Volume 2 Chapter 5

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to learn that Mikoko-chan wasn’t someone with whom you


could have a good conversation about Miiko-san.


“Wow, so Tomo-chan had a license too.”


“Yup. For what it’s worth.”


“I see. Hey, by the way, did you go to school yesterday and


the day before?”


“Yup. Didn’t see you there, for some reason.”


That was because I didn’t go to school yesterday and the


day before. With those documents from Kunagisa in hand, I


had a lot of things to think about. It wasn’t that my role as a


student was my lowest priority or anything, but it wasn’t my


top one either.


“I met up with Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan, though. I


talked to them about the idea of having an event in Tomochan’s


honor. You’ve got to come out when we do it.”


For a moment, for just a single instant, I hesitated. “Yeah,


for sure. Be sure to invite me,” I replied. I couldn’t tell if I was


genuinely agreeing, or if I was just saying that because I was


on the spot. Knowing my personality, it was more likely the


latter, but in this particular case, just maybe it was the former.


We arrived in Shijôkawara-machi and got off the bus.


“Ooookay! Today, we get crazy!” she declared, stretching


out both her arms. And then she flashed me the most beautiful,


awe-inspiring, liberated smile I had ever seen in my life.


“Say good-bye to the dark stuff. Today we’re having fun!


Right, Ikkun?!”


“Yes, that is correct.”


“Yeah! Mikoko-chan, full speed ahead!”


For the next six hours, Mikoko-chan did just as she’d


declared, running around Shinkyôgoku from one end to the


other, almost as if she really had forgotten about Tomo-chan.


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Skipping and hopping around.


Frolicking about.


Vanquishing evil.


Going wild.


Joking around.


Almost crazily.


Almost like she was broken.


Almost like shad had somehow faded.


Like she had melted away.


Dancing madly.


Flying about.


Spiraling.


Like she was scrambling for something.


Like something was holding her back.


Like she was on a self-abusive binge, and yet still somehow


mistakable for a pixie.


Like an innocent child, utterly free of sin.


A wholly pure existence.


Freely expressing her emotions—laughing, losing her


temper, and at times even lamenting with watery eyes, only to


return once again to that joyful smile.


Even I, even I, just some guy who happened to be there.


Me, Mr. Damaged Goods.


Or perhaps she had already made up her mind to confront


her destiny. For me, the one who couldn’t save her—no, who


didn’t save her—this was nothing more than an excuse, but I


still couldn’t help wondering.


Was she already aware of her fate?


“Wow, time just flies by, doesn’t it? I can’t believe it.”


“Well, it’s like Einstein said. There’s a world of different


between a minute spent with a pretty girl and a minute spent


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with your hand on a stove,” I said, as if Einstein were an old


friend of mine.


“Huh?!” Mikoko-chan said with a look of pure triumph.


“Could it be? Are you saying you think that I’m pretty?”


“Well, I don’t suppose I’d deny it,” I said, simply for the


sake of the conversation. If there was one thing today had


taught me, it was that giving her too direct of a response


would result in me getting dragged into something unnecessary.


I currently had three paper shopping bags in my right


hand, two in my left, and two plastic bags on my back. They


were mostly filled with clothes, so none of it was all that


heavy, but it sure was a shock to see Mikoko-chan throw her


ten-thousand-yen bills away one after another. Kunagisa was a


big shopper too, but in her case it was all online from home,


so the reality of seeing someone splurging this heavily right


before my eyes was a fairly fresh experience for me.


“Well, then . . . should we eat something and then go


back?”


“Yeah, yeah! Wowww!”


“What?”


“I’m so happy you asked me!” she said with a big grin.


She was really hyper today. Why was she so damn happy?


From there, we went into a place in Kiya-machi that was


sort of a cross between a Japanese-style pub and a coffee shop.


The interior was decorated to look like a prison, with the staff


dressed in prisoner or policewoman costumes, but despite the


place’s peculiarities, the food and the prices were both decent.


I had come here once before with Miiko-san once, during


which we deemed it one of the top three restaurants in town,


but that was probably the kind of thing I shouldn’t bother


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telling Mikoko-chan. Aikawa-san would only take me to Japanese


bars that only served Japanese liquor, Kunagisa only ate


junk food, and pretty much everyone else I knew was finicky.


If I really thought about it, having someone I could go to


places like this with was something to be cherished.


A (fake) policewoman showed us to our cell, where we sat


down.


“Would you care for something to drink?” she said.


Mikoko-chan ordered a cocktail, and I a glass of oolong tea.


“You really don’t drink, huh?”


“It’s kind of a policy. Like how Muimi-chan doesn’t smoke


in front of nonsmokers.”


“Haha, that’s right! You know, it was actually Tomo-chan


who asked her to stop. Tomo-chan rarely demanded anything


from her friends, so even Muimi-chan listened to her just like


that.”


“Come to think of it, she doesn’t seem the type to care


much about whether or not she’s disturbing others, normally.”


“Yeah, but you know, she said she’s quitting.”


“Huh.”


“It’ll be good for her health!” she said, sweeping away the


darkness about to form. At the same time, the drinks finally


arrived. The waitress placed the cocktail in front of me and


the oolong tea in front of Mikoko-chan. We ignored this for


the time being and placed our order.


“So you’ve been friends with Muimi-chan since elementary


school, huh?” I said.


“Yup. And even then she was a smoker.”


“And yet she’s pretty tall.”


“Yup. But I’ll bet she would’ve been even taller if she


hadn’t smoked.” Such a thing was virtually unimaginable.


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“You know, she used to be a bully. She reformed some time


during high school.”


“That’s pretty late.”


“She met Tomo-chan, and, well, some things happened.


You know, yadda yadda yadda.”


Some things.


Yeah, I’ll bet some things happened. They had certainly


spent enough time together.


“What about you?” I said.


“Hm?”


“You make it sound like Tomo-chan really had a big influence


on Muimi-chan, but what about you? And Akiharukun?”


She fell silent for a moment, then let out a deep sigh. “You


know, I always thought human relationships were all about


the long term,” she said. “You spend a long time getting to


know a person, and then one day you start to click. That’s


what I thought. But I was wrong. I was wrong, Ikkun. You


don’t need to know somebody for a long time or to ‘click’ in


order to be drawn to a person.”


“Why do you think Tomo-chan was killed?”


“H . . . how would I know something like that?” She hung


her head down. “There was no reason Tomo-chan had to die.


There wasn’t a single possible reason for killing her.”


“I think the reason people kill one another is actually quite


simple,” I said, ignoring her. “Interference. If some factor is interfering


with your life, the logical next step is to try and weed


it out. It’s just like kicking stones off a railway track.”


“But Tomo-chan—“


“Yup, Tomo-chan made it a point never to overstep people’s


boundaries or be invasive. In other words, there was no


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reason for her to have been considered an interference to anybody.


She was too far out of range to begin with.”


“Uh-huh.”


“To put it another way, she wasn’t even in a position to


become the object of somebody’s ill will or enmity or malice.


Thus, there was no reason for somebody to kill her. She


wasn’t disturbing anybody.”


You’re only living,


and that’s causing


disturbance to others.


“But it’s not that simple. I mean, Tomo-chan wasn’t some


hermit living in the forests of Mount Fuji. She was a normal


university student, living a normal university student’s life. As


such, she had to form personal relationships, whether she


liked it or not. Now let me pose you a question, Mikoko-chan,


and please answer with your own opinion. What does it mean


to form a personal relationship?”


“Umm . . .” she said, seeming a bit perplexed. “Well, I can’t


say for sure, but it’s like getting close to somebody, I think.”


“Yes, that’s right. That’s absolutely right, Mikoko-chan.


Now if you were to go and rephrase that, it essentially means


‘choosing somebody.’ But let’s think about that for a minute.


To choose someone means to not choose somebody else. The


act of ‘choosing’ and the act of ‘not choosing’ are just opposite


sides of the same coin. I’m not talking about things like how


you can only have one best friend or one lover. Such dilemmas


are irrelevant here. What I’m talking about is that it’s logically


impossible for a human being to be liked by everyone, to be


able to get close to anybody he or she hasn’t chosen.”


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“Hmm . . . It may be hard—to be liked by everyone, I


mean—but I don’t think it’s impossible. Maybe not everyone


in the world, but I think it’s at least possible with the people


directly surrounding you.”


“I don’t think it is. That’s what I believe. People aren’t all


as kind as you think. There are monsters out there who only


view other people as subjects to be dissected. There are blue


things that can only process the world in terms of zeros and


ones. There are Mankind’s Greatest ladies who are cynical


about everything in the whole world, not to mention other


people. There are fortune-tellers who have seen all hope and


all despair in the entire world and still go on sneering away.


Artists who view their very existence—not to mention the existence


of others—as nothing more than elements in her style.


There are even people who can only accept human beings as


either good or evil.”


“. . .”


“Now don’t you think Tomo-chan’s awareness of this was


the reason she chose to avoid forming deep relationships with


people? She was trying to make as few enemies as possible.”


“Tomo-chan wasn’t . . . that kind of girl,” Mikoko-chan


said, fading in and out, but I mostly didn’t hear her. It seemed


she knew herself that such a claim had no basis. “But even if


that was true, the fact remains that she was killed.”


“You’re right. Tomo-chan made sure never to fall in too


deep with anybody, and yet at the same time, she showed superb


skill in not letting it show.”


It was the very thing I was incapable of.


No matter how hard I tried.


“But despite all that, she was murdered anyway. Tomochan


was murdered. Now at this point, Mikoko-chan, let’s


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take a look at this serial killer who’s become such a sensation


as of late. This guy is an indiscriminate murderer. Just falling


into his field of vision or, conversely, not falling into his field


of vision, just happening to bump him on the shoulder, or


even not bumping him on the shoulder is enough of a reason


for him to kill you. He kills mechanically. Automatically. For a


killer like that, even Tomo-chan is a possible target. Even I


am.”


“So then Tomo-chan was killed by the slasher?”


“Apparently not. According to Sasaki-san—that detective, I


mean. Apparently, that’s the one thing that they know for


sure. Now then, if I might change the subject a little bit, let


me ask you this: Haven’t you ever thought there were just too


many people in the world?”


Taken aback by the suddenness of my question, she looked


away. Nevertheless, I silently waited for her answer.


“But that doesn’t mean you can just kill people,” she said.


“Ikkun, could you ever forgive someone for murder?”


“No,” I answered without hesitation. “It’s not a matter of


forgiving or not forgiving. There’s a far more fundamental


issue. That is, the fact that murder is the absolute worst thing.


That I can confirm. The desire to take a life is the most despicable


human emotion. To hope and pray and wish for another


person’s death is a hopelessly evil act. It is a sin beyond redemption.


It’s an atrocity beyond apology, and I’ll be damned


if it has anything to do with forgiveness.”


My voice was so rigid and merciless, I didn’t even sound


like me.


Complete nonsense.


Who was really the hopeless one here?


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“Anybody who’s taken a life belongs in Hell, without exception.”


“B . . . but . . .” She gulped in terror at my bold declaration,


but managed to muster up an objection nevertheless. “Like,


what if the person was in danger? Like what if you were walking


around Kamogawa Park at night, and then this Kyoto


prowler guy came at you with a knife? Would you just sit


there and let him kill you?”


“No, I suppose I would resist.”


“Right?”


“You’re right. And I might even use too much force and


accidentally kill him. The same thing goes for me as goes for


everyone else. But I would also realize in that moment, when


I’m taking somebody else’s in order to preserve my own—I


would realize my own sinfulness. I would acknowledge that


I’m guilty of a sin so deep that it won’t even be forgiven when


I’m dead.”


“But you were going to be killed! It’s only natural to defend


yourself in a situation like that, right?”


“If you start thinking like that, you’ve already committed


the sin. Let’s make one thing clear right now,” I said sternly. “I


am capable of murder.”


“. . .”


“Whether it be for my own sake or for someone else’s, I


could slaughter another human being. I could eradicate another


life, whether it be a friend or a family member. Why do


you think that is?”


“Why? I don’t know,” she said anxiously. “I don’t think


that’s true. You’re a kind guy. I don’t think you could do


those things.”


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“I can. Without a doubt. The reason is that I can’t comprehend


other people’s pain.”


“. . .”


“For example, I have a certain female friend who lacks


most of the basic human emotions. She’s always super-happy,


having fun no matter what she’s doing, but that’s only because


she doesn’t know any other emotion. As a result, she can


barely comprehend when other people get sad or angry.”


It was the only way she could process the world. Never


able to distinguish between paradise and paradise lost.


“I’m the same way. No, I’m much worse. I can’t understand


the pain of others even a little bit. Why? Because I


myself can’t properly interpret my own feelings of ‘pain’ or


‘suffering.’ The thought of dying doesn’t even bother me. It’s


not that I want to die, but my will to resist it is abnormally


low. And thus this leads to what I was saying.


“There are a variety of ‘stoppers’ that prevent people from


killing one another. One of the most vital ones is having


thoughts like, ‘Gee, this probably hurts,’ or ‘Man, I feel sorry


for this guy.’ Isn’t that right? It is. For example, I’m sure


you’ve gotten the urge to hurt somebody before, right? But


you probably didn’t actually beat the crap out of them or


anything, did you?”


“Mm. I’ve never hit someone before.”


“But I’ll bet you’ve wanted to before, right?”


She didn’t answer. This was the clearest confirmation she


could’ve given. But this was no crime. Nobody can go through


life without ever harboring ill will toward someone, even if


you’re up in Heaven.


“I guess basically I’m talking about an ability to feel empathy.


You understand the other person’s emotions, you feel


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mercy for them, and you conform to them. Of course, this


isn’t always a good thing. Jealousy and envy both have empathy


at their root. An understanding of another person’s


emotions. It’s both a merit and a demerit.”


And if, like the woman on that island, you knew everyone’s


emotions, all you could do was break down.


“But let’s not wax philosophical about loss and gain, here,”


I said. “The point here is that I don’t have these ‘stoppers.’ I


can’t make head or tail of people’s emotions. As a result, I


have to suppress myself. Doing so proves to be incredibly agonizing.


It’s not even funny. But somehow I’ve managed to


keep the demons down.”


I had some nerve, living life while harboring such a monster


within myself.


“Ikkun . . .”


“I could reach my limit any day now. And that is why I


can’t forgive a murderer. How could I? The very existence of a


murderer is detestable. Deplorable. I hate all murderers from


the bottom of my heart. I hate them heartily. I think I’d like


to crush them all.”


“. . .”


“Just kidding, I don’t think that at all,” I said.


Our food arrived. Mikoko-chan ordered more alcohol, and


I a glass of water. We sat for a while eating our food in silence.


“Say, Ikkun . . .”


“Yeah?”


“Why are you telling me all this stuff?” she said, suspiciously.


It had been such a fun day.


Silently, I shook my head. It was no doubt a terribly cold


gesture. “I just figured you might want to hear it. Was I


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wrong? No, right? And, well, I wanted you to know the extent


to which I was damaged goods.”


“Damaged goods? How can you say such a terrible thing?


And about yourself!”


“It’s because it’s about myself that I can say it. If I’m not


damaged goods, then I’m at least a human failure. Don’t you


think? Actually, people tell me that a lot. Anyone who’s


grown even slightly close to me has said so. ‘You’re out of


your mind,’ they say. ‘Abnormal.’ ‘A heretic.’ ‘Grotesque.’


‘Shoddy.’ And those are all correct.”


“Ikkun . . .” Mikoko-chan said nervously. “You sound like


you’re headed for suicide.”


“I won’t commit suicide. I promised.”


“You . . . promised?”


“Yeah. To the first person I killed.”


A pause.


I popped a cube of steak in my mouth. “Just kidding,” I


said. “Un fortunately, my life isn’t that exciting. And I’m not


romantic enough to make such an incredible promise. I’m just


an ordinary guy who’s missing some vital component. The


actual reason I won’t commit suicide is that, well, it just looks


bad. You know, like I’m running from my own flaws. Of


course, I am running from my flaws, but I don’t want to look


like I am.”


“Ikkun, I know you’re not like other people, but . . . if you


killed yourself, I would cry. I know I would. Forget about


what you’re missing. You’re living a normal life, aren’t you?”


“Broken things can be fixed. Things that are simply inadequate


can’t.”


Mikoko-chan let out a deep sigh. “It’s like I’m talking to


Tomo-chan.”


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“Hmm? Did she talk about this kind of thing a lot?”


“Well, not really. I mean, she didn’t open up to people that


much. But if we ever had a ‘real’ conversation, I’m sure it


would’ve been something like this.”


“In that case . . .”


In that case, it was truly regrettable. I felt all the more like


I should have had a serious talk with Emoto Tomoe.


If I had . . . if I had?


What if I had?


Who would have been saved? Did I actually think she


might have been saved? As if.


Rather, wasn’t it because we had talked that she had . . .


“You know, about Tomo-chan,” I said without looking up


at Mikoko-chan. “I don’t think she would resent the person


who killed her. I’m sure she doesn’t, not even a little bit.”


“. . . Why do you think that?”


“Eh, just a hunch. No other reason. But that’s what I think.


I’m sure she’s not the type to resent others.”


I even had the gall to use present tense instead of past.


Present tense.


“Of course, they say she was strangled from behind, so she


probably didn’t even see the killer’s face. I don’t suppose she


could have resented the killer even if she wanted to, I said.


“The killer’s . . . face . . .” Mikoko-chan repeated. “The person


who killed her . . .”


“But Tomo-chan probably wouldn’t have had any interest


in something like that anyway. I mean, no matter who kills


you, the outcome is the same. In the end, being killed is nothing


more than just that. The fact that you die doesn’t change,


no matter whose fault it is. Plus, Tomo-chan was like me—she


had little resistance to the idea of death in the first place. I can


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say this with a fair degree of certainty. She didn’t seem to like


herself very much. She told me so that day. She wants to be


reborn as you.”


Hearing that, Mikoko-chan looked like she was about to


cry. She managed to hold back the tears, but she continued


speaking Tomo-chan’s name softly to herself for some time.


“Tomo-chan . . . Tomo-chan . . . Tomo-chan.”


I watched this, unmoved. Honestly, truly, completely


without emotion.


“Mikoko-chan, who do you think did it?”


“You know, you sure do seem hung up on that,” she said


with just a hint of suspicion. “Have you been investigating or


something?”


“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Well, not so much investigating


as wanting to know. I want to meet whoever did it. I


want to ask some questions. Or rather, I want to interrogate


this person. You know, like, ‘Can you justify your own existence?’



“Ikkun,” Mikoko-chan said, “You’re really scary, aren’t


you?”


“Am I? I personally don’t think so, but maybe I am.”


“You apply your own rules to other people. I don’t know


how to describe it. It’s like while you view yourself as one part


of the world, you view all people as like . . . the world’s gears.


No, not gears. If a gear goes missing, the whole machine


breaks down, but you don’t care if a person or two disappears.”


“I wouldn’t go that far.”


“I really don’t think you’re the kind of person who could


just kill someone, Ikkun. But I’ll bet you also don’t hesitate to


tell someone to die.”


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“. . .”


“Am I right? I mean, asking the person who killed Tomochan


a question like that is the same as saying, ‘You don’t deserve


to live.’ It’s cruel. It’s so cruel. Ikkun, do you realize


that?”


“Yes,” I shot back. “I’m fully aware of that. I’m as aware of


my own sins and of my own nonsense-sputtering nature as I


am of the fact that I’m the one who belongs in the depths of


Hell. Someone once told me that most murders are the result


of a person ‘going too far’ or ‘using too much force,’ but in my


case, I’m fully capable of fully premeditated murder. I’m one


of the rare, deplorable breed of people who can take a life


without any need for self-approval or self-deception or selfdenial


or self-satisfaction.”


“You sure are self-hating, though.”


“I’m a masochist,” I said casually. “And an extremely nasty


one, at that. But that’s my way, my style, my assertion. And I


have no intention of giving that up.”


“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”


She looked a bit sad.


It was as if she were looking at somebody in the distance.


Somebody who was already gone.


An ephemeral, painful gaze.


Her expression.


Her aura.


Surely it was because she never hid her emotions, nor even


tried to do so.


I could understand.


I could comprehend.


It almost felt like I had gone and understood somebody’s


feelings.


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“But that’s . . .” she said.


This was, among other things:


A feeling of affection.


A lovely presence.


An utterance of sentiment.


A truly aloof air.


A truly casual aura.


A singular impossibility.


An inability to remain apathetic.


A dazzling nightmare.


A feeling like reality itself would distort and collapse.


I desired a partner. I faced my partner.


The pleasure of being beaten down.


The pleasure of being run through.


The ecstasy of being dismembered.


Cut into little bits and pieces.


A vital component-stealing,


Heart-clutching,


Mind-penetrating


Smile.


“That’s the Ikkun I love,” she said.


A single, thuggish-looking person was crouched down in front


of my apartment. I approached closer, wondering who it could


be, only to discover (as half-expected, I suppose) that it was


Aikawa-san. Her hairstyle had changed a bit since Wednesday,


suggesting she had gotten it cut. It was a slick style like the


kind celebrities sometimes get, where the bangs in front form


a perfectly straight line above the brow. With her already


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extraordinary proportions, the new hairstyle made her look


even more like a model. If only she hadn’t been squatting like


some high school thug.


“Yo,” she said upon noticing me. She stood up and came to


greet me. She had a heartless, somehow catlike sneer on her


face. “So how was your date?”


“You were watching us?”


“I just spotted you in Shinkyôgoku. So I came here to make


fun of you.”


“I . . . see.”


How much free time did this woman have? I was amazed.


She was completely ungraspable. There was no way to guess


what she might do next. A wily phantom of a woman.


“So you cut your hair, huh? Looking for a change of pace?”


“To be more accurate, I got it cut,” she said as she tweaked


her bangs.


“Well, yeah, I suppose.”


“Yup. Like this”—flick—“with a survival knife. If I had


dodged a second later, I wouldn’t have my left eye anymore. I


gotta admit, even I was scared.”


She must have gone to the worst hairstylist ever.


“I figure I might keep it short for a while. What do you


think? Does it work?”


“Aikawa-san, any hairstyle would look good on you. You’re


a beautiful woman.”


“Aw, you’re too sweet. But how many goddamn times do I


have to tell you not to call me by my last name?”


She put me in a headlock and noogied my brains out


before letting me go again. Then she flashed me that wicked


smile.


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You couldn’t hold anything against this woman. If you did,


you’d never get away with it.


“So? How was your date? What’s going on with that


younger girl? Hmm? Hmm? Come on, talk to me. If you’ve


got a problem, I can give you advice.”


“I think you’ve got it all wrong, er, Jun-san. She’s just one


of the people involved in this murder case.”


“Hmm? Oh. Really. Then . . . by any chance was it Aoii


Mikoko?” I nodded. Her face went blank. “Hmm,” she said. “I


see. Well, either way, I guess if you’re already back at this


hour, you don’t have much of a chance.”


Incidentally, it was eleven o’clock.


Mikoko-chan had imbibed a ridiculous amount of alcohol,


with all the inevitable consequences. She passed out in the


middle of the restaurant. I hoisted her onto my back and took


her all the way back to Horikawa Oike, entered her apartment,


put her to bed, locked up, and took the bus back home.


This time she didn’t look like she was fake-sleeping.


“Too bad, young’un. Want me to console you?” she teased


with genuine amusement.


“I’m telling you, it’s not like that . . . and more important”—I


decided to change the subject before I had another


annoyance to deal with —“so about this hairdresser who did


your bangs—was it Zerozaki, by any chance?”


“. . .”


Her facial expression distorted.


And became one of sheet delight.


“Yeah. Hell of a kid, lemme tell you. Still only a secondrate


killer, but as a knife wielder, he’s as good as they come.


He knows exactly how a human has to move which muscles


for maximum speed. And take a look at this,” she said, rolling


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 9


up her right sleeve. Her arm was wrapped in white bandages,


stained with crimson blood from underneath. “And he walked


away with hardly a scratch. Seriously, that’s one hell of a kid. I


guess he’s living up to the ‘Zerozaki’ name.”


“. . . Is he even tougher than you?”


“It’s not a matter of tough or weak. In terms of sheet


strength, I’m proud to say I’m several tiers above him. I’ll


admit that he is frighteningly quick, but he’s still a hundred


years too slow to deal with me.”


Aikawa-san, ever the narcissist. The possessor of unrivaled


confidence.


“Still, when he’s dead set on escaping, he’s really something.


He was unexpectedly calm too. As a homicidal monster,


I figured he’d be a little more hot-blooded. But he was


just like you said.”


“How do you mean?”


“He’s identical to you. I can’t exactly put my finger on one


specific similarity, but he’s just like you,” she said, her voice


full of cynicism. “The sick masochistic freak and the sick


sadistic freak. It’s a match made in freaking Heaven.”


“So in other words . . .” I said, choosing my words as carefully


as was humanly possible, “Er, in other words, you found


Zerozaki and you let him get away?”


“Hmm?!” She grinned creepily and pinched both of my


cheeks. “I’m sorry, did I just hear something come out of this


mouth right here? Huh? What was that? Aikawa Jun is just


some girl who likes to go around bluffing about herself, you


say?”


“No, I didn’t mean that. First of all, there’s no way you still


pass for a ‘girl’ . . .”


Squeeze.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 2 0


Huh. Who knew the elasticity of a human cheek was so


high?


“Eh, I guess you’re right,” she said, suddenly releasing my


face. She scratched the top of her head with a bored expression.


“I guess I’ve still got some things to learn. Oh, I wonder


if that tattoo face is still in Kyoto.”


“If I were Zerozaki, I definitely would’ve fled to another


prefecture.”


“Yeah, I know,” she said, slumping her shoulders. “Oh,


what a hassle. Not that I had any intention of letting him get


away.”


Seeing the icy cold look in her eyes as she said this, I


couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Zerozaki after all.


Aikawa-san looked pretty damn persistent.


“Well, I’m done bothering ya,” she said. She stretched out


her back and began to leave. Evidently she had come on foot


today instead of in the Cobra. “Or rather, I’m done trying and


failing to bother you. Well, whichever. Good night. Let’s both


have sweet dreams.”


“Jun-san. Can I ask you something?” I said to her back.


“What?”


“Could you forgive a murderer?”


“Huh? What kind of question is that? Is this some sort of


metaphor?”


“Eh, well, to say it more directly . . . do you think it’s okay


for one person to kill another?”


“Yup, I do.” She answered immediately and firmly. “People


who are supposed to die should die. Heh heh,” she laughed


cynically. “Like let’s say you kill me. Just relax, dammit. The


world goes on,” she continued coolly, then waved a hand at


me and disappeared from view.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 2 1


Geez.


“. . .”


If only I could be so defiant. So filled to the brim with


cynicism. How wonderful it would be.


“I really am half-baked.”


I was sick of myself.


Not just sick, disgusted.


“But either way, Aikawa-san, it’s all just nonsense.”


I went inside my apartment building and managed to make


it to my door without running into anyone. I reached into my


pocket to get my key when I felt a foreign object inside. I


pulled it out and took a look.


It was Mikoko-chan’s apartment key.


“. . .”


In order to get her back inside, I had taken it out of her bag


without asking her. I couldn’t just leave the door unlocked, so


I had borrowed the key to lock up. At first I considered dropping


the key through the mail slot, but it was attached to the


same key ring as the Vespa key, so I ended up bringing it


home, deciding to just drop it off tomorrow along with the


Vespa. It wasn’t like I just wanted an excuse to try out the


Vespa.


“Besides, the Vespa and the key aren’t the only things I


have to drop off.”


I might have been antisocial, clueless, and kind of a big


jerk, but spending that much time face-to-face with someone,


you couldn’t just ignore them.


Aoii Mikoko.


“I remember, Mikoko-chan.”


I entered my room and lay down on the floor without even


bothering to set out the futon.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 2 2


It was my first day of college after coming back from that


ridiculous island. I didn’t know right from left in regards to


the Japanese schooling system, and it was Mikoko-chan who


was the first one to strike up a conversation with me.


“Nice to meet you! Is there anything you don’t understand?”


She was beaming with friendliness. This was the caring


gesture of a girl looking out for a classmate who had gotten a


late start.


I was horribly irritated. And just a little grateful. Because


somewhere in that bright, innocent aura, echoed a slight resemblance


to that precious friend of mine.


This is a real masterpiece,” I said like Zerozaki Hitoshiki,


and closed my eyes.


No thinking about tomorrow.


No thinking about the case.


No thinking about the prowler.


No thinking about private contractors or my one and only


friend.


I didn’t want to think about anything anymore.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 4


I’m begging you, please stop getting my hopes up.


“I’ll be back tomorrow. Around twelve. You’ll have your answer


then.”


That was the note I had left for Mikoko-chan on her tea


table. Getting to Horikawa Oike took less than ten minutes by


Vespa, so I still had an abundance of time.


I awoke at eight in the morning. I did a little jogging to kill


some time, and after that I regretted it. Miiko-san invited me


to breakfast, so I went to her place and was fed. It wasn’t just


Japanese-style food, but full-blown Buddhist vegetarian cuisine.


As a result, the flavor left something to be desired, but


there was certainly a lot of it, so it at least took the edge off


my hunger.


“Well, I have to go to work,” she said around ten o’clock,


and left her apartment.


I returned to my own room to kill more time. I tried playing


a game of Eight Queens, just as I had done earlier, but my


brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly, and I gave up by


the fifth queen. I moved on to the Cannibals and Missionaries


problem, but again I got sick of it midway through. If only I


had owned a computer; I could have passed the time playing


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 5


video games. Maybe it was time I went and got one from


Kunagisa. But then again, it didn’t seem like a great idea to


decrease the amount of space in my room just for the sake of


having a way to kill time. Besides, time passes just the same,


whether you kill it or not. And like I had said to Mikoko-chan,


I didn’t particularly dislike being bored, and I was plenty used


to waiting.


. . .


As any child won over by shallow wit is oft to do, I read


The Little Prince at a very young age. I didn’t get it. The people


around me at that time told me, “You’ll get it when you’re a


grown-up.” Recently I had recalled this and tried reading


through it once again. I still didn’t get it.


“Zerozaki’s gone from Kyoto . . . there’s no way to contact


Aikawa-san . . . and Kunagisa’s a shut-in.”


I truly didn’t have a single normal acquaintance. Of course,


I never particularly wanted one. Still, sometimes it occurred to


me. I was just a single, lonely guy trying to live, but rotting


away in a cage instead.


“It’s a hopeless situation.”


In the end, there was no way for a guy like me, just a single


character in this great big world, to view my situation with


any kind of bird’s-eye perspective. Especially when, as


Aikawa-san had said, I wasn’t the main character or even a


supporting character, but merely the comic relief. I was just


sitting off in some corner away from the world, clumsily


babbling about the story.


And something this factual couldn’t even be written off as


self-deprecation.


“Well, I suppose I’ll get going.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 226


The time was currently eleven o’clock. It was still way


early, but I doubted I could be faulted for showing up ahead


of time. With that in mind, I left my apartment and made my


way out to the parking lot. I started up the vintage Vespa’s


engine and put on the helmet. It was the stylish, half-size


number Mikoko-chan had left in my room the previous day.


There was nothing I could do to make it suit me, but the size


was right, so it would at least uphold its role as a helmet, for


what that was worth.


Blast off! I rode down Senbon Street and turned east on


Maruta-machi Street. I broke east again onto Horikawa Street


and rode the Vespa straight ahead from there.


The sweet sensation of slicing through the wind. I could


almost forget about the fact that I was alive.


As expected, I reached Oike within ten minutes. I parked


the Vespa in the apartment’s underground parking lot and


locked it up, exited the lot, and walked around to the front of


the building.


“Did I really waste over an hour here last time?”


It was a pretty embarrassing memory. My brain had a


knack for remembering only this kind of thing. I guess the best


thing I could do was learn from these memories and not


repeat the same mistakes.


This time I entered the building without stopping. I gave a


quick greeting to the security camera and entered the elevator.


At this point.


At this point, I still hadn’t thought of anything.


How to reply to her confession.


What words I could use to respond to her affection.


I hadn’t thought of anything.


“Just kidding.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 7


In reality I had made up my mind long ago. I only had one


word to say to her. There was nothing to deliberate over. If


you thought about the kind of person I was and the kind of


person Mikoko-chan was and added them together, an answer


would emerge naturally, just like a mathematic equation. Of


course, reality never turns out like an equation. It’s more like


trying to figure out if the last digit in pi is odd or even. Meanwhile,


I was standing at the height of stupidity, off in outer


space with my equations and formulae and calculations, trying


to find the area of a triangle by multiplying the height and


dividing by two.


I was the kind of person who changed his opinion in the


end anyway, no matter what he had decided, so what I


thought about now was essentially irrelevant.


I got off the elevator on the fourth floor and walked down


the hall.


“Room three, was it?”


My memory was fuzzy, but that sounded right. I wondered


if she was awake yet. She certainly didn’t seem like she was


the kind of person who had low blood pressure and would


have trouble waking up, but considering how bad she was at


keeping time, I doubted she was much of an early riser.


I pushed the button on her intercom.


No reply.


It wasn’t simply that there was no reply through the intercom;


there was no reaction whatsoever. No noise coming from


the inside. Nothing.


“How odd . . .”


I pushed the button once again.


No change.


I couldn’t sense anyone moving about inside.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 8


Restless. Restless. Restless.


My heart throbbed.


My bodily functions grew abnormal.


I continued pushing the intercom button without speaking


a word.


Once, twice, three times, four times.


I quit counting after the fifth time.


I could feel it.


Not suspicion, but a premonition.


But closer still to precognition.


“It was like watching a nonstop stream of movies where


you already know the ending.”


Wasn’t that how that prophet had described it?


Like something you could never touch on the opposite side


of the boob tube.


Suddenly I understood her feelings, and I’d never even


wanted to.


Aoii Mikoko.


My classmate.


Always cheerful, sometimes sad.


The girl who said


She liked me.


Here now was an image.


A scene I had left behind somewhere.


A nostalgic view.


One that had been all too close to me for some time.


That I had forgotten somewhere along the way.


One that was unnecessary to recall.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 229


A terrible,


Detestable


View.


Death.


Nothingness.


. . . .


I mumbled a curse and opened the door to Mikoko-chan’s


room.


Aoii Mikoko was dead.


A brutal sight. A devastating sight.


I stood frozen in the center of Mikoko-chan’s room. It was


all I could bear to do.


I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.


I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.


I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.


Eiffelzick.


I clutched my chest.


I was nauseous.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 0


It was like I had accidentally choked down some absolutely


undigestible object. My eyes fell on the bed. Mikoko-chan was


there, lying down.


Sleeping.


Could you call it sleeping?


Even supposing her body had ceased to function.


Supposing she had no pulse.


Supposing the hideous marks left by fabric remained


etched into her neck.


Supposing her eyes were never to open again.


Even then, there was no other term I cared to use.


Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. I feel sick. I’m dizzy.


I’m dizzy. I’m dizzy. It’s spinning. It’s spinning. This is crazycrazycrazycrazy.


Or was it I who was crazy?


Right here, right now, I thought I might collapse.


My pulse was going wild.


It was hard to breathe.


It was hard to live.


I thought I might die.


The insides of my eyes were burning.


The inside of my heart was freezing.


I tried swallowing to calm myself, but to no avail. This was


agony. Agony. Agony.


“Aoii Mikoko was . . .” I said, as if making the announcement


to myself, “murdered.”


Whump.


I really did collapse, right there where I stood, right on my


rear end.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 1


I was used to people dying.


I was even used to people close to me dying.


Death was something close to me.


And still, this was agonizing. It hurt. It hurt too much.


It was excruciating.


I would probably never be able to forget this. To forget


Mikoko-chan’s “death itself” burning into my retinas the instant


I had entered the room. I would never forget her lifeless,


mindless corpse.


Somehow I managed to maintain consciousness. I shifted


my gaze back to Mikoko-chan’s body once more. She lay


faceup on the bed, her bloated, violet-hued face wrenched in


agony. Having known what her smile was like made this all


the more terrible.


She was no longer dressed in yesterday’s overalls. Now she


wore a snow-white bare shoulder top with a striking pants


skirt of the same white, but with more of a milky quality. I


stopped myself from thinking it looked like a burial outfit.


And then I remembered. This was one of the many outfits


Mikoko-chan bought during yesterday’s outing. It was the last


one she bought. She had tried it on and said, “How do I look?”


Finally tired of giving made-up answers, I looked at her and


said, “It’s a good match.”


It was that outfit.


When I had brought her home the previous night, naturally


I hadn’t made her change clothes. I just tossed her on the


bed with what she was wearing. This must have meant that


she had woken up later on and changed.


And then . . .


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 2


What had possessed her to put on this outfit? And who


was she waiting for? The power of my imagination was already


completely exhausted.


And then there were the red letters, right by her head.


x/y.


It was the exact same formula as the one we had found in


Tomoe-chan’s place.


“This has nonsense written all over it.”


I pulled out my cellular phone. I entered a number from


memory and sent it. She picked up on the first ring.


“Sasa here.”


“Hello . . .”


“Oh, it’s you,” Sasaki-san said before I had a chance to


announce my name. Apparently she could remember people


just by their voices. And we had only spoken once. If circumstances


hadn’t been what they were, I would’ve been impressed.


“What’s wrong? Did you remember something?”


She was cool and calm. This was somehow offensive. It


was objectionable. Objectionable.


“Sasaki-san, um, right, well . . . Aoii-san . . .”


“What’s that? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Could you please


speak up a bit? What’s that about Aoii-san?”


“Well . . . she’s been murdered.”


Something changed on the other end of the receiver.


“Where are you now?”


“In Aoii-san’s apartment.”


“We’ll be there soon.”


Click. The phone cut off as abruptly as a human life. I stood


there with the phone held to my ear. Mikoko-chan remained


there in front of me.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 3


“Christ . . .” I said to her still body. It was a pointless act. It


was pointless and despicable. “What was I really planning to


tell you?”


Mikoko-chan.


There was no prospect of me getting rid of that nasty feeling


in the pit of my stomach. Not a chance.


The police burst into the apartment in less than ten minutes.


“Are you okay?” Sasaki-san embraced me. I must have


looked pretty damn miserable, because she seemed genuinely


concerned for me “Are you okay?” she repeated. Unable to


form a verbal answer, I simply raised an arm instead. She saw


this and gave a firm nod.


“Let’s get you out of her for now. Come on, hurry.”


Leaning on Sasaki-san’s shoulder, I was taken out of the


hallway. Police were filing in one after another from the elevator.


Hey, now. No Kazuhito-san. Hadn’t he come? Maybe


he was somewhere else, doing something else. Maybe, maybe


not.


“Ughhh . . .” My chest hurts. My chest hurts. My chest


hurts. “Ughhhh . . .”


I feel sick. I feel sick.


I really feel like I feel sick.


A discomfort, as if my chest were burning, like my insides


were being demolished, like something was raging inside my


guts, seeped into my blood and traveled throughout my whole


body.


It burns it burns it burns it burns.


The anguish was maddening.


Sasaki-san took me out of the building and helped me into


the rear seat of her Toyota Crown. She sat in the driver’s seat.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 4


“Have you settled down a bit?” she said, looking back at


me.


I shook my head in silence.


“I see.” She eyed me suspiciously. “I thought you were the


kind of person who didn’t mind seeing a dead body. Even if it


belonged to a friend.” She’d abandoned her courteous manner.


“I guess you’re more sensitive than I thought. You looked like


you were dying back there.”


“Yeah, thanks. I’ll take that as a compli—“


Just as I was about to get the “ment” syllable out, I felt the


urge to vomit. I clamped my hand over my mouth. There was


no way I could just toss my cookies in Sasaki-san’s car.


Somehow I managed to keep control of my internal organs.


Dammit. I couldn’t even mouth off.


“Hmm.” Sasaki-san nodded with a slight look of disappointment.


“You’re awfully spineless. I’m surprised Jun-san is


so fond of you.”


Ah, come to think of it, hadn’t Aikawa-san said something


about being old friends with Sasaki-san? Recalling this completely


irrelevant detail helped distract me a bit. I sat up from


my hunched position and rested my weight against the back of


the seat. I breathed in deep.


“Yeah, I’m surprisingly fragile. Of course, I can’t tell if it’s


brittleness, frailty, or if I’m just delicate . . .”


“What in the world are you talking about? You’re not


making a lick of sense.”


“Well, please wait till next time. Next time, ‘kay? I’m in a


very irregular state right now, so let’s wait till next time before


you judge what kind of human being I am. I’m not doing so


hot right now.”


“Guaahhh,” I groaned, and shut my eyes.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 5


Sasaki-san was silent for a moment. “From here, we’re


going to have to question you about the circumstances of this


case. This means I’ve got to take you to the police station. Can


you handle this?”


“As long as you drive carefully, I think I’ll be all right.”


“Okay. I’ll try not to make the ride too bumpy.”


She faced forward and began to drive. Mikoko-chan’s


apartment disappeared from the window view in no time at


all. I couldn’t make out the speedometer from where I was sitting,


but judging by my body’s response to the car’s movement,


there was no way Sasaki-san’s driving style could be


defined as “careful.”


“Sasaki-san, is it okay for you to be away from the crime


scene?”


“My job is more about intellectual labor than about that


stuff.”


“That sounds like, well . . .” I wanted to say it sounded like


we’d get along, but I stopped myself. No matter how you


looked at it, there was no way we would get along. “Um,


Sasaki-san?”


“Yeah, what is it?”


“How do you know Aikawa-san?”


She was silent for a moment—though it was plenty easy to


imagine the look on her face—and then said, “Sometimes I go


to her for help with work. Yeah, that’s all. Do you ever watch


detective TV shows and the like?”


“I know a thing or two about them.”


“Yes, well, you know how oftentimes the detective goes to


an informant to gather information that isn’t quite legal? Well,


it’s like that. We have a businesslike relationship.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 6


It was an awfully crude explanation. Or rather, she didn’t


seem to want to explain it at all. Then again, Aikawa was a


pretty inexplicable woman, so maybe there wasn’t much of a


choice.


“No, I don’t mean something that specific,” I said. “Can


you give me something more abstract? I mean, what kind of


person is she to you?”


“Do we absolutely have to talk about this right now?”


“It might take my mind off things.” I really meant this. If I


didn’t get something to distract me quick, my stomach was


going to burst. “Please, I’m begging you. Just talk about something.”


“You pose a difficult question, you know,” she said, after


awhile. “For example, would you believe a story about a person


who took a point-blank shot to the gut from a sawed-off


shotgun and survived? How about the one about someone


who can walk around in the midst of a storm of rifle fire with


a normal, straight face? How about someone who leaped from


the fortieth floor of a burning building a walked away without


a scratch? You wouldn’t believe it, would you? Whenever I


talk about Jun-san, people think I’m lying. So it’s a tough


subject to discuss.”


“. . .”


I understood exactly how she felt, so I didn’t dare press any


further.


In another ten minutes, we had arrived at the police station.


She took me inside the building.


“Looks like it’s exactly twelve o’clock—lunchtime. Would


you like something to eat?” she asked.


“Could we get katsu-don or something like that?”


“I don’t see why not. They’ll bill you for it later, though.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 7


The government was anal.


“Eh, never mind,” I said, shaking my head. If I tried to eat


anything now, I would just throw it up anyway. That I could


say with a fair degree of certainty.


“Hmm, well, then go on into that room and wait for me.


I’ve just go to make a quick report. I’ll be back in two minutes.”


She led me into a small conference room and made her


way back down the hall alone. Well, at least it wasn’t an interrogation


room, I thought as I sunk myself into a chair.


I want to smoke, I thought for an instant.


I had never smoked a cigarette in my life.


Was I bored?


Was I trying to escape reality?


Or was I just suicidal?


Any one of those was of equal worth, if you asked me.


These were pointless thoughts.


This was starting to get pretty bad.


One more push, and this existence known as “me,” this


state of being known as “myself,” was going to be over.


“Sorry for the wait,” Sasaki-san said upon returning. She


was carrying some sort of item wrapped in pink. “Are you


okay? You’re looking worse and worse by the second. Even


your hands are sweating.”


“I’m sorry, could you show me where the bathroom is?”


“Down that hall, on the right. It’s at the very end, so I


don’t think you’ll miss it.”


“Thanks,” I said, and raced out of the room, clamping a


hand back over my mouth. Suppressing the nausea.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 8


I found the bathroom right where she had said it would be,


entered one of the stalls, and vomited everything that had


built up in my stomach.


“Gwaaahhh . . . glllaaahhh . . .” Unpleasant noises that


sounded very unlike they were coming from myself spilled


from the depths of my throat.


An acid taste remained in my mouth. I had vomited so


profusely I thought my guts might have flipped upside down.


Slowly, I drew in a deep breath and rose to my feet, wiping


my mouth with a handkerchief.


I flushed the toilet.


Phew . . .


I made my way over to the sink and washed my face. I


scooped some water into my hands and rinsed out my mouth


as well. I looked into my own reflection in the mirror. Okay,


so I did look like I was at death’s door, but at least I was


feeling decidedly better than I had even moments ago.


“Okay,” I said.


Revitalized, I muttered as I left the bathroom behind. I


made my way back to the room, where Sasaki-san was still


waiting for me. “How are you feeling?” she asked.


“I’m okay. I puked, and now I feel a lot better.”


“I see. Here,” she said, placing the packaged item from before


in front of me. “It’s my lunch. Want it?”


“Is it okay?”


“I won’t bill you for it, don’t worry.” She chose a chair and


sat down across from me. I graciously accepted her lunch. It


was a fairly generic bento lunch, but my stomach was now


empty. I scarfed it down pretty fast.


“Okay, then,” she said once I was finished. “So what’s going


on here?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 9


“That’s what I want to know.”


“. . .”


Seemingly a bit offended by my phrasing, she grew silent


and gave me the death stare. I recoiled and diverted my gaze.


“Well, then please give me the facts, in simple terms.”


“Er, to do that, I’ll have to back up to last night, so it’ll be a


little long.”


“Go right ahead. Until we solve this case, you and I will be


spending a lot of time together.” She was smiling a little. Her


eyes, however, weren’t smiling, which was frightening. I decided


to quit with the mouthing off for a while and be straight


with her.


“Yesterday, Aoii-san and I went out. We were in the


Shinkyôgoku area. Then, well, she drank a little too much.”


“Oh, really? . . . And then?”


She sharpened her gaze on me as if she had been waiting


for this opening. Surely she wasn’t going to get on my case


about underage drinking. I realized I couldn’t let my guard


down.


“Yeah, so then I took her back to her apartment. I went


ahead and took the key out of her bag and put her to bed.


Then I took the bus back to my place.” I went ahead and


skipped the part about running into Aikawa-san, figuring it


wasn’t necessary to recount. “After that, I just went to bed like


I always do.”


“Did you lock up before you left?”


“I did. Her Vespa was still parked in my apartment parking


lot, so I was planning to bring the key and Vespa back together


tomo—today. So then today, I went to her place on the


Vespa. When I opened the door and went inside, well, things


were as you saw them.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 0


“Hmm . . . how about the door? Was it locked?”


“Huh?”


I looked up at her as if the question had taken me by


surprise. I made an expression as though I were searching


through my memory for as long as five seconds.


“No, it wasn’t locked. I don’t have any recollection of using


the key.”


“I see.” She wore a suspicious look on her face, but nodded


along anyway.


“That place has a lot of surveillance cameras, right. I think


they should be able to corroborate my story if you take a look


at those tapes.”


“Most likely. We’ve already arranged with the management


firm for a viewing,” she said coolly. “Now, this is just to make


sure, but—you didn’t touch anything at the crime scene, did


you?”


“No. As pathetic as it sounds, I was just too petrified. I


couldn’t even run over to Aoii-san.”


“You took a very appropriate action,” she said. From there,


she shut her eyes and thought to herself.


So “intellectual labor” was her major job responsibility.


That was already more than clear enough from the time she


had visited my apartment. That chess-game mindset of hers


was unforgettable, even if you wanted to forget it.


“I didn’t even touch Aoii-san’s body, so I don’t know, but


was she really dead?”


“Yes. That I can confirm. She had likely been dead for


around two to three hours. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy


results before we can confirm the specific details, but the incident


is believed to have occurred between nine and ten a.m.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 1


“This may be useless to you, but . . .”


“Go right ahead. Nothing in this world is useless.”


That was a line I thought I might like to try saying once


myself. But I doubted a guy like me would ever have the


chance.


“When I put her to bed last night, Aoii-san was wearing


overalls. But that wasn’t what she had on today, was it? So I


think that means she woke up at some point, either in the


morning or the middle of the night. And I locked the door last


night, so maybe Aoii-san let the killer in herself.”


“I see . . .”


“Oh, and just for your information, that outfit she had on


today was something she bought yesterday when we were out


shopping.”


“Really.” Sasaki-san nodded. I noticed that she hadn’t been


taking any notes. Come to think of it, that was true during the


time she visited my apartment as well. She was just listening


to me talk without recording anything.


“You’ve got a pretty great memory, huh?”


“Sorry? Oh, well, it does the job,” she replied as if it was


nothing special. But to me it was an extremely enviable trait.


“Also, as it happens, I was eating breakfast at my next-door


neighbor’s place during that nine o’clock to ten o’clock time


frame, so I think I have an alibi, for what it’s worth.”


“Ah, I see,” she nodded with an apparent lack of interest. It


was as if to say she had more important things to think about


than my damn alibi.


“You know, when you first called, I thought you were


probably the killer.”


“. . .”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 2


This sudden declaration left me speechless. “You certainly


are direct. Excuse me if I’m a little surprised.”


“Yes, well, you would be. But it’s true. The fact is that I


did think that, and I’m certainly not trying to hide the facts. I


thought you killed her and then tried to pretend you had discovered


the body. But it seemed you were feeling genuinely


ill, and time of death and such aside, there was no murder


weapon at the scene of the crime. Which means it would have


been physically impossible for you to have done it.”


“. . .”


“That is, of course, unless you’re hiding it somewhere in


your clothes right now.”


“Care to check?”


“No, that’s fine,” she said, but by no means could this be


considered negligence of duty. Sasaki-san had already finished


checking me out back when she took me out of Mikokochan’s


apartment. Unable to walk on my own, she had lent me


a shoulder to lean on. It was kindness—injected with a touch


of shrewdness.


I didn’t particularly have a problem with that.


“Gee, thanks,” I said.


“I’m sure your innocence will be proven beyond any doubt


once an official time of death has been established and we


take a look at those surveillance tapes. But only then.”


She looked me directly in the eye.


“Who do you suppose did it?” Sasaki-san asked. I’d already


asked her the same question twice before on other occasions.


“Well . . . I don’t know.”


“Nobody comes to mind at all?”


“Nobody,” I answered promptly. “I mean, Aoii-san and I


weren’t really all that close to begin with. It was only very


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 3


recently that we had started hanging out together and going


out to eat and stuff.”


“Allow me to be a bit direct,” she said. “Were you and


Aoii-san romantically involved?”


“The answer to that is a no. A no and nothing more.


Thinking about it now, I’m not even sure we were even


friends.”


“Ahh, I see. Come to think of it, Jun-san did say you were


‘like that,’ didn’t she?” she muttered, seemingly satisfied with


whatever explanation she had recalled.


“Aikawa-san? She said what about me?”


“Well, I can’t tell you that.” This tease of a statement was


sure to bother me, but it occurred to me that this too could be


part of Sasaki-san’s strategy, so I was careful not to press any


further. It was easy enough to imagine the kind of judgment


Aikawa-san had passed in regard to me anyway.


From there, Sasaki-san posed several more detailed questions


and ended with a simple, “I see.”


“Now then, do you have any questions for me?” she added.


“No, nothing this time,” I said after a moment’s thought.


“I’d rather just get home and rest as soon as possible.”


“I see. Well, that should be enough for today. Allow me to


take you back.”


She stood up from her chair and exited the room. I followed


close behind, and together we exited the building.


After getting into her Crown, I sat in the same seat in the


back. Sasaki started the car and accelerated even more aggressively


than before.


“Nakadachiuri, was it? Off Senbon?”


“Yeah.”


“How are you feeling?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 4


“Okay. Throwing up was surprisingly refreshing.”


“You know,” she said while driving. Her voice was stripped


of all emotion. “I can’t help but feel like you’re still hiding


something.”


“Hiding? Me?”


“That’s what I said.”


“No, nothing in particular. As you can see, I’m just an honest,


harmless, and well-behaved young man.”


“Wow, really?” she said in a rare display of sarcasm. “You


sure don’t look that way to me, but I guess if you say so yourself,


it must be true.”


“You sound like you mean something by that.”


“No, not especially. If it sounds that way to you, it’s probably


because you’ve got a guilty conscience. Although I do


doubt that an honest, well-behaved young man would go


around breaking into crime scenes illegally.”


“Oh.”


Open bag, withdraw cat.


Naturally, I’d been prepared for this risk from the very beginning,


but Sasaki-san had certainly caught me off guard.


There hadn’t been a single word about this in those documents


from Kunagisa, so it had never been clear if I had been


found out or not.


She continued staring straight ahead at the road as she


spoke. “At any rate, please just relax,” she said as if she could


see right through me. “That information hasn’t gone beyond


me yet.”


“You?”


“That’s what I said.” Her voice lacked intonation. And yet


there was a meanness to it. Yeah, somehow it was very reminiscent


of mankind’s greatest private contractor.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 5


“I don’t know what possessed you to break into Emotosan’s


room, but I suggest you exercise a bit more discretion in


your actions. Consider this a piece of advice.”


“Not a warning?”


“No, no, just advice.”


But there was something very offensive about her wording.


Granted, my actions had been totally rash, and her attitude


was entirely justified, but still.


“Sasaki-san, I’m just asking, but . . . why hasn’t that information


gone beyond you ‘yet’?”


“Well, I have my ways. I won’t go into detail, but I just


want you to realize that I have that advantage over you. That’s


all. But please be sure not to forget it.”


All I could do was sigh. My shoulders slumped and the


energy drained out of my body. This damn pattern again?


Why were these the only kinds of people I ever met?


“Everybody I know is either extremely smart or has a terrible


personality. They all had that same damn character. Just


once I’d like to meet somebody who’s nice. I don’t even care if


they’re stupid.”


“Well,” Sasaki-san said without even cracking a smirk. “I’m


sorry to hear that. But I have no intention of forfeiting my


position.”


And we arrived at the Senbon Nakadachiuri intersection.


“Would you like to come inside?” I asked.


“I’m working,” she said. I didn’t find this particularly unfortunate,


nor did I think the opposite.


As a final thought, she opened her window. “What do you


suppose x over y means?” she asked.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 6


“Search me,” I said after a moment’s contemplation. I knew


she’d never be satisfied with this answer. But she simply nodded,


closed the window, and took off in her car once again.


I stood there awhile, unmoving, then felt the sheer pointlessness


of my inaction. I returned to the building, walked


down the second-floor hall, and entered my room.


This quiet space.


Not a single sound.


Not a single person.


A room Aoii Mikoko had twice visited.


Once I had set out yatsuhashi; once she had come with


handmade sweet potatoes.


I wasn’t much for sentimentality. I was no pessimist,


either. Nor was I a romanticist. Rather, I was a misguided


trivialist.


“I guess I can’t say this was a complete surprise,” I muttered.


“I won’t say that. No, no I won’t.”


I recalled my conversation with Mikoko-chan from the


previous day. A conversation we would never have again.


“It was all nonsense, huh?”


Let us hypothesize as to Mikoko-chan’s feelings towards


her killer. She probably wasn’t resentful. Accusing, maybe,


but that’s it. That was the kind of girl I took her for.


There must have been something.


Something I should have said to her.


What was I really supposed to say to her yesterday?


“This is like crying over spilt milk,” I said to myself.


My terribly lukewarm soliloquy. I realized that this was


probably the kind of situation that usually makes people cry.


The person over my shoulder sure thought so.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 7


Night fell.


Miiko-san visited my room looking concerned. “Eat this,”


she said, thrusting a bowl of rice porridge at me. She wore an


innocent expression, but her eyes were serious. Knowing her


gesture had come straight from the heart, I started to feel


guilty.


Christ. Just how many people had I caused extra grief by


now?


“Thanks a lot.” I scooped some up with the spoon Miikosan


had provided (there were only disposable chopsticks in my


place), and helped myself to a mouthful. She wasn’t an especially


good cook, but this porridge was pretty tasty.


“Did something happen?” Miiko-san didn’t ask. She never


asked that type of question. She was just the neighbor who


silently and protectively watched over me. A neighbor in the


truest sense. This was probably something entirely different


from true kindness, but she was a kind person all the same.


Come to think of it, hadn’t Mikoko-chan given me the


same compliment? That I was kind?


“Mikoko-chan . . . she died,” I said without any introduction.


“I see,” Miiko-san nodded. She sounded like she didn’t particularly


think much of it. “That night,” she said, “by which I


mean the night when the young girl stayed in my room, she


was strangely grouchy when she woke up the next morning.


At first I thought it was probably due to a hangover, but that


didn’t seem to be it.”


. . . .


“I asked her, ‘How do you feel?’ She answered, ‘this is the


worst morning of my life.’ . . . That’s the whole story.”


“That’s plenty,” I said. “Thanks so much, Miiko-san.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 8


“You really do lead a difficult life, don’t you? The road you


walk is not steep, but it is shaky and brittle. And yet you’re


able to go on without slipping. You have my honest admiration.”


“I slipped and fell through the cracks long ago. But this


path has a sort of strange gravitational pull, and I’m clinging to


the bottom of it now.”


“Whatever the case may be, you’re entering a crucial phase


now,” she said, her voice deepening a bit. It almost sounded


like a threat. “If you lose your grip now, you’ll never make it.


Everything you’ve endured and built up and worked for will


spill right down the drain. You probably don’t care either way,


but just remember that your life isn’t something you made all


by yourself. Don’t forget that there are those you have saved


just by being alive.”


“There are no such people.” Perhaps there was too much


self-loathing in my statement. Possibly as a result, Miiko-san


gave me a pitying glance.


“You carry too much of a burden,” she said. “Don’t think


you can really affect people so much. Only the weak turn red


when they cross paths with scarlet. As long as you can exercise


their own judgment, you’re less easily influenced by others.


Your existence isn’t such an annoyance to others.”


“Mmm, maybe not.”


It was just extreme self-consciousness in the end.


Whether I was alive or not made no difference.


Even if there were a murderer in my midst, the world


would go on.


“Still, I’m sure there are those who love you. There are


those who have unconditional affection for you, that much is


certain. That’s part of the world’s cycle. You may not under-


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 9


stand it now, but remember what I say. There will come a


time when you understand. At least stay alive that long.”


Those with unconditional affection for me.


Today, one of them had died.


So then how many people were left?


“I won’t tell you to cheer up. That’s a problem for you to


sort out on your own. Just know that that young girl’s death


wasn’t your fault. I can guarantee you that. I don’t have any


basis for my belief, but I feel sure of it all the same . . . Those


who die just die.”


“But . . . it’s like I killed her,” I said.


“Did you?”


“Well, no, but if . . .”


If.


If I hadn’t left her alone in her apartment, if I hadn’t gone


home, or if I had just brought her with me, things would have


turned out differently.


“And I say you’re taking on too much of a burden. Do you


realize the pointlessness of such thoughts?”


“Yes. But Miiko-san, I still had something left to tell her.”


That one last thing.


I hadn’t yet told her that one last thing.


“It’s useless to regret what’s done and gone. That’s all I can


say.” Her gaze wandered just a bit. “Also, I forgot to tell you


this morning. Suzunashi sends a message. She told me to make


sure I told you.”


“It’s from Suzunashi-san?”


She nodded. I sat up straight. It wasn’t like Suzunashi-san


was in the room or anything, so I knew there was no need to


do so, but something about that name just made me reflex-


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