Zaregoto-Volume 2 Chapter 6

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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.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 2


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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 3


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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 4


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.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 5


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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 6


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.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 7


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.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 8


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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 9


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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 0


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.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 1


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-


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 2


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?”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 3


“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.”


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 4


“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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 5


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,


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 6


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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 7


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


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 8


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.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 286


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.


ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 289


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?”