Chapter 26. Sono's Shield

Three days had passed since the matter of Shiori.

Shiori — the glasswork model I had once measured. She had been swept up in Veil’s numerical management and broken a second time. Bound to a grade called the beauty score, she had chosen, again, to stop eating, in order to fill the number that was short. The body I had once saved with a story had shattered, a second time, in front of number.

That fact lay in my chest like lead.

“Seri. How long are you going to sit there like that.”

I looked up at the voice. Sono Kiryū was leaning in the doorway of the stretch room, arms folded, hair cropped close. Even through her T-shirt the thickness of her shoulders was plain. The afternoon sun drew the outline of those shoulders in hard relief.

”…Sono-san.”

“When you go dark, the whole studio sinks with you. I’m not asking you to call me sister. Just don’t make that face.”

I realised then that I had been sitting on the mat with my knees drawn up. An afternoon in Aoyama. Out the window, the leaves of the zelkova were shifting in the wind.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“Thinking, huh.” Sono dropped down beside me, heavily. “It’s about Shiori-chan, isn’t it. I heard. Veil picked her up and pumped her thin again.”

”…Yes.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“But, if I had only —”

“Don’t.” Sono cut me off. Her voice was rough, but beneath it something was warm. “You read that girl’s body once, and gave it back to her. After that, she chose Veil. That was her will. Don’t carry it. Not alone.”

A little of the tension left my shoulders. Sono’s hand came down on my head and scrubbed. A hard, hot hand — a hand with rings in it, from years of gripping the barbell.

“More importantly.” Sono took an envelope out of her pocket. “There’s something I need to show you.”

II

The envelope was white and thick. Veil’s logo was embossed on it.

”…Veil.”

“Yes. It came to the studio yesterday. Addressed to me.”

Sono opened it. Inside were a crisply printed page and, separately, a black card. I took the page. The text was in polite Japanese, threaded here and there with English.

To Sono Kiryū.

Your physique data — in particular the height of your FFMI and the symmetry of your musculature — are evaluated as an exceptionally close embodiment of the quantified ideal human form our company advocates. Accordingly, Rui Takatsuji, Veil’s chief body analyst, wishes to extend a personal offer of partnership as a brand communications ambassador —

My eyes stopped.

”…Brand communications ambassador.”

“Meaning, their poster.” Sono folded her arms. “They want to put my body on Veil’s advertisements.”

I read on. The terms were extraordinary. An exclusive contract. A monthly fee that was easily five times my salary as a trainer. Regular full-body scans at Veil, with the numbers published as a success case. Social-media outreach. Conference appearances. And — to display, to the world, the quantified beauty of one’s own body as proof of Veil’s creed.

”…Sono-san.”

“Surprised, right.”

“I am. But more than that —”

I was afraid. Veil had come, this time, for the person beside me. Not a fragile body like Shiori’s, but a strong one — Sono’s, with its core. They meant to hang it up as a success case of numerical management. They meant to overwrite the pride Sono took in her muscle, recast it as evidence of Veil’s creed.

“What will you do, Sono-san.”

“What will I do.” Sono smiled a little. “It’s decided already.”

III

Just then the bell at reception rang. Sono and I exchanged a look. Kurosawa was out, and there were no afternoon clients for another hour.

Sono went first. I followed. When we opened the reception counter, Rui Takatsuji was standing there.

Not in the cold glass room on Omotesandō, but in the old Aoyama studio, with its wooden floor and its faintly dusty air. Silver-rimmed smart-glasses, a black jacket. Tall, slender, balanced. She stood in this place like an intruder, sharp and incongruous.

“Sono Kiryū-san.”

Rui’s voice was low, smooth.

“Have you read the envelope.”

“I’ve read it.” Sono answered with her arms still folded. “It’s a large sum. I was surprised.”

“Your body, as you will know, is the closest existing approach to the quantified ideal. The height of your FFMI, the symmetry of your muscle, and — above all — the fact that it was forged through competition. There is a story behind it. We do not evaluate number alone. We evaluate what lies behind the number.”

Rui paused.

“Quantified, your body becomes a legend.”

I caught my breath. The words were sweet and they carried poison. Quantified, your body becomes a legend — which meant: unquantified, it does not. To set the value of Sono’s body only on top of number. That was the inverse of everything Sono had taught me.

“Takatsuji, was it.” Sono tilted her head a little. “I hear you’re the rival of Seri’s lot.”

”…Rival — Seri Himuro did not use that word herself. But by position, that is how the relationship shapes itself.”

“Position, huh.”

Sono set the envelope down on the counter in front of Rui.

“No.”

A short word. Rui’s eyebrows moved, faintly.

”…May I ask the reason.”

IV

“Reason, is it.” Sono sat cross-legged on the stretch-room mat. It had been Sono’s decision to let Rui in. “Sorry it isn’t better, but sit.”

Rui hesitated, then lowered herself onto the edge of the mat, sitting formally. I sat beside Sono.

Sono slapped her own upper arm with the flat of her hand. The muscle beneath rang with a dense elasticity.

“My FFMI is high. As you say. Bench-press load, squat reps — it all comes out in number. Muscle is like that. It can be measured. It can be recorded. When I lift one kilo more today than yesterday, I am happy. I won’t deny it.”

“Then —”

“Wait.” Sono held up a hand. “I said it can be measured. But the value is not the number.”

Rui tilted her head, slightly.

“May I explain. Look at my left shoulder.”

Sono showed her left shoulder. It sat, faintly, higher than the right.

“Here. I dislocated it once. In a wrestling match. I was thrown, and my arm went into the ground like a stake. The bone came out. A doctor put it back. But for three weeks, the arm did not move. I despaired. To be unable to stand on the dohyō — to me, that was worse than death.”

Sono’s voice went lower.

“The half-year of rehabilitation was long. Every day, I rejoiced at any motion returned. Five degrees would become ten. Ten would become twenty. That joy — can you measure it, in number.”

Rui was silent.

“You cannot. You can measure the angle. But what those ten degrees meant to me — that is not in the number. The number is the shape, seen from the outside. But for the one who lives inside the body, what that number means — that lies outside the number.”

V

Sono went on. Her voice gathered heat, slowly.

“I was injured, over and over. Shoulder, knee, lower back. Each time, I cried, I healed, I climbed back onto the dohyō. I loved the sport. I loved the feeling of my body in motion. The moment my body strained against another body, struggling — that was the sensation of being alive.”

Sono’s eyes went a little distant. I could see her tracing the memory of competition.

“Losing was worse to me than dying. Thrown to the floor, I would not let go of the grip until the last second. The memory of that heat — of refusing to lose — is in this back of mine, like a ring in the grain of the wood. It’s what I told Seri once, and what her app read: a thick ring of grain, of one who refused to lose. That was true.”

I nodded. I remembered the letters that had glowed on Sono’s back that day.

“When I retired, the body still remembered the shape of competition. What I had piled up every day remained, like rings of grain in the muscle. That is my decoration. But —”

Sono looked at her own palm.

“It is a decoration not because the number is high. It is a decoration because there is the fact of choosing, every day. I chose to step onto the dohyō. I chose rehabilitation. I chose to endure the pain. I chose to stand up when I was thrown. The accumulation of those choices is this body. The number follows after, as a result. The order is the wrong way round.”

Rui’s eyes narrowed.

”…It is a beautiful creed.”

Rui’s voice was not ironic. Somewhere in it, she seemed to mean it.

“But, Kiryū-san. What you describe is one philosophy. It differs from person to person. For you, the number follows after. But for some, the number comes first. There are people who build the body toward a number. One cannot say which is correct.”

“I’m not talking about correct.” Sono shook her head. “Only, that I built my body my way. I have no intention of having it rebuilt your way.”

“Rebuild is not the word. I only wish to present your body, as it is, as proof of Veil’s philosophy.”

“Present my body as proof of your philosophy — that’s what I mean.” Sono’s voice hardened a shade. “That is rewriting the story of my body into the story of yours. What this muscle was for. How it was built. You would paste that, story and all, onto your billboard. No.”

VI

Rui stood. She brushed the dust from the knees of her slacks.

“It is a shame. Truly.”

There was something else in the voice. A faint unsteadiness — not quite frustration, not quite respect.

“But, Kiryū-san. Permit me one question.”

“What.”

“Is it for yourself that you stay here? Or is it for Seri Himuro.”

Sono’s eyes went a little wide. Then she looked at me. I looked back. Rui’s question was sharp. She was trying to separate Sono’s decision — whether it came from Sono’s own creed, or from her affection for me. If it was affection, then it was not a philosophy. It was only loyalty. Rui meant to expose that.

“Both.” Sono said it plainly. “Seri is like a younger sister to me. She does the work of reading the body’s story. Beside her, I stand from the side of the body. If Seri reads with words, I will be a shield, with my body. That is my choice.”

Shield. The word rang in the air of the stretch room.

“A shield, of body.”

” Fighting with words is Seri’s work. I am no good with words. But I know the body. How muscle is built. How it feels, on the floor. How the salt of sweat stings the eyes. Those things I can prove, standing beside her. What it means to be proud of a body. That the value of a body is not decided by number. I show that, with a living body. That is the shield I can give.”

Rui looked at Sono for a moment. Her expression was cold, but somewhere in it a single thread had come loose — a gap. Behind the silver-rimmed glasses, I saw her eyes waver, for just an instant.

”…I understand. I will take my leave.”

Rui bowed, deeply. She turned on her heel and left. The studio door closed softly. Her footsteps receded up the Aoyama slope.

VII

Only after the footsteps had gone entirely did I let out a long breath. I found my whole body locked tight with tension.

“Sono-san.”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for coming. And thank you for refusing.”

“Refusing was only natural.” Sono laughed. “That thing — it was telling me to sell my body for money. My muscle can’t be bought with money. It can only be built, by daily sweat and injury and accumulation. To paste that on an advertisement and say this is the proof of Veil — no.”

Sono softened her voice a shade.

“Seri. Don’t try to fight alone.”

”…Eh.”

“You fight with words. I stand beside you, with my body. While you trade words with that cold woman, my body proves it. That muscle is not a punishment. That what is accumulated is not a number. What it means to be proud of a body. I am someone who can be proud of her body. Beside you, I will make that pride a weapon.”

I nearly cried. The weight I had been carrying alone since Shiori — I felt a fraction of it shift onto Sono’s shoulders.

“Sono-san.”

“What.”

”…You taught me once, that the core can be built.”

“I did.”

“My core is still thin. But — with someone like you, who has a core, beside me — I think I can fight.”

Sono scrubbed her hand over my head again.

“Not can fight. Will fight. Me, too.”

VIII

In the studio Rui had left, the afternoon sun lay in long bars across the floor. Out the window, the zelkova leaves were shining.

I touched the pocket that held Contura. Coh’s presence was faintly warm.

“Coh.”

“Mm.”

“I wasn’t alone. I understand that now.”

”…Yes.” Coh said it a little gently. “A Reader reads books alone. But a story is something that is shared. Beside you there is one who will be a shield, with her body. That is the shape of the trust you built, without even knowing it.”

“Accumulation.”

“As Sono built her core, piling muscle on muscle, day by day. You, too, have piled trust up, day by day, reading the bodies of others. That accumulation became, now, the shield that is Sono. It is not magic. It is accumulation.”

I nodded. On the mat, Sono had resumed her stretching. She circled her scapulae. The muscle moved beneath the skin like a living thing. That back was the same back Contura had once read as a thick ring of grain, of one who refused to lose. And now, that grain had said it would be my shield.

What stands against number is the story of a living body. Sono’s muscle — her daily accumulation — was proving it. And I read that story. Word and body. Two outlines, standing side by side.

“Sono-san.”

“Mm.”

“Next, it may be time to read the outline of Rui Takatsuji herself.”

Sono stopped mid-stretch and looked at me.

“You’re going to read — her body.”

“She said she manages it perfectly. But something is off, I feel it. Next, I want to read what her body itself is telling.”

”…That woman, she feels dangerous.”

“Yes. But if I fight her, I have to know her true shape.”

Sono thought about it. Then nodded.

“Then I’ll go as your shield. Whatever happens.”

At evening, Sono and I walked down the Aoyama slope to the station. Walking beside Sono, my shoulders did not draw in. She was a little taller than I, and broader in the shoulder. Beside her, my own body seemed to stretch a little, by sympathy.

“Sono-san.”

“Mm.”

“You said you’d be a shield, with your body.”

“I did.”

“Could I, someday, be someone’s shield too.”

Sono stopped. She looked at me. The sunset dyed her face orange.

“You could. You’re a Reader, aren’t you. You can be someone’s shield, with words. I am the body. You are the word. The two of us, a double shield.”

I laughed. It came up naturally. The heart that had been sinking since Shiori was rising, a little. I was not alone. There was a companion who boasted of her body. Here, in this place, was a living story that pushed back against number.

—

That night, in my apartment in Higashi-Nakano, I read a sentence that had surfaced on Contura’s old screen without my noticing.

What is hidden behind perfect numbers — only the body knows.

I pressed the sentence into the floor of my chest.

Next, I will read the body of Rui Takatsuji herself. What lies behind her perfect numbers. If Sono will be a shield of body for me, then from behind that shield I can take one step forward.

—

(Continued in Chapter 27. Rui’s Wound)