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
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
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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.
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?”
