Pathway to Japanese Literature

Nothing at all.

Shirataka Hidemaro, Esteemed Senior,

Usuki Rihē I recently had the honor of briefly meeting you at the Kōjutsu-kai gathering of the Marunouchi Club, and like yourself, am a junior alumnus from the Department of Otolaryngology at Kyushu Imperial University. Since early June of Showa 8 (1933), I have displayed the neon sign of Usuki Otolaryngology in Miyazaki-cho, Yokohama City, but I must beg your forgiveness for the discourtesy of suddenly sending such a bizarre letter.

Himekusa Yuriko committed suicide. True to her name in both loveliness and purity of form, she killed herself while cursing your name and mine. Through those baseless delusions that surfaced in her dove-like chest—delusions with which she meant to weave not only your household and mine but even the entire capital's newspapers, the Metropolitan Police Department, and Kanagawa Prefecture's judicial authorities into her fictional paradise—she instead unfurled a hell scroll of shudder-inducing obsessive compulsions, until at last she found herself compelled to bury even her own body in the deepest pit of this hellish panorama she herself had painted. By authenticating that hell scroll through her own death, she aimed to cast us into what Buddhism calls the eternal shuddering terror of Avīci Hell...

The uncanny terror of that girl's psychological workings pulsating within her fabrication—which at first glance appeared as nothing more than an unbroken chain of utterly commonplace events. It is I who bear this abnormal responsibility of having to explain, dissect, and analyze to you her fixation upon those psychological effects in meticulous detail. Moreover, this immensely challenging and peculiar responsibility was thrust upon my shoulders this very afternoon by an unforeseen stranger. ...Therefore, in due order, I shall commence this special report by addressing matters concerning that unfathomable unknown individual.

It was around 1 PM today.

Exhausted from operating on a critical meningitis patient, I lay on the bench in the examination room where outpatients had ceased coming, drowsing while listening to the jumble of steamship whistles from Yokohama Port visible through the glass window and the street noise below, when suddenly the entrance bell rang and a black-clad male figure slid silently inside. When I leapt up, there stood a man whose appearance was reminiscent of famous detectives from foreign films. He appeared to be around forty-four or forty-five years old. His face was long, with thick, heavy eyebrows; on either side of his high, refined nose bridge were long slit eyes sunken in their sockets, emitting a sharp black light—altogether giving the impression of a Japanese-style Sherlock Holmes. His sallow complexion matching my own, this impeccably attired figure—with his lanky yet sturdy frame draped in a perfectly tailored black morning coat, new black velour hat, matching black enamel shoes, and silver-headed malacca cane—quietly closed the examination room door behind him with one hand. He stood surveying the empty room containing only myself with a sweeping glance, then removed his hat with exaggerated courtesy and bowed his head in a motion that artfully concealed his balding crown.

In my carelessness, I assumed this man was a new patient and rose with professional courtesy.

“Please, have a seat,” I said and gestured to a Jacobean-style armchair. “I am Usuki.” However, the gentleman remained standing like a black, cold shadow figure. He briefly lowered his eyes—assuming an expression that seemed to say “I understand…”—and then fell completely silent. After some time, he inserted his pale, hairy hand into his waistcoat’s inner pocket, fished out a card-shaped piece of paper, and with a meaningful glance at my face, placed it on the nearby side table before sliding it toward me.

At this point I—in a comical manner—[... thinking 'Ah, a mute patient has come']—picked up the slip of paper only to find, quite unexpectedly, a message written in clumsy pencil script resembling a grade-schooler's yet perfectly legible: "Do you know the whereabouts of Himekusa Yuriko?" I looked up at the man's face, dumbfounded. He must have stood approximately five shaku seven or eight sun tall.

“Hah…” "I don't know about that." "She left without a word, so…" I replied immediately, but in that instant—Ah, this man must be Yuriko's mastermind—I intuited he'd come to threaten me somehow... so I steeled myself... resolved in my gut to tell him to go eat shit... Yet I made sure not to betray any such thoughts outwardly, adopting the befuddled air of an ordinary practitioner. …Thank god I didn't know Yuriko's whereabouts. Had I claimed otherwise, he'd have pounced on it instantly—used it to threaten me... I mused inwardly...

The gentleman stared at my face with those black, cold, implacable eyes for over a dozen seconds before retrieving another white envelope from inside his waistcoat and respectfully placing it before me. ..."Please examine this..." he seemed to suggest through a faint smile... The envelope contained ordinary stationery, but the characters—unmistakably Himekusa Yuriko's handwriting—were somehow unnerving, with sections blurred as if by moisture and others trembling unnaturally across the page.

“Dr. Shirataka

Dr. Usuki I shall kill myself. So as not to cause you two any inconvenience, I shall commit suicide in Director Mandara’s ward at the Tsukiji Maternity Hospital. I have requested Director Mandara to process my death as diphtheric cardiac paralysis occurring during my hospitalization for uterine disease. Dr. Shirataka, Dr. Usuki The affection graciously bestowed upon this unworthy one by both of your esteemed selves, and the gracious benevolence of your honorable wives—who, without resentment, cherished this one who accepted such affection as though she were their own younger sister—are kindnesses I shall not forget even in death. Therefore, driven by the desire to repay even a ten-thousandth part of the noble, gracious benevolence shown by those honorable wives, I shall commit suicide in this covert manner. My small soul shall henceforth eternally safeguard the peace of your esteemed households.

When I have drawn my last breath, when my eyes are closed and my mouth sealed, all facts I have seen and heard shall become utter falsehoods, so that you two esteemed doctors may rest assured and safeguard your peaceful households with your chaste, beautiful honorable wives. Sinful, sinful Yuriko. Himekusa Yuriko had lost all hope in this world. What hope could remain in this world where even esteemed doctors like yourselves—possessors of such distinguished status and renown—cannot find it in your hearts to believe in my sincerity? In a world where the words of those with social status and honor become truth even when false, while the words of an innocent girl who knows nothing become lies even when factual—what meaning could there be in living?

Farewell. Dr. Shirataka, Dr. Usuki, Poor Yuriko will go to her death. Please rest assured.

December 3, 1933 Himekusa Yuriko” This letter was a copy of the original already delivered to Chief Tamiya, which I had made to present to you. Yet even when first reading it, I could remain completely unaffected. Maintaining a dumbfounded look of feigned ignorance, I calmly met the man’s sharp gaze and posed my question. “Hmm. “So you’re the Director Mandara mentioned in this letter...”

“That’s correct.” The man spoke for the first time. It was a hoarse voice with deep resonance. “Has the corpse already been disposed of?” “We cremated her and have stored the remains… as it’s been three days since her death.” “Were the procedures carried out exactly as Himekusa requested?” “Indeed.” “Why did she commit suicide?” “She had died from a subcutaneous injection of morphine.” “I don’t know where she obtained it...”

There, the man peered into my face as if probing, but I continued maintaining an expressionless rigidity.

The light in Director Mandara’s eyes softened. Slightly twisted lips began to move faintly. "It was last month... November 21st." "Ms. Himekusa was hospitalized at my facility with rather severe endometritis, but then she apparently contracted diphtheria from an outside infection." "Just when we thought it had barely begun to heal..." “Was she examined by an otolaryngologist?” “No.” “For something like a diphtheria injection, we handle them in-house without needing an otolaryngologist.”

“I see…” “Just when we thought it had barely begun to heal—on the evening of the third this month after midnight’s final temperature check—she apparently injected herself with morphine.” “On the fourth… yes… three mornings prior—a nurse found her cold in the sheets…”

“Was there no attendant or anything?” “Since the patient herself refused any assistance…” “How characteristic…” “She had been meticulously made up with rouge and lipstick—hardly resembling a rigor mortis-stricken corpse…yet maintained a smile as if still living.” “It left me with an utterly wretched feeling.” “This suicide note was discovered beneath her pillow…” “Did you conduct a post-mortem examination?”

“No.” “Why not? Wouldn’t that constitute a violation of the Medical Practitioners’ Law?”

The man quietly stared into my eyes. He gave a chilling, villainous laugh. “Because if we had conducted a post-mortem, there was a risk this letter’s contents would become public.” “There is such a thing as professional courtesy among colleagues, you see.”

“I see.” “Thank you.” “So you believe Yuriko’s words.”

“One cannot imagine a woman of such striking beauty dying without profound cause.” “There must have been extraordinary circumstances…” “In other words, you believe that man Shirataka and I—the two of us working together—toyed with Himekusa Yuriko and heartlessly cast her aside to drive her to suicide... You...” “Well… yes… I came to inquire whether such facts existed. I wished to avoid stirring unnecessary commotion…” “Are you a relative of Ms. Himekusa Yuriko?”

“No. It’s nothing, but…” “Ahaha.” “Then you too are one of the victims, like us.” “Deceived by Himekusa into daring to violate the Medical Practitioners’ Law.” The man’s face abruptly transformed into something devilishly hostile. “Preposterous... Where’s your proof...” “Proof...?” “Summon another victim and it’ll be plain as day.”

“Please call them.” “Outrageous... This defiles the will of an innocent deceased who merits no retribution.” “May I call them?” “...By all means... I insist you do so at once.”

I picked up the desk telephone, called the Kanagawa Prefectural Office, and had them connect me to the Tokkō Chief’s office.

“Ah. Is this Chief Tamiya of the Tokkō? This is Usuki. Usuki of Usuki Hospital. First regarding the Himekusa matter—thank you for your assistance... Now to the point—I apologize for disturbing you during your busy schedule, but could you possibly come to the hospital at once? I’ve discovered Himekusa Yuriko’s whereabouts... No—she’s dead. In a certain place... Actually another victim of Himekusa Yuriko has surfaced. No no—this one’s genuine. The damage is quite severe. A Director Mandara from Tsukiji’s Mandara Hospital—yes yes—an institution I’ve never heard of—has come specially to my office to explain how he was ensnared by her signature theatrics into violating the Medical Practitioners’ Law. He claims to be preserving the remains of Himekusa Yuriko’s suicide corpse... Yes yes... An outrageous story but true. He’s waiting here now. Says he absolutely must meet you... Ah—hello? Hello? Director Mandara is making to leave now. He’s hurriedly departing with hat and cane in hand—ha ha—he’s already gone.”

“Right now, a brave nurse has rushed out and is seeing him off.” “Please wait a moment.” “I’ll confirm which way he went and report—Ah.” “His clothing?” “To put it simply, his clothing was an all-black, impeccable morning coat.” “His height was five foot seven or eight.” “A gentleman with an ashen complexion and a foreign-looking, impressively slender build... Ah.” “He forgot to take the threatening letter.” “Ah ha ha.” “He seemed startled by this phone call.” “Ha ha ha.” “...Ah.” “I see.” “Well then, please stop by on your way back.” “There’s still more to discuss.” “Oh, how rude of me… I apologize.” “Goodbye.”

Despite Chief Tamiya’s swift arrangements, Director Mandara ultimately managed to evade capture, and there was no word whatsoever until nightfall today. Therefore, what relationship he had with her, what kind of person he was— How did he obtain her suicide note? How long he had been shadowing her, to what extent he had engaged in dark deeds... Such facts still remained beyond conjecture.

However, Chief Tamiya of the Tokkō—who had stopped by the hospital on his way back from the Kanagawa Prefectural Office and heard the new facts I provided regarding Himekusa Yuriko—apparently concluded this was no ordinary case and intended to immediately transfer it to Tokyo; thus, I believe the truth concerning her death will soon come to light. Yet before that, I felt compelled to report all facts about her to you without delay for future reference, which is why I now take up my pen with resolve to work through the night. Until now, I hesitated to report these matters due to their overwhelming shamefulness… No… The fact that I could not consult with your esteemed self until today may also stem from having been enchanted—my mental faculties paralyzed—by the uncanny skill of that enigmatic girl, Himekusa Yuriko…

What I wish to clarify above all else is that she... the lovely young woman who called herself Himekusa Yuriko... was undoubtedly the "Mysterious Woman" sensationally featured under bold headlines in every Tokyo newspaper around March of last spring. Having explained this fact today to the aforementioned judicial authorities I met with, it may be inferred that their recognition of this as "a grave case" and its immediate transfer to the Metropolitan Police Department stemmed from that very explanation. According to the newspaper article (you may recall), she—with her paramour?—is said to have made an automatic telephone call to the police near that secret meeting place out of a desire to prevent them from discovering it.

“I am an innocent girl currently kidnapped and confined in a house at ×× in ××.” “At this very moment, the demon’s hand stretches toward me, but I’m grasping this sliver of opportunity to make the call.” “Please save me, please save me!”

With a breathless yet vividly convincing voice conveying precisely this message, she drove the authorities' vehicles off toward some absurdly distant and incorrect direction. In this manner, she then repeatedly caused disturbances to the police, so that eventually it became clear it was the same woman—thereby extremely angering the authorities and delighting newspaper reporters... This is the true nature of the facts. That woman—a kind of reckless yet methodical genius of fabrication defying all description—is none other than the one who has been the object of your esteemed self's concern, the very same woman who until recently darted about my hospital in her white uniform; this fact is now clearly asserted by the individual who had once served as her guarantor. Moreover, the reason behind this assertion is deemed truthful based on her psychological state, so that indeed, the police authorities themselves harbor not the slightest doubt regarding the veracity of said claims.

And yet—what motive could possibly exist for her, a mere slip of a girl, to plunge both your esteemed self in Tokyo and my household in Yokohama—cities one might call within spitting distance—into such an uncanny fate? A fate where, amidst this modern age teeming with every manner of communication and transportation, we spent so long suspecting one another, probing one another’s movements, yet never managing to cross paths—all while she herself was compelled to descend into such dire straits that even her own destiny had to be buried?

What follows is a compilation of excerpts from my diary, rendered into a report format. Therefore, there may be parts that overlap with your esteemed self's recollections regarding her. Or there may be passages that affront your honored character. Moreover, having composed this in a documentary style stripped of honorifics, certain portions may appear discourteous; I humbly beg your gracious understanding. All entries have been compiled precisely as recorded in my diary because I wished to lay bare my mental state at that time with complete candor...

Himekusa Yuriko came to my hospital on the evening of May 31, last year, Showa 8 (1933)... the day before its opening. She stood forlornly in the entranceway, clad in a splendid yet modestly subdued navy kimono, with a gaudy cobalt parasol, new felt zōri, and a single basket.

“At this establishment, might you not perhaps be in need of a nurse...”

My sister, who had been engaged in earnest consultations with the furniture dealer regarding the examination room's decor, and my wife Matsuko exchanged glances and expressed admiration for her boldness. We had just been saying that our two hired nurses might prove slightly inadequate... so we immediately escorted her to the outpatient room where the three of us conducted preliminary inquiries and observations. "Did you come in response to our newspaper advertisement?"

“No. I happened to see the clinic’s opening sign from the train window, so I got off and came here.”

“Ah ha.” “Where are you from?”

“H City in Aomori Prefecture.”

“Are both your parents there as well?” “Yes. “It is an old established family in H City.” “And your parents’ occupations are…” “We operate a sake brewery.”

“Hmm. Well then, if I may ask, your family must be quite well-off.” “Yes. It’s not quite that... Though my parents and brother opposed my coming to Tokyo, I simply wanted to carve out my own destiny myself, and besides, I desperately longed to try nursing work...” “So have you now ceased correspondence with your parents?” “No. We have always exchanged letters. And then, my only brother—who said he went to Tokyo to make his fortune—is now employed at a canned goods company in the Marunouchi Building.”

“Which school did you graduate from?” “I graduated from Aomori Prefectural Girls’ School.” “Do you have nursing experience?”

“Yes.” “Right after graduating from school, I entered the Otolaryngology Department at K University in Shinanomachi and have been there ever since…” “And your reason for leaving?” “Well... "There were simply too many disagreeable matters..." “What sort of disagreeable matters?” “...I cannot say.” “Though I found the work terribly interesting…” “Hmm.” “Your guarantor…” “You see… “I’ve asked my aunt who does hairdressing in Shitaya.” “Would that pose a problem?”

“Why didn’t you ask your brother?” “My aunt has been far more accustomed to worldly matters and has lived there all along… And today too—‘Don’t just stay shut indoors; why not wander about town? You might find decent work’—that’s what she told me, you see…” “Your name is…”

“My name is Himekusa Yuriko.” “Himekusa Yuriko… How old…” “I’m nineteen years and two months old… I wonder if you’ll hire me…” With just this exchange, we resolved to employ her. It wasn’t only me. My wife and sister too had become utterly captivated—by her innocent dove-like manner; by her clear pure brown eyes; by her pitiful attitude like a roadside-beaten bird pleading rescue… By the valiant yet pitiful fate of this girl wandering jobless through streets with but a single basket, they were drawn from their hearts’ core.

Laugh... at the cheapness of our sentimentality... Anyone reading this exchange would immediately detect countless contradictions and concerns regarding her background. At least once, they would have realized that it was common sense to make a phone call to K University’s Otolaryngology Department to verify her background to some extent before hiring her. Yet at that time, we did not sense even a speck of such recklessness. We cannot deny that her appearance and speech—their irresistibly childlike innocence—awakened within us all our everyday common sense regarding the many tangible dangers likely swirling about her, thereby forging a romantic yet razor-sharp edge of sympathy that compelled itself upon her.

The following day,

“Hey, Sister. “If that girl doesn’t work out as a nurse, let’s employ her as a housemaid or something.” “Look, it’s just so pitiful.” “Oh. “I was thinking the same thing myself, if you’re of that mind.” “Since we’ll likely have more patients as time goes on.” To the extent that the two had discussed it between themselves, my sister and wife seemed quite taken with her.

But that wasn't all. Moreover, there was yet another factor. This was what I might call my professional instinct. When I saw her, the first thing that caught my eye was her nasal bridge. She was by no means what one would call a beauty in terms of facial features. Her features were about average at best; while her complexion was quite fair, her height fell below ordinary—likely around five shaku and some change. At the same time, the low nasal bridge at the center of her round face created a sense of distance between eyes and nose—yet precisely because of this, there was no denying she appeared to possess a kind-hearted and innocent nature.

The moment I saw her facial features, I wanted to perform rhinoplasty on her nasal bridge. If I injected this amount of paraffin there, her nose would take this shape. Her nasal bridge wasn't closely adhered to the nasal bone—I thought it would be extremely easy to operate on. It was an undeniable fact that this foolish allure born from professional instinct had been working deep within my psyche when I decided to hire her.

Such objectives of mine were admirably achieved before long. Within less than a week of being hired at my hospital, she transformed into a stunningly unrecognizable beauty who took to darting through the hospital corridors. This is by no means self-promotion, but I found myself astonished at the unexpectedly dramatic effects of the rhinoplasty I had performed on her. The morning after completing the procedure, when I saw her smiling face with light makeup saying "Good morning"... I realized I'd done something extraordinary. I'd turned her into an inconceivable beauty... The shock nearly stopped my heart.

However, our astonishment toward her did not end with just that. Her nursing skills were not merely impeccable—they were extraordinary. While K University’s Otolaryngology Department had provided her training, we were compelled to discover she was truly a genius nurse, leaving us utterly speechless with awe from the depths of our hearts.

Shortly after she came to my hospital, when I performed surgery on a middle-aged gentleman for maxillary sinus empyema, she—having been appointed assistant for the first time—smoothly inserted pads of absorbent cotton between the anesthetized patient's incised upper lip through my busily working fingers, wiped away the overflowing blood, and kept the incision site clearly visible to my eyes at all times. When I saw those brilliant, well-practiced hand movements, I was so impressed it chilled me to the bone. I was made to think profoundly that even veteran nurses who had attended countless surgeries over many years would rarely possess such sensitivity to a surgeon's intentions paired with such polished dexterity.

However, what remarkable understanding she possessed regarding the patients of a general practitioner. Because of that, how profoundly grateful our family had become to her. How we had entrusted her with hospital tasks to the point of near recklessness; how we had thereby granted her such latitude to engage in what might be called Mysterious-Woman-style exploits described hereafter—this fact, I think, would likely lie beyond anyone's imagination.

From the time I opened my practice, I set a work schedule as everyone did. I set clinic hours from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. and from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. for examinations and treatments, deciding to return immediately after six to my home in nearby Momijizaka to dine with my family; however, as a matter of course for a practicing physician, I would be hastily summoned back to the hospital by inpatients suffering from trifling pains the moment I returned home. Or rather, I steeled myself from the very beginning for being summoned time and time again by unreasonable patients during the so-called hour when even plants sleep—the dead of night. This was undoubtedly a matter that caused me immense personal suffering as a physician, but I resolved to strive to fulfill my duties to the utmost. I resolved to be kind. I had even reached the realization that "general inpatients are psychologically focused on eliminating pain rather than curing disease..." and prepared myself accordingly, yet surprisingly, since opening my practice, such situations had not occurred even once, making me gradually begin to find it strange. I wondered if perhaps it was because we still hadn’t installed a telephone at home yet, but even so found it perplexing; I often discussed this with my sister and others—but this mystery was soon solved. It had gradually become clear through careful observation that this was indeed solely the work of Himekusa Yuriko.

She possessed a sensitivity surpassing even that typical of nurses—something more akin to thoughtful intuition—regarding matters like anesthesia wearing off, postoperative pain onset timing, or discomfort levels stemming from interactions between fever fluctuations and patients' constitutions. She apparently always preempted patients' complaints with treatment and offered prognostic reassurances. There were instances where she arbitrarily cleaned ears or noses, and more gravely, it later emerged she'd administered morphine injections and other analgesic measures without consulting me—yet despite this, patients' satisfaction appeared boundless. When others fumbled with complaints that made nurses hesitate, she'd decisively act to ensure peaceful nights. Thus it felt entirely natural that "Ms. Himekusa of Usuki Hospital" gained renown among patients' families before my own name did. That this spared me considerable trouble remained undeniable, yet...

But that wasn't all. Her innate charm truly transcended gender and age. In this regard, even my family could find no words beyond uttering "Remarkable," so awestruck were they by her capabilities. To say she treated the elderly like elders, children like children, men like men, and women like women may sound trivial—but she would attentively listen to every patient's condition across all categories, make them trust me as director, let them undergo examinations and surgeries with peace of mind, admit them comfortably, at times even inquire into their family circumstances while offering sympathy, encouragement, and comfort until discharging them safely... The skill involved was utterly beyond us ordinary mortals. Even the most neurotic old men and mischievous hypersensitive children would clamor for Ms. Himekusa from start to finish, rendering the other two nurses practically invisible. It may sound absurd, but patients being discharged developed a tendency to first approach Ms. Himekusa rather than coming to me, the director, with their thanks—children wouldn't even cry about going home. They would insist they were staying at the hospital with Hime-chan. Other patients too sent her such interminably long thank-you letters after being discharged. My sister, who handled reception and accounting, grew so amazed she said, "How could anyone have enough to write needing a twelve-sen stamp?"

What was even more astonishing (though in truth, it may have been an inevitable outcome) was that thanks to her, my patients rapidly and remarkably increased in number. In this regard, my practice was extraordinarily fortunate—and at the same time, I found myself compelled to offer profound gratitude to her... to Himekusa Yuriko, this mannequin-cum-mascot who bore her name. When seeing how every last patient who came for treatment would seek out Ms. Himekusa for everything, it was as though Himekusa Yuriko had opened her own practice within Usuki Hospital; even I, who possessed some confidence in my skills, found myself compelled to show great humility in the face of such diplomatic skill.

I paid her a salary of twenty yen. This was by no means unreasonably low compensation, but having recently come to fully recognize her achievements, I had been consulting repeatedly with my sister and wife about adjusting it when—precisely at that juncture—an incident both bizarre and inexplicable, defying all description, began swirling about her person, ultimately plunging us into this horrific catastrophe. Moreover, the seeds of this disaster had been sown by her own hand; indeed, they were planted during that very first exchange of questions and answers when she came tumbling into my care.

Her hometown was a sake-brewing family in Aomori Prefecture, which we had heard was quite affluent; yet through her cheerful disposition and innocent demeanor, we never doubted this fact in the slightest. The man introduced as her brother during that initial exchange came to the hospital bearing a large quantity of Kuraya’s black bean jelly to pay his respects shortly after her arrival. However, this occurred after I had returned home, and no one had actually witnessed her brother’s visit. Just as I was finishing dinner at home and thinking I wanted something dessert-like, a transferred call came through from Himekusa Yuriko at the hospital.

“Doctor. “My brother has just come to express his gratitude, you see.” “Since I mentioned you liked it, he brought Kuraya’s bean jelly… No.” “He’s already left.” “He said we shouldn’t disturb you during your well-deserved rest.” “Please, please continue to look after me… I beg of you… *giggles*” “Shall I have it delivered to you… The bean jelly…” “Right, deliver it quickly. “Thank you.” I replied, but if ever I was underestimated, there had likely never been a time when I was underestimated as much as this.

The arrival of five shō of refined sake and one barrel of Nara pickles, purportedly from her hometown, occurred indeed not long after that. It was said to be items conveyed from her parents through someone from her hometown, and as usual, she had received them at the hospital after I returned home—but the sake bottles and barrel she brought in sweating profusely bore no labels whatsoever, merely crude country-style wrapping paper affixed one sheet each. Having taken a sip,

“Mm. “Quite the authentic Edo taste.” “Has a sharp kick.” “The Nara pickles don’t lose to Mitsukoshi’s either.” I had inadvertently let slip, but that must have hit the mark. Having finished securing the barrel’s ropes, she—merely blushing deeply—seemed to slink back to the hospital. At that very moment, however, I was being made to reflect quite thoroughly—recalling her brother and parents who prayed for her happiness—which is why I failed to notice even slightly her sneaky demeanor. While watching her retreating back,

"And I only pay her twenty yen..." was all I did—making a joke that seemed to feign embarrassment.

Now, up to this point everything had gone splendidly. Had matters been left at this juncture, all would have remained seamless—her true nature undisclosed, my hospital still retaining its mascot—but as they say, good fortune invites calamity. Her unique and monstrous genius for deception, having settled somewhat, began to exhibit abnormally vigorous activity—one might say it was inevitable. The cause that plunged Dr. Shirataka of K University’s Otolaryngology Department and my household into an indescribably eerie nightmare through her abnormal genius likely stemmed from an utterly trivial incident—one she herself probably never noticed.

Though it shames me to admit, I—somewhat intoxicated by the bustling success of my new practice—unwittingly reverted to being the same frivolous man I was in my student days. I would dispel patients’ gloom by firing off silly puns, light banter, and jokes, “Hey! Bring the small anatomical knife.” “It’s a small scalpel.” “Not you.” “Don’t get it wrong.” I would say such things to Himekusa, and each time Yuriko would giggle girlishly while working and say,

“Oh, Dr. Usuki is the spitting image of Dr. Shirataka!”

“What’s this? This Shirataka fellow... How dare he resemble me without asking? What a rude fellow!” “Oh my! Dr. Usuki… Dr. Shirataka is far older than you and serves as an associate professor in K University’s otolaryngology department.” “Whoa! My mistake! My mistake! That Dr. Shirataka? If we’re talking about that Dr. Shirataka, he’s indeed my senior.” “There, you see? Hohoho. When he was at K University, Dr. Shirataka would always tell all sorts of jokes during surgeries and examinations to make patients laugh. During procedures like myringotomy—when laughter makes patients move their heads dangerously—his surgeries were so splendidly quick that they’d keep laughing without a moment to feel pain. Even in such details, his approach mirrored yours exactly.”

Yuriko would later explain this as if making excuses, but needless to say, such supremely convincing flattery gratified my pride. Of course, this was her attempt to prove her family’s affluence and conceal her dark, unsightly past. At the same time, it was a fabrication born from the same psychology that sought to satisfy her fleeting fantasies with reality—merely a fragmentary fiction intended solely to concretely demonstrate how much trust she had received from someone holding the important position of associate professor in K University’s Otolaryngology Department—but how could I have possibly noticed such a thing at the time? Having heard the name of Dr. Shirataka—whom I had long revered as a senior from my alma mater—after such an interval, I widened my eyes in sheer delight and bombarded her with questions.

“Hoh.” “So Dr. Shirataka remains at K University?” “I hadn’t known at all.” She continued unfazed—no—rather triumphantly deepening her discourse about Dr. Shirataka. “Yes, yes. “They say he’s exceptionally skilled when it comes to surgery.” “I couldn’t begin to tell how much he doted on me before I came here.” “Madam too treated me truly like her own daughter.” “He kept saying he’d surely marry me off to a good family someday—why, I received several kimonos from him.” “This very one I wear daily was handed down from Madam’s youth when they became too gaudy for her.”

I had been completely pulled into her story. I had clasped my hands together in secret reverence for Dr.Shirataka.

“Oh! Dr.Shirataka? He’s my esteemed senior. Since I received guidance from him during my time at K University, he might possibly know of me. That’s good to hear. I would very much like to have the honor of meeting him sometime soon, but……”

“Yes, yes.” “That is certain to bring him great delight.” “I believe you were also mentioned two or three times in conversation.” “Dr.Shirataka remarked that young Usuki was an extremely amusing student,” she said.

“Hmm.” “Because I was mischievous.” “Where’s your place?”

“Shimo-Rokubancho, Number Twelve.” “Madam is an exceedingly refined and beautiful lady, like Lady Kujō Takeko.” “She was called Madam Kumiko, you see.” “She takes extremely good care of Dr. Shirataka, you see.” “They get along so well, you see…”

“Ahahaha.” “Whatever’s fine—sometime soon… even today would be fine—could you give him a call once from your side?” “Usuki wants to meet him…” “Well…” “Wouldn’t it be rude for someone like me to have the honor of introducing him…?” “What does it matter?” “Dr. Shirataka isn’t such a pretentious person.”

With those words, I bowed my head once to Himekusa Yuriko.

She looked up at my face with her slightly nearsighted, adorable eyes for a moment, then—for some reason—lowered her head with a dejected air and let out a soft sigh. Though her attitude seemed somewhat resentful, I interpreted this as one of her peculiar displays of innocent coquetry and found nothing particularly strange about it. "But... for someone like me... a mere nurse... it would be too presumptuous..."

“What’s the big deal? Who cares? Even if a nurse introduces him, aren’t we both doctors? Dr.Shirataka wasn’t the kind of man to stand on ceremony over such things.”

“Well... he still is now, but…” “Then isn’t that fine…? I’m simply dying to meet him…”

She shrugged a single shoulder in a manner suggesting there was no helping it. With a strange, tearful smile, “Well… If I’m acceptable… I can have the honor of introducing you anytime…” “Yeah. I’m counting on you now. Even today would be fine. Even a phone call will do—just give him a ring, I beg of you.”

That was an oddly meticulous yet shadowed response unbefitting her typically carefree demeanor. But soon regaining her usual guileless vivacity, she—appearing utterly delighted as if reveling in the honor of introducing Assistant Professor Shirataka and Director Usuki of the hospital—bounced lightly while scampering into the telephone booth. Watching her retreating figure, I had grown entirely unsuspecting and buoyant—little suspecting. At this very moment I had already been thoroughly hoodwinked by her—while she herself, simultaneously, had with her own hands begun cultivating the seeds of what would become her life's mortal wound.

The Dr. Shirataka she spoke of was a Dr. Shirataka different in nature from the Dr. Shirataka she actually knew. In short, her ingenuity had created—using me as a model—a fictional character crafted solely to appease me, nothing more than that. Moreover, this Dr.Shirataka could only exist as a trick doll—one attempting to elevate her own credibility and stabilize her social value by making me believe in the intimacy between herself and that fictional character—but reckless I had been made to blindly believe in this trick-version Dr.Shirataka at 120% intensity... Having convinced myself he was a similarly casual, mischievous character like me, I ended up making such an imprudent request of her.

However, her mysterious creative ability climbed a hundred feet higher only to advance another hundred steps, culminating in the weaving of a truly unforeseen grotesque drama. ...for a call had come in broad daylight from this Dr. Shirataka of K University’s Otolaryngology Department—a Dr. Shirataka whom the actual Dr. Shirataka himself did not even know existed.

Exactly three months after I had opened my practice—around 3:30 p.m. on September 1 of this year—she rushed into the examination room from the telephone.

“Doctor.” “Doctor.” “Dr. Shirataka is on the phone for you.”

I turned around in surprise while examining numerous patients. "What? Dr.Shirataka calling... What could he want?" "Well now... Doctor," she said with affected exasperation, "didn't you yourself tell me to arrange an introduction? That's precisely why I phoned him again yesterday—made certain to mention how dreadfully busy you were—and yet here he goes calling at this hour..."

She pouted adorably while furrowing her brows slightly. Such artifice could only be described as a unique form of genius. It possessed an utterly convincing quality. The depiction of intimacy between her and her fabricated Dr. Shirataka felt so authentic it permitted no room for doubt. The man answering the phone—this Dr.Shirataka who wasn't Dr.Shirataka—indeed had the cheerful, lively voice she'd described. What's more, he kept chattering away without letting me utter a single word.

“Hey there!” “Ah, Usuki?” “Long time no see.” “Good day to you.” “Oh, it’s been ages!” “How’s business?” “Uh-huh.” “I heard from Himekusa.” “Splendid!” “Uh-huh.” “That Himekusa’s a good nurse, isn’t she?” “Over here she was too competent—so good it made the head nurse hate her.” “Got driven out over some trumped-up charge.” “My wife doted on her terribly.” “Oh.” “She’s quite pleased herself.” “Called twice—the other day and yesterday.” “Says your clinic’s comfortable and fulfilling.” “That’s what she says.” “Uh-huh.”

“My wife heard and is delighted.” “After all, she doted on her like a daughter.” “Uh-huh.” “The part where she left Aomori Prefecture to become a nurse might’ve been a bit foolish, but...” “She must have been born to be a nurse.” “Her work is truly impeccable.” “I assure you.” “Please take good care of her.” “Hahaha.” “Oh, I’ve been wanting to see you again after all this time.” “How about it?” “Still holding your liquor?” “Yes, splendid, splendid... By the way, do you know about this Kanoe-Inu Society that Tokyo ear-nose-throat doctors run?” “That’s the one.” “Uh-huh.” “I’d heard about it back in Kyushu.” “A society founded in the Kanoe-Inu year of Meiji 43... Uh-huh.” “That’s it, you know.” “A monthly meet-up on the third or fourth where everyone rekindles old ties, airs grievances, and gets plastered—that’s what it is.” “A wonderfully cheerful society.”

“So it’s been set for the third of next month.” “The venue is Marunouchi Club... starting at six in the evening. Won’t you come?” “The membership fee gets decided on the spot—won’t cost you a penny.” “Yes, do come along.” “Uh-huh.” “Ha ha!” “Haven’t swung by to see you yet myself, but give my regards to your wife...”

In mid-sentence, the time had run out. When I hung up the receiver, she was standing right beside me, tilting her head cutely.

"Oh! You went and ended the call? I wanted to speak too... but what was it about..." she gazed with apparent concern，her eyes glinting.

“Uh-huh.” “I’m surprised.” “Dr. Shirataka’s frighteningly straightforward, isn’t he?” “He had a bit of a slur, didn’t he?”

“I suppose...” “He’s quite the character.” When he recounted the phone conversation’s details, she seemed wholly reassured and bounded down the hallway with joyful skips. “Dr.Shirataka was truly such an uncomplicatedly splendid person.” “So kind... I simply adore him...”

While murmuring light soliloquies brimming with mystery and emotion... while speaking just loudly enough for me to hear, without the slightest unnaturalness...

However, on the morning of the second day, shortly after I arrived at work, she—wearing an uncharacteristically sullen expression—stood before me, clutching a crumpled letter in her hand while writhing her body oddly. She said, curling her cute lower lip: “He’s truly incorrigible.” “Dr.Shirataka, honestly!” “Once it’s about work, he gets completely absorbed.”

“What’s wrong?” “You’re over here huffing all by yourself…”

“Oh, it’s nothing...” “It concerns last night.” “An express letter from Dr.Shirataka addressed to me has arrived.” “He’s going to visit a patient in Hiratsuka this afternoon and might return late.” “So he might not be able to attend the Kanoe-Inu Society either.” “It’s a letter saying ‘I humbly ask that you convey my regards through yourself to Dr.Usuki,’ you see.” “Honestly, Dr.Shirataka is just incorrigible.” “He’s just obsessed with making money... It’s definitely at some banker’s place in Hiratsuka.” “Every time they hold those amateurish puppet-theater performances with their friends, they have to invite Dr.Shirataka—it’s all just for show.” “How pointless...”

“Ha ha ha! You shouldn’t speak so ill of him. We’d be in trouble if healthy wealthy patients like that didn’t increase. An otolaryngologist...” “But he’d made plans to meet you for the first time in ages...” “Nah. If I want to see him, I can meet him anytime.” “But...”

While mumbling indistinctly, she looked up at my face with a thoroughly discontented pale gaze. But... had I been but slightly more observant at that moment, I could have easily discerned that her anxiety was far from ordinary. How profoundly my words—"If I want to meet him, I can see him anytime"—had instilled such grave anxiety in her... how they had plunged her into that terrifying abyss of obsessive-compulsive thoughts known as Avīci Hell... had I but perceived this then. ...She who had been laboring to tangibly demonstrate both her family's affluence and—through the name of Dr. Shirataka, Associate Professor at K University—the lofty credibility she held as a nurse... She whose desperate efforts to simultaneously gratify her imperiled self-consciousness (now threatened with social ruin by those "Mystery Woman" newspaper articles) and completely conceal her own astonishingly enigmatic past—known only to herself—would these efforts not be mercilessly shattered when the real Dr. Shirataka and I met face-to-face? Would she not have her self-fashioned dream of fictional paradise smashed apart, cast back onto life's frigid pavement once more? For women of this sort, such disillusioning events—more dreadful than a death sentence—would be readily acknowledged by those who comprehend modern women's psychology... particularly girls'.

In fact, her preventive measures against such a catastrophe—later—were truly of a death-defying frenzy. Taking the monk’s sermon—“A hair’s breadth separates hell from paradise”—at face value, she unfurled before herself a hair-raising Hell Scroll—one that ensnared her own being.

That September passed, and on the morning of October second, she once again stood before me in the hospital hallway, puffed up with indignation.

“What’s wrong?” “What on earth… Did you get into another fight with that mechanic’s apprentice?”

“No. “But, Doctor.” “Tomorrow is October 3rd, isn’t it?” “Silly girl. Do you dislike October third?” “Yes. “But isn’t the third of every month the Kanoe-Inu Society’s meeting date?” “Ah... That’s right.” “I’d forgotten.” “My. “You resemble Dr. Shirataka even in such trivial matters.” “Won’t you be attending the Kanoe-Inu Society?”

“Yeah.” “If Dr. Shirataka is going, then I’ll go too.”

“Didn’t you make a promise the other day?” “Nah.” “I don’t recall making any promise.” “My.” “Well, if that’s the case…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just now, Dr.Shirataka telephoned, you know. ‘Has Dr.Usuki not yet come to the hospital?’ he said...” “Did he say ‘Dr.Usuki of Usuki Hospital’ like that?” “My. I do think that’s rather improper. When I told him you never arrive before ten in the morning, he said he’s taken ill with a cold today and may have to forgo the Kanoe-Inu Society meeting. I became absolutely furious, thinking we’d certainly made a promise together. If only he could manage to meet you…”

“Well, if I wanted to meet him, it’d be no trouble at all. But the timing’s been oddly off, hasn’t it?” “He’s truly spiteful. Of all days for him to catch a cold... I’ll telephone your wife and give her a proper scolding, I will.” “Don’t speak nonsense. Rather than that—though I might propose sending Dr. Usuki on a courtesy visit now—since there’s a risk of mutual devouring, do inform them I shall take my leave.”

“Hohohoho.” “There you go again.” “Now that’s what I call unnecessary.” “Oh, come on. That’s what they call the new style of humorous social etiquette. And give my regards to your wife as well.” Thus, my family’s feelings toward the Dr.Shirataka who was not Dr.Shirataka had grown increasingly intimate through Himekusa Yuriko’s mediation. Not only that, but on the very early morning of the day I had made an appointment to examine a foreign patient at Hakone’s Ashinoko Hotel, a call came from Mr.Shirataka—no, from the Dr.Shirataka who was not Dr.Shirataka—

“I’m sorry about the other day,” “The timing’s always off, and I never get a chance to meet you.” “I’ve managed to get two tickets to the Kabukiza Theatre today—why don’t we go see a show together?” “Since the theater opens at 1 PM, it would be best if you took the train to Ginza around ten o’clock.” “You must know a café or restaurant around there.” Such was the story, but unfortunately, when Himekusa said I couldn’t go, she later sent Fugetsudo’s castella cake to my wife and child along with a Kabukiza Theatre program. Moreover, upon examining the letter accompanying that package, it was unmistakably written in a man’s penmanship, with phrases befitting an intellectual of considerable education. Therefore, we too felt profoundly apologetic, and attaching a letter stating “I shall most certainly attend the next Kanoe-Inu Society meeting” to some chicken egg somen noodles that had fortuitously arrived from my hometown, sent it off addressed to Dr. Shirataka in Shimo-Rokubancho—though where it actually reached, or indeed whether it ever left Yokohama’s Usuki Hospital at all, remains uncertain. The one who handed over those letters and packages and ordered them to be sent out was none other than Himekusa Yuriko...

However, when early November arrived thereafter, she committed yet another grave blunder. Of course, from her own perspective, it must have appeared an utterly ingenious, watertight scenario—yet precisely because it was excessively ingenious, she grotesquely ended up being seen through by our family, who uncovered her true nature.

When I flipped through my diary, it was indeed November 3rd, Meiji Festival Day. She would instigate incidents always during those few days spanning from month's end into the beginning, with Dr.Shirataka's phone calls and letters in particular almost invariably arriving around the third or fourth. How many besides God could have perceived that herein lay the mystique of this "Mysterious Woman"....

It was November 3rd.

Around ten in the morning when a drizzling rain had begun to fall, I arrived at the hospital. The moment she heard the entrance door sound, she came darting out from the pharmacy and rushed toward me as if to throw herself against my chest. Her lips had even paled with her hysterical expression. “Oh Doctor! What shall we do? There’s just been a phone call this very moment. They say Dr.Shirataka’s wife collapsed at Mitsukoshi’s entrance! And then her nosebleed wouldn’t stop—now she’s being nursed at home, they say…”

“That’s no good.” “Around what time was that?”

“They say it was around nine this morning...” “Hmm.” “But that’s an awfully quick phone call, don’t you think?” “Why would they notify my place so quickly?” “But Doctor, “In your recent letter, you did promise that we must meet at the upcoming Kanoe-Inu Society meeting, did you not?” “Uh-huh. “Did you see that letter?” “Oh. “I did not see it at all.” “But you see,” “The upcoming Kanoe-Inu Society meeting is a general one, isn’t it?” “Since it’s Meiji Festival…”

“Hmm.” “I didn’t know at all.”

“Oh, but the invitation came the other day, didn’t it?”

"I don't know." "I didn't see it." "What did it say?" "It said something like... Since this Kanoe-Inu Society meeting coincides with Meiji Festival, they're making it a grand gathering after so long, so they want hospitals outside Tokyo City to apply too." "Where could that invitation have gone?" "Hmm." "That sounds interesting." "What's the membership fee?" "I believe it was ten yen..." "That's pricey." "Ohoho. "But there was a handwritten addendum in pen from Dr. Shirataka, the secretary, saying 'Dr. Usuki must absolutely attend.'"

“Hmm.” “I think I’ll go check it out.”

“I was certain you would come, Doctor.” “Then when I pressed Dr.Shirataka over the phone later - ‘You mustn’t make any mistakes this time’ - he said ‘Mm-hmm.’” “‘A letter came from Usuki-kun too.’” “‘And since I’ve taken on being secretary,’ he declared, ‘this time absolutely, no matter what happens, I’ll go.’” “Then there’d be today’s commotion all over again.” “I’m so frustrated… so frustrated…”

“Idiot! Who in the world would fret over such trifles?” “In any case, it’s a pitiable affair.” “Crude though it is as an opening move, I shall go pay my respects.”

“Oh, Doctor. Right now…?” “Yeah. Right away would be fine, but…” “But Doctor. Three new adenoid patients have arrived.” “Hmm. How do you know? About the nasopharyngeal hypertrophy…” “Ohoho. I simply tried imitating you a little, Doctor. After listening to their complaints and having them open their mouths, when I press my fingertip toward the back of their nose, the hypertrophy immediately touches my finger.”

“Idiot... Don’t meddle with pointless imitations.” “...But the patients kept anxiously pestering me with questions about the surgery... So when I touched the hypertrophy in the third patient—the littlest child—suddenly they bit down on me... Like this...”

and showed the bandaged middle finger of her left hand near the base. “...Look. Don’t go doing such meddlesome imitations from now on.” After issuing this admonition, I proceeded with my usual examination, but she showed no sign of attempting to stop me from going to visit.

However, when my rest period from 1:00 to 3:00 PM arrived and I tried to return to my nearby home in Momijizaka, she once again came running up to me at the entrance, repeatedly bowing her head.

“Doctor, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I would like to request some time off starting this afternoon, if I may.”

“Yeah. Since there are no surgeries today, you may go out... but where are you headed?”

"Um... I wish to visit Dr. Shirataka's wife to pay my respects." "I feel I simply must pay a visit at least once... because I think..." “Yeah.” “That’s perfect timing.” “I’m also thinking of going tonight, so please tell them that.” “Thank you very much.” “Then I shall take my leave.” “Take care on your way. The weather should be clearing up soon.” I think this was the first time she and I had exchanged words in such a quietly somber, melancholic tone. Shall I say I had some vague premonition? Or perhaps what my nerves sensed at this moment was the unbearable melancholy within her own heart—a self-awareness so acute it bordered on excess—of how she was already being relentlessly driven toward an inescapable catastrophe regarding Dr. Shirataka...

As usual after closing the hospital, I returned home to Momijizaka through the yellow evening sun after the rain and finished my dinner. In the course of this, as I was chatting in a relatively cheerful mood about today’s events concerning Mrs. Shirataka, my wife Matsuko—who had been silently serving—suddenly came out with something extraordinary.

“Oh dear. I have a feeling there’s something really off about Ms. Himekusa’s story.” “...Hmm... What’s strange about it?” “I’ve been thinking that way for some time now. The fact that you couldn’t meet Dr. Shirataka—the one Ms. Himekusa introduced—was so unbearably strange to me.” “Oh, come on. It was just bad timing.” “No. That’s what’s strange. But don’t you think the timing is just too perfectly awful? I somehow feel Ms. Himekusa is setting things up—scheming and scheming to prevent any meeting whatsoever, you know.”

“Ha ha ha.” “That’s exactly your kind of thing—‘someone you just can’t meet.’” “Detective novels, detective novels…”

I should note that my wife Matsuko had been a devoted reader of detective magazines like "Mystery and Horror" since her girls' school days, and perhaps due to her obsession with those magazines, her mind operated differently from ordinary women. Guessing someone's mahjong wait was child's play for her—she could leisurely uncover scams hidden in three-line job postings during her spare time. Or from observing women's clothing on trains, she would criticize how their lifestyles didn’t match their incomes… she possessed what you might call a peculiar brand of morbid curiosity. While my own wife did occasionally engage in uncanny behaviors and annoyances, it remains true that I harbored no small unease regarding these peculiar workings of her mind.

So at this time as well, I had not the slightest inclination to mistake the suspicions toward Nurse Himekusa for ordinary jealousy. I merely thought her bizarre detective novel obsession was acting up again... Yet despite this, I distinctly sensed an omen that her suspicions toward Himekusa Yuriko might blossom into some grave incident, so resolving to leave no stone unturned, I decided to at least examine her theory.

“It may seem strange—downright strange—that I can’t meet Dr. Shirataka no matter what, but seeing is believing.” “I’m going out tonight determined to meet him by any means necessary, so isn’t that just fine?”

“Yes… But when you meet him… I can’t help feeling some terrible mistake will occur… I…” “Ahaha.” “The moment they meet—kaboom—does a bomb go off or something?” “Yes. "I have a premonition of exactly that sort." “There was that newspaper article about a captured artillery shell that never exploded no matter how many times they struck it, but then went off from just a slight roll and wrecked everything, remember?” "This situation now resembles that one, doesn't it?" “Somehow, my heart is racing.”

“Ahaha.” “Now that’s truly a taste for the grotesque.” “And a comic book taste to boot.” “Adamson or something like that…” “Oho ho.

“It’s an even more terrifying premonition than that!” “Ahaha. That’s morbid taste.” “Even so, if I don’t meet him today, what on earth will become of this whole mess…”

“No. I believe tonight you will surely meet Dr. Shirataka. Then everything will become clear, I do believe.” “What a great detective you are. Why would you be able to meet him?” “Where is tonight’s Kōjutsu-kai being held?”

“As expected, the Marunouchi Club.”

“If you go there now, I’m certain Dr. Shirataka will come.”

“Don’t be absurd. Why would he come when his wife is ill?” “Pfft.” “You’re such a fool.” “You still believe that?” “The whole business about Mrs. Shirataka’s collapse…” “Of course I believe it… That’s why I’m going to visit her, aren’t I?” “Stop going to visit her... I’m telling you—act oblivious and just try attending the Kōjutsu-kai meeting.” “Because the real Dr. Shirataka will surely be there…”

“……The real Dr.Shirataka.” “Hmm.” “So you’re saying this Dr.Shirataka we’ve known until now was just a shadow puppet fabricated by Himekusa Yuriko?”

“Yes, exactly. I simply can’t shake this feeling. That girl’s claims about coming from a wealthy family strike me as dubious at best—and her stated age of nineteen must surely be an outright fabrication...”

“I’m shocked. How do you know?” “I… There was a time when I stared fixedly from the pharmacy window at that girl standing still in the hospital corridor, her profile lost in thought over something. When I did, several small wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes and along her jawline. No matter how I looked at her, she appeared to be nothing but a woman of twenty-five or twenty-six.” “Hmm. Somehow this story has grown monstrously out of hand. Himekusa Yuriko’s true identity keeps fading away bit by bit. Like a ghost…”

“That’s not all.” “Just from that single glance at her profile—I tell you—she looked like some desperately poor wretch of a girl from a miserable household.” “She’d taken on the stooped posture of an old woman.” “Like this...”

“Ghost stories, ghost stories. Some monster going ‘Eee…’ followed by a bloodcurdling shriek—is that what we’re in for?”

“Stop teasing me.” “This is serious.” “In other words, she normally deceives everyone with makeup and a cheerful attitude to appear youthful and innocent, but when she thinks nobody’s watching and broods like that, she completely lets her guard down—that’s why her true nature shows through in such a way.” “Ugh.” “Here comes the great detective herself!” “You should become a detective novelist.” “You’ll surely succeed.” “Oh! I’m being perfectly serious.” “She burns with self-intensity.” “That woman is truly uncanny.”

“You’re the far more uncanny one here.” “How detestable!” “I don’t care!”

“Why don’t you try thinking with a bit more common sense? In the first place—that girl—what possible reason could Himekusa Yuriko have for concocting such an elaborate fabrication? The motive remains entirely unclear. The sheer volume of gifts she’s brought in up to now—the sum involved isn’t some trivial amount, you realize. On top of that, she even fabricated another Dr. Shirataka out of thin air—had him make phone calls, guide people to Kabuki performances, send Castella cakes, catch colds, make house calls to Hiratsuka, have his wife collapse at Mitsukoshi’s entrance… For a fabrication, that’s quite the elaborate effort, I tell you. And when you consider the sheer effort she’s expended to deceive even us to this extent—just imagining it sends shivers down your spine, doesn’t it?”

“...I... believe all of it stems from that girl’s vanity.” “As for that kind of person’s feelings... I believe I understand them.” “Ugh.” “That’s a suspicious conclusion.” “What a dreadfully wasteful vanity requiring such bone-breaking effort!”

“Yes. You see...” “She wants so desperately—so desperately—to be seen as diligent.” “That girl’s vanity lies in her obsessive need to be trusted—to be so desperately trusted—by everyone.” “That’s why she spews these fabrications.”

“That’s the first absurdity right there. In the first place, where’s the need to go to such lengths to gain my trust? Her nursing skills are properly recognized, and whether her family is wealthy or poor has no bearing on her qualifications or credibility as a nurse. I don’t think Himekusa could be such a fool as to not understand something that basic.”

“Yes. “Of course I understand that. “No matter what kind of woman she might be, she’s currently our hospital’s precious mascot—I’d think you’d hesitate to suspect her or anything… Yet around the 2nd or 3rd of every month, mentions of Dr.Shirataka appear as regular as a stamped seal imprint, don’t they?” “That’s strange…”

“That’s because the Kōjutsu-kai meetings occur around that time.” “But… it still feels strange, I tell you.” “That must be exactly why we can’t meet him… Ohoho…”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling you! It’s simply a matter of unfortunate timing...” “But that’s precisely my point! What I’m saying is how strange it all is. The timing isn’t just unfortunate—it feels downright uncanny, don’t you think?”

“Stop it, stop it. “Nonsense.” “Whenever I argue with you, the discussion always goes around in circles.” “Mystical my ass.” “If I meet Shirataka-kun, I’ll figure it out.” “...Tea...””

I silently set down my dinner chopsticks and changed into my newly tailored frock coat. Even as I found my wife's mind—she alone having doubted to this extent the true identity of Himekusa Yuriko, whom no one else suspected—irritatingly meddlesome...

"Anyway tonight I must meet Shirataka-kun without fail." "I'll overturn every stone and peel back every tile if need be." "Ha ha ha." "What an absolute disaster this has become..."

It must have been around eight-thirty in the evening when I, having splurged two yen on a taxi from Sakuragicho, arrived at the Marunouchi Club in Uchisaiwaicho. Truth be told, having things proceed exactly as that woman predicted was gallingly irritating under these circumstances, but the moment he boarded the automobile his mood transformed—for he found himself preferring this direct approach to the straightforward Marunouchi Club over fumbling through automobile journeys in Shimorokubanchō's cramped labyrinthine darkness.

At the club entrance, when I asked the attendant, “The Kōjutsu-kai meeting is this evening.” “Everyone has been gathered since around seven o’clock, and the program has already progressed quite far.” was the reply. I silently followed the attendant’s guidance up the spacious cork-covered staircase, but as I ascended, I became aware of the swelling din of records and dance that filled the floor. I am new to dance, but I have considerable confidence. Jazz, tango, Fox Trot, Shoe Shine, One-step—I’m versed in them all, Yokohama-trained. What was now playing seemed to be the Marquina variation of the Spanish One Step—a buoyant, lively tune so infectious that as I climbed the stairs, I felt tempted to place my hand on the attendant’s shoulder.

I was thoroughly taken aback. The Kōjutsu-kai—which I'd always imagined as some staid academic symposium with tea service—turned out to be this riotous affair! Now I understood why they charged ten yen for membership—and had to acknowledge Mr. Shirataka’s hidden talents as an organizer. If I’d known it would be like this, I wouldn’t have bothered with this ridiculous frock coat… Such were my thoughts as I was ushered into what looked like a waiting room. Every surface—walls, tables, chairs, even the damned side tables—lay buried under mountainous heaps of hats and coats. Enough for fifty or sixty people at least. It was quite the turnout for a professional gathering.

“Please wait here for a moment.” “I’ll go summon him now…”

With that, the attendant pressed open the door on his right and entered the venue. The jazz music abruptly swelled in volume, and the interior of the venue came into fleeting view - but when I saw its bustling state, I stood utterly astonished.

Beyond the door lay an astonishingly vast hall where what seemed like multicolored bubbles swaying hazily across the ceiling revealed themselves to be balloons that had escaped from the members' hands. Beneath them swirled men and women clad in a kaleidoscopic array of tuxedos, long-sleeved kimonos, suits, and ballgowns, each back bearing several suspended balloons. This undulating mass of balloons rose and fell in rhythm with the surging music like some mysterious circular rainbow, gently leaping upward again and again until they swirled throughout the entire hall. I had barely registered these peach and aquamarine-hued beams of light when—snap—the door shut tight behind me.

As soon as the door closed, the record player's sound ceased. No sooner had the commotion of dancing died out than the very door that had just shut was flung open from the opposite side, sending five or six men in tuxedos—topped with triangular paper hats striped red and white—tumbling tumultuously into the room where they collapsed in a heap across the couch before my eyes. Collars twisted sideways... cuffs hanging loose... some with faint crimson lipstick smeared theatrically by their nostrils... all thoroughly soused, paying me no mind as they piled onto the couch, limbs flailing drunkenly over one another.

“Ah… I’m drunk.” “Hey... I’m drunk...” “Ah, how delightful… What a wonderful night this is…” “Yeah. Wonderful… Director Shirataka’s skills are formidable. Wonderful, wonderful... Yeah, just wonderful.”

"I was shocked," I thought. "To have three dance halls running at full tilt... That's a trick only Shirataka-kun could manage." "...Shirataka-kun banzai!..." One man bellowed through his alcohol-slurred voice. As he strained open his bleary eyes and tried rising with hands uplifted, he suddenly noticed my presence and tumbled backward onto his rear. Oblivious to his friend's head trapped beneath his hips—fingers clawing futilely at empty air—he braced both palms on his knees and scrutinized my frock coat through crimson-glazed eyes before suddenly grinning and licking his lips.

“Heh heh... The magician’s arrived.” “What’s this…” “Magic show…” “Where’s it happening?” “There. “He’s standing right there!” “What’s this…” “You’re the magician?” “Too late now, pal.” “Damn it!” “The show’s already over, pal.” I suddenly grew so uncomfortable I wanted to bolt. It wasn’t their rudeness that rankled me. Standing rigid as a post in this absurd outfit, having barged into such a place—I felt wretched, my anger mounting. Yet having come this far, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without meeting Mr. Shirataka.

“Hey.” “Did you get one? A fiancée…” “Yeah.” “I’ve managed two or three.” “Two or three… You liar!”

“Look at this misprint!” “Hey!” “Treat us! Get ’em here!”

“You never know till tomorrow comes—ain’t no way to tell yet. Your fiancée might just turn into a fool-iance—” “Ah ha ha!” “Ain’t wrong!” “There’s these cancellation dames nowadays, y’know.” “In the tuxes—they’re dissolving ’em, y’know.” “Checkin’ if the tuxes pass muster first...” “They’ve started.” “Won’t get hoodwinked no more, pal.” “Haaah... Aaah... All that yappin’ ’bout this ’n’ that... Gotta get your hands on ’er to know... Ah hah.” “Can’t ya say somethin’...”

“Hey! Modern magic applies the Tambourine Cabinet... A scene of dissolution mid-tuxedo procession. If this humble performance meets your esteemed gaze, our next act... Well now, the master shall wait beneath the curtain for the time being.” “Yeeaahhh——ooohh (clapping) How’s that, Frock-coated Doctor? Why don’t you hire us?” I had finally become desperate to flee when the door across from me quietly opened. Just as I froze in apprehension, a gentleman who had stiffened as much as I entered, preceded by the same waiter from earlier. He was a lanky middle-aged gentleman wearing an authentic dance suit with a white waistcoat, holding a red-and-white striped triangular hat in his right hand. With a business card resting on his left palm, he repeatedly compared it to my face before stopping in front of me, his pallid, melancholy features fixed in a downward stare.

The drunken men on the sofa fell silent. Each of them began comparing the gentleman’s face and mine, their curious eyes gleaming.

I possessed one photograph of Mr. Shirataka from my time at Kyushu Imperial University. It showed all members of the otolaryngology department at Kyushu Imperial University, centered around Dr. K, the director. Whenever Mr. Shirataka came up in conversation, I would show it to my wife and sister while reminiscing about that era.

Therefore, at this moment, I could immediately recognize that this gentleman was Dr. Shirataka. And so, from the depths of my heart, I felt both relief and delight at having met with such ease the man I had been unable to encounter through all those long years. I was first taken aback by how considerably Dr. Shirataka's hair had receded from his forehead to the back of his head. Though struck by this belated sense of past meeting present, having wholeheartedly believed—based on Nurse Himekusa's accounts—that Dr. Shirataka was an exceptionally open-hearted and humorous man, I abruptly bowed my head.

“Oh! Why, if it isn’t Dr. Shirataka! I am Usuki. Thank you very much for the other day.” With a smile, I took a step or two closer. As an indescribable nostalgia and a sense of deliverance swirled within my chest... However, I had no choice but to be taken aback in the very next moment. Facing Dr. Shirataka—who had returned a slight bow with evident distaste, his expression bitter and unpleasant, his attitude one of utmost solemnity and silence—I stood stiff as a rod for a full two or three minutes, forced to remain rooted in place mere steps away from him. I think Mr. Shirataka must have been startled by my sudden and presumptuous manner of meeting him, leaving him quite taken aback. Moreover, if someone with whom you haven’t exchanged words in ages were to suddenly say something like “Thank you for the other day,” anyone would naturally be on guard. Perhaps Mr. Shirataka, being accustomed to such matters and acting as an organizer, had mistaken me for one of these so-called “frock gangs” that disrupt dance parties, but the exact circumstances remain unclear. Be that as it may, after two or three minutes of standing rigidly while glaring at each other like this, I finally could bear it no longer and uttered the following words.

“Well… After missing the chance to meet you time and time again… I’m finally relieved to have met you at last.” This second greeting of mine had grown considerably close to stiff diplomatic formality, I thought—yet Mr.Shirataka remained with both hands thrust in his pockets, still staring me down. ...as though he sensed danger in conversing with someone of inscrutable nature. And so, as another ten seconds of silence dragged on, the two-step record from the hall surged forth again with a WAAANNN—blaring out once more.

Ice-cold sweat trickled from my armpits. Once again unable to bear it, I moved my lips. “By the way… How is your wife’s illness?” “Uh…” The moment I saw Mr. Shirataka’s look of astonishment at that instant, I thought all was lost. "My wife... Kumiko... Has something happened?"

“Yes. At Mitsukoshi’s entrance... I heard she collapsed...” “What?!” “When was this?” “...Around nine... this morning...”

A sudden burst of roaring laughter exploded. The group of tuxedo-clad men who had been sitting on the sofa listening intently began doubling over and rolling around. Some exaggerated their laughter so much that they slid down onto the floor. I was plunged into extreme panic. While thinking “Those rude bastards…”, I abruptly glared at their faces—though glaring at them was likely impossible.

Before long, Mr. Shirataka’s lips, having regained their color, began to move quietly.

“That’s strange.” “My wife... Kumiko has been saying since this morning that she needs to write the church bulletin and hasn’t gone anywhere.” “She was safely at home...” “What?! So it was all a lie?” “Then...” “...A lie?” “I... I haven’t said anything yet, but... this being my first time meeting you...” Another burst of roaring laughter erupted... “...That Himekusa Yuriko... Damn her...” Mr. Shirataka suddenly bulged his eyes and staggered half a step backward—but immediately regained his footing and recovered his former solemn demeanor. Breathing anxiously with a worried look, he peered into my face.

“Himekusa... Himekusa Yuriko has... done something again?” “...Huh…!” I could only compound my panic upon panic. “Are you... suggesting she’s done something else again... Doctor?” “Doctor… Did you know that woman… Yuriko from before?”

The moment I realized how absurdly inconsistent this question I had blurted out was—how utterly self-contradictory—I distinctly felt my knees clattering beneath me. With a desperation that made me want to cry out "Someone help me...", I waited for Mr. Shirataka's next words.

At that moment, the sound of a different waiter running up the stairs could be heard.

“Is Dr. Usuki from Yokohama present here?” “It’s me, it’s me…”

I turned around with a sigh of relief. “There’s a phone call. From the Minyūkai Headquarters—” “From the Minyūkai Headquarters… What do you mean, someone?” “I don’t know who it is, but a Diet member who came from Yokohama has collapsed at the headquarters—he’s got a nosebleed that won’t stop… They’re asking you to come immediately…” “Wait—was the caller’s voice male or female…?” “A lady’s voice… Young…”

The waiter smirked for some reason. “...That’s absurd... How could I possibly go examine someone who won’t even give their name?” “Go ask for the name.” “And tell whoever brings a business card to come fetch me.” This must have been interpreted by the gentlemen present as my grand theatrical pose to conceal embarrassment, but in truth, my state of mind at that moment permitted no such leisurely contemplation—the words “collapse” and “nosebleed” struck me like a physical blow, instantly recalling her earlier report that morning about Mrs. Shirataka.

She... Himekusa Yuriko must have witnessed firsthand how ENT specialists panic when confronted with unstoppable nosebleeds. Having discovered through some means that I'd treacherously attended the Kōjutsu-kai meeting, she—in her panic—must have tried disrupting my conference with Mr. Shirataka through this clumsy tactic of foisting two identical cases on me in one day. Was this some desperate gamble born of dire circumstances? While coincidence couldn't be entirely ruled out, my newly suspicious mind refused to accept that explanation. In that moment, I glimpsed my own position—how neatly I was being fitted into the clockwork mechanisms of her... of Himekusa Yuriko's unfathomable mind.

Never in my life had I experienced such a cascade of meaningless panic as I did at that moment. I merely gave a brief bow to the assembled gentlemen and Mr. Shirataka, then hurried out of the room without a word. While letting the renewed burst of laughter, the ensuing roaring guffaws, and the jazz melody swirling splendidly all wash over the back of my frock coat, I fled down the stairs in disarray. I hailed a passing taxi and raced to Tokyo Station. Then, to calm myself down, I deliberately bought a second-class ticket and jumped onto the Sakuragichō-bound train. Somehow I felt as if some grave incident had occurred at my Yokohama home... Even considering the narrative patterns of the detective novels my wife devoured—where major disasters befall empty households precisely nine times out of ten in such circumstances... These imaginings kept welling up in my mind one after another without conscious effort, driving me deeper into unbearable restlessness and anxiety. My pulse at that time must certainly have been beating over a hundred times per minute.

Yet no sooner had I plopped down onto the soft cushion of the empty second-class car and blown out a puff of Nana cigarette smoke than another significant shift occurred in my state of mind. As I watched Ginza's neon signs slip past through the window—their beauty accentuated by the fine drizzle—I began to recognize with increasing acuity that I myself must currently be standing bewildered, endlessly bombarded by incomprehensible forces without meaning or respite.

...Why did I rush out to Anna in such a panic? Why didn't I press further and ask Mr.Shirataka about Himekusa? I realized Mr.Shirataka had spoken as if he knew far more about her... yet I hadn't known whether I'd ever get to meet him again.

...In any case, it was certain that Mr. Shirataka and Himekusa Yuriko were not entirely unrelated. Apart from what I knew, Himekusa Yuriko must have known something about Mr. Shirataka, and Mr. Shirataka must have known something about Himekusa Yuriko as well, yet... As I continued thinking this way, the blazing Paso Doble march that had been swirling through Marunouchi Club's grand hall began drifting through my mind once more. I found myself growing inclined to trust her again. However much I considered it, I couldn't discover why she would need to create such an elaborate, persistent fabrication to entrap us. Rather, it occurred to me that perhaps even before Himekusa Yuriko could deceive me, I might already have been duped by Mr. Shirataka... What's more, I now recalled how utterly different the cheerful tone of Mr. Shirataka's voice I'd heard over the phone had been from the hoarse, subdued voice of the man I'd met today.

…That’s right. Mr. Shirataka might be deliberately maintaining such an icy demeanor to mock a provincial junior like me. He could be scheming to have a grand laugh about this afterward. Attending Tokyo’s Kōjutsu-kai meeting to mingle with this field’s genuine elite was both an honor and strategic boon for a rural practitioner like myself—precisely why Mr. Shirataka, from his superior position, likely anticipated my attendance and disguised his nature in that affected manner to execute various pranks.

……Yes, yes. That would be a plausible explanation. Because that had gone precisely according to plan, they might all have been laughing like that. ...And...though I had come to consider even such things, this was likely nothing more than facts inferred through comparison with myself—a man who by nature loved such pranks and qualified as a petty criminal not quite bad enough for prison. At the same time, I recognized how greatly the preconceptions about Mr. Shirataka's character implanted by Himekusa Yuriko were influencing me, but in any case, unless I somehow anchored my thoughts in such reasoning to calm myself, an utterly irrational terror would immediately swell up within me, making it feel impossible to remain seated on this train even for thirty minutes without freezing stiff. Even so, as the train rattled and shook, racing westward across the dark plain, I became unbearably terrified—so much that I nearly wanted to jump off midway—caught in an undercurrent of that detective-novel-like inexplicable, uneasy excitement. When I returned to Yokohama, would my family and my hospital—along with Himekusa Yuriko—have vanished somewhere... something like that…

I wonder around what time it was when I arrived at Sakuragichō Station. From there, as I hurried along the rain-dampened road toward my nearby home in Momijizaka with my heart in turmoil, suddenly from the darkness at the base of the bridge behind me— “...Dr. Usuki...” A sorrowful voice calling out reached my ears, and as if I had anticipated it, I jolted to a standstill. That was undoubtedly Yuriko's voice. Yuriko appeared exactly as she had when going out that afternoon, carrying a black men's Western-style umbrella, her white collar makeup visible even in the night darkness, though perhaps it was my imagination—the edges of her eyelids seemed to have darkened.

She opened the Western-style umbrella and drew near me furtively, as though to avoid being seen. Then she asked in a gloomy voice that had lost all trace of her usual cheerfulness, yet spoke with crisp clarity.

“Doctor. “You attended the Kōjutsu-kai meeting…?” “Yeah. “I went.” “You met Dr. Shirataka…?” “...Yeah... I met him.” “Dr. Shirataka was pleased…”

“No, he was stiff as a board. Strange man, that Dr....” I had meant to say this with a sarcastic edge, but she—as if she'd anticipated such words all along—flashed me a fleeting glance before nodding with a lonely smile playing at her cheek. “Yes, I knew it would be so. But Doctor... Dr. Shirataka isn't truly that sort of person, you know.”

“Hmm... So he’s actually a cheerful man after all?”

“Yes. “He’s such an intriguingly ingenious person…” “That’s strange… Then… why did he take such a disrespectful attitude toward me?” “Doctor… I’ve been standing here since this afternoon, waiting for your return because I wanted to speak with you about that matter.” "But... I didn’t know whether you’d return by train or car, you see." As she spoke, she appeared to dab her face with her gaudy crepe sleeve two or three times, yet maintaining the crisp demeanor of a young girl with a tone tinged with indignation, she began to relate the following astonishing fact.

I set down here without concealment the astonishing secret concerning Dr.Shirataka's household that I heard from her at that time. This by no means intended to blaspheme the sanctity of Dr.Shirataka's household—I firmly believed it served to confess how profoundly I respected and trusted his character. At the same time, because I believed there was sufficient evidence to demonstrate how astonishingly lifelike Himekusa Yuriko's genius for fabrication truly was. How brilliantly and artistically she had resolved—through techniques of ten-topic storytelling and dramatic adaptation—such a catastrophically wretched scene that ordinary people's mundane fabrications could never salvage, employing her own unique genius for fabrication conceived in an instant.

I walked alongside her on the sidewalk of Sakuragichō’s tram street—a river of light and noise nearing midnight—listening with rapt attention to her continuing narrative of what she called astonishing truths. Mr. Shirataka… the Mr. Shirataka who today had appeared the very model of solemnity—during his tenure at K University’s Department of Otorhinolaryngology—had treasured and doted upon Himekusa Yuriko beyond measure. And when nights on duty came, Mr. Shirataka’s affection toward her would repeatedly threaten to cross a certain boundary.

However, naturally, she did not welcome that. Her aspiration had been to first establish herself as a nurse of considerable standing and education, obtain qualifications to become a female physician, marry a gentleman she believed in, and open a practice in the heart of Tokyo... then make a triumphant return to her hometown hand in hand... making this her lifelong objective. Thus, terrified of becoming another's plaything without cause, she finally resolved herself to desperate extremes and took her appeal directly to Mrs.Kukiko, Dr.Shirataka's wife.

Yet Mrs. Kukiko was, just as Yuriko had imagined, a truly wise and virtuous woman. In such situations, ordinary women would turn a blind eye to their husbands' transgressions while cursing and loathing the innocent female counterpart to death; however, the understanding Mrs. Kukiko—who thought only of her husband's ultimate well-being—was immensely pleased with Yuriko's chaste conduct. Cherishing her beyond measure, she wished to keep Yuriko at their home indefinitely and care for her. To ensure there would be no mistake, from February of that year onward she arranged for Yuriko to stay at their home in Shimorokubancho; yet it was said that even Dr. Shirataka dared not utter a single word of protest against this.

However, Mrs.Kukiko's well-meaning kindness toward her inadvertently led to her losing her position. The new and veteran nurse colleagues who had long envied her exceptional skills as a nurse and now began resenting her excessive favoritism at every turn finally fabricated rumors labeling her as something akin to Associate Professor Shirataka's second wife, spitefully spreading them far and wide. Unable to bear causing further distress to Mrs.Kukiko, Yuriko requested to resign her position. With tears, Mrs.Kukiko consented and granted her an excessive severance payment, leaving Yuriko feeling as if sisters were being separated in life before being taken into her aunt's residence in Shitaya. That occurred in early May of this year, and after searching for employment here and there, she finally settled at Usuki Hospital and breathed a sigh of relief... or so her confession went.

“So you see, I’ve understood perfectly well all along why Dr.Shirataka absolutely refused to meet with you, Dr.Usuki.” “I met Mrs.Shirataka today and told her all the troubles I’ve endured until now.” “If you and Dr.Shirataka were to become the closest of friends—and if once you fully understood the circumstances—you were to dismiss me out of consideration for him… what would become of me? But then Mrs.Shirataka herself shed tears and assured me there was absolutely no need to worry.” “From now on—no matter what may happen—I must never leave your care.” “She even said she’d have me plead my case properly to you… So I returned to Yokohama overjoyed and reassured… But now that you’ve met Dr.Shirataka today—what manner did he adopt? Being the tactful man he is, I’m sure he acted nonchalant about befriending you… Yet when I think harder—men can be so appallingly brazen about these things… Oh, forgive my impertinence.” “Hoho… When I think that way, I grew terrified—utterly terrified—until I simply couldn’t bear it anymore.” “Perhaps Dr.Shirataka may pretend ignorance of everything—using that uncharacteristically brusque first-meeting manner—to make you grow disappointed.” “Then without a word, he might destroy my position.” “When I realized he might make me appear as some fraudulent girl spouting baseless fabrications… I couldn’t sit or stand still—there was nothing left but to wait there for your return.”

“You see... Dr. Usuki.” “Do you remember how when you first told me to introduce you to Dr.Shirataka, I became utterly despondent and was about to refuse?” “At that time, I felt somehow that something like this might happen—I was utterly beside myself—so I hesitated in that manner, but since my precious doctor pleaded so earnestly with me about it, I steeled myself and paid no mind to my own concerns, placing a call to Dr.Shirataka.”

“……Oh…… Dr.Usuki. You must now understand why Dr.Shirataka absolutely refused to meet with you. He had convinced himself you’d already heard everything from me—that’s why he couldn’t bear to face you... Yet you simply had to meet him once. But from his reluctance... I’m certain he resorted to such strategies time and time again. I... understood his feelings all too well... which made me so... so frustrated...”

“……I’m… not some woman who heedlessly babbles about other families’ secrets… Yet you would crush me into some flattened vagrant with no place in this world… When I’ve thought only of your benefit… When I worked so desperately for you at K University… It’s too… too… too cruel……” She flung her black Western umbrella onto the lime-strewn gravel pile by the roadside and, pressing both kimono sleeves to her face, began weeping in convulsive bursts.

When we came to our senses, the two of us had somehow arrived at the stone steps below our home in Momijizaka and stood facing each other. Just then, two or three passersby who looked like laborers turned back to glance at us with peculiar looks—what must we have appeared like in their eyes?

With great effort, I managed to soothe and coax her into returning to the hospital. However, I have no recollection whatsoever of what words I used to console her at that time. Had I remembered, I likely would have spouted nothing but remarks worthy of Mr. Shirataka’s indignation in some manner. Immediately ascending the stone steps beside me, as I opened the weathered corrugated iron lattice door of my home’s entrance at the end of the alleyway, the bonging clock in the inner parlor struck one. Even though I had been walking for nearly twenty minutes, recalling that my standing conversation with her had been quite lengthy, I blushed alone. And then, perceiving the peaceful atmosphere inside the house, I unconsciously let out a sigh of relief and patted my chest.

However, that relief was ultimately nothing more than my fleeting delusion of joy. The bizarre monstrous notion I had been nurturing on the train had indeed struck true with uncanny precision—though in a manner entirely unforeseen.

My sister and wife in nightclothes, slightly agitated as they hurriedly came out to greet me, asked in perfect unison the moment they saw my face. As if about to seize me by the lapels,

“Did you meet Dr.Shirataka—” they proceeded to interrogate him from both sides. “Yeah, I met him.”

“And Ms. Himekusa...” “I was just speaking about that up to this point.” My sister and wife exchanged glances. The two women’s cheeks were etched with unmistakable terror. As I removed my mouse-gray fedora while gazing at their faces, I was struck by an eerie chill—as though I had discovered myself standing upon a midnight page torn from a detective novel. “What sort of conversation did you have with Ms. Himekusa?”

“Hmm. Well, why don’t you all start talking.”

“Why don’t you try telling us first?” “...Idiots... It’s the same damn thing.” “Go on, talk.” “But you…”

“Let’s go to the living room.” “My throat is dry.” Then, as I drank hot bancha and listened to the two women’s story, somehow... the strange domestic tragedy that had been unfolding on the stage of my mind until that very moment had, before I knew it, undergone a whirling transformation. During my absence, a call had been placed to Usuki Hospital from Mrs. Shirataka Kumiko, who was supposed to be bedridden due to illness. This appeared to be the result of Assistant Professor Shirataka—who had met with me approximately two hours earlier—promptly calling his home in Shimo-Rokubancho, and it was Mrs. Shirataka who, in an exceedingly calm and supremely amicable tone, had issued a warning to my family.

It was apparently Matsuko, my wife, who answered the call, but what she heard from Mrs. Shirataka at that time was said to be filled with matters truly heart-stopping to a woman's ears. Of course, Himekusa Yuriko’s words contained a grain of truth. She was indeed beyond doubt the same Himekusa Yuriko who had been at K University’s ENT Department. That her nursing skills were an unparalleled genius-level marvel remained indisputable; however, it is said to have been common knowledge that she was simultaneously an equally unparalleled genius in fabrication whose deceptions matched that marvel in astonishment.

When a somewhat socially prominent person was admitted to K University’s ENT department, Himekusa Yuriko would use her uniquely agile diplomatic skills to push others aside and spare no effort in providing nursing care. And she would invariably maneuver such people into declaring her first and foremost as Himekusa. As a result, she would frequently flaunt to her colleagues the valuables she claimed to have received from such patients—though how she had acquired them remained unclear—with evident pride.

Not only that. She would nonchalantly spread rumors about being engaged to someone from these families of standing... only to ultimately shamelessly confess(?) to the head nurse that she needed an abortion after supposedly carrying the child of some movie actor who had been hospitalized long before, then take extended leave from the hospital. Moreover, she would earnestly spread rumors with her own mouth about her relationships with various doctors... In this manner, her conduct became so egregiously disruptive that ultimately, through Professor Ōnagi's benevolence as director of K University’s ENT department, she was compelled to resign under the guise of persuasion.

However, Mrs. Shirataka Kumiko, who had long been a devout Methodist, had always harbored a certain sympathy for such vices of hers. Seeming to deeply lament both her talent and future prospects, she took her into her household the moment she was dismissed from the hospital, sparing no effort to educate her against fabricating lies—an attempt to suppress her vices through the holy name of Christ. Yet for Yuriko, this environment had apparently become unbearably constricting. Having finally left the Shirataka household without permission and vanished into obscurity, just as Mrs. Kumiko worried day and night about her whereabouts, Yuriko suddenly called around early June that year to announce she was now at Yokohama's Usuki Hospital. She claimed to have completely abandoned her fabrications since then and, as Dr. Usuki now trusted her earnestly, wished for her past misdeeds to remain secret—a story delivered in her most characteristic fashion, it was said.

However, not only did the Shirataka couple—who knew her character all too well—refrain from readily believing her words, but since then, they had been plagued by an indescribable anxiety. That woman had wormed her way into the Usuki household, spewing plausible fabrications, and must be intending to disrupt the family. Fearing that Yuriko might be making Dr.Usuki believe some outrageous lies about K University and the Shirataka household as well, Mrs.Shirataka had discreetly sent several casual inquiry letters addressed to Matsuko, his wife, via Usuki Hospital’s address regarding Yuriko’s conduct—but those letters had likely been intercepted by her, as no reply ever came.

Mrs.Shirataka's anxieties grew increasingly intense at this juncture. Could it be that the Usuki household members—who had completely believed every word of that master liar—had resolved to contemptuously shun the Shiratakas altogether? Yet resorting to overly persistent and urgent measures to establish contact with the Usukis would make them appear flustered—absurd even—and so, torn by these conflicting hesitations, they sank ever deeper into an indescribably absurd and unpleasant anxiety. Particularly timid and neurotic Mr.Shirataka seemed gripped by extreme dread of Yuriko's vices; lately whenever the couple met, they discussed nothing else—until today when he met Dr.Usuki and found his demeanor thoroughly peculiar, prompting Mrs.Shirataka to suggest making a telephone inquiry. Dr.Usuki appeared extremely restless and agitated, but since that woman might have caused fresh trouble again, it would be better to place the call promptly. According to Mrs.Kumiko's account—relaying her husband's words about whether Yuriko would answer—Matsuko, who had been listening, blushed so violently she could no longer remain at the telephone.

Yet even so Matsuko—now simultaneously enveloped in unbearable anxiety—summoned her courage to prolong the call and pressed Mrs.Kumiko with further questions... only to discover that everything Himekusa Yuriko had claimed up to that day was fundamentally baseless from start to finish. It was revealed that every last detail—Dr.Shirataka’s house call to Hiratsuka; their supposed Kabukiza Theater visit; Mrs.Kumiko’s collapse at Mitsukoshi’s entrance; even Himekusa’s condolence visit—had been fabricated through her astonishing falsehoods.

As I listened to that story, I felt as though I were increasingly coming under high-voltage electricity. Usuki Hospital's mascot. A nursing genius.

I envisioned the scene: the pure, innocent figure of Himekusa Yuriko—who I had thought might be a reincarnated dove of peace—dissolving into the form of an ugly gray skeleton as though placed under an X-ray. At that very moment, while recalling Yuriko descending Momijizaka's dark slope toward the hospital in tears—her movements matching the buoyant rhythm of a Spanish one-step—and while comparing the ashen faces of my sister and wife as they stared fixedly at me, I felt an indescribably bizarre terror creep across my entire back.

At that moment, my wife Matsuko, who had once again prepared fresh tea, let out a long, deep sigh as if to mark a pause in the conversation, then said something strange. “Hey, you. “What a mysterious girl that Himekusa is. “Even though I clearly know I’m being completely deceived through and through—I simply cannot bring myself to hate that girl. “Now I finally understand that Mrs. Shirataka must have doted on that girl with the same feelings as us women. “Until just now, we’ve been talking with your sister about nothing but that matter.”

When I heard these words, I finally made up my mind. Her... Himekusa Yuriko's mysterious, unfathomable charm... When I realized the terrifying magic that had now completely enveloped even my sister and wife, I involuntarily let out a sigh of relief. At the same time, I conceived a means to escape her magical influence that came enveloping me like a beautiful fog... Though it was a somewhat rough, almost cowardly method... Without saying a single word to my sister or wife on purpose, I stood up and once again went to the entrance to put on my hat. Without telling the two women—who were seeing me off with puzzled expressions—where I was going, I put on my shoes. I rushed out into Momijizaka’s thoroughfare with full force—but what a terrifying thing it was! At that moment, even the endlessly overlapping black roofs across the slope below, the flickering advertisement lights, and the pale starlight scattered across them all seemed like nothing but the scattered remnants of her fabrications.

With a shudder, I raced down Momijizaka. I hailed a taxi that happened to be passing by, had it pull up in front of the Toto Daily News branch office near the Kanagawa Prefectural Office, roused Uto Sangoro—the branch chief and my middle school classmate—from sleep, and ascended to the second floor of a nearby chicken restaurant. “This might make for an interesting angle,” I began, using it as my opening to lay out all the facts about her without reserve before finally asking Chief Uto for his opinion on what should be done.

Uto Sangoro, who had been silently listening while twisting and twisting his prized captain's beard, eventually looked at my face and gave a thin, sly smile. He asked in his signature frank tone.

“Hmm.” “So I need to hear one truthful confession from you.” “There’s nothing I need to confess.” “There’s nothing beyond what I’ve already told you—” “Hmm.” “Then there’s no relationship between you and her, right?” “That’s absurd—how rude—I would never…”

“Alright, alright—” “Alright, I get it now.” Uto Sangoro suddenly raised his sailor pipe and shouted.

“Alright, alright—Commie, commie.” “Huh? Commie...? What’s this ‘Commie’...?” “Commie through and through—a damn Commie. No one but reds would pull such bizarre stunts. Right now, her antics match those Commies running underground ops around here. Those fraud geniuses are the only ones left in their ranks these days. Keep sheltering a dame like that, and you’ll be in deep shit before long... You hear me...?”

“Yeah. I suddenly realized. That Commie angle’s too simplistic. But for that girl to be mixed up in something so grandiose...” “No no! That’s exactly why it’s dangerous—making folks think that way’s the terrifying genius of Commie tactics, I tell ya. Gotta be a Red through and through, I tell ya. Commie, commie! Where else’d there be call for such outlandish antics, I ask ya? That Himekusa chit of a girl might be some bigwig keeping connections all over through your hospital, mark my words.”

“Hmm... I can’t say that’s impossible, but to my eyes, I don’t see any such behavior.” “If that kinda thing was obvious, we’d be in real trouble, I tell ya. If someone was plain enough for amateurs like you lot to spot, they’d have been strung up on the gallows ages ago, I tell ya.” “Hmm…” “I suppose so…” “Anyway, that lass ain’t someone we can handle, I tell ya. First off, this kinda story ain’t even worth column space, I tell ya. Let’s go to Chief Tamiya’s place right now.”

“What—?” “Chief Tamiya…”

“Yeah. But he can’t go leavin’ all the work to us, I tell ya.” “Won’t make no shady moves, I swear.”

“Where’s this Tokkō Chief... Is it far?” “Don’t you know?” “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you know? It’s the house next to yours.”

“What—” “Next door…”

“Yeah. The Tamiya household’s the one.” “Careless, you are…” “I’m not a Commie.” “Didn’t notice though…” “That Himekusa girl—her real target might’ve been the house next door rather than yours. Might’ve been cozying up to you for that, I tell ya.” “That’s why I caught on, I tell ya…”

“Ah, I see... As for that Tamiya fellow, I’ve greeted him two or three times at the gate—when they were installing the gas lines, you know. A large, sinister-looking man, I suppose.” “Yeah. That’s it, that’s it. If you know him, that’s all the better, I tell ya. Let’s go right now—wait, hold on—I’ll call the branch office first.”

The conversation accelerated into a rapid-fire tempo. It seemed as though the very depths of the story were drawing near before their eyes, but what exactly would emerge from those depths?

With my heart pounding inexplicably, I jumped into a taxi alongside Uto.

Chief Tamiya of the Tokkō was already sound asleep, but due to his position, he met us in the second-floor parlor without complaint.

Chief Tamiya—a swarthy, imposing figure bearing a long sword like a gang boss—sat upright before his red sandalwood desk in his dotera robe, puffing on an Asahi cigarette as he listened to my account. When I finished, he crossed his arms and glanced at Uto the reporter beside him. He murmured. “Could she be a Communist?” When I heard that, my heart leapt again. Unconsciously leaning forward, I timidly asked. “If she were a Communist, what should we do?”

Chief Tamiya’s eyes glinted coldly. “Let’s have her arrested.” “Wh-what... Arrest... Why...?” “Tomorrow morning... No—this morning, isn’t it? I’ll have detectives at the hospital by daybreak. Until then, ensure that nurse doesn’t escape.” “Th-that’s... That’s quite inconvenient.”

Uto Sangoro tactfully interjected with haste. "The truth is, we've come to ask your assistance regarding that very matter—if Dr. Usuki's newly established practice were to be branded Communist..." "Ah ha ha! Most judicious reasoning indeed. Might I then make this entreaty? Tomorrow morning at the earliest possible hour would be preferable. Could you devise some incontrovertible pretext to send that girl out? Knowing her destination beforehand would prove most advantageous."

“...Understood.” “In that case, let’s proceed as follows:” “I have a large imitation diamond I brought back from the South Seas.” “Both my sister and wife dislike the alexandrite, so I’ve been troubled by what to do with it. Let’s give that to the girl, order her to have it immediately fashioned into a ring, and send her to Matsuyama Jewelry Store in Isezakicho.” “She should depart between nine and ten at the latest... Things will start getting hectic around ten o’clock.”

“Very well.” “However, Reds these days are exceedingly sharp, so if you don’t take considerable care...” “I believe it will be fine. No one knows about my coming here tonight... And I’ve heard my wife mentioned some time ago that she wanted to buy a ring for Ms. Himekusa...” “Ah, I see... “In that case, with such convenient circumstances...”

“Understood.” “Thank you for staying up so late…”

Under such circumstances, I finally fell into such a wretched nervous state that night that I couldn't sleep without taking sleeping pills, though I later learned my sister and wife had been similarly afflicted. The two who had heard every detail from me reportedly spent the night tossing restlessly, their agitation fed by imagining both the inevitability and horror of the dreadful fate soon to descend upon Himekusa Yuriko's delicate shoulders at dawn. Matsuko would drift into slumber only to startle awake, vividly seeing Himekusa Yuriko bound hand and foot being dragged from the hospital. My sister—ever thorough—had even witnessed her lifeless face dangling from gallows so clearly that Matsuko repeatedly had to shake her from these nightmarish visions, a testament to their severity.

Even so, the plan after daybreak went off without a hitch. When my wife Matsuko came to the hospital with an utterly innocent expression and immediately quietly summoned Nurse Himekusa into the pharmacy to press a large alexandrite into her hand, her manner was perfectly natural. Even Yuriko showed not a hint of suspicion; she came flying to me with heartfelt delight, bowing repeatedly to express her thanks. Yet they say my own demeanor at that moment—nodding magnanimously with my usual beaming smile—was every bit the act of a seasoned performer. Later, I was mercilessly teased by my sister about it.

Yet she... Himekusa Yuriko, while mindful of the ten o'clock opening time, hurriedly changed into her kimono and briskly exited through the hospital entrance—the attitudes of my sister, my wife, and I as we watched her retreating figure were so tense that they drew notice from other nurses and patients. Our rigid postures—standing as stiff as rods while seeing her off as if she were some noble personage—were so conspicuous that those behind us asked what was the matter, making this an undeniable blunder. Given that my sister and wife had fled to the washroom in a panic to hide their welling tears, the situation had surpassed mere farce and become utterly incomprehensible.

Himekusa Yuriko did not return as she was.

My sister, wife, and I spent that entire day exchanging pale, haunted looks as if freshly tormented, but after letting a night pass, around eight o'clock the following morning, a first-grader from Chief Tamiya’s neighboring household came to fetch me. Trembling with anxiety as I changed into my kimono and went over, I found Chief Tamiya waiting in the second-floor guest room overlooking Yokohama Port, dressed in the same padded sleeping kimono he had worn two nights prior. When he saw my face, he greeted me with an oddly flushed smile and offered hot tea, his tone far more candid than the day before as he spoke in a casually dismissive manner.

“She’s not a Communist.” “Huh...”

Taken aback, I blinked rapidly and sat up straight. “Despite your considerable efforts…” “Upon investigation, we found no traces of Communist activity... Though she claimed her family was well-off in her hometown, when we inquired via both telephone and telegram, her actual household turned out to be not wealthy at all—rather, in a state of utter destitution.” “It seems their immediate elder brother—an only son of twenty-seven or twenty-eight—first squandered the family fortune down to their storehouse through dissipation, then ran off to Tokyo declaring he’d make his fortune, and has since vanished without a trace. Their elderly parents now wander about with scarcely enough to eat, having no one left to care for them.” “Of course that woman... what was it... ah yes, not a single letter has come from Yuriko either, and that Nara pickle incident you mentioned appears to be among her fabrications.” “The name Himekusa Yuriko isn’t her real one either—apparently her parents’ surname is Hori.” “When entering Keio Hospital, she used her friend’s younger sister’s family register copy to falsify her age upon entry, it seems.” “Her real name is Yumiko, and since Hori Yumiko left her hometown at nineteen following her brother’s footsteps six years ago, Himekusa’s claimed age of nineteen this year must be a fabrication.” “She herself insisted she was twenty-three, though.” “Of course, the report states she never even graduated from girls’ school—so that woman’s a bottomless pit of fraud—who knows how deep her deceptions run…”

"Huh... So she's not a Communist at all then?" "There's absolutely no Red connection. We conducted an exceptionally thorough investigation." "Then what does that make her?"

“Well, you see...” “Ahem.” “You see.” “Ultimately, that woman is nothing more than a pitiful soul.” “She’s deeply moved by your heartfelt kindness.” “She says she wants to spend her whole life at Usuki Hospital.” “‘If being doubted by the Usuki family comes to that,’ she sobs, ‘I’d bite my tongue and die!’” “Huh... Is that true?” “Is that true?” “It’s absolutely true.” “Ha ha ha.” “Come fetch her by ten this morning.” “We merely detained her on communist suspicions—now cleared—so we’ll release her.” “I’ll just tell myself ‘what a shame’... hand her over without another word... Since Dr. Usuki trusts you so completely, I might advise against spinning too many tales...” “She’s a pitiful creature—do keep her on indefinitely.”

“...Huh.” “How strange.” “Then what reason could that woman possibly have had to create such an outrageous fabrication and make us suffer such humiliation?” “Such baseless things...” “Yes. Well, you see.” “We thoroughly investigated that point as well, but it seems to simply be that girl’s trivial habit.” “It appears comparable to a country-bred maid boasting about her hometown—hardly an issue constituting criminal conduct.” “As this now extends into personal secrets, we find ourselves unable to investigate further.” “Ha ha ha.” “In any case, I must apologize for the loss of one gemstone.” “Please continue to keep her and treat her kindly for a long time.” “She’s a pitiful woman, so… I must be off to work now.”

Obtuse as I was, I could discern nothing from Chief Tamiya's attitude. I retreated back, driven away like a clueless fool who noticed nothing. When I proceeded to tell my sister and wife about this matter, the two of them, in their self-satisfaction, raised a triumphant cheer of joy.

“There, you see! It’s not like I didn’t tell you.” “You say ‘It’s not like I didn’t tell you,’ you fool… I haven’t said anything at all! From the start...” “No. I thought so. I never thought Ms. Himekusa of all people was a Communist or anything, but you went and did unnecessary things...” “What do you mean ‘unnecessary things’? At the very least, we’ve clearly established that Himekusa was a fabricator, haven’t we?...”

“But well, that’s a relief.” “It’s nothing... I was just talking with your sister a moment ago.” “If Ms. Himekusa were to return safely, we were discussing whether to dismiss her or not.” “After much discussion, we thought—no matter how you look at it, she’s simply too pitiable—we’d ask you to keep her on... That’s what we were saying... Well.” “Well, that’s a relief.” “Our mascot… We’ll go pick her up right away, the two of us. Right? ... You’ll allow that, won’t you?”

The two of them then energetically got into the automobile and set out. They left without even remembering to serve me breakfast—

It is said that Yuriko clung to my sister's chest in the corridor before the detention cell. Like a five- or six-year-old child,

“I won’t do it again, I won’t do it again, I won’t do it again.” It is said that as she cried out and writhed in anguish, the two of them were at a loss; but when they considered how brutal the interrogation must have been, both my sister and wife were moved to shed silent tears. Then the three of us returned together by automobile, but since yesterday morning’s makeup had completely vanished from Yuriko’s nape, my sister and wife bathed her, changed her undergarments, and caused such a commotion as if a dead person had come back to life—after which I finally let her join me for morning breakfast—but Yuriko merely,

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She kept crying over and over, and the food wouldn't go down her throat properly.

Yet her—Himekusa Yuriko—or rather Hori Yumiko's character—to what unfathomable degree of strange mystery had it been constructed? When I, having deliberately delayed going to work, sat her down in the guest room beside the entrance and tried to hear about the details of her interrogation... what do you suppose happened? The content of that interrogation turned out to be so unexpectedly, astonishingly beyond words. According to her tearful account—she who had been completely stripped of her fabricated veneer and reduced to a pitiful shadow—the manner of interrogation by officers at Isezaki Station was not merely harsh; it defied all reason. She began explaining through sniffles—describing a situation so cloyingly absurd that my sister and Matsuko could no longer remain seated—her voice thick with regret. She vividly recounted everything: from the chief's office with its blazing iron brazier where she had faced plainclothes Chief Tamiya Tokkō, to charcoal embers leaping repeatedly, even down to the ticking of Chief Tamiya's wristwatch.

However, at this particular moment, I was not in the least surprised.

As I continued listening impassively to her story while gazing fixedly at her expression—which grew gradually more excited and eloquent—I discovered an uncanny, beautiful light beginning to shimmer within her eyes, steadily intensifying as I watched. It was an innocence heightened beyond the guilelessness typically seen in the mentally disturbed during agitation—a light of bewitching sensuality that defied description as either ethereal beauty or ghastly allure, brimming with chromatic emotion. As I kept observing this light in her eyes, even my obtuse self gradually came to perceive all hidden truths as clearly as night turns to dawn. From the very depths of the extraordinarily complex and chaotic events that had been shaped by the mysterious workings of her mind up to that day, a truly ordinary yet crystal-clear truth had become transparent.

Impatient as I was, in the middle of her account, I pretended to need the bathroom and slipped into the tearoom. There, I whispered to my wife Matsuko—her face flushed crimson with a strained smile—urgently summoning the nurse who shared living quarters with her at the hospital, and pressed for answers about a certain secret regarding Yuriko. The nurse called forth was one Yamauchi, straight from the countryside. Though fundamentally honest and dutiful—the sort perpetually fidgeting and glancing about—she now sat before us three with her ruddy hands neatly folded on her knees, answering with the unblinking stare of a judo master. As though nursing some vendetta against Himekusa...

“Yes. “Ms. Himekusa’s menstrual cycle was regular.” “Generally around the fourth or fifth day at the beginning of each month.” “Since I’m always made to do the laundry, I’m well aware.” Upon hearing this, I stood up without a moment’s delay and changed into my Western clothes. Leaving everything behind, I sped the automobile to the prefectural Tokkō Division, stormed in, and met with Chief Tamiya, who had just arrived for work. I stated my case without any courtesy or preamble.

“Mr. Tamiya.” “I’ve finally figured it out.” “That woman Himekusa Yuriko who caused you such trouble—whether it’s ovarian or menstrual in nature, I can’t say for certain—is in any case a type of episodic psychotic arising from physiological melancholy.” “I’ve finally understood why her episodes of personal anxiety, outrageous vanity, and spreading groundless rumors were always confined to two or three days before menstruation.” “If you examine my diary, it becomes glaringly obvious.”

“Ah-ha. “I see.” “To tell you the truth, I too had suspected from experience that it might be something like that, but I couldn’t grasp the crux of it... But how did you come to investigate such facts?” “Now—this concerns both our reputations—so I must ask you to speak without reserve: during last night’s interrogation, did that woman say anything about me?”

Even the seasoned Chief Tamiya turned crimson when he heard this question. “Ah-ha! Did you figure it out…? Did she confess after returning to your place?”

“No, no! She didn’t say a word about such things—instead she went on and on about how considerate your interrogation was.” “With such meticulous, vivid details... So when I realized how suspicious this was, I immediately remembered our conversation this morning and couldn’t sit still any longer—that’s why I rushed here.” “She’s a fiend.” “That woman—” Chief Tamiya finally turned crimson and stood rigid in his uniform like a wooden pole.

“No. “You’ve spoken quite frankly. “In that case, I shall also speak for your reference—you, in October... what day was it?” “In the afternoon, did you go to examine a foreigner at the Ashinoko Hotel in Hakone?” “Yes. I went. "The manager of the oil company... an old man named Rarusan." “Did you take that woman with you at that time?” “Take her with me? Don’t be absurd.” “I went alone.” “I see. “So, was Yuriko at the hospital during your absence?”

“Well... she should have been there... since I didn’t take her...” “However, it seems Yuriko was not at the hospital that afternoon.” “Last night I phoned your hospital nurse for verification. According to her account, shortly after your departure, she received a call from a public telephone at Yokohama Station ordering her to prepare immediately and come there, but…”

“Huh. I must say, that’s astonishing. That woman has something of a telephone obsession. She often uses calls to spin fabrications. It appears she answers as if those phantom calls were truly coming through.”

“In any case, given that situation, Yuriko apparently hurriedly did her makeup, dressed in her finest attire, and left the hospital.”

“Pfft. Ridiculous! I couldn’t possibly take a nurse in formal attire to a medical examination!”

“Exactly. When I heard that account, I did think it somewhat strange. Whether you needed to bring a nurse or not should have been known from the moment you departed the hospital.”

“First of all, I wouldn’t use such a suspicious method to take someone out. Ha ha ha.”

“Ha ha ha,” Chief Tamiya said. “But I heard quite a detailed account of that occasion. They say there’s a splendid bathhouse called Valley of Illusions or something in that hotel. Not that I’ve ever been there...” “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Dr. Usuki replied. “I did have dinner at that hotel with a foreigner named Rarusan. He’s probably still there if you care to ask him—the man had developed otitis media alongside severe neurasthenia, so I performed a myringotomy...”

“I see… That story about the bath—the so-called Valley of Illusions or whatever—was absolutely splendid.” “The figures of two people floating between bluish-black rocks were reflected in the ceiling mirror and looked just like pink goldfish, she said… Ha ha ha ha…”

“Ridiculous. When did I go?” “You wouldn’t have gone alone.” “Of course not… What an absurd creature.” “This is utterly unconscionable.” “It’s unconscionable… In fact, though you advised me this morning to continue sheltering her indefinitely, I cannot tolerate such reputation-damaging falsehoods.” “I’ve come to inform you I’ll be expelling her immediately.”

“No, no. “I’m utterly mortified. “I offer my deepest apologies. “Please expel her at once. “This is unconscionable behavior.” “Unconscionable doesn’t begin to cover it. “My own carelessness has caused you such grievous trouble...” “Yet such outrageous specimens do exist in this world. “A first for me. “Someone of that caliber...” “Is that so? “Would you say that sort is truly uncommon? “Even in your own department...” “Among these so-called society ladies and their ilk, those of her caliber abound—but since they commit no prosecutable crimes, they never enter our custody.”

“Or is she even more skilled at fabrication…?”

“That may well be the case. In other words, you might say she's a type of paranoiac. Her family estate being immensely wealthy, herself a genius nurse, a peerless beauty—no man could resist her charms. A woman who delusionally believes that men of status and reputation would immediately take liberties with her... who finds supreme pleasure in making others believe these fantasies. As for the childbirth story mentioned the night before last—if that too came from her own lips, it might not be factual either. For all we know, she might still be a virgin... Ha ha...”

“Ah ha ha ha ha!” “No.” “I suffered terribly.” “Please handle this...”

“Goodbye…”

On my way back after parting with those words, I sent a telegram to her aunt in Shitaya who served as her guarantor. While feeling as though I had awoken from the most absurdly foolish, drawn-out dream... yet still doubting whether this so-called aunt of hers truly existed... The woman who claimed to be her aunt—a hairdresser by trade—trudged over to my home as early as that very evening. A ruddy, plump woman in her forties—her hair styled in a neat bun, wearing a crisp cotton kimono—greeted me with such an energetic voice that it reverberated throughout the neighborhood.

“Oh my... What a hopeless girl she is.” “Well... no.” “I’m not that girl’s aunt or anything of the sort.” “Though I’ll have you know I was born right in the heart of Edo.” “Heh heh... When I had that meningitis surgery at the university ENT department some time back, she cared for me more devotedly than my own kin ever could.” “That’s how she ended up moving in with me, you see.” “She kept clinging to me with ‘Auntie this’ and ‘Auntie that,’ so I had no choice but to become her guarantor... Oh no.” “But here’s the thing— “If that girl stays at my place forever, the neighborhood lads make such a ruckus it’s unbearable.” “What on earth does she tell them?” “She’s a strange one through and through.” “Within two days of arriving, the local boys were already clamoring around my house.” “Like she’s some sort of witch casting spells.” “So please take her away posthaste.” “Said she’d even become my guarantor or whatnot.” “That’s what I told her when I threw her out, but...”

While chattering away about such matters, she briskly entered the tearoom from the kitchen entrance, dusting off her tabi socks all the while. There, she produced an old-fashioned small tobacco case, and while holding a slender silver pipe, lowered her voice further and widened her eyes. While bowing politely to the tobacco tray I had offered... she alternated her gaze between the three of us—astonished that such a formidable guarantor had appeared—scrutinizing each of our faces in turn.

“Speaking of those young men, I just remembered something. That girl’s been the ‘Mystery Woman’ plastered all over Tokyo’s newspapers lately... You’ve heard of her, haven’t you? She’s the real deal, mark my words. ‘Even I could pull off a prank like this,’ she’d say. They say she let it slip after those lads buttered her up. Then everyone started hounding her half-jokingly—asked all sorts of questions—and when it turned out she really was her, they all got spooked, see? After she left, someone came snitching to me... Well, hearing that gave me the chills too. When she went job-hunting once, I peeked into the bundle she’d left behind—guess what I found? A brand-new paper holder stuffed to bursting with clippings about that ‘Mystery Woman’... Nothing else! Not a single other article! Gave me goosebumps, I tell you. I was shaking like a leaf, waiting for some disaster to come knocking. But thank heavens it ended there. Yes, yes, I’ll take her back... Discreet-like, so no one notices. Never again will I shelter that tramp! Dawdle and you’ll lose your shirt... What brother? All lies! Poor you, getting dragged into this mess. Spend a few yen sending her home—no bad karma, no grudges. My deepest sympathies.”

“I must apologize for rambling on alone.” “What an imposition I’ve caused... There.” “Goodbye…” She had apparently summoned Yuriko discreetly and taken her away as promised. From that evening onward, Himekusa Yuriko vanished without being noticed by any of us—not even the nurses who worked alongside her. And so, apart from the suicide note written at the beginning, there came no further word from her, while the hospital maintained its former prosperity.

Even so, patients who came to the hospital counting on her name still showed no signs of dwindling. I couldn't help but suspect that my hospital might not have existed for her sake.

On the other hand, according to stories later told by visiting police officers and detectives, she had apparently used a smooth-talking delivery boy from the soba shop across the street to make phone calls—that same glib-tongued youth being the one who impersonated Associate Professor Shirataka to place calls from Tokyo. The lines had been meticulously written by her on stationery, after which she summoned this errand boy to the hospital basement and made him rehearse them countless times; moreover, through her confession it was revealed that Dr. Shirataka's letters too had been drafted by her and dictated to a public scribe before the prefectural office for mailing—yet the more one heard such accounts, the more extraordinary her capacity for fabricating fictions and her directorial prowess proved to be. She possessed every manner of professional—or pathological—knowledge and inclination regarding fictional constructs. With genius surpassing any villain or artist—unrestrained, delicate, yet driven by inexhaustible resolve—how had she waged war against this cold, brutal reality? Had she manipulated K University Hospital, the Metropolitan Police Department, Kanagawa Prefectural Police Headquarters, and Usuki Hospital like marionettes all along? Being compelled to imagine the superhuman skill with which she stirred endless commotions only to dissolve like mist without trace or scent, I found myself utterly astounded and plunged into profound lamentation.

Another crucial matter was that during subsequent internal investigations of the hospital, a small syringe and a bottle of morphine were discovered missing. Moreover, it was said that Yamauchi—the rural nurse mentioned earlier—had witnessed Himekusa Yuriko stealing those items long before, around early September, but at that moment when Yuriko turned around, "If you talk, I'll make you regret it."

“The face glaring at me was truly as terrifying as a blue demon—that’s why I kept silent until today...” “...There was never anyone as eerie and dreadful as Ms. Himekusa.” “She kept muttering ‘How tedious... how tedious... I want to die... I want to die,’ until I became so frightened that I’d secretly follow her when she went to the privy at night.” “...Yet despite that, Ms. Himekusa was utterly tyrannical—forcing me to wash all her soiled linens and sending me on errands whenever she wanted to summon that young man from the soba shop across the street.” “‘If Dr. Usuki discovers even a sliver of my secret,’ she’d say, ‘I’ll have no choice but to kill you and take my own life—prepare yourself for that.’” “‘The moment I step beyond this hospital’s gates, I’ll be ruined,’ Ms. Himekusa repeated endlessly.” “So without understanding anything, I simply did as Ms. Himekusa commanded...”

This was what Nurse Yamaguchi confessed with her eyes wide as saucers.

I realized then that Himekusa had staked her entire being on each fabrication. Had her deceptions been exposed, she must have lived in such psychological extremity that suicide would have been her only recourse—this was how she spent her days and nights. Moreover, within that perilous tension, she must have found an inexplicable, mystical purpose that sustained her existence.

She had no interest in murder, shoplifting, or theft. She was a genius girl who felt nothing but infinite—life-risking—interest in weaving fabrications. She seemed to harbor some fascination with the corruption of chastity. Yet wasn't this too not actual corruption, but rather corruption through fiction? Wasn't imagined infidelity and debauchery far more potent fuel for her exhilaration and fulfillment than tangible immorality? There lies reason to suppose she may have lived a life far more chaste in body than we outsiders could ever envision.

The psychology behind why a master fabricator like her never used a pseudonym since her time at K University became imaginable when you considered it this deeply. It was not merely that she recognized how perfectly the name Himekusa Yuriko suited her pure and delicate appearance. Could it not have been that something deep within her heart—something yearning to take pride in her immaculate sincerity—had felt an inexpressible attachment to this very name?

Dear Brother Shirataka,

This concludes my report concerning Himekusa Yuriko. Uto Sangoro still considers her to be one of the most cunning underground activists. She was a rare genius girl who, while superficially posing as a mere fabricator, accomplished her work to her heart's content and departed triumphantly without allowing even a hint of her terrifying underground movement to be detected. That so-called aunt—a middle-aged woman—is also one of the influential underground activists working with her, and it even seems they suspect she may have come as a plant to rescue her in order to bring her work to a temporary conclusion.

Moreover, Chief Tamiya of the Tokkō considered her none other than a special kind of seducer endowed with unique talents. This became evident when observing how the fact that there was not a single young person near Usuki Hospital who did not know her name kept coming to light one after another. Thus it seemed the detectives who occasionally visited for leisure could be inferred from their tone to regard both you and me as the most foolish victims—ones who were being manipulated by her uncanny skills while still sympathizing with her... but I considered this to be excessively imaginative. To put it another way, perhaps we might call it an observation that paid her undue respect.

Like yourself—though it may be impertinent to say so—you must by now fully comprehend why I find no grounds to credit such facts. I confess this together with my sister and wife. We bear not a grain of hatred toward her. In this unrewarding world... this vast desiccated void like a desert bereft of gods or buddhas, blood or tears, refusing even mirages or oases... we have endlessly commiserated over her state of mind—how she desperately embraced the fictional truths born of her imagination, believing them her one supreme paradise. That cherished paradise of hers... her fabricated Eden more precious than any treasure, like a fair toy clutched by an infant—because it was mercilessly shattered and trampled, my sister and wife now weep tears mourning her wretched heart that must have driven her at last to suicide. Chief Tamiya of the Tokkō next door, hearing our account, laughed saying "By such reasoning, this world holds no sinners..." yet in truth, I deem this precisely so.

She is not a sinner. She is nothing more than a splendid creator. Merely because she inadvertently created a version of Dr. Shirataka... a you who was not you but shared my very character... and moreover because this proved to be such a masterfully convincing fabrication, she found herself tormented by a terrorizing notion that she must immediately commit suicide—and solely to escape this oppressive delusion, she kept expanding and complicating her fictional world until she had naturally constructed her own downfall within it.

Yet we, for the sake of our own honor, earnestly and collectively drove her into the very depths of that ruin. And then, keeping her relentlessly cornered, we drove her out into a world of disillusionment. Therefore, she truly suffered over trivial matters and died over trivial matters. What kept her alive was fantasy. What killed her was also fantasy.

That is all there is to it. I have reported these matters and written this letter in hopes of securing your peace of mind. Having warded off sleepiness with A.C. Spray, I have finally managed to write this far, but as dawn approaches and my brain turns to mush, I shall lay down my pen here. The cycle of fabrications that sought to ensnare us even after her death, along with my grave responsibility toward you, will with this sentence come to a complete... utter... end without a trace.

Farewell.

Please pray for her.

Murder Relay

First Letter

To Ms. Yamashita Chieko

From Tomose Tomiko at Minato Bus

Thank you for your letter. I truly understand your feelings of wanting to become a bus conductress. A peasant's life is boring. You mustn't go sighing at the blue sky or clouds. If you stare blankly while seeing off the red, blue, and white-striped train heading toward Tokyo, it would be even more unacceptable. Whether sweat or tears, you must bow your head and let them fall into the soil—otherwise, your parents and siblings will glare at you like you’re a traitor to the peasant community. Born from the soil, wearing rags caked with soil, becoming a pitch-black, ugly old woman like a clod of earth—only to return to the soil...

"That's true, isn't it? 'I sympathize with you.' But you mustn't become something like a bus conductress. As for other jobs, I don't know about them, but becoming a bus conductress is truly something you mustn't do. It's even more boring than peasant work—no, even more so—and even more terrifying and dreadful a job. The fate of a bus conductress is something even more... no, even more so cheap than the scraps of paper littering the streets, you know. When you become a bus conductress, you'll understand right away."

To put it simply, if you remain a peasant's daughter, your parents will select a pure-hearted young man from the village as your husband, won't they? If things go well, you might even get to be with someone you love. But if you become a bus conductress, you must abandon such happiness from the very beginning. If you don't obediently comply with whatever company executives, directors, or traffic police officers tell you to do—no matter how unpleasant—you'll be fired immediately. They'll find some reason or pretext to drive you out. For an orphaned woman like me with no relatives to rely on, that is even more the case. Therefore, wise people avoid wearing white powder as much as possible, resign themselves to not getting raises, and work solely in the shadows to avoid standing out. That absurd suffocating feeling is simply beyond description.

But that's not all, you know. As you know, I'm an orphan with neither parents nor siblings, so I could've become anything—a café waitress, telephone operator, whatever—but thinking female drivers looked brave and stylish, I became a bus conductress as training... Even if I became a driver like I wanted and made money, there'd be no purpose beyond that. No parents to care for, no little brother to dote on. It's so empty.

Day after day, I was buffeted by cutting winds and scorched under a sun strewn with garbage as I dashed about risking my life in this hollow world devoid of purpose or joy. Every time I was teased by drunk passengers, had my hand grabbed by frightening policemen, or got pestered by cocky drivers, this job left me feeling utterly lonely, sad, and empty to the very core of my being. It was a job that kept making me think things like, "I wish they'd crash into something and get smashed to bits when they floored it."

“I’m sorry, you know.” “It’s precisely because I’m thinking of your benefit that I’m telling you the truth, so please don’t be angry.” “That’s not all there is to it, you know.”

There’s something even more—no, even more so—terrifying, you know.

Please read the letter from Ms. Tsukikawa Tsuyako that I included further ahead. Because I copied the text exactly as it was. This letter is my important letter. Since this letter may become secret evidence in a terrible murder case, I cannot hand it over to you as it stands. You'll understand why once you read it.

Ms. Tsukikawa Tsuyako is my elementary school classmate. She works alongside her father at Hamamatsu's Benkyō Bus Company as a conductress, same as me. She turned nineteen this year. Though petite in stature, she carries herself with remarkable style. Unlike myself, she's a gentle soul - kind-hearted yet timid. My dear friend since time immemorial. Her penmanship puts mine to shame, though...

Ms. Tsukikawa Tsuyako's Letter

Ms. Tomose Tomiko

It has been too long. Are you well?

I apologize for suddenly writing something strange, but lately I feel like someone might kill me. Lately, a new driver named Mr. Niitaka has come to the Benkyō Shared Motorcar Company where I work. He is a tall man with a cold face resembling Napoleon's. He drives extremely well, has a good build, and works tirelessly without sparing himself, so he keeps getting promoted rapidly.

Three months after that person arrived, he asked my father to give me to him as a bride. It was about two weeks ago. My father, who works at the company factory, was reluctant but couldn't refuse because the managing director who favored Mr. Niitaka was mediating—but when asked "What about you?" I immediately agreed. It wasn't that I disliked Mr. Niitaka from the start.

"I'm sorry for agreeing without consulting you first." "But I was truly startled at first. I kept wondering why Mr.Niitaka would want to marry someone like me." "Mr.Niitaka seems naturally taciturn. Even when coming to the waiting room, he never uttered sweet nothings to us conductresses or gave peculiar looks like other drivers do. He would just keep chain-smoking relentlessly without so much as glancing at us sitting there in a row."

Then again, he would abruptly pick up a rowdy passenger’s child, rub cheeks with them to make them giggle gleefully, or buy about three of the most expensive mandarins costing ten sen each for nearly one yen total, silently scatter them among us, and stride out without a word—a man of utterly capricious nature. Then again, he would be back in the driver’s seat, puffing away while flooring it at incredible speeds, all the while singing in a wonderfully cheerful and clear voice—

"Hey hey! Never gonna fall in love again with a driver—you damn bastard— Hit-and-run—did it—then acts all—innocent—face—" He sang things like that and made the packed passengers roar with laughter. Yet he never mentioned going out to enjoy himself. He always kept his money jingling in his pocket. That's why the company executives seemed to have placed complete trust in him.

I too had convinced myself he was a manly, steadfast person and ended up obeying his every word. And so we were on the verge of holding a formal wedding ceremony.

And then... Today, an abrupt letter arrived from my dear friend Ms. Matsuura Mineko at Tokyo's Ao Bus Company. What it contained was utterly shocking. "If a driver named Niitaka Tatsuo comes to your company, absolutely be on your guard." "Niitaka Tatsuo has the most masculine bearing among all drivers in Tokyo, yet also the most dreadful reputation." "They say while at Ao Bus, this Niitaka lured many, many female conductors into common-law marriages, then when he tired of them, killed them one after another and dumped their bodies somewhere... Yet he remains a strange, strange, terrifying, terrifying man—his methods so skillful he's never once been suspected. These rumors seem to circulate only among us female conductors."

Nevertheless, around this time, as the Metropolitan Police's gaze began intensifying around Mr. Niitaka, he quietly left Ao Bus and disappeared somewhere. There's a rumor he probably wound up at some provincial bus company, so if anything like him coming to your company happens, you must absolutely be careful. "This might be unnecessary meddling, but since I'm worried, I wanted to inform you." Something along those lines had been hastily scribbled in pencil. Such a letter had arrived.

I was utterly shocked. But being foolishly honest, I didn't show this letter to my father and instead showed it directly to Mr. Niitaka. Since I'd already become involved with Mr. Niitaka, wasn't that the natural thing to do? Mr. Niitaka turned pale as he read the letter. Then he crumpled it up and threw it into the brazier to burn.

“You fool…… If you tell anyone about this… I won’t let it slide.” As he said this while licking his lips, the terrifying look on Mr. Niitaka’s face when he fixed me with that piercing glare—it was so horrifying, I thought the skeleton beneath his flesh had suddenly jutted out, glaring through completely exposed eye sockets. In all my days watching theater or silent pictures, I’d never seen such a fearfully dreadful face. At that moment, I began trembling uncontrollably from the core of my being, rendered unable to ask whether what Ms. Mineko’s letter said was true or false. Then, as I stared at Mr. Niitaka’s face with tears streaming down my own, he grinned faintly and patted my shoulder.

“Ahaha. I’m not trying to kill you,” he said, licking his lips while glaring sharply at me. “Who in their right mind would take these rumor-filled letters seriously? You fool. You…” He then gently stroked my back. At that moment, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mr. Niitaka was going to kill me. But since I came to feel that being killed by him might be acceptable, I remain silent as I am. I don’t intend to tell my father or anyone about this, but I’ll just write it to you, Tomiko.

You know? Don’t forget about me, okay? Even if Mr. Niitaka and I build a happy home together, please don’t laugh. Please bless me from the bottom of your heart. Goodbye.

From Tsuyako at Hamamatsu Benkyo Bus Company

This was the last letter that came from Ms. Tsuyako.

“You know?”

"Ms. Chieko." "The Ms. Tsuyako who wrote this letter died within less than a week, you know." "And then they held a funeral for her in Hakata, you know." When I heard the story from her father who had brought back Ms. Tsuyako's remains, it turned out that while riding in the new Ford bus substitute with Mr. Niitaka, Ms. Tsuyako had ended up standing on the left-side step because the bus became overcrowded with passengers. "And then in the darkness, when an oncoming truck didn't dim its lights, Mr. Niitaka's steering wheel suddenly swerved too far left, and Ms. Tsuyako's body smashed into a utility pole, they said." "Her left shoulder, arm, and ribs were all crushed to splinters, they said."

“There’d been this thunderous crash, according to the bus passengers,” they said. “Tsuyako had bad luck,” her father had lamented. “Letting her take up that kind of work was my mistake.” “They say Mr. Niitaka noted down the truck’s license number, but even if we filed a complaint, it wouldn’t amount to anything—no one to blame.” “Just one insignificant girl.” “In the eyes of the world, she wasn’t worth so much as an insect.” “Still, since it bought the passengers’ lives, I’ve resigned myself completely now.” “The company gave us ten yen extra beyond her last month’s salary.” “The passengers she saved didn’t so much as glance our way—how cheap.” “Had it been someone else’s child they buried, they’d pay three hundred yen—not even enough for funeral expenses.” “Of course,” he’d added bitterly, “unless they value lives that cheaply, how else could they get so many youngsters to do such dangerous work?”

“It’s terrifying.”

I offered a lavish bunch of yellow roses to the Buddha statue. But when I heard this story, I grew utterly disgusted with being a bus conductress. In the rice fields where larks sing, you helping your father and mother have become Urayama-like. Do you understand what I mean? Do you grasp what a repulsive, lonely, terrifying, and dreary fate a bus conductress bears?

Please, I implore you to quit being a bus conductress. You know?

Goodbye. Take care of yourself.

The Second Letter

Ms. Chieko. It's terrible.

The Mr. Niitaka the driver I wrote about in my previous letter has come. He joined Minato Bus Company where we work. Then he proposed to me. Now it's my turn to be killed. But please don't worry. I'm keeping my wits about me. There's no way I'll be killed that easily... Mr. Niitaka the driver says things weren't going well with Tokyo's Blue Bus, so he took leave on his own and came here. He's already lying.

But it must be Mr. Niitaka the driver who killed Ms. Tsuyako. He had a cold, manly face like Napoleon's, kept silent, and worked diligently. He was remarkably skilled at making fenders from old tubes and wire. Then again, he would distribute premium bananas to us or give customers' kids fish and horses cut out from tubes, being utterly unpredictable. Everyone was fawning over Mr. Niitaka this and Mr. Niitaka that, but when I realized what was happening, a chill ran down my spine.

After that, convinced he was Ms. Tsuyako’s mortal enemy, I made sure to keep a close watch on his every move. I was certain he had come to kill someone else again...

Then it seemed Mr. Niitaka had misread my intense scrutiny for something else entirely. As I waited in the station for the last 11 o'clock departure from Hakata to Orio—the waiting room completely empty—he must have deemed it an opportune moment. He entered clutching a single yellow rose and pressed it into my hand. I flinched. Roses had been Ms. Tsuyako's favorite flower when she was alive.

As my heart swelled with some indescribable emotion and I said thank you, “Tommy. “Won’t you come to my boarding house in Orio tonight?” he just came right out and said it like that. With a coldly serious face. His gaze wasn't that of someone trying to seduce a woman. His gaze was heroic and manly.

The moment I saw that gaze, I made up my mind. With eager determination,

"Yes. I'll go." I said it. But I felt quite suffocated. Ms. Chieko, I don't want you to be shocked. I've completely fallen for Mr. Niitaka. This is truly a love worth risking my life for. And along with that, I wanted to somehow capture Ms. Tsuyako's enemy. I ended up thinking how utterly delightful it would be to corner Mr. Niitaka, make him whimper apologies, and then drive him to commit suicide or something of the sort.

When I try to put it into words like this, what I say must sound contradictory. But at that time, my feelings weren’t contradictory in the slightest. Never had my heart been so filled with grand hope as it was at that moment. My empty chest—bereft of any hope for the future—felt filled to bursting with a great, vibrant happiness. I went to Mr. Niitaka’s boarding house with eager determination. And I did exactly as Mr. Niitaka said from start to finish. I wasn't the slightest bit scared. Mr. Niitaka had been completely deceived and become utterly engrossed.

Yes... I might be acting recklessly. But reckless is fine. Just wait and see. Whether my adventure will succeed or not. When I think that, my chest pounds so hard it feels fit to burst. Right now, I'm wound so tight it feels like my life might rupture.

No matter what anyone says, I shall march on toward this adventure.

Goodbye

Third Letter

Ms. Chieko. Women are such weak creatures. I've been completely conquered by Mr. Niitaka. The adventurous spirit I wrote about in my previous letter seems to have weakened without me noticing. Mr. Niitaka too seems to have come to take pleasure in doting on me day after day. He talks to me about nothing but household matters and an unborn baby... I stay silent at such times, but I've come to see the course of this long, long life together with Mr. Niitaka—stretching on and on into who knows how far ahead—as a gray expanse devoid of hope or anything else. The heart of the ordinary Tomiko of old... It seems to be returning to the heart of Tomiko, who has merely become someone's wife. I can't count how many times I thought about burning the letters from Ms. Tsuyako that I had hidden away so very carefully.

I’ve not a shred of desire left to kill Mr. Niitaka. Even if Ms. Chieko laughs at me, there’s nothing to be done about it.

What in the world has happened here? Will my life end just like this, remaining utterly mundane? Where on earth has that incredible, bursting hope from when I first got together with Mr. Niitaka gone?

I wasn't supposed to get married this way. Must I become like this flat tire and keep rolling endlessly onward? That gaudy swatch of merino cloth dangling beyond the shopfront kept catching my eye until I couldn't look away. I found myself wondering what pattern might suit baby clothes. Go on, laugh at me. I suppose life just turns out this way sometimes.

Fourth Letter

Oh, something terrible happened.

Ms. Chieko. I shall write you the same sort of letter as the late Ms. Tsuyako did. I believe I'll be killed before long.

Mr. Niitaka seems to have discovered Ms. Tsuyako's letters in my basket. He doesn't betray a hint of such things. Yet somehow, a sense of estrangement has taken root deep within me. Stranger still—his affection toward me has grown even stronger than before. "We're happy, happy"—he's suddenly started repeating that lately—doesn't that strike you as odd? I can't help sensing some hidden motive. Not even a week has passed since we became involved, and yet...

But that's not all of it. Yesterday something like this happened. It occurred while we were boarding the nine o'clock night service bound for Orio.

In our Minato Bus company too, we were using a 1932 model Chevrolet open car instead of a bus. As usual, the Orio-bound Chevrolet had become packed, so I stood on the running board. While Mr. Niitaka was driving, I suddenly noticed something and, right after exiting the Hakozaki railroad crossing, silently moved around to the side of the rear spare tire and stood on the luggage deck.

Around nine o'clock at night. A light rain was falling, and it was pitch dark. Then in a narrow part of Tatara village, just as I thought a bus was coming from the opposite direction, Mr. Niitaka suddenly accelerated and wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left, driving past the roadside utility pole so close it nearly grazed us. If I had been standing on the front left step as before, I surely would have been knocked off and beaten to a pulp. I shuddered involuntarily. I realized clearly at that moment that Ms. Tsuyako’s letters had been seen. I understood so clearly that every single hair on my head stood on end.

Then Mr. Niitaka again, soon after on Matsuzaki's wide downhill slope when we reached bullet-like speed, pretended to avoid an oncoming bicycle while wrenching the wheel hard left, sending the left side of the vehicle skimming perilously close to a pine tree as he sped onward. At that moment, I once again clearly felt that Mr. Niitaka was trying to kill me. However, since there was no tangible reaction at all and I didn't make a single sound, Mr. Niitaka seemed to find it strange. When we came before the Kashii railroad crossing, from the driver's seat,

“Hey. Tommy,” he called out. “Yes?” As soon as I called back from the rear in as cheerful a voice as possible, “...Idiot... Won’t you come up front... Watch for the train,” “It’s about time for the 10:01 up train to come,” he said while slowing down. I once again cheerfully,

“Yes?” I replied and dashed toward the front railroad crossing, raising both hands as I called out, “All clear for the train!” That spot doesn’t just suddenly emerge from the shadow of a house into a railroad crossing. After eight in the evening, there’s no crossing guard—an extremely dangerous spot where inexperienced trucks had gotten caught two or three times. Mr. Niitaka knew the train timetable precisely and would drive while repeatedly checking his prized Nardan wristwatch. Once he deemed it safe, he would speed through in one go just from me saying “All clear” from inside the car. And of all times, he chose this moment to slow down with deliberate care and call out to me—I nearly went mad.

At Kashii, three passengers got off, so I sat down next to Mr. Niitaka in the driver’s seat, still soaked through. But Mr. Niitaka didn’t say anything at all. Only,

“You must have been cold.” After uttering just that single line in a low voice, he accelerated to terrific speed, reaching Orio from Kashii in under an hour. We washed the car body without exchanging a word, returned home still silent, and throughout drinking sake together in continued silence, ended up glaring at each other like adversaries. Mr. Niitaka is usually quiet, but this time was inexplicably strange.

When Mr.Niitaka finally went to bed—perhaps due to the alcohol taking effect—he suddenly started making all sorts of jokes out of nowhere. That was a joke that didn't suit the usually silent Mr.Niitaka at all. From beggars at the bottom to the General at the top, he performed love scenes of people from all classes using the voices of various Shinpa and Kabuki actors. It was skillful and interesting indeed. I never imagined Mr.Niitaka had such skill. So I too was unwittingly drawn in and ended up laughing so hard I clutched my stomach.

But now that morning has come, I feel as though everything has turned hollow. Human feelings are such strange things, aren't they? Having been allowed to take a day off work like this, as I watch through the still-falling stormy rain—the shepherd's purse on the neighbor’s roof, the row of poplars swaying far in the distance, the black smoke scattering from the down train—it all comes to feel like my very fate, and no matter how much I think and think without reaching any conclusion, this profoundly lonely feeling keeps growing within me.

As I listened to the rain clattering against the corrugated iron roof right below me, hot tears welled up in my eyes before I knew it, and I became overwhelmed with such a futile feeling—so utterly devoid of meaning that it felt like death itself. This wretched, sorrowful heart of mine can only be confided in you, Ms. Chieko. Though I keep thinking I must do something about it, there's simply no way out, is there? I've just finished burning those memento letters from poor dead Ms. Tsuyako. It feels like I took this whole day off work for no other reason than to burn those dreadful letters of hers.

It's all fate. I have no choice but to leave it to fate. There's no such thing as god in this world. Ms. Chieko. Please cry for pitiful Tomiko.

The Fifth Letter

Thank you, Ms. Chieko. While I was unconscious, I hear you came to visit me. Thank you for the many beautiful flowers. They are still blooming splendidly by my pillow. I am grateful.

I knew nothing at all for a week after that. I hear I was groaning from a high fever. They say the bone in my head was fractured and started worsening, causing the fever. They say they had to unstitch the seven or so stitches and redo the washing. I don't clearly understand why I survived. But lately, as I've become able to get up and sit by myself, I seem to have started remembering things bit by bit.

It all happened not long after I last wrote you that letter. As usual, Mr. Niitaka and I got into the Chevrolet with our battery and were approaching the Kashii railroad crossing on our way from Hakata to Orio, just before ten-thirty. It was a night of terrible driving rain without a single passenger. It was the night of either the 220th day or the 21st. Just before reaching the railroad crossing, from between the pine trees and a farmhouse on the left side, I could see the long, long light of an upbound train rapidly approaching, but I remained calm,

“...Traaain all cleeear!” I dragged out my shout for a long time like that, you see. Why I told such a terrifying lie—I still can’t understand my feelings from back then—but it must have been because I, utterly despondent in that car racing through pitch-black wind and rain at tremendous speed, had come to feel it would be better to die together with Mr. Niitaka. They say that train was a special one departing from places like Kumamoto and Kagoshima, packed full with a group bound for Manchuria. Since the 10:01 PM upbound train from Hakata had just passed through moments before, Mr. Niitaka—who’d been watching only for the 11:00 PM downbound train—must have taken my words as truth. He slammed on the accelerator, charged through the railroad crossing, and tried making a sharp right turn along the national highway. They say the tail deck caught on the train’s cowcatcher, flipped into a backward somersault, and landed wheels-up beneath the embankment.

Mr. Niitaka—they say thick glass fragments had pierced and lodged deep into his side, making treatment impossible to administer in time. A man called Mr. Kakogawa, the rear train conductor, came rushing over. When he lifted him from behind, [he] faintly opened his eyes and gasped out: “Damn it... Done in... Tsuyako’s grudge... Damn you... Tsuyako... Tsuyako... Tsuyako...”

They say he passed away immediately after uttering those words. The rear train conductor Mr. Kakogawa made a special trip to visit me in the hospital and told me all about it. When I heard that story, I couldn't help but smile. The blood throughout my body warmed until I became filled with such vigor that I felt I could break into a run at any moment. After all, Mr. Niitaka died fully aware that I had taken Ms. Tsuyako's sworn enemy from him. When I thought that, tears streamed endlessly from my eyes, leaving me at a loss. Mr. Kakogawa, who knew nothing, and the nurse were completely sympathetic. They tried to comfort me in various ways, but it was no use. I'm crying tears of joy, grateful to God, but they keep telling me I mustn't be sad—that it's bad for my health. At that moment, I kept thinking: Women aren't something you comfort so readily. There's no way anyone could know why I was crying.

When I heard what the conductor and nurse said about me lying beneath the mangled car body with my face buried between both hands and limbs tightly curled up—how everyone marveled at my position—it became clear I must have assumed that posture even before impact.

There was something called a clinical interrogation yesterday. Five or six intimidating-looking people who seemed to be from the police or courts surrounded my sickbed and asked all sorts of questions. I was absolutely terrified. When I said I'd shouted "Stop!" in a loud voice but Mr. Niitaka had ignored it and plowed through the railroad crossing, everyone nodded. They must have known about Mr. Niitaka's usual driving behavior. They were talking about how an automatic signal was absolutely necessary at the Kashii railroad crossing.

There was talk that I had a common-law marriage with Mr. Niitaka, so when a bearded man asked if it was true, I told him yes. I don't think my face even reddened. They all looked at each other and laughed, it seems. Then a dark-skinned man who looked like a skeleton—appearing to be a detective in his forties—rolled his sunken eyes wildly and,

“Wasn’t it a lovers’ suicide pact?”

he said. So when he bared his white teeth and laughed, I was startled. But I stubbornly shook my head, so before long everyone left. Detectives are unexpectedly clever after all. Even when I recall that detective’s face, it startles me. I am grateful to God. Even though this desperate wretch said "all right" intending to die together, only Niitaka was killed and only I was spared.

Once my head injury heals, I'll return to Minato Bus and work as a conductress again. And this time, I'll never quit for the rest of my life. And I'll become a woman driver... To become Japan's best woman driver. I believe this is God's command. I'll never marry or anything. For I've already come to understand everything there is to know about a woman's whole lifetime. As long as Mr. Niitaka doesn't come back to life, I've no intention of needing any other man.

Mr. Niitaka's case was featured prominently in the newspapers at that time. Under the headline "The Horrifying Lust-Murder Relay." It was discovered after his death that the deceased driver Mr. Niitaka had been a wanted suspect in the murders of women ever since leaving Tokyo Aobusu, they say. Moreover, Niitaka had once been in a head-on collision with a truck in Tokyo where his female assistant died instantly, yet he alone miraculously survived—an experience he owed to having given a convincing explanation at the time that allowed him to walk free. So this time as well, it was written that he might have truly intended to have the car hit by a train together with his common-law conductress partner and jump out alone. You must have read it too.

That's all lies. They're fabrications by the newspapers and police. They're being too sympathetic toward me, I tell you. They say even at the company, they're making a big show of pitying this wretch's circumstances. How absurd it all is. But I'm perfectly fine, I tell you. That's just how the world is. Only God's judgment holds true.

That's why I'll tell only you, Ms. Chieko, the truth.

No matter what happens from now on, you must not become something like a conductress.

You must not become a woman like me.

The Sixth Letter

Ms. Chieko.

I shall send you my final letter. After I send this letter, I will go somewhere and kill myself. I want to ensure my corpse isn't seen by anyone, so please do not search for it. I'm sorry to trouble you, but I've bundled together and sent out under your pseudonym all the photos of Mr.Niitaka and me, the kimonos, the bankbooks, the seals, the household goods and whatnot.

Please distribute them among the poor people. You may even donate them to an elementary school. There should be enough to buy a small organ. The words of that dark-skinned, skeleton-like detective were actually true. Now I finally understand. I wanted to attempt a lovers' suicide pact with Mr. Niitaka. And if possible, I wanted to try surviving alone.

And so, that had come to pass exactly as planned. Thus in truth, I was a husband-killer. Yet Niitaka must have died believing Ms. Tsuyako's vengeful resolve had claimed him. He likely perished without ever suspecting my hand in it. After all, Niitaka must have genuinely loved me from the heart. This realization left me unable to sit still. But there was more. I carried Niitaka's child within me. Now whenever I remembered him, something would twitch and leap beneath my heart. What shall become of me if this child is born?

I will kill this child too, cursed along with me. I am a husband-killer and a child-killer. I shall confess only to you and die. Please forgive me. This is wretched Tomiko's lifelong plea. You must not become something like a conductress. —Goodbye—

Woman from Mars

The Mysterious Incident at the Prefectural Girls' High School

The Miss Kuroge Incident

Rumors beget rumors, spiraling into a labyrinth.

Today’s Article Released

Around 2:00 AM on March 26th, a fire had ignited from an abandoned storage shed located in a corner of the athletic field at the Prefectural Girls' High School in Ōdōri Sixth District of the city. Though threatening to escalate into a major disaster due to the fierce winds then prevailing, through the swift efforts of the City Fire Department Chief and his team, it was extinguished after completely burning down the abandoned shed alone, with no damage whatsoever to the school building—a relief to all concerned as previously reported. However, not long after that, in the early dawn of the 26th, when a corpse charred black beyond even distinguishing its gender was excavated from those burnt ruins, this fact caused yet another great uproar. Moreover, when the said corpse was autopsied at the university, it was determined to be that of a girl around twenty years old, with traces indicating fuel had been arranged specifically around the waist area to ensure thorough combustion. Consequently, the police concluded it was a murder-arson case stemming from a romantic entanglement, deemed it a grave incident, prohibited the publication of related articles, and launched a rigorous investigation under intense pressure—but even after a week, not only had the perpetrator remained unidentified, but even the victim's identity stayed unknown. Rumors bred rumors until it was already being reported that the case had reached a dead end, reaching a state where even the authority of the judicial authorities—still making desperate efforts—was coming under suspicion; however, subsequently, as the authorities appeared to have found some sort of lead, they suddenly lifted the ban on publishing the aforementioned articles today. This was considered evidence that the authorities had seized a crucial, irrefutable clue, and thus there was reason to believe that the truth of this incident would be disclosed to society not in the distant future.

Sufficient grounds to suspect murder and arson However, it does not appear to be the work of the habitual arsonist. The aforementioned incident remains under investigation by authorities, with all details still strictly confidential; however, according to information our newspaper gathered immediately after its occurrence, the scene—the abandoned storage shed at the Prefectural Girls' High School—ordinarily saw no foot traffic and stood distant from fire hazards, making arson strongly suspect. Yet the method differed entirely from that of school-building-targeting arsonists. Moreover, though fragments resembling glass bottles lay scattered at the scene, the location's original purpose as a storage shed made hasty conclusions about poison vessels untenable. Furthermore, the impossibility of collecting blood samples from the charred corpse left investigators unable to determine the presence of antitoxins or carbon monoxide, rendering conclusions about virginity or accidental death equally elusive. Nevertheless, circumstances at the scene and the corpse's condition kept homicide suspicions firmly intact. As previously reported, many suspect this may constitute a staged tragedy arising from romantic entanglements. With the school having been on spring break since March 19th, no students remained in the dormitory. Routine inquiries with the elderly live-in janitors and night-duty staff revealed nothing suspicious. The theory that some perverted vagrant could have smuggled an outside girl past the high concrete walls surrounding campus amounted to mere improbable fancy. Moreover, no evidence supported such speculation. Following the lifting of reporting restrictions, investigative strategies appear poised for complete overhaul—raising possibilities that unexpected truths might emerge from unforeseen quarters.

The burned-down storage shed was the former etiquette classroom The principal was under voluntary confinement to take responsibility.

Incidentally, the burned-down abandoned building of the Prefectural Girls' High School was a pure Japanese-style, two-story structure with four rooms. As the city's sole remaining thatched-roof building, it stood in a corner behind the school's athletic field and archery dojo, encircled by high fire-prevention walls. At the time of the school's establishment, among the private houses slated for demolition, this structure had been preserved through Principal Morisumi's recommendation to serve as an etiquette practice hall for the school's students. However, after the construction of a tea room for etiquette training—funded by alumnae donations within the main gate—it naturally fell into disuse. Until immediately before the fire, it had been maintained as a storage shed, with athletic equipment and other items such as old blackboards, antique lamps, empty bottles, worn buckets, and frayed wicker chairs piled haphazardly across both floors. It appears that someone laid the corpse on the first floor and set the fire, and due to the flames being exceptionally fierce, the muscle fibers from the abdomen downward had completely carbonized into black yarn-like strands entwined around the skeleton, presenting what is said to have been a ghastly scene. Principal Morisumi Reizō was a devout Christian believer who continued his celibate life to dedicate himself to educational endeavors; having served the weighty responsibility of principal for thirty years since the school's founding without a single misstep, receiving awards, court rank certificates, medals and other honors too many to enumerate, he stood as an illustrious model principal renowned throughout the entire prefecture. On the day of the incident, though he had been at his boarding house in Samnachō district of the city, upon hearing urgent news he hastened swiftly to the scene, retrieved the sacred image, directed faculty and staff to protect important documents, and exerted efforts toward fire prevention—his composed and courageous attitude becoming something people praised. However, after the incident, having secluded himself at the Samnachō boarding house where he refused all visitors while growing sallow and emaciated with resentment, all who knew of this prudent principal's usual demeanor now sympathized with his condition. Regarding the above, it is said that on March 28th, Ms.Torama Torako—a veteran female teacher at the school who had visited the principal for a faculty meeting—leaked the following information as having come from the principal himself.

"As the matter is currently under investigation by the authorities, I cannot speak about particulars, but personally I do not find this particularly strange," he said. "The abandoned building in question stands within school grounds, but after six o'clock we strictly prohibit entry except for night-duty staff and the elderly janitor couple—a measure I had particularly emphasized. Yet someone must have intruded to commit such an act. I can conceive of no one bearing grudges against me or the institution. Since it clearly cannot be anyone school-affiliated, this amounts to nothing less than an utterly baffling outrage." He continued, "While I trust the authorities' investigation will clarify matters, we must acknowledge supervisory oversights somewhere given this mysterious incident's occurrence on our premises. As ultimate responsibility rests with me, I now confine myself accordingly."

Principal Morisumi Disappearance

The Vanished Suicide Note and the Inexplicable

The Mysterious Letter in Feminine Handwriting

Since the Miss Kuroge incident that occurred at the Prefectural Girls' High School on March 26th, Principal Morisumi Reizō—who had been living in seclusion at a boarding house in Samnachō to express contrition—was discovered to have suddenly disappeared from around yesterday evening, the day before the new student entrance ceremony, by Ms. Torama Torako, a female teacher from the same school who had visited the boarding house for a faculty meeting. As previously reported, Principal Morisumi had been living in seclusion at a boarding house in Samnachō since the Miss Kuroge incident, his beard grown wild and complexion haggard as if deeply tormented; but on the night of the 31st—the seventh day after the incident's occurrence—when a letter in feminine handwriting was delivered to him from an unknown source, he seemingly developed mental abnormalities thereafter: coming wordlessly before landlady Watanabe Sumiko to shed tears while kowtowing repeatedly, or urinating from the second floor toward the street below while laughing uproariously—showing not a moment's composure—until midnight when he raised his voice in furious roars: “That bastard!” “That bastard!” “The Charred Corpse is that bastard!” “Mars! Mars!” “Devil! Devil!” He continued spouting such nonsensical things, startling landlady Watanabe Sumiko, and perhaps due to exhaustion, spent the entire next day, March 1st, bedridden without eating a single meal. Around 10 PM that same night, when the aforementioned teacher Ms. Torama Torako came visiting, believing Principal Morisumi still lay abed, Landlady Watanabe Sumiko went to rouse him—only to find the bedding completely empty. By the pillow lay an opened lengthy letter in feminine handwriting alongside a will addressed to Ms. Torama, the discovery of which caused a great uproar. Under the full mobilization of prefectural authorities, police, and school staff, the search for the principal commenced, yet as of this morning his whereabouts remain unknown. Merely this: the bronze commemorative bust of the principal—covered in dust and verdigris, said to have been under production by Mr. Asakura Seiun of Tōto Sculpture for planned installation before the school's entrance—rolled out from Principal Morisumi's dedicated closet at the boarding house, still wrapped in white cloth, startling all present. Incidentally, the two letters that had been by the principal’s bedside subsequently appear to have been taken away by someone amid the commotion, with neither Landlady Sumiko nor Ms. Torama knowing their whereabouts. With both women being unprivy to the letters' contents, this matter—coupled with the aforementioned bronze statue incident—has drawn the attention of those involved as inexplicable occurrences entwined with Mr. Morisumi's disappearance. Moreover, based on Mr. Morisumi's earlier ramblings, it has become increasingly difficult to dismiss the possibility that these two letters might serve as critical reference material exposing the secrets of the Miss Kuroge Incident. Among those involved, suspicion now gradually intensifies that the miraculously mysterious figure who took them away under public scrutiny could indeed be a prime suspect in the Miss Kuroge case. All matters are expected to be clarified once Principal Morisumi’s whereabouts are determined, and it appears that full efforts are being devoted to his search. Furthermore, according to a station employee acquainted with Principal Morisumi, there are indications that a hatless individual with an unkempt beard resembling the principal purchased a ticket to Osaka and boarded the last train; arrangements are reportedly being made in that direction as well.

Prefectural Girls' High School in Chaos

Principal Morisumi Goes Mad!

Teacher Torama Hangs Herself!

Clerk Kawamura Embezzles Massive Funds!

Aftermath of the Charred Corpse Incident?

【Osaka Dispatch】As this newspaper had previously reported regarding indications that Principal Morisumi Reizō of the Prefectural Girls' High School—who had gone missing—might have headed to Osaka, it was indeed confirmed that yesterday morning on the 3rd, the principal appeared on a public thoroughfare near Nakanoshima in Osaka's Kita Ward wearing a mud-stained, disheveled frock coat, accosting every passerby with “Do you know the Woman from Mars?”, “Has Miss Charred Corpse not come?”, “Where is Amakawa Utako?”, “It’s all lies!”, and “Groundless slander! Slander!” After taking the raving man into protective custody at Nakanoshima Police Station and consulting with local authorities, Vice-Principal Kobayakawa—embroiled in last-minute opening preparations—immediately rushed to Osaka via the 11 o'clock train. However, following this departure, as staff continued frenzied preparations under Vice-Principal Yamaguchi's direction, veteran instructor Torama Torako (42) was found hanged in the faculty restroom by a cleaning janitor, throwing everyone into disarray. Concurrently, Kawamura Hideaki (51)—the hunchbacked clerk who alongside Principal Morisumi had become a school institution over thirty years—was noticed missing by a patrolling officer. A precautionary investigation shockingly revealed the disappearance of both the ¥5,000+ principal's statue fund and the ¥820 alumni association passbook from the school vault. Inquiries at Kōgyō Bank showed Clerk Kawamura had withdrawn nearly all deposits around noon before fleeing in panic. Furthermore, it emerged that Haru (47)—his wife in suburban Jukkenya—had abandoned their household to disappear with him, escalating chaos until full staff interrogations began, rendering school operations temporarily untenable. Incidentally, Torama—who worshipped Principal Morisumi devoutly—and Clerk Kawamura—his thirty-year loyalist—should have rejoiced at news of his whereabouts. Their contradictory actions of suicide and flight constituted a doubly bizarre phenomenon, suggesting grave underlying secrets. The deranged principal's ravings about Amakawa Utako referred to this year's graduate—an athletic star long nicknamed “Woman from Mars”—who had joined an Osaka newspaper post-graduation. Principal Morisumi's apparent pursuit of her following his breakdown hinted at possible connections to the Charred Corpse incident now under meticulous official investigation.

Principal Morisumi's Hat

Upon the cross

Along with an ownerless flower hairpin within the city

Discovered at the Catholic Church

The questionable tooth marks remaining on the front brim

As previously reported, since the mysterious fire on March 26th, the Prefectural Girls' High School had successively triggered strange incidents including the Charred Corpse case, the principal's disappearance and subsequent madness, Teacher Torama's hanging suicide, and Clerk Kawamura's grand embezzlement—dragging the school, prefectural authorities, and police into an unprecedented maelstrom of bewilderment before even determining the fire's true nature. Now recently, within the Catholic Church where Principal Morisumi practiced his faith, yet another unforeseen bizarre incident had spawned, plunging those involved into ever-deepening layers of confusion. On the morning of the 5th around 10:00 AM at the Catholic Church located at the corner of Block 41, 2-chome, Kaigan-dori—since it was Sunday—when staff opened the altar doors at the chapel's front in preparation for the usual prayer meeting congregants would attend, they discovered an unfamiliar black top hat and a flower hairpin with red cherry blossom buds and silver tassels hanging on the silver cross enshrined at the altar's center. Upon close inspection of the top hat's interior signature marking ownership by Principal Morisumi—a devout parishioner—the items were confirmed as his possessions. Though the flower hairpin's owner remained unknown at present, both items were nevertheless reported to police via a nearby substation. Given the tense circumstances surrounding ongoing investigations, authorities immediately dispatched officers to seal off and thoroughly search the church premises. However, no suspicious elements were found within the chapel interior. Even when questioning a female parishioner who had first entered around nine o'clock that morning—long before others arrived—she testified to having seen no one approach the altar doors from outset until discovery. Investigators thus withdrew empty-handed. However, upon conducting detailed forensic analysis of the top hat back at headquarters, examiners discovered distinct bite marks from incisors and canines embedded in its front brim. Moreover, dental experts conclusively identified these impressions as belonging to an exceptionally robust adolescent male—a revelation that sparked fresh sensational speculation. This meant that if this presumed mysterious church-infiltrating youth indeed shared chain-linked connections with post-fire anomalies at the Prefectural Girls' High School—then those who had previously suspected Teacher Torama's suicide and Clerk Kawamura's flight marked these two as masterminds behind said incidents—now found their foundational presumptions shattered. With all investigative avenues rendered equally implausible and truth becoming utterly indeterminable, every party involved was once again plunged into a state of wandering through impenetrable fog.

Unbelievable!

The Charred Corpse Culprit Is

The Prefectural School Inspector's Daughter?

She vanished with her mother.

The father and Prefectural School Inspector is resolved to take responsibility.

Following yesterday's report about the hat and hairpin incident at the Catholic Church on Kaigan-dori within the city, police authorities appeared to have obtained a significant investigative lead regarding the previously reported Miss Kuroge case. They escorted Tonomiya Aiko (19)—the girl who had first entered said church at the time—to a separate room within the church premises for strict interrogation. However, to facilitate continued investigations, around 3 PM that same afternoon, they temporarily permitted Aiko to return home. Brazenly evading strict surveillance, the girl then disappeared to parts unknown with her gravely ill mother in tow, leaving behind a document resembling a will addressed to her father, Mr. Tonomiya Aishirō. Regarding this grave blunder, it must be deemed profoundly strange that the police authorities maintained complete silence without uttering a single word and showed no signs of arranging a search; however, as is widely known, the girl's father—Mr. Tonomiya Aishirō—serves as this prefecture's School Inspector and is the direct grandson of Duke Tonomiya Tadazumi, the elderly Marshal who could be called an influential figure in current central politics. Though plunged into grief by this unforeseen tragedy, he informed visiting reporters of his resolve to resign out of responsibility, having considered both the critical nature of said document's contents and the honor of his household.

“I have no excuse to offer.” “However, I simply cannot believe that my daughter could commit such an outrageous crime as murder and arson.” “As for this story about Amakawa Utako—the Woman from Mars—and my daughter Aiko having been inseparable friends during their time at the Prefectural Girls’ High School, such a tale is something I have only just now been informed of.” “Of course, as to whether there existed any such abhorrent fact as romantic resentment between them, I have no recollection of such matters whatsoever and am simply astonished.” “Given the authorities’ advisements and my daughter’s future welfare, I wish to avoid publicizing such matters as much as possible. I must ask that you consider this discussion concluded at present.” “…As for why she chose to run away taking only her mother, even that reason remains unclear at present.” “I have been suddenly and unexpectedly abandoned by my wife and children—with whom I had lived without any secrets or troubles until today—leaving me utterly at a loss.” “My wife Tome and daughter Aiko should have substantial savings, so they likely won’t face difficulties in their livelihood for the time being.” “Where could they have gone? I have not the slightest inkling.” “Of course, I fully intend to take responsibility; however, until this matter is formally announced, I must ask that you keep this discussion strictly confidential as well.” “...”

Furthermore, the contents of Miss Aiko's will were as follows.

Father. I am deeply grateful for your long-standing care. Mother and I shall bid farewell today, both to avoid causing Father any further trouble, and to prevent Mother's sorrow from aggravating her grave illness. I humbly express my gratitude for your kindness up to this day.

All incidents at my alma mater were entirely due to my failure in responsibility. The person who was burned to death was Ms. Amakawa Utako, and I hereby guarantee this was without a doubt a suicide. Had I noticed Ms. Amakawa Utako's resolve to end her life just a little sooner, none of these matters would have occurred—for this oversight I profoundly apologize. I confirm that I myself placed Principal Morisumi's hat and a maiko-style flower hairpin upon the cross today—a fact I have already confessed to the police along with my reasons. The officers asked me unexpected questions about you, Father, but knowing nothing, I refrained from answering. Through the letter left by Ms. Amakawa Utako who took her own life, the police appear thoroughly informed about your private life—I mention this for your awareness.

However, I shall never resort to suicide or such acts. We absconded solely because I desire to tend to Mother in peace until her illness fully recovers somewhere, so I must implore you never to seek our whereabouts henceforth... Moreover, I beseech you countless times never to investigate the reasons behind these strange actions of mine—needless to say, you must not probe into them. For I believe this course would bring felicity to both Father and myself...

Please take good care of your health...

Aiko Father Incidentally, Tonomiya Aiko had been a beauty known as her school's brightest star during her time at the Prefectural Girls' High School—an accomplished scholar who bore the honor of outstanding academic achievements.

―――――――――――――――

Principal Morisumi

From the Woman from Mars I am so overjoyed I can hardly contain myself. For now I can finally take my revenge upon you, Principal... If I were truly the Woman from Mars, I might have leapt straight to heaven itself in delight. My corpse will likely be found charred beyond recognition. The newspapers will surely make a sensational spectacle of it. I made arrangements with my friend. "I need you to send this letter by express mail to the Principal's office on the evening of the 31st - precisely one week from the 24th when I began writing this."

...and...should you, Principal, upon viewing my charred corpse...and reading this letter show no remorse—should you feign ignorance or calmly attempt to cover matters up—my friend will submit another copy I prepared for this contingency to the police station. And should it become apparent that even then, the truth remains unpublished—that those shameless collaborators working with you, Principal, try to bury this matter deeper into darkness—I have arranged for an identical copy containing these connections and suppressed news articles to circulate through certain channels without omission, to be disclosed much later. Procedures stand ready to fully expose your responsibility regarding my charred remains. This friend being both intelligent and resolute would never bungle matters by letting this final letter be intercepted.

I do not wish my entire life to be pointlessly charred. I wish to offer—together with you, Principal—a dose each of "The Woman from Mars's Charred Remains" as a palliative to these selfish, utterly egoistic men of our corrupt and depraved modern age. Given the current popularity of Charred Remains, there can be no doubt of their efficacy by any means. ——The Woman from Mars’s Charred Remains—— Is this not a most remarkable medicine? Might it not perhaps be something even more valuable than a fragment of an Egyptian mummy?

How does it feel to have consumed it? It must have been most refreshing, thoroughly purging every corner of your heart. Hohohohoho. Hohohohohoho... As for me... You'd do well not to wonder who my dear friend helping this Charred Corpse of the Woman from Mars exact revenge might be. Even were you to discover their identity, you'd only gape in astonishment - helpless to act, left in utter distress.

That person bears no grudge against you, Principal, over some fleeting encounter as I do. She attends to her biological mother bedridden with tuberculosis and serves a stepfather whom you tempted into heartless debauchery—maintaining silence about these circumstances to avoid scandal, working diligently without even employing a maid, presenting herself as cheerfully industrious—a model of filial devotion rare in this world. Moreover, she has ceaselessly sought the demon who condemned her mother to such fate. Thus when she heard that demon's name from me, she immediately accepted my request without condition—solely to eliminate her mother's sworn enemy...to censure her stepfather's clandestine indulgences.

To put it another way, since her mother's heart was too gentle, she could not bring herself to take drastic measures against you, Principal. Therefore I became charred remains in her stead...such were the circumstances. You must have understood...the meaning of my charred remains... ......No. "Our resentment toward you, Principal—even were both of us reduced to charred corpses—would still remain unsated."

You had come to understand... what manner of person this might be who now aids my vengeance...

The self-important Principal might still cling steadfastly to belief in his own wisdom. He might not yet have realized how deeply this person resented him—but even so, as he read through this letter, understanding would gradually dawn. I repeat. Principal—you had no choice but to silently endure the Charred Corpse Girl's vengeance. You must resign yourself to accept this as justice's unseen hand—to publicly confess your crimes as demanded and discreetly vanish from society, for no other path remained.

However, as for me writing this letter... you must have already perceived the true identity of the Charred Corpse Girl. And you must be trembling in horror, wondering why that timid, tearful Woman from Mars would commit such a dreadful, reckless act.

Principal Morisumi... You are my respected teacher. You are an older man. Having lost your wife and child early on, you became a devout Christian and proclaimed yourself a noble figure dedicating your life to educational endeavors. And thus you are hailed by society as a model educator, frequently honored with awards—a magnificently noble person indeed. There may be those who think it improper to scheme revenge against such a person as yourself, no matter what persecutions they might endure.

But Principal Morisumi... I am, as you named me, the Woman from Mars. I am not an ordinary woman. Therefore, against the tyranny of men in this human world... against the vices permitted solely to men, I wanted to stage one bold act of rebellion and shock society. I wanted to stage a May 15th Incident for women and make this world realize it isn't solely a realm for men.

That someone like you, Principal—who epitomizes male vice—should guide nearly a thousand young women as a model educator was utterly unbearable to me, born in Japan. Did you ever know, Principal... what upbringing shaped me, what thoughts I harbored as a woman? Were you to hear of my grievous fate—how I became compelled to curse you as a charred corpse after your hand merely brushed against me—would you truly feel astonishment to your core, I wonder? To you gentlemen... Japanese men who cultivated only those moral principles and common sense convenient for males—could you possibly grasp the mission of the Woman from Mars, I wonder...?

But I must explain. Otherwise you might dismiss what I have done as mere temporary theatrics born from trivial emotional outbursts and look down upon it... I must use this letter to prove how profoundly sincere my charred corpse's curse is...how grave our resentment stands as rebellion against your cruel and inhuman actions, Principal.

For the honor of the Woman from Mars... And for the vow of the Charred Corpse Girl... I was called Beanpole since I was little. My current mother had given birth to two half-sisters, both women of ordinary stature, yet I could not help but wonder why I alone was born with this body. According to my biological father’s account, when I was born I had been a premature, frail infant weighing a mere six hundred *monme*—far smaller than average—but from around five or six years old, it began to grow rapidly. When I first entered elementary school, the homeroom teacher with a Charlie Chaplin mustache saw me and involuntarily—

"Oh—" "What a giant—" I was laughed at like this, but even as a child, I felt a kind of shame at that Charlie Chaplin-mustached teacher's smiling face. I believe this was the first time I felt shame concerning myself. From that time onward, in various ways, I continued to suffer such humiliation. The elementary school principal also gave me a similarly... though pitiful-looking smile when he first saw me. And he immediately remembered my name. After that, even the school inspector who came for a brief visit seemed to immediately commit my name to memory—though I suspect this was not solely due to my academic standing being at the very bottom of the class in all subjects except composition, calligraphy, art, and physical education.

My name quickly became known to all the students in the school. “Beanpole Amakawa Utako—Oh... “Put up a ladder—go on, style your hair!”

...the upperclass male students would laugh from afar. I was a timid child, so at first I would cry and refuse to go to school, but gradually I grew accustomed to it, and no matter how cruel the things said to me were, I became able to turn back with a lonely smile.

The time when I was most popular was during the sports festival.

From around second grade onward, I could run fast enough to outpace even the fastest sixth-grade boys, so my photograph once appeared in the newspaper under the headline "Awe-Inspiring for Future Generations." But when even my own parents doubled over laughing at my solemn face captured beneath the midsummer sun in that picture, I spent two or three days secretly crying before the mirror. Yet even if I were to recount those pitiful memories of mine, who would ever have sympathized? You all would have simply doubled over laughing once more.

From before I had any sense of self, I had no choice but to come to fully know my ugly, beanpole self—born to be laughed at by others. I think it was because such sadness and loneliness had piled up over time that I became engrossed in reading new-style poetry and novels from around sixth grade onward. In other words, thanks to all of you, I became a lonely literary girl from an unusually early age—always standing apart, all alone.

After entering the prefectural girls' school, I no longer received such overt insults. But there awaited me shame and disgust of far greater profundity. Among my classmates—save for one who stood as my exact opposite in beauty and accomplishment—neither teachers nor fellow students ever offered me a single kind word. All maintained an odd distance, their cold peculiar smiles making me feel perpetually scrutinized. To those of you who competed so ardently in talents and academic rankings alone, I must have appeared some inferior cripple. Though you seemed to consider conversing with me a disgrace, whenever inter-school tennis matches or track meets approached, teachers and upperclassmen alike would swarm about me with flattery. They would fawn over me as some divine being, specially bestowing heaps of raw eggs and fruits to curry favor while forcibly dragging me to compete. Never perceiving an ounce of my shame at this gangly ugly form... Over and over you would repeat: "You are our school's honor."

But the day after those competitions ended, not a single soul would glance in my direction. They shrank away as if they'd forgotten I existed as a student at all. From the very voices of teachers and students cheering wildly when I'd overwhelm rival school athletes—leaving them far behind in races—I began feeling humiliation too acute to bear. One day I overheard underclassmen talking like this in the restroom:

“How amazing, Ms. Mars!” “Well… Who are you talking about… Ms. Mars…?” “Oh… Don’t you know? It’s Ms. Amakawa Utako. That’s the Woman from Mars. The Principal said even if athletes from all over the world came, none could possibly beat her. That’s why everyone’s been calling her Ms. Mars lately.” “How cruel of the Principal… but what a fitting nickname! It really captures Ms. Amakawa’s grotesque vibe.”

Yet despite my timid nature, I was once again deceived and flattered, dragged out several times a year to compete. Feeling the cold emptiness within my heart...

Far beyond the school playground, in a corner surrounded by high fireproof walls, there stood an abandoned house that had been converted into a storage shed. Originally said to have been the school's etiquette classroom, its walls and roof tiles had crumbled away, shepherd's purse grew thickly throughout, termites had eaten through pillars and stairs, and tatami mats sagged like pitfall traps. When class breaks came, I would often hide behind the archery dojo's wooden fence at the back of the restroom and climb to the second floor of that abandoned house. I would lie down on the tattered rattan armchair there and gaze intently through storm shutters—now reduced to their upper wooden frames—at the deep blue sky above the firewalls, which became a cherished ritual. Comparing the vast, cold emptiness lying deep within my heart with the boundless void beyond that azure sky while pondering various matters grew into something habitual. At first I did this to avoid exposing my misshapen frame on the sports field, but later it transformed into a secret pleasure I couldn't share with anyone.

I gradually came to feel more strongly that the emptiness in the deepest depths of my heart and the emptiness beyond the blue sky were exactly the same thing. And so, even something like dying came to seem like nothing at all. The great void flowing through the cosmos... I became a woman who profoundly felt in her heart the flow of life that was nothing but time and space. That my true birthplace lay beyond that vast sky in a world of nothingness devoid of sound or scent—this I came to realize with absolute clarity.

The multitudes of people were jumping, leaping, crying, and laughing within that vast, vast nothingness of time and space. My classmates would each carry around whatever magazines, books, or event flyers they pleased, yearning after beautiful makeup techniques, knitting patterns, or various romantic dreams. Like ants swarming to sweets or butterflies flitting about flowers—happily... joyfully...

To me, all such things had come to seem utterly meaningless. The flow of nothingness within my heart and the flow of nothingness in the cosmos gradually grew attuned. And so after school, until the sun set, stretching out on that tattered rattan chair in the abandoned house, comforting myself with these lonely, lonely tears that somehow kept seeping forth became my greatest pleasure. However, such secret pleasures of mine were soon to be disrupted by something terrible.

That half-rotted, tilting abandoned house—overrun with junk, termites, and dust—had long served as the nest for Principal Morisumi's many vices, just as the red-brick Catholic church standing squarely on that coastal intersection had been the home of his many virtues. While maintaining his facade as a model educator in every aspect, that abandoned house had become absolutely necessary for Principal Morisumi to devise unimaginably wicked schemes involving money and women behind the scenes. Therefore, Principal Morisumi simply could not bring himself to approve the demolition of that abandoned house. Even when pressed by the police about "thatched roofs being fire hazards," he likely caused prolonged trouble for prefectural authorities by claiming there were no funds to build a storage shed.

Oh, the folly of me—coming day after day for spiritual refinement, never dreaming this place so deeply bound by fate was a nest of vice... And soon enough, from beneath my rickety rattan chair, what demonic flutterings came to be heard! And how mercilessly that demon's beating drove me down into this earthly hell from which there was no escape... To think they plunged me into such torment—torment demanding reckoning even through this charred ruin of a body, reckoning that could never be completed...

The owners of those fluttering wings were Principal Morisumi—a bear-like figure matted in jet-black fur—and Mr. Kawamura, the clerk, with his pure white eyeless, mouthless head grafted onto his back... Then emerged Ms. Torama Torako... that grotesque Fatso resembling a Yorkshire pig... our English teacher... These three were the demons who had secretly nested in that abandoned house. Principal Morisumi—who never fathomed I used that derelict house's second floor as my sacred meditation space—and Mr. Kawamura, the hunchbacked old clerk, would link arms conspiratorially when semester's end approached, slipping in after school through the canna leaf shadows by the staff restroom, skirting along the forbidden archery dojo's wooden fence. There they would sit amidst the trash in the eight-mat space directly beneath my rattan chair where I lay, conducting their clandestine discussions. For Principal Morisumi—keenly aware how lingering too often for private talks with the clerk might draw peculiar scrutiny from teachers on night duty, and how his delicate position as an educator risked public censure beyond school walls—that ruin must have been the supremely convenient venue for covert dealings.

Unlike the second floor, downstairs had its glass doors and storm shutters closed in two layers—remaining broken as they were—so even somewhat loud voices rarely leaked outside. However, in exchange, even most whispers would pierce straight through to my ears as I held my breath upstairs. And those conversations were mostly about matters related to alumni association funds, with the two of them diligently studying ways to cover them up. I learned that while the school's grand piano was recorded in the ledger as costing three thousand five hundred yen, it was actually a used one purchased for five hundred yen. I discovered that while the building housing the etiquette classroom and its furnishings by the main gate—constructed through alumni donations—were officially recorded as costing twelve thousand yen, the actual expenditure amounted to around seven thousand-some hundred yen. I also heard accounts of how Principal Morisumi misappropriated alumni association funds, conducted speculative trading under the name of Mr. Kawamura's younger brother through something called "Gembutsu," earned money from it, and was splitting the profits with the hunchbacked Mr. Kawamura.

Then, to resolve the complications arising from their difficulties with the Gembutsu funds, I clearly overheard Principal Morisumi reveal to Mr. Kawamura the extraordinarily strange money-making scheme he had long prepared in advance. Of course, this was something Principal Morisumi had confessed after being confronted by Mr. Kawamura, but the Principal had long since instructed Ms. Torama Torako—an ardent Christian believer who worshipped his character beyond measure and taught English to our fifth-year students—to propose erecting a bronze statue of himself. And so with the approval of all faculty members, when donations were solicited from alumni scattered nationwide and current students' families, it elicited such tremendous response that over 5,000-odd yen had already accumulated in Clerk Kawamura's possession.

Thus while the group of supporters naturally hoped to make one final effort to erect a standing bronze statue of the Principal, he—for reasons unknown—came to intensely dislike this idea, declaring: "A bust would be more than sufficient. I am fundamentally unworthy of having any statue erected in my honor. "A full-body statue is utterly out of the question!" he vehemently insisted, leaving Clerk Kawamura—caught between conflicting demands—in an extremely difficult position.

But when one inquired into the real reason Principal Morisumi came to detest that full-body statue, it turned out to be yet another preposterous behind-the-scenes affair. Principal Morisumi's bust had been perfectly completed two or three years prior, and now lay forgotten in a corner of his residence's closet—still wrapped in white cloth fragments, covered in dust and verdigris. On the lower part of its back was clearly engraved the name of Mr. Asakura Seiun—currently an Imperial Household Artist and Japan’s most renowned sculptor serving as a judge for the Imperial Exhibition.

The clever Clerk Kawamura must have somehow uncovered that matter. Taking advantage of some pretext, he secretly went up to Tokyo to meet with Mr. Asakura Seiun and inquire about the sculpture’s origins—whereupon Mr. Seiun, who knew nothing of the affair, reportedly answered quite plainly: “Ah. “That one? “I created it as a small gesture of gratitude toward Principal Morisumi. “Some time ago... about three years back, was it? A letter arrived from Principal Morisumi at a certain hot spring resort, requesting my presence for a job. When I promptly went there, he asked me to make a bust of himself. “Principal Morisumi is my maternal uncle—a great benefactor who paid my school fees through middle school. How could I refuse? “I immediately obtained ideal clay from a tile kiln near the hot spring, completed the bust in about a week, gathered all available plaster from drugstores to make a mold, brought it back to Tokyo, personally supervised its casting, and sent it directly to Principal Morisumi without submitting it to any exhibition... “So it still hasn’t been erected? “Oh... I see. “No, no. “Pardon me, but I never intended to accept even a single sen in payment. “To preserve Principal Morisumi’s esteemed likeness through my humble hands in his hometown was an honor beyond measure. “Should that bust ever be installed in your schoolyard, please inform me without hesitation if you require assistance with foundation work or pedestals. “I’ll visit at my own expense—no trouble at all—to advise on stone fences and plantings as economically as possible. “If left entirely to craftsmen, the balance with the bronze statue might falter, risking complete demolition...”

This is the story of how the hunchbacked Mr. Kawamura mimicked Mr. Seiun's manner of speaking, which I in turn mimicked, but upon hearing this tale, Clerk Kawamura found himself marveling anew at Principal Morisumi's remarkable skill. And so, due to donations being collected far beyond expectations—to the point where the bronze statue threatened to become a full-body figure—he resolved to side with Principal Morisumi, who found himself utterly flustered and overwhelmed by this development. These days, commissioning a bronze statue through proper channels would cost five thousand yen or even ten thousand yen for just a single bust. If it were a full-body statue, the cost would have to be estimated at around twenty to thirty thousand yen. So even for just the bust alone, the donation funds remained woefully insufficient...

Going around surreptitiously explaining such matters, they ultimately quashed the full-body statue proposal and finalized their scheme to use the pre-existing bust while pocketing most of the five thousand-odd yen collected—thereby letting Principal Morisumi breathe easier. In the end, Clerk Kawamura heard these words in that derelict building: "So on March 22nd approaching, we'll have this year's graduate appreciation banquet. At that event, we'll make the honor students present the donation sum to you. Then have you publicly entrust the funds to me again with a simple declaration: 'All bronze statue matters are hereby entrusted to Clerk Kawamura.' I'll then mount the podium and announce we've commissioned Mr. Asakura Seiun—since that renowned sculptor hails from our region. Once I report he's gladly accepted and will complete it shortly—then get everyone clapping—the game's ours. You'll behold our handiwork polished to perfection."

However, the conversations I overheard in that abandoned house weren't all such cordial exchanges. There were multiple occasions—not merely two or three—when both men raised their voices in heated dispute. Through these arguments, I gradually uncovered various secrets about the school as I've previously described, though ultimately it was always Principal Morisumi who would yield and restore their uneasy alliance.

“Alright, alright. I understand,” Principal Morisumi conceded. “Ultimately, the ledger responsibility falls entirely on you anyway.” He paused, then added with forced magnanimity: “I won’t make unreasonable demands... No—” Cutting himself off, he repeated: “Understood. Completely understood.” His tone shifted abruptly to conspiratorial warmth. “Shall we go somewhere diverting to reconcile? That hot spring hotel’s third floor—no one would find us there, you know…” “Oh no,” Clerk Kawamura demurred, his voice tightening. “Given the late hour, perhaps somewhere closer would be preferable.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble if we take a taxi and speed there. Places nearby are no good—people know our faces. The third floor of the hot spring hotel would be best. You bring that courtesan along. It’s a splendid place where you can indulge freely in pleasure. Even the governor and prefectural inspector come here privately now and then. My own discovery, you see.”

“Huh? Is it truly such an extravagant place?” “It’s been utterly transformed into a South Seas paradise—the pinnacle of decadent luxury. I’ll handle the bill, so you must bring her without fail.” “Heh heh... I’m deeply grateful.”

“No.” “She’s fun.” “She’s quite different.” “I’ll bring an even younger one tonight.”

Such conversations too, as if bound by some karmic thread, had mysteriously taken root in the depths of my ears.

When I gathered such stories and considered them, Principal Morisumi used his own reputation and position to turn the school into a tool for making money. And so, using such funds, he gathered friends in some secret location to amuse themselves.

But I was not surprised in the least.

Despite being a weak-willed, tearful woman, I found those terrifying, sordid stories so irresistibly fascinating. Thus driven by unbearable curiosity after hearing such tales, I rode the hot spring railway home from school two or three times to observe the hot spring hotel. I thoroughly ascertained what sort of people visited and what transpired there, yet witnessing and hearing such matters became my supreme form of cultivation. That is to say—as I came to understand this endlessly depraved world more profoundly—the current of nothingness spreading through my heart grew ever clearer, becoming limpid as a mirror.

I had grown unshakably strong against the world. No matter how they laughed at or scorned me, I became able to smile back with perfect composure. The people of this world... even the entire Earth itself... came to appear as swarms of tiny insects conceived within vast nothingness. And then in that void, if there were insects calmly committing evil deeds, I too came to feel it permissible to calmly twist them and crush them underfoot. ...How fascinating it might be to become a woman newspaper reporter... Such whimsical thoughts too belonged to that time.

Is a woman who contemplates nothingness worthless as a woman? It seemed all my classmates had bestowed nicknames upon me like "Woman from Mars" or "Half-Man." Somehow, every time they saw my face, they appeared to shudder and sigh. It even struck me that they felt relief at not having been born a woman like myself—but perhaps I was mistaken?

My parents too did nothing but sigh every time they saw my face. They looked at me with eyes so despairing they seemed to have lost all parental affection, but I understood those feelings all too well—understood them perhaps even excessively.

I will never forget.

It was the afternoon of March 17th this year, the day of our graduation ceremony. I had returned from the ceremony and, while changing out of my uniform into everyday clothes, ended up half-listening to my parents’ conversation in the tearoom. “If that matter isn’t settled, we can’t possibly marry off the two younger sisters.” “Yes...” “If only that one would just get sick and die—that would be a relief—but she’s never once even fallen ill...”

“Ha ha ha! How unfortunate! If she’s a cripple, she ought to at least have some other sense about her.”

My feelings upon hearing such conversation... Though I fancied myself quite strong-willed in society's eyes, while inwardly still clinging with scorching desperation to every form of affection—my unbearable anguish when clearly realizing I had been abandoned even by the last vestiges of human love... My sorrow when such talk overflowing with cold hatred—though fully understanding it was but warped parental love—implied my own position with no path but suicide... My desperate circumstances where remaining forever the Woman from Mars proved impossible... This poignant sorrow of a woman too weak to even commit suicide—could men ever comprehend it?

I had nowhere left to place myself within this endless void. On the evening I overheard my parents' conversation, shortly after finishing dinner, I announced I was going to see a movie with friends and put on that absurdly gaudy meisen silk kimono—its expressionist patterns glaringly ostentatious, still unworn since my mother had bought it for me—before slipping out of the house unnoticed by my younger sisters. From the shade of the poplar tree in the vacant lot beside the school's back gate, I climbed over the concrete wall and jumped down behind the schoolyard toilet. Such things were nothing to me.

I then resolved to return once more—after so long—to those quiet, quiet memories of nothingness: slowly arranging my sleeves upon the rattan chair in that abandoned building's second floor while gazing at that familiar, lonesome sky. Mindful of my new felt sandals, I approached the ruin through the twilight schoolyard where only the stars loomed large, devoid of human figures. And then I quietly slipped one foot into the darkness of the earthen floor below.

In the arms of a shaggy-haired man who suddenly emerged from that darkness, I found myself seized tight. And thus, for the first time in my life, came whispered words of aching tenderness I'd never imagined hearing. “...You came.” “Thank you.” “You truly came.” “Only you can save this pitiful old bachelor from his torment.” “I cannot live without you.” “Have mercy on this lonely educator... won't you... won't you. For we solitary souls understand each other completely... you see... you see... you see...”

That voice... those words... When I realized they were indeed the Principal's own—what shock must have pierced me then. My entire body petrified alongside my pounding heart. ...How could he have possibly known I would come here... The thought flickered through me in that instant—but remembering how the back gate was visible from the staff room's leftmost window, my muddled thoughts reasoned he must have come on some business, spotted me there, then sneaked around from behind the archery dojo's plank fence. Being fundamentally trusting, even then I must have instinctively bent over backwards to interpret the Principal's actions charitably—not only detecting nothing unnatural in his words, but realizing his unthinkable impropriety must stem from dire circumstances. My timid nature left me feeling I couldn't possibly resist—there in the blackness with my arms clamped tight, I froze rigid and bowed my head.

Oh... my spineless self... In that moment, enveloped in dread that even the slightest noise would reduce the esteemed Principal's reputation and position to utter ruin, I found myself frozen completely. "Ah... poor wretched me... Against my will, I was pierced by the Principal's words—'We understand each other's lonely hearts.'" A mournful sensation overcame me, as though I'd been ensnared by an inescapable fate.

……Ah… foolish me… unwary me. The Principal was not the saint his reputation suggested. He had made an appointment to meet another woman there... At that time, for some reason, I had not even slightly perceived that he was mistaking me for her. Perhaps the sense of respect lingering in the depths of my heart had forbidden me to doubt the Principal.

...Ah... shallow me... I knew all too well about the Principal's countless unsavory financial dealings. Yet I had believed him utterly chaste in his dealings with women. Even if others might carouse foolishly, until that moment I had remained convinced Principal Morisumi alone was that admirable sort of man who maintained his marital fidelity to his deceased wife unto death. How pitiful that such a saintly principal should nurse these secret sorrows! That he would entrust such matters to me—what an undeserved privilege... As I pondered this earnestly, everything grew hazy with sorrow until I wept and wept beyond control. With chaotic memories whirling through my mind, I clung limply to the Principal's chest.

Meanwhile, time rushed onward. ……Ah…… But what a sad, wretched fleeting dream that must have been. Soon Ms. Torama Torako arrived—that long-serving English teacher we called Ms. Fatty—and oh, the cruel treatment I endured at her hands. In that pitch darkness, how desperately I mustered all my strength to shove Ms. Torama and flee outside the abandoned building!

And after fleeing outside the concrete wall, I immediately slipped back into the archery dojo, pressed my ear to the gap in the abandoned building's side door, and listened with such intensity to their argument. How utterly flustered the Principal became then. Though I couldn't see his face clearly, he must have turned deathly pale. Peering through eyes long accustomed to darkness, I saw him pressed flat against the buttocks of that enormous papier-mâché Daruma doll meant for Sports Day—planting both hands before the imperious Ms. Torama as he apologized repeatedly in a tear-choked voice.

“No, I won’t let you call this a mistake. You’re not just keeping mistresses. This way, you deceive woman after woman. I know everything. When you promise to improve failing students’ grades, I know exactly what you demand from those pupils and their mothers. Your tools of trade are the exam questions for every student in this school sitting in your pocket. The names of all students and mothers who visited your boarding house’s second floor are recorded in my notebook. I’ve known since long ago why your landlady keeps silent about these matters. Ohoho...”

“That’s not all! Isn’t Miss Tonomiya Aiko—the current fifth-year honor student—your own flesh and blood?” “No!” “You can’t hide it. Day after day of seeing your face has made everything abundantly clear.” “Isn’t Mendel’s Law a terrifying thing? A girl takes after her father and a boy after his mother—isn’t that true?” “Look closely. Isn’t she your living image?” “You got Ms. Tomeko—Maiyama Tomeko—pregnant and had her graduate, then preyed on her timid nature to trick and cajole her into marrying that lecherous Duke Tonomiya, didn’t you?” “Then you wormed your way into the Duke’s good graces through frivolous games, secretly delighting in doubly and triply tormenting Duchess Tonomiya—that angelically reserved model of Japanese womanhood—with your persecutions... No!” “You are precisely that sort of person.” “You’re a perversely extreme individualist congealed into solid form, endlessly reveling in and seeking pride from the hidden strength of your unprincipled, dual-personality character.”

“At present, only myself and Ms. Maiyama Tomeko—the current Duchess Tonomiya—know of this matter. Even Ms. Aiko herself remains unaware.” “She single-mindedly believes you to be a Principal of splendid character and holds you in reverence.” “Do you comprehend Ms. Maiyama Tomeko’s thoughtful consideration in this?” “From our days sharing this school’s dormitory, Ms. Maiyama and I had been the most cherished of friends.” “You—you made that precious, precious Ms. Maiyama weep! How could you remain unaware? ……It was from that moment I took interest in your life, enduring all manner of hardships while awaiting my chance to draw near.” “There—you understand now, don’t you?” “A woman’s single-minded determination is a terrifying thing.” “Ohoho...”

“No no. I cannot stay silent. I’m not like those helpless traditional Japanese women without means or strength. For I’m a woman who’s confident that once I dig in my heels, I’ll keep them planted to the bitter end. Not to boast, but I’m a woman who raised two boys single-handedly. A woman who knows the ways of this world inside out... I know precisely how to make public those loving words you whispered twenty years ago while embracing that angelic Ms. Maiyama. Do show pity on this lonely spinster... or so I’d say. Hohoho...”

As for the subsequent exchange, whether from my mental disarray, I retained no clear memory of each detail. However, to summarize briefly, through the Principal's desperate explanations, Ms.Torama finally came to accept the misunderstanding's cause. And under conditions of granting Ms.Torama higher official rank and salary increase, it appeared an agreement had been reached where she would forgive Principal Morisumi's transgressions.

Following that, they now seemed to be whispering about methods to silence me. Along with muffled snickers, fragments like "Osaka" and "recycling waste" occasionally reached my ears, though most of their conversation remained inaudible. Even had they commanded me to speak—not that I would ever prattle about such secrets—I kept my breath held tight as I listened.

And thus in the end, the two engaged in such an exchange.

“Do we understand each other, Mr. Morisumi? Should you forget your promise regarding my appointed rank and salary raise, you will suffer significant losses. As for me, my two children are about to graduate from university and vocational college together this spring, and I already have enough savings to last a lifetime. So no matter what people say about me, I have nothing to fear. All I need now is to secure my two sons’ marriage expenses and pensions… I can reveal anything at all, you know. Do we understand each other, Mr. Morisumi?”

“Heh heh... “I will never forget.” “I have indeed understood.” “Ah, I was so worried it was an unexpected mistake.” “Still, how did that girl manage to get in here?” “Disgusting...”

Having heard this much, I stealthily withdrew from the sliding door. I exited from beside the archery range's fire wall, meticulously fixed my hair and face in the communal restroom near the back gate, and quietly slipped back home.

That night, my mind whirled like a dust devil, and being unable to rest even slightly, I clutched my chest so tightly that both wrists went numb as I spent the night awake. Even someone condemned to death would not have dreaded the dawn's arrival so intensely.

When the next morning came, I noticed my entire body felt strangely heavy and unbearable. I felt the kind of exhaustion that brings nausea after intense training—the sunlight outside the window appearing sickly yellow—and when I tried to rise, my eyes swam so violently I couldn't bear it. Thus for the first time in my life I remained abed all day, though this was likely due to intense nervous shock. I told my parents I had a slight chill, so that evening they summoned a young doctor—some associate professor from a nearby university—but he found nothing particularly wrong: no fever, no irregular pulse. The doctor repeatedly expressed puzzlement, tilting his head in bewilderment. And after drawing a small amount of blood from my left hand and departing—how could I, in my confused state then, have realized that single drop would become the damning evidence entangling both Principal Morisumi and myself?

The morning after next… It was the early morning of the fourth day since then. I was finally able to wake with a calmness approaching normalcy. This was likely due to the sleeping draught I had received from the young physician the previous night. Still in my nightclothes, I stepped into the garden and slowly gazed upward at the vivid blue morning sky shimmering through the eucalyptus branches. Yet how profoundly sorrowful I felt in that moment...

Principal. No matter what others said of me, I remained a woman. Though knowing it an improper, abhorrent path, I found myself unable to resent you, Principal. More than that—your weak, cowardly heart, compelled to such improper deeds—this pierced me with unbearable anguish at the time. And was it not my ordained path as a woman to save that tormented soul through any means, however unsavory? To guide you back to righteousness? This fate I was born to fulfill... such thoughts had taken root within me. For me—

"Save this pitiful, lonely old man."

Those words you declared—"Save this pitiful, lonely old man"—I could not help but feel they had sprung from Principal Morisumi's true heart itself. Even if those were words you had mistakenly declared to me... Without my knowing, I had already ceased to be nothingness. Through Principal Morisumi's influence, I had begun awakening to my purity as a woman. ...I, unfathomably foolish...

“How about going to Osaka?” This exchange occurred in the parlor before breakfast when my father raised the matter with me. Even my stepmother, who had always been quite cold toward me, seemed deeply interested in this discussion and came to sit in the chair beside me with gleaming eyes. My frugal father spoke in an uncharacteristically cheerful tone while opening his tight-lipped mouth. “You have said before that you wanted to become a newspaper reporter, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I had considered such things before.” “You didn’t dislike photography either?” “Yes, I love it.” Father knew I had been submitting writings to various newspapers and magazines and having my photographs selected for salons, so why was he formally asking about such things? I found it slightly puzzling. “...So this would be perfect. A newspaper company in Osaka wants a female sports reporter. Visiting girls’ school athletic clubs for interviews and photos—that’s the job. Yesterday Principal Morisumi himself came to my office at the Forestry Agency. He said they’d be thrilled if you accept. They’ll even arrange overseas opportunities—a truly unmatched offer. The salary is 100 yen with three months’ bonus. If you agree, I’ll call Osaka immediately so you can depart right away...”

That was his proposal. I think he managed to remain so composed at that time. In truth, compared to the incident in the abandoned house three or four days prior, the news of going to Osaka that I heard from my father at this time slammed into me with such force that it crushed me. Never before had my feelings been betrayed as they were at this moment. The fact that Principal Morisumi was trying to send me to Osaka... was what filled me with such despair.

“...Please let me think about it.” As I gave my reply, my chest had already become full with tears. Without knowing why, I began to sob quietly. Having seen that, Father shifted forward from his chair and spoke.

“There’s nothing more fortunate than this, is there? In this world, even male university graduates can’t find jobs paying thirty or twenty yen.” “What’s there to think about… Or is there something else?” “Do you have any reason on earth why you can’t go to Osaka?”

Never before or since have I heard my father’s voice so solemn. So without thinking, I raised my face and looked around at my parents’ expressions, only to find them staring at me with faces more solemn than Father’s words—stiffened as if interrogating a felon—so blankly intense that I grew utterly startled.

Even so, completely unaware, I shook my head from side to side and replied.

“No.” “There’s no particular reason like that at all.” “I simply ask that you allow me two or three more days to consider.” “Because it’s a matter of a lifetime...”

At that moment, my parents seemed to exchange a fleeting, unnaturally pale glance. Then Father let out one deliberate cough.

“Hmm. “In that case—isn’t there something you’re hiding from us?” “Isn’t that why you can’t go to Osaka?” I felt struck through the chest but quickly steadied myself, casually shaking my head side to side. Letting out a sigh... “No. Nothing at all...” “Then... where were you the night before last?” Stepmother spoke in an ice-cold, quiet voice from beside me.

I jolted as if struck by soundless thunder and dejectedly bowed my head. My face had probably turned as pale as a corpse’s. My mind churned with anxiety, my chest pounded, while tears sharp enough to slice through flesh kept dripping onto the knees of my nightgown.

...My ruin was Principal Morisumi's ruin... Principal Morisumi's ruin was my ruin... My ruin... Principal Morisumi's ruin... Everything was ruin... At this very moment, it all teetered on destruction's brink. ...And so, no matter what happened, we mustn't let it be destroyed. I must never confess. Principal Morisumi and I—just the two of us—had to clutch this secret tight, tumbling headlong into Avīci Hell's bottomless depths, falling endlessly through its abyss. ...As these thoughts whirled like an electric fan in my skull, all my circulating blood seemed to turn to tears, flooding my head until they welled up behind my eyes and dripped plop plop onto my lap. With this came terror—my heart and lungs throbbed wildly out of sync in that boundless void, leaving me unable to utter a sound.

In my ear, Father’s sharp, penetrating voice rang out. "You can try to hide it, but I already know! The serum the doctor took from you the day before yesterday—when they tested it at the university, we found out you’re no longer a virgin!"

Stepmother let out a long, long sigh right beside me—a sigh colder than complete strangers, colder still than utter strangers... “The doctor who examined you the day before yesterday... who came again last night... is a renowned medical doctor who went all the way to Austria for his research.” “No excuse will work—this scientifically valid evidence... I... I... have had thrust before my very eyes!”

...What terrifying power science wields... That I was no longer pure... That a fleeting moment—so transient even I couldn't perceive it as such—could be laid bare through a mere drop of blood in testing... ...What cruel scientific judgment...

I collapsed in helpless tears upon the carpet... at my parents' feet. Cornered beyond hope, I…. Father pressed me by any means necessary to reveal who the other party was. He would never do anything unreasonable. He would certainly arrange a proper match. “Our failure to realize there was someone who cared for you to such an extent was our mistake. Just tell me who it is—anyone will do!” “Do you not know a parent’s mercy…?” my parents pressed me with tears streaming down their faces, but though reduced to weeping as if I might die, I ultimately held my ground. The terrifying act of revealing the Principal’s name was something I simply could not bring myself to do.

I had disobeyed my parents' orders for the first time in my life. I had betrayed my dear parents' mercy. For the Principal's honor... Why did I not go mad at that time? Then around noon that day, utterly drained from weeping, I crawled into bed. I swallowed a large dose of Adalin and fell into deep slumber under the watch of my two ashen-faced sisters. As I thought how much better it would be if I simply died like this...

The next day, March 22nd, was when we of the 27th graduating class were to hold the Thanksgiving Ceremony for the Principal.

Ah, the Thanksgiving Party... What a wretched, sorrowful, terrifying Thanksgiving Party it was for me. Still in a dreamlike stupor from the sleeping pills, with thoughts of life and death—unthinkable thoughts—swirling through every corner of my mind, I passed once more through my alma mater's main gate. I wanted to see the Principal's face one last time. What expression would he wear when looking at me... clinging to that single fragile hope as my only tether between heaven and earth...

As always wearing his worn-out frock coat and standing at the entrance, the Principal smiled just as always when he saw me. It was the Principal's usual noble, merciful face.

“...Ah... Good morning, Ms. Amakawa.” “I have something to discuss with you, though.” “I still have time—” he declared in a composed voice, practically pulling me by the hand as he led me up the front staircase to a vacant classroom at the far end of the second-floor corridor and escorted me into a corner. And then, with that same face of utmost kindness, noble and benevolent,

“How about it? “Have you heard from your father?” “Have you made up your mind about going to Osaka?” he said, then smiled again.

The Principal’s face bore an expression that showed not a shred of memory from two or three days prior. The skin of his gentle face glistened with a radiant sheen, a divine smile hovering about his lips... Was that night not a dream after all?... Had I not seen some unimaginable dream and become so consumed by it?... I even found myself thinking such things.

Even so, while my mind was utterly confused with unthinkable thoughts, I believe I resolutely refused the Osaka relocation. At that moment, I seemed neither particularly happy, sad, nor angry—it was as if I felt nothing at all. Perhaps my brain was still numb from the shock. However, the Principal would not relent. “This is for your own benefit... Should you but accept this position, I can guarantee an excellent marriage prospect will present itself... A sports-loving young gentleman awaits at that newspaper company...”

He went on like this, pouring ever more feigned kindness into his repeated sermonizing, but when I—keeping my head bowed as I listened—peered upward, the coldness in the Principal's eyes... That pale, malicious gleam shining like the eyes of a man-eating fish... At that moment when I saw the indescribably heartless chill in his gaze, I nearly cried out "Devil!" and lunged at him—but instead, I let out a furtive sigh and bowed my head. The urge to reduce everything to chaos terrified me so deeply that...

At that moment, the Principal’s words—far more fervent than when he had begun speaking—resounded in my ears with a prayer-like intensity. “…You know… Ms. Amakawa.” “Please consider this.” “If you were to refuse to go to Osaka by any chance, do you know how much mental anguish you would cause your parents and younger sisters?” “They have declared that if you remain as you are, your chances of establishing a household and leading a fulfilling life will become negligible, and your parents now lie awake through the nights in anxious worry.” “This I say from the depths of my heart—what exactly do you intend to do with your future?” “Do you not understand how profoundly my heart cares for your benefit?”

Those words so characteristic of the Principal—imbued with dignity and warmth befitting a moral paragon—how utterly detestable they were. Once again I was seized by the impulse to fly into a rage and smash everything to pieces, but by that time my resolve had already hardened, so I endured it while my entire body trembled violently. "I fully understand your concern, Principal. "But please allow me two or three more days to consider. "I would never dream of acting against your wishes..."

This was the first lie I had ever uttered in my life. What I had resolved at this time was far from opposing the Principal's wishes. Had he caught even the faintest inkling of my determination in that moment, he might have collapsed on the spot. As I stared at his unshakable, stone-like countenance, I became profoundly convinced that no ordinary human methods could ever make him repent. Realizing that if I were truly a Woman from Mars, then he must be a supreme-class demon descended from Saturn—a truth immutable regardless of circumstances—I resolved to devise means that would make him tremble to his core... Mere murder would never suffice... I must transform this earthly realm into a place more terrible than a frying pan—where he could neither live nor die in peace—and with this conviction, I hardened my resolve twofold.

I rose quietly with a faint smile and left the classroom. As I did so, I came face to face with Ms.Torama Debuko, who had apparently been listening at the entrance to gauge the situation. But being already fully composed, I politely bowed without letting anything show and descended the stairs. Later, it seemed the Principal and Ms.Torama were discussing something, but such matters no longer concerned me.

I entered the sewing room that served as the downstairs waiting area and spent over an hour mingling with fellow alumni in conversation—laughing together, eating sweets and such—though my having opened up so completely and appeared so cheerfully lively with everyone must have been the first time in my life. Throughout that time, I forgot everything—my tallness, my ugliness, being the Woman from Mars—and driven by this vague sense of regretting parting with everyone, I met with as many friends as possible, laughed together, held hands and shared memories together. That one hour was likely the most joyful hour of my entire life—the first time I finally felt human-like feelings.

I must now describe in greater detail the events of the Thanksgiving Party that soon commenced. It was a spectacle that veiled the Principal's depravity—unmatched in this mortal realm—with such blinding beauty and cultivated elegance. A horrific, drawn-out torture conducted solely to torment and intimidate me—unnoticed by any soul save myself—unfolding in this world...

First came the choir of all students singing the Kimigayo, but from the moment those pure, supremely solemn waves of melody reached my ears, my entire body shuddered uncontrollably. A gnawing terror gripped me so intensely—so unbearably—that the urge to flee came over me then and there. ...I was compelled to tremble from the depths of my soul...the *"Kimigayo torture"*... Then next came Supervisor Tonomiya ascending the podium as parental representative—how impressive his speech sounded. How solemnly the hall held its breath as he listed even the most trivial details of the Principal's noble virtues and elaborated them one by one...

After Vice-Principal Kobayakawa gave his report regarding the donation funds for the principal’s statue, when Tonomiya Aiko—the graduate representative who remained blissfully unaware—presented the complete catalog of collected funds, there was the principal’s composed, faintly pleased expression.... Following Secretary Kawamura’s administrative report, Principal Morisumi delivered his speech of gratitude. The tear-jerking quality of his words... The profound sincerity they conveyed... The divine majesty of his bearing... And precisely because it was all so—precisely because of that—the underlying meaning of his address was demonic beyond what any poet could conceive....

“I have not a single child of my own. That is why I always consider all of you my true children. ...Over these five years, I have committed to memory each of your names, your faces, even your innermost feelings—engraving deep within my heart the image of you all growing as pure and unblemished as flawless gems. How could I possibly remain composed at this very moment—this final farewell day—as I send you all out into this storm-tossed world so filled with injustice and immorality? How could I remain unmoved? It is precisely because you are all so delicate, so beautiful, so gentle—precisely because of that—that my heart swells with a sorrow even more profound than that of a mother sending her brave child off to war.”

“Needless to say, life is a battlefield. This society today may appear beautifully adorned through our splendid scientific civilization—but when you examine its true nature, it proves no different than the world of wild beasts...jungles and primeval forests, Africa’s dark regions—a spiritual and material battleground where we devour one another in an ‘eat or be eaten’ struggle. The social evils spawned by this inexorable competition fill every corner of our world with that same predatory logic. You tender-hearted young ladies must steel yourselves now—profound dangers lurk everywhere, situations that will test your very understanding of right and wrong.”

“…As I have often stated, the history of human culture up to this day has been a history of culture for men. This masculine chronicle has progressed from an era of individual physical contests through epochs of collective military competition between factions, arriving now at this age of monetary struggle. It is simply an era where weapons named bows and guns have been replaced by weapons named currency. Thus, just as in bygone days of martial conflict—when any heinous or immoral deed became permissible if deemed necessary for vanquishing enemies—so too in today’s society does convention allow freely committing acts of ruthlessness and inhumanity for wealth and its attendant honors, provided they breach no laws and escape public notice. To state matters more starkly—whether in international relations or personal dealings—this world has become one where none may claim victory without possessing sufficient cruelty and cold-bloodedness to casually disregard conscience and trample humanity underfoot. To name it such a society would scarcely constitute error.”

“...In other words, modern men are warriors of this dark age of struggle who battle with the weapon of money. Men who can nonchalantly and skillfully employ violence and schemes—utterly devoid of conscience or moral restraint—become victors and rulers, while evidence abounds everywhere in daily life that good people incapable of such acts degenerate into the defeated and weaklings, too glaring to overlook. ...Therefore I must declare that the era when the world will be governed by the hearts of gentle, beautiful, peace-loving women remains a distant dream.”

...Therefore, you all must rejoice at having been born as women. "Some of you may know this—in the Taikōki jōruri ballad, Akechi Mitsuhide, who sought to assassinate his lord and seize power, rebukes his mother and wife for opposing his rebellion with 'This is no matter for women and children to comprehend!'" "In both that era and the present day, women have entrusted all such ugly, evil aspects of the struggle for existence entirely to men since the dawn of the world, while monopolizing lives of beauty and love by mutual agreement." “With their pure and beautiful hearts of love, they have devoted themselves solely to cooking, sewing, and child-rearing—beautifying and pacifying their home lives, striving only to educate their descendants in proper and beautiful hearts.” "And thus, gradually overcoming the barbaric world of physical strength and military conflict, they have brought forth today’s civilized world of happiness and comfort—beyond what people of old could ever have imagined."

"...Therefore, you have absolutely nothing to fear. 'I have implanted within you all a heart that esteems peace and instilled an attitude of cherishing endurance and beauty.' 'With this heart, you must fulfill your mission—inherited instinctually from primordial times before recorded history—to combat the cruel, tearless world of shameless vice forged by men.' 'Thus, if you simply devote your full efforts daily—guided by those beautiful, gentle instincts revering peace and forbearance—to swiftly purify this world, moralize it into a realm of peace springing from humanity's shared hearts...to cultivate as soon as possible a world governed solely by women's virtues...that shall suffice.'"

"...It is neither a difficult nor an incomprehensible task. 'The beautiful instincts of women in the home...their pure love constitutes the sole invincible weapon against men. However coarse and heartless a man might be, when dwelling in a home shielded by a woman's fathomless forbearance and boundless affection, even in his deepest depths he finds his heart at peace. Thus without their awareness, great influence becomes implanted in those innermost recesses. A woman who stirs discord within her household is calamitous indeed. ...From my heart's core do I ceaselessly hope you will swiftly establish wholesome homes, raise multitudes of pure and honest children, and make Japan's future as unsullied, radiant, upright, and robust as may be.'"

"...It is for this single hope that I have abandoned my entire life and devoted myself to this endeavor. '...Let me reiterate.' 'You all are the children of my heart.' 'My feelings at sending these children out into society from this very day for such a noble fight... as we face this farewell—'"

When the Principal’s address reached this point, an unstoppable whirlwind of applause surged from the entire hall……followed by sniffling sobs and sighs that lingered for some time…….

Then, just as at the graduation ceremony, began the tear-jerking strains of "Hotaru no Hikari"—that melody symbolizing parting... Ah. What a spectacle brimming with forced sentiment it must have been! What a saintly figure Principal Morisumi must have cut!

Immediately after the Thanksgiving Party concluded, I visited Supervisor Tonomiya's residence located along my way home. There I met Miss Tonomiya Aiko—known as both the school's most beautiful girl and its top student—and upon stating that I had an important secret to discuss, we secluded ourselves alone in the reception room. Miss Tonomiya Aiko had been my most precious, most cherished lover during her school days. Among my friends, she alone truly understood poetry. Though no one knew of it, we had met secretly countless times, sharing discussions about nothingness in that second-floor storage room of the Abara House on more than one or two occasions. Yet this marked the first time I had ever formally visited the residence.

Ms. Tonomiya Aiko was truly a resolute person. She listened to my story without showing surprise or tears, beautiful lips firmly clenched and clear eyes shining bright red as she accepted my long tale in full. When I finished speaking, she finally spoke in a deliberate tone tinged with resolve, a few tears welling at the corners of her eyes. Hers was a voice of beautiful, beautiful quiet.

“...Thank you.” “Utako.” “Thanks to you, everything I hadn’t understood until now has become perfectly clear.” “For your kindness in making Principal Morisumi—my true father whom I’ve only just come to know—reflect upon himself, please allow me to express my gratitude.” “I don’t know what form your revenge will take, but if it’s truly as you say—retribution meant solely to make him reflect, carried out undetectably—then I think it’s an excellent course of action.” “The method I leave entirely to you.” “No matter what method you choose, I shall never resent you for it.” “And if Father...if Principal Morisumi still doesn’t repent by then, I shall send out the letters you entrusted exactly as instructed.” “Yes—I won’t look at the contents...won’t tell anyone...not even Mother...so please rest assured.” “I’ll trust you to the very end.” “...For I know no other way for my father’s...for my father’s sins to be atoned than through your full vengeance...”

“...But...be that as it may, when you go to Osaka, do send me word...please...won’t you?” With those words, Miss Aiko let a single tear drop. Without even attempting to wipe it away, she came running up and firmly grasped my hand. A handshake laden with infinite meaning….

Thus, my preparations were complete.

The extent of my parents' joy when they consented to my going to Osaka and Principal Morisumi's effusive praise when he made a special visit was truly extraordinary. And then at that time, I brought up my unreasonable request...to depart for Osaka without informing anyone, completely alone. They even accepted my selfish wish to leave immediately without paying respects at the Osaka newspaper branch office, without putting up much resistance.

However, I did not go to Osaka. On the evening of the day of the Thanksgiving Party, I bid farewell to my parents and left home in light attire—just a new Western-style dress and a handbag—but instead of departing immediately, I first visited Supervisor Tonomiya’s residence. Under the pretense of finally leaving for Osaka, I insisted on taking Miss Aiko out, and together we went up to Seiyōtei, where we ordered a lavish meal and shared our farewell dinner. Afterward, the two of us went to a modern photo studio to take commemorative photos, and there in the studio’s salon, we embraced and shared a long, long kiss—but we were both so drenched in tears that we could no longer see each other’s faces.

Then, Miss Aiko, who knew nothing of my plans, insisted on seeing me off and came to the station, so reluctantly I boarded the train pretending to go to Osaka, but immediately got off at a station along the way, returned by car, and took lodging at a lonely inn on the outskirts of this town. And then, dressed in an entirely black outfit—a black suit I had bought from a nearby secondhand store, a black hunting cap, and black glasses—I began earnestly tailing Principal Morisumi while walking like a man. The student-style handbag I carried contained a long sturdy hemp rope, a black satin cloth for masking, an old familiar Kodak camera, a modern compact flash unit, wax matches, and a safety razor blade for trimming photographic paper—all items I had practiced using the previous night on the inn's rooftop. To Principal Morisumi, these were weapons of my revenge far more dreadful than any pistol, poison gas, or other implement imaginable.

He could not have dreamed of such matters. Instead, you must have thought yourself finally safe after sending me off to Osaka. On the evening of the 24th—the day following the Thanksgiving Party—Principal Morisumi left his lodgings dressed for official travel: clad in a solemn morning coat and bowler hat, clutching a document case like some precious relic. He hurried through twilight-dimmed streets toward the outskirts, making his way to Tenjin Forest. With my heart pounding—Now!—I followed single-mindedly behind... and there in Tenjin Forest waited two men in traditional Japanese garb. ...A tall silhouette and a squat one... When I drew near enough to confirm them as Kawamura the hunchbacked clerk and that handsome Supervisor Tonomiya—exactly as I’d envisioned—oh, how triumphantly my heart leapt!

Outside the forest on the national highway, a covered automobile with its interior lights extinguished waited stealthily, carrying three young geisha. Noticing this, I fastened the handbag to my waist and quickly masked myself with a black cloth, then—just as the three men boarded the vehicle—merged into the twilight shadows and darted to cling to the spare tire, crouching low as I was jostled along. When I realized the automobile’s destination was indeed the hot spring hotel exactly as I had envisioned—that relief and satisfaction... that adventurous spirit and curiosity... how my heart must have pounded with exhilaration! My revenge had been meticulously researched and planned from the very beginning with that hot spring hotel as its focal point... And from that very first moment of Day One, everything began unfolding precisely according to my designs...

However, when I performed that mischief on a sudden whim, how utterly astonished the people in the automobile must have been! That the automobile happened to be a Chevrolet convertible may truly have been divine providence. Moreover, that I had by chance prepared a safety razor blade might well have been nothing short of miraculous. Inside that rattling vehicle, the three men in their frenzied excitement failed entirely to notice me using the razor blade to carve a U-shaped opening around the rear window.

When I thrust my hand through that opening, Principal Morisumi happened to be embracing from behind the leftmost and most adorable apprentice geisha, but at the moment I snatched both that geisha’s flower hairpin and the bowler hat tilted back like an Amida Buddha’s upon his head, leaping out from the automobile and fleeing—oh how my leg strength served me then... Though the young driver did come chasing after me shouting “Thief! Thief!” with all his might, it being a flat national highway just after nightfall...

Clutching the flower hairpin in my right hand and the handbag in my left, with the hat firmly clenched between my teeth, I swiftly pulled away from my pursuers before even growing winded. And then returning to town, I discreetly summoned Ms. Tonomiya Aiko—who was quite startled—informed her of the unexpected finds I had made during my work, and we were able to rejoice wholeheartedly.

Therefore, that bowler hat and flower hairpin should still be in Ms. Tonomiya Aiko’s possession. When you have read this letter, go immediately to Miss Aiko’s residence to retrieve it. I cannot say what dramatic scenes may unfold... Yet my true purpose still lay unfinished before me. I knew full well the Principal would never repent over such trifling matters.

“Miss Aiko... Should Principal Morisumi truly come to regret his actions and offer apologies to your mother as well, please give him this hat and flower hairpin... But even then, if the Principal does not come to retrieve them, consult with your mother and dispose of these two items as you see fit...”

After leaving those instructions, I immediately hired another covered automobile and headed straight for the hot spring hotel.

...Ah...the hot spring hotel...that famous hot spring hotel was precisely the place I had explored in meticulous detail countless times—riding the hot spring railway home from school, compelled by curiosity long before ever conceiving my vengeance against Principal Morisumi—probing its every surface from front to back. And so this undertaking—this endeavor for which I had gambled my entire existence—was something I had determined with absolute certainty could never be realized anywhere but within these very walls.

I remained convinced the Principal's group would likely not turn back. Those three gentlemen could never have fathomed what purpose drove the villain who had cut through the covered automobile's rear window and committed such mischief. How could they possibly suspect that I—who by all rights should have been in Osaka by then—had executed this deed? Nor would they abandon tonight's carefully arranged plan over such trifling matters—not after going through the trouble of gathering all three conspirators. I held ninety-nine percent certainty they'd merely been startled by this Arabian-Nights-like calamity, stirred up some frantic commotion, then pressed onward as intended.

Therefore, I had the automobile stopped at the foot of Yunokawa Bridge, slightly past the front of the hot spring hotel. Then, following a narrow back alley, I emerged beside the third floor of the hot spring hotel. As I listened intently in the shadow of its dark wooden fence for what felt like ages, I finally caught the faint laughter of Principal Morisumi drifting down from the high third-floor window alongside bright shafts of light. A wave of relief washed over me. Then immediately, soundlessly crossing over the wooden fence, I reached the third-floor emergency exit via the fire escape. From there, climbing along the sturdy copper rain gutter, I swiftly swung up from the eaves onto the roof—but even I, the Woman from Mars, when making that upward swing and glancing down at the dark abyss far below me—the granite pavement illuminated by stone lanterns—could not help but feel a cold sweat trickling down my back.

After such pains and with great effort, I crawled up to the summit of the red-tiled roof. With the handbag clenched in my teeth, I took out a thin cord from within it and fastened its main length to the base of the lightning rod at the roof's center. Wrapping the other end around my torso and pulling hand over hand, I descended the steep red-brick incline. Then, protruding only my face from the rain gutter at the roof's edge, I peered into the room through the pivoting window directly below.

The third floor of the hot spring hotel was structured entirely like an observation salon. The muggy weather had likely compelled them to leave the upper window sections open. With every upper window thrown wide, the interior lay exposed in its entirety—every corner visible at a glance. I lack the courage to describe that room's condition as it appeared then, surpassing even my darkest imaginings. I shall record only what necessity demands. Within the gilt-covered room—adorned with towering potted palm bamboos, banana plants, cannas, and opulently styled chaises longues—Supervisor Tonomiya with his imposing frame, Clerk Kawamura baring his ghastly pale hump, and Principal Morisumi with his bear-like, bald yet shaggy head were engaged in ecstatic revelry. Alongside the three young women brought by automobile stood five wretched figures—two middle-aged local geisha likely completing the ensemble. In forms and voices blurring human and beast, they leaped and rolled, crawled and laughed, weeping convulsively as they carried on.

For some time, I gazed blankly at such a spectacle. Recalling Principal Morisumi's declared words—"Modern civilization exists for men"—while witnessing for the first time in my life this frenzied dance of demonic humans and beauties before my eyes, I grew so appalled I nearly lost consciousness. But when my senses finally returned, I hung inverted from the roof's edge and calmly adjusted my Kodak's focus. Then, after deliberately striking a single wax match with a snap, I waited for the precise moment when everyone turned toward me before igniting the flash. The intense, bluish-white beam seemed to reach clear across to the far side of the hall.

When I threw the flash device into the deep grove beneath my eyes, some of the women who had been frolicking on the chaise longues seemed to scream “Kyaaa——!” and attempt to put on their kimonos.

“What was that just now…” “Wasn’t that a horrifying flash?” “Sounded like crackling.” “Probably a shooting star.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—it’s cloudy tonight.” “No... Stars can pierce through clouds when they streak by. Their light grows so intense it might seem right before your eyes. I saw it once... when I was small...”

“This seems to be a night of strange occurrences...”

“It looked to be right outside the window, I say.” Having said that, Principal Morisumi appeared to be shuffling toward the window.

At that moment, I became thoroughly amused and conceived yet another prank. After dropping the camera and handbag into the deep rain gutter, I swiftly untied my hair and let it hang long and wild. After concealing the front of my white shirt with a black cloth, I boldly leaned more than half my body out over the edge of the roof. Tossing my long hair upside down, I screamed in a breathlessly shrill, mournful voice.

“Principal Morisuuu...uuu...uuuumi——!” In the bright electric light streaming from the room, Principal Morisumi—having spotted my face outside the window—clutched the window frame and glared at me with eyes wide and white. In his wretched nakedness, his gaping mouth hung slack with a pale tongue lolling out. The sheer absurdity of his appearance made me burst into raucous laughter. “……Hohoho……Hahahahaha……Hihihihihi……”

As my laughter rang out, the entire room burst into motion with everyone springing to their feet. “Wh—What’s that——?!” “Kyaaa——!” “……Someone come he——lp...!” Women screamed in unison while fleeing confusedly, clutching others’ kimonos as they ran... A woman tumbling straight toward the entrance... Someone collapsing unconscious across a chair... Overturned chairs... Upended tables... Shattering cups and saucers... The clattering sound of rolling empty bottles...

……Had anyone beheld a woman’s face—hair cascading upside down as she laughed from the edge of a third-floor roof at midnight—none would have mistaken her for human……. As the uproar subsided into an eerie hush, only Supervisor Tonomiya and Clerk Kawamura remained—rooted like statues in the same frozen posture as Principal Morisumi, their eyes locked with mine in a venomous stare. Surveying the three men’s absurd figures—their faces contorted beyond all earthly dignity—I unleashed another peal of laughter from my very core, shrill and unbridled as a vengeful spirit’s cry.

“Hohohoho... Ohohohoho... Do you finally realize who I am?... Principal... Mr. Tonomiya... Mr. Kawamura... I’m the Woman from Mars... Ohohohohohoho... Ihihihihihi... Ahahahahaha......” Principal Morisumi’s eyes rolled back white, his tongue lolling out as he collapsed onto his back like a Buddhist statue toppled by an earthquake. The other two men remained frozen, glaring at my face without so much as glancing his way, but I simply pulled the rope and returned to the rooftop’s peak. Still on all fours, I let out a long “Hoh...” and steadied myself with a sigh.

I had already noticed at that moment that I was so exhausted I might not be able to stand up, yet I couldn't remain resting forever. It seemed the geishas who had fled had donned their kimonos and alerted the hotel staff, for from below arose the clamor of people making a commotion. Following this, two or three lights from weatherworn emergency lanterns appeared to come rushing out into the distant garden far below my eyes, but I didn't feel the slightest panic.

Clenching the handbag containing the precious camera firmly in my mouth, I left the rope tied to the lightning rod as it was and reached the opposite end of the rooftop’s peak from where I had climbed up. When I looked up at the beautiful starlight filtering through the clouds there, my chest tightened inexplicably, and tears pooled in my eyes to my dismay. I raced down the roof’s slope as I was, leapt onto the paved path in the dark garden, and was overcome by an impulse to die—but when I heard the ominous footsteps ascending the emergency ladder from below, I regained my composure and immediately descended via the radio antenna hanging beneath my feet to land on the second-floor roof of the adjacent building. Then, clinging to a branch of a large pine tree near that roof, I descended outside the plank fence. Then, cutting diagonally across the rice paddies' ridges as a shortcut while running, I went straight to the hot spring railway station, barely managed to catch the last train, and returned to the town's inn within an hour.

In my room at the inn, a bed had been properly prepared. By the pillow lay cold tea—bitter as medicine that had been fully steeped—and without even sitting down, I gulped down two or three cups in quick succession. How delicious it was... Contrary to when I had wanted to die on the hot spring hotel's roof earlier, I felt my courage had multiplied a hundredfold. The development of that night's film succeeded perfectly. Though small, the film clearly showed three men in wretched states and five women turning toward me in surprise—so distinctly that enlarging them proved unnecessary. Realizing this, I couldn't help laughing alone at how pointless those risky ventures had been—stealing hats and flower hairpins as future evidence. And so from that evening until nearly noon the next day, I rested my bones in great satisfaction.

After rising past noon today, I immediately began writing this letter at full speed. In the time it took to write three such lengthy letters, it might well have become midnight—or perhaps even dawn—but I didn't mind in the least. Before dawn broke, I developed and printed last night's photos, preparing three or four copies each to place inside the letters. I placed all three of these letters into separately addressed envelopes, enclosing a supplementary note requesting they be mailed in the specified order, and deposited them into Aiko-san’s home mailbox on the evening of the 26th, when the entire town lay sound asleep.

Then, taking the ×××× and absorbent cotton I had stolen long ago from the school's chemistry classroom and kept stored away, along with the △△△△ and △△△ I had bought yesterday and kept prepared, I will sneak into that abandoned building filled with memories at my alma mater. I will pile up the straw, bamboo, and paper-based sports equipment stacked there and sprinkle △△△△ over them. Then I will place bare candles soaked in △△△△ securely on the wet tatami mats, arranging them so that in twenty minutes the entire area will become a sea of flames. Then, I intend to cover my face with cotton soaked thoroughly in ×××× and crawl beneath the stacked fuel materials. Since I am of a constitution that becomes dizzy immediately upon smelling gasoline, if I inhale too much ××××, I may become overly anesthetized and truly die before the fire even starts.

Principal Morisumi... This is how I repay the favor you bestowed in making me a woman. Along with this, I wish to let my beloved soulmate Ms. Tonomiya Aiko perform true filial piety in its purest form. I must settle all accounts this way—otherwise I cannot return to primordial nothingness. Please accept this farewell gift from the Woman from Mars—the charred remains of a girl. For my flesh shall eternally be yours... Heh heh...