Zaregoto Volume 2 Chapter 4

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“Ah, crap, that was the bell.”
“Even if we go now, we’ll be marked as absent. Or rather,
he won’t even let us into the classroom,” I said.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Hate to
miss out on Akiharu’s studly performance, but let’s cut class.”
She was quick to make a decision. I hesitated to make a
decision for just a moment longer. But no amount of mental
effort would turn back the hands of the clock, so I just gave
up. “Fine.”
“So, what now? Wanna go eat?”
“The dining hall’s probably still crowded at this time,
right?
“Oh, right. Well, wanna stay here and chat a little more?”
“Well, then can I ask you something?” I said, thinking this
would make a good opportunity. “Was there anyone who
might’ve had something against Tomo-chan?”
Muimi-chan’s face immediately grew serious. It was like
she was deliberating over something. Or, more likely, she was
just mentally confirming something she’d already thought of.
“Nope, no one,” she said decisively, after a long pause and a
perplexed expression. “Logically speaking, nobody could have
had something against her.”
“ ‘Nobody could have had something against her’ . . . heh,
kind of a weird phrase. Sounds like a crappy translation or
something.”
“But I think it’s an accurate one. I mean, I think. I’ve
known her only since high school, though.”
“Speaking of which, how do you all know each other, anyway?
You said you’ve been friends with Mikoko-chan since
you were little kids, right?”
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“Mikoko and I were childhood friends, and then I met
Akiharu and Tomoe in high school.”
“Hey, wait. Isn’t that a little strange?”
“What?”
“Mikoko-chan is nineteen, and her birthday is in April.
Tomo-chan just turned twenty. . . .”
“Oh, no. Tomoe repeated a grade in junior high.”
“Ah.” So she hadn’t entered college late or returned from
abroad after all. She had just been held back a year. I hadn’t
even considered that option.
“The thing is, she was in the hospital for a long time. She
had to take about half a year off, and even after that she
tended to be absent a lot. She just didn’t have the attendance
record in order to pass. Apparently she was pretty sick. They
said she was near death.”
Near death.
Death.
Awareness of death.
“Hahhh . . .” I tried my best to be coolheaded about it, but
I wasn’t sure how well I managed to pull it off. “I see, so that’s
what it was.”
So that was Emoto Tomoe’s story. I nodded a few times so
that Muimi-chan wouldn’t notice my surprise.
“So anyway, it’s been the four of us ever since high school.
Apparently that was when Akiharu and Tomoe first met too.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Oh, right. So in other words, Tomoe was really good at
adapting. Or wait . . . maybe that’s not it. Maybe she was a
little bit like you, if you don’t mind my saying,” she said,
pointing at me twice. “You’ve heard of the ‘personal space
bubble,’ right? Well, she was extremely good at defining
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them. She could get close to people as far as a certain point,
but she would never step over that line. She would never
come into intimate contact with anybody, and on top of that
she never let anybody come into intimate contact with her.
She always stayed at a cautious distance, never too near or too
far. Kind of like a master sword fighter.”
“. . .”
The term sword fighter made Miiko-san spring to mind for a
second.
“Tomoe was my friend, but . . . I don’t think she ever
opened up to me. I also don’t think I was ever any help to
her.”
“I doubt that,” I said, but my words probably didn’t mean
anything to her. They didn’t mean much to me either.
Whether her hunch about Tomo-chan was right or not, it
probably wasn’t very far from the truth.
But Muimi-chan, you mustn’t mix things up. It’s incredibly
rude to Tomo-chan. If you’re really her friend, you shouldn’t
be saying such things.
Tomo-chan and I weren’t alike. We were simply on similar
tracks. In essence, however, we were different.
The only ones who are really similar to me are the murderers,
Muimi-chan.
“Anyway, she was that kind of chick so by nature she
couldn’t have done anything to incite a grudge. I think you
can say that for certain.”
“Then who the hell killed her?”
“Like I know. Probably that serial killer.”
“The serial killer uses knives, I think.”
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“Well, whatever. Somebody killed her. Those cops looked
pretty sharp, so I’m sure they’ll find who did it if we just let it
be. There’s nothing we can do right now anyway.”
She wore a stern face that didn’t match her passive comment.
Surely she was speaking these words against her own
will. Her beloved friend had been murdered, and there was
nothing she could do. She must have felt helpless.
But it really was beyond her control. It was probably true
that she had no idea who the killer could have been. She had
nobody at whom to direct her anger.
Hmm.
“What the hell is everyone doing?” she said, looking at all
the students walking by outside the lounge. “Seriously, what
the hell are they doing?”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone. Everyone here. It’s so stupid. They’re just
living. They’re just not dead, that’s all. They’re just fucking
living.”
They’re just fucking living.
She repeated the phrase one more time. “Ah, I’m groggy,”
she said, straightening up again. “I wonder if any of these
people really have a purpose. A purpose for living, or a future
goal or something. I wonder if they actually have those
things.”
“They must. I mean, I’m sure it varies from person to person.
But it doesn’t really matter either way.”
“That’s not really what I’m trying to say. I don’t know. It’s
not that complicated. Like, take those chicks over there,” she
said, pointing to a group of girls on the opposite side of the
lounge. They had a sophisticated air about them, suggesting
they were probably sophomores or juniors. I couldn’t make
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out what they were saying, but even if I could hear them, they
were most likely chattering about something I wouldn’t have
understood anyway. They were laughing and slapping one
another on the back with giddy enjoyment.
“Now let’s say I had an assault carbine in my hands. An
M4A1. Then I aim at them, and . . . ratatatatata! What would
happen?”
I looked over at them once again. Their laughter was just as
giddy as before, but in my head, I saw them drenched in
blood, their bodies torn apart, pieces blown all the way out
the window.
“Well, I suppose they’d probably die.”
“Yeah, they’d probably die. But in that moment, what
would they be thinking? Would they have regrets? . . . I don’t
think they would.”
She glared at them with contempt, but none of them noticed.
They were fully absorbed in their own chatter, so much
that they didn’t even glance in our direction.
“They probably wouldn’t have a shred of remorse. Nothing
left undone. After all, they’re just living their lives without
any goals or aspirations. What could they possibly leave
behind?”
“. . . .”
“Of course, I’m not saying life is dull. It’s got its moments.
But all these people are desperate. They’re all desperately
looking for a way to kill tomorrow’s time. Suddenly they’re all
just thinking about ways to kill time. ‘How will I spend tomorrow?
And the next day? How can I kill twenty-four
hours?’ Like idiots, they desperately scramble for ways to fill
their schedules. But what is that? What’s the point in that?
Tomorrow might as well not come at all, if they’re just living
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to kill time. If you’re just living, you might as well die. . . .
That’s what I think, anyway. . . . Ah, sorry, I guess that was all
kind of weird.”
“No, it was really interesting.”
And I really meant it.
Muimi-chan was probably thinking this, as well: In the
end, what about Tomo-chan? What was she thinking in that
moment when she was killed? For Muimi-chan, who had
never been able to step over that line into Tomo-chan’s heart,
this would remain an eternal mystery. But if I were simply to
speculate, if I were to speak from what I had seen as a passive
observer, I would bet that she was no different from the giddy
girls we were observing: Tomo-chan died with no regrets.
“The dining hall’s probably cleared out a bit by now.”
Muimi-chan checked the time on her watch and stood to her
feet. “Let’s get some food. If we go to Ryôyû Hall we can
probably get a seat.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, but would you mind just going alone? I’m
not really hungry.”
“Oh,” she said, tilting her head at me a bit. She started to
take off, but then came to a halt and looked back at me.
“By the way, how do you know Mikoko’s birthday is in
April and that she’s nineteen?”
“I heard it from her.”
“Let me rephrase that: Why did you remember something
like that? Your memory is totally crap. There’s no way you
would remember details like that, normally.”
It was a rude question, but she was probably justified in
doubting me, considering I had completely forgotten Akiharukun’s
face.
“Eh, well, I have my reasons. I won’t get into it.”
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“Hmm?” she said with a puzzled look, but didn’t pry any
further.
“Let me ask one last question too,” I said. “Muimi-chan, do
you know what x over y is?”
“Hm? Probably means x divided by y, right?”
“Yeah, right.”
“I don’t know of any other explanation.”
“Okay, don’t worry about it. Thanks.”
“What’s this about?”
“It was Tomo-chan’s dying message. I don’t know what it
means.”
She looked a bit puzzled by the phrase dying message, but
again, she didn’t pry.
“Mmm . . . Well, see ya later,” she said after a moment’s
thought. “Don’t forget about Mikoko.” She waved a hand at
me and left the lounge.
I waved good-bye to her. From there, I stayed in the
lounge for a while, not thinking anything in particular, just
sitting in a daze. Soon enough my throat started to hurt from
all the cigarette smoke, so I made my way outside. I put my
hand into my pocket, where it touched a piece of paper. I
pulled it out to see that it was the memo Muimi-chan had just
given me with Mikoko-chan’s address written down.
“Guess I don’t have a choice. . . .”
Maybe I should have viewed this as another good opportunity.
Fortunately, the class after general education was a
lecture in which the professor never took attendance. I considered
my options for approximately three seconds before
settling on a self-declared holiday.
At the same time, I thought about the fact that when I
died, not only would I not have regrets—I would be relieved.
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And, walking by all those people who were just living utterly
without purpose, I left the lounge behind.
Mikoko-chan’s apartment in Horikawa Oike was even more
lavish and splendid than Tomo-chan’s. It was far too ritzy for a
mere college student; it had an almost sublime air about it.
“Now then . . .”
The bus deposited me in front of her apartment building at
just around two o’clock. The time right now, however, was
3:30. So, looking at the facts objectively and rationally, this
meant I’d spent an awkward hour and half just standing at the
building’s entrance.
“What was he doing all that time? Why, he was shaking in
his boots at the very idea of visiting a girl of his age in her
apartment where she lived alone.” I said aloud.
I tried to reaffirm the current state of affairs and apply a
personal interpretation, but there was hardly a point. It made
me feel kind of stupid. But if I thought about it, this was
possibly the first time I had ever made a decision to take an
action, and then still hesitated to the point that I wasn’t
moving at all. If it had been a close friend, I wouldn’t have
gone to such lengths to consider each and every little possibility
and detail, but I had only known Mikoko-chan for a few
days (or actually since last month). That didn’t bother me,
personally, but I didn’t want to accidentally put Mikoko-chan
in a bad mood.
That is to say, as an innately passive human being, I suck at
taking the initiative.
“Man, this is so lame. . . .”
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Still, an hour and a half was a bit much, even for me. The
longer I stood there, the stupider I felt, but I at last made up
my mind and stepped inside the building.
Unlike Tomo-chan’s building, there was no autolock here
and thus no need for a card key, but there was a security
camera watching over the lobby. Much more effective than an
autolock, which is pretty easy to get past. Of course, the most
effective method was what they had in Kunagisa’s monster of
an apartment: a real live security guard.
I looked at the memo I had received from Muimi-chan.
Fourth floor, room three.
I boarded the elevator and pressed four. I arrived at the
fourth floor a moment later and began my way down the
narrow hallway. Then I spotted surveillance cameras in front
of the elevator and on both sides of the hallway. Wasn’t security
a bit too tight here? Even convenience stores didn’t have
this many cameras. Maybe a big celebrity was living here in
secret. Even though it was Kyoto. Or wait, maybe it was
because it was Kyoto.
My head full of these meaningless ponderings, I arrived at
the door of room three. Deciding that since I’d made it this
far, there was no point in hesitating anymore, I went ahead
and pushed the button for the intercom.
Inside, I heard a relatively normal-sounding bell ring, and
then the sound of someone moving around. Figuring that, as a
girl, she would probably take some time getting ready before
coming to the door, I prepared myself for the long haul and
leaned up against the wall behind me.
“Okay, I’m opening up now!”
Wha?
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Wow. That was freaking fast. I guess I should’ve been glad,
but something about it gave me a bad feeling. And as a passive
observer, my unpleasant premonitions boasted a 100 percent
accuracy rate. Crap. Something big was coming.
“This is pretty late for you, Muimi-chan. . . . Did something
happen?”
K-chunk.
The lock slid open with a satisfying sound and the door
opened.
I failed to respond, and Mikoko-chan couldn’t respond.
It was a dead freeze, and ctrl + alt + del wouldn’t fix it.
“Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . .” She turned bright red, then pale
blue. Then back to bright red.
“Ciao,” I greeted, for lack of a better idea.
“Eeeeeyaaaaahhhh!!!!” She let out an ear-piercing scream as
the door slammed shut with such an incredible noise and force
that I thought the entire frame might break. The whole world
distorted for a moment, and then came a silence, as if the
whole thing had never happened.
Well, if worse came to worst, at least the security cameras
could vouch for my innocence in regards to her scream.
“Well . . . then again . . .”
She was still wearing her morning face. Her hair was all
messy, and her bunny-print pajamas were partially unbuttoned.
So Mikoko-chan’s reaction to suddenly being confronted
by a member of the opposite sex wasn’t all that weird
after all.
“Why?!” came a voice from the other side of the door. She
sounded like she was just barely holding back tears. Or maybe
she wasn’t holding them back at all. “Why-why-why-why?
What are you doing there? Wasn’t Muimi-chan supposed to
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be coming over? It’s like, gumshoe Asagi Semimaru solves the
case of the sealed room decapitation murders right away, but
the culprit was caught red-handed! Oh, my head! I don’t get
this! Why?! Nowaynowaynoway! You’re a ghost! This is a lie!
A dream! A nightmare!”
Aw, crap, she was panicking.
I wasn’t doing such a great job keeping my cool either, but
with her getting this flustered, I might just be able to keep my
wits about me. Interesting. So Muimi-chan was originally
planning to come visit her. Then that lazy punk passed the
role over to me, and she hadn’t even told Mikoko-chan about
it.
Okay, conditions confirmed. Proceed with maneuver authorization.
“This is creepy! You shouldn’t even know where I live!
You’re an illusion! This is all some vicious prank!”
“Well, I’ll explain everything later, so just let me in. No
point in standing her talking like this.”
“Go away! Hurry up and go! No wait, I’m sorry, don’t go!
I’ll go clean up and get ready, so wait a minute! Please! And
forget what you just saw!”
“I’ve already seen you once, so what’s the big deal? Just let
me in.”
“No!”
With that final, sharp rejection, I heard her stomp back
into the depths of her room. This was followed by what
sounded like full-on battle. She was probably cleaning up. She
really didn’t have to go to the trouble, I thought as I leaned
back against the wall again. I waited half an hour before she
finally let me in. It was past four o’clock.
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The structure of the apartment itself wasn’t so different
from Tomo-chan’s, but there was a ridiculous amount of furniture
and other furnishings. It seemed Mikoko-chan was a
woman who liked her material possessions. It wasn’t a messy
place, but you couldn’t deny there was a little clutter.
“Wait a sec, okay? I’ll pour some tea.”
She wore a pink camisole and shorts. The outfit exposed
far more skin than her pajamas from before, but I wasn’t
about to say anything. Her hair was also very nicely styled. It
was like she had become a completely different person.
She placed a cup on the low table. Of course it wasn’t
filled with tap water, but with delicious-looking barley tea. It
had three ice cubes in it and looked nice and cold.
She plopped down across from me. “Um-um-um . . . So
what’s going on, Ikkun?”
Perhaps still shaken up, she was acting a bit strange. If she
had been walking around Shinkyôgoku, the mobile police
would have stopped her for sure.
“Um, so yeah, Muimi-chan should be here any minute! It’s
already past the time we were supposed to meet, oh my God,
where is that silly girl?”
“Uh, I’m her substitute,” I said, waving for her to calm
down.
“Wha!” she cried in surprise, and then flashed an ambiguous
smile that seemed to express anger, embarrassment, joy,
and some other stuff I couldn’t put my finger on all at the
same time.
“Freaking Muimi-chan . . .”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not planning to be here long, so just
relax. I heard you were feeling pretty lousy, but I’m glad to
see you seem pretty alive.”
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“Oh . . .”
“The word lousy seemed to spur a reaction out of her, and
she hung her head down. Perhaps I hadn’t been careful
enough with my wording, I thought, but that was the only
way I knew how to phrase it.
Yes. Not only had Mikoko-chan’s friend been killed;
Mikoko-chan was also the first one to see her friend’s corpse.
She was the first person to have the image of that still, lifeless
body burned onto her retinas. And that burned image probably
still remained, even now. It wasn’t something she could
just bounce back from.
“So you came here because I haven’t been going to school
and you were worried about me?”
“Yeah. Well, something like that.”
The reality of it was a little different, but I supposed the
difference was negligible.
This time she flashed a straightforward, happy smile.
“Thank you!” she spouted. “I’m so happy you came!”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I didn’t even bring anything.”
I realized this as I said it. Showing up to another person’s
house without bringing anything was probably pretty thoughtless
of me. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t feeling
well. But since I had come directly from school, I didn’t
reckon there was anything I could’ve done.
“Oh, no problem,” Mikoko-chan said. “It’s not like I’m
incapacitated or something. It’s just that . . . if I go to school, I
know I’ll start thinking about Tomo-chan.”
“But it’s not like you don’t think about her when you stay
home, right?”
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“Well, that’s true, but . . .” She laughed weakly. “But seeing
you has cheered me up. I’m okay. I’ll be going to school again
starting tomorrow.”
“I don’t really think the school thing matters one way or
the other. Have the police been visiting you?”
“Yeah, a few times. A big guy and kind of a scary lady. But
I was the one who found her body, after all, and this is a
murder case.”
“Who could’ve killed her?” I said, not so much asking as
talking to myself, but still loud enough so that Mikoko-chan
could hear.
“I don’t know.” Her weak response was no surprise.
“Tomo-chan wasn’t the type of girl to make enemies. That’s
for sure.”
“Yeah, that’s what Muimi-chan said, too. But I wonder . . .
realistically speaking, is it actually possible to live without ever
being resented or disliked by anybody? I have my doubts
about that.”
“Huh?”
“I think it’s worth considering the possibility that you only
feel that way about Tomo-chan because you two were such
good friends, at that in reality, someone out there did resent
her. Even if that resentment was unmerited.”
She grew unbearably silent. She wore such an expression
of pain that I blurted out an apology. “Sorry.” She may have
been acting strong, but she was still in no state to be discussing
things like this yet.
“I shouldn’t have come here after all, huh?”
“Huh? Why?”
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I really hadn’t meant for her to hear me. But her face
swung back up at me. She’d heard. “Ikkun, that isn’t true. I’m
glad you came.”
“Come on . . . you’re just trying to look cheerful because
I’m here, right?”
A close friend, one who could speak frankly to her, like
Muimi-chan, would have been much better in this situation.
“But that isn’t true,” she persisted. “Even if I am just acting,
the more I do it, the truer it’ll become, right? I’m fine. I’m
really glad you came. Even if you were just doing what
Muimi-chan said and you really hate being here.”
“I don’t hate being here. . . . If I hate something, I say so.”
“Really?”
“Nah, I just thought I’d try saying it. I’m actually pretty
easy to push around.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she agreed.
I let out something like a sigh and stretched my arms. “All
joking aside, how are you really feeling? Are you finally starting
to get over the shock?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just . . .” Her eyes shifted to my right.
I followed her gaze to see that there were scattered piles of
newspapers and magazines lying around. “Umm, do you mind
if I talk about when I was in elementary school and stuff?”
“Go for it. I’ll listen.”
“It was when I was in the third grade. The building my
class was in was undergoing construction, so trucks and bulldozers
were constantly coming and going. But then one day,
there was sort of a near miss, and a truck carrying a big load of
sand crashed into the first-grade building.”
“Gee, I wouldn’t call something that big a ‘near miss.’ ”
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“Well, maybe not. The wall was smashed in, and sand
spilled into the classroom, burying some of the first graders. It
was a mess. But you know, we were still kids, so to us it was
almost like a fun event. Muimi-chan was going wild, surfing
on the sand mound and stuff.”
“Heh.” She really did seem like she would’ve been that
kind of kid.
“So, then, the next day. I woke up early and went to read
the newspaper. Anybody would be proud to have their school
mentioned in the newspaper, right? I mean, it was just because
the accident had happened there, so it wasn’t really anything
to be proud of, but just the idea that my school was ‘in
the papers’ was enough to make me happy.”
“Well, you were just a kid.”
“But you know what? It wasn’t in the paper,” she said with
an uncharacteristically glum sigh. “To me, it was such a big
incident, but on a national level, it wasn’t a big deal at all. I
don’t remember what the headline article was that day, but in
that moment, it felt like someone was telling me, ‘Your
existence isn’t worth squat.’ Something so amazing to me
didn’t mean a damn thing to everyone else. It was the saddest
feeling.”
“. . .”
“I feel kind of the same way now,” she said, pointing to the
stacks of newspapers and magazines. I could see where she
was coming from. Sensational murder stories like this Kyoto
prowler were one thing, but the papers weren’t likely to dwell
for very long on something as ordinary (sorry to say) as the
murder of a single college student in her apartment. It would
be in the news the next day, and then maybe the next at best.
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But even then, it would be a brief article that didn’t take up
too many column inches.
I grew silent. Mikoko-chan did likewise. We remained in
complete silence like this for a while, but she was the first one
to break it, with a question that took things in a confusing
new direction.
“Ikkun, have you gone antiquing or anything with Asanosan
since the other day?”
“Huh?” I blinked at her. “What? What do you mean?”
“I . . . oh, I’m sorry! I don’t know where that came from! I
didn’t mean to ask that!”
“It’s okay. . . .”
Now how did she know that I went antiquing with Miikosan
sometimes? There was no way Miiko-san would’ve told
her something that personal. Come to think of it, I seemed to
remember that I might have promised to go with her again . . .
oh, yeah, that’s right. Was Mikoko-chan awake that time?
“Does it bother you, by any chance?” I asked.
“What what what? Does what bother me?”
I had asked because I thought she might be feeling bad that
I had to promise to go antiquing with Miiko-san just to thank
her for putting Mikoko-chan up for the night, but this nervous
reaction was not what I was expecting. There was just no
reading this girl.
“Anyway, don’t let it bother you. We do that a lot.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. She likes antiquing quite a bit. Did she show you
inside her closet? As small as that room is, she won’t stop
buying antiques. I guess she sells them after she’s enjoyed
them for a while, though. She says art isn’t something one
person should monopolize.” At the same time, however, she
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was no saint herself. “Basically I’m there to carry her stuff.
Even a guy like me has some basic strength, and they say you
should always lend what you have to others. I’m not particularly
interested in antiques, but that doesn’t mean I hate
them or anything, so if she asks me, I go.”
“Huh. I see. So you and Asano-san go out . . . a lot . . . and
stuff.” For some reason her voice was trailing off.
“Not a lot, really. But you see, she’s been in Kyoto for a
long time. She said she’s been living here alone ever since she
dropped out of high school. I got her to show me around to all
the Buddhist temples and shrines once while we were
antiquing, like Seimei Shrine and the Philosopher’s Walk. Do
you know ’em?”
“Yeah. Well, I know the names, anyway. I’m not really interested
in that stuff.”
“Huh? Didn’t you say you knew Kyoto pretty well?”
How could she know Kyoto well if she wasn’t even interested
in the temples and shrines?
“Oh, uh, well, you know, yadda yadda yadda,” she said,
blatantly dodging the question. “How come you only remember
that kind of stuff? . . . Er, I mean, you and Asano-san must
be pretty close then, huh?”
This conversation was starting to sound familiar. She was
awfully hung up on the whole Miiko-san subject. Had something
happened between them? I couldn’t imagine what might
have taken place in just a single night. Why was she trying so
hard to bring me and Miiko-san together? It didn’t make
much sense to me.
“Yeah, well, she’s a pretty interesting person and all,” I
said. “But we’re not ‘close,’ per se; she kind of takes care of
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 8
me. Like sometimes she lends me her car. It’s a Fiat 500. You
know, the Fiat 500.”
“Huh . . . well, maybe it’s all okay then.”
Apparently having no interest in cars whatsoever (she
drove a ‘scoot,’ after all), she let my words pass right through
her and started babbling about something I didn’t understand.
“I wonder if she minds you coming to another girl’s house
like this.”
“Huh? Oh. Uhh, are you telling me to leave?”
“No, that’s not what I mean! I mean, you go out with her
and stuff, right? So, I mean . . . dammit, Ikkun, you pinhead!”
she shrieked, slamming her hands on the table, her face bright
red. Why she was getting so emotional over this, I had absolutely
no idea. All I could do was be confused. It all seemed
awfully unreasonable to me, but it was obvious that my presence
was only making her angry.
“I don’t really get it, but I’m sorry,” I said.
“Ahhh,” she moaned. “Fine, let me put it another way. You
and Asano-san go shopping and stuff together, right?”
“Well, yeah. Not to run the point into the ground or anything.”
“So would you go shopping and stuff with me too, then?”
Her logic here was beyond my comprehension, but her
face was written with such a sincere look of what could only
be described as “last-ditch desperation” that I just couldn’t
bear to point that out.
“Yeah, I guess I would. No reason not to.”
“Really? For sure? You’re not just saying that because
you’re on the spot?”
Her whole body leaned forward like her life depended on
the answer to this question. She chewed on her lip. She
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 9
looked for all the world like a little kid who was about to start
bawling. Her emotions were exposed so plainly that there was
no way you would guess she was a university student about to
turn nineteen.
“You sure are hung up on this. Did something happen, by
any chance?”
“Answer the question!”
“I mean . . . probably. I can promise, if you’d like.”
“Really? You really mean it?”
“I don’t lie. As a general rule.”
“You absolutely mean it?”
“If there’s something you want to buy, sure.”
“This is a promise! If you forget, I’ll be pissed!”
“Okay.”
Overwhelmed by Mikoko-chan, I had gone and let her pull
a promise out of me. But it wasn’t such a terrible thing, so I
decided to let it slide. This, at last, seemed to calm her down,
and she proceeded to drink down the tea in her cup in a single
gulp.
“Ahh,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry. Occasionally I get a little
emotional and I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
“Occasionally? Did you just say occasionally?”
“Er, well, all the time,” she nodded, sheepishly.
Huh.
The shock of Tomo-chan’s death. Certainly Mikoko-chan
wasn’t completely over it, but at least she wasn’t so down that
she was thinking about following after her by committing
suicide or anything. Somehow she was keeping herself together.
Some of the stuff she was saying didn’t make a lot of
sense, but that was forgivable. It seemed she was okay for the
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 0
time being. She would probably be mostly recovered by
Saturday.
“Well, that’s it for me today,” I said, starting to get up. “I’m
afraid I’ve got to go.”
“What-what-what? You’re going already? Oh, I’m sorry, I
did put you in a bad mood, didn’t I?”
“I said I didn’t plan on staying long when I got here, right?
Well, let’s get together again soon.”
“Ah, um!” she said, stopping me as I tried to leave. “Um . . .
um, Ikkun.”
“What?”
“Um . . .” She hesitated a bit, a lot, rather, and thought for
a while before she spoke. “What do you think Tomo-chan
wanted to say that last time you talked to her?” she said.
The final phone call.
Tomo-chan had tried to tell me something.
“I have no idea, really. That day was the first time I ever
even talked to her, so how could I possibly know something
like that? I don’t even know why she was talking to me. But,
Mikoko-chan, you must have some idea, right?”
“I . . .” she dropped her head down. “I don’t know. I don’t
even have a clue.”
“. . .”
“Because Tomo-chan never talked to anyone.”
She never talked.
She never opened up to anybody. She kept her cautious
distance.
“It was like our friendship took place through an unbreakable
sheet of glass. She never told me anything deep about
herself, about what she felt in her heart.”
“. . .”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 1
Then why had such a person made an attempt to talk to
me? “Nonsense,” I muttered aloud.
“Huh? What?”
“I doubt I’ll get much of an answer out of you with the
current state you’re in, so I won’t ask a lot, but Mikoko-chan,
will you answer just this one question for me?”
“Wh . . .” She wore a puzzled expression. “What?”
“What do you think x over y means?”
She thought it over for a moment. “I don’t know,” she answered.
Oh, I see. How about that.
I nodded and said, “Well, see you at school. Sorry I bothered
you.” With that, I left her apartment. I proceeded out of
the building and began contemplating what to do next.
Horikawa Oike.
There was quite a distance between here and my apartment,
but even still, I could probably make it home in around
thirty minutes on foot. It seemed like a waste of money to
bother getting on a bus, so I decided to just walk.
It never crossed my mind that the world’s greatest entrepreneur
might be waiting in my room.
Near my apartment, by Senbon-demizu, I ran into Miiko-san,
who was out for a stroll, aloof from the world. When she
noticed me, she sped up to a pace unusually fast for her and
came over to greet me.
“Yo.”
“Hello. On your way to work?”
“Nope. Today I’m going to Mount Hiei.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 2
“Ahh, with Suzunashi-san?”
She nodded. Suzunashi-san, full name Suzunashi Neon,
was Miiko-san’s close friend. She worked part-time at Enryaku
Temple on Mt. Hiei in Shiga Prefecture. Some called her
“Violence Neon.” Others, “Blackout Suzunashi.” She was sort
of a cool lady, but prone to flipping out randomly. I occasionally
saw her myself, but she would lecture me about
something every time. For someone so young, she was
strangely fond of lecturing others. It was hardly her only major
personality issue, but I liked her more or less as much as I
liked Miiko-san.
“It sounds like she wants some advice on something, so I’m
going out there. I’ll be back by tomorrow, so watch over
things back here in the meantime. If someone comes to see
me, just get their name and tell them whatever you want. If
it’s someone freaky-looking, don’t worry about it.”
“Uhh, sure, no problem, I guess.”
“Also, you have a visitor.”
“A visitor? For me?”
“. . .”
“Yup,” she nodded.
“When I noticed her, she was breaking into your place. She
had a little pizzazz about her. Or rather, a ton of pizzazz. I
don’t know who it was, but her gender appeared to be female.
She didn’t seem to be up to anything in particular, so I just let
it be.”
A female? What woman was likely to come visit my place?
I didn’t have many friends to begin with, so it seemed like I
should’ve been able to narrow it down pretty easily. But the
way things had been going lately . . .
“Was she about this tall? If so, it was that detective.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 3
“No. That was no detective. Detectives don’t look like
that,” she affirmed with confidence. “Besides, I’ve met that
detective you’re talking about. I never forget a vibe I get from
someone. Oh yeah, and there was a car parked by the apartment
that looked like it was probably hers. Maybe it’ll give
you a clue. Well, see ya,” she said, and made her way towards
the parking lot. Today’s jinbei had the word Tranquility printed
on the back. Yep, she was in a good mood today, possibly
because she was going to see Suzunashi-san.
But what did Suzunashi-san want with her anyway? She
was the type of person who rarely called on others, so I
couldn’t get it out of my head. And just what kind of “advice”
was she seeking? She may have liked sticking her nose in other
people’s problems, but when it came to sharing her own problems
with others, Suzunashi-san was wholly passive.
“Something’s odd here.”
But the more pressing issue for me right now was: Who
was this “visitor” currently waiting inside my apartment? If it
wasn’t Sasaki-san, who was it? There was always Muimi-chan
and Mikoko-chan, but it was unlikely to be either of them.
And Kunagisa was an all-out shut-in, so it was highly improbable
that it could’ve been her.
I turned onto Nakadachiuri.
“Gah . . .”
Suddenly, everything was clear. Parked on the shoulder of
the road, as if to say that it was above all traffic laws, was a
spectacular bright red Cobra. Completely out of place in a city
like Kyoto, it was a monstrous, incredible specimen of machinery.
“Oh my God . . . I don’t want to go home.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 4
I seriously considered the idea of running straight to Kunagisa’s
place, but based on personal experience, I could
imagine the cruel fate that would be in store for me if it were
ever revealed that I’d attempted escape. Giving up, I went
back to the apartment, dragging my feet all the way.
I climbed up the stairs and headed for my room. The fact
that my locked door was no longer locked didn’t surprise me.
This was a woman who could mimic voices, pick locks, and
read minds: The most difficult task was for her as easy as
breathing. I opened the door to see the private contractor,
adorned in a wine-red suit as dark as blood, sitting on the windowsill
with legs crossed, as if her presence were the most
natural thing in the world.
Uncompromising.
Aloof.
“Hey, Aikawa-san.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to call me by my last name?”
“Hey, Jun.”
She gave me a slightly cynical grin.
Aikawa Jun.
Mankind’s greatest private contractor. I had met her a
month ago through the great fiasco that had occurred on that
island. She left me that day with the cool line, “If our fates are
linked, we shall meet again,” only to show up to hang out at
my university the next day. She was kind of weird like that.
And what’s more, she spent the following week making me do
her bidding, not even allowing time for sleep, until finally
having to leave Kyoto for a job. Speaking from that experience,
she was a woman with whom I didn’t particularly want
to get involved. She was perhaps the most unnerving person I
had ever met.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 5
Looking at her with all the objectivity I could summon, she
was extremely wild—and she was a beauty of such wicked
allure it was hard to resist her. She had any number of
eccentric mannerisms. And she was completely unapproachable.
She looked at me, searching my expression. “You don’t
seem at all surprised to see me.”
“Oh, no, I am. So you’re back in Kyoto, huh?”
“Yeah, well, y’know, duty calls. We can talk about that
later, though. . . . Ahh, I get it. You saw the flashing car outside
and it tipped you off, huh?”
“No, actually the girl next door told me.”
“Aw, and I was being extra careful not to be noticed. That
makes me extremely . . .” Aikawa-san’s expression grew sharp
as a knife for a moment, but it was only for a moment before
she reverted back to her normal sardonic smirk. “Eh, whatever,”
she said.
I removed my shoes and stepped into the room, then made
my way straight to the sink. I poured a cup of tap water and
served it to her. “Enjoy,” I said.
“Muchas gracias,” she replied, and drank about half of it
before placing it on the windowsill.
Geez, she took it as if there was nothing unusual about it.
Just once I wanted to see Aikawa-san get surprised about
something.
“So what’s going on? Why are you back in Kyoto?”
“I said I’ll tell you later. More important, allow me to
apologize for the period of neglect. But hey, you’ve got a nice
place here. It’s the perfect environment.”
“Exactly where do you see that?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 6
“That’s not what I mean. Come on, you know what I
mean, don’t you? Well, whatever. So what’ve you been up to
lately, anyway?”
“Nothing, really. I’m just your average university student.
I’m not living some yakuza lifestyle like you.”
“Just a regular old student, huh?” she said, chuckling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Oh, except for the fact that you apparently define
‘average’ as someone who starts nosing around when one
of his classmates is murdered, and maintains friendly relations
with serial killers.”
“. . .”
“Ooh, there’s that surprised look. You’ve made me happy.”
She jumped down from the windowsill and plopped herself
down cross-legged on the tatami floor. Whether this was
something she felt compelled to do because she was wearing
such a short skirt, I wasn’t sure, but either way, I kind of
wished she hadn’t.
“How do you know about that stuff?”
“How do you think I know?” She grinned with unbridled
elation. But I had no idea what lurked behind this unbridled
elation. I was expending copious amounts of energy just standing
here talking to her like this. What’s more, she was a mind
reader of the highest order, so my emotions were all leaking
out of the pipes. It felt like we were playing poker, but with
my hand faceup on the table. She sure didn’t make such
things easy. She was like a piece of food that you couldn’t eat
no matter how long you boiled and grilled it.
But as long as she didn’t want something out of you, she
was a nice person, I guess. She was my type and all.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 7
“I have no idea,” I said. “Not even a clue. It’s not like I can
ever tell what you’re thinking.”
“Think. And then face it, man. I’m a lone wolf, but I’ve got
a quite a number of friends, in Kyoto and out.”
“Hey, that’s really something. It’s great to have a lot of
friends. Even I can acknowledge that. I’ll acknowledge it right
now. So what friends would you be referring to in this case?”
“For example, Sasa Sasaki.”
“. . .”
“Ikaruga Kazuhito.”
“. . .”
“Kunagisa Tomo.”
She pulled a single envelope from her black bag.
“Here you go, it’s from your sweet, sweet Kunagisa.”
“For me?”
“Yep. She said it’s the ‘thingy’ she promised.”
I accepted the envelope. Well, how about that. She must
have paid a visit to Shirosaki before coming to my apartment.
While I was just your everyday, boringly average university
student, Kunagisa Tomo was, with all her eccentricities, an
expert computer specialist. She and Aikawa-san knew each
other fairly well.
As ordered by Aikawa-san, I thought for a moment. It
looked like she had come back to Kyoto for a job. Then she
had gone to Kunagisa for help with said job, just as I had gone
to her for help investigating Tomoe’s death. Then when
Aikawa-san went to visit Kunagisa, Kunagisa had decided to
use her as a messenger. Was that what happened? But . . .
something was missing. There was no reason Kunagisa should
have to ask Aikawa-san to do such a thing, and there was no
reason Aikawa-san should agree to do it.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 8
This brought a much uglier scenario to mind, and it wasn’t
purely theoretical. To be more specific, Aikawa-san was . . .
“Well, now there’s just the simple matter of collecting your
fee. Tell me what you know about your pal, the Kyoto
prowler.”
Aikawa wasn’t a messenger—she was the collector.
“Jun-san, you mean you came to Kyoto . . .”
“Yup. To have a little chat about morals with that psychotic
nutjob.”
Aikawa-san made her living as a “private contractor.” This
involved anything and everything. Simply put, she was a jackof-all-trades,
a multitalented freelancer who didn’t limit herself
by specializing in any one particular field. Whether it was
walking dogs, solving locked-room murder mysteries, or
catching mass murderers who had already cut up ten people
into little pieces, as long as there was money involved, she
would take it on. Granted, there probably weren’t too many
nuts out there offering a big stack of cash just or walking their
dog. At any rate, she lived out each day “accomplishing the
impossible”—never bothering to make the distinction between
legal and illegal.
Be that as it may.
“The Kyoto slasher claimed a twelfth victim yesterday.
Seeing as you lived in another country for so long, maybe you
don’t realize this, but that number is unprecedented in Japan.
This kind of incident simply doesn’t happen in Japan, much
less in a provincial city. What’s more, the identity of the killer
is a complete mystery. At this point, it’s going to require government
intervention.”
“And so you’ve been called upon?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 9
She nodded. “It sounds like there are other people at
work on the case as well—Public Welfare, Walker, Texas
Ranger—frankly, I don’t really know who. Unfortunately, I
don’t have a lot of horizontal ties. At any rate, my job right
now is just to stop that maniac from claiming more victims.”
“Did Sasaki-san hire you?”
“Can’t tell you that. What do you call it again? The code of
confidentiality? Business ethics? Trade secrets?” She gave a
comical little shrug and laughed. “Anyway, it seems a lot more
worthy of my time than that crazy fiasco on Wet Crow’s
Feather Island ever was. That’s for sure.”
Worthy of her time. That’s all she had to say in regard to
the grisly murderer who had already chopped up twelve
people. The idea of taking on this anonymous monster didn’t
frighten her in the least. On the contrary, she was so laid-back
about the whole affair you’d think she was sashaying on her
way to a picnic.
Suddenly, I realized all over again just how dangerous this
crimson woman was.
And I also realized that I was currently face-to-face with
said danger.
“Now then. I heard from Kunagisa-chan that you know a
thing or two about all this. I don’t suppose you’d mind filling
in your favorite big sister—I am like a sister to you, aren’t
I—on the details now, would you?” she said in a soft, coaxing
voice, like one might use to address their pet cat, as her fingers
crept up my face. It wasn’t that I particularly minded that
voice, but the speaker herself was either a tiger or a panther,
and it was more than a mere tabby like me could resist.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 0
Damn that Kunagisa. What ever happened to helping each
other out? Without the slightest hesitation, she had sold me
out.
“What’s your problem? Why are you clamming up and
looking away? You’re being awfully uncooperative. Don’t tell
me you’re not going to tell me. Are you breaking your
contract? You promised this in exchange for what’s in that
envelope, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but I said I’d tell Kunagisa, not just anybody. If
I went and told you, it would be . . . what’s the word? A betrayal?
Immoral? Divisive? Rebellious? Whatever. The bottom
line is that it feels like backstabbing, and that’s just not my
thing.”
“Excuse me?!” she said, her voice suddenly much more
stern. If looks could kill, I would already be dead. Which
sounded a lot better than what was really in store for me.
“Are you saying you can tell Kunagisa but you can’t tell
me? Well goddamn. I had no idea you were such a cold son of
a bitch. I see, I see. Gee, you make me sad. So you’ll listen to
Kunagisa, but you won’t listen to me? I had no idea you were
such a tough guy.”
“It’s not like that. It’s just that with Kunagisa, no matter
what you tell her, she’s harmless. But you’re planning on
taking some kind of action, right? Getting myself directly
involved with something like that, well . . . it’s just not in my
nature.”
“Excuse me, did you just call me harmful?”
“Well . . . aren’t you?”
As if she herself were aware of this, she refrained from objecting
to my remark, instead murmuring to herself thoughtfully.
She was, to a certain degree, someone who might listen
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 1
to reason. Once you had surpassed that degree, however, well,
you can imagine what happened then—that is to say, it would
backfire.
“Kunagisa will probably just tell me anyway. That girl has a
big mouth. I figured I might as well just cut out the middleman
and come straight to the source.”
“Er, yeah, I know, but . . . I just have my own reasons, or
rather, uh . . .”
“Hm? Ahhh, ah-ah-ah, I get it! Well, why didn’t you say
so?!” she said with a wickedly and ghastly grin. She beckoned
to me. Each stroke of her hand was so alluring, so graceful,
that it was mesmerizing.
“Uhh, you get what, exactly?”
“Just come to me. I’ll tease you to your heart’s delight.”
Seeing that I still wouldn’t budge, Aikawa-san instead
crawled over to me on all fours. She stared up at me with a
challenging, provocative gaze. She nestled her body into mine
and wrapped her arms around my back, forcing all of her
weight upon me. She applied some pressure, digging her nails
into my back.
“Now. What were you saying?”
“Um, I’m terrified of you.”
“By the by, did you know that my index finger is perilously
close to jabbing through your ribs into your liver?”
“. . .”
“Don’t tense up so much. It’s bad for you. It’ll make your
flesh all stringy. So just out of curiosity, who do you think is
scarier—me, or the serial killer?” As she said this, she ran her
tongue down the carotid artery on the right side of my neck.
The pleasure I felt from this delicate sensation, along with the
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 2
more pressing sense of fear that she might actually take a
gigantic bite out of my neck, bored their way into my brain.
Dammit.
Indeed, the serial killer did make for better company than
this.
“Jun-san . . . I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to say no.”
“Oh, go right on ahead. But if you do that I won’t tease
you like this anymore.”
“. . .”
“Either way is fine by me. It doesn’t change the fact that
you’re going to talk. I’ve already decided that I’m going to
have you tell me about this killer. That’s a fact. But since
you’re a friend, I just thought I’d ask first. Now do you want
me to be nice? Or do you want me to make this painful?”
“Uhh . . . what’s the difference?”
The fact that we were in this embracing position was my
one saving grace; I didn’t have to see her face, and she
couldn’t see mine. But even still, my cold sweat and pounding
heart probably betrayed my terror.
“What do you think is the difference?”
Chomp. She bit down on my neck. She literally had my
life in her clutches. Softly, teasingly, she dug her canines into
my skin, but at the same time worked a healthy amount of
saliva onto her tongue, licking my flesh between her lips,
rubbing her body against mine, running her fingers down my
back.
“Okay!” I said, using every ounce of strength to pull myself
away from her. “I won’t disobey you anymore! Please forgive
me!” Sitting a little apart from me, Aikawa-san responded
with a sly yet somehow innocent smile.
“Don’t get so serious. It was just a little joke,” she said.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 3
“Yeah, a bad joke. Bad for the heart, anyway . . .”
“Hahaha. Actually, I’m relieved. You’re a healthy young
man after all.”
“Come on, give me a break.”
I had to calm down. So I chugged down a cup of water. It
didn’t take long for my heartbeat to slow down, but the cold
sweating was out of my control.
I am no good at dealing with this woman after all. I should
have just run straight to Kunagisa’s place without worrying
what might happen later.
“Really now, this is nonsense.”
After that, Aikawa-san managed to fish out of me every
last detail about Zerozaki Hitoshiki, no stone left unturned. I
tried my best to weasel out of revealing the key facts, but with
her ability to read my mind, I wasn’t especially successful.
Every time I tried to hide something, she would see right
through me and threaten me, and then either through coercion
or trickery would pry the answer out of me. It served to
remind me that I was basically her prisoner.
The person known as Zerozaki. His appearance, build, and
clothes at the time we met. The way he spoke. The circumstances
surrounding our first meeting. What we talked about.
Even the details of our secret infiltration of Tomo-chan’s
apartment. Aikawa-san drew all of it out of me. At least, as
much as I could remember.
It wasn’t like Zerozaki and I were friends. We were just of
the same breed, and we were like mirror reflections of one
another. We hadn’t exchanged any sort of promise, and he
wasn’t preventing me from talking.
Nevertheless, I felt so spineless it was a wonder I didn’t
collapse.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 4
“Hmm . . .” After all that, Aikawa’s smile disappeared and
her expression grew more serious. She thought to herself in
silence for a few minutes. “So this guy . . . Zerozaki, was it?
Like zero and zaki put together?”
“Yeah. At least, that’s what he calls himself.”
“Zerozaki Hitoshi . . . ahhh, that’s a nasty name.”
Aikawa-san looked truly irritated, like the whole thing was
just a big hassle. It was the first time I had ever seen her wear
such an expression. It was almost refreshing.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”
“No, no no no . . . On second thought, maybe a ‘nasty
name’ isn’t the right expression. But ‘Zerozaki’? Sure is an unusual
name.”
“Oh, but you know, it might not be his real name. That
guy’s no fool. I doubt he would give someone his real name on
a first encounter.”
“That’s beside the point. Even if it’s an alias, the fact that
he would choose an alias like ‘Zerozaki’ is proof that he’s a
nut. And if it is his real name, well . . .”
She began thinking in silence again. Once this lady started
thinking about something, she sank into her own world, and if
you were there beside her, it felt like you had become
invisible. But then again, even an invisible man still exists. In
this case it was more like you had become empty space.
“Even as a joke, there isn’t an idiot on this earth who
would announce himself with a ‘killer’s name’ like that.
‘Zerozaki,’ huh? Damn, that’s right above ‘Susukino’ in rank,
isn’t it? I guess it’s still better than ‘Niounomiya’ and
‘Yamiguchi,’ but you know, I actually hope it is just an alias.
Or better yet, just a case of two people having the same last
name by coincidence. But there’s no way that’s it. There’s no
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 5
way something that convenient would ever happen to me.
Wow . . . so even Kunagisa, even an ex-member of the ‘team’
was of no use.”
“Uh . . . is there something wrong with the name ‘Zerozaki’?”
“Yeah, there is. It’s about as terrible as names come. It’s so
bad that to us, the worst possible insult you could call someone
was a ‘Zerozaki.’ That’s how bad it is. I don’t really want
to bother explaining any deeper than that. To be perfectly
honest, I don’t want to have the slightest thing to do with the
‘Zerozaki Ichizoku,’ and that includes giving explanations. Eh,
but actually it’s the name itself that I don’t like. In this case,
the individual is essentially irrelevant. He’s probably just some
irregularity . . . probably. But is this guy really the Kyoto
Prowler?”
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“So you didn’t actually witness him in the act? You’re just
taking his word for it?”
“Well, you could say that,” I said, nodding.
“Hmm. So then there’s a chance that he might be some
delusional, lying bastard who’s just saying this stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s definitely that chance. I mean, I didn’t get
that impression, though.”
“Really? Come on, he’s got a big tattoo on his face, right?
And it covers the entire right side. Even in Chicago he’d be a
freak. He’s been standing out like that and he’s still able to
escape the cops without leaving a single clue behind?”
“Yeah, well . . .”
Naturally, I had considered this possibility myself as well.
But having heard what he had to say, there was no basis on
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 6
which to call him a fake, and frankly, I didn’t care all that
much to begin with.
Whether it was him or not, it didn’t make much of a
difference to me. Maybe he wasn’t the prowler.
“That guy is a murderer without a doubt,” I said to
Aikawa-san. “Aikawa-san, you must know that I haven’t lived
the most decent life, right? In Kobe, Houston, even here. Hell,
even on that island I was almost killed. I may still not hold a
candle to you, but I’ve seen my fair share of Hell in my time.”
And Heaven was still a long way from here.
“I never actually saw him kill somebody, but he did almost
kill me. He was just using a plain old short knife, and yet the
terror I felt was that of someone facing an opponent with a
naginata . . . no, with a machine gun.”
“Hmm . . .” Apparently convinced, she nodded several
times. “At any rate, I suppose the bottom line is that this expert
of dissection who calls himself the ‘prowler’ is somewhere
in Kyoto. Yeah. As long as I have that straight, that’s
enough.”
“It is?”
“Sure it is. Combined with the other information I’ve
gathered, it’ll give me a place to start. For now, anyway. I
think for the time being it’ll be faster for me to proceed on my
own two feet, if you know what I mean. If I don’t have a bit of
a challenge, things get boring and I can’t function anymore.
Know what I mean? Anyway, more importantly,” she said,
bringing the conversation back to me, “putting my stuff aside,
what’s going on with you? I heard from both Kunagisa and
Sasaki that you’ve been sticking your nose in some boring,
everyday kind of case.”
“I got caught up in it.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 7
“You got caught up and then you kept sticking your nose
back in, didn’t you? I mean, sneaking into the victim’s apartment?
Quit pretending you’re just some passive observer.”
Touché.
“Now what is it, exactly?” she pondered, looking at me
with a touch of awe. “You’re a hard guy to understand,
y’know? It’s like you have no conviction, or no style. What
you say and what you do are completely different things.”
“It’s that clash that gives me my flavor.”
“What flavor? Can’t you view yourself objectively?”
“Sure I can . . .”
“You’re more like the comic relief than a passive observer.
Eh, but whatever. Do whatever you like. It’s your life, I guess.
Not my place to butt in. Not my problem.”
“You’re a cold woman.”
“Not really. Keep studying, young’un. You do your own
dirty work. And if you set out to do something, do it to the
end. I told you before, didn’t I? Quitting midway through is
the worst thing a person can do. Oh yeah, and also,” she said
as if she had just remembered, even though that obviously
wasn’t the case, “a message from Kunagisa.” She pointed to
the envelope under my arm.
“What is it?”
“Don’t go having an affair now, Ii-chan. I’ll forgive a
smooch on the cheek and nothing above that. ‘I love youuu,
kiss kiss,’ ” Aikawa-san said, mimicking Kunagisa’s voice and
intonation and grinning. “She said.”
“Roger that,” I said, throwing my hands up.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 8
It had gotten to the time where it was technically okay to be
eating dinner, so I invited Aikawa-san to join me. But because
she was eager to proceed with her pursuit of Zerozaki as
quickly as possible, she refused and soon left.
In the very end, I asked her one final question. “What do
you think x over y means?”
“Don’t look to others to confirm what you already know,”
she said flatly. Touché, I thought.
I let out a sigh as I watched her disappear.
Zerozaki Hitoshiki.
Aikawa Jun.
She would probably find him in a matter of two days. I
hadn’t exactly provided a cornucopia of information, but it
was more than enough to serve Aikawa-san’s purpose. She
was in a state of mind beyond my wildest imagination, and
even that was something she was free to break away from
whenever she desired. The superiority of Aikawa Jun’s
cognitive faculties defied the imagination.
And the two would likely collide. Mankind’s Greatest and
the Human Failure would meet head-on. And if it came to
that, the outcome was obvious. If Zerozaki Hitoshiki was a
homicidal monster, then Aikawa Jun was the ultimate monster
hunter. Having a bit of a penchant for taking lives was
great for drawing attention, but it wouldn’t be enough to stop
her from sniffing him out. The nature of this scarlet woman
was one so transcendental, so elevated, that if there was one
thing you didn’t want to do, it was make an enemy of her.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 9
And making friends with her didn’t serve as a very good plan
B. If there was any one saving grace, it was that she had a
sense of the whimsical. But it was hardly something that could
be exploited.
“I wonder if he’ll get away . . .”
I was just a little worried. Not to mention incredibly sympathetic.
But I didn’t give it too much thought.
I had little interest in something that was to take place a
world away from here. Even if it was happening to my own
mirror image.
Now was the time to think about my own world.
I took the envelope from Kunagisa in my hand.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 1
Ilikeyoulikeyouloveyoulots.
On Saturday, May twenty-first, I woke up early in the
morning.
“Time to get up.”
I had had some kind of nasty dream. It seemed like I was
about to be killed, and like I was also trying to kill someone.
My entire body was being controlled by the sheer will to commit
harm, and at the same time, I was being harmed. I ran and
I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran, but sooner or later the
figure chasing after me turned out to be myself, and I was
gripped with terror. Certain death was just behind me, and
yet it was strangely exhilarating. It was that kind of awful
dream.
The sheer fact that I couldn’t remember it made it a nightmare,
and the fact that it was a nightmare made this a rude
awakening.
I rose up from my futon and checked the time. Five fifty in
the morning. My plans with Mikoko-chan weren’t until ten
o’clock, so I still had roughly four hours to kill. With nothing
in particular to do, I folded up my futon and pushed it into
the closet.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 2
I went outside, thinking it might be nice to go for a run for
the first time in awhile. I locked up just to be safe, but with a
lock of this quality, Aikawa-san wasn’t the only one who
could easily break in if so inclined. Not that there was anything
in that place I’d mind having stolen.
I ran east down Imadegawa Street and turned back once
Dôshisha University had come into view. I went directly back
to my apartment and changed out of my sweaty clothes. Why,
oh why had I thought it would be a good idea to run in this
heat? I wondered with the usual remorse.
I picked up the book I had borrowed from the school
library and reread the part I had previously stopped in the
middle of. That alone ate through a good chunk of time, so
from there I picked up the envelope from Kunagisa, the contents
of which I had already glanced over a few times.
The envelope contained police documents. Through what
means Kunagisa had obtained such a thing, I didn’t know, but
we had sort of a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. What I did know,
however, was that Kunagisa could access pretty much any
place with electricity running through it, and that within her
circle of friends were criminals who knew just about everything
in the entire Milky Way galaxy. Of course, normally I
had little interest in criminal investigation. But these were
documents on the murder of Emoto Tomoe.
“But come on . . .”
I flipped through the paper-clipped sheets of A4 paper.
There wasn’t really any new information. The documents
elaborated on some of the more minor details, but most of
them seemed irrelevant, and it was all more or less what
Sasaki-san had told me. I was a little bit shattered to realize
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 3
that this was what I had endured Aikawa-san’s interrogation
for.
Still, it wasn’t a complete waste. There was some information
I hadn’t been aware of, and it was worth knowing.
“So here we have alibi relations.”
As logic may have dictated, the four classmates who had
been with Emoto Tomoe the night she died (us, that is) were
the prime suspects. Nevertheless, all four of us had alibis, at
least for the time being. Miiko-san next door had graciously
vouched for Mikoko-chan and me, while Muimi-chan and
Akiharu-kun were vouching for each other. The possibility
that they had committed the crime in cahoots was present,
but based on the police’s observations, that didn’t seem to be
the case. Sasaki-san had made it sound like Muimi-chan and
Akiharu-kun went to karaoke, just the two of them, but apparently
other people from school had been present as well. In
other words, Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan had a sound alibi,
just like Mikoko-chan and I. If anyone had a weak alibi, it was
me. After all, Miiko-san could only vouch for what she heard
(or didn’t hear) through the apartment walls.
But of course, I knew I wasn’t the killer.
“Okay then, that’s all clear . . .”
Next was the list of items in the apartment. When I snuck
in with Zerozaki, I didn’t think anything was missing, but apparently
I was wrong. The police documents gave a complete
list of everything inside Tomo-chan’s apartment, from the
largest piece of furniture to the smallest accessory. It was like
the concept of privacy no longer even existed, but at the same
time, it gave you a good idea of who this Emoto Tomo character
was.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 4
It was just that on this list, one thing was missing—the
liquid-filled capsule neckstrap Akiharu-kun had given Tomoechan
as a birthday present.
I had seen him give it to her with my own eyes, so it was
strange that it wasn’t on the list. The most logical explanation
to come to mind was that the killer had taken it, but that just
raised the question of why the killer would want such a thing.
“It wasn’t exactly worth a lot. . . .”
Meanwhile, the cell phone she had used to call me had
apparently been found in her pocket. The documents included
corroboration of the call based on the call history in her
phone’s memory.
No foreign objects had appeared in her apartment either.
Evidently the killer had left with the think cloth allegedly used
to strangle her.
“Cloth . . . cloth . . . cloth, eh?”
Next was a thoroughly documented account of Mikoko’s
discovery of the body, which was information I hadn’t been
able to draw out of her. She had visited Tomo-chan’s apartment
in the morning and called her room on the intercom.
But there was no answer. She wouldn’t pick up her phone
either. Thinking this was strange, Mikoko made her way
through the autolocked door as one of the other residents was
leaving and headed to Tomo-chan’s room. The door to the
entrance wasn’t locked. I had feared we might have another
damned sealed room on our hands, but apparently that wasn’t
the case.
“And finally.”
That x over y writing.
The police had deemed this the “work of the perpetrator,”
which made sense. Sasaki-san said herself that Emoto Tomoe
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 5
had died instantly, so it didn’t make sense that she could’ve
written a dying message. This was something I had realized in
time as well. Once again, this raised the question of why the
killer would do such a thing. Leaving a sign at the crime
scene—this was no Jack the Ripper after all.
“And that’s the end of that.”
Those were the facts I had deemed useful. But overall, my
ideas on the case remained largely unchanged.
And that was fine, I thought.
Based on this information, a number of minute possibilities
had been crossed out. From here I would gradually narrow
down the remaining possibilities. But for the time being, it
was safe to say that a basic process of reasoning was starting to
take form.
“But still . . .”
What the hell was I doing? Why did I have to do all this
stuff?
Was it for Tomo-chan?
Or for Mikoko-chan?
Going as far as obtaining these documents, dedicating copious
amounts of time—what the hell was I doing?
“I ought to talk to Sasaki-san again, huh . . .”
There were some things I wanted to ask. Some possibilities
left to be narrowed down. I wouldn’t use the word solution
until I had something 100 percent watertight.
I slid the papers back into the envelope, tore the envelope
to pieces, and threw it all into the garbage. In the unlikely
event that somebody caught a look at these documents, there
would be trouble. Besides, having perused them pretty thoroughly,
most of the information had been committed to memory
already.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 6
Now then.
There was still a little over an hour until Mikoko-chan
would be here. Two hours, if you factored in her lack of punctuality.
I lay down on the floor and thought a bit more.
About the murder?
No.
About my own ridiculousness.
Luckily, there was still plenty of time.
Life had only just begun.
Mikoko-chan showed up on time.
“I’m not late today!” she said, giving a gleeful German
salute with both hands. Though it was probably a given at this
point, she was so hyper that you might think she had blown a
circuit. She was dressed in a tight tank top and large, loose
overalls. She also had her head deeply inserted into a yellow
hat that looked like it belonged on a kindergartener (not to be
mean or anything). There was something adorable about her
reddish hair peeking out from under the brim. The tank top
was just a bit too small, making it look like she was wearing
overalls directly over nothing, which was, well, how do you
say . . . actually, I guess I didn’t mind.
“Well, shall we go?”
I started to leave, but she immediately stopped me. “Oh,
wait-wait-wait,” she said, pushing me back into the room and
entering herself without being invited. She had done this last
time too. Maybe invading houses was one of her hobbies. Not
a very sociable one, if you asked me.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 7
“I brought you a little something today. To say thanks for
spending the day with me.”
No sooner had she said it than she opened her bag—a
Boston bag different from her usual purse—and pulled out a
lunch-box-like item wrapped in a bandana. She unwrapped it
to reveal that it was actually Tupperware.
“Wow, what is it?”
“Treats,” she said boastfully, and opened it up. Inside were
six pieces of sweet potato shaped like Mont Blanc. I could tell
by the slight indents that these were handmade.
“Wow, so you do baking and stuff.”
“Yup. But don’t expect it to taste too good or anything.”
“Can I eat ’em?”
“Of course. Oh, right.” She pulled a thermos out of her
bag, handed me a cup, and poured the contents of it. It was
black tea, and Marco Polo, no less. So she had even come prepared
to compensate for the fact that I didn’t have anything
besides water here. This girl didn’t let anything get by her.
She prepared herself a cup of tea as well, and flashed a nice
smile. “Well, cheers.”
I clinked glasses with her and popped a piece of sweet
potato. Unfathomable sweetness immediately spread throughout
the inside of my mouth. Of course they weren’t called
sweet potatoes for nothing, but this didn’t seem like an ordinary
amount of sugar to me.
“Pretty sweet, huh?” I said, letting my true impressions
show.
“Yep. I looove sweet stuff.”
“You don’t say.” I nodded and popped the next one in my
mouth. Yup. Sweet. Come to think of it, I hadn’t had any
breakfast that morning, so this was quite the convenient little
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 8
surprise. But hey, hadn’t Mikoko-chan said she didn’t like
sweet stuff before? It seemed to me like she may or may not
have said that at one point. I couldn’t seem to remember.
Well, whatever.
She was a girl, after all. You know how fickle they can be.
Within five minutes, the sweet potatoes had been completely
consumed.
“Mikoko-chan, you’re pretty good at cooking and stuff,
huh?”
“Yep. It’s because I was a latchkey kid.”
“What’s a . . . latchkey kid?”
“Uhh, it means a kid who’s home alone a lot. Kids whose
parents both work have to bring a house key with them to
school, right?”
“Why?”
“Um, because if nobody’s home, the door is going to be
locked, right?” she continued, looking rather perplexed. “So
that’s why they call them latchkey kids.”
“Oh . . . I get it.”
I broke my eye contact with Mikoko-chan and stared up at
the ceiling to hide my facial expression.
Well how about that, I thought. So households like that
exist.
“Ikkun, did I say something wrong?”
“Huh? Why?”
“You’re making a really weird face right now.”
She didn’t sound so much worried as nervous, almost
frightened, even. I shook my head and said, “No, it’s nothing.”
Yup, nothing at all. Why should something like that bother
me?
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 9
“So should we really go now? Where do you want to go?”
“Huh?”
“You wanted to go shopping, right? I think that’s what you
said. Shinkyôgoku? Kyoto Station? Or do you want to go all
the way to Osaka?”
“Oh. Umm. Umm.”
She started to get flustered, as if she hadn’t even thought
about it. Her eyes darted around looking for something or
someone to save her, but ultimately looked back at me and
said, “Uh, a-anywhere is fine.”
What did that mean?
“You can’t mean that. You’re the one doing the shopping.”
“There isn’t any place in particular you want to go with
me?”
“There isn’t really anything I need. Living in a room like
this, I only have space to buy things you can throw out quick.
It wouldn’t make any sense to go shopping. Not that I’m
against nonsense. There just really isn’t anything I need to
buy. What is it you wanted to buy?”
“Uh, well, you know, clothes and stuff.”
“Huh.”
“And I want to eat somewhere.”
“Well, then I guess Kawara-machi’s the way to go.”
“Okay,” she said.
I may not be the assertive type, but Mikoko-chan might
have been even worse. Why did I have to decide where she
would go shopping? Of course, such questions were pointless.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said, and we left the room together. We
walked for a bit until arriving at the Senbon Nakadachiuri bus
stop, where we stood and waited for the Shijôkawara-machi
bus. Within five minutes, the 46 line bus had arrived. We got
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 0
on and found a lucky pair of empty seats. We sat down with
me on the inside and her beside me.
“By the way, you came on your Vespa, right?”
“Yeah, my Vespa. My Vespa,” she said, looking a bit nervous.
It seemed my previous anger had left a strong impression
on her. I wondered if I might have gone too far last time, but
there are times when even I can’t hold back my emotions.
In fact, it happens a lot.
“So you’ll have to come back to get it . . .”
“It’s okay. As long as I take the bus, the price is the same!
It’s a flat fare within city limits!”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“So you’re not planning to buy a car or scooter or anything?”
“Nah. Things aren’t particularly inconvenient without
one.”
“Hmm . . .” She nodded ambiguously. “Tomo-chan was the
same way. She had a license, but she didn’t have any wheels.
She said she just wanted to use it as a proof of identification.”
“Yeah, that’s basically what I’m doing.”
“I see. Maybe everyone’s like that. But I want to start driving
once I get my license.”
Come to think of it, I did seem to remember her saying
something about going to driving school and getting her dad to
buy her a car once she had a license.
“I drive on occasion too,” I said. “Sometimes I borrow
Miiko-san’s car.”
“Mm-hm.”
The instant I brought up Miiko-san, Mikoko-chan’s
expression grew terribly bored. By this point, even I had come