Zaregoto-Volume 2 Chapter 6

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 0

ively fix my posture. Something about that Suzunashi Neon

character.

Miiko-san opened her mouth. “There are two types of

people—those who are frightening because you don’t know

what they’ll do, and those who are frightening because you do

know what they’ll do. But you’re not very frightening at all, so

you don’t need to worry about such things.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you do. She said she’ll come visit from Hiei

next time, so let’s all go out for lunch. I think she wants to

give you a good lecture.”

“Well, you had me up to the lecture. But I’m definitely

okay with lunch. Just . . .”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, nothing. Thanks a lot for the food.”

I returned the porridge bowl to her. She took it, said good

night and left my room. The word Impermanence was written

on the back of her jinbei. It was the second time I had seen this

one.

“Seriously . . .” I mumbled to myself. This was a troublesome

existence. Maybe it was about time I had a day-long

lecture from Suzunashi-san.

But.

“But I really don’t want to go to that restaurant again for a

while . . .”

When would this mind-over-matter business be over?

I didn’t know.

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Kill every suspect, starting at one end.

The one left standing is your culprit.

Three days later, it was Wednesday, May twenty-fifth. I

awoke at eleven fifty in the morning.

“I guess it’d be cheating to say it’s still morning, huh?”

I rose from bed feeling fairly awful. Lately it had been like

this every day. I couldn’t wake up at a normal time at all anymore.

I guess you could say my body had been rejecting the

idea. Naturally, once I had overslept, I couldn’t get into the

mood to attend classes, and if I wasn’t in the mood to attend

classes, there was no reason to.

And thus began my fifth straight day of skipping school

since Thursday of last week. For a freshman to already be

doing this in May, it wouldn’t be strange if I ended up having

to repeat my freshman year. I realized this, but I wasn’t particularly

opposed to the idea. There was no one to object—I

was paying for my schooling with my own money, after all.

. . .

Since the recent incident, Sasaki-san had come to visit on

both Monday and Tuesday with Kazuhito-san in tow. She

made a number of detailed inquiries regarding Mikoko-chan's

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murder, and in exchange for my answers, provided several tidbits

of seemingly vital information.

She informed me that Mikoko-chan’s time of death had

been narrowed down to between nine thirty and ten o'clock.

They had also confirmed beyond a doubt that she had been

killed by strangulation with a thin cloth, and that it was the

same type of cloth that had been used in Tomo-chan’s murder.

From this the police had determined that the same killer

was responsible for both murders.

‘‘What’s different from Emoto-san’s case is that Aoii-san

appears to have been strangled from the front.”

“From the front?”

“Yes. Emoto-san was strangled from behind. You can tell

by the shape of the marks.”

“In other words, Mikoko-chan saw the killer?”

“It’s possible,” she said, without emotion. It probably

didn’t make any difference to her whether the deceased had

seen the killer’s face or not. It was certainly a rational viewpoint.

She also went over the alibis of the various involved parties.

Muimi-chan was out sightseeing with her younger sister

(named Muri-chan, as it were). Akiharu-kun didn’t have an

alibi. And of course, I was with Miiko-san. But all three of us

had alibis when Tomo-chan was killed, so none of us were

really prime suspects, so to speak.

“I personally don’t agree, but it seems the big shots upstairs

are considering the possibility that these were just robberies

gone awry, or possibly some stalker who went too far.”

“If either of those were the case, there wouldn’t have been

multiple incidents. It’s too strange to be a coincidence, and

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besides, nothing was even stolen, right? There weren’t any

signs of a struggle, either.”

“I know. It’s just that neither of them had the ‘enemies’ to

account for it being a simple vendetta case. I guess it would be

one thing if it was some ‘enemy of the world’ kind of thing—

but then we’d have another indiscriminant killer like the

prowler.”

Speaking of which, the slasher case had come to a standstill.

The number of victims had yet to exceed twelve. In other

words, since encountering Aikawa-san, Zerozaki hadn’t had

taken any fresh victims. He probably wasn’t in Kyoto anymore

after all, just like Aikawa-san and I had talked about. I wasn’t

even sure he was still in Japan. Then again, if I had made an

enemy of Aikawa-san, I probably would’ve fled to the South

Pole. Or outer space, even.

“Still, there’s something strange going on,” Sasaki-san said.

“Strange? What?”

“The surveillance camera. That apartment had surveillance

cameras set up as a crime-preventing measure. You said so

yourself last time.”

“Right.”

“But on the camera videos, there wasn’t a single person

who seemed like a possible suspect.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. We checked all the tapes from

the time Aoii-san returned home—or rather, when you carried

her home—at ten thirty, but the only people to appear were

other residents of the building and you, from when you

showed up the next afternoon.”

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What did that mean? Was the entire apartment building, in

essence, a locked room? What a joke. It was too unrealistic.

But then again, if it was a fact, such criticism was meaningless.

“But the camera in the hallway must have a blind spot

somewhere,” I said.

“Yes. We tried it out. It is possible to reach Aoii-san’s room

without entering the camera’s field of view. The stem of the

camera kind of swivels like this, see. But it’s nearly impossible

without having practiced it beforehand quite a bit, and even

then, your chances of success would be relatively low. Why

would a person go to all the trouble?”

“Well, what if they didn’t? What if they came in from the

veranda or something?”

“Not possible. It’s simply too high and too risky. At any

rate . . .” She let out an exhausted sigh that didn’t seem very

characteristic of her. “I think this is going to turn into a war of

attrition,” she said.

She was probably already in the middle of one.

“A war of attrition . . .”

But no matter how much new information she was willing

to divulge, I had already stopped thinking about this string of

incidents. Of course I wasn’t at such an elevated level of enlightenment

that I didn’t even have split-second thoughts

about it anymore, but I had been at least half-successful in

suppressing that part of me.

On the contrary.

On the contrary, I was hoping the truth behind the incidents

would never come to light. I didn’t want to have anything

more to do with it, in any form whatsoever.

But that was impossible. Sasa Sasaki-san was a detective of

immeasurable brilliance. This had become evident through my

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several conversations with her up to now. It was clear how she

and Aikawa-san could be friends. It wouldn’t be long before

Aikawa-san uncovered the truth. Maybe she wouldn’t figure

out every little detail, but enough to form a consistent story.

And thus there was no need for me to do any more thinking.

Or to put it more plainly, I could already see most of the

facts. One more step and I would have the whole picture figured

out, and that was one step I didn’t want to take. Nor did

I feel much like condemning criminals. I had gone as far as

breaking into Tomo-chan’s room and enlisting Kunagisa’s

help, and here I was ready to throw in the towel, to leave

things as unfinished as a baboon without a butt.

But frankly, that’s just who I am. Half-baked all the way.

I’ve never put up a struggle. I’ve never shown any enthusiasm

for anything.

“Okay . . .” I stretched out my torso, took a deep breath,

and switched channels in my brain. “Maybe I ought to pay

Tomo a visit for a change.”

As a complete shut-in, it was essentially guaranteed that

she would be home, so I knew it wouldn’t be a waste of time

to just head there now. She might have been asleep, seeing as

it was the afternoon, but I didn’t care. It would serve as a good

chance to give her a stern talking-to for selling me out to

Aikawa-san.

Besides, being with her was sure to cheer me up.

With that decision made, I changed clothes and stuck my

cell phone into my pocket. I debated with myself for a while

over whether I should borrow Miiko-san’s Fiat, walk, or ride

my bike, but ultimately I decided on walking. It just felt like a

good day for walking. Of course, that would take a good three

hours, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

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I left my room, locked up, and exited the building.

It was nice out. It had been muggy lately, but that day it

was pleasantly dry and crisp. I thought about how nice it

would be if the weather was always like this, but even I wasn’t

sure that I exactly meant “always.”

“Huh?”

After walking for a bit, I spotted someone familiar. I

couldn’t remember who, but it was definitely someone familiar.

Just who was it? It felt like we had met before, but . . .

He was a dressed in street fashion with light brown hair

and the face of a playboy. He was toting an abnormally large

bag that left a strong impression, but it was a poor match for

his street fashion.

I’ve always wondered why street fashion looked so bad on

Japanese people. It wasn’t so much that it didn’t suit them; it

was just that it always made them look like they were posing.

I suppose you could call it a national trait.

That aside, who in the world was this?

Upon noticing me, he ran over to me. “Yo!” he said casually.

“Hello,” I replied, but of course I still couldn’t remember

him. I knew he was a Rokumeikan University student, but I

didn’t remember knowing anyone like this.

“How ya been? Maaan, I don’t know this place too well.

You know, the geography ’n shit. I’m totally lost.”

“Ahhhh . . . yeah,” I improvised. “Yeah, those things sure

happen.”

“Start coming to school again, man. I had to come all the

way out here. I mean I know you’re shocked about the whole

Aoii thing, but man, you’re gonna end up having to repeat a

year. People will call you ‘Double Dragon’ ’n shit.”

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Aoii? Did he just mention Aoii?

Oh, right. Got it.

“Akiharu-kun, right?”

“Whoa. What the hell, man? Don’t tell me you just figured

that out.”

Akiharu-kun had a boisterous, lighthearted laugh. I felt as

though he could see right through me and just the thought of

it had me in a cold sweat.

“You mean you came to see me?”

“That’s what I mean. Just some minor business. Come on,

follow me.”

He started walking. His explanation was not very convincing,

but I went ahead and followed after him as told. There I

was, just going along with the flow again.

“Where’re we going?”

“Kitanotenman Shrine. It’s parked there.”

“What’s parked there?”

“That’s the surprise,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite

sit right with me. “Man, I knew you were a gloomy guy, but

your face right now is like a full-fledged gloomathon.”

“You, on the other hand, seem cheerful.”

“Well, you know. It’s like, there was the Emoto thing,

right? It’s like that toughened me up. Maybe I’m still not over

the shock. Man, life sure likes to just peace out on ya, huh?”

It was an awfully casual way to put it, but I got the feeling

he was trying to laugh something off. What was it? I pondered

this for a moment, but came up empty-handed.

“Akiharu-kun, didn’t Gen. Ed. class just start? Should you

really be here just messing around like this?”

“Ah, whatever. I don’t care about school anymore,” he

laughed. “I just want to get this favor out of the way so I can

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relax again. Let the dead rest, y’know? Besides, I hate that

Inosen guy, so I’m not really a big fan of Gen. Ed.”

That was short for Inokawa-sensei, by the way.

“Really? I think he’s a pretty good guy.”

“Well, I think there’s a difference between good and selfrighteous.

It’s not just the time thing, either. That guy’s always

trying to force his beliefs on other people, am I right? It’s

that kind of thing, man. I don’t like it. I mean I guess he’s not

a hypocrite or anything, but . . . eh, something like that.”

“Huh.”

“Besides, I’m not gonna lose any credits just for skipping

class a couple times. Our school is easy-peasy, man. They say

it’s famous for letting you pass classes blindfolded. Number

two in all of Kansai.”

Where the hell is number one? I started to ask, but I cut

myself off. The less I knew about that, the better.

We arrived at Kitanotenman Shrine within five minutes.

Despite its being a national treasure, something about its

proximity to home made it a lot harder to appreciate, and this

was actually the first time I had ever set foot on the premises.

“This way, this way,” Akiharu-kun said, bringing me to the

parking lot. “Here ya go, man.”

He pointed proudly to a white Vespa. It was a vintage

model. I took a glance at the plate and saw that this was, in

fact, the very Vespa that had belonged to Mikoko-chan, that I

had ridden to her house on that day.

. . . .

“Oh yeah, and this.” He handed me the key as I stood

there, flabbergasted. He pulled the helmet out of his bag and

gave that to me as well. I had thought it was a suspiciously

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large bag, but who would’ve guessed there was a helmet inside?

“Akiharu-kun, this . . .”

“What do you call it again? Distribution of possessions?

That’s all this is.”

“You mean . . . I can keep this Vespa?”

“Yup. You like it, right?” he said casually. He sat down

backward on the Vespa seat. He let out a boyish giggle. “Aoii

was saying the Vespa was the only thing that tripped your

alarm.”

“Hey, that’s not true . . . but is it really okay? I mean, these

things are pretty valuable. Shouldn’t we give it to her family

or someone?”

“We got permission. Don’t worry.”

“But, I mean, it’s only me. We just met.”

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s fine. This was Aoii’s will. Her actual

will, I mean. Funny how the two words sound the same,” he

said contemplatively. “Anyway, that’s what it comes down to.”

“What do you mean, her ‘will’?”

“Oh, that’s to say, awhile back—last week, maybe—she

said it. If something happened to her, if she was killed like

Emoto, I should give her Vespa to Ikkun. She’s terrible, man. I

wanted this thing too. I told her that, and you know what she

said? ‘Hell no. Go die. Worse yet, go live.’ What the hell is

that, man? We’d been friends since high school.”

“If something happened to her?” Something? If what happened

to her? “What does that mean?”

“Well, I don’t know. Aoii was Aoii, man. She must’ve been

thinking about stuff, what with Emoto getting killed and all.

But I bet she didn’t really think she would be next, that’s for

sure.”

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No . . . you’re wrong.

It has a deeper meaning than that.

You really haven’t noticed?

“Anyway, just take it. Think of it as a present from her.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

I played with the key in the palm of my hand, then stuffed

it into my pocket.

“Get your own insurance. I don’t really know much about

applying. Ahhhhh . . .” Still straddling the Vespa, he stretched

his arms up toward the sky. He gave himself a good stretch,

then slouched weakly into the seat. “Things have gotten

crazy.”

“Yeah.” I absolutely concurred. “How’s Muimi-chan

doing?”

“Ohhh, her. She’s awful, man. This might be a bad way to

put it, but . . . honestly, I couldn’t bear to see her,” he said,

casting his glance away from me.

Perhaps he was thinking of Muimi-chan, perhaps not. Either

way, these words had revealed that underneath his lighthearted,

casual demeanor lay true compassion toward others.

Interesting; so he was that kind of guy. Such a decent

human being that he couldn’t even acknowledge it himself.

Believing he wasn’t anything special, he hid his true values

under the façade of a bad boy. He was a sheep in wolf’s

clothing.

The complete opposite of a wolf in sheep’s clothing—

like me.

“After it happened—Aoii’s death, I mean—I went over

there once. To Atemiya’s place. It’s in the middle of

Senbontera-no-uchi. Anyway, she was even more depressed

than Aoii was when Emoto died. Eh, but what can you ex-

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pect? Those two were buds from way back in the day. I mean,

they grew up together.”

“She was that bad?”

“Dude, you should’ve seen the way she looked at me. Me,

man. I mean, come on. Where does she come off glaring at me

like that? And she’s not eating. Probably not sleeping, either.

If we just leave her be, I think she’ll die. I want to do something

for her, but . . . it’s like, what can a guy like me possibly

say? I only knew Aoii since high school. We were never that

deep.” Meanwhile, I had only known her for a short time in

college. Even if that hadn’t been the case, I had no words for

Muimi-chan. “She’s gonna end up massacring whoever did

this.”

“Muimi-chan?”

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past her. That’s how

friends are, right?”

“But she’d still be committing a crime, even if her victim

was a murderer.”

“Well, sure. You’re right about that. But don’t these things

happen? Like, aren’t there moments where you just toss all

the laws of society and common sense to the wind?”

“Toss them . . .”

“Yeah. I mean they really are just moments, like a flash.

Then you come back to your senses. But it’s never pretty.

Hmm, but that kind of thing never happens to a guy like you,

huh?” he said with a strange amount of confidence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you already look like you throw everything to the

wind all the time,” he chuckled, pointing a finger at me. “Heh,

but I’m just stealing Aoii’s lines. Say, would it bother you if I

talked about Aoii?”

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“Not especially.”

“In that case, gather ’round, buddy. I feel like talking about

her,” he said. “Apparently she was pretty sure from the first

time she ever saw you. ‘I’ll probably fall for that guy,’ she

said. . . . You already knew she had a thing for you, right?”

“You could say that.”

“To be honest, I didn’t really get it at the time. It’s weird

saying this as a friend of hers, but she was a pretty desirable

girl. I don’t just mean she was hot. That has nothing to do

with a girl being desirable. A pretty girl is just a pretty girl.”

“Do you not like pretty girls?”

“I hate ’em. They always look like they’re up to something.”

That didn’t seem like it was the pretty girls’ fault to me,

but I didn’t bother interrupting.

“But with her, well . . . even if she was up to something,

she would always spill her guts about it. She let all of her

emotions show. There was no front and back to her. She was

more like double-sided tape.”

I didn’t really follow his analogy.

“I’ve never met anyone in my whole life who had their insides

as exposed as much as she did, and that includes back in

grade school. I thought she must be an idiot or something at

first. Anybody would, seeing someone like that, right? You

think, ‘Aw, man, what’s wrong with this chick?!’ ”

“I concur.”

“Yeah, but she was no fool. She wasn’t a ditz either. It

wasn’t even that she was emotionally immature or that she

had a low IQ or anything like that. She was actually pretty

sharp and clever, in her own way.”

“I agree with that, too.”

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“As soon as I realized all this, I got jealous, to be honest. I

mean, I can’t do that. It sounds simple enough just to be able

to cry when you want to cry, laugh when you want to laugh,

but guys like us, we can’t do it. We act tough or apply strange

logic to everything. Basically we’re all warped. That’s why

Aoii was so lucky; she could get pissed off if something bad

happened. She could enjoy herself to her heart’s delight if

something good happened. But I couldn’t even acknowledge

my own envy. It just turned into anger.”

“Isn’t there a class on that kind of thing?”

“Yeah. Educational something-or-other theory. I’m taking

it too. What did they say again? Modem youth lacks a sufficient

vocabulary? I think that’s pretty true. We don’t have

enough words to express ourselves, so we don’t even know

what we’re getting mad at. Even when we’re really just sad,

we say we’re pissed off. But Aoii was different. She expressed

exactly what she felt.”

“You’ve sure got a lot of good things to say about her,” I

said as passively as possible. “Akiharu-kun, didn’t you ever

consider going out with her?”

He gave a bashful chuckle, but his expression was otherwise

unreadable. “Well, I’m a guy, too, after all, so I won’t say

I never had feelings like that. Especially since I was still a virile

high school student when we met. And I didn’t believe in boygirl

friendships back then.”

“Ah yeah, I’ve heard of guys like that.”

But I also didn’t really believe that same-gender friendships

were possible either.

“But it wasn’t really like that with her, actually. This goes

for Atemiya and Emoto too, but it’s like, you look at them

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and they’re definitely easy on the eyes, but it’s like . . . you

just don’t feel the fire, or like, you wither.”

“ ‘Withering’ is a good way to put it. I can’t say I don’t follow

you on that.”

“Right? So that’s how it was with her. Anyway, she was a

nice girl. Emoto too, but she always had this sort of distance

about her. Not that it was her fault, but still.”

“. . .”

“Well, anyway. I liked Aoii, romantic feelings aside. It

wasn’t like I was going out of my way trying to make her

happy, but I didn’t want to see her unhappy. I wouldn’t let it

happen. So when she fell for someone, I had to help out,

y’know?”

“Huh.”

“You’re that ‘someone,’ man.”

“Yeah, I know. She told me herself.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “Listen, I don’t know if I should be saying

this . . .”

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want.”

“No, I should. It’s just that at first, I was opposed to it. Not

just me—Atemiya and Emoto, too. Especially Emoto. She was

unusually upset about it, saying stuff like ‘anyone but him.’

She even threatened to cut off Mikoko-chan if she pursued

you.”

“So you guys didn’t like me.”

“You're not surprised?”

“I’m used to not being liked. On the contrary, it’s being

liked that’s weird for me.”

“Oh. But we didn’t actually dislike you. We had barely

even talked to you. But the thing is—I still feel this way now,

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even knowing you’re a good guy, but thing is, there’s just

something freaky about you.”

“. . .”

“Like you could easily kill a person.”

“Hey now, let’s not go nuts,” I said.

“Don’t get me wrong, man, I’m not saying you did kill

someone, but it’s like you could kill someone, and you're just

suppressing it all the time with a completely straight face.

What you've got built up in your belly would take ten regular

people like me to choke down. It’s like you’re just pretending

to be human.”

“Geez.”

I responded as coolly as possible, but on the inside I was

whistling. If I had the coordination, I would’ve applauded and

praised him as well. Being so thoroughly figured out in less

than a month’s time was an entirely fresh experience for me.

It was no wonder he and Tomo-chan were friends.

“But Aoii was really stubborn about the whole thing. She

had no intention of giving up on you, so we gave in. But we

told her to let us make a test. You know, to see if this Ikkun

character was really right for her.”

“Is that what that birthday party was all about?”

“You guessed it. I mean it really was Emoto’s birthday and

all, but still.” He let out an exaggerated groan and hunched

forward. “But the story just cuts off when someone dies. That

goes for Emoto and Aoii both.”

“Akiharu-kun,” I said, deliberately cutting the intonation

out of my voice. “Who do you think killed Mikoko-chan?”

“Like I would know. I don’t even want to know. If I find

out, I’ll end up hating, despising whoever it was. But I don’t

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like hating people and holding grudges and stuff. It totally

sucks, man, I mean, am I right?”

“Huh.” I chewed on his words in my head for awhile and

nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Interesting. So Akiharu-kun was living on his own terms.

What about me? What terms should I have been applying to

life?

I felt somebody’s eyes on me and turned around. The only

people there were tourists and a group of students on a field

trip.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Akiharu-kun asked.

“Oh, nothing. It felt like someone was watching me.”

“Hmm. Probably just your imagination.”

“Yeah, maybe. But lately I’ve been getting that feeling once

in awhile when I leave my apartment.”

“Maybe it’s Aoii’s ghost or something.”

“Yeah, could be. Yeah. Maybe.”

He was probably only joking, but to me, there was truth to

his words.

“Hup,” he groaned as he jumped down off the Vespa.

“Well, that’s enough chitchat for today. Anyway, it’s in your

hands.’

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

“Be sure you do. It’s Aoii’s memento.”

“Yeah. I’ll call it the Mikoko.”

“Ahh,” Akiharu-kun groaned, “I think you’d better not,” he

said. “You shouldn’t attach names to vehicles. It’s just needless

sentimentality.”

“If it’s a memento, it’ll be sentimental either way.”

“Ah, gotcha.” He nodded. “But don’t call it the Mikoko.”

He stretched out one more time. “Ahhh. Well, I’ve passed on

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the Vespa, I’ve said my piece about Aoii; I can die happy

now.”

“Huh?” Something about his phrasing bothered me. A

blurt of suspicion leapt from my tongue, but I posed my question

anyhow. “What’s that supposed to mean? You make it

sound like you’re on your way to the afterlife or something.”

“Hahaha. Nah, it’s just . . .” His mouth curled into a smile

of defeat, or possibly resignation. “I just figure I’ll probably be

the next one who gets killed.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means just what it sounds like. Or maybe it doesn’t

mean anything at all. Anyway, see ya later,” he said without

giving me a straight answer. He waved a hand at me, turned

his back on Kitanotenman Shrine, and started walking. I

thought to stop him, but decided against it just before saying

anything.

I sighed.

The bequeathed Vespa.

I wondered if it was really okay to use it, but somehow I

knew that if I didn’t, nobody would. It certainly would make

life more convenient. And I wouldn’t have to borrow Miikosan’s

Fiat as much. Maybe that was what Mikoko-chan had

been hoping for all along.

There was something a little amusing about that idea. Just

a little.

“Guess I’ll have to buy myself a parking space.”

I didn’t know how that was done. Deciding I’d have to ask

Miiko-san about it, I returned home.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 9

Whoa. Is that Mikoko-chan over there?

Yup, that’s right. Long time no see, Ikkun.

Uhhh, oh. I get it. This is a dream.

Ahaha. You catch on quick, Ikkun. I guess that’s about what you'd

expect from such a realist. Or are you a romanticist? Or maybe you're

a classicist. Half and half, maybe. And then you're one-third

pessimist.

I’m not sure that adds up.

True.

Hey, you’re not really Mikoko-chan, are you?

Oops. You got me. Well, who do you think I am?

Beats me. Who?

You decide. It’s your dream, after all.

Okay, you’re Tomo-chan, then.

Why do you think that? You might be wrong. I could be Kunagisasan

or Aikawa-san or Muimi-chan or Akiharu-kun or Miiko-san or

Suzunashi-san or anyone else.

I can talk to everyone else whenever I want. I can’t talk to

you. You’re the only person I want to talk to that I can’t.

Liar. You know there are others.

No, no, no. I don’t want to talk to them anymore.

Okay, fine. If you say so. Well then, let’s talk. Let’s discuss all the

things we didn’t get to that day.

Really? Okay, sure. In that case, there’s one question I’ve

wanted to ask you.

What?

Do you hate the killer?

The one who killed me? The answer is just as you thought—not

even a little bit. We talked about it on that day, didn’t we? I said I

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 0

want to be reborn. It was myself that I hated. I don’t think of my

death as unfortunate in the slightest.

Sounds like you're just saying that.

Well, sure. Anything you put into words sounds that way. Say,

Ikkun, do you ever read mystery novels?

I don’t read much in general. I used to, but now I just do it

when I need to kill time. But I basically know what mystery

novels are like.

I see. I’m a big fan. I’ll read anything, but mysteries are my

favorite. They're easy to understand. But one thing I don’t like is how

they always put so much emphasis on the criminal's motives. I mean,

I know you must need a pretty good reason to do something like kill

a person. After all, the risk is so high.

Yeah. A peer of mine said something like that once. The

risk is high, but the return is low. Of course, that guy turned

out to be a human failure who could only prove himself by

killing others.

But, you know, a motive is nothing more than an excuse. It’s just

a plea to a person's sympathies. When you think about it, it all comes

down to the morals of the individual. Do you know this saying?

‘A gentleman kills not for himself, but for justice and for the sake of

others.’ But hang on a second there. What does that mean, 'for the

sake of others'? What is 'justice'? I don’t know the answer.

I don’t know either. Sounds like it’s just a means of selfjustification.

I don’t know what your killer was thinking. Or

maybe I just don’t want to know.

Why not?

Because I can’t sense any rhyme or reason to it. I mean,

things obviously aren’t that clear regarding Mikoko-chan’s

death either, but in your case it’s like everything was totally

uncalculated. Like your death was just improvised.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 1

Yeah, maybe. But does it matter? I’m not angry about it, and I’m

not sad that I’m dead, either. Really, it’s no lie. I’m not the least bit

resentful.

And so now you’re going to be reborn as Mikoko-chan?

Yup.

But she’s dead too.

She is, isn’t she?

How do you feel about that? Your own death aside, how

do you feel toward the person who sent Mikoko-chan to

death? No resentment there either?

I guess I don’t really have an opinion.

Isn’t that a little cold? You were friends, weren’t you?

It’s a little funny hearing that from you of all people.

I’ve got a friend myself.

Kunagisa-san? Or could it be Miiko-san? I know it’s not Muimichan

or Akiharu-kun, right? But I think you're like me, Ikkun—even

if a friend dies, I don’t feel sadness. I know how to be sad, but I just

can’t seem to set foot into that domain. I must have less emotion

than the average person.

I can’t say I don’t understand.

Maybe it’s a matter of distrust toward human beings? Like I've

suffered some fatal wound that’s destroyed my trust in others. A

person once persecuted can never believe in another human being

for the rest of their life.

I think you’re going too far there.

You don’t think that.

Yes, I do.

No, you don’t.

No, I don’t.

People who realize how much human beings love to discriminate

can never trust anyone. Japanese people are particularly like that.

Like, let’s say someone's friend is being victimized by some group. It’s

one person versus many. Now obviously, the right thing to do is to

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 2

stick up for the friend. But the average person wouldn’t do that. They

would go with the group. Human beings crave to belong to a group.

They don’t even care who the group is. All that matters is that they

have a group and that people are with them. What kind of group it is

doesn’t matter at all. It doesn’t have any meaning or value. And once

you realize this cruel fact, it’s impossible to trust people. For

example, do you have a family, Ikkun?

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t exist.

That’s not what I mean.

Yeah, they’re alive and well. I think they’re somewhere

around Kobe. We haven’t seen each other in years, though.

Now that you mention it, Mikoko-chan once told me that I

didn’t seem like the type to show any devotion to my parents.

True enough. I haven’t seen them since I was in junior high.

You probably could call me a bad son.

Sounds like your household has some issues.

Nah, not really. Not at all. We didn’t have any problems,

actually. If I had been aware of any problems at all, I probably

wouldn’t have turned out like the person I am. What about

you? Do you have a family?

Uh-uh. Not anybody that really feels like one. That’s why I

decided on a university so far from home. Mikoko-chan and the

others apparently had similar situations.

You mean you all couldn’t trust your own families?

Yeah, that’s right. I can’t even trust myself. I don’t remember who

it was who said “there's nothing sure in this world,” but that’s about

what it feels like. It feels like the whole world is fragile and

threatening to topple over and shatter to pieces at the slightest

nudge. But in reality, that isn’t the world, but myself.

Sounds like you’re damaged goods.

You said it. I mean, think about it. Would you define a person who

has never cried since the day she was born as well rounded? I can

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 3

form a smile, but is that enough for you to be able to say I’m a decent

human being?

I’m the same way. I used to try to write it off as individuality.

What about now?

Not now. Individuality can go eat some shit. Being different

isn’t necessarily good. Anyone who’s ever thought about

the effect being radically different would never preach such

nonsense. People talk about “the chosen ones,” gifted individuals

who have left their mark on history. Most of those people

were probably totally messed up. But they were just regular

people, all the same. They weren’t outcasts. They were just

regular people, except that they were broken. But Tomochan.

From what you’re saying, it sounds like you don’t trust

Muimi-chan, Akiharu-kun, and Mikoko-chan, nor do you have

any faith in them.

Yeah. I won’t deny that. In fact, I’ll confirm it. You know, I think

you of all people must understand how inferior that makes me feel.

You know what a nice girl Mikoko-chan is. Akiharu-kun's a good guy,

too, and Muimi-chan is of a rare breed nowadays whose loyalty to

friends runs all the way to the bone. The idea that I can’t trust people

like that, that no matter how hard I try, I can’t truly think of them as

friends, makes me feel like a filthy human being. They've shown me

so much love, and I can’t give anything back.

I know how you feel. It’s a sense of guilt.

Yeah, that’s it. So it’s good that a flawed specimen like me

passed on.

What about Mikoko-chan?

That’s Mikoko-chan's problem. I’m already dead. There's nothing

I can say. And, Ikkun, that’s not really what you're here to ask, is it?

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 4

Well, I dunno. There were a ton of things I wanted to talk

about. No, actually there were only a couple. By which I mean

there was just one.

Go ahead.

Is it okay for me to be alive?

Ahhh, now that is a fine question.

As a member of this colony known as mankind who contributes

nothing toward their collective gain, do I have a right

to live?

I think I could have easily presented the same question myself. I

mean, if I weren’t already dead. Well . . . in regards to that question, I

only have one word for you.

Huh? What is it?

It’s —

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep

I awoke to an unpleasant electronic noise, groaned, and

got up.

Not from my futon, but directly off the floor where I had

apparently been sleeping. I had had an awful dream. It had

progressed so arbitrarily and with such self-indulgence that it

made me disgusted with myself. As if I had completely figured

out Tomo-chan’s inner psyche after less than an hour of

talking to her.

And yet I couldn’t shake the odd feeling that the dream

had been real.

“But what the hell am I doing holding debates with dead

people?”

Could it be that I was still feeling a bit regretful?

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep. In other words, even now—

beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep—even now, I—beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep—

Nah, let’s set that aside for now.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 5

This wasn’t my alarm clock. It was the ringtone from my

cell phone. Despising musical ringtones, my phone was still

set to its default ring, but even that wasn’t very pleasant. I

picked up the phone and pressed the send button.

“Yes, hello?”

“. . . .”

Huh. No answer. But I could sense breathing on the other

end. Maybe it was a weak signal.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

. . . . .

“Hello? Can you hear my voice? Not so much?”

Silence. It was strange. Maybe the phone itself was broken.

I had recently thrown it into the laundry with my pants, after

all. But modem electronics weren’t so fragile. In which case,

maybe it was a crank call.

“If you don’t say anything, I’m gonna go ahead and hang

up, okay? Is that okay?”

With inappropriate timing, my mind began to wander to

the time Mikoko-chan had called and gotten all flustered

thinking it was a wrong number.

“Okay, I’m hanging up. Commencing countdown. Five,

four, three, two—”

. . . .

Whoa. I’d heard something. But it was too soft to make

out.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t catch that. Could you say it again,

please?”

“Kamogawa Park.”

“I’m sorry? Kamogawa?”

“I’m waiting at Kamogawa Park. . . .”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 6

The voice faded in and out, my eardrums just barely able

to pick it up. I couldn’t tell if it was a male or female, adult or

child. There was no discernible intonation, so I couldn’t even

determine what emotions the caller was attempting to convey.

“I’m sorry? Please say that again. And who is this?”

“Mikoko.”

The voice said only that, and the call ended.

I tossed the phone on the floor, stood up, and stretched my

hands up toward the ceiling. It was low enough that I could

reached it if I exerted myself. Who lived above me again?

Oh, right, the fifteen-year-old brother and thirteen-yearold

sister. Those two shared a closeness that made even me

smile. Of course they were just barely surviving, so maybe

that wasn’t an appropriate reaction.

The apartment building was three stories tall, with two

rooms per floor, meaning there were a total of six rooms, two

of which were currently vacant. The brother and sister upstairs

lived next to the old hermit. He was into Christianity,

which meant he probably would’ve clashed quite a bit with

Miiko-san's ultra-Japaneseness, but by no means were they

enemies. Both rooms on the first floor were vacant, but the

landlord said someone would be coming in next month. Even

a place like this had a pretty impressive draw of tenants.

I plopped back down on the floor and picked up the abandoned

phone. Checking the call history, I discovered that, sure

enough, the call was from an unknown number.

Now let’s think about this. “Kamogawa Park. That’s definitely

what they said.”

So they were waiting there? Okay, fine. That was fine, for

now. The problem was with what the caller said after that,

when I asked for a name. How had they answered?

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 7

“ ‘Mikoko’ . . . yeah, I definitely heard ‘Mikoko.’ ”

There wasn’t likely to be another person on earth with a

bizarre name like that. But at the same time, it couldn’t have

been Mikoko. She was dead. If dead people could use telephones,

the whole telephone infrastructure would’ve gone to

hell in a handbasket long ago.

. . . .

With what little information I currently had, thinking

would do no good at all. Something about that made me feel a

little empty inside.

I deleted the call from the phone’s history and checked the

time on the LCD display.

Eleven thirty at night.

Wednesday, May twenty-fifth.

. . . .

Huh. How had I spent the day again?

I seemed to remember waking up at just around noon.

Then I had gone out to visit Kunagisa, had run into Akiharukun

along the way, inherited Mikoko-chan’s Vespa, returned

to my apartment to ask Miiko-san about the parking-space

thing, gotten frustrated by the hassle of the parking-space

thing, and gone to bed in a huff.

“In a huff? What’s wrong with me?”

What was I, a little kid?

Anyway, that was around two in the afternoon. I had no

recollection of what had occurred between then and now,

meaning I had slept for nearly ten hours. That was enough to

make even Sleeping Beauty gawk in disgust. I had been awake

for less than three of the twenty-four hours in May twentyfifth.

“I’ve been sleeping like mad lately. . . .”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 8

Anyway, then had come the phone call. A bizarre, garbled

phone call with no context, just words. I didn’t know its

meaning. Or rather, its meaning was the only thing I knew.

“Well, whatever.”

I had two choices. One, I could obey the caller’s request

and head down to Kamogawa Park; or two, I could ignore it.

Now, obviously, common sense would dictate that the latter

was the correct choice. But I didn’t know a thing about common

sense. And besides, I couldn’t just sit idly by when the

caller was throwing a name like that around. It didn’t take

long for me to reach a decision.

I washed my face and changed clothes.

“This is the first real piece of nonsense I’ve encountered in

awhile,” I said to myself.

I left a note behind and left the building. I mounted my

Vespa, which was tentatively parked illegally in a nearby alleyway

until I was able to secure a parking space. I could’ve just

walked, but Kamogawa Park was a bit far. The caller hadn’t

designated any specific meeting time, but I figured the sooner

the better.

I turned east onto Imadegawa Street and drove straight

ahead.

Still, I wondered, returning to my original train of thought,

what was that dream all about?

I didn’t believe in ghosts or apparitions or the afterlife or

that sort of thing, nor was I sure they didn’t exist. People do

have unexplainable experiences, after all, and I wasn’t so hardheaded

as to claim I didn’t believe in something about which I

truly knew nothing. Having said that, this wasn’t some piece

of classical literature, so it wasn’t like somebody else had en-

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 9

tered my dream. It had been a product of my consciousness,

and mine alone.

“Was it lingering attachment? Desire?”

Either way, it was only an illusion. Nothing to lose sleep

over, so to speak. The important thing was that it was Tomochan

who had appeared in my dream, not Mikoko-chan.

Surely this was a crime.

“Face your crimes. That is your punishment.” So

Suzunashi-san had told me one day in February. She was no

psychic, but she could see through me. She was the kind of

woman who commanded respect, yet never made you feel

inferior. Perhaps that was a rare thing.

I passed Horikawa, Torimaru, and Kawara-machi Streets,

eventually arriving in Kamogawa. Even if it was the middle of

the night, I couldn’t just ride a scooter through the park, so I

parked it by a bridge and headed down to the riverbank, also

known as Kamogawa Park.

“Ahh, so, now what?”

The name Kamogawa Park, in reality, represented a ridiculously

enormous area of land. It wasn’t spacious, exactly, just

long. And the opposite side of the river was considered part of

it. There wasn’t an idiot in all of Kyoto who would arrange a

meeting here without designating a specific street name.

“Well, whatever.”

I probably didn’t have to take a random phone call like

that so seriously anyway. I began walking down the river in

the direction of the current. Looking at my watch, I saw that

it was already past midnight. It was Thursday, May twentysixth.

It occurred to me that there wasn’t much left to the

month of May. Being here reminded me that it was along this

very river that Zerozaki had nearly killed me, right under the

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 0

big Shijô Bridge. At the time, neither Tomo-chan nor Mikokochan

had died yet.

That felt like ages ago. And I didn’t think it was just my

imagination.

I looked back. It was hard to tell because it was so dark,

but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Even though I

had felt something.

A gaze.

“Hmm . . .”

I had felt it this afternoon when I was with Akiharu-kun as

well. He had suggested that it might have been Mikoko-chan's

ghost, but what was a more realistic possibility? The most

likely explanation seemed to be that the police had sent someone

to tail me. After all, I was involved in the deaths of both

Tomo-chan and Mikoko-chan.

“But come on, at this hour?”

Besides, there was no reason for them to have to sneak

around. So on to the next possibility. A being of origins unknown

had summoned me on the telephone, and when I arrived

at the designated place, I felt somebody’s gaze. There

was really only one possible explanation here.

. . . .

I boosted my alertness a tad and kept walking. The strange

gaze seemed to vanish. It was around Maruta-machi Street

that I began to feel like a doofus. What the hell was I doing

here?

“I suppose I could just leave.”

I climbed back up the embankment onto the road. I

crossed the bridge to the other side of the river and descended

to the park below. I thought it would be a nice change of

scenery if I switched sides for the walk back. Looking out at

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 1

the river, I saw some ducks swimming around. Was that why

it was called Kamogawa—or Duck River? It seemed peculiar

that someone had actually named the river that for such a

bland reason.

I thought about hurrying back home to get to bed, but

then I realized I had just slept. Since I had come all the way

out, it might not have been a bad idea to take the Vespa for a

spin around Kyoto. If I kept parallel to the river, I could drive

to Maizuru. It would be good for getting used to my newly

acquired vehicle, not to mention for killing time.

Even as I pondered this, I continued walking straight

ahead. When I was approaching Imadegawa Street, I spotted a

shadowy figure huddled on the ground in front of me. Next to

it was a fallen bicycle. It was hard to make out because of the

darkness, but it looked like the figure was actually a person

who had collapsed. It lay motionless with its back to me. I

wondered if it was a sleeping homeless person, but if that

were the case there probably wouldn’t have been a bike

nearby. Perhaps someone had gone drinking out in Kiya-machi

and fallen off their bike passing through the park. Though I

had little sympathy, I couldn’t just leave a person there like

that. The figure’s long, black hair led me to believe it was a

woman.

“Are you all right?” I called out, but received no reply. It

almost seemed like the person was dead. Frankly, it was a

definite possibility. Just falling off a bike was enough to kill a

person if they had a bad landing. All the more if the person

was drunk. I considered the idea of just passing on by, but it

just didn’t seem right, so I ran over and tapped the figure on

the shoulder.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 2

“Are you all right?” I checked one more time. The figure

didn’t move an inch. “Are you all right?” I asked a third time,

and decided I should at least turn the figure onto its back. The

instant I gave the shoulders a tug, the figure, which had been

completely still until now, flipped over with incredible nimbleness

and sprayed some kind of mist in my face.

I tried to spring backward, but my timing was off. A dull

pain ran through my left cheek. As I realized I had been

struck, I slammed down into the riverbank onto my back

without even managing to roll.

My attacker stood up.

Not good. Either because I had been struck or because of

whatever that mist was, my eyes wouldn’t focus. What the

hell was that stuff? My eyes didn’t hurt enough for it to be

Mace. I forced my hobbling body up to a kneel and tried to

push myself up with my left hand, but the attacker was closing

in fast. I gave up on that idea and began rolling away instead,

spinning myself around more times than was even

necessary. When I had distanced myself about thirty feet from

the attacker, I managed to rise onto one knee.

The shadowy figure stood still before me. I could see that

it was a person of considerable height, but I couldn’t make out

the body frame. My vision still wasn’t coming back. But that

wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t stable. My feet, my knees,

and my head were just as bad. I thought I might collapse any

second. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. It was more like I was

falling into something. Yes. To put it simply, I felt . . . sleepy.

The knee that was supporting me collapsed.

Spray anesthetic? And this wasn’t your ordinary antipervert

concoction; this was high-powered stuff. Not only my

eyes, but all of my physical faculties had been disabled. Maybe

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 3

this kind of stuff is common in America, but I had never even

laid eyes on it (literally) in Japan.

My assailant approached me, one step at a time. Even with

my blurry vision, I could make out the knife in this person’s

right hand. A knife. Zerozaki Hitoshiki. The Kyoto prowler.

My mind was a mess.

“Why?”

“Who? Why? Of course, neither of these things mattered

in regards to the current problem at hand.”

Even with my mind all fogged up, I knew exactly how bad

it would be if I fell asleep at a time like this. It would mean

either death or something close enough.

Dammit. This was no time for hesitation, but I just

couldn’t work up the nerve to do anything that would cause

myself harm. I couldn’t help but hesitate. Naturally, my

attacker approached at a leisurely pace. I would be asleep in

no time anyway. But I knew this would be my one and only

opening.

Right hand or left?

I deliberated for only a moment before deciding on the

right. “Jesus Christ, man. Who am I, Nenbutsu no Tetsu?”

I gripped the thumb on my right hand with my left hand. I

hesitated for just one more second, then gave it a yank as hard

as I could in the wrong direction.

“Gyyyyaaaaahhhhh!” I let out a scream so piercing that

even my own ears hurt, and it reverberated throughout all of

Kamogawa Park.

It was now either broken or dislocated. Either way, my

sleepiness had cleared up. I recollected myself all at once, and

my vision, physical functionality, and alertness returned to

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 4

normal. Pain ran through my entire body as I stood to face my

enemy.

My attacker was clad all in black, complete with black ski

mask and black leather gloves. No hair was visible. The long

black hair I’d seen before was a wig. My vision had restored

itself, but it was still hard to make out my assailant’s figure

against the dark background. This must have been why I

thought it was a shadow at first. It occurred to me that the

attacker had definitely showed up dressed and prepared for

an ambush. This person looked far more like a killer than

Zerozaki—and far more like a prowler.

“Dammit . . . who are you?”

Naturally, there was no answer. All I could hear was the

attacker’s creepy breathing. Whoever it was pointed the knife

at me and slowly closed in. I didn’t have a single item that

might have been used as a weapon, and I had left my cell

phone in my room. I couldn’t even call for help.

“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. . . .”

I got into a fighting stance, and began to close in on the

distance from my end. Evidently surprised by this action, the

one in black came a second late with the knife. I attempted to

deal a palm strike to the jaw, which of course missed as the

enemy leaped backward and once again brandished the knife

at me.

The one in black was the next to make a move. He lunged

at me with the knife. But it was the motion of a novice. This

person was nothing compared to Zerozaki, and dodging was a

simple task. However, as I jerked my body backward, my

thumb bumped into the side of my torso. An intense shock of

pain shot through me.

!

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 5

I regretted breaking it. I probably could have just torn a

nail off or something. Or, if I absolutely had to break something,

I should have gone with the pinky. Why would I choose

the thumb? What was I, an idiot? There’s such a thing as

limits.

Naturally, the one in black didn’t let the opportunity slip

away, and gave me a hard shove. Already off balance, I toppled

over onto my back. Without sparing a second, the enemy

mounted me. I took a moment to reminisce with inappropriate

calmness about how this same thing had just happened

last month. Now how had I dealt with the situation last time?

Without giving me a moment to think, the knife came

down. It was aimed directly at my face—no, my carotid artery.

I used every ounce of strength left in me to dodge my head to

the right, mostly avoiding the blade. It managed to slice

through a single layer of skin. I was bleeding. The one in black

pulled the knife back out from the earth of the riverbank it

had lodged into, and readied it for another swing. Just as I

thought there would be no escape this time, my attacker’s

hand came to a halt. Looking down at me as if making some

observation, my assailant tossed the knife away.

Without any time to contemplate the meaning behind this

action, the attacker plunged a fist into my face. The same left

cheek from before. The next moment, the opposite cheek

took a similar blow. Next, the left cheek took a third blow.

Then the right again. The attacker continued this endless barrage

of punches to my face, leaving no spaces in between.

I had long since stopped thinking about the pain. I could

just feel my brain rattling.

. . . . . ,

Suddenly, the pummeling ceased.

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But it didn’t take long for me to learn that this was no act

of mercy. The one in black clamped both hands around my

left shoulder. It was easy to guess what the plan was from

here. I tried to resist, but my body would not move the way I

commanded it. That paralyzing spray had eaten its way into

my core. Coupled with the pain, I was sure to pass out any

minute.

Except.

Except that at that exact moment, a deathly excruciating

pain shot through my left shoulder with a terrible cracking

sound, jarring me back to a fully conscious state. The one in

black had dislocated my shoulder joint without the slightest

hesitation. On top of that, the attacker then began pummeling

it.

“Nggaaaaaahhhh!!!” It was a shriek from Hell. I had never

known my own vocal cords held such destructive force.

Who the hell was this person? What were they doing all of

this for? They didn’t want to kill me. This wasn’t an act of

murder; it was a simple act of destruction. To this attacker, I

was nothing more than an object to be dismantled. Something

to be pulled apart like a chain-link puzzle.

Next, my assailant went for the right shoulder.

“Ghrr . . .” I had regained consciousness fully. I raised half

my body up, shook off the attacker's grip, and swung my fist

right into the attacker’s heart. The impact was strangely unsatisfying,

as if I’d punched a magazine. That black shirt must

have been concealing some kind of protective gear.

Having bashed my already broken thumb, I couldn’t bear

to use my right arm anymore. The one in black brushed it

aside like it was nothing and gripped my right shoulder firmly

again.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 7

I wasn’t lucid enough to shake it off a second time. I heard

a dull, cracking sound as if from a great distance. But the pain

was right there with me. A torturous pain ran up from both

my shoulders into my brain, even managing to penetrate the

numbness.

Then, just like before, the attacker began pummeling the

newly dislocated joint. And, from there, went straight for my

heart—as if exacting revenge. The sound of cracking bone.

The impact spread out to my disconnected shoulders, and a

dull pain followed an instant behind.

“Uhuhh . . . ahhh . . .”

I gasped for air. The impact of the punch had dealt significant

damage to my lungs. Whether that had been my attacker’s

aim or not, I didn’t know, but either way, it made for

a prime opening. The attacker gripped my face by the jaw.

Hey, now, hey, now, are you serious? That’s the most painful

thing you can do to a person. But there was no time to make

inquiries. I thought I ought to chomp down on the attacker's

finger, but I let myself hesitate.

The one in black gave a forceful yank on my jaw. There

was a far lighter cracking sound than the one from my shoulders,

but the pain was incomparably intense. Then, as had

become the routine, the attacker gave my dislocated jaw a

swift uppercut.

No voice came out. I couldn’t even be bothered to scream

anymore.

Allow me to correct myself.

This was an act of murder. The destructive nature of it was

irrelevant. It was clear now that this person was going to

torture me to death. They would make me suffer until I was

dead.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 8

Dissect me, piece by piece.

The one in black hesitated for a bit, most likely pondering

how to inflict the next dose of agony.

From there, the one in black grabbed the wrist of my limp

right arm and held it up, gripping the thumb in one hand.

My already broken thumb.

!

Hehehe.

I heard the attacker chuckle.

I was in utter shock. There was nothing as fearsome to me

and terrifying in this world as a person who could beat and

torture someone this much and still have a good laugh.

The one in black muttered something I couldn’t make out,

then released my thumb in favor of my index finger. I could

tell that the plan was to break it. And not only my index

finger. From there, the attacker would move onto the middle

finger, ring finger, pinky, and then the left hand. Then would

come my feet. Maybe they were going to break every bone in

my entire body. Then they would tear apart the flesh. And

then, once I had been thoroughly dismantled, maybe they

would be kind enough to kill me.

I had already lost the will to fight back. In fact, I didn’t

even know why I had tried fighting back in the first place. I

should have just let the spray put me to sleep in the very beginning.

At least then I wouldn’t have had to go through all

this torture. Why the hell did I break my own thumb? But

then again, I probably would have awoken to this pain anyway.

I would have gone through the torture either way. If that

were the case, then the outcome would have been exactly the

same. I had just taken a different route.

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This was just like last time—a farce enacted with predestined

harmony.

I felt like I was watching myself from afar.

I was watching myself about to be killed from the opposite

side of the river.

What was I thinking, seeing myself like that?

Oh, come on, really now.

This is truly ridiculous.

Trivial and pointless.

What a load of nonsense.

“Whattaya doing over theeeeeeeere?!”

A thunderous howl.

My vacant eyes shifted toward the direction of the voice

coming from the opposite riverbank. But nobody was there. A

small-framed, shadowy figure was charging this way against

the river’s current.

I didn’t even have to wonder who it was. I knew this

person as well as I knew myself.

“Heeeeeeeyyyyy!”

Zerozaki.

Zerozaki Hitoshiki.

Zerozaki Hitoshiki hollered as he leaped from the river and

charged up the bank. The one in black seemed momentarily

startled by this new contender, but after assessing the situation,

released my finger and backed away from my body. My

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 0

attacker must have been aware that Zerozaki was not an

opponent you could take on from a sitting position.

With a bit of distance remaining between Zerozaki and us,

Zerozaki hurled a single drawing knife in this direction. This

wasn’t aimed at my attacker, but rather a warning used to

distance the attacker from me. Having arrived on this side of

the riverbed, Zerozaki got between the attacker and me. The

one in black went for the knife that had been tossed aside

earlier, and brandished it defensively at Zerozaki.

“Hahhh . . .” Zerozaki exhaled deeply as if adjusting his

breathing. “Why do you let people bully you like that? Stand

up for yourself, man!” he said mockingly. I thought about

saying something in response, but with my jaw dislocated, it

was impossible.

“Well, whatever. I guess you’re the one I should be talking

to now,” Zerozaki said, facing the one in black. “So what’s

your deal? You probably don’t want to hear this from me, but

you know you’re committing a crime, right? Assault and battery,

attempted murder. Do you realize that? Are you aware

of what’s allowed and what’s not?”

There were probably any number of comebacks the attacker

could have made in this situation, but none were

spoken.

The one in black took a cautious step backward. It seemed

this unknown assailant viewed Zerozaki, in all of his casualness,

with his utter lack of caution, as a true threat.

“Hmm. This sack of damaged goods here has some pretty

nasty wounds to be attended to, and I’m not really looking to

draw any more attention by killing someone, so if you want to

run away, feel free,” Zerozaki said after a moment’s thought.

The one in black took another step back, carefully attempting

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 1

to size up Zerozaki. It seemed they were still trying to make a

decision.

“What’s the matter? I’m telling you I’ll let you go, so hurry

up and chase yourself somewhere. Quickly now.”

The one in black didn’t respond.

Zerozaki let out a deliberate sigh. “If you still want to do

this, I’d be happy to kill you. You’ll be in pieces before you

even feel anything. I’m not such a nice guy that I’d show

mercy to someone going out of their own way to get cut. But,

hey, at least you’ll get to be lucky number thirteen. I’ll chop

you up and line up the pieces for everyone to gawk at.”

And that was the decisive remark.

The one in black spun around and dashed away in the direction

of Imadegawa.

“Go on, go on,” Zerozaki said, laughing. Then he turned to

face me. That tattooed face entered my field of vision, only to

go blurry an instant later. It seemed the anesthetizing effects

of the spray had reached a new peak.

“Hm? Hey, don’t go to sleep on me. At least give me your

address first.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. Of course,

my shoulders were both dislocated, so this hurt like a bitch,

but at this point, I didn’t even care.

“Ugh . . .” With the last few drops of my consciousness, and

through a dislocated jaw, I told him my address.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 2

My next memory began Friday the twenty-seventh, at right

around nine o’clock a.m.

“Yo. Morning, sunshine.”

Zerozaki was right by my pillow. I looked at his face in a

daze, having no idea what was going on. Zerozaki himself, on

the other hand, seemed relaxed, and genuinely glad that I had

woken up.

“Man, this place is incredible. It was impossible to find

from that address. And the people here are crazy. I went to

borrow some bandages and stuff from that chick next door,

and she wasn’t even surprised by my face. I’ve never met a

chick like that. But I’m glad you’re awake. You must've been

pretty sleep deprived, huh? I guess you’ve been through a lot.”

“Uhhh . . .”

I planted my right hand down in an attempt to prop myself

up. An intense pain ran through me. “Gah!” I reflexively

pulled my hand away and began to fall back down, but somehow

managed to catch myself with my left arm.

“Nice one, man. It’s broken, you know. Your finger, I

mean. I jammed your jaw and shoulders back in place best I

could, but there’s nothing I can do about a broken bone. I did

some emergency first aid, but I think you’ll probably want to

take a visit to the hospital later.”

Looking at my right hand, I saw that my thumb had been

stabilized with a large amount of bandages, wire, and a splint.

Though far from orthodox, it did seem as though he had cared

for it properly. I could also feel something strange on my face.

It seemed my jaw had also been stabilized, with plaster and

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 3

gauze. Zerozaki must have been taking care of me while I was

sleeping.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Forget about it,” he said, waving a hand at me irritably.

“But that thumb is looking pretty bad. It’s gonna make life

hard, you know,” he teased. I guess one man’s pain is another

man’s amusement, killer or not.

“No worries. I’m ambidextrous.”

“Really?”

“Originally I was left-handed, but I corrected it when I was

young and became right-handed. But I had a teacher I hated

who used to say ‘chopsticks go in your right hand,’ so I

switched back to left out of spite. That was back in the third

grade.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

I struggled to return myself to full consciousness. I could

get up just fine, but my head was swimming.

“Hey, by the way, where’s the Vespa?”

“Huh? What’d you say?”

“Ah, nothing.”

It was probably still sitting abandoned by the bridge in

Imadegawa. I just had to go retrieve it at some point. If it

hadn’t been towed away, that is. More significant was the fact

that Zerozaki had carried me all the way back here on foot

with that small body of his. His physical strength was truly

admirable.

Zerozaki, meanwhile, didn’t seem to think anything of it,

and was as calm as ever.

“But what the hell was that back there? I can’t believe you

and I ended in a standoff, and yet you still let a clumsy oaf like

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 4

that get the better of you,” he said. His reasoning was a little

sketchy.

“That thing with you was special. Yeah . . . I mean, kind

of.” I lifted myself up, taking care not to do anything to my

thumb. “Yesterday . . . wait, was it yesterday? I got a call saying

to come to Kamogawa Park. In retrospect, it was an obvious

trap, but anyway, I fell for it. Hence, my current

situation.”

“Wow. What are you, an idiot?”

Indeed. “Yeah, I know it was dumb,” I said. “But let me ask

you something. What are you still doing in Kyoto? Didn’t you

leave?”

“Huh? How’d you know?”

“The killings stopped.”

“Ah, right, that. Yeah, I did leave for a while. I got attacked

by some weird lady in red. She was like this crazy maniac on

speed, man. I hit her with my bike and she kept coming at me

like it was nothin’. It’s a liter bike, man. What the hell kind of

shape is she in? Anyway, she was dead set on catching me, but

I was no match for her, so I fled to Osaka. Of course, she

came after me. So I came back to Kyoto, cuz you know what

they say, the darkest place is right under the candlestick. Anyway,

so the day I came back, I was trudging around when I

heard a howling like a whipped dog. Being the card-carrying

dog lover that I am, I couldn’t just sit around and listen to

that, so I ran toward the direction of the voice only to find

that it was you, getting your ass handed to you by that thing in

black.”

“So that’s what happened. I gotcha.”

He’d rattled out the second half of the explanation awfully

fast, as if he’d gotten tired of explaining. But I basically got the

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 5

point. Basically, what it came down to was that I’d gotten

really, really lucky.

Either that, or the one in black was unlucky.

“But man, who the hell was that red lady, anyway? I

thought I had run into the Red Death.”

“It’s Aikawa-san,” I said. It wasn’t my way of expressing

gratitude, it was just that it seemed unfair to give Aikawa-san

information on him and then not show him the same courtesy.

Then again, I wasn’t sure a guy like me should be using a word

like unfair.

“Aikawa?” Zerozaki said, his tattoo twisting into a dubious

grimace. “Did you just say ‘Aikawa’? You mean that was

Aikawa Jun?”

“Oh, you know her? I guess that means I don’t have to

bother explaining, then.”

“Nah, I just heard about her from the ‘General,’ that’s all.

Dammit, why, of all people, did it have to be Aikawa Jun?” he

whined. “There’s no hope now.”

“Is she famous or something?”

“She’s infamous. Do you have any idea what they call her?

‘The Sturm and Drang,’ ‘The Mighty Warrior,’ ‘The Laughing

Red Tigress,’ ‘The Killer of Mountain Men,’ ‘The Desert

Eagle’ . . . They told me not to have anything to do with her.”

“You forgot one.”

“Huh?”

“ ‘Mankind’s Greatest Private Contractor,’ ” I said, to

which Zerozaki didn’t respond. His expression was more serious

than I’d ever seen him. When confronted with an opponent

like Aikawa Jun, even he couldn’t play it casually.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 6

“Shit, man, this is not good. This is just too much of a

masterpiece . . .” he muttered to himself. He gave a weak nod.

“Well then.” He rose to his feet. “I’m gonna go.”

“What? Already?”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t really be lingering around doing nothing.

It looks like I’ve got some things to think over. There's nothing

to do here anyway, and you’re really in no shape to be

talking at length. Besides, I’m a wanted man right now. I can’t

stick around in one place for too long.”

“Ah, okay.”

This was all true. When I gave Aikawa-san a description of

Zerozaki, the word must have spread all the way to the police.

She wasn’t his only enemy now. For Zerozaki, spending a

whole day in this one room was like stepping into the red

zone.

“What if you just turned yourself in?”

“Not a bad idea, but I’m gonna pass on that,” he said with a

grin. “Just be sure you take care of your problems. I saw it in

the paper and all. That Aoii girl you were talking about got

killed, huh?”

“Yeah, well.”

“Looks like we’ve both got some shit to sort out.”

“Yeah. This has been the biggest hassle ever.”

“Same here. But hey, that’s life. These are the tracks we’re

riding. Anyway, that’s it for me.”

“We probably won’t meet again after this,” I said.

“No doubt,” he said, laughing. “Farewell.”

With that, he left from my room. Left alone, I returned to

my futon and lay down. He had either done a fine job of taking

care of me, or my wounds hadn’t been that bad to begin

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 7

with, because I hardly felt any pain. Of course I would probably

have to go to the hospital to check out that broken bone.

Right now, though, I needed sleep. Was the anesthetic still

active? No, that didn’t seem plausible. So this was just regular

old tiredness. Why had I been sleeping so much lately?

“Ah, I get it. I was sleeping, but I wasn’t asleep.”

At last, I had reached my limit. I shut my eyes, deciding to

put off going to the hospital until after I had slept. I was

probably getting myself in too deep lately. I kept trying not to

think about Tomo-chan and Mikoko-chan, but I was thinking

about them all the while. That dream I had was sure enough

proof of that. I still hadn’t figured out a conclusion to this

murder case.

For now, I just needed rest. I decided to put off thinking

about that phone trap and the one in black until after sleeping.

“Hey.”

But right now I wouldn’t even be allowed to sleep. I heard

knocking, and a voice coming through the door. I got up and

hobbled over to answer it. Zerozaki had returned.

“What? Forget something?”

“Yeah, sort of. I was going to tell you one more thing.” He

entered the room again and sat down cross-legged. I returned

to my futon and sat down as well.

“Yeah, what is it? You made such a big show of leaving.”

“Well, I forgot about this. What do you want me to do?

Hey, check your phone.”

“Huh? Why?”

“You got a few calls while you were sleeping.”

“Huh. Around what time?”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 8

“Just this morning. It kept going ‘beep beep beep beep.’

So annoying. Isn’t that what woke you up?”

I took a look at the phone’s call history as I listened to Zerozaki

rambling on. The calls had come from a familiar number.

I knew I had seen it before.

“Ahh, right, it was Sasaki-san,” I said, realizing. This number

belonged to that detective currently absorbed in a war of

attrition, Sasa Sasaki-san. Between eight and nine o’clock this

morning, my phone had received seven calls from her number.

“I wonder what she wants.”

“I didn’t pick up, so don’t ask me. I shouldn’t be answering

your phone, right? If you’re curious, just call her back.”

“I will.”

I entered in her number.

“Who's Sasaki again? I feel like I know that name.”

“I think I mentioned her that time at karaoke. She's that

hotshot detective.”

“Ah, right,” he said with a complex expression. The word

detective probably didn’t sit too well with Zerozaki these days.

Of course, it didn’t leave such a great impression on me

either.

The signal seemed to connect, and it continued to the dial

tone. I waited a few seconds.

“Yeah, Sasa here,” came Sasaki-san's voice.

“Hello, it’s me.”

“What were you doing earlier?”

“Nothing, just sleeping.”

“I see . . . Yeah, that’s fine.” There was something strangely

cool and reserved about her. It sounded like she was forcing

herself to be cool and reserved. Which meant that right now,

she wasn’t really cool or reserved at all.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 9

“Sasaki-san, did something happen? Or is there something

else you wanted to ask me?”

“Something happened,” she said. “Usami Akiharu-san was

murdered.”

Suddenly.

Everything.

Connected.

“Usami-kun, you say?”

“Yes.”

“You're sure?”

“Do I seem like the kind of person who would make up a

lie like that? This morning a friend discovered the body at

school. He's been strangled, just like Emoto-san and Aoii-san.

I’m at the scene right now.”

Now that she mentioned it, it did sound like she was

speaking so as not to disturb the people around her. She was

probably surrounded by police officers, medical examiners,

and gawking onlookers.

Akiharu-kun.

Hadn’t he said he would be next? Oddly, his words had

become a reality.

“Really . . .”

But this was probably no simple coincidence. If Akiharukun

had figured out the truth, then it would make sense that

he could foresee his own death. And yet even knowing this, he

had let himself be killed all the same.

“I’d like to ask you some things, if you would come . . .”

“Before that,” I interrupted, “I want to ask you about

Akiharu-kun’s body. Do you mind?”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 0 0

“Go ahead.” As if she could sense through my voice alone

that something was different about me, she made no objection.

“I’ll answer anything I can.”

“I just have one question. Is there another ‘x over y’ left

behind at the crime scene?”

“Yes,” she softly affirmed after a moment of silence. “But

this time it’s strange. We can’t say anything for certain yet,

but this time evidence suggests it was written by the victim

himself. Yeah. But why do you ask? Have you thought of

something? Did you figure out what x over y means?”

No, that wasn’t it.

I had already figured out the meaning of that formula long

ago. Or rather, at this point, it had no meaning. That wasn’t

the issue right now.

“No, that’s not it. Okay, so should I head down to the

police station later?”

“I’d appreciate it. What time is good for you?”

“This afternoon . . . no, this evening.”

“Okay, then I’ll—”

I hung up while she was talking. If I hadn’t, I would’ve said

something regrettable. I wasn’t so coolheaded myself right

now. I threw my cell phone at the floor with a violent force

normally unthinkable for a guy like me.

“Hey now, what are you doing?” Zerozaki said in surprise.

“Are you crazy? Don’t throw your phone. Look at the poor

thing.”

“This is what they call venting,” I said dimly. “That is, suppressing

your anger by taking it out on an inanimate object.”

“Yeah, I know that.” He picked up the phone, checked to

see that it wasn’t broken, and then put it down away from me.

“What happened?”