Zaregoto-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-