Chapter 1521: NO．136：The Answer Is the Fear Touching the Bottom of the Heart

NO. 136: The answer is the fear that touches the heart.

Aomo Lindun's acquaintances all know that although he often displays a manner as if reading minds, or as if someone had installed a surveillance probe in others, if one truly said he was flawless in strategy, he is obviously still far from it.

Not to mention other things, at least this overtime-working Man completely failed to anticipate that his self-serving, harmful act would have additional merit—he actually forced Arturo to burst out with a nine-day leave, and she herself even turned it into an eleven-day leave by means of wheelchair operation!

How could such a thing happen?

Too sci-fi.

Too bizarre.

Too unimaginable.

Do I really work in the same district as her?

Illusion technique? When?

"Aomo? Aomo?"

"Hey, is he alright?" Sirius repeatedly patted Aomo's shoulder, even lightly tapping his face with both palms, and seeing him still in that dazed state, turned to ask the one who had just taken over his previous position, the cold-faced angel scanning the demon's visage with a router-like device.

"He's fine." Federico, watching the instrument screen, said lightly, then glanced again at his lost-and-lost appearance, only to be slightly furrowed by the sudden violin sound indoors, unconsciously looking toward the source of the sound, only to see the other's bow come to a stop.

Making him turn his head back toward Aomo, seeing his listless state unchanged, he revealed a slight, not obvious surprise.

But even if he remained that spiritless, he didn't need to speak, as the other herself lifted her gaze: "Isn't this a bit impolite, Miss Arturo?"

"Although I don't know how Federico spoke to you, this passage of music will not cause any unforeseeable consequences, however..."

The angel holding the bow and with an artistic-shaped self-plugged electric cello, merely smiled as the intelligent wheelchair brought her near, smiling and slightly surprised as she looked up at him:

"To be able to face my music so lightly, Federico's introduction of you is truly conservative and restrained."

"I believe restraint is a virtue, Miss Arturo."

"Is that so, but I think the horse-girl lady beside you doesn't think so, Miss Sirius, what were you thinking in your heart just now in those few seconds?"

"Ah? Me?"

Relying on her skill and boldness, unlike the continued distancing Nishizaki Yutaka, the brown-haired horse-girl who always stayed beside Aomo, at this moment facing three gazes, stumbled over her words, not seeming like usual.

But she has also been unlike usual these days.

——As the instigator, Aomo naturally hasn't forgotten this, seeing her merely waved his hand, not paying attention to whether the faint red on her face was shame or held-back blush: "If she doesn't want to speak, we won't bring it up; we should have gotten straight to the point long ago, Miss Arturo."

"Calling me Arturo is fine, I'm very interested in you."

Suddenly switching to a respectful tone, the black-haired angel tapped the wheelchair armrest, and the armrest activated a mechanism, unfolding on both sides to present the four teacups she brought.

At the same time, Aomo's gaze was more focused on the cello placed on the storage rack that had unfolded behind the wheelchair.

The strings were vibrating, clearly untouched, yet it seemed... to have established some kind of connection with himself.

A connection possibly of emotional resonance.

"The strings of that cello."

"You noticed? Whenever I touch the strings, surrounding emotions flow toward me, and the emotions I cannot digest often linger on those strings, endlessly urging me to take them up again."

"What did you feel from that man I recommended?"

"Not asking yourself but asking that person?" Arturo, who had just lifted her teacup and taken a sip, didn't beat around the bush: "The emotions I felt from him were very fragmented, very suppressed, yet I could also sense a profound, extreme longing."

"That longing is likely something buried since very long ago, allowing him to lose control easily, triggering the theater's security system, yet nearly wiping everything out."

"Longing..." Aomo sighed softly.

"You don't seem surprised."

"Because I had already suspected as much."

"So I was the one conducting a verification?"

"That is where I ought to apologize."

"No need, just as I said before, I've benefited greatly, and I'd rather offset that earlier rudeness; would that be too much?"

Arturo is very clear about what consequences her sudden performance might cause, so she often only plays a prelude, but even if that prelude triggers nothing, for those with unhealed wounds it is often that kind of "one touch and it explodes," quite neurasthenic-like sensitivity.

This makes her rash probing rudeness appear either significant or trivial.

"No," raising her teacup, Aomo also took a light sip, "actually, my coming here was also to condole and apologize, and then to estimate the threat he displayed at that time."

"And what about this lady and that gentleman?"

She looked toward Sirius, whose face still had some red, occasionally glancing at Aomo, and also toward the distant Nishizaki Yutaka, who stood by the stone pillar as if very bored, looking this way and at his phone more frequently than Sirius.

"Yes, that broken man's case involving him is not limited to this theater incident; everyone is a related investigator."

"Merely investigators, not enemies?" Arturo was particularly sensitive in that subtle way.

"I cannot speak for them, but for myself, that man is less an enemy and more an extremely valuable independent variable; do you understand this expression?"

"Mathematics? Also a subject hard to avoid."

"There is also consistency, just as someone once said algebra is like sheet music—what matters is not whether you can read the score, but whether you can understand the melody within," Aomo said, setting down his teacup, "but this has digressed; the point remains that if I am to regard him as an independent variable, I must first sufficiently understand his appearance."

"If it's for this reason, then you've fortunately caught up with the time."

"Oh?"

"In fact, this theater's playwright is a very poor but highly work-driven... uh... bird-person," she sounded like she was slightly chewing the term, but the term she threw out didn't seem like a deeply considered result, "on the night that man erupted in destruction, that bird-person wrote a script based on the remaining records, and in the morning kept urging us to rehearse."

Speaking of this, her expression was very disdainful, making Aomo feel some mental balance, but after that balance, he had to return to reality and worry about a hidden danger.

"Can I view those remaining records?" he asked.

"No, didn't Mr. Aomo hear we have a new work?"

"I think that should still be unfinished."

"Just lacking some self-expressing string pieces and a few test-response examinees; for you, I don't mind working overtime~"

"Huh?" Sirius frowned, looking over.

"This sounds somewhat ambiguous; I think you need clearer expression." Having seen many divine beings, Aomo is not unfamiliar with this vague style of speech.

"I am very curious about the pattern of your thoughts and will, especially your current resistance, which is not ordinary but even able to completely counteract my music."

"He wasn't exactly hiding his disappointment just now, was he?" Sirius exclaimed in surprise.

"Indeed, clearly you possess the mental fortitude to block my piano playing—so what exactly were you feeling down about just now? Would you mind sharing a little?"

"That doesn't matter." Aomo straightened his face and spoke solemnly.

"What matters is thanking you for your enthusiasm. Although I also don't really mind this kind of interaction, this matter is actually quite significant—we need to report to some relevant parties first and obtain their consent before proceeding."

"Huh? What consent do I need?" Sirius exclaimed again in surprise.

"The speed of your recovery symbolizes the old lady's consent." Aomo replied.

"To trace her being sought out again by that monthly chariot symbolizing renewal and nearly attacked, and also to prevent me from being held accountable for the psychological impact you might suffer, we need to get permission."

"What? Why would I be held accountable? Would I be frightened by this kind of thing?!"

"What do you think the Gran Guinigi Theatre is like? Why would they need a musician like Miss Arturo?"

"Here's a reminder: the key lies in Freud's school of psychoanalysis, and, naturally, naturalist drama."