Ground Line

The music faded, and in the silence, I heard only my breath, rapid and raw.

Then—applause. Sudden, enthusiastic applause crackled through the lab speakers, startling me from my trance. Hiroto’s voice exploded with delight.

“That was incredible! AR tracking flawless—perfect integration! You nailed it, Natsumi-chan!”

I exhaled, trembling, muscles still humming with adrenaline. Reika, standing poised at the edge of the floor, joined the applause, her gentle claps elegant, respectful.

And then—

I turned slowly, and saw him.

Ryoji was clapping too. Quietly. Sincerely.

My heart leapt into my throat, and suddenly the exhaustion, the tension, melted into something warmer. Something vulnerable.

I approached him, slow and hesitant, heart hammering again for an entirely different reason.

Before I could speak, he broke the silence, voice dry, but a quiet warmth hidden beneath it.

“Good job. Natsumi.”

But Reika smoothly interrupted, saving me from further embarrassment with her graceful poise.

“Truly splendid, Nakajima-san,” she said, her voice warm and perfectly mannered. “I cannot thank you enough for stepping in today. Your talent is extraordinary, and your help immeasurable. I am deeply grateful.”

I bowed shakily in return, still utterly flustered. “Th-thank you… Yamada-san.”

She offered a gentle smile. “Please, feel free to use our guest bathroom and shower to freshen up. You’ve earned more than a moment’s rest.”

“I’ll take the equipment!” Hiroto piped up, scampering forward, his bright grin adding joyful chaos to the dignified calm. “You’re officially our star now! Prima Natsumi-chan, at your service!”

He scurried around us, gathering sensors and gear, humming excitedly as he went.

Ryoji moved quietly to my side, guiding me toward the door leading to the guest area without another word.

As I stepped through, he paused at the threshold. I glanced back, finding him standing there—calm, steady, guarding the doorway.

Watching over me, as always.

I emerged after a quick shower, feeling refreshed, nerves still humming faintly beneath the surface.

A small snack later, and I found myself back in the main lab, the air thick with quiet anticipation. Reika had already left, her presence lingering only in the faint scent of jasmine.

Ryoji and Hiroto clustered around the equipment, Hiroto tapping through diagnostics while Ryoji double-checked each connection.

Ryoji looked up as I approached. “Ground line this time,” he said, his voice calm, controlled. Serious.

I nodded, throat tightening. This was it. The call we’d prepared for.

The call to my father—supposedly in Wakkanai, at the weather station. My stomach churned slightly as Ryoji handed me a notebook and a pen.

“Let’s set the call up properly,” he said quietly, eyes intense. “We’re in a hotel in Osaka, somewhere near the station. Keep it vague, but that needs to be clear. We can’t blow the Yamada cover.”

I nodded numbly, my fingers curling around the pen. My heart was beginning to race again, adrenaline seeping back in.

He paused, giving me a searching look. “Aside from that—just tell him the truth.”

I stared at him blankly, pulse stuttering. My voice cracked slightly in disbelief. “The truth?!”

I stared at Ryoji, pen still tight between my fingers, my breath shallow and tense.

He leaned forward, voice calm and steady, grounding me back to reason.

“You’re at the Granvia Hotel, near Osaka station. You’re with your bodyguard, arranged by your ballet agency. You returned to Japan for legal reasons regarding the house, and you’ve decided to sell it.”

I hesitated, turning his words over carefully. Then realization settled like cool water. I didn’t need to fabricate anything—it was already true. Every word.

“And if he asks why,” I continued softly, certainty blooming slowly, “I’ll tell him the truth. Dad would understand… Tokyo had too many painful memories for me.”

Ryoji nodded quietly. “So…”

“So,” I chimed in, thoughts clicking into place, “I came to Osaka to search for a new place.”

“Good.” Ryoji’s hand hovered over the receiver. “Just don’t mention anything about us being chased. If your dad is in a high-clearance government program—as we’ve hypothesized—that would blow his cover and put him in danger.”

My chest tightened again, tension edging my voice. “Then I’ll ask him if I can visit. But… what if he says no?”

“We go anyway,” Ryoji replied simply, matter-of-factly. He caught my expression, voice softening just slightly. “But let’s focus on what he’s going to say right now.”

“Anyway?” I echoed nervously, heart skipping a beat.

Hiroto gave us a small nod from the console, eyes serious for once.

“Line’s live,” he whispered.

My breath stilled. The phone was ready.

All I had to do was pick it up.

The receiver clicked softly, followed by a dry, professional voice.

“Wakkanai Weather Station three. Mayumi speaking.”

I steadied myself, fingers gripping the pen too tightly.

“Good evening, Mayumi-san,” I began, forcing my tone to stay even. “This is Natsumi Nakajima. We spoke yesterday—you said my father would be available tonight at this hour?”

There was a pause—brief, mechanical.

“Yes, Nakajima-san, please hold for a moment.”

The line went quiet. Static hissed faintly in my ear, a soft needle against the drumbeat of my pulse.

My grip on the receiver tightened, fingers slicking with sweat. I shifted in the chair, every creak of the wheels sounding like it carried across the line.

The seconds dragged—thirty, forty, maybe more. Long enough for my mind to spiral, to imagine Mayumi not returning at all.

Then, finally, the line clicked. Her voice slid back into my ear exactly as before—dry, courteous, impersonal—as if she’d never left me dangling in that void at all.

“Yes, thank you for waiting. Your father has been expecting your call and will be with you shortly. Please remain on the line.”

“Thank you,” I managed softly.

Another pause.

Longer, sharper this time. I tried not to think. I couldn’t. The room was quiet enough that every breath felt exposed. Ryoji stood close, his presence reassuring, but even he seemed taut with anticipation.

Then, suddenly—

“Natsumi?”

His voice. Calm. Pragmatic. Slightly formal, yet unmistakably gentle.

My throat tightened instantly, emotion rushing forward. “Dad! It’s—so nice to hear you.”

The sincerity poured out before I could catch it—raw and almost childlike. But only for an instant. I quickly swallowed it down, returning to the composed distance we’d always maintained.

“It’s good to hear from you, too,” he replied evenly. His tone was kind but restrained, careful. “I hope everything’s well. Mayumi mentioned you were in Osaka?”

“Yes,” I responded clearly, reverting smoothly to the script. “I’m staying at the Granvia Hotel near Osaka Station, with a bodyguard provided by the ballet agency. I came back to Japan for legal reasons regarding the house. After some thought… I’ve decided to sell it.”

A slight pause. His voice remained gentle but precisely measured. “I understand. It’s probably for the best.”

“Yes. Tokyo had too many—painful memories,” I said softly, truthfully.

“I know,” he responded, quieter now, just a faint trace of warmth beneath his professionalism. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

I bit down gently on my lip. “It’s all right, Dad. I understand your work keeps you busy.”

Another small silence settled between us, brief but weighty. I knew I had to press forward.

“I thought maybe I could visit you. Since I’m here already.”

Another pause—longer this time, a subtle hesitation.

I held my breath, waiting.

“Of course you can visit,” my father finally said, breaking the silence. His voice softened, carrying genuine warmth beneath his usual composed reserve. “But how long do you have? Wakkanai isn’t exactly close. Will you have enough time? Unfortunately, I won’t be able to travel down to Tokyo anytime soon.”

“I have enough time, Dad,” I replied, feeling relief bloom in my chest. “The agency gave me a little flexibility, and the paperwork for the house is mostly handled.”

“Well, good,” he said evenly, practical as always. “Just let me know your itinerary, and I’ll make sure someone picks you up from the station. It’s not easy getting around up here without a car.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I answered, keeping my voice steady and polite to match his.

There was a brief pause.

I glanced sideways at Ryoji, whose expression was carefully neutral. He gave me the smallest encouraging nod. Hiro, beside him, looked unusually subdued—quiet, even perplexed—as if he were picking something apart mentally and didn’t quite like what he found.

I tried to break the awkwardness, returning the conversation to safe ground.

“Oh, by the way—have you heard from Aunt Mayumi lately?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

“No, not directly,” my father replied, a touch distracted. “But I heard from another relative that she’s been improving steadily. She’s out of the hospital now and recovering at home. It shouldn’t be too long before she’s back to normal. Maybe you should give her a call as well.”

“Good idea, I think I will,” I said, smiling faintly, though he couldn’t see it.

Another short silence settled, then I gently pressed forward again. “How’s work been going?”

He answered without hesitation, his voice slipping into the detailed, analytical tone I recognized from childhood—the scientist always just beneath the surface.

“Well, this season has been unusually active. The maritime currents around Cape Sōya have been shifting significantly due to oceanic temperature anomalies. We’ve been logging readings daily.” he paused, and I could hear him clear his throat. “Atmospheric pressure systems have also shown unusual patterns—particularly over the Okhotsk Sea—so we’ve been coordinating closely with the other stations to update regional forecasts. It’s quite demanding, but the data has been fascinating.”

“I see,” I replied, slightly overwhelmed by the flood of technical detail. But it felt reassuringly familiar—he was always at his best when discussing his work. “Sounds like it’s been keeping you busy.”

“Yes, very,” he confirmed, voice steady again. Then, surprisingly, he shifted the topic, gently and with unusual hesitation. “By the way, Natsumi… how are the Kurodas doing? Have you heard from them lately?”

My pulse quickened slightly. This wasn’t usual. My father rarely pried into personal matters, let alone about the Kurodas. But the concern in his voice felt real, sincere.

“I haven’t spoken to them recently,” I admitted carefully. “Have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” he replied quietly, a slight hesitation in his voice. “I just wondered how things were going. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I agreed softly, unsure what else to say. “It really has.”

After another careful pause, my father shifted gears, the warmth in his tone becoming more evident. “And how have things been going with your new friends from the ballet company? You mentioned a new roommate once, I believe.”

I smiled a little, despite myself. “Sylvie? She’s doing great. We get along really well. She’s… lively, making sure I’m never bored.”

He chuckled lightly, something he rarely did. It felt cautious, practiced, but sincere enough. “That sounds good for you, Natsumi. Perhaps one of these days, we can plan a trip together. I’d like to see Italy myself during my next vacation.”

My heart leapt slightly, startled by the unexpected offer. “Really? That would be wonderful. You’d love Venice, I think—it’s beautiful. I’d be happy to show you around.”

“Yes, perhaps next year we can make it happen,” he replied calmly, the practicality returning to his voice. “Speaking of visits—do you still have the address here in Wakkanai? I’m afraid I might not be able to arrange a proper car as I’d hoped. Would you be alright getting yourself to the usual station?”

“Oh, of course,” I assured him quickly, jotting a note on the pad in front of me out of habit. “I still have the address. I’ll manage just fine.”

“Good. And, Natsumi—” He hesitated again, the formal warmth steady but carefully measured. “Why Osaka? Wouldn’t you prefer something farther north, closer to here?”

I froze for a split second. We hadn’t prepped this part, but somehow the answer came naturally, smooth and logical. “Well, it’s practical, Dad. Osaka’s close to Kansai International Airport, and for my ballet tours, it’d make travel much easier. It’s either Osaka, or spending half my life on trains.”

He gave another one of those carefully formal chuckles, polite but controlled. “Fair enough. That does make sense.”

He drew a breath, his tone shifting slightly toward closure. “We’ll discuss all this more when you arrive. Call again once you land in Hokkaido and know your exact schedule.”

“I will, Dad,” I said gently. “Thanks again.”

“Take care, Natsumi,” he concluded warmly, voice softening just slightly at the edges. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

I set the phone down gently, releasing a slow breath as silence reclaimed the room.

The call ended.

Silence filled the room again, pressing softly against me like the lingering touch of something lost, familiar yet impossible to grasp.

My father’s voice still echoed gently through my mind—calm, structured, comforting in its practiced detachment.

Talking to him was like stepping into another life, one I’d nearly forgotten. Before Italy, before being chased across Japan, before the fear, before Ryoji.

A life of studios, tours, and quiet nights alone, waiting by the phone for a voice that came only occasionally, always formal, always careful.

And yet, I craved it.

My chest tightened as I realized how utterly alone I’d been, how desperately I’d clung to those rare, careful conversations over a static-filled line.

In all these years, that was my family—a handful of polite exchanges scattered across endless months, always leaving me hungry for more warmth, more closeness, more.

And now, hearing him again, his voice had reopened a wound I hadn’t even realized existed. Or never really allowed myself to dwell on the possible realization.

Loneliness poured through it—quiet, powerful, and raw. For just a moment, I was back there, standing in the emptiness of a life built around waiting. A life spent convincing myself that formal updates and structured conversations were enough.

I lifted my head, pulling myself from the undertow of my thoughts.

Reality rushed back in.

Ryoji stood nearby, eyes fixed calmly on Hiroto’s monitor, giving a slow nod. Hiro was frowning deeply at the screen, fingers dancing quickly across the keyboard.

“Mayumi answered from Tokyo, like always,” Hiro said, voice unusually grave. “Then the call got redirected to—somewhere. Somewhere impossible to trace.”

His fingers paused, face twisting slightly in disbelief. “It happens rarely. So rarely that we’d need an hour or more on the line to untangle it. This kind of redirection labyrinth usually leads somewhere like the Ministry of Defense in Moscow or the Pentagon—” He shook his head, half-joking, half-serious. “Or, hell, maybe it bounced off a satellite?”

I shivered slightly, staring blankly at the monitor. My father’s gentle voice still lingered at the edges of my thoughts, suddenly feeling distant, unreal, almost imaginary.

Then, Ryoji’s hand settled softly onto my shoulder.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the weight of his touch ground me, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, careful, almost quiet.

“Take your time, Natsumi,” he said softly. “Think about the call. About what he said. The rest can wait.”

I turned toward them, my voice breaking the quiet.

“But… what does that even mean? That it’s untraceable?”

I hated how worried I sounded—but the pressure in my chest was growing fast, wild.

Ryoji didn’t blink. His eyes remained on the monitor, his tone dry, steady.

“It means just that. It’s untraceable.”

He didn’t soften it.

“No origin point. No timestamp alignment. Too many layered proxies, some off-grid. Could be satellite bounce, could be cold war tech, could be a moving relay node in the middle of the Sea of Okhotsk. All it means is—it wasn’t Wakkanai.”

My mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Not Wakkanai.

Not the weather station.

Not where my father said he was.

I felt my throat tighten.

“But then—why? Where is he?”

Ryoji looked at me at last. His voice was gentler this time, but still guarded.

“There are too many plausible explanations. Speculation doesn’t help. If we chase ghosts, we’ll miss what’s real.”

I stared at him, uncertain, eyes flickering between his unreadable expression and the monitor’s meaningless data blur.

“I…”

My thoughts were spinning. The conversation with my father had felt real. Comforting. Honest. But now?

Now the ground was shifting beneath me again.

I felt my breath catch.

Ryoji stepped closer, voice lower now.

“Take your time, Natsumi.”

A pause. Then, with something softer behind the words—

“I’ll be waiting.”