Hisako spent the rest of the day at the track, sitting in one of the fold-out chairs Cesco didn't actually seem to use.
Eiji was tagging along with an officer from another country to explore the nearby town on a second, more casual tourism outing. The nearby walled town had one of Tuscany's oldest churches, and that was all Eiji needed to hear.
When practice ended and night began to fall, the riders left, each leaving the track and dispersing across the property. Aniello gave her a royal wave as he jumped the barriers with a well-timed wheelie.
She left the track slowly—the last to leave—and wandered to one of the fields. In the distance, she saw the bikes purring, weaving gently around a herd of cattle and corralling them to one of the barns.
She sat on the fence and leaned back, looking up at the stars starting to show against a burning sky. In Japan, maybe Nanae was looking up at the same stars—it made the distance seem a little fantastical.
The flash to her left caught her unaware. She turned her head to the source of her bewilderment, blinking as the afterimage faded from her retinas.
A woman—maybe five years her senior—in a leg brace was holding a camera aloft. The little flashbulb built into the top was still glowing like a dying fire. She wore a cardigan to fend off the cold, but had shorts on and was barefoot. Her dark hair was long enough for a small, messy bun, and the inside was carefully dyed in neon and bright colors—it was pleasantly peacock-esque.
"Sorry," she chuckled. "Forgot the flash was on."
She had a different accent to her English—something slower and more drawn out. It was familiar—more similar to the accent Hisako trained on.
"Are you American?" Hisako asked.
She laughed again before her face fell deadly serious. "What gave it away? The gut?"
Hisako gawked, waving her hands in denial. "What? No!"
She would've fit in amongst the officers, who ranged from stocky to wiry, if she wasn't dressed so casually.
"You have an American accent!" she explained.
She cackled. "Ah. Sorry. I was joking. It was funny to see you turn all pale, though—sorry." She patted her belly. "How can I stay in shape, though, when Cesco cooks so much good food!"
Hisako forced an awkward laugh. "It is very good, yes."
"Sorry, sorry." She squinted. "You also have an American accent."
"I practice English with an American," she replied.
She stared, trying to absorb every fact about the woman with her eyes. She looked a little rumpled—her shirt had some dried but untreated marinara spots on the collar, and the sweater was coming undone at the sleeves a bit. Her pants were old, too; the hems were fraying. Even the brace was rough—it had dried mud on the bottom and scrapes and worn-out sections on the top.
"You can ask questions."
Hisako sucked air through her teeth. "Um. Are all Americans so, uh, sad to themselves?"
"Self-deprecating?" She laughed. "Maybe we're a little too real, huh? Self-reflective. Perfectionist." Her face fell. "Hm. I mean, I used to be a perfectionist…"
"So, are you not an American Ranger?"
She sighed and fiddled with her camera, then she hopped up to perch on the fence next to Hisako, braced leg hanging out awkwardly. "I used to be a Cowboy, but I can't really ride anymore. I'm technically still a Ranger." She shrugged. "I just hang out here now and do a bit of liaison stuff."
She showed Hisako the camera screen; she saw the photo of her, looking up at the sky, warm light washing her face and the flash making her stand out starkly against the darkening grounds.
It was a good photo, really.
"Wow."
"This is what I do most of the time now. Take pictures for Cesco. To promote the program and the teams his students race for."
She paged through them, going back in time. She'd been watching the students too—she had some great shots of them amongst the cattle. Hisako saw people of different countries and creeds dining, smiling and enjoying themselves despite the serious nature of the visit.
Before that, she had pictures of the cuisine tour, and the morning when more people were arriving, passing grandly through the gates as perfect framing. More and more and—
"Wait."
She paused, and Hisako gestured for her to go back one photo.
Hisako pointed; in the background of one of the photos, a lone British Knight was trying to use their phone to subtly take pictures of the arriving parties. They sat in the shadow of the guardhouse, hiding from the gathering masses.
The photographer squinted and zoomed in with a dial, then paged quickly through a few more photos. The Knight was clear in most of them—a middle-aged woman in the more casual Knight uniform.
"Is that odd?"
She hummed. "A bit, but they're only doing what I'm doing, just less professionally."
"I suppose." Hisako shifted. "Can I ask about how distrustful the countries are of each other? I get that Japan hasn't been a team player, but what about everyone else?"
"Eh…" She eyed Hisako carefully, lips pressed tight.
"I already know everyone is upset with Italy right now, and some people didn't come because of the war nearby."
"Ah. Okay. Well, nobody likes to share their dirty laundry; countries are too secretive when they make mistakes. When they do, everyone shames them and acts like they're above it. Like they are now with Italy."
"What about… like, the unethical stuff? I know Japan…"
"Had that incident a while back? Yes. Internal punishments are usually announced, especially when a leader commits such acts. We, just by nature of size, have more incidents. We have a whole international court for it, actually."
"What about spying? Could that Knight be a spy?"
The Ranger giggled, nearly shaking herself off the fence top. "In a way, I am a spy. There are many spies—everyone likes to keep tabs on everyone—but no organization would risk sending a spy here.
"You are clearly new, so maybe you don't understand, but Cesco is very important to Italy and the officer community of the Western world. Maybe some people don't understand that, but he is. If a spy were to be caught here, Italy would have to act, and the spy's home country would be in trouble."
Hisako sighed. "So she's just a bad photographer."
The woman paused, then offered a reassuring smile. "Yes." She hopped down off the fence, into the field with a wave, wobbling on her bad leg before walking deeper in. "See you tomorrow!"
"I'm Hisako!" she called after her. "Nice to meet you!"
"Farah!" the photographer replied over her shoulder before disappearing into the dark fields.
Hisako sat there for a moment, then hopped down and headed back to the bunkhouse.
Strömberg was outside on his phone, reporting back to Japan. He nodded as she passed him and went into the building.
The first floor was bustling—a bunch of people were already taking bets on themselves in the seating area, and even more, including Hisakawa, were chatting in the dining area. Hisako walked up to the second level and looked out over them all.
They were boasting and gossiping; she could make that out above the din. She listened for several long moments, trying to hear anything worth reporting on, before retreating into their room.
Eiji was sitting on his bed, going through the photos on his camera. It was a lot smaller than Farah's fancy device.
"Did anything interesting happen?" Eiji asked.
Hisako shrugged. "I met a Ranger. She takes pictures for Cesco. She had a picture of one of the Knights that might be… spying, I guess, on the summit."
"Is that normal here?"
"Here, no. People don't spy on Cesco, apparently. Spying in general, though, I got the impression is normal… The Ranger said it wasn't suspicious—the Knight, I mean—but… Maybe I'm just too green to understand, but I don't like it…
"The Knight was hiding by the guard shack, taking pictures on her phone of everyone arriving."
"Wouldn't the Knights have a list of attendees?" Eiji asked.
Hisako blinked. "They would, wouldn't they?"
"So it is suspicious," Eiji concluded. "Point her out to me next time you see her, will you? We can keep an eye out for her."
Hisako nodded and flopped down on her bed.
"Did you get any good photos?" she asked.
Eiji shuffled excitedly. "Ah, I can show you at breakfast tomorrow. We should probably sleep now."
Hisako chuckled. "Sounds like a plan."
A pause. "Do you have a plan for tomorrow?"
"I have no idea how to tell how strong a Door is. I didn't think it was possible without going in before," she replied.
"Maybe they've already ranked the Doors."
She chuckled. "Do you think Cesco would do that?"
"Ah, and make his game easier to play? No."
"I'll go by gut. Pick a high number; make sure it happens. Rack up the points, start talking with other officers."
***
In the morning, they all gathered at an old, stone warehouse at the edge of the property. The door was open for them—a heavy metal security door crossed with scars. It had a plaque, but a deep gouge had rendered it illegible.
"Hall of Doors" was an apt description for the interior. It was a large structure—a basement, a ground floor, and another upper floor with an open center—and every inch of it housed a Door; the walls were covered, and there were even Doors against the railings and free-standing on the floors.
"How did you manage this?" one of the other officers asked Cesco.
Cesco hummed absently. "It is not so hard. Perhaps there is an easier way to gather Doors, but the old-fashioned way always works."
"What does that mean?" Eiji murmured.
"I think he just had people come to the warehouse every day until their Door appeared," Hisako replied quietly.
"Ah."
Cesco continued explaining: "Each Door is carefully tested and catalogued; none will pose too much of a challenge for you all, and, should you need help, your chaperone will step in.
"That will be the only thing they offer you—no tips or hints, no bonus teammate. Needless to say, if your chaperone has to help bail you out of a Door, that counts as failure. Questions on the game?"
A French officer raised her hand. "How will we 'fail' a Door without needing help to get out?"
"I've ensured the Doors remain available in the world inside. You can come and go from Doors as you please. Take as long as you like, but know that, in a way, this is a race."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"How did he do that?" Eiji asked.
Hisako looked at Strömberg, whose face was pinched in thought. "Whether or not the Door disappears sometimes depends on the mentality of the Door's owner. It's rare in Japan to find a non-Awakened individual with such a sound mind yet vulnerable enough to summon a Door, but maybe it's different in Italy."
"Not the 'old-fashioned way' this time, it seems," Eiji said, glancing around at the sea of curious faces. "He knows something other people don't."
"With how experienced he seems," Hisako said, "I wouldn't be surprised." She looked at Strömberg. "Did you know who he was before the summit?"
"I don't know who he is even now," he replied.
"Another disadvantage for us," Hisakawa sighed. "But we don't need to know why he's revered to respect him as much as everyone else does."
Hisako nodded and stared at Cesco, thoughts drifting as he answered more questions.
He clearly appreciated his status and consciously used it, but he didn't act like he was all that far above them. He got messy in the dirt, put the time in to teach his students one-on-one, and cooked meals with his own hands.
Fame—or whatever it was—was just another tool to him. A feature he'd acquired in the game he played so well.
Cesco clapped his hands with finality. "Any more questions, or shall we begin?"
Nobody spoke up.
"Perfect. Let's begin, then. Fighters, you may pick your Doors. Observers, please stand back. Chaperones, you know what to do."