Volume 2 Chapter 2

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 0


Tomo-chan resided in a students-only apartment complex


near Nishiôji Maruta-machi. Just looking at that steelreinforced,


concrete exterior, I could imagine the difference in


rent from my own place. Five times as much, or even ten


if you got swindled.


Mikoko-chan must have been there before, because she


entered the main lobby with an air of confidence. She pushed


the room number on the intercom and pressed the call button.


“Yellooo! It’s Mikoko-cakes.”


“Yo-yo. C’mon up.”


As the somewhat drowsy voice emerged from the intercom,


the firmly locked glass door slid open. An autolock security


system. Actually, maybe that’s too extravagant a term.


Whether that lock was there or not made little difference to


anyone trying to break in.


“Come on, hurry. Hurry hurry hurry hurry.” Mikoko-chan


passed through the door and beckoned for me to hurry along.


“Sixth floor, sixth floor! We gotta hurry!”


“It’s not like the sixth floor is going to get away.”


“Yeah, but it won’t come down to greet us either.”


“That’s true . . .”


I followed along as told.


“The sixth floor is the very top one. Tomo-chan lives in the


corner apartment, and there’s a pretty nice view, as views go.”


“Mm, nice view, eh?”


That was one thing I never hoped to see where I was living.


If you opened the window in my place, you got trees.


We called down the elevator and got in.


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“I wonder if Akiharu-kun’s here yet. Muimi-chan is pretty


much a given, but . . .”


Mikoko-chan was incredibly excited. Seeing her carefree


expression, even I couldn’t help but think about how nice it


must be to have friends. Whether or not it worked for me, it


must’ve been very nice for her.


We got off at the sixth floor. Mikoko-chan raced down the


hallway and stopped in front of the very last door. “Over here,


over here!” she shouted and beckoned. It made me want to ask


if she was just completely oblivious to the looks people gave


her.


She pushed in the doorbell. Ding-dong. The door opened,


and a girl revealed herself.


“Welcome,” the girl—most likely Tomo-chan—said drowsily,


a cigarette hanging from her lips. She was entirely different


than I had expected.


“So, Mikoko. On time for a change, eh?” She wore her long


brown hair in a sauvage—with her hangs long and the rest cut


at wildly varying lengths—and her fashion sense was impeccable:


Her light jacket and jeans combo was very stylish. She


was probably a little taller than me, and was so sickly thin that


if she said she had only one day to live, I probably would have


believed her. It was the perfect match for her slightly crooked


smile.


“Howdy, Muimi-chan!” Mikoko-chan greeted. “Haro haro!”


It seemed this wasn’t Tomo-chan after all, but Muimichan.


“Oops,” she said, finally noticing my presence. Without


a hint of shyness, she gave me a hard study from top to bottom.


“Maybe this is our first time talking, ‘Ikkun,’ “ she said


with a smirk.


“Yeah,” I said apathetically. “Hey.”


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It seemed my apathy had struck a chord with her. She let


out an exaggerated laugh. It was boisterous, and not very


feminine.


“Well how ‘bout that. You are an interesting guy. I think


we’ll get along.”


“Really.” It was more of a sigh than a response. Not the


kind of thing that warranted such judgment. It was just about


as enthusiastic as my greeting had been. “I don’t think so.”


“Heh, well, we don’t have to get into all that. Just come in.


Stupid Akiharu isn’t here yet. We just called and he was still


at home.”


“Oh my God, he’ll never change. Last time he claimed he


got confused by the time zone difference. That lousy tardyman.”


Mikoko sure was throwing stones at the proverbial glass


house. It was almost impressive. But I wasn’t in the mood to


start teasing her about it, so I stayed silent as I removed my


shoes.


At the end of the short hallway between the kitchen and


bathroom was a single door. It seemed this was one of those


sectioned-off one-rooms. Muimi-chan went ahead of us and


opened the door. The room inside was about eight or nine


mats in size, but the floors were hardwood. By the window


was a bed, and in the middle of the room, a mini-table covered


with cake, snacks, and a row of empty glasses. So this was


more of a drinks thing than a dinner-thing affair after all.


A girl was sitting daintily beside the table. This time it had


to be Tomo-chan. She was even more petite then Mikokochan,


and dressed in a strawberry-patterned one-piece. Her


hair was in pigtails. She gave me a little wave.


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She was just as shy as I’d imagined. And yet something


about her made me think she probably had a bad habit or two.


It was like there was more than meets the eye—as if her simplistic


form prevented you from being able to see through her.


Thinking about it made me feel as though someone had asked


me for the sum of all integers.


“No, wait.”


That’s all nonsense. Everyone feels that way when they


meet someone for the first time. It wasn’t technically my first


meeting with Tomo-chan, but I didn’t really know her, so it


was only natural that I had this impression.


Hmm. Come to think of it, it did seem as though we had


crossed paths a few times in our general education seminar. I


joined her at the table so that I was facing her, and tossed out


a simple greeting. “Yo.” She looked at me a little crookedly,


then gave me a politely deep bow.


“Thanks for going to all this trouble. Sorry to ask such a big


favor.” Her voice was pretty and calm, with a watery quality.


“I’ve always wanted to have a chat with you, so I hope you


have a good time today.”


I was a little moved by her good manners. It was something


I hadn’t seen much lately (especially in the last day or


two).


“Ahahaha, quick to break the ice, eh?” Mikoko-chan said as


she sat down next to me on her knees. Muimi-chan, in turn,


sat down next to her. This allowed enough room for Akiharukun


to eventually come sit between me and Tomo-chan.


“Ahhh.” Muimi-chan put out her cigarette with her own


finger, then deposited it in an ashtray. “So what are we doing?


We’ve got a brand-new guest here. Should we go ahead and


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start? It seems stupid to sit around wasting time just because


of that asshead.”


“Hey, we can’t do that,” Mikoko-chan interjected. “For


something like this we have to all be together! Right, Tomochan?”


“Yup, Mikoko’s right.” Tomo-chan nodded. “You know


he’ll be here soon, so don’t be so impatient. Right?”


“I don’t really care, but...” Muimi-chan gestured towards


me. “What about Ikkun here?”


“I don’t mind. I’m used to waiting.” To be sure, that didn’t


mean I was used to people making me wait. But it would have


been too much of a hassle to start an argument about it, so I


just fed her an easy line.


Muimi shot me an inquisitive look, but “Well, whatever


then,” was all she said. She pulled out a fresh cigarette, then


shot me another look. “Are you an antitobacco kind of guy?”


she asked.


“I don’t smoke myself, but you can smoke all you like.”


“Ah. No, I’m good.” She broke in half the cigarette she


hadn’t even lit yet and deposited it in the ashtray. “I make it a


point not to smoke around nonsmokers.”


“Huh.”


Did that mean Mikoko-chan and Tomo-chan were both


smokers? The fact that she had asked only me seemed to indicate


such. Huh. I was a little surprised.


“Hey! Muimi-chan, you’ll make me sound like a smoker if


you put it like that!” Mikoko-chan objected once again. She


was giving us the puppy-dog eyes. For some reason she


seemed vehemently opposed to me finding out she was a


smoker.


“But you do smoke.”


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“No I don’t! I was just going with the flow that one time!”


“Ah, right. Gotcha. My fault, my fault.” Muimi-chan gave


her a friendly pat as she threw her little tantrum. Meanwhile,


Tomo-chan watched on in delight.


Huh. It didn’t take long to notice the dynamic here. It was


the good girl, the bad girl, and the regular girl. This made me


Wonder what Akiharu’s role was. He finally showed up at


6:30, half an hour late.


“Sorry, sorry. I thought I’d be here on time, but the train


was crowded and stuff,” he said with good humor.


“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Tomo-chan said as she greeted


him with a smile. The good girl.


“The train doesn’t arrive any later just because it’s crowded!


And you live in a boarding house, so you don’t even take


the train anyway!” Mikoko-chan, the regular girl. She had the


nerve to question his lame excuses.


“You think you can get off with a simple apology? You


gotta chug three beers,” Muimi-chan said, passing a beer bottle


over to him. The bad girl.


“Okay, okay. Don’t rush me so much, Atemiya. This is a


birthday, a birthday. Not a mayday. Goddamn I’m a clever


bastard. What the . . . ?” It seemed he had noticed my presence.


He gave a problem-child sneer. “Heh heh, so you really


brought him, Aoii,” he said.


He sat down next to me and said, “Well, good to meet


you,” with a slight bow.


I did likewise.


He had an easy-breezy air about him, with light brown hair


and a taste for street fashion. Maybe it wasn’t uncommon for a


university student to dress like that, but at Rokumeikan in


particular, it was kind of unusual. Judging from his build, it


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 6


looked like he was involved in some kind of sport, but I


couldn’t tell which one.


“Umm, what do I . . . wha? Are we all supposed to just call


you Ikkun then?”


“I don’t mind.”


“Really, really? Gotcha. You’re a good guy. Don’t you


think so, Aoii?”


He shot Mikoko-chan a meaningful look. She shot back a


flustered one. “Oh, uh, yeah.” Judging from her response, it


didn’t seem like she thought I was a very good guy at all. Of


course, considering how much I made fun of her, that was


probably only natural.


“Well, shall we start?” Muimi-chan said. She seemed to be


the leader of the four. She pointed at me. “Umm, you don’t


drink, right?” she said.


I nodded.


“Oh? What’s this now, Ikkun? You can’t go around being


finicky all the time, you know. Alcohol is a vital component in


man-to-man interactions after all, right? I mean, am I right or


am I right?”


“Akiharu! What did I tell you about pushing your bullshit


opinions on others?! I’ll fucking kill you!” Muimi-chan gave


him the look of death. Her cool, almost dazed demeanor from


a moment ago had sharpened into a knife of fury. “Did you


already forget what I told you last time? Huh?”


Akiharu quivered and tensed with fear. “Uh . . .”


“I’m not lookin’ for an ’uhhh.’ ”


“Sorry.”


“Not lookin’ for a ‘sorry’ either. Why the hell are you


apologizing to me? Huh?”


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Akiharu-kun’s mouth opened and closed like he was a


suffocating fish. Then he looked over at me. “Please forgive


me,” he apologized.


“Okay, then,” Muimi-chan said with a look of satisfaction.


“Sorry there, Ikkun. He didn’t mean anything by it. Forgive


the guy, will ya?” She had completely returned to her origi-nal


self and smiled back at me. “Did he piss you off?”


“Uh, I don’t really care.”


Atemiya Muimi. She was definitely an ex-delinquent. No,


not even an “ex.” I thought that brown sauvage seemed a little


out of date.


Maybe I should call her Boss.


Meanwhile, Mikoko-chan poured some low-malt beer into


each glass and lined them up in front of everyone. She also


placed a single glass of oolong tea in front of me.


“So who’s going to lead the proceedings? Shall it be Tomochan,


our queen for a day?”


“Yeah, I believe it shall,” Muimi-chan said. “Tomo, let’s


have it.”


Tomo-chan raised her glass a bit reluctantly. “Okay then.


To my twentieth birthday and our new friend.”


Cheers.


I lightly tipped my glass.


“So the thing about friends is that they’re like, eh, you know,


like . . . y’know,” Zerozaki said with a cynical smile. The tattoo


scrawled across the right side of his face wrinkled unpleasantly.


“What do you think?”


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“You’re actually asking me? I thought this was going to be


some kind of spiel.”


“Hah, don’t expect me to do everything. They say if you


want to figure out your own opinion, you gotta ask others


theirs, right? So let’s hear it. What do you think? What is a


friend?”


“It’s not such a hard question. It's just someone you hang


out with, have meals with, joke around about stupid things


with. Someone who brings you peace. That kind of thing,


right?” he said.


“You got it. Exactamundo. If you look at it that way,


friends are such a simple thing, man, like pie. You hang out,


you eat together, act stupid and feel peaceful together, and


that makes you friends. If you come to each other’s rescue,


you’re close friends. If you smooch each other sometimes,


you're lovers. Oh, what a treasure of life friendship is!” he said


with a sneer.


“So the question here is, how long do these friendships


last? A year? Five years? Ten years? Forever? Until tomorrow?”


“Is your point that even friendships come to an end?”


“My point is that all things come to an end.”


“Well, sure. But without endings, there could be no beginnings.


That’s the vital subtext. If you’re looking to gain something,


you’ve got to be prepared to sacrifice one-third of it. If


you want a payoff, you've got to take a risk. If you can’t do


that, you’re better off just living with what you’ve got.”


“Gahaha. I guess you must be that type.”


I had no need for things I would just lose in time. If it was


just going to end anyway, it didn’t have to begin. I had no


need for pleasure if it came accompanied by pain.


“Why? Are you any different?” I said.


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If it meant never being sad, I didn’t have to be happy.


If it meant never fading, I didn’t have to succeed.


Evolution loaded with risk was a waste of time.


“Eh, but in reality, that's all true whether you’re after


something or not,” I said.


“No doubt.”


Zerozaki laughed. I didn’t.


Be that as it may.


Three hours had passed since the party began. I won’t get


into what happened during those three hours. Nobody particularly


wants others to see what they’re like when they’re


drunk, and they certainly don’t want to have the details relayed


from person to person.


No matter how people feel while they’re drinking, it’s inevitable


afterward that good old shame comes to pay them a


visit. It's difficult to determine which is real: the person you


are under the influence of alcohol, or the person you are when


you’re sober. But one thing's for sure: A wild night spent in


good fun isn’t something you want to try to recount later on.


It’s one of those “unpaintable scenes” like Urashima Tarô


talked about.


Still, if I were to dare to share a little vignette of the


evening’s festivities just for kicks, it would go something like


this:


“So whaddaya call a rock made of oxygen and nitrogen?”


“Quartz! Gaaahahahaha!”


“That’s like a two-hundred shot barrage from a watercooled


heavy machine gun, only it’s an assassin squad!”


“Shit, that aside, it’s hot today. Why is it so hot in the middle


of May? Is it global warming? Is it the greenhouse effect?”


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“What?! Listen here, chump, if you want to complain


about the summer heat, you answer to me! Bring it!”


“Are you the one they caught in Catcher in the Rye?!”


“It's a tropical night, that's what it is.”


“Then I guess that makes me a tropical fish!”


And so three hours passed.


At present, Mikoko-chan, Akiharu-kun, and Tomo-chan


were playing PS2. It looked like a racing game. Realistically


depicted four-wheeled machines sped around the narrow onscreen


circuit.


Huh. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it tantalizing, but there


was something rather pleasant about watching them all so


fully immersed in their fun. It looked like they were willing to


share some of that happiness with me, and somehow that


made me surprisingly lonely.


“Well, I guess even this is—”


Someone slapped me on the shoulder. It was Muimi-chan.


Apparently a heavy drinker, she didn’t seem any different


from when she was sober, even from a bystander’s point of


view.


She didn’t call herself Boss for nothing. Not that she called


herself Boss at all.


“Wanna go outside for a bit?” she said, pointing toward the


entrance. “Let’s go to the convenience store.”


“What about Mikoko-chan and the others?”


“We can just let ’em be. They don’t know what’s going on


right now anyway.”


She was right about that. I nodded and left the room with


her. We got back into the elevator, traveled down to the first


floor, and exited the building.


“Is the convenience store close by?”


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“Eh, it’s a bit of a walk. But c’mon, let's walk a little bit.


It’ll help me sober up.”


“You don’t really seem drunk though.”


“Maybe not on the surface, but I’m pretty far gone. It feels


like my brain’s flipped upside down so my cerebrum and cerebellum


are switched. Right now I wanna kick the crap outta


that sign.”


“Just don’t kick the crap out of me.”


“I’ll try,” she said with a little laugh. She shook her head


and looked up toward the sky.


“Doesn’t really feel like a birthday party,” I said. “I wonder


if this is really enough to make Tomo-chan happy. She’s still


drunk now, but I wonder if she’ll get depressed about it later.”


“Yeah, I wonder . . . But it’s still better than being depresssed


from the very beginning. Yeah. It’s all good. You


don’t need a good reason to get wild. Ahh . . . I’m groggy.”


“You look pretty exhausted, Muimi-chan.”


“Well, that’s what I get for hanging out with those guys.”


My sentiments exactly. Mikoko-chan was spunky enough


to begin with, but when she was inebriated she was four times


as bad. Then there was Akiharu-kun, and even Tomo-chan


was getting pretty rowdy.


“Man, if you think about it, I guess being able to hold your


liquor so well puts you at kind of a disadvantage. It must be


hard to follow along with the mood.”


“Exactly. I mean, it’s still fun, so it’s no big deal.”


“You think it’s okay to leave those three drunks in a room


unattended?”


“They’re not kids. They’ll be fine. Actually, it's probably


more dangerous to be walking around outside in the middle of


the night,” she said.


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A good point. We were in the midst of the Kyoto Slasher


serial murders. So that was why she bothered taking me along


with her. I may look scrawny and unreliable, but I’m still a


guy, in a manner of speaking.


“What a messed-up world, huh? What could be enjoyable


about chopping up a human being?”


“Well, different strokes, I guess.” I tried to brush off the


topic. If I was thrust into a conversation about it, there was a


chance I would let my tongue slip. It wasn’t that Zerozaki had


told me to keep my mouth shut, but it sure wasn’t the kind of


thing I wanted everyone and their mother to know about.


“I can’t understand it at all,” she said. “I mean, I’ve been


around for twenty years now. Even I’ve thought to myself


before, ‘I oughta kill that bastard.’ Actually, it happens a lot.


Even nowadays. Like, ‘this person would be better off dead.


Killing him would serve the greater good.’ ”


“. . . .”


“But what's up with these random killings? I can’t understand


the idea of finding pleasure in the act of killing itself.”


“In general, they say serial killers who choose their targets


at random are fueled by resentment. So it’s just like when you


say to yourself, ‘I oughta kill that bastard,’ ” I said.


“Really? But then the killings aren’t random.”


“It’s a little different, though. In this killer’s case, he resents


the victims simply because they happened to walk by. He resents


the world as a whole. He hates the world that surrounds


him, a world that, for him, is as vague and nebulous as the air.


And so his killings appear to be random.”


“Hmm . . .” She nodded, but to be honest, I was only speculating.


I had no idea why he was committing acts of murder.


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We had only talked about stupid, irrelevant things the previous


night, and never touched upon the topic of his motives.


We were probably saving the best for last, childish as that


may sound.


“It’s just nonsense, though,” I said.


Muimi-chan scratched her head at me.


While we were talking, we eventually reached the convenience


store. She entered ahead of me and quickly made her


way to the liquor section.


“You're buying more alcohol?”


“Nah, there’s already plenty of that. Let’s get some Pocari.


Gotta sober those guys up or they won’t be able to get home.”


“Ah, gotcha.”


We put three two-liter bottles of Pocari sports drinks in a


basket, picked out two or three types of snacks, and proceeded


to settle up at the register. Maybe I should’ve expected this,


but I ended up carrying everything.


As we left the store, Muimi-chan pulled a cigarette from


her pocket, stuck it in her mouth, and lit it with a coollooking


Zippo, all in one fluid motion.


“Ah!” she said and immediately went to extinguish it with


her finger.


“I don’t care if you smoke one. We’re outside, anyway.”


“Really?”


“Well, I guess it’s rude to smoke and walk at the same


time, but since it’s night and nobody’s around, it’s probably


fine as long as you don’t litter ashes everywhere.” And, indeed,


there was no one around who'd object to her blowing smoke


everywhere as she walked.


“Well . . . nah, it’s okay. I’ll stick to my decision.” She went


ahead and snuffed it with her finger. Then she curled up the


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cigarette butt and put it in her pocket. It seemed she wasn’t


the littering type. I was a little impressed: For a college student,


she had above-average morals.


“If you don’t mind my asking, isn’t that hot?” I said.


“Not really. I’m used to it,” she said with a slightly bashful


smile. “There was this Mafia boss bad guy in a movie I used to


like, and he did the same thing with cigars. With the palm of


his hand, like this. It was cool, so I started imitating it.”


“Huh.”


“Looking back, I just thought the actor was hot, but it’s a


habit now. Anyway, that aside . . . Ikkun, let’s talk seriously for


a minute.” Her expression immediately grew serious, changing


as abruptly as a circuit switch. I couldn’t help but be a little


surprised. “It's pretty tough keeping up with Mikoko's hyperness,


huh?”


“Not particularly.’’


“Huh,” she said. Her expression grew all the more serious.


She hesitated for a moment. “What do you think of her?” she


asked me.


“What do I think?”


Judging from her expression, she wasn’t looking for some


halfhearted bullshit answer.


But I couldn’t figure out what that question was supposed


to mean. I didn’t really think much of anything about her.


“Well, I think she's got a little bit of red in her hair. She's


around five feet tall, and may or may not weigh as much as


one hundred ten. From the way she acts, I’d guess she’s a type


B, and her astrological sign is probably one of the beasts. She's


got a kind of koala-ish feel in general.”


“Did you really think I was looking for a half-assed answer


like that?” she asked.


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Whoops. Delinquent mode. Why oh why do I so love stepping


on land mines, I wondered. I broke eye contact with her.


“I dunno. I mean, she’s a nice girl, I guess. Sure she’s a little


overly hyper, which can be exhausting, but I know a girl


who’s even worse than her, so it doesn’t particularly bother


me.”


“Huh. How neutral of you.”


“Well, I don’t like making waves.”


“Is that a fact?”


She paused for a moment, then gave me a sort of sidelong


glance.


“You’re kind of a slimeball, aren’t you, Ikkun?” she said.


“I’m self-aware.”


“Self-aware, huh? I wonder. I wouldn’t know. Anyway, let


me give you a word of advice.” She took a step ahead and


turned to face me directly. I had no choice but to stop. The


apartment building was still about a hundred feet away. Surely


the others were still inside racing. Muimi-chan ran her fingers


through her sauvage hair and shot me a direct glare.


“Mikoko and I have been friends since we were just little


brats.”


“Huh.”


“If you hurt her, I’ll never forgive you.”


I scratched my head a bit. Why was she telling me this?


Could it be that she was mad because of all the times I had


teased Mikoko-chan up to now? It didn’t seem like the kind of


thing to take so seriously, but Muimi-chan sure didn’t seem to


be joking, so I answered with a shrug.


“It’s okay. Despite how it seems, I’m actually nice to my


friends.”


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She blinked her narrowed eyes at me. “Hahahahaha!” she


laughed. A moment later, she spun back around. “I stand corrected.”


She recommenced walking. “You're just clueless.”


It felt like a terrible insult, but at the same time, it was


probably the most accurate description anyone had ever applied


to me in all my nineteen years, so it was hard to get mad.


We returned to the room to find that the others were indeed


still racing. Surprisingly, Tomo-chan was apparently the


most skilled. Mikoko-chan was a lap behind.


“Yo! Guzzle down this Pocari, you goons! You drunken


bitches!”


For some reason Muimi-chan had suddenly gone berserk,


smacking the “drunken bitches” in the heads with Pocari.


Being hit in the head with a full plastic bottle should have


been fairly painful, but they were so thoroughly numb with


drink they didn’t even seem to mind.


I don’t like noisiness. I hate boisterousness. Loud situations


irritate me.


But on occasion, like maybe once a year, maybe these


things are kind of nice. Or so I thought.


I was wrong.


It was past eleven p.m.


“Well, thanks for tonight,” Muimi-chan said as she rose to


her feet. “Akiharu, take me home.”


“Aw, why?” Akiharu whined. He shot her an aggravated


look; he was sprawled out in the comer of the room. “Just go


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yourself. I’m gonna rest a little before I go. Your place is far.


My place is in the opposite direction.”


“Are you a man? Don’t tell me you’re not even worth a


ride home.”


“Tch . . . fine.”


He stood up, still looking aggrieved, as if he knew there


was no point in objecting. His eyes shifted over to Tomo-chan.


“Well, here's your birthday present,” he said, pulling a package


out of his bag.


“Ah . . . Muimi-chan said. “That’s right, you give presents


on birthdays . . .”


“Hm? What’s that you say? What? Come again, Atemiyasan?”


Akiharu-kun said with the glee of someone who had just


defeated an ogre. “Don’t tell me that you forgot to get your


dear friend a birthday present! Oh my goodness, I cannot


believe it! Is this a joke?! Ohh, what to do, what to do?! For


the love of God, tell me, what to do?! Huh? Huh?”


“Cram it, oaf. Isn’t my smile enough?” Muimi-chan said


sulkily and headed toward the entrance.


“Hey, wait up! Don’t get mad so easily! What are you, a


kid?! Ahh, here we go. See ya at school, Emoto! Adieu! Let’s


hang out again soon, Ikkun!” Akiharu-kun gave a light wave


and chased after Muimi-chan.


“Bye-bye. See ya again,” Tomo-chan said as she waved


sluggishly back. As soon as the two had left, her hands went


for the present. She undid the ribbon and neatly opened the


wrapping paper.


“I wonder what it is. Ikkun, what do you think it is?” It


seemed the alcohol was mostly out of her system. Her cheeks


still had a bit of red in them and her voice was a little shrill,


but her personality seemed to have returned to its default


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 8


setting. “I’m a little excited. This kind of thing always makes


me giddy.”


“Well, it’s probably not yatsuhashi, at any rate,” I said. Incidentally,


the yatsuhashi I had brought had already been


evenly divided among the stomachs of all five party members.


“Judging from the size, it's probably an accessory or something.”


“Yeah, maybe. Oh, it’s a neckstrap. Pretty cool, huh?”


It was a capsule-style neckstrap with a liquid center. It


didn’t really look like a girly item, but as Tomo-chan had said,


it was pretty cool.


“Heheheh, it’s just what I was hoping for,” she said gleefully


as she immediately tried it on. “How does it look,


Ikkun?”


“It’s a good match,” I said, but I didn’t really know.


My eyes made their way from the gushing Tomo-chan over


to Mikoko-chan, who was snoozing in the comer. She looked


so peaceful that I couldn’t bear to wake her. Perhaps she was


planning to just spend the night at Tomo-chan's place.


“Hey, Ikkun,” Tomo-chan said, suddenly straightening herself


out. “I want to say thanks again for coming all the way out


here today.”


“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing you have to thank me


for.”


“But you don’t like doing this kind of thing, right?”


Her question was a little awkward, but it also came out as


if it was something totally normal to her. She delicately raised


her face to view my expression.


It was like . . .


She was looking through me.


Like she was looking at my brain from the inside.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 9


“Uh, no, I . . .”


“You don’t like opening up to other people, right?”


“It's all right. I don’t hate it. I actually kind of like goofing


around with everyone like chums.”


“That’s a lie.”


“It’s the truth.”


“It’s a lie.”


“Yes, it is.”


She snickered at me. But her eyes weren’t smiling. They


actually looked rather sad and lonely. The strange combination


of expressions had me puzzled.


What was wrong? What reason could she have for looking


so sad when she had spent her birthday surrounded by


friends?


There shouldn’t have been anything wrong.


Supposing there was . . .


“Mikoko-chan . . .” she said, casting a glance over at the


slumbering Mikoko-chan. “She’s really a great girl.”


“Yeah,” I responded. I was being unusually direct—by my


standards, anyway. “I bet she is.”


“I wanted to be like her.”


“Mm-hmm.”


“But I couldn’t.”


“Uh-huh.”


She cast her eyes downward.


“And now here I am, twenty years old, still unable to be


like her. I’m sure it’ll go on like that. No matter how many


years pass, no matter how many decades. I’ll never be like her,


until the day I die.”


“What’s wrong with that? Everyone’s different.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 0


“Say, Ikkun,” she said, looking up again. “Have you ever


felt like, as a human, you’re damaged goods?”


I had no idea how to respond.


“I have.” She was smiling. It was the saddest smile I had


ever seen.


“Everybody does . . .” The words just came out. Whether


they were really from the heart, I didn’t know. They were just


words of comfort. I was probably just saying words I didn’t


really mean so as to not have to see Tomo-chan look so sad.


What a slimeball.


How comical.


How terribly unseemly.


“Everyone feels like that sometimes, I suppose. Nobody’s


perfect, after all. We’ve all got our strong points and our weak


points. That’s what makes us human.”


“Yeah, I know. Even I know that, but you probably understand


that that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about


something more finite, I guess, or more lethal, like a fatal


wound, I guess.”


Boom.


The words shook me.


“It’s kind of like that.”


“. . . .” So this was the real reason I couldn’t read Emoto


Tomoe very well. Perhaps this was really it.


In other words, a long time ago . . .


“There’s another me right here,” she said, pointing over her


own right shoulder. “When I get all rowdy and have fun with


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 1


Muimi-chan and Akiharu-kun and Mikoko-chan and you like


this, that part of me is just watching on, sighing. It’s looking


down on me with cold disdain as I have my fun, saying ‘What


you’re doing won’t amount to anything.’ ”


“Sighing,” she said. “I know I’ll probably never be like


Mikoko-chan until the day I die, but maybe I’ll be able to


once I really do die. If I’m reincarnated, I want to come back


as Mikoko-chan. I want to be able to laugh with complete innocence


like her, to get mad when I want to be mad, to cry


like crazy when I’m sad. That’s what makes a great life.”


“I . . .” This time I was speaking from the heart. “I don’t


want to be reincarnated. I want to just hurry up and die.”


“I’ll bet,” she said with a gentle smile.


Mikoko-chan woke up around one hour later.


“Uhhh.” She shook the sleep out of her head. She still


looked pretty tired.


“So what’re you going to do?” I said. “I’m going home. Are


you going to stay the night?”


“No, I’ll go . . .” She rose to her feet in a daze. “It's okay,


I've sobered up. Give me ten more seconds.”


“Sure. I’ll take you home, then.” I was at least worth a ride


home, I wanted to emphasize, but she didn’t seem to get it.


She had been deeply immersed in sleep when Muimi-chan


left, so that made sense.


“Well, bye-bye, Tomo-chan.”


“Yep. See ya later.” She gave a little wave.


I took my bag and headed toward the entrance. I sat down


in the doorway and put on my shoes. They had messy laces, so


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 2


putting them on was always much more of a hassle than removing


them. Situations like these were an irritating waste of


time. Meanwhile, Mikoko-chan seemed to be having problems


with her own footwork, and a clumsy clopping noise could be


heard through the door separating us.


It probably wasn’t something to worry about. She appeared


in the hallway outside the entrance shortly after me.


“Ohh,” she moaned, rubbing her head. “My head hurts . . .


It’s spinning. It's like a murder at a convenience store, only the


murderer is wearing Rollerblades.”


“I have no idea what you’re saying. Are you sure you don’t


want to stay here for the night? There’s no need to overexert


yourself.”


“It’s okay, I can go.”


She hobbled down the hall on unsteady feet. I gave a shrug


and followed after her.


“So did you have fun?” she said once we were out of the


building.


“Eh, I guess. But I think I'll pass next time.”


“Don’t say that. Let’s do it again! With everyone! When’s


your birthday?”


“March.”


She looked defeated. “Mine’s in April. Ohh, I guess I


should’ve invited you sooner.”


“So where’s your place? I’ll take you back.”


“Near Horikawa. Horikawa Oike. But we’ve got to go to


your place first.”


“Why?”


“My scoot . . .”


Come to think of it, she had come as far as my place on


her bike.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 3


“Can you drive?”


“Sure . . .”


‘Okay then.” Obviously she was in no condition to drive,


but if she said she could drive, who was I to stop her? When


the time came, she could just call a taxi if she had to.


We took Nishiôji Street up to Nakadachiuri and broke east,


when for some reason, David Bowie music started playing


from somewhere. Thinking it was a nearby guerrilla concert, I


was a bit taken aback, but it turned out to be Mikoko-chan's


ringtone.


“Hm?” She pulled her phone out of her purse. “Hello? This


is Mikoko-chan, the spunky and energetic girl of Lake Ashi!


Hm? What? Tomo-chan?” It seemed it was a call from Tomochan.


“Yeah. Yeah . . . Yeah, he’s here with me right now.


He's walking right in front of me. Sure, I guess. Okay, I'll pass


it over.”


She passed me the phone. “It’s Tomo-chan. She wanted


me to give you the phone.”


“Me? Why?”


“. . . . ?”


I must have forgotten something at her place. I scratched


my head as I took the phone. It was more than a little smaller


than my own phone, so it felt kind of awkward.


“Hello?”


“. . . .”


“Hello?”


“Ikkun.”


A voice.


It was quivering, like she was afraid of something. It


could’ve been partially the phone’s fault, but something in her


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 4


voice was obviously different from when we had spoken moments


earlier at her place.


“Tomo-chan?”


“Yeah.”


“What’s wrong? Did I forget something? I’ve got my bag


here.”


“No, it’s not that. Um . . . I forgot to tell you something


earlier.”


Forget to tell me something?


“Yeah, what?”


“Never mind. See you.”


Click.


Suddenly the call was cut off. Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeep.


Beeeep. After four rings, I took the phone away from my ear. I


scratched my head, stared at it for another three seconds, then


handed it back to Mikoko-chan. “Thanks.”


“Sure,” she said, taking it. “So what’d she say?”


“Nothing. I don’t know what that was about.”


“Huh?”


She gave me a confused expression, but I was the one who


was confused. Tomo-chan wanted to tell me something? Why


would she start and then stop like that?


“What? I wonder what it was. Maybe it was a secret or


something. Did you guys have some kind of secret talk?”


“No, nothing like that, but . . . oh yeah, Mikoko-chan.” I


switched trains of thought. “Is there somebody right here?” I


said, drawing a circle with my finger over her right shoulder.


“Huh?”


She raised a dubious eyebrow at me. Naturally.


“I mean, do you get the feeling someone is right there,


looking down on you?” I asked.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 5


“I don’t think so, but . . . why?”


“Eh, if you don’t feel it then don’t worry about it.”


“If somebody was there, it'd be pretty scary,” she said as


she imagined it. “But as for in here,” she said, pointing to her


own heart, “there is somebody.”


Huh. I nodded. Judging from her bashful smirk, she must


have been talking about her boyfriend.


In about ten more minutes, we had arrived at my apartment.


In the apartment parking lot, there was only a single


bike, so it must have been hers.


“Whoa, it’s a Vespa.” And a white vintage model, no less.


This girl called her Vespa a “scooter”? A Vespa is a Vespa,


and only a Vespa. Calling it a scooter was, to me, an insult.


And not just your everyday insult—it was the ultimate insult,


which threatened to shake my very existence. Everyone has


one thing that they’d sacrifice their own life for, that they'd


trade the world for, and to me, this was that thing. I wanted


to shout at Mikoko-chan. I angrily turned to face her.


“. . . .”


She was sleeping.


“I’m speechless.”


She was sleeping standing up. She had been awfully quiet


for a while. Was it possible that she had been sleepwalking?


She probably had been. This was the power of the human race


pushed to its absolute limit. I gave her a few taps on the


cheek, but she refused to wake up. I had the urge to start


stretching her face, but it seemed that there would be no way


to explain my way out of it if somebody happened to see us,


so I restrained myself.


“I wonder if I could just leave her here . . .”


If not, there were only two options.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 6


“Hup,” I groaned as I lifted her onto my back. She stirred a


little bit on the way, but didn’t wake up. Likely because she


was so short, she was actually quite light. Or maybe all girls


were like this.


With her still on my back, I entered the apartment, then


made my way up the stairs to the second floor. I clomped my


way down the boarded hallway to the room next to my own.


I knocked lightly.


“Yeah, wait one moment,” an answer came from inside.


Miiko-san soon appeared before us. She was dressed in yet a


different set of Japanese summer casual wear, which was red


this time. I was pretty sure this was the outfit with the word


Treachery printed on the back.


“Yes?” she said, eyeing the girl on my back suspiciously.


“You’re still under legal age, right?” she said after a moment's


thought. “Well, of course I'll let you hide out here, but speaking


purely out of kindness, I suggest you just turn yourself in.


Japan has a pretty capable police force. Not likely that you’ll


be able to escape.”


“Oh, it’s nothing like that this time. Er, this girl’s a classmate.


Looks like she drank too much and passed out. Would


you be willing to let her spend the night?”


“Huh?” She put her hand to her chin and thought for a


moment. “Why don’t you just put her up yourself?”


“Eh, but I mean, as you can see, she's a girl. And it sounds


like she’s got a boyfriend, so I can’t just have her sleeping over


in my place, right?”


“Huh. Well, if that’s how it is, I guess I don’t mind. But


what is given today I will one day receive. To ignore thanks


where they’re due is a dastardly deed.”


“I gotcha. Want to go antiquing again?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 7


“Yes. Okay then. So what’s this girl’s name?”


“Mikoko-chan. Er, last name is Aoi, I think.”


“Aoi Mikoko? Heh, strange name,” Miiko-san said, taking


Mikoko-chan from me. Everyone should have a neighbor as


dependable as her.


“Well, I’ll be on my way then.”


“Mm. Get some sleep. You’d best not make yourself out to


be some afternoon-sleeping lollygagger.”


“Huh? I never sleep in the afternoon.”


“Is that so? Well, just forget that then. Good night.”


“Good night.”


I bowed and returned to my room, where I laid down my


futon and curled up on it.


“Time to sleep.”


And so the day ended. Saturday, May fourteenth. No, it


had already passed zero o'clock, so it was Sunday the fifteenth.


So at zero o'clock twenty-four hours later, it would be


the sixteenth. The next zero o’clock would be the seventeenth.


Zero o’clock.


Zerozaki.


Wondering if that human failure was currently killing his


seventh person or had perhaps already dismembered his


eighth, the damaged goods gradually fell into a slumber.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 9


No more.


I don’t want to think anymore.


When I awoke to a knocking at the door, it was already past


eight o’clock.


I brushed the hair out of my face with both hands and rose


to my feet.


“Uhhh.”


I opened the door to find Mikoko-chan. Her usual hyper


greeting had been replaced with a shy look of apologetic embarrassment.


“Did I wake you?” she said meekly.


“Eh. It was time to wake up anyway,” I answered as I


stretched out. “Morning, Mikoko-chan.”


“Good morning, Ikkun. Um . . . I’m sorry about yesterday.


I sort of, er . . . it looks like I fell asleep.”


“Eh, forget about it. Just be sure to thank Miiko-san.”


“Ah, right.” She nodded after a moment of ambiguous


hesitation.


“Isn’t she a good person?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 0


“Well, yeah, she is, huh? Kind of cool, I guess you could


say. So is she the ‘swordswoman freeloader’ you were talking


about?”


“Does she look like a thirteen-year-old little sister?”


“No, I guess not.” She awkwardly broke eye contact with


me and gave a brief pause. “I don’t know if it’s because she


practices sword fighting, but her clothes were kind of weird.


Sort of Japanesey, but like the kind of thing you’d wear to a


festival.”


“You mean her jinbei?”


“A djembe? What’s that?” Evidently Mikoko-chan had


never heard of it. “Oh, you mean like a jinbei shark?”


“Uhh, well, yeah. Have you ever seen the pattern on the


back of a jinbei shark? It’s just like they’re wearing that same


type of clothing. So we ended up naming that kind of Japanese


clothing jinbei, after the shark.”


“Ahh. You sure know a lot, Ikkun,” she said. “I’ll have to


teach that to Tomo-chan and the others.”


Yep. And if Tomo-chan and the others weren’t as cruel as


me, they would probably teach her the truth. Why did I tell


such meaningless lies? Perhaps it was time I gave that some


serious thought.


“So anyway,” Mikoko-chan said, changing the subject. “Are


you and that girl—Asano-san—are you two close?”


“She’s saved me from starvation a few times. But then I


saved her from being crushed under a pile of antiques, so


we’re even Steven. Those yatsuhashi you had yesterday were


from her too.”


“Huh,” she said with a complicated expression. “You know,


I don’t really like yatsuhashi.”


“Huh? Oh, you don’t say.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 1


“Too sweet.”


“Huh. Miiko-san likes sweet stuff.”


“Well, I don’t.”


For some reason she was getting a little serious. I scratched


my head at her, not sure where she was going with this.


“Well, that’s fine. So what are you going to do now?” I


said.


“Oh, er, I’ve got this,” she said, pulling a pink, wrapped


present from her purse. “It’s Tomo-chan’s birthday present.


Forgot to give it to her. Big mistake, huh? I should’ve given it


to her before we all got drunk. I got carried away trying to get


things going.”


“Hm. Well, why not go give it to her now? She should be


home.”


“Yup, that’s the plan.” At last, she showed her trademark


smile. “Well, thank you. Let’s get together again.”


“We’ll see.”


“Why do you say stuff like that?! Let’s do something!”


“Just kidding. Fine by me. If I’ve got time, I’ll spend as


much of it with you as you want, so please invite me again,” I


said.


I only said it to be polite, but seeing Mikoko-chan’s face


light up, the guilt kicked in. Thinking she’d probably burst


into tears or rage if I said “just kidding” again, I just said, “See


you next time,” instead.


She gave a big, energetic nod and spun on her heels.


Something came to mind. “Hey, Mikoko-chan. Let me just


say one more thing.”


“Hm? What is it?”


“Call a Vespa a Vespa. Calling it a scoot is just offensive, so


knock it off.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 2


“Wow, Ikkun giving an order?! It’s like a first-rate school


where you can wear your own clothes, but all the students


show up in uniforms anyway!”


“You got it or not?”


“Wow, you’re as scary as Muimi-chan . . .”


She seemed to seriously be a little scared. But I had to say


it firmly or she wouldn’t get it.


“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be careful from now on.” She made


her way down the hall. When she reached the comer, she


turned back around. “Hey! I’ve got something I want to say to


you too!”


“Huh? What?”


She took a big breath. “My last name is Aoii! Not Aoi! I


told you not to forget!”


I wanted to tell her I knew that, but then I realized that I


had introduced her to Miiko-san as “Aoi Mikoko.” Miiko-san


was the kind of person who was hard to correct once certain


information had entered her brain (thanks to me, she still believed


Shakespeare was a flavor of a McDonald’s McShake), so


she had probably spent the morning calling her “Aoi” over and


over. Well, maybe not that many times.


To me it didn’t seem like the difference between Aoi and


Aoii was such a big deal, but I decided that was probably fairly


rude. Japanese are as proud of their last names as Italians.


“Okay. I won’t forget again. I promise.”


“Okay then. Also . . .” She turned halfway back around. “I


don’t have a boyfriend,” she said softly, then quickly made her


way down the stairs as if trying to escape.


“Huh?” I probably looked more than a little confused.


Er . . .


What was that about?


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 3


She had probably heard that from Miiko-san as well. I did


seem to remember having that kind of conversation with her.


Something about Mikoko-chan not being able to stay in my


room because she had a boyfriend. But Miiko-san, she . . .


“I don’t go around regurgitating every little detail like that.”


Whoa. At some point she had appeared in front of me.


“Looks like we’ve got a couple people yelling in this dilapidated


apartment. Never mind that everyone can hear you


from their rooms; if you shout like that, the whole building’s


gonna come down.”


“Heh . . .”


“Now then, I have to go to work. Let’s hope that classmate


of yours learns to mind her p’s and q’s,” she said, and shuffled


her way down the hall. There was something frightening


about the fact that Rage was written on the back of her blue


jinbei. Maybe she and Mikoko-chan hadn’t gotten along so


well. Their names were sort of similar and all.


But in that case, the name thing seemed kind of dubious.


“Maybe she was actually awake last night . . .”


Sleeping while standing up is one thing, but walking


around while asleep isn’t all that easy. The power of the


human race pushed to its absolute limit isn’t something you


see every day. Maybe Mikoko-chan had actually been awake,


how lucid she may or may not have been at the time notwithstanding.


Maybe that was why she knew I had mistaken her


name and said she had a boyfriend.


She probably just didn’t want to bother with making the


trip home. But then she could’ve just said so without pretending


she was asleep. Some people sure do strange things, I


thought as I went back inside.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 4


Now then.


It was precisely that evening when the story started getting


altogether tiresome.


As I was alone in my room reading a fat book I had


checked out from the school library, a wild knocking came at


my door. Now, it’s only natural to be irritated when someone


interrupts your valued quiet time like this, but having become


rather accustomed to this kind of thing by now, I wasn’t particularly


angry. Wondering if it was that damned fifteen-yearold


brother coming to ask for money again, I opened the door.


“Oh.”


It was an older guy and a girl I had never seen before.


There was something particularly peculiar about the guy.


He was probably in his mid-to-late thirties, and not so much


tall as long-legged. Moreover, he had his hair slicked back.


Stranger still, even in this heat he was dressed in a black suit


and tie. It was a disturbingly bizarre way to be dressed. He


even had sunglasses on. If he had been a foreigner, I would’ve


been afraid it was the MIB here to erase my memory.


The woman, on the other hand, was dressed in a slightly


more normal suit and tight skirt. She had straight, black hair,


and was relatively pretty. But the look in her eyes was not ordinary.


Without a hint of the reservation normally expected


when meeting someone for the first time, her eyes met mine


with a penetrating, gouging gaze.


She took a step forward. “Have a look,” she said, flashing


me a police badge. “I’m Sasa Sasaki of the Kyoto Police First


Investigative Division.” It was the kind of name that threat-


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 5


ened to make you bite your own tongue. Her parents must


have been awfully whimsical.


“Oh. Hey.”


I gave a little head bob for the time being. The woman—


Sasaki-san—seemed a bit surprised by my reaction. Maybe I


should’ve shown more surprise myself, but it didn’t take more


than a glance to tell that these two were obviously police officers.


The thought of these two stone-faced individuals being


anything other than police officers was, to me, unimaginable.


The male officer chuckled to himself a bit and showed his


own badge, “Ikaruga Kazuhito from the same division. Mind if


we come inside for a bit?” It was essentially coercion in the


form of a question. As a kid, I naturally felt the urge to defy


this coercion, but it didn’t look like this Kazuhito-san would


let it fly.


“Oh, uh, well, sure. It’s small, though.”


I invited them into the room. They seemed surprised to


find that the inside of the room was just as small as I’d said,


but they passed it off with an impressive coolness. If I was


their boss, I would’ve given them a raise. Of course, not


being their boss, I didn’t give them squat.


“Please have a seat over there,” I said. I poured water into


two cups and placed them in front of the pair. Just as Mikokochan


had the day before, they ignored this completely.


“Allow me to be frank,” Sasaki-san said, eyeing me firmly.


“Emoto Tomo-san is dead.”


“Oh.” I prepared myself a glass of water and sat down


across from them. “Is that right?”


“ ‘Is that right?’ Is that all you have to say?” Sasaki broke


her poker face for the first time.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 6


“Oh, well, I’m not much for expressing emotion. I’m totally


shocked on the inside, so don’t pay it any mind.”


That and, by this point, I was becoming kind of used to


this sort of thing.


But I really was shocked. This was half because Tomoechan


had been killed, and half because the instant I had seen


these two outside my door, I had guessed they were here to


talk about Zerozaki.


I was half-relieved, half-stupefied. It was like a contradicttion


of emotions swirling around in my gut.


“Umm, is it safe to assume that since there are detectives


oil the case, she didn’t die under ordinary circumstances? Not


to mention that you’re from the First Investigative Division.”


Considering the kinds of cases First Investigative Divisions


usually handle.


“That’s correct.” Sasaki-san nodded. The seriousness of her


expression was pure and undiluted.


“So was it, by any chance, the ‘prowler’?”


She shook her head at my inquiry. “No.”


“Oh, really.”


It was like something had deflated. Part of me was relieved.


I couldn’t help but wonder why, but I quickly switched trains


of thought.


“What happened, then?”


“Her body was found this morning. She had been strangled


to death.”


“Strangled?”


Strangulation.


Emoto Tomoe.


Murdered . . . ?


I felt my heart going cold.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 7


Just how many people had I seen die? How long had it


been since I stopped counting dead friends? My first encounter


with death was before I could even remember.


“It’s been about a month since the last one, huh? That’s got


to be a new record.”


Sasaki-san gave me a sideways look. It was entirely different


from the kind of sideways looks Mikoko-chan gave me, a


purely intellectual pose completely devoid of any adorable


charm. Then again, in my whole life, I had never seen a pose


that was both intellectual and adorably charming, whether it


be from a male or a female.


“Did you say something?”


“No, just talking to myself. I do that a lot. They say I’m just


a nineteen-year-old soliloquy that can dress itself and walk


around.”


Although Sasaki-san looked satisfied with this answer, she


didn’t crack so much as a smirk.


Suddenly I noticed that Kazuhito-san had been closely


monitoring my expression. I kept quiet.


Interesting.


That explained the need for sunglasses. Sasaki-san was in


charge of doing the talking. Kazuhito-san was the observer. It


was marvelous nonsense. A true masterpiece.


It seemed I was a prime suspect.


“I guess that makes sense. I was with her all night.”


“Did you say something?”


“No, just your plain old, everyday nonsense.” I sat myself


up straight. Not that I was nervous, but maybe it was time to


start getting a little more serious. “So if she was killed, who


killed her?” I asked.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 8


“That’s currently under investigation. To tell you the truth,


that’s the reason we’ve come here today,” Sasaki-san said.


“Then tell me,” I wanted to say, but I refrained from provoking


her.


“You were in Emoto-san’s apartment from about six in the


evening to midnight. Is that correct?”


“Yes.”


“Just to check, would you tell us the names of the other


people present during that period of time?”


“Umm.” Good luck, memory. “Emoto Tomoe-san, Atemiya


Muimi-san, Aoi . . . no, Aoii Mikoko-san, and Usami Akiharukun.


And then me.”


“Are you sure?”


“Yes.”


“You arrived with Aoii-san. Is that correct?”


“Yes. Aoii-san first came to my place—here, I mean—


then we went to Emoto-san’s place together. It was around


six p.m.”


“More specifically? Was it before six or after?”


“Before.”


She was barraging me with questions. The limitations of


my mind’s processing speed had been surpassed long ago, and


my head was spinning.


“So all of the guests were there at that time . . ."


“Please wait a minute,” I interrupted. “I can’t settle down


and focus if you keep throwing out questions one after another


like that. I think I mentioned that, but this all has me a


little mixed up.”


“Oh, sorry about that,” Sasaki-san said. It was the most


unapologetic apology of all time.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 9


I spent the next hour responding to her assault of


questions, divulging every last detail of the previous night’s


events. The things we talked about during the party. The


atmosphere of the party. My going to the convenience store


with Muimi-chan. Returning. Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan


leaving at around eleven o’clock. Akiharu-kun giving Tomochan


a present just before that. The neckstrap. My talk with


Tomo-chan after that. Leaving the apartment with Mikokochan


in tow. The phone call from Tomo-chan around the time


we reached Nishiôji Nakadachiuri. Leaving Mikoko-chan with


Miiko-san because she appeared to be sleeping (whether it


was the truth or not, I didn’t know). And then, sleeping.


Mikoko-chan’s short visit in the morning. The rest of the day,


which I spent reading.


I didn’t bother mentioning the intense pressure of having


Kazuhito-san peering over Sasaki-san’s shoulder the whole


time when she was already plenty scary on her own. We were


just sitting and talking, but I felt like I had wasted a great deal


of energy. And then there was Sasaki-san’s brilliant last line.


“Okay, so far this pretty much matches what we’ve already


heard.”


Boy, she was super.


The string of questions seemed to have come to an end for


the time being. “Hmm,” Sasaki-san said with a perplexed look.


But something about it seemed like an act. If Mikoko-chan


could be called a person of no façades, this woman, on the


other hand, was a person of nothing but façades, to the point


that they appeared to be her true personality. She certainly


wouldn’t be the easiest person in the world to deal with.


“So how about that phone call?” she said with a finger to


her temple. “She really didn’t say anything? According to


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