Volume 2 Chapter 3

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Aoii-san, Emoto-san specifically asked her to pass you the


phone, from which one could deduce that she had something


to say to you.”


“She began to say something, but she didn’t. She just said


‘never mind,’ and hung up.”


“You’re sure?”


“Yes.”


“And it was definitely Emoto-san on the phone?”


“Yes. I never mistake voices of people I know.”


She exchanged glances with Kazuhito-san behind her. It


looked like they were done questioning and about to be on


their way, but I couldn’t just sit idly by in silence.


“Umm, Sasaki-san, may I ask a question?”


“Huh?”


Her poker face broke down once again, naturally. Having


had a younger boy suddenly address her by her first name, it


would’ve been stranger if she hadn’t been surprised.


“Something’s been bothering me.”


“Uh-huh . . .” She exchanged another glance with Kazuhito-san.


He responded with nothing more than the slight


drop of his jaw. Apparently a sign of consent; Sasaki-san


turned back toward me. “Okay.”


This consent was most likely not spurred by sympathy for a


boy whose classmate had just been murdered, but by the


mean-spirited notion that they could use my question to see


into me. Not that I cared.


“Um . . . by any chance, was Aoii-san the one who discovered


the body?”


“That’s correct,” she answered coolly, providing no further


explanation. It seemed they had no intention of telling me


anything more than necessary to answer my questions. Of


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course, they probably wouldn’t answer all of my questions


either.


So I was right, after all. She had gone to drop off Tomochan’s


birthday present, but there had been no answer. She


tried calling, but nobody picked up. The door to the building


had an autolock, but surely that was easy enough to get


around. All she had to do was follow one of the residents


inside. In that sense, it hardly even passed as a lock.


Hmm . . .


Mikoko-chan.


How must she have felt at that time? She was always so


full of emotion. What could she have possibly felt at a time


like that?


“Maybe I should’ve gone with her. . . .”


But then again, how could I have known? Besides, I wasn’t


sure I would’ve been much help even if I had gone along. I


wasn’t worth that much. I might have ended up just making


her angry.


“Is that your only question?”


“No, I’ve got a few more. What was the time of death?”


“We’ve determined that it was sometime between eleven


p.m. on the fourteenth and three a.m. on the fifteenth.”


“In that case . . .” Mikoko-chan and I had left her apartment


at midnight, which meant that the crime must have


occurred between midnight and three a.m. “Er, and you say


she was strangled, correct? There wasn’t a knife involved or


anything?”


“That’s what I said.” She narrowed her eyes at my mentioning


of the word knife. Of course I didn’t tell her, not even


with my eyes, that I knew a certain knife-wielding killer.


“Was it a rope?”


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“It was a thin piece of cloth. She most likely died instantly


from vascular compression. I doubt she suffered much.”


This was most human thing Sasaki-san had said so far. But


to me, whether Tomo-chan suffered or not was relatively


trivial. Either way, she was dead.


I knew what it was to die. It isn’t death that people fear:


It’s nothingness. Pain is nothing more than a peripheral addon,


despair nothing more than decoration.


“Um, have you already gone to see everyone else?”


“Everyone eke?” Sasaki-san replied, even though she knew


damn well what I meant.


“Everyone who was gathered at Emoto-san’s place last


night. Usami-kun, Atemiya-san, and Aoii-san.”


I asked this without any particular expectation. I figured


she probably wouldn’t even answer. But to my surprise, she


answered immediately.


“Yes, we have,” she said. “We’ve finished questioning all of


them. Your address was a little hard to find, so we ended up


coming here last.”


“What was everyone doing during that window of time


when Emoto-san was killed?”


One more step. I cautiously took another step forward.


Sasaki-san’s lips curled up into a vague smirk. “Usami-san


and Atemiya-san say they spent the night singing karaoke in


Shijôkawara-machi. As for Aoii-san, well, it probably goes


without saying.”


It did. Mikoko-chan was staying with Miiko-san in the


room next door. I felt a little relieved. If you could believe


Sasaki-san’s claim, that meant that the top three suspects all


had alibis. Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan could only account


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for each other, so their alibi wasn’t exactly watertight, but it


was enough to loosen any suspicions toward them.


I felt the pressure of Kazuhito-san’s gaze grow even


stronger.


“Tch . . .”


How unseemly.


Much too late, I broke eye contact with the two of them.


Dammit. They had set me up to feel at ease. They had


caused me to let my guard down. I had been careless. These


two detectives aside, you were never supposed to let your


guard down around a police officer.


Shit . . . what had they seen?


“Is that all, then?” Sasaki-san asked without a hint of


change in her tone.


“Oh, no. One more.”


If I had ever known failure, surely this was that time.


Kazuhito-san’s penetrating gaze was minute subtlety compared


to what I was about to face.


But it was a subtlety that had flustered me enough to ask a


question I didn’t even have to ask, a question that I shouldn’t


have asked.


“Who do you suppose did it?”


It was a question that had already been answered. And I


had gone and repeated it.


“That’s currently under investigation,” Sasaki-san answered


with a meaningful gaze—and the smile of a predator who had


just bagged its prey. She rose to her feet. “Pardon us for intruding


for so long. I think we’ll be back again later to talk


more,” she said, placing her calling card on the floor. “If you


remember anything else, please give us a call.”


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I took the card in my hand. It gave a number for the prefectural


police as well as her own cell phone number.


“Well, take care, Mr. Student,” Kazuhito-san said with a


smirk, and began to make his way out of my room.


Interesting . . . so he was the real faker. I had committed


such a fatal misstep that I didn’t even deserve to call myself a


passive bystander anymore. I had completely mixed up the


roles of the two detectives.


In other words, it was Kazuhito-san who was rushing me


along while Sasaki-san had been absorbing everything I said.


And what’s more, Sasaki-san had purposely let down her


guard and invited me to attack.


The gall. The utter audacity.


“Oh, by the way,” Sasaki-san said as if just remembering


something. “About your alibi. For the time being, it’s been


confirmed by your neighbor, Asano-san. She said you can hear


people walking down the hallway from inside the rooms.”


She flashed me a refined smile. This was essentially a


checkmate. No, this didn’t even make for a match.


She even had the nerve to throw in this little scrap of


compassion at the end there.


Well, son of a bitch.


I don’t know if it was because I hadn’t dealt with them for


a long time, but I had completely underestimated the Japanese


police. Did my arrogance know no bounds? Who the hell


did I think I was?


It was the first time I had felt such defeat since my run-in


with that redheaded private contractor.


I chewed my lower lip. “Kazuhito-san,” I said to him as he


was leaving.


“Hm?” He looked back.


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“If you were better-looking, you’d be a dead ringer for


Matsuda Yûsaku.”


“Guess that means I’m not a dead ringer for Matsuda


Yûsaku.”


It was a bull’s-eye answer. My last hopeless jab at him had


been a big whiff, and with that, the two detectives were on


their way. I cleared away the cups and plopped myself onto


the floor.


It had been a decisive defeat. I hadn’t felt this sensation in


a month, and I hadn’t felt it this strongly in a whole year. But


in this case I could just abandon the emotion. When you


thought about the fact that someone had just died, it was all


too trivial.


“Tomo-chan . . .”


I tried whispering the name aloud. The first thing to come


to mind was our conversation from the previous night.


“Have you ever felt like, as a human, you’re damaged


goods?”


Now, now, Tomo-chan, that’s not the sort of thing one admits


out loud, isn’t it?


It’s better to not know things; it helps us go on living. As


long as we’re not too aware of ourselves, we can live in happiness.


You might compare us to an airplane that’s lost its


engine and wings. We’re nothing but insignificant nobodies


who can only soar like crows who can’t call out. Once you


start questioning things, it’s all over.


It’s not about denial. It’s about ignorance.


“You can get killed asking questions like that.” As someone


with experience, it wasn’t my job to just dish out empty


words of condolence. “If you put your mind to it, it’s only


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natural . . . whether you’re a person like us or not . . . Or rather,


if you don’t put your mind to anything, that is.”


Having realized these things myself long ago, I was now a


person living without purpose, just as Tomo-chan had been


living a life without meaning.


I closed my eyes.


And I opened them.


“Well, so much for mind over matter.”


I swiftly rose to my feet.


Now then.


What to do now? There was nothing I was supposed to do,


but plenty of things I wanted to. For me, this was a fairly rare


condition.


First, I took out my cell phone. I checked the call history,


then began to dial Mikoko-chan’s number. But halfway


through, I stopped myself.


“Seriously, who the hell do I think I am?”


This was utter and complete nonsense. If I did call Mikokochan,


what did I possibly have to say to her?


So I put off calling her. At that moment, I just didn’t have


the right words to say to her.


“In that case . . .”


First things first. I cleared my phone and began reentering a


phone number. It was the one and only phone number I knew


by heart. With the phone at my ear, I tried to remember how


long it had been since we’d talked.


She picked up immediately.


“Ohhh! Ii-chan! A long time indeed, old friend! Do you


still love me?”


Her hyperness dwarfed Mikoko-chan’s by a factor of about


twelve; unlike Mikoko-chan, once you removed her stopper,


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the gushing would never end. If you let her alone, she would


shoot all the way up to Heaven like the Tower of Babel.


“What oh what oh what oh what is wrong? You never call


me! This moment is monumental! It’s the Himeji Castle! It


must be a diversionary tactic! Hyaooo! I wanna take a photograph


to record it, but a photograph can’t capture sound so


there’d be no point! Therefore, commence audio recording!”


“You don’t have to bother with the audio recording.”


I made an effort to keep my cool.


Muimi-chan had asked me if it was tough keeping up with


Mikoko-chan’s hyperness, but as I had told her, compared


with Kunagisa, Mikoko-chan was pretty much a piece of cake.


If Mikoko-chan was happy-go-lucky, then Kunagisa Tomo


was happy-go-crazy.


“Tomo, are you free much these days?”


“Nope! More on the busy side. Extremely occupado. My


processing power is facing an imminent meltdown! Emergency


memory expansion! Defrag imperative! I’m going to freeze!


Oh my God, it’s happening! It’s happening! Present progressive


form! Please reboot!”


“Is it this Kyoto prowling serial killer case?”


“Bingo! Wowww! You’re like Maki-chan! Or the red contractor!


Kyahahahahaha! Return of the ESP! And forever!


Mankind’s strongest! This is the end!”


“Sorry, Tomo, could you dial it down a notch?”


“Huh? What’s wrong? Well, whatever. Yep, it’s the Kyoto


prowling serial killer case! But you know what? It’s not going


the way I expected! This darn case! Hurdles! Serious hurdles!


Surely the killer is the reincarnation of Dread Jones! Wahaha!”


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“Let’s make a deal, Kunagisa Tomo,” I said. “I’ll give you


some information on this Kyoto prowler case. You’ll give me


information on a certain murder that’s come up.”


“Huh?”


She thought for a moment. I knew she wouldn’t ask me


why I had information on the prowler case or why there was a


murder case I was interested in. I believed in her, and she


trusted me.


Unnecessary explanations.


Excess clarifications.


Wasted words.


Inane questions.


Distracting chatter.


The very best thing about Kunagisa was that she had no


use for any of these things.


“Ehh, I don’t like this word deal, Ii-chan.”


“How’s bargain?”


“Awful.”


“Pact?”


“Almost there.”


“Conspiracy?”


“Not technically wrong, but something’s off.”


“Well, then what about a mutual complementing of each


other’s attributes?”


“Yeah, that’ll do,” she said happily.


Give or take.


At this point, I still hadn’t decided which.


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After finishing my call with Kunagisa, I went to visit Miikosan


next door. I knocked on her door.


“Yo,” came her response. Several seconds later, the door


opened. As usual, she was dressed in a jinbei. It seemed to me


that if she was going to take such an avid interest in Japanese


clothing, she ought to get herself a nice, pretty kimono. It definitely


would’ve looked good on her.


“Can I help you?”


“Oh, I just wanted to thank you. They said you vouched


for my alibi.”


“I didn’t do anything remarkable. I just told the truth.”


“Yeah, but I created an unnecessary burden for you.”


“I don’t care. Happens all the time . . . but you’ve certainly


dealt with your own fair share of nuisances, haven’t you?” She


sounded more amazed than concerned. “You’re like the man


of a thousand disasters. So what about that girl? Based on


what the authorities were saying, it sounds like she was involved


as well.”


“Well, in a manner of speaking . . .”


“Gotcha,” she nodded. “Well, then, how do you intend on


thanking me?”


“I’ll treat you to tea.”


This was literally an invitation to go have real tea at a teahouse,


not just a regular coffee shop. It was sort of a Kyoto


thing, or maybe just a Miiko-san thing.


“Does that come with dango?” Dango—those tasty rice


flour dumplings—went really well with green tea.


“It even comes with hiyashi shiruko.” Yes, and sweet red


bean soup, too!


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“Where at?”


“The Oharame-ya in Gion.”


Miiko-san’s eyes immediately lit up. “Hold on, I’ll get


ready.”


She shut the door. For what it was worth, she was considerate


enough to change into normal clothes if she was going


out with somebody else. That level of thoughtfulness made


her a pretty rare specimen in my circle of acquaintances.


“And I’m back.” A minute later she was ready to leave. She


handed me a car key. I flipped it over once in the palm of my


hand before clutching it tight.


And so eight o’clock in the evening rolled around. Tea with


Miiko-san had ended and I found myself walking between


Shijô and Oike on Kawara-machi Street. Miiko-san had already


driven her Fiat back to her apartment.


“Don’t use me just to kill time and save on shoe leather.”


Those were the words she had left me with.


She could see right through me, all right. Miiko-san was


sharp, all right. But you had to hand it to her for accepting my


invitation anyway. She was a nice girl. Or maybe she just had


a sweet tooth.


I came to a stop and entered a nearby karaoke spot.


“Welcome,” the guy behind the counter said. “Party of


one?”


“Umm, I have a friend who should already be here.”


“May I have your friend’s name, please?”


“Zerozaki Hitoshiki.”


“Ah, Zerozaki-sama?”


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He briefly entered something into his computer. “Okay,


that would be room twenty-four,” he said, flashing me a


customer-servicey smile. I said my thanks and made my way


to the elevator. Room twenty-four was on the second floor. I


got off there and walked down the hall, checking the number


of each room.


“Dadadadadada dadadadadadadada! Dadadada! Dadadadadadadadadadadadadadadada!


Ah! Aaaahhhh!”


Just as I was wondering who was the bozo with the rusty


pipes, I realized it was coming from room twenty-four. I gave


a little shrug and opened the door without even knocking.


“Wha?”


Zerozaki stopped his belting once he noticed me.


“Yo, Damaged Goods,” he said, waving a finger at me. I entered


the room without reacting and took a seat on the sofa.


“Hey, Human Failure,” I said.


He placed down the microphone and used the remote


control to end the song.


“You can keep singing if you want. You’re paying for this,


right?”


“Nah, it’s okay. I’m not really all that into singing, to be


honest. And I sure as hell don’t like imitating other singers. I


just do it to kill time.”


He sat down so that he was facing me and sighed deeply.


“Haven’t seen ya for a day. But, like, it don’t really feel that


way.”


“Eh, I guess not.” I nodded.


To be honest, I was surprised. Until a moment ago, I didn’t


even think Zerozaki would be here. Sure, after our conversation


the day before yesterday—I mean, yesterday morning—


we’d arranged to meet again. “I’ll be at the karaoke joint, so


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let’s meet up there,” he had said. But I didn’t think he would


actually show up. I guess he probably thought the same thing.


And that was no doubt the reason that I had come and the


reason he was here waiting.


The meaning of the phrase used to waiting: Here too lay a


justified contradiction.


From there, we began talking about a variety of things,


none of which mattered in the least. It was just like the night


we had first crossed paths. Ridiculous philosophy, boring facts


of enlightenment, irrelevant views on life. At times we veered


off-track a bit and got into discussions on music (“Guess the


one-hit wonder”) or literature (“What’s the trick to truly moving


your reader?”). None of it had any real point. It was as if


we were both just trying to check something.


“Say, Zerozaki,” I said somewhere around the four-hour


mark. “What’s it feel like to kill someone?”


“Huh?” he said, tilting his head at me. His face looked


blank, as if he hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular.


“It’s not really the kind of thing that makes you feel this way


or that. I don’t really feel much of anything.”


“You don’t? It doesn’t feel good or refreshing or anything


like that?”


“Listen, dumbass, what do you think I am, some kind of


sicko?” he said with a heaping helping of condescension.


Committing grisly murders sure seemed like a funny way of


not being a sicko, but I decided to hear him out.


“ ’Cuz, you see, it’s like this. I mean, I am a murderer. But


I’m not what you would call a ‘lust murderer.’ That’s a tricky


distinction to make. I guess it doesn’t do any good for me to


make that kind of claim myself anyway. In the end, it’s the


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people around you who decide who you are. All I can do is go


along with it. I’m not really one for deep thoughts, you know.”


“Huh . . . yeah, I guess not. Okay, then how about I change


my question—what is murder to you?”


“Nothin’.”


I could find two meanings buried in that word.


It was worth nothing.


And therefore, it cost nothing.


“Now here’s a question for you, D.G. What is death to


you?”


“When you flat-out ask me like that, I’m at a loss. If I had


to answer, I guess I’d say it’s kind of like a battery running out


of juice.”


“A battery? You mean like with the AA and stuff?”


“Yeah. Well, something like that. I guess you could say


battery power is like a life force or something. Which I guess


would make you and your body the insulator.”


“I’ve been called worse,” he said with a little laugh. He


seemed to be truly enjoying himself. I wondered if I sounded


like him when I laughed.


“I guess my question was ambiguous,” I said. “How about


this, then? Do you understand why other people commit


murder?”


“Huh? That’s a bizarre one. But very you somehow. Let’s


see . . . nope.”


“You don’t?” I asked.


“Well, first of all, I don’t understand other people, period.


Whether or not they’re killers, and regardless of how evil they


may or may not be. Second of all, I don’t even understand


myself. I have no freaking idea what causes all that chaos and


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confusion swirling around in my guts. So all I can say is no, I


don’t understand people who kill others.”


“I see your logic there.”


“I might add that murder was never particularly what I was


going for,” he said as if it really was just an afterthought.


“What does that mean?”


“Well, this is going to get awfully conceptual, but in other


words . . . well, here’s an example.” He picked up the receiver


for the room phone. “Excuse me, could we get two ramens


please?”


Not much later, a staff member came in carrying ramen.


“Eat up. I’m payin’,” he said, and took some noodles with


his chopsticks. “Now this is a meal.”


“Yup. You didn’t even have to tell me.”


“They say food, sleep, and sex are the three basic desires of


mankind. But why are we eating this meal right now?”


“To ingest vitamins.”


“Yes. Without vitamins, people die. And thus eating food


brings pleasure. Sleeping feels good, too, and sex, well, that’s


obvious. Anything that you have to do to stay alive always


comes with pleasure.”


“Sure. That’s easy enough to understand. So?”


“Don’t rush me. 'So? So? So?’ You sound like Akutagawa


Ryu-freaking-nosuke.”


“Huh? Wasn’t that Dazai’s thing?”


“It was Akutagawa, dammit. Dazai wrote about it in an


anecdote on Akutagawa.”


Whichever literary figure it was, I decided to once again do


as told and hear him out. He paused for a moment before


speaking, as if to build up the suspense.


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“Now let’s imagine someone who’s obsessed with eating. In


other words, someone who eats not simply to take in vitamins,


but because he’s mad for the sensation of eating itself; for the


beauty in the very act. The stimulation of his taste buds. The


pleasure of feeling the food pass through his mouth. The joy


of mastication. The ecstasy of feeling that mushed-up gook


flowing down his throat. The feeling of fullness nearly destroying


his satiety center altogether. The euphoria taking over


his brain. In other words, I’m talking about a fat guy,” he said,


laughing. ‘To a guy like that, vitamins or lack thereof are totally


irrelevant. The means and the end have switched places


for him, so that his main goal is something subsidiary. Now


there’s your problem. Can you still say this guy is eating? No,


don’t answer. You and I both know the only possible answer is


no. What this guy is doing isn’t eating. He’s just eating the


concept of eating.”


“And you’re just killing the concept of killing? That’s a bit


of a stretch,” I said with a shrug. “It’s pretty perverse to try to


equate a natural appetite for food with the urge to kill. Are


you sure you don’t just have your priorities mixed up? Maybe


you’re mistaking killing for something else.”


“Ehh, that’s a tough one. It’s hard to say. I’ll say it again,


man—the act of killing itself was never my intention, nor was


the stuff that comes afterward. Y’know, the dismemberment.”


Then what the hell is your intention? Man, you’re a tough


guy to understand.”


“Not as much as you. I mean, I know that I’m hard to understand.


I just said that. Anyway, in the beginning, I thought


I was in it for the thrill.”


“The thrill,” I said.


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“Yeah. You’ve heard of ‘high risk, high return’ before,


right? In Japanese, I think we say, ‘If you don’t go into the


tiger’s den, you don’t get no cub.’ With murder, the risk is


high, but the return is low, right? It hardly seems worth it. It’s


stupid. That’s why most murders are almost always cases of


people ‘going too far’ or ‘using too much force.’ They’re not


trying to kill the person, but before they know it, they’ve gone


and done it. However . . .”


He pulled a rather dangerous-looking blade from his vest


pocket. “This here is what they call a dagger. You grip it in


your fist like this. So the first person I killed, I stuck this thing


in his carotid artery and just tugged it to the side. This was an


inexplicable act of murder. I had no particular intention of


causing the person suffering or pain. In fact, it was a rather


pleasant way to die, if you ask me. Now let me just say right


now that by no means was this a boastful act. I’m sure you


know this, but acts spurred by one’s pride are the most pathetic


actions a person can take. People who take pride in


causing harm are the lowest of the low. I’m just boasting


about my faults here. Seriously, all joking aside, that’s the only


kind of murder I can perform. Even when I went after you, on


the other side of the mirror.”


“Huh. You don’t say.”


“I do say. Like, let’s imagine that you and I ended up fighting


to the death again. Of course, logically speaking, it’s entirely


possible that you would kill me. But in the one time that


you could kill me, I could kill you nine thousand, nine hundred


ninety-nine times. Well, in reality you and I each only


have one life, but this is a metaphor. At any rate, I can only


kill for the sake of killing. In other words, I can affirm that the


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eight people I’ve killed up until now were not victims of me


‘going too far.’ ”


Eight people. In two days, the body count had risen by


two. Well, I guess you could say that Zerozaki had gone about


living his life while I had been living mine.


“So am I an idiot? Maybe. After all, it’s not like I’m getting


anything out of killing these people. Well no, I guess I am


getting something. Whatever’s in their wallets,” he said.


One of the alarming details of the prowler case had been


that the victims’ money and valuables had been stolen. This


was a rare thing in cases like this, in which the murders


seemed to have been committed for the thrill of it, but the


reason was simply that Zerozaki needed the money to support


his homeless lifestyle.


Even his karaoke money was probably coming out of one


of those victims’ wallets. If you looked at it that way, even this


ramen was tainted with sin, I thought as I slurped my noodles.


“But you could get that stuff just by working a normal job,


so it’s no reason to commit murder. If you think about the


effort that goes into killing one person, it makes a lot more


sense to just spend the day working somewhere instead. And


yet I choose murder. And therein lies my whole theory.”


“Ah, I get it. In other words, to Zerozaki Hitoshiki, the risk


is the return.”


“Yup. The means and the end aren’t just swapped, but unified.


The act itself is the purpose. The purpose is the act. The


act is complete when you’ve carried out that purpose. This is


actually not a bad theory at all.”


“But how is that any different from just losing sight of your


purpose? It’s like having a guy who loves to read, so he fills his


room with books until it’s completely buried in them. But he


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 118


still keeps buying new ones. Whether he buys books or not is


up to him, but he’s got so many books in his room now that


even if he spent his whole life reading them, he’d never get


through them all. But he just keeps on buying and buying.”


“Hmm. Ahhh, ah-ah-ah, I get it I get it. You’re talking


about processing capacity. Once you’ve surpassed your processing


capacity, means and end become one and the same.


It’s like Ishikawa Goemon said: ‘A splendid view, a splendid


view, even a thousand pieces of gold is too little to pay for the


beautiful sights of spring. I, Goemon, am worth ten thousand


ryô.’ Hmm. Yeah, maybe so,” he said with an impressed sigh


as he reclined into the sofa. “But you know, my man, even if


that is the case, it doesn’t have much to do with me. You


know why? Because that theory I’ve been talking about is so


totally wrong to begin with. Risk equals return? Now there’s a


bullshit equation if I’ve ever heard one. I’m just having fun


with logic here.”


“Huh. So what are you getting at?”


“Well, this story is a little generic,” he said, leaning forward.


“But let’s go back to when I was just a little brat. You


were a little brat once too, huh? Well so was I. What kind of


brat was I? Well, I wasn’t particularly weird or anything. I


even believed in God. If I got smacked, it hurt. If I saw someone


else get smacked, it hurt. I had all your average sensibilities.


I wanted to bring happiness to the people near me. I


knew gratitude. I knew unconditional affection for another


human being. That’s the kind of little brat I was. . . . But


sometimes, I would just sit. Not to read a book or watch TV


or something. I would just sit. I’d be there resting my chin in


my hands, my mind up in la-la land, just sitting there. Sooner


or later I realized that during these times, I would always


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 119


naturally start pondering how one kills a human being. The


first time I realized what I was doing, I was seriously freaked


out. I mean, I was pondering, examining how you kill a person


as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The idea that


this was really me was the scariest thing,” he said.


“So it was something you discovered in yourself. But what


part of this story is supposed to be generic? It seems pretty out


there to me. You’re saying that from birth, you’ve had an


innate proclivity to murder?”


“I said don’t rush me. I thought that once myself, but that’s


not the case at all. I thought I was born with a murderous


mindset, with the urge to kill. But that’s not it. It’s that—and


this is where it gets generic—I’m attached to a rail.”


“A rail? What are you talking about?”


“It’s a metaphor. You hear it a lot. People talk about life on


a track, right? You go through middle school, you go through


high school, you go through college, you enter society, you


support yourself with a salary so that you can bag a lover, and


then you depart from the world. That’s the track of life. Well,


similarly to that, I’m on the murderer’s track.”


“Sounds more like you’re off the track to me.”


“Like you’re one to talk. Anyway, that’s not important.


The kind of track I’m talking about here isn’t necessarily the


one set up by society. It might be a track you’ve set for yourself.


Like, imagine there’s a kid who becomes obsessed with


Ichiro in elementary school and decides he wants to be a baseball


player. In that moment, he makes a track for himself.”


“I see. So that means we’re all on a track . . . except for


people who ‘drop out,’ I suppose.”


Except for people who have suffered a fatal blow.


Except for people who go off the rails.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 0


“Yup. I don’t know who laid down this track for me. I


might have done it myself. Someone else might have. But one


thing I know for sure is that I’ve taken the track too far. I’ve


made it too far down without suffering that fatal blow, and


now there’s no stopping me. I can’t even entertain the idea of


putting on the brakes.”


“Aha. So it just keeps going on and on.”


In other words, right now, he was in motion. And the him


in midmotion was entirely different from the him who had


first started running along this track.


“Yup. It’s like a curse from the past. And in my case, it’s


slowly killing me. It may sound boring living life on a track


someone else has laid out, but you know, it doesn’t make any


difference who laid it out if it if you get sick of it midway


through. Not that I could just quit at this point. Too many


strings attached now.”


“Must be even tougher not having anyone to blame.”


“That’s right. Especially for an outcast like me.”


“Might as well give it up. You may not break away from


the track, but you sure do break away from the rules.”


“Oh? Well you’re no Mother Teresa yourself, you know.”


“But I am a serious student at a university. I’m not like


you.”


“Doesn’t saying that depress you? It’s like looking into the


mirror and saying, ‘Who the hell are you?’ ”


“Exactly,” I said nodding.


“Anyway, it’s for that reason that I don’t view myself as a


murderer. Because killing isn’t my goal. You’ve heard of people


who ‘kill like it’s as simple as breathing,’ right? Well, for


me, if I don’t kill, it becomes hard to breathe. I’m just paying


the train fare for this track I got on long ago. Or it’s like I’m


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 1


perpetually repaying a loan. You could say I’m killing the act


of killing.”


“This is all becoming a little too idealistic and abstract for


me. Can’t you put it more realistically?”


“Not really. I mean, we’re talking about a vague concept


here. If you put it in realistic terms, the conversation would be


over with ‘I killed and dismembered someone times eight.’ ”


“That’s true . . .” I sighed and looked up at the ceiling.


Talking with Zerozaki was interesting enough, and I had even


learned a thing or two, I suppose, but it wasn’t exactly useful


information. “Hmm. And here I thought a killer like you


would be the one most capable of understanding the heart of a


killer.”


Maybe I’d been wrong to assume that. After all, Zerozaki’s


MO and Tomo-chan’s cause of death were completely


different. I didn’t believe for a second that Sasaki-san had


given me the whole scoop, but she had at least told me that


Tomo-chan had been strangled with a thin piece of cloth.


Meanwhile, Zerozaki was cutting people up with a knife. The


similarities began and ended with the fact that both killers had


brought death to their victims.


Zerozaki killed people at random.


Tomo-chan’s killer had sought her out. It was most likely


the result of a grudge. Something spurred by a sticky, slimy,


disgusting personal relationship that had eroded away.


“Hah? Why do you say that?” he said.


“Well, it’s just that a classmate from my university was


murdered recently.”


“Murdered? Your classmate?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 2


“That’s what I said. Yeah, at first, I wondered if you had


done it, but it doesn’t match your style at all. They strangled


her with a piece of cloth.”


“Ah, yeah, that’s not my thing,” he said, waving his hands


with a grimace.


“So I thought. But I just figured one monster would understand


another.”


“You’re mistaken. And it’s such a you mistake. Monsters


don’t kill people; people do. And just as people don’t understand


monsters’ feelings, monsters don’t understand people’s.


It’s like comparing a platypus to the archaeopteryx.”


I didn’t know who was supposed to be the platypus and


who the archaeopteryx, but he was probably right. Guys like


Zerozaki were peculiar and dysfunctional, and that was why


they were so rare.


“So, what happened, then?” he said, sounding not particularly


interested. Figuring there was no need to keep it a secret,


I proceeded to tell him everything I had heard from Sasakisan.


I told him about Mikoko-chan, Tomo-chan, Muimi-chan,


and Akiharu-kun and about the birthday party. He occasionally


dropped in a brief remark or shook his head as he tried to


follow along with the story’s twists and turns, and just once,


he even flashed a look of concern.


“Hmm,” he said when I was finished. “I see. I see I see I


see. So that’s how it went down. So?”


“What do you mean so?”


“So means so.” He stared me directly in the eye. I didn’t


answer him. This silence continued for a whole hour.


“Okay, I got it,” he eventually said, standing to his feet.


“Let’s go.”


“Huh? Where?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 3


“To Emoto’s place,” he said like with all the casualness of a


good friend inviting someone over to hang out. With that, he


made his exit. This was all going just as I had expected, I


thought. I rose from the sofa and followed him out, leaving


our half-eaten ramen behind.


“But about that Aoii chick,” Zerozaki said apathetically as


we walked westward down Shijô Street. “Seems pretty obvious


that she’s got the hots for you.”


“What?” I couldn’t help but be surprised by this sudden


leap in our discussion.


It was already past midnight, meaning it was now Monday,


the sixteenth. Even on Shijô Street, which was a major eastwest


road, traffic had grown sparse. Occasionally we passed a


group of college students probably coming home after a night


of drinking, but the sidewalks were otherwise mostly empty.


I realized that the next day I had to go to school. And from


first period, no less. What’s more, it was my foreign language


class, where they always took attendance. And it looked to me


like this was going to be another all-nighter.


“Eh, what were we talking about again?”


“That Aoii chick,” he said irritably, knitting his brow at me.


“Hearing what you have to say about her, she’s got to have a


thing for you.”


“No way. What could’ve possibly given you a dumb idea


like that? That doesn’t even sound like something you would


say. I mean, she’s already got a boyfriend anyway.”


“No, she doesn’t.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 4


“Oh wait, that’s right.” Come to think of it, she may or


may not have told me that. “But still. I don’t think that’s the


case. I mean she does seem to be fond of me, but it’s like how


people are fond of animals. And even then, she probably sees


me as an iguana or something in the reptile family. You know,


like ‘Aw, that’s . . . kind of cute.’ ”


“An iguana? If you’re an iguana, then that makes me a chameleon,”


he said, and proceeded to laugh. “For example,” he


then said, immediately switching back to his serious tone.


“She knew your address, right? That’s extremely suspicious


right there. Who bothers looking up the address of someone


they don’t even have a crush on?”


“She didn’t even have to. It was in the address log from


class.”


“Aha. You said it yourself, man. You were on vacation


when class started and you missed the first week of your . . .


general education, was it? Whatever that class was. Hence,


there was no way your address could’ve been recorded in that


log.”


“Oh.”


Now there was an oversight. I certainly didn’t remember


telling my address to anyone else, and that meant there was no


way the address of my ancient ruin of an apartment building


could’ve been on the sheet. There wasn’t a single person at


Rokumeikan who should’ve known where I lived.


“But Mikoko-chan claimed she got it off the address list.


Was it just a misunderstanding? But misunderstandings like


that don’t happen, do they? So maybe she lied to me.”


“Eh, not so much a lie as an excuse. She probably followed


you home one day.”


“If she’d been following me, I would’ve noticed.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 5


“Maybe. At any rate, she probably learned your address


through fairly illegitimate means. She couldn’t tell you the


truth, so she just blurted out that thing about the address log.”


“Uh-huh.”


“So let’s think about this. Have you ever met a girl who


would go that far just to learn the address of some random


guy? You might not put it past a guy, but we’re talking about


a girl here.” He flashed an unsavory smile.


I let out a sigh of a laugh. “Don’t act like you know what’s


going on.”


“What can I say, it’s who I am.”


“But I really think you’re wrong about this. I can say that


for certain.”


“Well, I’ll be damned. And what are you basing this certainty


on?”


“Well, she acts like she hates me.”


“Huh?” Zerozaki’s facial expression alone was enough to


make it clear that he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.


“Come on now, at least remember the stuff you said yourself.


You just said Aoii was fond of you, didn’t you? So what the


hell are you squawking about now?”


“Hang on, this isn’t a contradiction. I have sort of a dualistic


or Boolean view of the world. Shall I explain? In other


words . . . like, take the cars on this road. Let’s say there’s a car


going twenty-five miles per hour.”


“Yeah. You want me to tell you if that’s fast or slow?”


“Yeah. Which do you think?”


“It’s slow, isn’t it? At this time of night they could go faster


than that.”


“Okay, then let’s imagine the same car going at full speed. I


don’t know much about the limitations of automobiles, but


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 6


let’s just say it’s going one hundred miles per hour at full


throttle. Is that fast?”


“Fast works for me.”


“Finally, let’s imagine the car when it’s at rest. How about


this time?”


He gave a restless shrug. “It’s at rest. What the hell do you


think?”


“Just humor me.”


“Well, slow, I guess. You sure can’t call something that’s


not moving fast.”


“That’s right. Now let’s go back to the initial question—is


twenty-five miles per hour slow or fast? I would express it like


this: ‘It’s twenty-five fast and seventy-five slow.’ ”


“Ahh.” He gave a convinced nod. The cheek on the tattooed


side of his face curled up into a slight smirk. “So the


way you see it, what does Aoii think of you?”


“Well, to give an approximation, she likes me seventy and


hates me fifty. Approximately.”


“I guess that doesn’t add up to her liking you twenty.”


Indeed. The logic of arithmetical operations didn’t apply


when it came to human emotions. Besides, these numbers


were highly prone to fluctuate, making such calculations troublesome.


They could only be expressed as averaged values.


“Okay, so what about you, now?” he asked.


“Huh?”


“You. How much do you like and hate Aoii?”


“I like her zero and hate her zero.”


“Whoa . . .” He pulled back a bit in surprise. “My God,


man . . . you’re brutal.”


“You should talk.”


“Cram it, Captain Passive.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 7


I liked her zero and hated her zero. You might call it


apathy.


Sure, my words might have been a little exaggerated and


laced with apathy, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t telling the


truth.


Because after all, I’m such a cold, dried-out person that I


can kill a person just by living. Indeed, I was as brutal as Zerozaki


made me out to be. I simply couldn’t take any type of


assertive action for the sake of a stranger.


“This is totally . . .”


“Totally.”


“A masterpiece,” Zerozaki said, laughing.


“Nonsense.” I didn’t laugh.


“Well, putting all that textbook mumbo-jumbo aside, don’t


you have the hots for anyone?”


“Huh. I don’t really know.”


“Even though they’re your emotions?”


“Because they’re my emotions.”


“Ah, I get it. Because you’re the passive spectator. You


understand other people better than you understand yourself.


I guess they say you can’t be your own observer. It’s like that


thing . . . what was it again? The uncertainty principle? Quantum


mechanics? Doppelgänger’s cat?”


“ ‘Doppelgänger’ can’t be right.”


“Ahh, who was it? It’s math, so it’s gotta be a German guy,


but . . .”


After that mildly racist remark, he sat and thought to himself


for a minute. But ultimately, he couldn’t seem to recall


whose cat it was. “Goddammit,” he said, slapping himself in


the left cheek. This seemed to relieve him.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 8


“Well then,” he said. “Here’s my conclusion: You’ve got a


fucking terrible attitude.”


“That’s probably correct. But. . .”


But.


What could I possibly have intended to follow that up


with? Might I have been considering saying somebody’s name?


Of course I was. But whose name that could’ve been, I don’t


know.


“It’s all just nonsense in the end.”


“Um, is that supposed to be, like, your escape line?” He


slumped his entire upper body dramatically as if my incredibly


delayed response had completely knocked the wind out of


him. Though not to the same extent as Mikoko-chan, it


seemed Zerozaki was also one for big reactions.


“Eh, then again, I guess I’m kind of like that too. Or rather,


I am like that,” he said.


We arrived at the Nishiôji-Shijô intersection. The Hankyû


Saiin Station was visible to the south. Of course, the final


train had long since made its stops, and the area surrounding


the station was desolate. We turned north. If we continued up


as far as Maruta-machi, we’d arrive at Tomo-chan’s apartment.


“Maybe we should’ve hailed a cab after all. We’re still only


halfway there.”


“It’s a waste of money. That is to say, I don’t have any


money. Or were you going to pay?”


“Nope. There isn’t a single student in Kyoto who rides in


cabs.”


“Huh. I’m not a student, so I wouldn’t know.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 9


Suddenly a doubt rose in my mind. I thought of Sasakisan’s


stern gaze for some reason as I asked Zerozaki my question.


“Are you on a most-wanted list or anything?”


“I don’t think so. Nobody’s ever tried to talk to me, and


nobody’s ever followed me. I’ve done my share of following


other people, though,” he boasted. It amazed me that someone


who stood out this much—I mean, he had a tattoo running


down half his face; maybe that kind of thing was normal


in Tokyo, but he was probably the only one of his kind in all


of Kyoto—hadn’t been arrested yet. But then again, if you


thought about it, whether he stood out or not probably didn’t


make much of a difference in a case like this.


“So we’re going to Emoto’s place from here, right? But . . .”


“What?”


“In reality, you can already pretty much deduce what happened,


right? I mean, who the killer is and stuff.”


“Deduce?” I parroted his word back at him. Could I really


figure out the answer based only what I knew at this point?


“Sorry to disappoint you, but I mean it when I say I don’t


really know what happened. I’m not some mystery novel or


movie . . .”


Detective.


The redheaded private contractor.


“Detective.”


“Well, of course not,” he said with surprising plainness.


“But I guess I also mean it when I say that I don’t think it’s


beyond figuring out. She was strangled to death. Inside a


room. The estimated time of death leaves a fairly narrow window.


The suspects all have alibis. We just need a few more


clues.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 0


And it just so happened that I currently had Kunagisa collecting


that very thing. And I myself was on my way to do the


same.


“Is it possible that it was just a random robbery?”


“Well, technically it’s possible, but the cops don’t seem to


think that’s the case.”


There was something very unordinary about both Sasakisan


and Kazuhito-san. It was hard to believe they were the


kind of people who would be sent out just to handle a simple


burglary-homicide case. Of course, that was just my hunch.


“Mmm.” Zerozaki's eyes drooped lazily. “But I don’t think


you really have to go out of your way to investigate things. Is


there some logical reason for doing this?”


“Not especially. Listen, nobody's making you come along.


Why don’t you go cut up some more people?”


“Nah, that’s okay. I’m not in the mood for that tonight.”


He took my suggestion more seriously than I had intended.


“Besides, I was the one who suggested we go in the first


place.”


Meanwhile, we’d arrived at Tomo-chan's apartment building.


Apparently the police had already checked out, leaving


the area as desolate as the train station. We made our way


through the automatic door and into the main lobby.


Now then.


“Ah, right. You need an autolock card key to get in.”


“What now?”


“Here’s what we do.” I walked a step ahead of Zerozaki


and entered a random room number into the intercom.


“Hello?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 1


“Um, this is the person from room three oh two. I’m so


sorry to bother you, but I went and locked my own card in the


room. Would you mind opening the door for me?”


“Oh, certainly.”


K-chunk, the glass door said as it opened up.


“Thank you,” I said to the complete stranger, and Zerozaki


and I quickly made our way into the building.


“You don’t mind lying just like that, huh?” he said.


“What can I say, it’s who I am.”


We got into the elevator and went up to the sixth floor. As


we walked down the sixth floor hall, I produced some thin


white gloves from my pocket and slid them onto my hands.


“Not to make this awkward, but . . . were you prepared


with those gloves this whole time?”


“Yup. I planned this whole thing.”


“Wow,” he said as he pulled his own pair of gloves out of


his vest pocket and switched them with the fingerless ones he


was currently wearing. Of course, a guy like him probably just


carried gloves around with him every day.


We arrived in front of Tomo-chan’s room. When I tried


the knob, the door turned out to be locked, as expected.


“So how do you propose we clear this one?”


“Actually, I hadn’t thought about it. Any ideas?”


“I gotcha,” he grumbled, pulling a thin knife from his vest


pocket. Or perhaps drill was a more accurate word for it. He


jammed it into the keyhole. He rattled it left and right until


we heard the click of something settling into place. Then he


pulled the knife back out, spun it around once in his hand,


and closed it back up in his vest.


He turned the knob. “It’s open.”


“This can’t be safe, can it?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 2


“Not even a little bit. The killer could be anywhere.”


We shrugged and went in anyway.


We walked down the hall between the kitchen and bathroom,


and passed through the door at the end. The room


hadn’t changed much from my Saturday visit. It looked like


some things had been slightly moved around, but that was


probably owed to the crime-scene investigation.


And then there was the center of the room. White strips of


tape formed the shape of a person.


“Wow,” Zerozaki said with awe. “So they really do that. It’s


like something out of a TV show or a manga. Hey, that Emoto


girl had about the same build as me.”


“Looks like it.”


Tomo-chan was pretty small, even for a girl, but for a guy,


Zerozaki was ridiculously petite. They weren’t exactly the


same size, but they could’ve easily fit each other’s clothing.


“Incidentally, I prefer tall girls,” he said.


“Really?”


“Yup. But tall girls don’t like short guys, do they?”


“But none of your six victims were tall girls.”


“Who goes around killing the girls he’s into, idiot?” he said


angrily. It looked like I had touched on a difficult subject.


Nevertheless.


My gaze fell back on the tape on the floor. Tomo-chan


must have been strangled and then collapsed on the floor here


in this position, asphyxiated. But this tape hardly captured the


reality of it.


I looked back over at Zerozaki to find him immersed in


silent prayer. His eyes were closed, with his hands pressed together


in front of his chest.


I deliberated for a moment before deciding to do likewise.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 3


Afterward, I once again began inspecting the area around


the tape.


“Hm.”


There was something on the right hand of the human


shape. It was dark, so I couldn’t see it very well, but we


couldn’t just go turning on the light, either. I managed to


make out a small ring made out of black tape.


It seemed this was some sort of mark they had made during


the investigation.


“What’s this? Maybe something was on the floor here?”


“No, look closer,” Zerozaki said, crouching down next to


me. “Something’s written here.”


“Dammit, I wish we had a little more light.”


“Just wait a little longer. Your eyes’ll adjust soon enough.”


It assumed that we were working at our leisure here, but


right now that was our only option.


In time, my eyes did begin to adjust.


Thin carpet. On its surface there were red letters.


“x over y?” we both said.


The letter x was written in cursive handwriting. Then a


diagonal line below it. Then the letter y in the same cursive


handwriting. It was messy writing, so you had to struggle to


make it out. But it didn’t seem like it could’ve said anything


else.


“What’s x over y?”


“Beats me.”


“Is it red because it’s written in blood?”


“Nah, seems to be some kind of oil-based ink.”


Strange writing next to the body's right hand. Could this


have been her dying message?


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 4


“But hey, we don’t actually know that this is the right


hand. We can’t tell if the body was faceup or facedown just by


looking at this tape.”


“Ah, right. But, Zerozaki, I don’t think she could've written


this if she was facedown. Not that she was necessarily the


one who wrote it.”


“Yeah, that’s right. There’s still the possibility that the


killer wrote it. So what’s this x over y bullshit all about? Math?


But this isn’t an equation. You can’t take it any further than


this.”


“Maybe whoever wrote it didn’t finish.”


“If that’s the case, we're pretty much at a dead end. I can’t


even imagine what they were getting at with this,” he said as


he walked over to a comer of the room and slid down against


the wall. “I’m sleepy,” he said with a big yawn. “Figure anything


out?”


“Just the fact that this may or may not have been her dying


message is a pretty good haul. Now, then . . .”


I scanned my eyes around the room. There were no signs of


a struggle. As far as I could see, nothing was broken or missing.


“Yeah, I don’t think this was just a burglary,” I said. Was it


all because of a grudge after all? But what could a girl who


had just turned twenty years old two days ago have done to


have inspired such hatred?


I continued examining the room as I pondered. Of course,


the police had probably already done this with complete thoroughness,


but right now it was necessary to see the crime


scene with my own eyes, in order to fill in the gaps in my


imagination. For later on.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 5


“What now?” Zerozaki said as he watched me moving


around. Judging from his current state, it didn’t look like he


intended to help me any further. Not that I was expecting him


to do anything. I’m not such an idealist that I would expect


anything from a mere water reflection.


“You seem strangely comfortable doing all this,” he said.


“Well, I've got experience.”


“What could a twenty-year-old have possibly experienced in


his life to have broken him so badly as a human being? I can’t


even imagine,” he said.


“You should talk. But I guess I’ll humor you anyway. I


guess you could say I haven’t lived a very respectable life. Or


no, my life has been plenty respectable, but I haven’t been.”


“Hmm. You know, I don’t like myself very much,” he said


plainly to my back. “But seeing you, I realize I’m not so bad.”


“You took the words right out of my mouth. I may be a


screwup, but I’m not as bad as you. When I look at it that


way, it’s kind of a relief.”


“I wonder.”


“I wonder.”


“Say . . . why do people die anyway?” he asked.


“Because you kill them.”


“Well, yeah, but I mean aside from that. Umm, what is it


again? Apoptosis? Darwinism? Genes? Cancer cells? Cell


suicide? All that good stuff. It’s like the termination point of


our functionality.”


“Come to think of it, I heard once that the longest a


human can live is somewhere around one hundred ten years,


regardless of the era or region.”


“Huh.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 6


“I mean, the bottom line is that living creatures have a lot


of diversity. But you know, whether you live a long time or


not doesn’t really make a difference. I don’t really think


there’s even much point in living two hundred or three hundred


years. I’ve lived for nineteen years and two months up


until now, but quite frankly. I’ve had enough.”


“You’re tired of it?” he asked.


“Well, it’s more like I just can’t endure it anymore. I’m still


okay for now, I guess, but if things go on like this . . . yeah, in


another two or three years, my ability to process reality will


have reached its limit.”


“But isn’t that just one of those things? Like, I’ll bet you


thought the same thing when you were fourteen, right? Like,


‘in another few years I’ll probably have committed suicide.’ ”


“Yeah, I did think that. But I didn’t have the balls to go


through with it.”


“Chicken.”


“Yeah, well. I always wanted to be a bird.”


“Not a chicken, I bet. They can’t even fly.”


“I’m joking. But I do think this: There isn’t a person on this


earth who’s lived for ten or twenty years without pondering


God and death, unless he’s just some slaphappy nut.”


“God and death, huh?”


“Yeah. But before he can contemplate those things, he has


to have learned about life. Some knowledge of life is necessary


in order to contemplate death, so you have to study life before


you can even begin to think about the fact that it will one day


end. It’s like that saying: ‘If you want to kill someone, your


victim had to have been alive to start with.’ No matter how


much effort I might exert, I can’t kill John Lennon.”


Nor could I kill Emoto Tomoe.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 7


“Now tell me, Zerozaki. What does it mean to be alive?”


“That your heart’s still beating?” he said off the top of his


head.


“Wrong,” I answered. “Showing signs of life and being alive


are not the same thing. But that aside, what if there existed a


person who had experienced death before life? What kind of


human being would he turn out to be? Could we even call


him a human being? A living creature who could reminisce


about his own passing, who had mourned his own death before


life even began. What would we label such an existence?”


“I guess that would be Death himself. It would have to be,


or else . . .” His eyes seemed to be searching for the right


words. He pointed a finger at me with an awkward look on his


face. No words came out. To be sure, they probably didn’t


need to.


“Eh, it’s just another mind-over-matter thing,” I surmised.


An escape line.


“Say, man. I know I already asked, but is there some reason


you’ve gone to all this trouble—I mean, illegally entering her


apartment, not to mention the fact that you’re supposed to be


the passive observer type—just to gather information about


the murder?”


“Yeah, there is,” I answered. I meant to say no, but for


some reason a confirmation leapt out of my mouth. I wasn’t


sure which one I really meant.


“Huh . . . you said yourself that you don’t like or dislike


Aoii, right? Then why should you do anything for her? And it


seems to me that you only met those other three through her,


like little add-ons.”


He slapped his hands together as if he had just thought of


something. “Is it for Emoto Tomoe?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 8


Tomo-chan.


A tragic figure, brutally murdered just after celebrating her


own birthday.


That alone wouldn’t have moved me, normally. If starving


children on the other side of the world were being shot to


death, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. If some giant


earthquake in some faraway country killed tens of thousands


of people, I wouldn’t feel a thing. Whether or not a string of


murders occurred in the town where I lived, it was no matter


to me. I just didn’t have that kind of spirit; it wasn’t much


more to imagine that I wouldn’t feel much sadness or despair


over the passing of even a nearby acquaintance.


However, there were always exceptions.


“I was hoping I’d get to talk to Emoto Tomoe just a little


more.”


Zerozaki said nothing to this.


“That’s all, though, really.”


“I see,” he nodded. “Well, whatever the case, what we have


here is a masterpiece for sure.”


Indeed, he was right that there seemed to be no compelling


reason for me to go to all this trouble. It wasn’t like I was


being somebody else, but it certainly wasn’t my usual style.


I realized I was being stupid. I just didn’t think I was


wrong.


“Ahh,” Zerozaki yawned again.


“If you’re bored, you can go.” That is to say, get lost.


But he shook his head. “It’s okay. Besides, how are you


planning to lock up without me?”


“Actually, I’ve got one of those things that allows you to


lock the door without the key.”


“That’s a pretty useless device.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 9


Of course, I was joking.


Zerozaki soon closed his eyes and began to doze off. It was


like watching my own sleeping face, which was a bizarre, alien


sensation, to say the least. I continued examining Tomo-chan's


room until four in the morning, but didn’t come up with


anything that seemed like a decent lead.


“But . . .”


Maybe it didn’t matter anyway. In fact, halfway through, I


had entirely lost my will to search for clues and spent the rest


of the time staring down at the tape human.


And I reminisced. About the time I had spent here on


Saturday night. That wild, ridiculous night during which we’d


all left reason and rational thought behind.


If I could be allowed to say something a bit romantic, perhaps


this was my memorial to Tomo-chan. Now that wasn’t


my style, to be sure, but it seemed like a good enough reason


all the same.


“Okay, let’s go.”


“Satisfied?” he asked.


“Yeah.”


“Okay.”


We left the building, and Zerozaki and I parted ways there.


We spoke no parting words, and made no plans to meet again.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 1


There ain’t no meaning.


Got it.


Got it.


Got it.


Got it?


Wednesday, May eighteenth.


With second period over, the afternoon break had begun.


Since the dining room got crowded at that time, I always


skipped lunch on days when I had a second-period class. So I


instead made my way directly to my general-education class.


General education.


Classmates.


Aoii Mikoko, Atemiya Muimi, Usami Akiharu, and Emoto


Tomoe . . .


I hadn’t seen a single one of these four people since the


week began. This was no coincidence; most likely, not a single


one of them had come to school. Being dead, Tomo-chan had


her reasons, but the other three had neither died nor been


murdered. Perhaps Tomo-chan’s death was to blame for them


not showing up, or perhaps this was just how college students


behaved after Golden Week.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 2


Things hadn’t progressed any further. The pair of


detectives—Sasaki-san and Kazuhito-san—hadn’t returned to


visit my apartment again, I hadn’t had any contact with my


three classmates, and I was still waiting for news from


Kunagisa. Naturally, I hadn’t met with Zerozaki again either.


As someone who doesn’t read the news or watch TV, I of


course had no idea what kind of press (or lack thereof) Tomochan’s


death had attracted. Nor did I know if the prowler had


struck again in the past three days.


It was something I had no desire to know.


Right now, I was only waiting. After all, that was one thing


I was used to.


“Man, it’s hot. . . . I wonder if I’m a slug,” I muttered as I


made my way across campus, from Meigaku Hall to Yôyô


Hall. It was less than three hundred feet away, but it was a


tough walk anyway. I had heard of boiling-hot climates before,


but I didn’t think they really existed. Neither Kobe nor


Houston had been this bad. This was the kind of heat and


body-soaking humidity unique to basin towns. I struggled to


endure it as my legs carried me along. I climbed a staircase,


which brought me directly to the second floor of Yôyô Hall. I


went inside and at last took a moment to catch my breath.


Just then, I spotted somebody familiar. But it wasn’t


because she was familiar that I noticed her. Rather, it was that


my eyes had been attracted to her against their better


judgment by her flamboyantly hot-pink jersey. It didn’t exactly


blend into the surroundings.


That brown sauvage. If only she was crouching on the


ground in front of a convenience store, the image would have


been complete.


It was Atemiya Muimi-chan.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 3


She was currently talking to some guy, probably a classmate.


Thinking it would be a little obnoxious if I were to butt


in and start up a conversation, I tried to slip by her unnoticed


when she called out to me.


“Whoa, it’s Ikkun,” she said.


“Yo,” her male associate greeted me informally. He had


light brown hair and an easy-breezy kind of smile. Wait, who


was this again? I didn’t know anyone with this sort of easy-golucky


surfer quality, did I? Was he from our general-education


class?


“Long time no see, huh?” Muimi-chan said with a weak


smile. “Umm . . . Geez, this is kind of awkward, huh? How


have you been since it happened?”


“I’ve been coming to school as usual.”


“Oh . . . heh, well, I guess you would.” She smiled, but it


seemed slightly forced. She appeared worn out, which probably


wasn’t forced.


“How about you?” I asked. “What’ve you been doing? I


haven’t seen you at school.”


“Oh, well, how do you put it . . .” She couldn’t seem to


find the words. She probably didn’t like the idea of exposing


her weakness to others. I’m not that type of person myself,


but her feelings weren’t beyond my comprehension.


“Well, I’ve got to prepare for a presentation. Time to get


outta here. See ya later,” the guy said to us, and rushed off in


the direction of the staircase.


“He’s sure an energetic son of a bitch, huh?” Muimi-chan


said we watched him take off. “He’s totally lazy until an


opportunity to be the center of attention comes along. Gen.


Ed. ought to be a good show today. I’ll be watching that bastard


from the front row.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 4


“Huh. So that guy is a classmate, then.”


Muimi-chan stood frozen for a few seconds before slowly


and stiffly turning her head toward me like her neck needed


an oil change. I almost expected to hear it creaking.


“Don’t tell me you forgot.”


“Hm? Oh, I guess Mikoko-chan didn’t tell you then, huh?


I’ve got a pretty bad memory, so I don’t really know who’s in


our class. I might remember him if I heard his name, though.”


But she wouldn’t tell me the guy’s name. She was staring


at me in shock for some reason.


At last, she opened her mouth. “Usami Akiharu.”


“Oh.”


There you had it.


This was shocking.


“Does he leave that little of an impression?” she said.


“Well, less than you, anyway. It’s not like he goes around


wearing hot pink jerseys.”


That was what I wanted to say, but I stopped myself.


Muimi-chan was the type of person who would probably


really start hitting you once you made her mad. And I probably


wouldn’t get off with just a jab or two. If I teased her the


way I teased Mikoko-chan, I’d be dead meat.


“It’s my memory that’s at fault here, that’s all.”


“If that’s the case, then do something about it.”


“Well, the weak impression thing may be an issue too. He’s


not as crazy as Mikoko-chan. I know a lot of eccentric people.


Actually, that makes it sound like I know a lot of people.


Correction: The only acquaintances I have are eccentric


people, so normal people just slip right out of my mind.”


“Normal people, huh?” She gave a wicked little laugh.


“What? Did I say something funny?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 5


“Oh, nothing, nothing, I was just thinking, you’re a surprisingly


poor judge of character.”


“Huh?”


“Akiharu’s got a meaner personality than you think,” she


said in a way that seemed strangely meaningful as she stared


off in the direction he had gone moments ago. “Well, you’ll


figure that out eventually . . . eventually.” Something in her


soft tone seemed to suggest her words had a deeper meaning,


but a moment later her facial expression switched like someone


had pressed a button on a remote. She turned my way


again.


“This is perfect,” she said. “I wanted to have a chat with


you. Let’s go talk in the lounge.”


She began walking without waiting for my reply. After a


short walk, we broke to the right, where we came upon the


student lounge. I wondered if it would be crowded since it


was the middle of the afternoon, but looking through the


window glass I could see that, for some reason, fewer seats


were occupied than empty. There was a plate hanging off the


lounge door with No Standing written on it in red, Gothic


letters. It was a prank a student had carried out several years


back, and at this point nobody even bothered questioning it


anymore. As a result, nobody bothered getting rid of it, either.


We entered the lounge, and Muimi-chan took a seat. The


place was filled with cigarette smoke. Muimi-chan took one


whiff and immediately reached into her pocket for something,


but then stopped herself as if she had recalled her “policy” just


in time. It was nice of her to stick to it so fastidiously, but in a


place already this filled with smoke, it didn’t really make


much difference to me whether she smoked or not. But I


knew that even if I told her she could, she would just say


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 6


something like, “No, it’s my decision,” so I took my seat without


saying anything.


“So what did you want to talk about?”


“Don’t play dumb. What’s the one thing you and I would


have to discuss?” she asked.


“Tomo-chan?”


“Mikoko.”


She leaned forward with her arms on the table and glared


up at me. But I wasn’t so clueless that I wasn’t prepared to


meet her gaze.


“Have you seen Mikoko since then?”


“Since when?” I asked innocently.


“I told you not to play dumb. The police must have paid


you a visit, too.”


“Well, yeah . . .” I recalled my meeting with Sasaki-san and


Kazuhito-san, but to be honest, they weren’t really a pair I


wanted to think about too much. “So they visited you too?”


“Yeah. Kind of an unpleasant pair, weren’t they?”


“A man and a woman?”


“Yeah. The guy looked like he belonged on The X-Files, and


the lady looked like she paid regular visits to underground


cells. Regular cops piss me off enough already, much less these


two . . . uh, but that’s another story,” she said, righting her


posture. “Yesterday was Tomoe’s funeral.” She looked at me


in an accusatory fashion. “You didn’t come.”


“Well, nobody told me about it.”


“Mikoko didn’t come either. Akiharu and I went, though.”


“Well, what can you do, right? Her death must’ve been a


big shock to all of you,” I said.


“Yeah, must’ve been. You make it sound like this doesn’t


have anything to do with you,” she replied.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 7


“It doesn’t,” I stopped myself from saying. Ah, the art of


tact.


“You’re not at all shocked by the fact that Tomoe was


murdered?”


“Well, I was surprised enough when I first heard the news,


but after three days, well, what do they call it? Cleaning out


your heart’s drawers? I mean, the past is just memories.”


“As Tomoe’s friend, I want to be pissed at you for saying


that, but you’re pretty much right, huh?” she said, a bit defeated.


“I guess the human heart is conveniently constructed.


Especially for someone who’s thick-skinned like me. It’s only


been three days and I’m already back at the point where I can


go to school again. But it really was devastating at first. I


mean, I had just seen her, and then . . .” She snapped her


fingers.


And then, silence. I wouldn’t have called it awkward, but


it was a little unbearable. There was definitely a painful aura


flowing between us.


“It looks like Akiharu-kun’s recovered to some degree,


based on how he was acting just now.”


“Is that how he looked?” she asked.


“I thought so.”


“Well, maybe, if you say so.”


Again, she seemed to be getting at something, just like


when she had said, “Akiharu’s got a stronger personality than


you think.”


So what was she saying? She changed the subject before I


could figure it out.


“So apparently you were the last one to hear Tomoe’s


voice.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 8


“Yeah. Although it was over the phone. Did you hear that


from Mikoko-chan? Or from the detectives?”


“Mikoko,” she said, nodding. “I went to her place yesterday


after the funeral ended, but . . . I think she needs more time to


recover.”


“Ah.”


“And that doesn’t bother you at all?”


“Huh? What do you mean?” I asked.


“I mean you just heard that Mikoko is feeling down, and


I’m asking if that bothers you.”


“Everybody sure is hung up on that,” I said. Muimi-chan


looked a bit puzzled, possibly because of the word everybody.


She let out a big sigh and stretched. “Fucking clueless . . .”


“What’s that? I couldn’t quite make that out.”


“Ah, nothing. Listen, you might not want to hear this, and


frankly I’m the last person who should be telling you. I was


the one who was opposed to it in the first place. . . .”


“Huh?”


“Nothing. Okay, let me ask you a favor, then. It’s a simple


favor and there’s no catch. Just go visit Mikoko’s place, will


ya?”


She pulled a piece of paper out of her jersey pocket and


handed it to me. “Aoii Mikoko” was written on it in hiragana,


and below that were her address and phone number.


“Man, these are some round letters. Who wrote this?”


“Me.”


“Ah . . .”


“What’s that supposed to mean? What up with that


expression, like you saw that answer coming or something?”


“Uh, nothing. That’s not what I was going to say.” I looked


down at the memo in an effort to escape her deadly gaze, and


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 9


confirmed Mikoko-chan’s address. Horikawa Oike. Come to


think of it, had I heard that before? It felt like I had, but it also


felt like I was learning her address for the first time. I couldn’t


remember.


“It’s pretty far from school. I guess that means she commutes


here on her Vespa.”


“Nope, bus. This school doesn’t allow bikes.”


“It doesn’t?”


Incidentally, I commuted on foot. I had a bike, but I didn’t


use it much, as a general rule. It wasn’t that I particularly liked


walking, but somehow it works for me anyway.


“Okay, so I go to Mikoko-chan’s place, and then what?”


“She’s down, so cheer her up. Just say stuff like ‘it won’t


do any good to just sit around feeling blue’ and ‘keep your


chin up.’ I’m sure that’ll do.”


“Oh, just the usual crap, huh? But wouldn’t that kind of


thing be better coming out of you? Oh, but I guess you already


told her yesterday. But if her good friend couldn’t even


cheer her up, I’m a lost cause.”


“It’s not that hard. Just go there and that’ll be enough.


Seriously, that’s all. Go see her, say a word or two of encouragement,


and then just play it by ear.”


Whatever that meant.


But then again, I didn’t really have any reason to refuse,


and it was a relatively convenient proposal, so I went ahead


and accepted. “Okay.”


“Try stopping by today after school.”


Just then, the bell indicating the start of third period rang.


“Oh, crap,” said the look on Muimi-chan’s face. My face probably


didn’t show it, but I pretty much felt the same way.


Inokawa-sensei, the Cerberus of time.


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