“He’s too eager,” Mari says to Hideo as she glances at the sliding glass door. “He wants to see the positive impact in our bottom line already.”

“He’s always been eager,” Hideo replies in a low voice. He leans his arms against his knees and watches the game halfheartedly.

“It will be fine,” Mari says gently. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I want Kenn to be right, that the suicides don’t have anything to do with the algorithm.”

“And if it does?”

Mari doesn’t answer. She clears her throat. “I’ll field the calls today,” she finally says.

“No. Let me deal with the Americans. You get back to me with results on this investigation as soon as you can.”

“Of course,” Mari replies with a bow of her head.

There’s a brief silence between them. Then Hideo gets up and walks over to the glass window. He rests his hands in his pockets. On the holograms, Roshan and Hammie are in a heated battle with two of the Andromedans, each team protecting their Captain’s Artifact while trying to break through to grab the enemy’s.

“Any other news for me?” Hideo says after a while, turning his head slightly without taking his eyes off the game.

Mari seems to know exactly what he’s talking about. “I’m sorry,” she replies. “But we still have many other potential suspects left in Japan.”

Hideo’s expression is bleak, his eyes lit by dark anger. It’s the same fury I’d seen in him when I’d once hacked into his Memory, when I saw him training with the ferocity of a beast. I recognize it as the look he gets when he’s thinking about his brother.

“Dozens of predators that had previously escaped the justice system have already turned themselves in,” Mari adds. “Did you hear about the two men responsible for running illegal sex shops in Kabukichō?”

Hideo glances at her. His shoulders are stiff now.

“Well, they showed up at a police station this morning, sobbing. Confessed everything. Tried to stab themselves before they were brought into custody. You’ve taken a lot of dangerous people off the streets.”

“Good,” Hideo murmurs and turns back to the game. “But they’re not the ones, are they?”

Mari tightens her lips. “No,” she admits. “Nothing in their mind palettes generated by the algorithm matches Sasuke’s time and location of disappearance.”

Of course. Now I understand why Hideo refuses to let the algorithm stop running.

He’s using it to hunt for his brother’s kidnapper, probably scanning through millions of minds in search of a memory, a spark of recognition, an emotion that hints at someone being responsible for what happened to Sasuke.

Perhaps this was always his goal, the entire reason why he created the NeuroLink in the first place.

“Maybe Emika was right,” Hideo says quietly. His voice is so soft that I barely catch it. But I do, and my heart tightens. “That we’re not here to bring the world peace.”

“You’re doing your best,” Mari answers.

Hideo just stares down at the game. Then, he turns to face her. “Keep searching.”

Down in the arena, Asher seizes Shahira’s Artifact. The rematch is over—the Phoenix Riders win again, officially. Everyone in the stadium jumps to their feet, screaming loud enough to shake the dome. The analysts join in the shouts.

Hideo raises his glass stoically, nodding once down at the ecstatic crowds. His distant, controlled smile plays on the giant screens around the dome. And even though he is already breaking his promise—his vow that he and the algorithm would be two separate things—even now, my heart cracks for him. It’s hard not to feel drawn to Hideo’s relentless drive, not to ache for his determination.

What would he do, if I told him his brother is alive?

What will he do, once he figures out who took his brother?

Maybe Emika was right.

I clench my hands into fists. It’s not too late. If Hideo is having doubts, if he’s truly worried about what his algorithm might be doing . . . maybe, maybe there’s still time to pull him back from the abyss. Before he goes too far. Before I’m forced to turn away from him for good.

And the only way I can do that is to uncover what happened to Sasuke.

I’m walking a tightrope between Hideo and Zero, the algorithm and the Blackcoats. And I have to be very careful not to slip.

I stand up and pull my hoodie over my head. There isn’t much time left. The algorithm is supposed to make the world a safer place—but if Mari’s right about the algorithm, then safety’s exactly what we’ll need to worry about.

An incoming message from Tremaine snaps me out of my whirling thoughts. His voice fills my ears.

“Em,” he says. “I’ve made contact, and they have info on that symbol you sent me, the one from Sasuke Tanaka’s sleeve.”

I swallow hard at Tremaine’s words as red and gold confetti rains down from the arena’s ceiling. “What is it?”

“They won’t share it with you over a message.” He pauses. “You’re going to want to hear this in person.”

12

I have no trouble exiting the arena, not with all the rowdy, dressed-up fans flooding out around me. Phoenix Rider supporters are screaming at the top of their lungs. Andromedans look sullen but satisfied. A crowd has already lined up near the back entrance to watch the black cars take the players away. Others are making a beeline down to the overstuffed subways. The cool night wind whips my hair over my shoulders as I hop on my board and turn myself in the direction of Akihabara.

Some of Tokyo’s districts always close down a few of their main streets once a week, turning them into hokoten, giant pedestrian walkways. Since it’s a game night tonight, almost every district in Tokyo has done so, and none more grandly than Akihabara, temporarily earning it the nickname Hokoku, or a mash-up of “Pedestrian District.” The entire area looks like a light show, populated by masses of people swarming up and down eight-lane roads usually crammed with cars. Each towering building has the smiling face of a Phoenix Rider playing against its walls, accompanied by their best moves from the rematch.

In spite of everything that’s going on, I still feel a swell of team pride at the images of Asher, Hammie, and Roshan. Right now, all I want is to celebrate with them and collapse into their arms, their uncomplicated friendship.

Dozens of neon streaks linger in the air, the trails from racing drones that the police are too overworked to deal with. Music blares in the streets, where a DJ has set up temporary camp in the middle of the road and is currently surrounded by jumping fans. The ground is lit up with virtual red lava flowing in grids, and virtual phoenix feathers glitter, hovering, in the bushes, on the ground, or in front of buildings, each worth twenty points if you can grab it.

Welcome to Akihabara!

Double points during Hokoku Night!

You leveled up!

By the time I arrive in front of a massive entertainment complex draped on every side with my teammates’ faces, the black cars carrying the teams have already parked in a line in front of the building, blocking off access to this part of the street from the masses. One of the guards catches sight of me. When I approach the lineup, he shakes his head, unwilling to let me pass. He can’t tell who I am, not with my randomized identity hovering over me.

I send a quick message to Asher.

Here now. Your boys are blocking me out.

Asher doesn’t reply. But a beat later, the guard gives me a slight bow of his head, then steps aside so that I can squeeze between the black cars. I duck into the complex and through the entrance’s sliding doors.

The first floor of the building is crammed with Warcross merchandise, hats and figurines and claw machines where you can try your luck at winning plush versions of team mascots. I make my way down the corridor until I reach the stairs, then hop up them to the second floor.

Here, I step into a surreal realm.

It’s a gaming hall, with a high ceiling probably built by knocking down one floor to combine it with another. There’s fog everywhere, creeping down from a stage where a virtual pop star is performing. Neon lights sweep from the ceiling, lighting up the smoke with streaks of color. Crowds of people are dancing near the front of the stage, while the rest of the room is full of tables with games projected on them, where people are playing each other at a variety of games. I see several tables of checkers, while others play card games or board games enhanced with virtual images. Service drones zip from one table to the next, serving drinks with animated colors hovering over them and skewers of tender, grilled meat.

I recognize members from several other teams: Max Martin’s in a corner with Jena MacNeil, hunched over a table game of some sort and laughing his head off at something his Captain has just said. Shahira Boulous is gesturing wildly with a drink as she explains a game technique to Ziggy Frost, who just listens quietly with wide eyes. Pretty much everyone in here is either some current team member or a former one. I pass invisibly through their ranks, feeling a strange mixture of belonging and not belonging, while I search for the Riders.

They’re gathered near the stage, where the tables end and the dancing begins. As I draw nearer, I realize they’re almost hidden from view behind a crowd of spectators, all shouting and cheering over something.

Then I see Hammie appear over the crowd as she hops onto a chair. She raises both her fists up with a whoop. Her knot of braids has loosened a bit, and a light sheen of sweat beads on her dark skin, catching neon outlines from the ceiling lights. She has a huge grin on her face.

“Checkmate!” she calls out.

They’re playing speed chess. She’s sitting across from Roshan, who knocks his king flat with a defeated grimace. As the crowd shouts out new challenges and exchanges bets, Roshan gets out of his seat so that someone else can play Hammie, then heads over to wrap an arm around the waist of Kento Park.