Let Her Go

At another intersection, Chiba got out to buy several newspapers and magazines printed with Hesta's portrait, then returned to the car and handed them to her.

Hesta flipped through them page by page—in the articles, there appeared a "Jane Hesta" who felt utterly unfamiliar to her.

This girl not only shared her name and had entered the abbey at the same time, but was also gentle, devout, and born with a Madonna-like heart.

The articles were crammed with details, painting life at the abbey in vivid, lifelike terms. The reporters had presumably interviewed the surviving children from Saint Anne Abbey. Yet everything related to Hesta had been extensively mixed up—for instance, Flosang had found a squirrel with a bloody hole in its body on the day of the incident, but the article claimed Hesta had been the first to discover it. Not only that, the ever-gentle and self-effacing Hesta had supposedly organized the other children to pray for the dead animal while the sisters were absent.

Hesta did not understand. "Why are they writing nonsense?"

Just then, Chiba's car passed Civic Square. A sudden clamor in the distance made Hesta turn to look.

Before a towering monument stood countless people, waving flags or holding homemade cardboard signs. As the angle shifted, Hesta saw many of them carrying her portrait or photograph—the very image featured on countless magazine covers that day.

Across the fluttering flags and signs, people had painted bold words in red or black: LET HER GO!

Beneath the monument, someone was giving an impassioned speech. But they were too far away for Hesta to make out the words. Not far from the crowd, many police officers stood silently with their arms folded, watching the demonstrators.

Perhaps because the speech was nearing its end, the person standing above suddenly raised their arms and shouted. The crowd in the square instantly erupted in thunderous waves of sound: "Let her go—" "Let her go—" "Let her—go!!!"

Hesta looked at Chiba. "What are they doing?"

"They're demanding that the United Government step in and negotiate with AHgAs."

"Negotiate... what?"

"They want AHgAs to spare you, to let you return to the Habitable Zone and live like an ordinary person, so you won't become a weapon against Chelated Beings in the future." As Chiba answered, she straightened up to check the road ahead. Seeing what looked like a traffic jam in the distance, she began looking for a chance to turn around.

Hesta asked, "Why would they do that?"

"Who do you mean by 'they'?"

"...The people in the square." Hesta spoke softly. "I don't know a single one of them."

"Ha," Chiba replied meaningfully. "Of course it's because 'someone' wants 'them' to do it."

Hesta thought for a moment. "The United Government?"

"Mm-hm." Chiba gave a small affirmative sound. "Although AHgAs is a fully autonomous independent organization, a considerable portion of our funding still comes from regional United Government appropriations and private donations... A region's public image directly affects our budget for the following year. Whoever makes good use of that can put pressure on us."

Through the car window, Hesta looked back at the crowd in the square again. The distant masses kept bursting into fiercer shouts. As Chiba continued to accelerate, those voices grew quieter and quieter, and the roads on either side briefly fell silent.

Once they entered the old town, the city became lively again.

Hesta saw one tavern after another, bakeries, small supermarkets, and shop windows displaying new clothes. Brown or dark-blue tables and chairs stood in the open spaces along the street. Beneath enormous parasols, people sat around chatting, with all kinds of drinks and snacks on their tables, breaking into laughter from time to time.

Restricted by the strict speed limit in the old town, Chiba drove very slowly, giving Hesta more chances to observe the beautiful district. Unlike the fairy-tale-bright row houses she had seen earlier, the buildings here were more solemn, with more understated tones.

Bronze statues stood everywhere along the streets and alleys. Their names and dates of birth and death were engraved on their bronzed pedestals. Weathered by rain and wind, the statues' surfaces were mottled, carrying a dark, cold beauty shaped by time.

Chiba stopped in front of a bakery and unfastened her seat belt. "Come on. Let's get something to eat first."

"I already ate at the base this morning—"

"I haven't." Chiba was already getting out of the car. "The food at the base tastes like hell."

Hesta followed Chiba out and looked up. Carved into the wooden sign overhead were the words "White Ship." Beside them was a string of characters Hesta did not recognize—presumably the shop's name in another language.

The moment she pushed open the door, Hesta smelled the sweet fragrance of butter. It was so rich, mingled with the aroma of coffee, that for a moment she felt as though she had entered heaven.

She silently followed behind Chiba, looking at the dazzling array of bread and cakes in the glass display case. Under the pale-yellow light strips, the hardened cream and icing looked especially enticing. Unable to resist, she lifted her sunglasses slightly and leaned closer for a better look, until her breath fogged the glass.

After ordering three croissants and a coffee, Chiba turned back. "What do you want?"

Hesta froze at first, then became a little flustered. With her finger raised, she hesitated for a long time before finally pointing to a small cake on the top shelf topped with both strawberries and raspberries. "Th... that one."

Chiba turned back to the cashier. "One strawberry fruit tart, plus two canelés."

They soon sat down by the wall inside the shop. One side was a stone wall, while the other faced the street. Set into the street-facing wall was a huge pane of stained frosted glass, through which every passerby became a shifting, indistinct silhouette.

Before long, Hesta's fruit tart and Chiba's coffee arrived first.

"Eat. You don't need to wait for me," Chiba said.

Holding her breath, Hesta picked up the knife and fork beside her. She cut twice from the center of the cake, carving out a small triangular piece of roughly sixty degrees.

"Who taught you how to use a knife and fork?"

Hesta paused. "Sister Gurdin at Saint Anne Abbey."

"Not bad." Chiba propped her cheek on one hand as she watched Hesta eat. "I've been here for over five years, and I still can't get used to using a knife and fork."

As she spoke, a server came over carrying a large white round plate with Chiba's three croissants on it. Chiba pulled a napkin from the wooden holder beside her, used it as a pad, and picked up the bread directly.

Neither of them spoke again.

It began to rain outside, droplets pattering softly against the colored glass wall beside Hesta's hand.

The wind chime at the bakery entrance rang. A mother and daughter pushed open the door, and after lingering briefly at the counter, they quickly took seats nearby as well.

Holding her daughter's hand, the mother carefully set a pitch-black instrument case on the chair beside them.