your own strength, you have struggled to within a single step of the surface."

"So, let me now recreate for you everything recorded by this Light Cone that has accompanied you. Let me accelerate your final step just a little... You are about to wake up."