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large. If the number on the drive were any indication, Hazuki could put all the data she’d ever collected in there and still have plenty of room for more. The thought of that much memory made the object between her fingers heavier. It was uncanny. The drive shouldn’t weigh any more because it could hold more information.
    Ayumi said, “Only someone like Tsuzuki would need that much disc space.”
    â€œSo it’s Tsuzuki’s.”
    Could be. Mio had put down, no, dropped, her bag right around here.
    â€œWhat do we do with it?”
    â€œShe’ll probably come back to get it, right?”
    â€œI doubt she knows it’s here though.”
    There was a lock on the drive, making it impossible for there not to be any content.
    â€œIf it’s important, she’s going to come looking for it. Just leave it where you found it.”
    â€œBut…”
    Hazuki looked skyward.
    The cold water droplets continued to pound her forehead. A giant frameless monitor screened two layers of dark gray sky mapping out a texture without cadence.
    It was raining.
    But it certainly didn’t smell like water.

CHAPTER 002
    SHE WAS STARING at the edge of her desk because looking at the leathery old face of the supervisor made her sick.
    She might not see him but could still hear him.
    In other words.
    Even from this vantage she could hear the huh s and hah s of his breath. When she thought of how they shared the air they breathed, how it filtered through his animal-like male body, through his filthy nasal cavity and viscous mouth hanging agape, it was enough to make her nauseated.
    I hate conferences .
    It was just a way to communicate the news, but they had to make it a pointless meeting.
    It was not constructive. Nothing that came of these meetings had anything to do with the deliberation items. Discussions in person didn’t augment or add any information, nor did they refine what was already known. It was just a collection of advertised opinions, everyone’s comportment, body odor, grating voice, extraneous data collected for intellectuals. Of no use. At this rate there would be no real discussion or deliberation.
    It was maddening.
    You know what you really need to effectively research communications is just your damned self , thought Shizue Fuwa.
    This was the only place she’d make eye contact.
    There were faces to look at all around her. And…
    Shizue hated the walls, the ceiling too. Actually, she hated the entire room.
    It was wide and had a high ceiling. It was supposed to evoke a sense of space but instead made her feel trapped somehow. In other words it was pretending to be spacious.
    Compared to this, the screen on her terminal was infinitely more spacious.
    And suddenly all the inorganic designs felt like a total lie. It was an outright lie. Unabashed gussying up, at the end of the day.
    The truth lay only in ideas.
    Yet people created the facsimile of a truth and pretended it was the real thing all the time. They told themselves that bumps were straight lines. If they were so able to convince themselves of the lie, why bother saying it was straight?
    Room 3, Section A, Area Community Center.
    She didn’t know how many centers there were across the country, but each region had a community center and each community center was built according to a uniform standard. The materials, the design, everything.
    A public platform had no need for embellishments—or so the thinking went. Austere, hygienic—that was the ethos of the design. But putting up the facade of austerity was costlier than putting up a cheap design. They talked about hygiene but weren’t really doing anything to disinfect the air—the spores were still there. What was more, you could see the dust. It was so bad you couldn’t really go anywhere without moistened wipes or a cloth.
    Shizue wasn’t saying there should be embellishments and decorations everywhere. She just wondered why no one