Pathway to Japanese Literature

It was nothing.

Dear Dr. Shirataka Hidemaro,

Usuki Rihē I recently had the honor of briefly meeting you at the Kōjutsukai gathering of the Marunouchi Club, and like yourself, am a junior alumnus from Kyushu Imperial University’s Department of Otolaryngology. I have been displaying the neon sign of Usuki ENT Clinic in Miyazaki-cho, Yokohama City since early June of Showa 8 (1933), but I must beg your forgiveness for the discourtesy of abruptly sending you such an unusual letter.

Yuriko Himedono committed suicide. True to her name, that woman—with her lovely, pure, unblemished form—took her own life while cursing both your name and mine. Through the baseless delusions that emerged from her pigeon-like chest—delusions she had intended to weave not only our households but even the entire metropolis’ newspapers, the Metropolitan Police, and Kanagawa Prefecture’s judicial authorities into the fabric of her fictional paradise—she instead created a horrific panorama of obsessive-compulsive delusions. In the end, she was compelled to entomb even herself within the very depths of this Hell Scroll she had authored. By endorsing the reality of that Hell Scroll through her own death, she sought to plunge us into what Buddhism calls the eternal shudder of terror—the Avīci Hell…

The terror of that uncanny psychological mechanism—pulsating within her fabrications that appeared as a seemingly mundane, inconsequential sequence of events—belonging to this mystifying girl. I am one who bears an extraordinary responsibility to explain, dissect, and analyze to you, in meticulous detail, her obsession with that psychological mechanism.

Moreover, this responsibility of an extraordinarily arduous nature—this singularly peculiar burden—was cast upon my shoulders this very afternoon by an unexpected, unknown individual. ...Therefore, I shall humbly begin this somewhat special report by first addressing the matter of that mysterious unknown individual, following proper sequence. It was around 1:00 PM today.

Exhausted from operating on a critically ill meningitis patient, I lay on the examination room couch—now empty of outpatients—drowsily listening to the mingled sounds of steamship whistles from Yokohama Port beyond the glass window and street noise below, when suddenly the entrance bell rang and a dark male figure slid silently inside.

When I sprang upright, the figure before me bore the unmistakable air of a famous detective straight from a foreign film. 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 sunken, long-lidded eyes that emitted a sharp black light—he gave the immediate impression of a Japanese Sherlock Holmes. His sallow complexion matched my own; his tall, broad-boned frame was impeccably clad in a sharply tailored black morning coat, a new black velour hat, glossy patent leather shoes, and a silver-topped malacca cane. After quietly closing the examination room door behind him with one hand, he stood surveying the empty room—where I alone remained—with a sweeping glance. Then, with practiced courtesy, he removed his hat and bowed, artfully concealing his balding crown.

Being rash, I assumed this man was a new patient and amiably rose to my feet.

"Do come in," I offered, presenting the Jacobean-style chair. "I am Usuki." Yet the gentleman remained standing like a cold black shadow. He slightly lowered his eyes—wearing an expression that seemed to say "I understand..."—and never spoke a word. After a moment, he slipped his pale hairy hand into his waistcoat’s inner pocket, retrieved a card-shaped paper slip, cast me a meaningful glance, then placed it on the side table and pushed it toward me.

At this point, I—in a comical manner—thought, “Ah, a mute patient has come,” and picked up the slip of paper, only to find it unexpectedly bore a message in clumsy, grade-school-like pencil writing that clearly stated: “Do you know the whereabouts of Yuriko Himedono?”

I was dumbfounded and looked up at the man’s face. He must have been around five foot seven or eight.

“Ah…”

“I don’t know anything about that.” “Because she left without saying a word…” I answered immediately, but in that instant—Ah, this man is Yuriko Himedono’s mastermind. The moment I intuited that he’d come here to threaten me somehow, I immediately resolved deep within—Let him eat shit… However, I took care not to let any such intentions show on the surface, maintaining the feigned ignorance befitting an ordinary practicing doctor. ……It was fortunate I didn’t know Yuriko Himedono’s whereabouts. Had I said I knew, I would’ve been immediately seized upon and threatened… I thought to myself…

The gentleman before me stared fixedly at my face with those black, cold, tenacious eyes for over ten seconds, then once again retrieved a white envelope from inside his waistcoat and placed it respectfully before me. ...in a manner that said "Please take a look..." while wearing a faint smile. The contents of the white envelope were ordinary stationery, but the characters—unmistakably Yuriko Himedono’s penmanship—with their smudged patches here and there and strange tremors, felt somehow eerie.

“Dr. Shirataka, Dr. Usuki, I shall commit suicide. To avoid inconveniencing either of you, I will take my life in Dr. Mandara’s hospital room at the Tsukiji Gynecological Hospital. I have already requested Dr. Mandara to arrange my death as one from diphtheria-induced heart paralysis during my hospitalization for a uterine condition.

Dr. Shirataka Dr. Usuki The affection you both bestowed upon me—and your wives, who, far from despising me who accepted such affection, cherished me as though I were their own younger sister—are kindnesses I shall never forget, even in death. Therefore, driven by the desire to repay even one ten-thousandth part of the noble, gracious kindness bestowed by your wives, I am committing suicide in this secretive manner. My humble soul shall henceforth eternally safeguard the peace of your esteemed households.

Once I have drawn my last breath—once my eyes are closed and my mouth sealed—every fact I have seen or heard until now will have dissolved into utter falsehoods, and you both, esteemed doctors, will finally be able to safeguard your chaste and beautiful wives within peaceful households, free from anxiety.

Sinful, sinful Yuriko. Yuriko Himedono has lost all hope in this world.

In this world where even you both—esteemed doctors of such distinguished status and renown—cannot bring yourselves to believe my sincerity, what hope could remain? In a world where the words of those crowned with social standing become truth even when false, while the words of an ignorant girl—pure yet knowing nothing—are rendered lies even when factual, what purpose could life hold?

Goodbye. Dr. Shirataka Dr. Usuki Poor Yuriko will go to her death. Please rest assured. December 3, 1933 Yuriko Himedono” This letter was a copy of the original already handed over to Inspector Tamiya of the Special Higher Police—one I had made to show you—but even when I first read it, I had managed to remain completely unaffected. Maintaining a look of feigned exasperation, I calmly met the man’s piercing gaze and inquired.

“Hmm. So you’re the Dr. Mandara mentioned in this letter...” “That’s correct.”

The man spoke for the first time. It was a raspy, deeply resonant voice. “Has the body already been disposed of?”

“We had her cremated and are keeping the remains… seeing as it’s the third day since her death.” “Did you follow the procedures exactly as Himedono requested?” “That is correct.”

“Why did she commit suicide?” “She had died from a subcutaneous injection of morphine.” “I don’t know where she obtained it…”

Here, the man scrutinized my face, but I continued my expressionless rigidity. The light in Dr. Mandara's eyes softened. His slightly distorted lips began to move faintly.

“Last month… the twenty-first of November.” “Miss Himedono was hospitalized at my facility for rather severe endometritis, but it seems she subsequently contracted diphtheria from an external infection.” “Just when it seemed to finally be healing…” “Was she examined by an ENT doctor?”

“No. We handle diphtheria-level injections in-house without requiring an ENT specialist.”

“I see…” “Just when it finally began to heal—on the evening of the third of this month, after the final temperature check at midnight—she apparently injected herself with morphine.” “On the fourth… that is… three mornings ago, she was found cold in her sheets by a nurse…” “Was there no attendant or anyone at all?” “The person herself said she didn’t need any attendants, so…”

“Indeed…” “She had been meticulously made up with rouge and lipstick applied so perfectly that one could scarcely believe it was a corpse in rigor mortis—yet there was a smile on her face as if she were still alive.” "It was truly a dreadful sensation." “This suicide note was found beneath her pillow, but…” “Did you conduct the autopsy?” “No.” “Why not? “Doesn’t that violate the Medical Practitioners’ Law?”

The man quietly stared into my eyes. He laughed coldly, exactly like a villain would. “If we had performed an autopsy, there was a risk that the contents of this letter would become public.” “There is such a thing as professional courtesy among colleagues, you see.” “I see. Thank you. So then you believe Yuriko’s words, do you?”

“I cannot conceive that a woman of such striking appearance would die meaninglessly.” “There must have been extraordinary circumstances...” “So you believe that this Shirataka individual and I conspired to treat Yuriko Himedono as our plaything, then cruelly cast her aside to force her suicide... you...”

“...Yes... I came to inquire about the existence of such facts. I wished to avoid stirring up unnecessary trouble...” “Are you related to Miss Yuriko Himedono?” “No. It’s nothing of consequence, but...”

“Ahaha.” “In that case, you too are one of the victims, just like us.” “You were deceived by Himedono and dared to violate the Medical Practitioners’ Law.”

The man’s face suddenly turned demoniacally hostile.

“Outrageous… Where’s your proof…” “……Proof? If we summon one of the other victims, everything will become clear immediately.” “Summon them then.” “Outrageous… This defiles the will of a guiltless dead woman.” “So I may summon them?” “……By all means… Do it at once.”

I took up the desk telephone, called the Kanagawa Prefectural Office, and had them connect me to the Special Higher Police Chief’s office.

“Ah. “Is this Inspector Tamiya?” “This is Usuki.” “This is Usuki of Usuki Clinic.” “Thank you for your assistance regarding Miss Himedono’s matter… Now straight to business… I apologize for disturbing you during your busy hours—could you come to the hospital at once?” “I’ve located Yuriko Himedono.” “No—she’s dead.” “Elsewhere… In fact—another victim of Yuriko Himedono has surfaced.” “No—no.” “This one’s real.” “The damage runs deep.” “A man claiming directorship of Mandara Hospital in Tsukiji… Yes… Unfamiliar institution… But he came expressly to explain how he fell prey to her signature theatrics—even forced into violating medical statutes.” “States he safeguards Yuriko Himedono’s cremated remains… Yes—yes.” “Preposterous—yet factual.” “He waits here now.” “Insists on meeting you personally… Ah—” “Hello? Hello?… Dr.Mandara prepares to depart.” He clutched hat and cane while hastening out. *Ahaha.* He had already gone.

Right now, a brave nurse has dashed out to see him off.

“Wait a moment.” “I’ll confirm the direction and report back, so… Ah.” “His clothing?” “His clothing can be summed up as an all-black, stately morning coat.” “His height is approximately five shaku seven or eight sun—around five foot eight or nine.” “A gentleman with a bluish-black complexion, foreign-looking, stately and slim... Ah.” “He forgot to take the threatening letter with him.” “Ahaha.” He seemed to have been startled by this phone call. “Ahahaha.” “…Ah.” “I see.” “In that case, please stop by on your way back.” “There’s still more to discuss.” “Oh, I’m terribly sorry… My apologies.” “Goodbye.”

Despite Inspector Tamiya’s swift arrangements, Dr. Mandara ultimately evaded capture, and there was no word whatsoever until nightfall today. Therefore, what kind of man he was and what relationship he had with her. How did he obtain her suicide note? From when someone had been accompanying her shadow-like presence and to what extent they had engaged in nefarious deeds... such facts still remained beyond conjecture.

However, Inspector Tamiya—who had stopped by the hospital while returning from Kanagawa Prefectural Office and heard the new facts I provided regarding Yuriko Himedono—apparently determined this to be no ordinary case, for he seemed inclined to immediately transfer it to Tokyo; therefore, while I believe the truth concerning her death will become clear before long, I felt compelled above all else to report every fact about her to you without delay for your future reference, which is why I now wield this pen resolved to stay up throughout the night. Up until now, I hesitated to report these matters as they were far too shameful... No... The fact that I could not coordinate with you in any way until today may also have been due to being so enchanted—nay, mentally paralyzed—by the uncanny skills of that mysterious girl, Yuriko Himedono...

What I wished to clarify above all else was that she—the lovely young girl who called herself Yuriko Himedono—was none other than the “Mystery Woman” blazoned in bold headlines across every newspaper in Tokyo around March of last spring. Having explained this fact today to the aforementioned judicial authorities I had met with, I surmised that therein lay the reason why the same official deemed this “no ordinary case” and promptly transferred it to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police; yet according to those newspaper articles (you may recall), she—her lover?—had apparently made a direct-dial telephone call to the police near that secret meeting place to prevent them from discovering it.

“I am currently an innocent girl kidnapped and confined in a house called ×× in ××.” “Even now, the demon’s hand reaches toward me, but I’m seizing this brief moment to make the call.” “Please help me, please help me.” With such a realistic, gasping, desperate voice conveying that message, she managed to send the authorities’ cars rushing off in completely the wrong direction toward some far-off place. In this manner, she repeatedly caused trouble for the police thereafter; ultimately, when it became clear she was the same woman, this extremely angered the authorities and delighted newspaper reporters... such is the truth of the matter.

That she—a genius of fabrication who defies categorization as either reckless or nonsensical—is none other than the woman who has become your concern, and further, that she was precisely the one who until recently darted about my hospital in a white uniform, is now being unequivocally asserted by the man who had served as her guarantor. Furthermore, the grounds for this assertion are deemed truthful based on her psychological state, so thoroughly that even the police authorities currently harbor not the slightest doubt regarding its veracity.

Yet what motive could possibly exist for this mere girl—in an age teeming with every means of communication and transportation, no less in Tokyo and Yokohama so close one might say they lie between one’s eyes and nose—to plunge both your family and mine into such an uncanny, eerie fate? For so long we suspected and probed one another, yet could never meet; and simultaneously, to compel her into such dire straits that she had no choice but to bury even her own destiny—where does the root of this madness lie?

What follows is a compilation of excerpts from my diary fashioned into report form. Therefore, there may be portions overlapping with your honor’s own recollections regarding her. Or there may be passages that defile your honor’s character. Furthermore, having adopted a documentary style stripped of honorific language, certain sections may verge on discourtesy; I humbly beg your gracious understanding in this regard. All has been compiled thus from my diary records because I wished to candidly and truthfully confess my state of mind at the time...

Yuriko Himedono came to my hospital on May 31, 1933 (Showa 8)... the evening before its opening. Resplendent yet modest in her dark-blue kimono, clutching a flashy cobalt parasol, new felt sandals, and a single basket—she stood dejectedly in the entranceway. “Might your esteemed establishment perhaps be in need of a nurse...”

My sister—who had been deeply engrossed in discussions with the furniture dealer about decorating the examination room—and my wife Matsuko exchanged glances, evidently impressed by her boldness. We had just been talking about how our two hired nurses might prove slightly inadequate... so we promptly escorted her to the outpatient room, where the three of us attempted an initial round of questions and observations. "Did you come here after seeing the newspaper advertisement?" "No. I happened to spot the sign out front announcing the clinic's opening from the train window, so I got off and came straight here."

“Ahaha.” “Where is your hometown?” “Aomori Prefecture’s H City.” “Are both your parents still there?” “Yes. “It is an old family in H City.” “And your parents’ occupation is…” “We run a sake brewery.” “Oh.” “If I may be so bold, your family must be quite well-off.” “Yes. “Not quite that much… But when I decided to come to Tokyo, my parents and brother opposed it. However, I wanted to carve out my own destiny, and I simply couldn’t resist the urge to work as a nurse…”

“So have you now cut off all correspondence with your parents?” “No. We’ve always exchanged letters, you know. And my only brother—who said he’d make his mark in Tokyo—is now employed at a canned food company inside the Marunouchi Building.” “Where did you attend school?”

“I graduated from Aomori Prefectural Girls’ School, you know.”

“Do you have any experience working as a nurse?” “Yes. Right after graduating from school, I joined the otolaryngology department at K University in Shinanomachi and have been there ever since…” “And the circumstances that led you to leave there…” “…Um. Because there were just too many unpleasant things…” “What sort of things do you mean by ‘unpleasant’?” “…I cannot bring myself to say. The work itself was quite interesting though…”

“Hmm. Your guarantor…” “Um… I’ve asked my aunt who works as a hairdresser in Shitaya. Would that be unsuitable?” “Why didn’t you ask your brother?” “My aunt is far more worldly, you see—she’s lived in that house all this time… And today she told me, ‘Instead of staying shut indoors, why not wander about town? You might find decent work,’ so…”

“And your name is…”

“My name is Yuriko Himedono.” “Yuriko Himedono… How old…” “I’m nineteen years and two months old… I wonder if you’ll hire me…”

With just this exchange of questions and answers, we ended up deciding to hire her. It wasn’t just me. Both my wife and sister had been utterly captivated—by her innocent, dove-like demeanor; her clear, pure brown eyes; her pitiable attitude, like a battered little bird pleading for rescue by the roadside… By her valiant yet heartrending fate as she wandered the streets clutching a single basket in search of work.

Go ahead and laugh... at the cheapness of our sentimentality... Anyone reading through this exchange would have discovered countless contradictions and unsettling points about her background. At the very least, one would have realized that common sense dictated making at least one 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 feel even a speck of such recklessness. We cannot deny that her appearance and speech—their magnetic innocence—aroused within us all the ordinary caution one should feel toward the myriad real dangers likely swirling around her, forging a kind of romanticized, sharp-edged cross-section of sympathy that compelled us to act on her behalf.

The next day,

“Hey Sister.” “If that girl doesn’t work out as a nurse we could use her as a housemaid or something.” “Please—it’s so pitiful…”

“Well…” “Well, I’d had that very thought myself if you’re so inclined.” “And with patients increasing over time as well.”

It seemed my sister and wife had grown so taken with her that they’d even discussed the matter between themselves.

That’s not all. Moreover, there was one more thing. This was what I might call my professional pride. When I saw her, the first thing that caught my eye was her nasal bridge. She was by no means a beauty in terms of facial features. Her facial features were ordinary at best—neither here nor there—and though her complexion was quite fair, her stature fell below average, likely just over five shaku. At the same time, the small nose at the center of her round face was remarkably low, creating a sense of distance between her eyes and nose—yet it was precisely this feature that made her appear kind-hearted and innocent beyond dispute.

The very instant I laid eyes on her facial features, I found myself wanting to perform rhinoplasty on her small nose. Injecting this much paraffin there would produce a nose of this proportion. Her nostrils were not fused with the nasal bone—I thought them to be of a type extremely easy to operate on. It was an undeniable fact that a foolish allure born of this sort of professional consciousness had been stirring in the depths of my psyche when I resolved to hire her.

That goal of mine was admirably achieved before long. She was employed at my hospital for less than a week when she abruptly transformed into a stunning beauty and began darting through the corridors. This is by no means self-promotion, but I was astonished by the unexpectedly striking results of the rhinoplasty I had performed on her. The morning after the surgery, the moment I saw her smiling face with light makeup as she said “Good morning”… I realized I’d done something extraordinary. I’d turned her into an astonishing beauty…… The shock of what I’d done nearly robbed me of composure.

Yet our astonishment at her did not end there. Her skill as a nurse was not merely adequate—it was extraordinary. While her training at K University’s ENT department was certainly evident, I was compelled to discover that she was nothing short of a genius nurse—a revelation that left me utterly astonished from the depths of my heart. When she had only recently come to my hospital and I was performing surgery on a middle-aged gentleman with maxillary sinus empyema, she—having been appointed as my assistant for the first time—swiftly inserted absorbent cotton between the anesthetized patient’s split upper lip through my rapidly moving fingers, wiped away the overflowing blood, and kept the incision clearly visible to my eyes at all times. When I saw those vivid, practiced movements, I was so impressed it sent a chill down my spine. Even veteran nurses who had attended countless surgeries over many years would rarely possess such sensitivity to the surgeon’s intentions and such deft precision in their technique—this I was made to contemplate profoundly.

However, the extent to which she possessed such remarkable insight into a private practitioner’s patients—how profoundly we were made to feel gratitude toward her because of this—the fact that we had entrusted her with nearly all hospital duties to an almost reckless degree, and that through this had permitted her such abundant freedom to operate in the “Mystery Woman” fashion described hereafter would likely lie beyond anyone’s imagination.

Since opening my practice, I had set work hours like everyone else. I established examination and treatment hours from 10:00 AM to 1:00 PM and again from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM, resolving to return immediately after six to my nearby home in Momijizaka to dine with my family—yet as any practicing physician knows full well, no sooner would I arrive than some trivial complaint from an inpatient would urgently summon me back to the hospital. Or rather, I had steeled myself from the outset for repeated nighttime summonses by unreasonable patients during what we call the hour when even plants sleep—the depth of night. This undoubtedly caused me immense personal suffering as a physician, but I resolved to persevere. I resolved to show kindness. Having attained a sort of enlightenment—that general inpatients care more about alleviating pain than curing illness—I stood prepared... yet to my astonishment, not once since opening my practice had such disturbances occurred, making me gradually grow suspicious. I wondered if my home telephone simply hadn't been installed yet, but even so found it perplexing—my sisters and I often discussed this mystery—until its resolution came swiftly. Through careful observation, it became clear this peace resulted solely from Yuriko Himedono's efforts.

She possessed—regarding matters like the precise timing of anesthesia wearing off, the hour when postoperative pain would begin manifesting, or the intensity of suffering arising from interactions between fever fluctuations and patients’ constitutions—a nurse’s characteristic... no, something beyond that—an attentively sensitive nature. She always seemed to either preemptively treat patients before they could voice a complaint or offer reassurances by anticipating their needs. At times, she would arbitrarily clean patients’ ears or rinse their noses, and in extreme cases—as later became clear through subsequent developments—administer morphine injections or employ other analgesic and anesthetic measures without consulting me; yet even so, the patients’ delight apparently knew no bounds. When patients complained to other nurses—who would fumble or hesitate—she would decisively take action to ensure they spent the night in peace; thus, it was hardly unnatural that the name “Miss Himedono of Usuki Hospital” gained greater favor among patients’ families than my own. Of course, the fact that I was spared such burdens was also tremendous, but...

But that wasn’t the extent of it.

The charm she was born with was, in fact, something that transcended gender and age. In this regard, even my family could only express their admiration for her capabilities by calling her "remarkable," finding no other words of praise. To say she treated the elderly like the elderly, children like children, men like men, and women like women may sound trivial—but she would kindly listen to every detail of each patient’s condition across all categories, make them trust me as their director, have them undergo examinations and surgeries with peace of mind, hospitalize them comfortably, at times even inquire into their family circumstances while offering sympathy, encouragement, and consolation, then see them safely discharged… The deftness of it all was utterly beyond the reach of we mortals. Even the most neurotic, stubborn old men and rowdy, hypersensitive children were completely engrossed in calling for Miss Himedono from start to finish, rendering the other two nurses as though they didn’t exist at all. It was a trivial matter, but when patients were discharged, they had developed a tendency to first express gratitude to Miss Himedono… rather than to me, the director—children and such wouldn’t even cry when leaving. They insisted on staying at the hospital with Hime-chan. As for other patients too—how long, how very long were the thank-you letters they sent her after being discharged. My sister, who worked as receptionist and accountant, would stare in disbelief, muttering things like, "How could there possibly be enough to write in a letter to warrant twelve sen worth of stamps?"

What was even more astonishing—though in truth it may have been an inevitable outcome—was that thanks to her, my patient count had surged dramatically. In this regard, while my practice had been extraordinarily fortunate, I had to express immense gratitude to her… to Yuriko Himedono—our mannequin and mascot. Seeing how patients of every stripe who came for examinations would clamor for Miss Himedono no matter the occasion—as if Yuriko Himedono had opened her own practice within Usuki Hospital—even I, who held some confidence in my skills, found myself compelled to acknowledge the necessity of profound humility toward her diplomatic prowess.

I was paying her a salary of twenty yen. This was by no means an unreasonably low salary, but having recently come to fully recognize her contributions, I had been consulting repeatedly with my sister and wife; yet just as we were in the midst of this deliberations, an incident so strange and inexplicable—utterly beyond description—whirled up around her, ultimately culminating in the horrific catastrophe that now occurred. Moreover, the seeds of this catastrophe had been sown by her own hand; indeed, they had been planted during our very first exchange of questions and answers when she entered my employ.

Her hometown was a sake-brewing family in Aomori Prefecture, which we had heard was quite affluent, but through her subsequent cheerful personality and innocent demeanor, we never doubted these facts in the least.

The man introduced as her brother during that initial exchange came to the hospital bearing an abundance of black yokan from Kuraya to pay his respects shortly after her arrival. To be precise, this occurred after I had returned home, and no one had actually witnessed this brother of hers; but just as I was finishing dinner at home and thinking I’d like some sort of dessert-like treat, a transferred call came through from Yuriko Himedono at the hospital.

“Doctor.” “My brother came to express his gratitude just now.” “Since I mentioned you liked them… my brother brought Kuraya’s yokan… Nooo…” “He’s already left.” “He said it wouldn’t do to disturb your well-deserved rest.” “Please, please continue to look kindly on me… I said… Hoho.” “Shall I have it delivered to your home… the sweet bean jelly…”

“Yeah, have it delivered posthaste.” “Thank you.” I gave that reply, but if ever there was a moment I’d been underestimated, it must have been then.

Not long after that came five shō of refined sake and a barrel of Nara-zuke, purportedly from her hometown. According to her account—items said to have been entrusted by her parents through someone from her hometown—she had received them at the hospital after I returned home as usual. But the sake bottles and barrel she brought over, sweating profusely, bore no labels whatsoever; only a single crude, rustic noshi paper was affixed to each. After taking a taste, I—

“Mmm.” “Quite the authentic Edo taste.” It really had a zing to it. “The Nara-zuke doesn’t lose to Mitsukoshi’s.” I’d inadvertently let slip those words—likely hitting the mark dead center. She, who’d been securing the barrel’s ropes, fled back to the hospital with nothing but crimson cheeks and furtive steps. Yet in that moment, I found myself deeply contemplating her brother and parents who prayed for her happiness, so engrossed in reflection that I failed to notice even a trace of her skittish demeanor. As I watched her retreat,

"I’m only paying her twenty yen..."

was limited to making a joke as if to hide my embarrassment.

Now, up to this point, everything had truly gone perfectly. Had matters stopped here, all would have remained seamless—her true identity undisclosed, my hospital still retaining its mascot—but as they say, good fortune invites misfortune. Her monstrously unique genius for deception—as she grew more settled—began manifesting with increasingly unnatural vigor; it was perhaps inevitable. The cause that her abnormal talent began pulling both Shirataka-kun of K University’s ENT department and my household into an indescribably uncanny nightmare likely stemmed from an exceedingly trivial incident—one she herself probably never perceived.

Though it shames me to admit, carried away by the booming success of my newly established practice, I had unwittingly reverted to being the same carefree man I was in my student days, spouting a stream of silly puns, lighthearted banter, and jokes to blow away the patients’ gloom,

“Hey hey. Bring me the small scalpel. A small scalpel. Not you. Don’t get it wrong.” I would say such things to Himedono, and each time Yuriko would giggle brightly while bustling about and reply: “Oh my! Dr. Usuki—you’re just like Dr. Shirataka!” “What’s that? So this ‘Shirataka’... what nerve he has resembling me without asking!”

“Oh my! Dr. Usuki… Dr. Shirataka is far older than you and serves as associate professor in K University’s otolaryngology department.” “Ah! My mistake! My mistake! That Dr. Shirataka? If it’s *that* Dr. Shirataka, he’s certainly 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—he’d make the patients laugh.” “During procedures like myringotomy, if patients laughed and moved their heads, it could be terribly dangerous—but Dr. Shirataka’s surgeries were so brilliantly quick that they’d keep laughing without even a moment to feel any pain.” “Even in such details, Dr. Usuki’s way of doing things mirrored his exactly.”

Yuriko would later offer explanations that sounded like excuses for such things, but needless to say, these supremely convincing flatteries 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, this fabrication—born from the same psychology that sought to satisfy her fleeting fantasies with reality—was nothing more than a mere fiction created solely to concretely prove how deeply she was trusted by someone holding the crucial position of associate professor in K University’s ENT department. But how could I have noticed such a thing at the time? Having heard the name of Dr. Shirataka—whom I had long respected as a senior from my alma mater—after so long, I asked her with eyes wide from sheer delight.

“Oh. So Dr. Shirataka is still at K University? I had no idea at all.”

She nonchalantly—no... rather, with evident pride—delved deeper into talk of Dr. Shirataka. “Yes, yes. When it comes to surgery, he has a reputation for being remarkably skilled.” “I can’t tell you how much Dr. Shirataka doted on me until I came here.” “And from his wife as well—truly—I was treated as if I were her very own daughter.” “She promised to soon marry me into a good family, and I even received several kimonos from her.” “The one I’m wearing now in my daily life is also from Madam’s younger days—she passed it down to me because it had become too flashy.”

I was utterly drawn into her tale. In secret, I pressed my hands together in a gesture of respect toward Dr. Shirataka.

“Well... If it’s Dr. Shirataka we’re talking about, he’s my esteemed senior. Since I received his guidance during my time at Kyushu University, he might actually know of me. That’s valuable information. I must absolutely meet him one of these days—nonetheless...”

“Yes, yes.” “That’s certain—he will be delighted.” “I believe your name also came up in conversation two or three times.” “Usuki-kun was a most amusing student,” he remarked. “Hmm…” “I was quite the mischief-maker back then…” “Where do you live?”

“Shimo-Rokubanchō, Number 12.” “The wife is an exceedingly refined and beautiful woman, like Madam Kujō Takeko.” “He calls her Madam Kumiko, you see.” “Madam Kumiko treasures Dr. Shirataka profoundly, you see.” “They get along so splendidly, you see…”

“Ahahaha.” “Anything’s fine—sometime… no, even today would work—couldn’t you call him for me?” “Just say Usuki wants to meet him…” “Well…” “Wouldn’t it be improper for someone like me to make the introduction…?” “Don’t fret about that! “Dr. Shirataka isn’t one to stand on ceremony.”

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

She looked up briefly at my face—the one that had spoken those words—with her cute eyes that seemed slightly nearsighted, but for some reason bowed her head somewhat dejectedly and let out a light sigh. Her demeanor appeared faintly resentful, but I interpreted this as another instance of her distinctive innocent coquetry and found nothing particularly strange about it.

“But I… For a mere nurse like me… It would be too presumptuous…” “Nah. Don’t worry about it! Even if a nurse makes the introduction, we’re both doctors, aren’t we? Dr. Shirataka wasn’t the sort to stand on ceremony like that.” “Yes. That’s certainly still the case now, but…”

“Then there’s no problem… Since I can’t help but want to meet him…” She shrugged one shoulder in a manner that said there was no helping it. She showed a faint smile—strange and tearful—while... “Yes… “If someone like me is acceptable… I can introduce you anytime…” “Yeah.” “I’m counting on you.” “Even today would work.” “Just give him a call—even over the phone is fine—please.” That was an oddly deliberate, dimly gloomy response—unbecoming of her usual cheerful self. However, she soon regained her usual innocent cheerfulness and, appearing utterly delighted—as though overjoyed by the honor of introducing Associate Professor Shirataka and Director Usuki of the hospital—bounced up and down while dashing into the telephone room.

Watching her retreating figure, I had become utterly free of suspicion, my mood bright—though what schemes might be unfolding, I knew not. At this point, I had already been completely deceived by her—and simultaneously, she herself had begun germinating with her own hands the seeds of what would become the fatal wound of her lifetime.

The Dr. Shirataka she spoke of was a Dr. Shirataka of a different nature from the Dr. Shirataka she knew. In short, her ingenuity had created—using me as a model—a fictional character crafted solely to appease me; it was nothing more than that. Moreover, Dr. Shirataka could only exist as a trick puppet—one attempting to enhance her own credibility and stabilize her social value by making me believe in the intimacy between this fabricated figure and herself. Yet reckless as I was, I had been made to blindly believe in this trick mechanism version of Dr. Shirataka at 120 percent intensity… Having convinced myself he was a carefree, prankster-type person just like me, I ended up making such a rash request of her.

However, her uncanny creative abilities would reach new heights, culminating in the devising of a truly unforeseen bizarre drama. This was because a phone call had come in broad daylight from a Dr. Shirataka of K University’s Otolaryngology Department—a Dr. Shirataka whom the actual Dr. Shirataka himself knew nothing about. Exactly three months after I opened my practice… around 3:30 p.m. on September 1 of this year, she came rushing into the examination room from the telephone.

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

While examining a large number of patients, I turned around in surprise.

“What?” “Dr. Shirataka is calling… What could it be about?”

“Well… “Oh, Doctor… Didn’t you say the other day that you wanted *me* to introduce you?” “That’s why I already said so again over the phone yesterday… I even made sure to mention how busy you were… And now you go and call at this hour…” With that, she pouted adorably—salmon roe-like discontent wrinkling her cute brows.

To call such artifice unique genius would be no exaggeration. There was something strikingly realistic about it. The intimacy between her and the Dr. Shirataka she had created was so strikingly realistic that it left not the slightest room for doubt.

The man who had answered the phone—this Dr. Shirataka who was not Dr. Shirataka—possessed, just as she had described, a voice brimming with cheerful vitality. Moreover, he continued talking nonstop, barely allowing me to get a single word in edgewise. “Yah! Usuki-kun? It’s been ages. How do you do?” “Usuki-kun?” “Long time no see.” “How do you do?” “Oh! Long time no see, long time no see!” “How’s business?” “Mm-hmm.” “I heard from Himedono.” “Splendid, splendid!” “Mm-hmm.” “Himedono’s quite the nurse, isn’t she?” “Over here, she was just too good at her job, so the head nurse came to resent her.” “She was framed with some outrageous false charge and got kicked out.” “My wife was very fond of her, you know.” “Oh, no.” “She’s happy too.” “I called you twice—the other day and yesterday.” “She says your clinic’s very comfortable and rewarding to work at.”

“That’s what she says.” “Mm-hmm.” “My wife heard and is delighted.” “After all, she loved her like a daughter, you know.” “Mm-hmm.” “The fact that she left Aomori Prefecture to become a nurse might’ve been a bit foolish, but…” “She must’ve been born to be a nurse.” “Her work is truly impeccable.” “I guarantee it.” “Please take good care of her.” “Ha ha ha.” “Well, I’d really like to see you again after all this time.” “How about it?” “Still holding your liquor, I wonder?” “Good, good… By the way, do you know about this Kōjutsu-kai that the ENT doctors in the capital have going?” “That’s the one.” “Mm-hmm.” “I’d heard about it back when I was in Kyushu.” “A society founded in Meiji 43, the year of Kōjutsu… Right.” “That’s it, you see.”

“It’s a gathering where everyone gets together on the third or fourth day of each month to renew old friendships, air grievances, and drink themselves silly.” “It’s a wonderfully cheerful gathering.” “It’s been set for the third of next month, you see.” “The place is Marunouchi Club… It starts at six in the evening. Why don’t you come?” “The fee’s decided on the spot, but it won’t set you back much.” “Right. Please do come.” “Mm-hmm.” “Ha ha.” “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your wife yet, but please give her my regards…”

Mid-conversation, the line went dead.

When I hung up the receiver, she was already standing right beside me, tilting her head cutely. “Oh! You turned him down completely? I wanted to talk to you too… but… what was it about…” Her eyes gleamed with apparent concern. “Well. I was surprised. He’s a terribly blunt professor, isn’t he? Slurs his words a bit too.” “...I suppose so. Oh, he’s quite the character!” When I told her about the phone call’s contents, she appeared thoroughly relieved and skipped down the hallway with evident delight.

“Dr. Shirataka really is such a refreshingly wonderful person.” “Such a kind man… I adore him…”

Muttering enigmatic soliloquies brimming with fervor... while letting me overhear every word without the faintest trace of affectation...

However, on the morning of the second day after that, when I arrived at work, she—wearing an uncharacteristically sullen expression—stood before me clutching a crumpled letter in her hand, twisting her body oddly. She said, curling her cute lower lip.

“He’s really impossible. “Dr. Shirataka, I tell you! “When it comes to work, he just loses himself completely!” “What’s wrong? “You’re over here fuming all by yourself…” “No, you see... “It’s about last night. “A special delivery letter from Dr. Shirataka addressed to me arrived. “‘I’m going to visit a patient in Hiratsuka this afternoon, so I might be late coming back.’ “‘So I might not be able to go to the Kōjutsu-kai either.’ “‘Please convey my regards from you to Dr. Usuki,’ it says. “Dr. Shirataka really is impossible! “He’s obsessed with nothing but making money… I’m sure it’s at that so-called banker’s place in Hiratsuka. “Every time they hold these clumsy gidayū performances with friends, they just _have_ to invite Dr. Shirataka—it’s all for show. “How pointless…”

“Ha ha ha.” “You shouldn’t speak so badly of him, you know.” “Such healthy, wealthy patients—if their numbers don’t grow, we’re in trouble. For an ENT doctor…” “ENT doctors…” “But he’d promised—after all this time—to finally meet with you…”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” “If I wanted to meet him, I could do so anytime, you know.” “...But...” While stammering this, she looked up at my face with a thoroughly resentful, pale gaze. ...But... Had I observed her just a bit more carefully at that moment, I could have easily discerned that her anxiety was far from ordinary. How much profound anxiety my words—“We could meet anytime if I wanted”—had caused her… What kind of terrifying obsessive-compulsive delusion’s Avīci Hell they had plunged her into… Had I discerned this at that moment? …She who had been laboring to tangibly demonstrate both her family’s wealth and—simultaneously—to prove through K University Associate Professor Dr. Shirataka’s name how highly credible she was as a nurse… Her desperate efforts, which sought to satisfy her own self-consciousness now threatened with social ruin by those “Mystery Woman” newspaper articles while also attempting to fully disguise her own astonishingly enigmatic past—known only to herself—would these efforts not be utterly shattered were the real Dr. Shirataka and I to meet directly? Would she not have her fictionalized heavenly dream—the one she herself had constructed—smashed apart, cast back onto life’s cold pavement once more? For such women, such disillusioning events being more terrifying than a death sentence—this is something those who understand the psychology of modern women… particularly girls… would readily acknowledge.

In truth, her preventive measures against such a catastrophe later proved to be something truly desperation-driven. In exact accordance with the monk’s sermon—“A hair’s breadth of error divides hell from paradise”—she unfurled before her very eyes a hellish panorama so ghastly it made one’s hair stand on end, one that entrapped none other than herself.

As September passed and October arrived, on the morning of the second day, she stood before me once again in the hospital corridor—puffed up with indignation.

“What’s wrong?” “What’s the matter… Did you get into another fight with that mechanic’s apprentice or something?”

“No. “But Doctor…” “Tomorrow is October 3rd, isn’t it?” “Silly you. Don’t you like October 3rd?” “Yes. “But Doctor, isn’t the third of every month the Kōjutsu-kai’s scheduled date?”

“Oh... Was that it?” “I’d forgotten.” “My goodness.” “You’re just like Dr. Shirataka in that regard.” “You aren’t going to attend the Kōjutsu-kai?”

“Yeah.” “If Dr. Shirataka goes, I’ll go too.” “But didn’t you make a promise the other day?” “No way. I don’t recall making any such promise.”

“My goodness… Well… if that’s how it is…”

“What’s wrong?” “Dr. Shirataka just telephoned moments ago.” “‘Hasn’t Dr. Usuki arrived at the hospital yet?’ he asked...”

“Did he say ‘Dr. Osoki from Osoki Hospital’?”

“My goodness. I find that rather questionable. When I told him you’re usually only here around ten in the morning, he said he’d caught a cold and taken to bed today—that he might have to skip the Kōjutsu-kai. I glared at you, certain we’d made a promise—that’s why I got so furious. If only he could somehow meet you…” “Well, meeting him wouldn’t be any trouble if I wanted to. But the timing’s just oddly bad.”

“He’s truly spiteful. To go and catch a cold today of all days… I’ll call his wife and give her a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t say unnecessary things.” “Rather than that, how about I suggest right now that I send Dr. Usuki over for a visit? But since there’s a risk of friends devouring each other, tell him I’ll have to excuse myself.” “Hohoho.” “There you go again.” “Now that’s the unnecessary thing.” “Oh, please.” “That’s what they call the new-style humor-based social technique.” “Give my regards to his wife as well.” In this way, my family’s perception of the Dr. Shirataka who was not Dr. Shirataka grew increasingly intimate over time through Yuriko Himedono’s mediation. Moreover, on the very morning of the day I had an appointment to examine a foreigner at the Ashinoko Hotel in Hakone, Mr. Shirat—no, the Dr. Shirataka who was not Dr. Shirataka—called,

“I’m sorry about the other day. The timing’s always off, so I never get a chance to meet you. I managed to get two tickets for the Kabukiza Theatre today. Why don’t we go see it together? Since it opens at 1 PM, it’d be best if you take the 10 o’clock train to Ginza. You must know a café or restaurant around there.” That was the proposal, but unfortunately, when Himedono conveyed that I couldn’t attend, the fabricated Shirataka later sent Fūgetsu’s castella cake along with Kabukiza Theatre programs addressed to my wife and children. Moreover, when I looked at the letter accompanying that parcel, it was unmistakably written in a man’s penmanship, with phrases of an intellectual style that suggested considerable education. Therefore, we too felt deeply apologetic and sent out a package to Dr. Shirataka at Shimo-Rokubanchō—attaching egg somen noodles that had conveniently arrived from my hometown along with a letter stating, “I shall most certainly attend the next Kōjutsu-kai meeting”—but I suspect it either never reached its destination or perhaps never left Yokohama’s Usuki Hospital at all. Because the one who handed over those letters and packages and ordered them to be sent out was none other than Yuriko Himedono…

However, when early November arrived after that, she staged yet another grave blunder. Of course, from her own perspective, this must have appeared an impeccably crafted, watertight plot—but precisely because it was excessively cunning, it horrifyingly backfired, resulting in our family seeing through her true identity. When I leafed through my diary, sure enough, it was November 3rd—Meiji Festival. She would initiate her schemes invariably during those few days spanning the month's end to its early days, and particularly, calls or letters from Dr. Shirataka almost always arrived around the third or fourth—a pattern now firmly established. Therein lay the mystique of this "Mystery Woman"—how many besides God could have discerned it...

That November 3rd incident. Around ten in the morning when a steady rain had begun falling, I arrived at the hospital for work. The moment she heard the entrance door's sound, she came dashing out from the pharmacy and rushed toward me as if to throw herself against my chest. Her lips had even changed color as she wore a hysterical expression. "Oh, Doctor! "What should we do? "The call just came through right now. "Dr. Shirataka's wife collapsed at Mitsukoshi's main entrance. "And then her nosebleed wouldn't stop—now she's being cared for at home..."

“Well, that won’t do.” “What time was it?” “The account says it was around nine this morning…”

“Hmm.” “For that matter, isn’t this call absurdly early?” “Why would anyone notify my clinic at such an ungodly hour?” “But Doctor.” “In your recent letter, didn’t you promise we’d meet at this Kōjutsu-kai gathering?” “Yeah.” “Did you read that letter?” “Oh!” “I didn’t read it.” “But you see…” “This Kōjutsu-kai meeting is a major event.” “Given it’s Meiji Festival…”

“Hmm.” “I didn’t know.”

“Oh! But Doctor, didn’t an invitation arrive just the other day?”

“I don’t know.” “I didn’t see it.” “What was it about?”

“Oh, it’s just… Since this Kōjutsu-kai meeting coincides with Meiji Festival, they’re making it a grand gathering after so long—and it said they’re requesting participation from hospitals outside Tokyo City too. Where could that invitation have gone?”

“Hmm.” “That does sound intriguing.” “And the membership fee—how much?” “I believe it was ten yen, but…” “Pricey, huh?” “Oh ho ho!” “But there was a handwritten addendum from Dr. Shirataka, the secretary, saying, ‘Please do attend,’ addressed to Dr. Usuki.”

“Hmm.” “Maybe I’ll go after all.” “I just knew you’d come, Doctor.” “After that, when I called Dr. Shirataka to emphasize, ‘This time you absolutely must not make a mistake,’ he said yes.” “A letter came from Dr. Usuki too.” “Moreover, since he’d taken on the role of secretary, he declared that this time without fail—no matter what happened—he would go.” “Then we’d have another commotion like today’s.” “I was so mortified—so utterly mortified…”

“You fool! What kind of person gets upset over such things?” “Regardless, it’s a wretched affair.” “Calling this a ‘good preface’ might be ill-chosen, but I’ll go pay my respects.”

“Oh, Doctor.” “Right this very moment…?” “Yeah.” “Right away would be fine, but…” “But Doctor.” “There are three new adenoid patients waiting.”

“Hmm.” “How do you know?” “About nasopharyngeal hypertrophy…” “Oh ho. I just tried imitating you a bit, Doctor.” “After listening to the patients’ complaints, I have them open their mouths and press my fingertip to the back of their nose—then I can immediately feel the hypertrophy with my finger.” “You fool… Don’t do such unnecessary imitations.” “…But the patients kept pestering me with endless questions about the surgery… So when I touched the hypertrophy of the third one—the youngest child—they suddenly bit me… Like this…”

...and showed her left middle finger, bandaged at the base. “...Look.” “From now on, don’t go meddling where you shouldn’t.” After this admonishment, I began my usual examination. She showed no inclination to stop me from going to offer condolences.

After admonishing her, I proceeded with my usual examination, but she showed no sign of trying to stop me from going to offer my condolences.

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, bowing repeatedly.

“Doctor. “Excuse me, but I’d like to request some time off starting this afternoon, if I may.” “Yeah. “You can go out since there’s no surgery today—but where are you headed?” “Um… I’d like to go visit Mrs. Shirataka to offer my condolences.” “I simply must pay my respects at least once… I feel I must…”

“Yeah. Well, that’s perfect timing. Since I’m thinking of going myself tonight, please do tell her that.”

“Thank you very much. Well then, I’ll take my leave now.”

“Be careful on your way. The weather should clear up soon.”

That she and I had exchanged words in such a somber, melancholy tone—I believe this marked our first such interaction. Was it some primal intuition? Or perhaps it was her own acutely self-aware despair—the crushing weight of being inexorably driven toward catastrophe regarding Dr. Shirataka—that had somehow transmitted itself to my nerves... As was my custom after closing the clinic, I walked home through Momijizaka beneath a yellow evening sun freshly emerged from rainclouds, then concluded my dinner.

While I was chatting in a comparatively cheerful mood about today’s events involving Mrs. Shirataka, my wife Matsuko—who had been silently serving dinner—abruptly blurted out something startling.

“Listen, dear. I think there’s something really strange about Miss Himedono’s story.” “...Hmm... What’s strange about it?”

“I’ve been thinking that all along.” “The fact that you couldn’t meet Dr. Shirataka—the one Miss Himedono introduced—no matter how hard you tried was so strange it was unbearable.” “Nah.” “It was just bad timing.” “No.” “That’s what’s strange about it.” “But the timing’s just been *too* perfectly bad, don’t you think?” “I can’t help feeling Miss Himedono’s been tampering with things—scheming to prevent any meeting, any meeting at all—don’t you think?”

“Ha ha ha.” “ ‘Someone you absolutely can’t meet’—that’s precisely your sort of mystery!” “Detective novels, detective novels…”

Let me preface this by saying that my wife Matsuko had been an avid reader of mystery magazines like Occult Interests since her girls' school days—perhaps due to her obsession with such publications, her thought processes differed markedly from those of ordinary women. Guessing someone's mahjong wait was child's play for her; she could leisurely uncover the scams hidden in three-line job postings from the classifieds. Or critique the lifestyles of women she saw on trains as being beyond their means based solely on their clothing—she was the sort who possessed this brand of dubious taste. So while it's true that my wife could be eerie or downright annoying at times, the fact remained that I harbored no small unease about the workings of her mind.

Therefore, even now, I never once conflated my suspicions toward Nurse Himedono with ordinary jealousy. I dismissed it as another manifestation of her eccentric whims... yet despite this, I distinctly sensed an ominous premonition that her suspicions toward Yuriko Himedono might escalate into something gravely consequential. Resolving to exercise utmost caution, I decided to scrutinize her theory—at least preliminarily.

“It is strange, I suppose, that I can’t meet Dr. Shirataka no matter how hard I try—but proof speaks louder than words. Tonight I’m going out to meet him without fail, so what’s the problem?” “Yes… But if you meet him… I can’t shake this dreadful feeling that some terrible mistake will occur… I…” “Ha ha ha. The moment we meet—*boom*—a bomb goes off?” “Yes. I have a premonition exactly like that. There was that newspaper article about a captured artillery shell that never exploded no matter how many times they struck it—then one day it just rolled slightly and *boom*, reduced everything to chaos. You remember? This whole business is just like that, don’t you think? Somehow, my heart is pounding so hard.”

“Ha ha ha.” “Now you’re really leaning into your occult interests.” “And what’s more, it’s cartoonish taste.” “Adamson or something like that—” “Ohoho.” “It’s an even more intense feeling!” “Ha ha ha.” “That’s tasteless.” “Even so… what on earth would happen to this whole story if we couldn’t meet today…” “No.” “I think tonight you’ll definitely be able to meet Dr. Shirataka.” “Then I think everything will become clear.” “Aren’t you the great detective?” “Why do you think I can meet him?” “Where is tonight’s Kōjutsu-kai being held?”

“Just as I thought—the Marunouchi Club.” “If you go there now, Dr. Shirataka will surely come.” “Don’t be absurd.” “With his wife being ill, would he really come?” “Pfft.” “You fool.” “You still believe that?” “The commotion over Mrs. Shirataka’s fainting…” “Of course I believe it… That’s why I’m going to visit her.” “Stop visiting her… Then put on a blank face and attend the Kōjutsu-kai meeting.” “The real Dr. Shirataka will be there…”

“…The real Dr. Shirataka.” “Hmm.” “So you’re saying that until now, Dr. Shirataka has been nothing but a shadow puppet created by Yuriko Himedono?” “Yes, that’s right.” “I just can’t shake this feeling, I tell you.” “That girl’s claims about coming from a wealthy family don’t seem reliable at all, and I think her saying she’s nineteen is a complete lie…”

“I’m shocked,” he said. “How do you know?” “I… Once saw that girl standing in the hospital corridor—her profile all forlorn as she sank into thought—and I stared fixedly at her from the pharmacy window,” she replied. “Then clusters of tiny wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes and along her jawline. She looked every bit like a woman of twenty-five or six, well past her prime.”

“Hmm.” “Somehow this conversation has taken a monstrous turn, hasn’t it?” “Yuriko Himedono’s true identity keeps fading away bit by bit.” “Like a ghost…”

“That’s not all. Just from that single glance at her profile, she looked like a poverty-stricken girl from a wretched family—the very air of someone miserable. She had taken on this stooped, old woman-like posture. In this way—” “Ghost stories, ghost stories. Monsters going ‘Eek… Agh!’—that’s what this feels like. A monster going ‘Eek… Agh!’—that’s what’s coming next, isn’t it?” “Don’t tease me. This is serious! In other words, normally she uses makeup and sheer will to appear youthful and innocent, but when she thinks no one’s watching and gets lost in thought—that’s when she completely lets her guard down. That’s how her true nature shows through, I tell you.”

“Urk.” “A hell of a detective has shown up.” “You should become a detective novelist.” “You’d definitely succeed.”

“Oh! I’m being serious, I tell you.” “It’s unbearable!” “That person really gives me the creeps!” “You’re far creepier for saying that!”

“You’re hateful!” “I don’t care!”

“Why don’t you try thinking with a bit more common sense? First of all—that girl. What possible reason could Yuriko Himedono have for scheming such a painstaking fabrication—hasn’t that become clear? The sheer volume of gifts she’s brought in so far—that’s no trivial amount of money. On top of that, she’s fabricated another Dr. Shirataka who doesn’t even exist—had him call her, take her to Kabuki, send castella cakes, catch colds, make house calls to Hiratsuka, even trip his wife at Mitsukoshi’s entrance… For a fabrication, that’s one hell of a laborious undertaking. And considering the sheer effort she must have expended to deceive us like this—just imagining it sends shivers down your spine, doesn’t it?”

“……I… I think that’s all just that girl’s vanity.” “That person’s feelings—I think I understand them.” “Urk.” “That’s a suspicious conclusion.” “What an appallingly labor-intensive form of vanity that would be.”

“Yes. You see,” “That person keeps wanting to advance steadily, step by step.” “That girl’s vanity lies in her obsessive need to be trusted by everyone—to have them all believe in her.” “That’s why she spews these fabrications.”

“First of all, that doesn’t make any sense. What need is there to go to such lengths to win our trust? Her skills as a nurse are properly recognized—whether her family’s rich or poor has no bearing on her qualifications or credibility as a nurse. I don’t think Himedono is such a fool that she wouldn’t understand something that basic.” “Yes. Well, I understand that. Even if she’s whatever kind of woman, she’s currently our hospital’s precious mascot—it’d be wrong to suspect her or anything… But then around the second or third of every month, talk of Dr. Shirataka pops up as predictably as a stamped seal, doesn’t it? It’s strange…”

“That’s because the Kōjutsu-kai happens around then.”

“But… it’s still strange.” “That’s definitely why we can’t meet him… Ohoho…” “That’s what I’ve been telling you.” “It’s just that the timing keeps being wrong…” “But that’s precisely it.” “That’s exactly what I’m saying is strange!” “The timing’s too consistently awful—it feels downright mystical!” “Enough! Enough!” “Nonsense!” “Arguing with you always sends us running in circles.” “Mystical my ass!” “I’ll understand once I meet Shirataka.” “…Tea. Now.”

I silently set down my chopsticks after dinner and changed into my new frock coat. While finding my wife’s mind—which had doubted Yuriko Himedono’s true nature this far when no one else suspected a thing—somewhat irritating...

"In any case—tonight I absolutely must meet Shirataka." Even if I have to overturn stones and rip off roof tiles. Ha ha ha. "This has turned into quite a mess..."

It must have been around eight-thirty in the evening when I, having splurged two yen on a taxi from Sakuragi-cho, arrived at the Marunouchi Club in Uchisaiwai-cho. While it galled me somewhat to be following a woman’s whims at this critical juncture, the moment I boarded the automobile, my mood shifted—I found myself preferring to cleanly arrive at the straightforward Marunouchi Club rather than fumble through the cramped, labyrinthine darkness of Shimorokubanchō in a taxi.

At the club entrance, when I asked the attendant,

“The Kōjutsu-kai is being held this evening.” “Since around seven o’clock, all the attendees have gathered, and the program has already progressed considerably.” Such was the reply.

I silently followed the attendant up the spacious cork-covered staircase, but as I climbed higher, I became aware of the swelling gramophone music and bustling dance commotion that filled the floor. I may be a newcomer to dancing, but I have considerable confidence. Jazz, tango, fox step, shoe brush, one-step—I’ve mastered them all through my Yokohama training. What was now playing seemed to be a Marquina-style Spanish One-Step—a buoyant, upbeat rhythm so infectious that as I ascended the stairs, I felt an almost irresistible urge to place my hand on the attendant’s shoulder and sway.

I was astonished. When one speaks of the Kōjutsu-kai, I’d imagined it as a solemn academic symposium combined with something like a tea gathering—but what an astonishingly lively affair this turned out to be! The significance of the ten-yen fee became clear, and one could discern the considerable skills of Mr. Shirataka, the event’s organizer. If I’d known it would be like this, I shouldn’t have worn this stiff, stag-like frock coat… I found myself thinking as I was shown into a room resembling a waiting area. Looking around, I saw that every surface—from the surrounding walls to the tables, chairs, sofas, and even the small side tables—was buried under heaps of hats and coats. There must be enough here for fifty or sixty people. What a turnout for a conference!

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

As he said this, the attendant pushed open the right-hand door and entered the venue. The jazz music abruptly swelled in volume, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of the venue’s interior—but seeing its bustling state, I was utterly startled.

The space beyond the door was a terrifyingly vast hall where what appeared to be five-colored bubbles—actually escaped balloons that had slipped from members’ hands—swayed hazily across the entire ceiling. Beneath them swirled men and women in tuxedos, furisode kimonos, suits, and dance costumes forming a riot of colors, each with several balloons dangling from every man and woman’s back. This wave of balloons rose gently again and again in time with the surging musical rhythm like some mysterious circular rainbow, swirling throughout the hall in sweeping vortices. Amidst the bright peach and aqua light—I had just begun to register this—the door clicked firmly shut.

As soon as the door closed, the record stopped almost immediately. No sooner had the dance commotion died down and fallen silent than that very door—now shut—burst open from the opposite side. Five or six men in tuxedos wearing red-and-white striped triangular paper caps came tumbling rowdily into the room like an avalanche, collapsing onto the couch before my eyes in a tangled heap. Crooked bow ties… cuffs askew… traces of faint red lipstick smeared theatrically by their noses… They all appeared utterly plastered, ignoring me completely as they piled onto the couch, limbs carelessly thrown over one another.

“Ahh… I’m so drunk.” “Hey… I’m drunk… I’m so damn drunk…” “Ahh… how pleasant… how wonderful… tonight…” “Yeah. Wonderful… Shirataka’s organizational skills are something else! Wonderful, wonderful… Yeah, just wonderful.” “I’ll be damned. Booking out three entire dance halls… That’s a trick only Shirataka could pull off!” “...Three cheers for Shirataka...!”

One of them boomed in a voice loud enough to be heard through walls, but when the man—his bleary drunken eyes flying wide open—tried to rise with both hands thrust high, he seemed to notice me standing there first and, startled, landed hard on his backside. Ignoring his friend’s head—pinned beneath his buttocks and clawing futilely at empty air—he propped himself up with both hands on his knees, staring up and down at my frock coat through crimson-glazed eyes before suddenly grinning and licking his lips.

“Heh heh... The magician’s shown up.” “What’s this…” “Magic act…” “Where’s it happening…?” “There. “There he is—standing right there!” “What’s this… “So you’re the conjurer?” “Too late now, I tell ya.” “Damn you!” “The show’s already finished, I tell ya!” I suddenly grew so uncomfortable I wanted to bolt. It wasn’t their vulgarity that rankled me. In this preposterous outfit, having barged into such a place only to stand rigid as a post, I felt such wretchedness that my irritation mounted. Yet having come this far, I couldn’t shake the regret of leaving without meeting Mr. Shirataka.

“Hey.” “Did you get one? A fiancée…”

“Yeah. Two or three managed to bag.” “Two or three… Quit your lying!” “Look at this misprint!” “Hell yeah! Get the drinks in! Keep ’em coming!” “Ain’t no tellin’... Not ‘til tomorrow comes...” “Your fiancée might turn into a fiend-cée.” “Ahahaha!” “Nah… ain’t like that…” “There’s this thing called a breakup dame, y’know.” “They’re gettin’ dissolved right in their tuxes, y’know.” “Check if the tux’s good enough, y’know…” “They’ve started! Ain’t gonna rope me in no more!”

“Haaah… Aaah… No matter what ya try to say… Ya gotta just hold ’em… Ahaha.” “Ain’t ya gonna say anything…?” “Hey!” “Modern magic applies tambourine cabinets… A scene of dissolution mid-taxi ride.” “If this spectacle catches your eye… for the next act… well now, our lead performer and supporting actors must wait in the wings for now.”

“Heeeyyyy—wooo! (clapping) How about it, Frock-coated Doctor? Why don’t you hire me?”

I had finally steeled myself to flee when the door across quietly opened. Thinking *this must be it*, I stiffened—only for a gentleman, preceded by the waiter from earlier and looking just as rigid as I was, to enter. He was a tall, lanky middle-aged gentleman in full formal dance attire wearing a white waistcoat, holding a red-and-white striped tri-cornered hat in his right hand. With his left palm supporting a business card, he scrutinized my face again and again, stopped before me, and stared down with a pale, gloomy expression.

The drunken group on the sofa fell silent. Each of them gleamed with curious eyes and began comparing the gentleman’s face with mine. I possess a single photograph of Mr. Shirataka from his student days at Kyushu Imperial University. It was a photograph of the entire otolaryngology department at Kyushu University, centered around Dr. K, their department head. I would show it to my wife and sister whenever Shirataka came up in conversation and reminisce about those days.

Therefore, at this moment, I was immediately able to recognize that this gentleman was Dr. Shirataka. And I was genuinely delighted—and felt relieved—that I had managed to meet this same man so easily after all those years when we’d somehow never been able to cross paths. For the moment, I was surprised that Dr. Shirataka’s forehead to the back of his head was considerably bald. I was struck anew by a sense of past and present colliding, but having wholeheartedly believed—based on Nurse Himedono’s descriptions—that Dr. Shirataka was an exceptionally forthright and humorous man, I abruptly bowed my head.

“Ah! Dr. Shirataka, isn’t it? I’m Usuki. Thank you ever so much for the other day.” I smiled as I took a step or two closer, an indescribable nostalgia and sense of relief churning within my chest... Yet in the very next moment, I found myself utterly disconcerted. Dr. Shirataka—wearing a deeply unpleasant, bitter expression as he faintly returned my bow with an attitude of utmost solemnity and silence—and I stood facing each other a few paces apart, rigid as swallowed rods for two or three full minutes. Most likely Mr. Shirataka had been startled by my sudden, presumptuous manner of accosting him—or so I reasoned. After all, anyone would grow wary when addressed with a “Thank you for the other day” by someone they hadn’t spoken to in years. Perhaps this seasoned academician, serving as event organizer, had mistaken me for one of those frock-coated party-crashers people called gangsters—though his exact reasoning remained unclear. At any rate, after standing locked in this mutual glare for minutes on end, I could bear it no longer and spoke again.

“I... I’ve missed the chance to meet you time and time again... Now that I’ve finally had the honor, I’m truly relieved.” I believe this second greeting of mine edged rather close to a stiff diplomatic formality, but Mr. Shirataka remained with both hands thrust into his pockets, continuing to stare fixedly at me. As though he considered it perilous to engage with someone ignorant of decorum…

And so, as yet another ten seconds or so of silence dragged on, once again from the direction of the hall, a buoyant two-step record blared out with a WAAANNN. Ice-cold sweat dripped steadily from under my arms. Once again unable to endure it, I moved my lips.

“By the way… how is your wife’s illness?” “…Eh…” The moment I saw Mr. Shirataka’s look of astonishment then, I knew all was lost. “My wife… Kumiko… Has something happened?”

“Yes. At Mitsukoshi’s main entrance… apparently collapsed.” “What?! When was that?” “…This morning… around nine o’clock…” An abrupt burst of laughter erupted. The tuxedo-clad men who had been sitting on the sofa listening intently began rolling around clutching their stomachs. Some even slid off onto the floor from exaggerated mirth.

I was thrown into extreme panic. While thinking What impertinent louts..., I glared sharply at their faces, but this glare of mine must have been forced. Mr. Shirataka’s lips, having regained their color, began to move quietly. “That’s strange. My wife… Kumiko hasn’t gone anywhere since this morning—she said she’d be writing the church newsletter. She has been safely at home, but—”

“Huh? So… it was a lie?” “Then…” “A lie…?” “…I… I still haven’t said anything to you… but this is the first time I’ve had the honor of meeting you…” Another roar of laughter erupted…

“That Yuriko Himedono… Damn her…” Mr. Shirataka suddenly bulged his eyes and staggered half a step backward... but he immediately stopped in his tracks and regained his previous solemn demeanor. Breathing anxiously with a worried look, he peered into my face. “Himedono… Yuriko Himedono… Did she do something again?” “Wh… what…?” I was thrown into deeper disarray. “Are you... suggesting something again, Dr. Shirataka? Dr. Shirataka—have you known that woman... Yuriko... all along?”

The moment I realized how self-contradictory and absurd this question I had blurted out was, I distinctly felt my knees knocking together. With a desperate urge to cry out Help me... I waited for Mr. Shirataka's next words.

At that moment came the sound of a different waiter than before—a single one—running up the stairs. “Is Dr. Usuki from Yokohama present?” “It’s me, it’s me…”

I turned around with a sigh of relief. “There’s a phone call. From the Minyūkai Headquarters…” “Minyūkai Headquarters… Who on earth is calling?” “I don’t know who it is, but a Diet member who came from Yokohama has collapsed at the headquarters and is having a nosebleed that won’t stop… They’re requesting that the doctor come immediately…” “Wait… Was the caller’s voice a man’s or a woman’s…?”

“It was a woman’s voice… a young one…”

The waiter smirked slyly. “That’s absurd… How could I go examine someone who won’t even give their name?” “Go ask for the name.” “Then tell the person with the business card to come pick me up.” This must have been interpreted by those present as my grand gesture to conceal embarrassment, but in truth, my state of mind at that moment was far from such composed deliberation...... The phrase “collapsed with a nosebleed” struck me like lightning—I immediately recalled her report earlier this morning concerning Mrs. Shirataka.

She... Yuriko Himedono must have witnessed firsthand how otolaryngologists panic when confronted with unstoppable nosebleeds—she’d likely observed this somewhere. Having discovered through some call that I’d treacherously attended the Kōjutsu-kai meeting, she’d panicked and resorted to clumsy tactics—foisting two identical emergency cases upon me that very day—to sabotage my meeting with Dr. Shirataka. Was this not a desperate gamble born of dire straits? While coincidence couldn’t be entirely ruled out, my newly suspicious mind refused to accept that possibility. In that moment, I glimpsed how neatly I was being drawn into the clockwork mechanisms of her... Yuriko Himedono’s unfathomable mind.

Never in my entire life had I experienced such senseless compounding of panic as at that moment. I simply bowed deeply to those present and Mr. Shirataka, then wordlessly hurried from the room. While letting the renewed explosions of laughter, the following guffaws, and the jazz melody swirling resplendently all wash over my frock-coated back, I stumbled down the stairs in disarray. I hailed a passing taxi and raced to Tokyo Station. To steady myself, I deliberately purchased a second-class ticket and leapt aboard the Sakuragichō-bound train. Somehow I felt certain some calamity had struck my Yokohama home... Even by the conventions of detective novels my wife devoured—where eight or nine times out of ten disasters strike precisely during such absences—these imaginings came surging unbidden through my mind, driving me into intolerable agitation and dread. My pulse then must truly have been hammering beyond a hundred beats per minute.

Yet no sooner had I plopped down onto the soft cushion of the empty second-class car and exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke than another profound shift arose in my state of mind. As I watched the neon signs of Ginza slip past through the train window—their beauty shimmering in the fine rain—I began to acutely realize myself: how I must now be standing there, utterly bewildered, senselessly and endlessly confounded without understanding a single thing about what was happening.

...Why did I rush out here in such a panic? Why hadn’t I pressed further and asked Mr. Shirataka about Himedono? I realized that Mr. Shirataka had spoken as if he knew far more about her... yet I hadn’t even considered whether I’d get another chance to meet him...

……In any case, it was certain that Mr. Shirataka and Yuriko Himedono were not unrelated at all. Yuriko Himedono knew something about Mr. Shirataka beyond what I knew, and Mr. Shirataka must have known something about Yuriko Himedono, yet... As I kept thinking this way, the blazing paso doble march that had swirled through the Marunouchi Club’s grand hall began to drift through my mind once more.

I found myself beginning to trust her again. No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t find where the necessity lay for her to create such a grave, persistent fabrication to entrap us. Rather than that, it occurred to me that perhaps I was being deceived by Mr. Shirataka before Yuriko Himedono could trick me... First of all, I recalled how the cheerful tone I had heard from Mr. Shirataka over the phone before and the hoarse, subdued voice of the Mr. Shirataka I met today struck me as entirely different in character.

……That’s it. Mr. Shirataka may be deliberately adopting such a stern attitude to deceive a country bumpkin like me, his junior. He might be planning to have a good laugh about this later. Attending Tokyo’s Kōjutsu-kai meetings to interact with top-tier figures in our field and establish connections is both an honor and a strategic advantage for a provincial practitioner like myself. Given this, Mr. Shirataka—occupying such an elevated position—might have anticipated my attendance and, Anna-like, been camouflaging his true personality to play various tricks on me all along.

……That’s it, that’s it. That’s a plausible explanation. Since that had gone exactly as planned, they all might have laughed like that. ...And...though I had come to entertain such thoughts, this was likely nothing more than conjecture drawn from my own nature—being someone who adored mischief of that sort and had a minor criminal record that stopped short of prison time. At the same time, I became aware how greatly the preconceptions about Mr. Shirataka's character that Yuriko Himedono had planted within me were influencing this perception. Yet regardless, I had to anchor my mind with such reasoning to maintain composure, for otherwise an utterly irrational, terrifying anxiety would surge up immediately, making me feel as though I couldn't endure even thirty minutes sitting rigidly still on this train. Even so, as the train rattled onward through the dark plains ever westward, my terror became unbearable—so much that I nearly wanted to leap off mid-journey—for I found myself ensnared in an undercurrent of uneasy excitement tinged with a detective novel-like inscrutability. When I returned to Yokohama, might my family and my hospital—along with Yuriko Himedono—have vanished somewhere… something like….

About what time had I arrived at Sakuragicho Station? From there, hurrying along the rain-soaked road toward my home on Momijizaka—quite nearby—with unease stirring in my chest, suddenly from the darkness at the bridge's base behind me came: "...Dr. Usuki..."

A mournful voice called out, and I froze as if anticipating it. This was unmistakably Yuriko’s voice. She stood exactly as she had that afternoon when going out, clutching a black men’s umbrella. Her white collar remained visible even at night, though perhaps my eyes deceived me—the rims of her eyelids appeared darkened. Opening the umbrella to shield us from prying eyes, she drew near. Then, in a gloomy yet brisk tone stripped of her usual cheerfulness, she asked:

“Doctor, “Did you attend the Kōjutsu-kai meeting...?...” “Yeah. “I went.” “Did you meet Dr. Shirataka…?…”

“……Yeah… I met him.” “Was Dr. Shirataka pleased…”

“No. He was stiff as a board. Such a strange man. That doctor…” I’d meant to say this with sarcasm lacing my words, but she—as if she’d anticipated this very response—gave my face a fleeting glance before nodding with a lonely smile curving her cheek. “Yes. I knew that would be the case. But Doctor… Dr. Shirataka truly isn’t someone like Anna.”

“Hmm.” “So he’s actually an open-hearted man after all?” “Yes.” “He’s a truly fascinating man—full of ingenious schemes…” “That’s strange… Then… Why did he take such a rude Anna-like 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 automobile, you see.”

As she spoke, she seemed to press the gaudy crepe sleeves of her kimono against her face two or three times—yet maintaining the crisp demeanor of a young woman all the while—and with a tone tinged with what appeared to be indignation, began to relate the following astonishing facts.

I here set down without concealment the astonishing secrets concerning Dr. Shirataka’s household that I heard from her at that time. This was by no means intended to profane the sanctity of Dr. Shirataka’s household. For I firmly believed this served to declare the fact that I held his character in the utmost respect and trust. At the same time, I believed this stood as sufficient proof of how astonishingly true to life Yuriko Himedono’s genius for fabrication had been. Such a wretched, catastrophic scene—one that ordinary fabrications by ordinary people could never hope to salvage—how brilliantly and artistically she navigated it through her unique genius for fabrication—flashed upon her in an instant—and her techniques of ten-topic narrative construction and dramatization.

I walked side by side with her along the sidewalk of Sakuragicho's tram street—a river of light and noise nearing midnight—listening intently to the astonishing truths she continued to unfold...

Dr. Shirataka... whom I met today as the very embodiment of solemnity—during his tenure at K University’s Department of Otorhinolaryngology, had cherished Yuriko Himedono beyond measure and lavished her with exceptional favor. And when nights on duty arrived, Dr. Shirataka’s attentions toward her would often attempt to cross a certain line.

However, naturally, she did not welcome this. Her lifelong ambition had been to first establish herself as a nurse of considerable standing and cultivation, obtain qualifications as a woman doctor, marry a gentleman she believed in, and open a practice in the heart of greater Tokyo… then make a triumphant return to her hometown together… Driven by this purpose and fearing above all else becoming another’s plaything without cause, she ultimately resolved herself to dire extremity and appealed directly to Dr. Shirataka’s lawful wife, Mrs. Kumi-ko, regarding this matter.

However, Mrs. Kumi-ko was—just as Yuriko had imagined—an extraordinarily wise and chaste woman. In such circumstances, ordinary women would overlook their husband’s wrongdoing while cursing and loathing the innocent woman involved to death; however, Mrs. Kumi-ko—being understanding and concerned solely for her husband’s ultimate welfare—was greatly pleased by Yuriko’s chaste conduct. She cherished Yuriko beyond measure, wanting to keep her at home forever and take care of her. To ensure there would be no mistakes, Mrs. Kumi-ko arranged for Yuriko to stay overnight at their Shimorokubancho residence from February of that year onward—yet even Dr. Shirataka did not dare utter a single word of protest against this arrangement, it is said.

However, Mrs. Kumi-ko’s goodwill toward her inadvertently became the very cause that made her lose her job. The fellow nurses—both senior and junior—who had long envied her exceptional skills as a nurse and now grew jealous of her excessive favor at every turn, finally began fabricating rumors that she was Dr. Shirataka’s “second wife,” spreading them maliciously. Unable to bear causing further distress to Mrs. Kumi-ko, Yuriko requested to withdraw from her position. With tears, the lady consented and gave her an overly generous monetary parting gift. Thus Yuriko came to be taken into her aunt’s home in Shitaya, feeling as if she were being separated from a sister in life. That had been at the beginning of May this year, and after searching for employment here and there, she had finally settled at Usuki Hospital and breathed a sigh of relief… or so her confession went.

“...Therefore I’ve understood perfectly well all along why Dr. Shirataka absolutely refused to meet with you.” “I visited Mrs. Shirataka today and told her everything about the hardships I’ve endured until now.” “If you and Dr. Shirataka were to become close friends and came to fully understand the circumstances... if you were to dismiss me out of consideration for him... Well, Mrs. Shirataka shed tears and said there was absolutely no need to worry.” “No matter what happens henceforth, you mustn’t make me leave your side.” “She said she would kindly plead my case to you... So I returned to Yokohama overjoyed and utterly relieved—or so I believed—but when you met Dr. Shirataka today... What attitude might he take? Being such a tactful man, he’ll surely act surprisingly nonchalant about befriending you... Yet when I consider carefully how men resort to shockingly underhanded tactics in such matters... Well, forgive my impertinence.” “Oh ho... Once that thought took hold, I became terrified—utterly terrified—until I could bear it no longer.” “Perhaps Dr. Shirataka might feign ignorance of everything, adopting an uncharacteristically blunt manner during your first meeting that leaves you disappointed.” “Then without uttering a word, he might render my position nonexistent.” “When I realized he might make me appear some fraudulent girl spouting baseless fabrications... I couldn’t stay still—waiting there for your return became my only recourse.”

“……Hey… Dr. Usuki.” “You must remember how when you first asked me to introduce you to Dr. Shirataka, I became utterly despondent and nearly refused?” “At that time, I felt such an awful premonition about how things might unfold that I hesitated in that peculiar way—but since my dear doctor was so earnestly pleading with me, I cast aside my own concerns and telephoned Dr. Shirataka.”

“……Hey…… Dr. Usuki.” “So you must have finally realized why Dr. Shirataka absolutely refused to meet with you.” “Dr. Shirataka had convinced himself that you had already heard everything from me—he simply couldn’t bear you seeing his face. That’s why he absolutely had to meet with you at least once.” “But from that feeling of not wanting to meet… I believe he must have resorted to such schemes time and time again.” “I… I understood Dr. Shirataka’s feelings so well… It was so frustrating… so frustrating…”

“I’m... I’m not some woman who goes around thoughtlessly blabbing other families’ secrets... Yet you’d crush me into a penniless vagabond and make me an outcast in society... When all I’ve done is think of your benefit... When I worked so hard for Anna at K University... It’s too... too... too cruel...” She flung her black umbrella onto the lime-sprinkled gravel pile by the roadside and, pressing both sleeves to her face, began to sob.

When I came to my senses, the two of us had somehow arrived at the stone steps below my home in Momijizaka and were standing there facing each other. Just then, two or three passersby who appeared to be laborers turned to look back at us with strange expressions—though what exactly we must have looked like through their eyes, I can only wonder. With great effort, I managed to soothe and coax her into returning to the hospital. Yet I have no recollection whatsoever of what words I used to comfort her then. Had I remembered, I likely would have found myself spouting nothing but phrases that deserved Dr. Shirataka’s righteous indignation.

Climbing the stone steps immediately beside me, as I opened the corroded lattice door of my home's entrance—sheathed in corrugated iron at the alley's dead end—the pendulum clock in the inner parlor struck one. Though barely twenty minutes had passed since our encounter, recalling how prolonged my standing conversation with her had grown made me blush alone. And sensing the safe household's tranquil atmosphere within, I unconsciously let out a long sigh—Hooo—and patted my chest. Yet that relief proved merely my momentary flash of hollow joy. The peculiar ominous premonition I'd carried since boarding the train had struck its mark with dreadful precision—in a manner wholly unforeseen.

My sister and wife in nightclothes—slightly worked up as they hurriedly welcomed me—asked in unison the moment they saw my face. as if to grab me by the lapels,

“You met Dr. Shirataka…”

they interrogated him from both sides. “Yeah, I met him.” “And Miss Himedono…”

“I just spoke with her about that.” My sister and wife exchanged glances. On the cheeks of the two silent women, the look of terror was plainly etched. As I removed my rat-gray fedora while gazing at their faces, I was assailed by an eerie chill—as though I had discovered myself standing within a page ripped from some midnight chapter of a detective novel. “What kind of conversation did you have with Miss Himedono?” “Yeah.” “Well, why don’t you two start by telling me?” “Why don’t you start by telling us?”

“Dammit… It’s the same thing, isn’t it? Go on, tell me.” “But you…”

“Let’s go to the tearoom.” “My throat is dry.” Then, as I drank hot coarse tea and listened to the two women’s story…the strange stage setting of a domestic tragedy that had been floating in my mind until that very moment had, before I knew it, whirled into a complete transformation.

During my absence, a telephone call had been placed to Usuki Hospital from Mrs. Shirataka Kumi, who was supposed to be sick in bed. This appeared to be the result of Assistant Professor Shirataka—who had met with me about two hours earlier—promptly telephoning his home in Shimo-Rokubanchō, for Mrs. Shirataka had issued a warning to my household in an exceedingly calm yet supremely amicable tone. It seems my wife Matsuko was the one who answered, but they say the details she heard from Mrs. Shirataka at that time were utterly shocking—truly enough to make a woman’s heart stop.

Of course, there was some truth in Yuriko Himedono’s words. She was undoubtedly the same Yuriko Himedono who had once belonged to K University’s ENT department. While it was true that her nursing skills were astonishingly skilled—genius-level, even—it was also said to be common knowledge that she had been an equally astonishingly brilliant master of fabrication.

Whenever even a somewhat socially prominent individual was admitted to K University’s ENT department, she—Yuriko Himedono—would push others aside with her uniquely agile diplomatic skills and devote herself to nursing them. And she would unfailingly maneuver such people into declaring "Himedono first, Himedono second" above all else. As a result, it was said that she would often boastfully show off these supposedly received valuables—obtained by some means from such patients—to her colleagues.

Not only that. One moment she would brazenly spread rumors about being engaged to someone from one of those distinguished families… and the next, without a shred of shame, she would confess (or so she claimed) to the head nurse that she had to undergo an abortion because she was carrying the child of a film actor or some such man who’d been hospitalized long before—prompting her to take an extended leave from the hospital. On top of this, she would earnestly spread rumors from her own mouth about her relationships with doctors A and B… In this manner, having so egregiously disrupted decorum, she was ultimately compelled to resign through the goodwill of Professor Ōnagi, head of K University’s ENT department—or so it was said.

However, Mrs. Shirataka Kumi—who had long been a devout Methodist—had always harbored a certain sympathy toward such bad habits of hers. Seeming to deeply lament both her talent and future prospects, they took her into their home the moment she was dismissed and spared no effort in educating her to refrain from fabrications. This had been an attempt to suppress her bad habits through Christ's holy name. Yet for her, this environment must have proved unbearably stifling. Having finally left the Shirataka household without permission and vanished without a trace, just as Mrs. Kumi worried day and night about her whereabouts, Yuriko suddenly called around early June that year to announce she was now at Usuki Hospital in Yokohama. It was said she had spoken with characteristic earnestness: "I've completely stopped telling fabrications since then. As Dr. Usuki now trusts me, I beg you to keep my past matters secret... Please help me."

However, the Shirataka couple—who knew her character all too well—not only refused to believe her words easily but had since been plagued by an indescribable anxiety. Once again, that woman must have infiltrated the Usuki household, spewing plausible fabrications with the intent to throw it into disarray. Moreover, worried that they couldn’t know what fabrications about K University and the Shirataka family she had made Dr. Usuki believe, Mrs. Shirataka had apparently sent discreet inquiry letters to my wife Matsuko at Usuki Hospital’s address on multiple occasions—but these had likely been intercepted by her, as no replies ever came.

Mrs. Shirataka’s anxieties had reached a crescendo there. Could it be that the members of the Usuki household—who had utterly believed every word from that master liar—had resolved to scorn the Shirataka family and refuse to engage with them at all? Yet even so, resorting to overly persistent and urgent means to seek avenues of contact with the Usuki household would make it seem as though we were flustered—an absurd notion… It was from such conflicting reservations that she sank ever deeper into an indescribable, ludicrously unpleasant anxiety. Particularly timid and neurotic, Mr. Shirataka seemed to harbor an extreme dread of Yuriko’s bad habits; lately, whenever the couple found themselves together, they spoke of nothing else. Then today, when the husband met with Dr. Usuki and found his demeanor oddly altered, they decided they ought to make a telephone inquiry. Dr. Usuki seemed extremely restless and agitated, but since that woman might have done something unnecessary again, it would be best to make the call quickly. According to Mrs. Kumi’s account—her husband’s words being something like, “Whether Yuriko would answer the call or not…”—my wife Matsuko, who was listening, was made to blush so intensely that she couldn’t remain by the telephone.

However, even so, my wife Matsuko—simultaneously enveloped in unbearably anxious feelings—nonetheless mustered her courage to prolong the call, and when she pressed Mrs. Kumi with various questions, it turned out exactly as feared… From start to finish, nearly everything Yuriko Himedono had asserted up to that day was utterly baseless. It turned out that all of these—the supposed fact of Dr. Shirataka’s house call in Hiratsuka, the story about attending the Kabukiza Theatre, Mrs. Kumi’s collapse at the Mitsukoshi entrance that day, and even the claim that Himedono had paid a visit to offer condolences—were nothing but her astonishing fabrications.

As I listened to that story, I felt as if high-voltage electricity were coursing through me—Usuki Hospital’s mascot, a genius of a nurse. I hallucinated the scene: Yuriko Himedono’s innocent figure, which had seemed like the reincarnation of a dove of peace, dissolving before my eyes into a gray, grotesque skeleton as though X-rayed. Simultaneously recalling—to the buoyant rhythm of a Spanish one-step—Yuriko’s form descending Momiji Slope toward the hospital through weeping darkness, I compared my sister’s and wife’s ashen faces as they stared fixedly at mine, an indescribable terror crawling up and down my spine.

At that moment, Matsuko, my wife—who had once again prepared fresh tea—let out a long, deep sigh as if to punctuate the conversation and uttered something strange. “Hey, Honey. “What a strange girl that Himedono is. “Even though I clearly understand I’m being completely deceived, I just can’t bring myself to hate that girl. “Now I finally understand that Mrs. Shirataka must have felt the same way as us women—she must have taken a liking to that girl too. “Up until this very moment, your sister and I were talking about nothing but that.”

When I heard these words, I finally made up my mind. I realized her—Yuriko Himedono’s uncanny, unfathomable charm… that terrifying spellbinding power which had now thoroughly ensnared even my sister and wife—and involuntarily let out a sigh of relief. ...and at the same time, I had thought of a means to escape from her spell that was descending upon me like a beautiful fog—though it was a somewhat rough, almost cowardly method… Without uttering a single deliberate word to my sister or wife, I stood up and once again went to the entrance to put on my hat. Without telling the two of them—who were seeing me off with puzzled expressions—where I was going, I put on my shoes. I charged out headlong into the traffic of Momiji Slope—what a terrifying thing it was! At that moment, the endlessly overlapping black roofs across the slope below, the flickering advertisement lights, and even the pale starlight scattered all across above—all of it seemed like nothing but the remnants of the fabrications she had spewed forth.

I shuddered once and ran down Momiji Slope. I hailed a passing taxi, had it pull up in front of the Toto Nippo branch office by the Kanagawa Prefectural Office, roused Sanzaburō Utō—the branch chief and my middle school classmate—from sleep, and went up to the second floor of a nearby chicken restaurant. There, using "This might make for an interesting story" as my opening line, I laid out every fact about her without reserve and asked Chief Utō for his opinion on what exactly should be done.

Sanzaburō Utō, who had been silently listening while twisting his prized captain-style beard between his fingers, eventually looked at my face and gave a thin, knowing smile. He asked in his characteristic frank tone. "Hmm. So I must hear one truthful confession from you."

“There’s nothing to confess. Outside of what I’ve just told you—” “Hmm. Then there’s no relationship between you and her—is that what you’re saying?” “That’s absurd… How dare you… As if I would ever…” “Okay, okay. Got it now.” Sanzaburō Utō suddenly raised his sailor-style pipe and shouted.

“Okay, okay. Red-tan through and through!” “Huh? Red-tan...? What’s this ‘Red-tan’...?” “If it’s red, it’s red-tan! Outside of reds, there ain’t nobody who’d pull such strange stunts. The way those reds run their underground ops around here now—exactly the same! Even today, nothing but damn fraud geniuses survive among the reds, I tell ya. Keep sheltering a woman like that, and you’ll meet a hellish end... You...”

“Yeah. I get it now—that red-tan business. But really, would that girl do something so outrageous…” “No no! That’s exactly why it’s dangerous! The fact they make you think that way—that’s what’s so terrifying about the reds’ methods, I tell ya. She’s a red through and through—red-tan red-tan! Where else would there be any need for such bizarre actions? That little Miss Himedono might be some bigwig maintaining connections all over through your hospital, I tell ya.”

“Hmm… I can’t say that possibility never crossed my mind, but to my eyes, I don’t see any sign of that behavior.” “If you could spot it, that’d be the real problem. Any amateurish reds visible to laymen like you would’ve been nabbed and swinging from gallows ages ago, I tell ya.”

“Hmm…” “Is that really how it is…?” “Anyway, that girl’s no mark for the likes of us to handle.” “First off—at this level of story—it wouldn’t even make the papers, I tell ya.” “Let’s go to Inspector Tamiya’s residence right now.”

“Huh? The Special Higher Police Chief…” “Yeah. But you gotta leave everything to us—I mean everything—I tell ya. Won’t steer ya wrong.” “Where’s Inspector Tamiya… Is it far?” “Don’t you know?”

“I don’t know.” “Don’t you know? It’s right next to your own house!” “What?! “The house next door…” “Yeah.” “That’s Inspector Tamiya’s place.” “How careless can you be?” “I’m no red. “It never occurred to me…” “That Himedono girl—maybe she’s after that house next door instead of yours. That’s why she’s cozying up to you.” “That’s what tipped me off…”

“Ah, I see now.” “As for that man called Tamiya, I’ve greeted him two or three times at the entrance.” “When they were installing the gas lines, you know.” “He’s that large man with a sinister face, right?”

“Yeah. “That’s it, that’s it. If you know him, that’s all the more convenient, I tell ya. Let’s go right now… Wait a sec—I’ll call from the branch office first.” The story’s tempo steadily and rapidly quickened. It seemed as though the depths of the story were drawing near before our eyes—but what indeed would emerge from those depths?

With my heart pounding inexplicably, I jumped into the taxi together with Utō.

Inspector Tamiya of the Special Higher Police had apparently been fast asleep, but true to his professional duty, he received us in the second-floor parlor without complaint. Mr. Tamiya—a swarthy, stocky man with the dignified bearing of a gang leader who might wield a long sword—sat formally before a rosewood desk in his padded robe, drawing on an Asahi cigarette as he listened to my account. When I finished speaking, he crossed his arms and glanced sideways at Reporter Utō. He muttered: "She might be red." Hearing this, I felt my heart jolt again. Before I knew it, I had leaned forward and hesitantly inquired:

“If she’s a red, what should we do?” Mr. Tamiya’s eyes gleamed coldly.

“Let’s have her arrested.” “Wh-what… Arrest her… Why…?” “Tomorrow morning—no—this morning, right? Once day breaks, I’ll have detectives come to the clinic immediately, so until then, please ensure that nurse doesn’t escape.” “Th-that… That’s quite a problem.”

Sanzaburō Utō hurriedly stepped in with tactful initiative. “The truth is, we came to request your assistance regarding that matter—especially since Dr. Usuki here had already submitted documentation of communist affiliations from his clinic’s founding days…” “Ahaha.” “Most reasonable indeed.” “In that case, might I propose this?” “Tomorrow morning—the earlier the better.” “Could you devise some utterly foolproof errand to send that girl out?” “Knowing her destination in advance would be ideal.”

“...Understood.” “Then let’s proceed like this.” “I have a large imitation diamond from the South Seas as a souvenir.” “Both my sister and wife dislike Alexandrites, so I’ve been troubled with how to dispose of it. I’ll have that girl take it, order her to have it fashioned into a ring immediately, and send her to Matsuyama Jewelry Store in Isezakichō.” “I believe she’ll depart between nine and ten at the latest... Things will start getting hectic around ten o’clock.”

“That will do. However, these days the reds are quite sensitive, so unless you’re extremely careful…” “I think it’s safe. No one knows about my visit here tonight… and besides, my wife mentioned some time ago that she wanted to buy Miss Himedono a ring…”

“I see now.” “In that case, with such an arrangement…” “Understood.” “My apologies for keeping you so late…”

Under such circumstances, I finally fell into such a distraught 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. Having heard every detail from me, they spent the entire night tossing restlessly without sleep, their agitation fueled by imagining both the inevitability and horror of the dreadful fate soon to descend upon Yuriko Himedono’s delicate shoulders at daybreak. Matsuko would doze off only to jolt awake, startled by vivid visions of Yuriko Himedono—bound hand and foot—being dragged from the hospital. My sister, with morbid thoroughness, had even clearly witnessed her lifeless face dangling from the gallows and required repeated shaking by Matsuko to escape these nightmares—a truly remarkable ordeal by any measure.

Even so, the plan after daybreak proceeded one hundred percent smoothly. My wife Matsuko’s demeanor—wearing an innocent face as she came to the hospital and quietly summoned Nurse Himedono into the pharmacy to place a large Alexandrite in her hand—was exceedingly natural. Even Yuriko showed not the slightest suspicion; she came bouncing over to me with genuine delight, bowing repeatedly to express her thanks. Yet my own response—nodding magnanimously with my usual smile—was said to be the very picture of a seasoned actor’s act. Later, I was mercilessly teased by my sister.

However, as she—Yuriko Himedono—hurriedly changed into her kimono, mindful of the ten o'clock clinic opening time, and scurried out through the hospital entrance, the attitudes of my sister, my wife, and me as we watched her departing figure from behind were so tense that even the other nurses and patients took notice. Our postures remained stiff as boards, as if seeing off a noble personage, which led to everyone afterward asking what was the matter—a clear blunder. What's more, my sister and wife had apparently rushed into the washroom in a fluster to hide their welling tears—a scene so absurd it was beyond comprehension.

Yuriko Himedono did not return.

My sister, my wife, and I spent that entire day exchanging pale, haunted glances as if freshly startled, but after letting a night pass, around eight o'clock the following morning, a first-grade young master from Inspector Tamiya's neighboring house came to fetch me. Nervously changing into my kimono and going over, I found Mr. Tamiya waiting in the second-floor guest room overlooking Yokohama Port, dressed in the same padded kimono he had worn two nights prior. When he saw me, Inspector Tamiya—wearing an oddly flushed smile—offered me hot tea, but his tone was far more candid than the previous day, speaking as if casually tossing out words.

“She’s not a red.”

“Huh…”

Taken slightly aback, I blinked rapidly and readjusted my posture. “All your efforts were wasted,” he said. “We found no communist connections whatsoever... Though she claimed her family was wealthy—according to telephone and telegraph inquiries—they’re actually destitute.” “Their only son—her twenty-seven or twenty-eight-year-old brother—squandered their entire storehouse through debauchery before vanishing to Tokyo seeking fortune.” “Of course—what was it?—yes... Not one letter came from Yuriko either.” “Even that Nara-zuke story was fabricated.” “Yuriko Himedono isn’t her real name—her parents’ surname is Hori.” “When entering Keio Hospital—she used her friend’s sister’s family registry copy—faked her age.” “Her true name’s Yumiko—left home at nineteen chasing her brother—six years ago.” “So her claimed age of nineteen? Nonsense.” “She insisted she was twenty-three.” “Reports confirm she never attended girls’ school—that woman’s an unfathomable fraud...”

"Huh... So she's not a red at all, then?" "There's absolutely no connection to the reds. Though I must say we conducted an exceptionally thorough investigation..."

“In that case, what exactly is that woman?” “Well, you see…” “Ahem.” “The fact is,” “In the end, that woman is merely a pitiful soul.” “She is deeply grateful for your kindness from the bottom of her heart.” “She says she wants to spend her entire life at Usuki Hospital.” “‘If being suspected by the Usuki family would drive me to bite my tongue and die,’ she said while wailing bitterly.” “Huh…” “Is that true?”

“It most certainly is.” “Ha ha ha.” “Please come to collect her by ten o’clock this morning.” “We simply detained her on suspicion of Red activities, but since that’s been cleared, we’ll release her.” “I’ll just tell her ‘What a pity…’ and hand her over without mentioning anything else… Since Dr. Usuki places such complete trust in you, I might even advise her not to spin quite so many fictions…” “In any case, she’s a pitiful creature—do keep her on indefinitely.”

“……Hmm…” “How strange.” “Then what reason did that woman have to create such disruptive nonsense and make us suffer disgrace?” “Such groundless things…” “Yes. Well, you see…” “We thoroughly investigated that aspect as well, but it seems to essentially come down to that girl’s trivial quirk.” “It appears comparable to a country-bred maid boasting about her hometown—hardly anything amounting to criminal conduct.” “Beyond that point, it concerns personal secrets we can’t properly investigate.” “Ha ha ha.” “In any case, I apologize for making you lose one of your jewels.” “Please continue to look after her and keep her on indefinitely.” “She’s such a pitiful woman… I must take my leave now to attend to official duties.”

Obtuse as I was, I could discern nothing from Inspector Tamiya’s attitude. Like a fool, completely unaware of anything, I was dismissed and retreated. When I proceeded to tell my sister and wife about this matter, the two of them, in their self-satisfied manner, raised a triumphant cheer and rejoiced.

“There, you see? It’s not like I didn’t tell you.” “Saying ‘It’s not like I didn’t tell you’—you fool… There’s nothing more to say about it! From the beginning…” “No. That’s what I thought. I thought someone like Miss Himedono couldn’t possibly be a Red, but you had to go and do something unnecessary…” “What do you mean ‘unnecessary’?! At least we’ve clearly established that Himedono was a fabricator…”

“Well, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” “It was nothing… I was just talking with Sister now.” “If Miss Himedono were to return safely after all, we were discussing whether to dismiss her or not.” “After discussing it thoroughly—since she’s just too pitiful after all—we thought we’d ask you to let her stay… That’s what we were saying… Well.” “Well, that’s a relief…”

“Our mascot… We’ll go pick her up right away. Okay… That’s fine, right?”

The two of them then briskly got into the automobile and headed out. They even forgot to let me eat breakfast… It is said that Yuriko clung to his 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.” She reportedly cried out and writhed in anguish, leaving both women at a loss, but upon realizing just how brutal the interrogation must have been, both my sister and wife were said to have shed silent tears.

The three of us then returned together by automobile, but not a trace remained of the makeup Yuriko had applied to the nape of her neck the previous morning. My sister and wife bathed her, changed her undergarments, and made such a commotion as if reviving someone from the dead, after which I finally had her join me for breakfast—yet Yuriko merely repeated between sobs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” doing nothing but cry over and over, her food hardly going down her throat.

Yet how far had her—Yuriko Himedono, or rather Yumi Hori—personality been fashioned into something so strange and unfathomable?

When I, having deliberately delayed going to work, seated her in the guest room beside the entrance and inquired about the details of her interrogation... what do you suppose I found? The content of that interrogation turned out to be so unexpectedly, shockingly preposterous that it defied all description.

According to the tearful account of her—stripped entirely of her veneer, rendered unrecognizable and utterly despondent—the manner in which the officers at Isezaki Police Station had conducted their interrogation proved far beyond mere severity. In a state so cloyingly saccharine and unconscionable that my sister and Matsuko could scarcely remain seated as they listened, she began recounting her ordeal with evident vexation, sniffling between words. With vivid immediacy, she described everything—from the scene in the superintendent’s office with its blazing iron brazier where she’d faced plainclothes Inspector Tamiya, to the crackling charcoal fire she repeatedly mentioned, down to the faint ticking of Inspector Tamiya’s wristwatch.

However, this time alone, I was not the least bit surprised. As I continued to stare fixedly at her expression—calmly proceeding with such talk while gradually growing excited and eloquent—I discovered an uncannily beautiful light beginning to shimmer forth within her gaze. It was a purity beyond purity—one often witnessed in the agitated states of the mentally deranged—and a bewitching light of carnal desire, suffused with sensual emotion, that defied description as either eerie beauty or terrifying allure. As I continued to watch the light in her eyes, even my obtuse self gradually came to perceive every hidden truth, like dawn breaking through the night. From the very depths of the extraordinarily complex and chaotic events that had been depicted by the mysterious workings of her brain up until today, a truly ordinary, simple, and clear truth had become transparent.

Impatient as I was, in the middle of her account, I pretended to go to the restroom and slipped quietly into the tearoom. There, I whispered into the ear of my wife Matsuko—flushed crimson and smiling bitterly—urgently summoned the nurse who lived and worked with her at the hospital, and attempted to inquire about a certain secret concerning Yuriko. The one summoned was a nurse named Yamauchi, straight from the countryside. She was the type of woman who was utterly honest and loyal, always fidgety and wide-eyed, but there she sat before the three of us, her bright red hands neatly folded on her knees, fixing her gaze like a judo practitioner as she answered. As if she bore some grudge against Himedono...

“Yes.” “Miss Himedono’s menstrual cycles were regular.” “They usually occurred around the fourth or fifth day at the beginning of each month.” “As I was always made to do the laundry, I knew this well.” Upon hearing this, I stood up at once and changed into Western clothes. Leaving everything behind, I sped off in the automobile, barged into the Prefectural Special Higher Police Section, and met with Inspector Tamiya, who had just arrived for work. I stated my case bluntly, dispensing with all formalities.

“Inspector Tamiya. I’ve finally figured it out.” “That woman Yuriko Himedono who caused so much trouble—whether it’s ovarian or menstrual in origin—is a type of episodic psychopath arising from physiological melancholy.” “I’ve finally understood why her episodes of personal anxiety and outrageous vanity-driven fabrications always occur two or three days before menstruation.” “Examine my diary and it becomes glaringly obvious.”

“Ah.” “I see.” “To be honest, based on my own experience, I had wondered if it might not be something like that… but I couldn’t make sense of it at all. However, how did you come to investigate such facts?” “...Now, this concerns both our reputations, so I must ask you to speak frankly—last night during the interrogation, did that woman say anything about me?”

Even the ordinarily unflappable Inspector Tamiya turned crimson when he heard this question. “Ha ha ha. Did you figure it out… Did she confess after returning to your place?” “No, no. She didn’t say a word about that—instead she went on and on about how kind your interrogation was. With such an elaborate and vivid explanation… When I realized how suspicious this was, I immediately remembered our conversation from this morning and couldn’t stay put—that’s why I rushed here. She’s a monster. That woman—”

Now thoroughly crimson, Inspector Tamiya stood rigid as a post in full uniform.

“No. You spoke without reservation. In that case, let me share something for your reference as well—around what day in October was it... Did you go to examine a foreigner at Ashinoko Hotel in Hakone that afternoon?” “Yes. I went. The oil company manager... an old man named Rarusan.” “Did you take her with you then?” “Why would I take her? I went alone.” “I see. Then was Yuriko staying at the hospital during your absence?”

“Well… She must have been there… Since I didn’t take her…”

“However, it seems Yuriko was not at the hospital that afternoon.” “Last night, I tried calling your hospital’s nurses for confirmation. According to them, shortly after you left, an automatic telephone call came from Yokohama Station ordering her to prepare immediately and come to Yokohama Station...” “Huh.” “I must say, that’s surprising.” “That woman has something of a telephone mania.” “She skillfully employs telephones to spin fabrications.” “It seems she answers as if those calls were genuinely coming through.”

“In any case, under those circumstances, Yuriko reportedly hurriedly applied her makeup, adorned herself in finery, and left the hospital.”

“Pfft. That’s absurd… I can’t possibly take some nurse all dressed up along on a house call.” “I thought as much. When I heard that story, I also found it somewhat odd. Whether you needed to bring a nurse along should have been clear from the moment you left the hospital.” “For one thing, I wouldn’t take someone out in such a suspicious manner. Ha ha ha.” “Ha ha ha. However, I heard quite a detailed account of that incident. I hear there’s a splendid bathhouse called Phantom Valley or something like that in that hotel. I haven’t been there myself, but…”

“I’ve never even heard of it.” “I did have a meal at that hotel with a foreigner named Rarusan.” “He should still be there—if you inquire yourself, you’ll understand—but he’d developed otitis media alongside severe neurasthenia, so I performed a myringotomy…” “I see… That story about the so-called Phantom Valley bath was utterly preposterous.” “She claimed two figures floating between bluish-black rocks were reflected in the ceiling mirror like pink goldfish… Ha ha ha ha…”

“Ridiculous.” “When did I ever go there?” “You wouldn’t go alone, though.” “Of course not… What an outrageous woman.” “This is truly outrageous.” “This is outrageous… In fact, this morning, I received your admonition to keep her on indefinitely out of fondness, but if she’s going to spout such things that tarnish people’s reputations, I cannot tolerate it.” “I’m going to drive her out immediately, which is why I’ve come to request your understanding.”

“No, no! This is utterly mortifying,” said Inspector Tamiya, bowing deeply. “I offer my most sincere apologies. Please dismiss her at once. This is beyond unacceptable.” “Unacceptable doesn’t begin to cover it,” Dr. Usuki replied, his voice tight with remorse. “To think my carelessness has caused you such grievous trouble…” “Yet one must acknowledge such outrageous specimens do exist,” the inspector mused. “A first in my experience. Someone of her caliber…” “Is that truly so?” Usuki’s question carried a clinical edge. “Would you say her like is uncommon? Even within your own bureau…” “Among these so-called society ladies,” Tamiya countered, “you’ll find plenty at her level of artifice. But since their deceptions don’t cross into criminal territory, they remain beyond our reach.”

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

“That could be the case.” “In other words, you might say she’s a type of delusional person.” “That her family is of immense wealth, that she herself is a genius nurse, a peerless beauty, and that there isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t fall under her spell.” “She’s the sort of woman who deludes herself into believing men of status and reputation would immediately make advances… and takes the greatest pleasure in making others believe those delusions.” “As for that story about her having given birth—the one from our conversation the night before last—if that too came from her own mouth, it might not be factual either.” “For all we know, she might still be a virgin… Ha ha…”

“Ah ha ha ha!” “No.” “I was subjected to cruel treatment.” “Please handle this…” “Goodbye…”

Upon parting with those words, on my way back I sent a telegram to her guarantor—an aunt in Shitaya who stood as her legal sponsor. Feeling as though awakening from an absurdly foolish, interminable dream… yet still doubting whether this supposed aunt of hers truly existed… The woman presented as her aunt—a hairdresser by trade—came trotting over to my residence that very evening. A ruddy, plump woman in her forties—her hair bound up neatly with a comb, wearing a crisply tailored cotton kimono that accentuated her robust frame—greeted us with such vigorous energy that her voice reverberated throughout the entire neighborhood.

“Well… what a hopeless girl she is.” “Well, really… No.” “I’m neither her aunt nor anything of the sort, I tell you.” “After all, I was born right in the heart of Edo.” “Heh heh... When I was admitted to that university’s ENT department for meningitis surgery some time ago, that girl looked after me more devotedly than any blood relative could.” “That’s how she ended up moving in with me before I knew it.” “She kept clinging to me with ‘Auntie this, Auntie that,’ so I had no choice but to become her legal guarantor… No.” “Well, you see…” “That girl kept staying and staying at my house, and the young men in the neighborhood became so noisy it was a real problem.” “What can I even say about that girl?” “She’s such a peculiar girl, I tell you.” “After she came to my house, within two or three days, the young men in the neighborhood were already clamoring noisily around her, I tell you.” “It’s as if she’s a magician, I tell you.” “So I told her—‘Go somewhere else already!’” “I told her I’d become her guarantor or whatever, you know.” “So I drove her out with that, but…”

While chattering away about such things, she brushed the dust from her tabi socks and briskly entered the tearoom from the kitchen entrance. There, she took out an old-fashioned small tobacco container 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—looking from one face to another.

“Speaking of those young men—it just came back to me now. “That girl—apparently she’s been claiming since last week that she’s the ‘Mystery Woman’ plastered across all Tokyo’s newspapers… You’ve heard of that, haven’t you?” “Seems she really is the one behind it, I tell you.” “‘Even someone like me could manage a little prank like this…’ she said.” “That girl got buttered up by the neighborhood boys and let it slip, or so they say.” “Then everyone started hounding her half-jokingly, making a ruckus over her and prying into details—and when it began looking like she truly was involved, they all got spooked, they say.” “After she left my place, someone came snitching to me about it… So hearing that gave me the chills too.” “What do you suppose I found when I peeked into the bundle she left behind while job-hunting?” “Inside a fresh little paper folder—wouldn’t you know—she’d stashed away cutouts of those ‘Mystery Woman’ articles, piles upon piles of them… No.” “Not a single other clipping in there, I tell you.” “It made my blood run cold, I tell you.” “I’ve been jumping at shadows ever since, terrified she’d drag some disaster to my doorstep.” “But well, that’s all settled now.” “Yes, yes, I’ll take her off your hands… Yes, yes, I’ll fetch her quiet-like so nobody notices.” “I’ll not be sheltering any such vagabond again.” “Dither around and I’ll be ruined for sure.” “…An older brother? Don’t be daft.” “All lies! …What dreadful luck you’ve had.” “If you pay her fare home, there’ll be no bad karma clinging to you—no reason for her ghost to haunt you either.” “My heart truly goes out to you.”

“I’m terribly sorry for chattering on all by myself.” “I’ve caused such a terrible disturbance… There you have it.” “Goodbye…”

She appeared to have summoned Yuriko discreetly as promised and taken her away. Yuriko Himedono vanished without a trace from that evening onward, unnoticed not only by us but even by the nurses who had been with her. And aside from her suicide note written at the beginning, there had been no word from her, while the hospital continued thriving as it always had.

Even so, patients who came to the hospital counting on her name still showed no sign of dwindling. My hospital was suspected to the extent that one might wonder if it had existed solely for her sake. According to stories later told by police officers and detectives who came to visit, she had been using a smooth-talking delivery boy from the soba shop across the way to make phone calls—the same boy who had pretended to be Associate Professor Shirataka calling from Tokyo. It was revealed through her confession that she had written out every line on stationery, summoned the delivery boy to the hospital basement, and made him rehearse them repeatedly; moreover, Mr. Shirataka’s letter had been drafted by her, dictated to a public scribe near the prefectural office, and mailed out. Yet the more one heard these accounts, the clearer it became that her talent for fabricating fictions and her directorial prowess defied all ordinary measure. She possessed every form of specialized—or pathological—knowledge and inclination regarding fictional composition. With genius surpassing any villain or artist—armed with unrestrained grace and inexhaustible resolve—had she battled through that cold, brutal reality? Had she manipulated K University Hospital, the Metropolitan Police Department, Kanagawa Prefectural Police Headquarters, and Usuki Hospital like puppets? Being made to imagine how superhuman her skill truly was—stirring chaos after chaos only to vanish without sound or scent, dissolving like mist—I found myself utterly astonished and sighing in endless lamentation.

Another crucial matter was that during subsequent internal investigations of the hospital, we discovered that a small syringe and a single bottle of morphine had gone missing. Moreover, it was said that Nurse Yamauchi—the aforementioned country-bred nurse—had witnessed her... Yuriko Himedono stealing it on the spot as far back as early September, but at that time, when Himedono turned around, “If you blab, you’ll regret it.”

When she said that and glared at me, her face was so terrifying—truly like a blue demon—that I had remained silent until today…… There was no one as eerie and terrifying as Miss Himedono. She was always muttering how dull everything was, how she wanted to die—so terrified was I that there were times I would stealthily follow Miss Himedono when she went to the restroom at night…… Yet despite that, Miss Himedono was utterly domineering—forcing me to wash all her soiled laundry and sending me on errands to fetch the young man from the soba shop across the way. “If even a shred of my secret reaches Dr. Usuki,” she’d say, “I’ll have no choice but to kill you and commit suicide—so steel yourself accordingly.” “If I ever step outside this hospital, I’ll be ruined already,” Miss Himedono had repeated incessantly. Thus I ended up obeying Miss Himedono’s every word without understanding anything……

That was what Nurse Yamauchi confessed, her eyes wide and round.

It was at this time that I first came to realize Himedono had staked her entire existence on each of those fabrications. She must have spent her days—and endured her nights—in such psychological extremity that had her fictions been exposed, she would have felt compelled to abandon this world through suicide. Moreover, within that perilous tension, she likely found an ineffable sense of purpose that made such a life worth sustaining.

She had no interest in murder, shoplifting, or theft. She was a prodigy who felt nothing but an infinite... life-consuming interest in spinning fictions. She seems to have had some interest in the corruption of chastity as well. However, wasn't that too not a concrete corruption, but rather a corruption within fictions? Wasn't it rather that imagined infidelity and debauchery held far greater value for her excitement and satisfaction than any real-world immorality? There is reason to imagine that she led a far more chaste physical existence than we third parties might suppose.

When I considered all this thoroughly，the psychology behind why even such an accomplished fabricator as herself had never once used an alias since her K University days became imaginable. This was not merely because she recognized how perfectly the name Yuriko Himedono matched her pure，lovely appearance. Might it not have been that something deep within her heart—something wanting to take pride in her immaculate emotional purity—had felt an inexplicable attachment to this very name?

Dear Dr. Shirataka,

This concludes my report on Yuriko Himedono. Sanzaburō Utō still considered her to be one of the most cunning underground operatives. She was a once-in-a-generation genius girl who, while superficially pretending to be a mere fabricator of lies, accomplished her work to perfection and left triumphantly without letting anyone detect even a hint of that fearsome underground movement. That aunt-like middle-aged woman too appeared to be suspected as one of the influential underground operatives working alongside her—perhaps even having come to rescue her by acting as a plant to conclude her mission.

Moreover, Inspector Tamiya considers her nothing but a femme fatale endowed with a distinctive talent. This becomes evident when observing how not a single young person near Usuki Hospital remains unaware of her name—a fact that continues to emerge repeatedly. Therefore, it seems both you and I are viewed as the most foolish victims—buffeted by her uncanny maneuvers yet still harboring sympathy for her... Such an impression occasionally surfaces through the detectives' conversational tones when they visit, though I believe this stretches imagination too far. To rephrase, one might call it an observation that showed her undue reverence.

To say that you, like myself—though it may be discourteous to phrase it so—I could find no grounds to believe such facts, and you must by now fully understand why. I confess this along with my sister and wife. We do not harbor even a fingernail's worth of hatred toward her. In this world where nothing is rewarded... this vast, crackling-dry space like a desert without gods or buddhas, blood or tears, where neither green earth nor mirages can be sought... we have spoken again and again in pity of her state of mind—how she clung with her very life to the fictional truths born of her imagination, believing them her supreme paradise. That precious, precious heaven of hers... her created Eden, more valuable than anything, like a beautiful toy clutched by a child—because it was mercilessly shattered and trampled, we imagine the wretchedness she must have felt, driving her at last to suicide. My sister and wife weep in grief for her. Inspector Tamiya from next door heard our account and laughed, saying that if one thought this way, there would be no sinners left in the world... but in truth, I believe he is precisely correct.

She is not a sinner. She is nothing more than a splendid creator. Simply because she inadvertently created a version of Dr. Shirataka—one who shared my personality yet was not you—and because this became a masterpiece so lifelike, she found herself tormented by an obsessive fear that demanded immediate suicide. Desperate to escape this compulsion, she endlessly expanded and complicated her fictional world, within which she naturally constructed her own downfall.

Yet we, for the sake of our own reputations, in earnest and banding together, drove her into the very depths of that catastrophe. And then, having relentlessly cornered her, we thrust her out into a world of disillusionment. Thus did she truly suffer over trifles and die over trifles.

It was imagination that kept her alive. It was also imagination that killed her.

That is all there is to it.

I have written this letter to humbly report these matters and in the hope of reassuring you. I have finally managed to write this far while warding off sleepiness with A.C. spray, but as dawn approaches and my brain has turned to mush, I shall lay down my pen. The ever-shifting fictions that sought to ensnare us even after her death, as well as my grave responsibility toward you, will—with this very sentence—come to a complete... utterly... irrevocable end.

Farewell.

Please pray for her.

Murder Relay

First Letter

To Miss Yamashita Chieko

From Tomoko Tomonari, Minato Bus

Thanks for your letter! I completely understand how you feel about wanting to become a bus conductress. A farmer's life is dreary. You mustn't sigh while gazing at blue skies or clouds. It would be even worse if you spaced out watching those red-blue-and-white striped trains bound for Tokyo pass by. Whether sweat or tears, if you don't bow your head and let them drip into the soil, your own parents and siblings will glare at you like some traitor to farming folk. Born from dirt, wearing soil-caked rags, turning into some pitch-black ugly old crone like a lump of earth—only to return to the dirt...

That’s true, isn’t it. I do sympathize. But you mustn’t go becoming something like a bus conductress. As for other jobs, I don’t know about them, but being a bus conductress is truly no good. It’s even more even more dull than farming, and even more even more terrifying—an unpleasant job, I tell you. The fate of bus conductresses is something even more even more cheap than the scraps of paper littering the streets. When you become a bus conductress, you’ll understand immediately.

To put it simply, if you remain a farmer’s daughter, your parents will choose a groom for you from among the pure-hearted young men of the village, right? If things go well, you might even get to be with someone you like. But if you become a bus conductress, you must resign yourself to abandoning such happiness from the very start. If you don’t obediently comply with whatever the company executives, officers, or traffic police tell you to do—no matter how unpleasant—you’ll be fired immediately. They’ll find some pretext or nitpick to drive you out. For someone like me—an orphaned woman with no one to rely on—that is all the more true. Therefore, wise people do their best to avoid wearing white powder, resign themselves to never getting a raise, stay out of sight, and keep working in the shadows. The absurd suffocation of it all is beyond description.

And it’s not just that. As you know, I’m an orphan with no parents or siblings, so I could’ve become a waitress or telephone operator or anything else—but thinking women drivers looked brave and stylish, I became a bus conductress as training... Yet even if I became a driver like I wanted and made money, there’d be no purpose beyond that. No parents to show filial piety to, no little brother to dote on. It’s so dreary. Every single day in this hollow world without purpose or joy, lashed by knife-edged winds and scorched under a trash-littered sun, scrambling to survive. Each time drunk passengers intimidate me, policemen grab my hand, or cocky drivers pester me, this job makes me feel bone-deep loneliness, sorrow, and emptiness. When they slam the accelerator, I catch myself wishing we’d crash into something and get smashed to pieces—that’s the sort of thing this job makes you think about.

“Forgive me. It’s precisely because I’m thinking of your well-being that I’m telling you the truth, so please don’t be angry.” It wasn’t just that. There was something even more—even more—terrifying. “Please read the letter from Ms. Tsukigawa Tsuyako that I’ve placed ahead. I’ve copied the wording exactly as it was.”

This letter holds great importance to me. As it may serve as crucial evidence regarding a terrifying murder case's secret truth, I cannot simply give you the original. You'll understand why once you read it. Ms. Tsukigawa Tsuyako was my elementary school classmate. She works alongside her father at Hamamatsu Benkyo Bus Company as a conductress like myself. Nineteen this year. Petite yet strikingly chic. Unlike me—a timid soul with kindness to spare. My dearest friend since childhood. Her penmanship puts mine to shame though.

Ms. Tsukigawa Tsuyako’s Letter

Ms. Tomoko Tomonari,

It has been quite some time. How have you been?

I’m sorry to write something so sudden and strange, but lately, I’ve been feeling like someone might kill me.

Lately at Benkyo Bus Company where I worked, a new driver named Mr. Niika had arrived. He was a tall man with a cold face resembling Napoleon. He drove skillfully, maintained an impressive physique, and worked tirelessly—qualities that were rapidly earning him promotions.

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 worked at the company’s factory, wasn’t enthusiastic about it, but since the managing director who favored Mr. Niika was acting as mediator, he couldn’t refuse—and when he asked me, “What about you?” I agreed right away. After all, I hadn’t disliked Mr. Niika from the start.

Forgive me. That I agreed without discussing it with you. But I was truly shocked at first. I kept wondering why Mr. Niika would ever want to marry someone like me. The man called Niika appeared utterly silent by nature. Even when he came to the waiting room, he never once spoke sweet words to us conductresses or gave those peculiar glances like the other drivers did. He wouldn’t even look at us sitting there side by side—just kept puffing away at his cigarette.

At one moment, he’d abruptly scoop up a rowdy passenger’s child, nuzzle his cheek against theirs to make them giggle shrilly. Then he’d buy three mandarins worth about ten sen each—the most expensive ones—spend nearly one yen, silently scatter them among us, and stride out without a word. He was an utterly capricious man. Then, back in the driver’s seat, puffing away at his cigarette while maintaining a terrifying speed, he’d sing in a wonderfully cheerful, clear voice:

"Hey!" he'd belt out, "Never gonna fall in love again, O driver—you damn beast! Hit-and-ru-un—left 'em lyin'—innocent fa-a-ace—" sang things like that and made the packed passengers roar with laughter. Yet I never heard any stories about him going out to have fun. He was always jingling money in his pocket. Therefore, it seemed the company executives had come to trust him completely.

I too became convinced he was a manly, steadfast person and ended up obeying his every word. And so we were just about to hold a formal wedding ceremony. Then... Today, a letter came abruptly from my close friend Mineko Matsuura at Tokyo Ao Bus. What it contained was utterly shocking. "If a driver named Tatsuo Niika comes to your company, you must absolutely be on your guard." The man called Tatsuo Niika is the most manly yet terrifyingly notorious driver in all of Tokyo.

They say that while at Ao Bus, this Niika would entice one female conductor after another into common-law marriages, then grow tired of them and kill them off one by one, dumping their bodies somewhere… But because he was so skillful in his methods, he remained a mysteriously strange and terrifyingly frightening person who had never once been suspected. It seemed these rumors were only circulating among us fellow bus conductresses. Even so, around that time, as the Metropolitan Police Department’s scrutiny began focusing ever more intensely around Mr. Niika, he quietly quit Ao Bus and disappeared somewhere.

There’s a rumor he ended up at some rural bus company, so if he should come to your company at all, you absolutely must be on your guard. "This may be unnecessary meddling, but I’m worried, so I’m letting you know."

Something along those lines had been hastily scribbled in pencil. Such a letter had arrived. I was utterly shocked.

But you see, I'm foolishly honest by nature, so instead of showing this letter to my father, I immediately went and showed it to Mr. Niika. Because I'd already gotten involved with Mr. Niika, wasn't that the natural thing to do? Mr. Niika turned pale and read through that letter. Then he crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the hibachi, burning it up.

“You’re such a fool… you… If you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’ll regret it,” he said, licking his lips as he glared sharply at me. The terror in Mr. Niika’s expression was beyond description—it looked as if a skeleton had suddenly jutted out from beneath his flesh, its hollow eyes glaring starkly. Not even in plays or movies had I ever seen such a horrifying face. At that moment, I trembled so violently I couldn’t muster the courage to ask whether Miss Mineko’s letter held any truth. As I stared at Mr. Niika’s face with tears streaming down my own, he suddenly smiled and tapped my shoulder.

“Ahaha. I’m not trying to kill you,” he said, licking his lips. “Who’d actually write such rumor-mongering letters? You’re such a fool… you…” Then he gently stroked my back. At that moment, I couldn’t shake this dreadful feeling that Mr. Niika might kill me. But since I’d come to feel I wouldn’t mind dying by his hand, I kept silent all the same. I don’t intend to tell my father or anyone else about this matter—I’m writing it down only for you, Miss Tomoko.

Right? Don’t forget about me, okay? Even if Mr. Niika and I build a happy home together, please don’t laugh. Please give me your heartfelt blessings. Goodbye.

From Tsuyako, Hamamatsu Benkyo Bus

This was the final letter that arrived from Miss Tsuyako.

“Right?”

“Miss Chieko.” “The Miss Tsuyako who wrote this letter died within not even a week of that, you know.” “And then there was a funeral in Hakata, you know.” When I heard the story from Tsuyako’s father, who had returned with her remains, he said that while Tsuyako was riding in a new Ford being used as a bus together with Mr. Niika, the passengers became so crowded that she ended up standing on the left-side step. So then, in the darkness, because the truck coming from the opposite direction didn’t turn off its lights, Mr. Niika’s steering wheel suddenly veered too far to the left, and Tsuyako’s body hit a utility pole, they say. Her left shoulder, arm, and rib bones were all mangled, they say.

It was a story from a passenger who said there was a thunderous crash, they say. Tsuyako’s father said, “Tsuyako was simply unlucky. It was wrong of me to have let her take up that kind of work. Driver Niika apparently noted down the truck’s license plate number, but even if we filed a complaint, it wouldn’t amount to anything, and there’s no one we can blame. She was just an insignificant girl. In the eyes of the wide world, she likely held no more worth than a mere insect. Even so, since it substituted for the passengers’ lives, I have already given up completely. The company gave me ten yen in addition to that month’s salary. The passengers who were saved don’t even spare a glance—what a bargain. If someone else had been run over, they would pay about three hundred yen, but it doesn’t even cover the funeral expenses. Of course, if they didn’t set the price that low, they wouldn’t be able to employ so many young people in such dangerous work,” he said resignedly.

It’s terrifying, isn’t it? I offered a whole lot of yellow roses to the Buddha altar. But when I heard this story, I became utterly sick of being a bus conductress. In the rice fields where skylarks sing, Miss Chieko—helping her father and mother—now seems as distant as Urayama.

Do you understand what I mean? Do you understand what sort of repulsive, lonely, terrifying, wretched fate a bus conductress bears? I implore you—give up this bus conductress work entirely. Alright? Goodbye. Please take good care of yourself.

The Second Letter

Miss Chieko. It's awful!

The driver I wrote about in my previous letter—Driver Niika—has come, you know. He came to join Minato Bus Company where we are. And then he proposed to me, you know. This time, it's my turn to be killed. But please don't worry. I'm holding firm, you see. I won't be killed so easily... Driver Niika says he came here because things weren't going well at Tokyo Ao Bus, so he took leave on his own. He's already lying, you know.

But it’s definitely Driver Niika who killed Miss Tsuyako. He had this cold, masculine face like Napoleon’s, working silently yet diligently. He proved extremely skilled at crafting fenders from old tubes and wire. Then he’d turn around and distribute premium bananas to us or give passengers’ children fish and horses cut from tubes—acting so capriciously. Everyone fawned over Mr. Niika this and Mr. Niika that, but when I realized what that meant, a chill ran through me.

After that, convinced he was Miss Tsuyako’s enemy, I kept staring at him relentlessly. I became certain someone had come to kill again... But you see, when I watched him like that, Mr. Niika seemed to misinterpret my gaze. While waiting in the station lounge for the last Hakata-to-Orio train at eleven—with not a single passenger around—he must’ve seen his chance. He walked in clutching a yellow rose and pressed it into my hand. My breath caught. Roses had been Miss Tsuyako’s favorite flower.

As I somehow said "thank you" with my heart swelling, “Tommy-chan. Won’t you come to my boarding house in Orio tonight?” he just came out and said it so bluntly. He had a cold, serious face. His gaze wasn’t that of a man trying to woo a woman. It was a heroic, manly gaze. The moment I saw that gaze, I made up my mind. Brimming with excitement, “Yes. I’ll go.”

I went and said it. But I felt terribly suffocated. Miss Chieko, don't be shocked, okay? I've completely fallen for Mr. Niika, you know. This is truly a life-or-death love. And then, along with that, I somehow wanted to take down Miss Tsuyako's enemy, you know. I ended up thinking how utterly delightful it would be to corner Mr. Niika, make him grovel in apology, and then drive him to suicide or something like that.

When I try to put my complaints into words like this, what I'm saying must sound contradictory, right? But at that time, my feelings weren't contradictory at all, you know. There had never been a time when my heart was so filled with great hope as it was then. My utterly empty heart—which held no hope for the future—seemed filled to the brim with a vivid, pulsing happiness. I went to Mr. Niika's boarding house, literally trembling with excitement. From start to finish, I did exactly as Mr. Niika told me. I wasn't scared at all. Mr. Niika too had been completely deceived and was now utterly absorbed.

Yes... I might be reckless. But reckless is fine too. Just you wait and see. Whether my adventure will succeed or not. When I think that, my heart pounds until it feels ready to burst. I am now straining so hard that my life feels ready to burst. No matter what anyone says, I will forge ahead on this adventure.

Goodbye

Third Letter

Miss Chieko. Women are such frail creatures, aren't we? I've been utterly conquered by Mr. Niika. That adventurous spirit I wrote about in my last letter seems to have quietly withered away. Mr. Niika appears to have grown fond of doting on me day after day. He keeps talking about household matters and babies not yet born... I stay silent during these moments, yet I've come to see this endless path ahead—cohabiting with Mr. Niika for who knows how long—stretching into a hopeless gray expanse. My heart seems to be reverting to that ordinary Tomoko of old... becoming merely the heart of a man's wife. I can't count how many times I considered burning those letters from Miss Tsuyako that I'd hidden away with such care.

I didn't have even a speck of nail-dirt's worth of desire left to kill Mr. Niika. It couldn't be helped if Miss Chieko laughed at me.

What in the world has happened here? Will my entire life end up being this flat and uneventful? Where on earth has that tremendous hope from when I first got together with Mr. Niika—the kind that strained until it nearly tore apart—disappeared to? I wasn’t supposed to get married like this. Must I go on rolling like a punctured tire like this, on and on and on?

The gaudy strip of merino hanging down in front of the store kept catching my eye until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I found myself thinking about what kind would be good for a baby’s clothes.

Please go ahead and laugh. Life might just be something like this.

Fourth Letter

Something terrible had happened! Miss Chieko. I was writing you the same letter as the late Miss Tsuyako. I thought I might be killed soon. It seemed Mr.Niika had discovered Miss Tsuyako's letters in my basket. Mr.Niika didn't let a hint of such matters show on his face though. Somehow I felt something alien taking root deep within my heart. Yet despite this, his doting on me had grown far more intense than before—wasn't that strange? Lately he'd suddenly started insisting repeatedly how happy we were—wasn't that peculiar? I couldn't help sensing there must be some hidden reason behind this. We hadn't even spent a full week together yet...

That’s not all. Yesterday something like this happened. It happened while I was riding the nine o’clock night bus bound for Orio.

At our Minato Bus too, we were using a 1932 model open-top Chevrolet instead of a proper bus. The Orio-bound Chevrolet had filled up as usual, so I stood on the step while Mr. Niika drove. As we went along, I suddenly noticed something and, right after exiting Hakozaki railroad crossing, quietly moved around to the rear spare tire and stood atop 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 noticed a bus approaching from ahead, Mr. Niika suddenly accelerated, wrenched the steering wheel sharply left, and raced past grazing the roadside utility pole. If I had been standing on the front left step as before, I would surely have been thrown off and smashed to pieces. I shuddered. I realized clearly then that Miss Tsuyako's letters had been discovered. The understanding struck me so violently that every single hair stood on end.

Then Mr. Niika again—soon after on Matsuzaki’s wide downhill slope when he reached bullet-like speed—pretended to avoid a bicycle coming from ahead while sharply swerving left, the left side of the vehicle nearly scraping against a pine tree as he raced past. At that moment, I felt with absolute clarity once more that Mr. Niika was trying to kill me. Yet with no reaction whatsoever and me not uttering a single word, Mr. Niika seemed to find it strange. When we approached Kashii railroad crossing, from the driver’s seat—

“Hey. “Tommy.” he called out. “Yes?” I replied in as cheerful a voice as I could muster from the rear, whereupon immediately, “...Idiot... Why don’t you come up front... Check the train for me.” “It’s about time for the 10:01 up train to come!” he repeated while slowing down. I once again cheerfully, “Yes!”

I replied and dashed toward the railroad crossing ahead, “Train all clear!” as I raised both hands. That place wasn’t merely where it abruptly emerged from behind the houses onto the railroad crossing. After eight in the evening, there was no crossing guard there, so it was an extremely dangerous spot where inexperienced trucks had gotten stuck two or three times. Mr. Niika knew the train timetable perfectly and drove while checking his prized Nardan watch. Once he’d confirmed it was safe, he’d charge right through the crossing the moment I called out “All clear!” from inside the vehicle. And then, of all times, he was slowing down so deliberately and calling out to me—it drove me mad.

Because three passengers had gotten off at Kashii, I—still drenched—sat down again beside Mr. Niika in the driver's seat. But Mr. Niika said nothing at all. Only, "You must have been cold." Having uttered just that single phrase in a low voice, he then accelerated to an incredible speed, reaching Orio from Kashii in under an hour. And so we washed the car's body without exchanging a word, returned home still silent, and through all our sake drinking in continued silence, sat glaring at each other as if in confrontation. Mr. Niika is always quiet, but this time particularly, there was something indescribably strange about his manner.

So then, when it finally came time for Mr. Niika to go to bed—perhaps due to the alcohol having taken effect—he suddenly started cracking all sorts of jokes out of nowhere. They were jokes that didn’t suit the normally quiet Mr. Niika at all. He’d act out love scenes between people of all classes—from beggars at the bottom to His Excellency the General at the top—using various Shinpa and Kabuki actors’ voices. It was impressive and entertaining, you know. I never imagined Mr. Niika had such a talent. So I too got unintentionally drawn in and ended up laughing so hard I clutched my stomach.

But then, when I looked at it again this morning, I felt as though everything had become utterly empty. Human emotions are such strange things, aren’t they? Having taken this day off work, I gazed through the still-falling stormy rain at the pennywort on the neighbor’s roof, the row of poplars swaying far in the distance, the black smoke scattering from the descending train—and it all began to feel like my very fate. No matter how much I thought and thought, I couldn’t grasp it, and this profoundly, profoundly lonely feeling swelled within me.

As I listened to the rain clattering against the tin roof right below my eyes, hot tears welled up until they filled my eyes completely, and I was overcome with a feeling so pointless it felt fatal—utterly devoid of purpose. This miserable, sorrowful feeling of mine could only be poured out to Miss Chieko. Even as I kept thinking I must do something about it, there’s simply nothing to be done.

I just now burned the memento letters from the late Miss Tsuyako. It was practically as if I had taken this day off solely to burn those dreadful letters of Miss Tsuyako's.

Everything is fate. I had no choice but to leave it to fate. There’s no such thing as God in this world.

Miss Chieko. Please cry for pitiful Tomiko.

The Fifth Letter

Thank you, Miss Chieko.

While I was unconscious, I hear you came to visit me. Thank you for so many beautiful flowers. They’re still blooming splendidly by my bedside. I’m so grateful.

I didn’t know anything for a whole week after that, you know. I was apparently moaning from the high fever. The bone in the middle of my head had fractured, and the fever developed as that began to worsen. They had to undo the seven stitches they’d sewn and clean it again, apparently.

I don't clearly understand how I survived at all. But now that I've become able to get up and sit on my own these days, it seems I've begun remembering things bit by bit.

It was not long after I wrote you that previous letter. As usual, working in tandem with Mr. Niika, we were riding in the Chevrolet on our way from Hakata to Orio when—around just before ten-thirty—we approached the Kashii railroad crossing. It was a night of torrential rain without a single passenger. This was either the evening of the 220th day or the 21st. Just before reaching the crossing, between the pine trees and a farmhouse on the left side, I could see the long, drawn-out light of an ascending train rushing toward us, yet I remained calm,

“...Traaain cleeeear!” I apparently shouted, drawing it out long and clear.

Why I told such a terrible lie—I still can’t understand my state of mind at that moment—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. Niika. That train was a special one that had departed from places like Kumamoto or Kagoshima, packed with a group of people heading to Manchuria, I hear. Since the 10:01 upbound train from Hakata had just passed through, Mr. Niika—who had been on guard only for the 11:00 downbound train—must have taken my words at face value. He sped up recklessly, crossed the railroad crossing, and attempted to make a sharp right turn along the national highway. They say the tail deck got caught on the train's guard rail, was flung into a backward somersault, and ended up lying tires-up at the bottom of the embankment.

Mr. Niika couldn't be treated in time because thick glass fragments had pierced and embedded themselves into his flank, they say. When Mr. Kagokawa, the train’s rear conductor, came rushing over and lifted him up from behind, he faintly opened his eyes and said in a strained voice: “Damn it! “Done in… It’s Tsuyako’s grudge… Damn… Tsuyako… Tsuyako… Tsuyako” and then he died right after saying that—that’s what they say. Afterward, that rear conductor Mr. Kagokawa went out of his way 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 grew gently warm, filling me with such vitality that I felt I might burst into a run at any moment. Mr. Niika had clearly understood that I had taken Miss Tsuyako's sworn enemy from her when he died. When I thought that, tears flowed endlessly, and I was at a loss. Mr. Kagokawa and the nurse, who knew nothing, were completely sympathetic. They tried to comfort me in all sorts of ways, but nothing came of it. I was crying tears of joy, grateful to God, yet they kept telling me I mustn't be sad—that it was bad for me, bad for me. At that moment, it struck me clearly. You shouldn't comfort women so readily. They had no idea why I was crying.

When I heard the story from that conductor and nurse—about how I had been lying under the shattered wreckage, covering my face firmly with both hands and tucking my limbs into a tight ball—they said everyone was impressed. I must have started doing that even before the collision.

Yesterday there was what they called a clinical inquiry, you know. Five or six fierce-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!" but Mr. Niika had ignored it and barreled through the railroad crossing, everyone nodded. They must have known about Mr. Niika's usual driving habits. They kept talking about how they absolutely needed an automatic signal system at the Kashii crossing.

When a bearded man asked if it was true that I had a common-law relationship with Mr. Niika, I told him yes. I don’t think my face turned red at all. They all exchanged glances and seemed to laugh. Then a dark-skinned, skeleton-like man who appeared to be a forty-something police detective rolled his sunken eyes wildly while—

“Wasn’t this a lovers’ suicide pact?” he said. He laughed, baring his white teeth, so I was startled. But I stubbornly shook my head, so before long they all left. Detectives are unexpectedly clever, aren’t they? Even remembering that detective’s face makes my heart leap.

I am grateful to God, you know. Even though reckless me said "Okay" intending to die together, He killed only Niika and saved me alone.

When my head injury heals, I'll return to Minato Bus and work as a conductress again. And this time, I'll never stop for the rest of my life. And then I'll become a female driver. Japan's top female driver... I believe this is God's command.

I'll never marry or anything like that. I've already come to understand everything there is to know about a woman's lifetime, you see. Unless Mr. Niika comes back to life, I have no need for other men. Mr. Niika's case was featured prominently in the newspapers at the time. "The Horrific Fiend's Murder Spree" was the headline, you see. It turned out after his death that the deceased driver Niika had been a wanted suspect in women's murders ever since leaving Tokyo Ao Bus, they say. Moreover, in Tokyo, Niika had once collided head-on with a truck—the female assistant involved died instantly—yet he alone miraculously survived; he was someone who had been safely acquitted thanks to his convincing explanation at that time. 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 then jump out alone. Miss Chieko, you probably read it too.

All of that was lies. Fabrications by the newspapers and police. They were being overly sympathetic toward me. At the company too, I heard they were making a tremendous show of pity over my circumstances. How absurd.

But I'm unfazed, you know. The world's just like that, you know. Only God's verdict holds truth.

That’s why I’ll tell only you, Miss Chieko, the truth.

No matter what happens from now on, you mustn't become a conductress or anything like that. You mustn't become a woman like me.

The Sixth Letter

Miss Chieko.

I will send you my final letter.

After I send this letter，I will go somewhere and kill myself. Because I want to keep my body from being seen by anyone，please do not search for me. Forgive me，but I have bundled up and sent out under your name all the photos of Mr．Niika and me，the kimonos，the savings account book，the seal，the household items，and everything else.

Please distribute them to the poor. You can donate them to an elementary school if you like. There should be enough to buy a small organ.

That dark-skinned skeleton-like detective’s words were indeed true. Now I finally understood.

I had wanted to attempt a lovers' suicide pact with Mr. Niika. And if possible, I had wanted to be the one who survived. And so, it turned out exactly as intended. Therefore, to tell the truth, I was a husband killer. Yet Niika must have died believing he'd been killed by Ms. Tsuyako's vengeful spirit. He must have perished without ever suspecting my betrayal. Niika must have truly loved me from the heart after all.

Having realized this, I could no longer sit still.

But that wasn't all. I had Niika's baby growing in my belly. Now whenever I thought of Mr. Niika, it would twitch and throb beneath my heart. What was I to do if this child were born? I would kill this child—cursed along with me—as well.

I am a husband killer and a killer of my own child.

I will confess only to you and die. Please forgive me. This is the miserable Tomoko’s lifelong entreaty.

You mustn't become a bus conductress or anything like that. ——Goodbye——

Woman from Mars

The Prefectural Girls' High School Mysterious Incident

The Miss Charred-Black Incident

Rumors beget rumors, leading into the labyrinth.

Embargo Lifted on Article Today

On March 26th at approximately 2:00 AM, a fire broke out in an abandoned storage shed located in a corner of the athletic field at the Prefectural Girls' School in Odate 6-chome; whipped up by fierce winds, it nearly became a major disaster until the city fire chief and his team swiftly contained the blaze. They succeeded in completely burning down only the derelict structure while leaving the school building untouched before extinguishing the flames—as previously reported—allowing everyone involved to finally breathe a sigh of relief.

However, shortly thereafter in the early dawn of the 26th, yet another great uproar arose when a completely charred-black corpse—so badly burned that even distinguishing its gender proved impossible—was unearthed from those burnt ruins. Moreover, an autopsy conducted at the university revealed it to be the corpse of a girl around twenty years old, with evidence suggesting fuel had been deliberately arranged around the waist area to ensure thorough burning. Consequently, police classified it as a lust-motivated murder-arson case—deeming it too grave for public disclosure—and launched an intensive investigation under extreme tension; yet even after a week passed, neither the perpetrator nor even the victim's identity had been ascertained. Rumors bred further rumors until reports declared the case unsolvable, plunging the desperately investigating judicial authorities into a credibility crisis—until today's sudden lifting of press restrictions indicated they had uncovered some critical lead. This development stands as proof that authorities obtained irrefutable evidence; accordingly, there now exists reason to believe society will learn this case's truth not in some distant future.

Sufficient grounds to suspect murder and arson However, it does not appear to be the work of the usual arsonist.

The aforementioned case remained under ongoing investigation by authorities, with all details still kept entirely secret; however, according to information this newspaper had obtained immediately after the incident, the scene—the abandoned storage shed at the Prefectural Girls' School—suggested sufficient grounds to suspect arson, given that no one ordinarily entered the premises and it stood remote from fire hazards. Yet the methods differed entirely from those of the usual arsonist, whose objective was to burn school buildings themselves. Moreover, while fragments resembling glass bottles were scattered at the scene, given that the location was originally a storage shed, it proved difficult to hastily conclude they were bottles used for poisoning. Due to the impossibility of collecting blood from the burned corpse, investigators could not determine the presence of antitoxins, carbon monoxide, or other substances; consequently, it remained difficult to ascertain whether she had been a virgin or whether her death was accidental. However, based on the scene's circumstances and the corpse's appearance, suspicion of homicide remained unshaken. As previously reported, many strongly suspected this might be a tragic incident staged as a result of a sexual relationship. Furthermore, as the school had been on spring break since March 19th, there were no remaining students in the dormitory, and although preliminary inquiries had been conducted with the elderly live-in janitor couple and the night duty staff, nothing suspicious was found. That said, the notion that a perverted vagrant could have brought an outside girl into the school grounds—surrounded by high concrete walls—remained nothing more than a far-fetched speculation with little plausibility. Moreover, authorities recognized there were no traces of such activity. Furthermore, as the investigation policy appeared likely to undergo a complete transformation following the lifting of the embargo on the aforementioned article, a wholly unanticipated truth might be exposed from an entirely unexpected direction.

The burned-down storage shed was

the former etiquette classroom The principal was under self-imposed seclusion. Incidentally, the burned-down abandoned building of the Prefectural Girls' School was a purely Japanese-style structure—a two-story building with four rooms—that stood in a corner behind the school's athletic field and archery dojo, surrounded by a high firebreak wall and featuring the only thatched roof within the city. When the school was established, this structure—originally among private houses slated for demolition—had been preserved on Principal Morisumi's recommendation to serve as an etiquette practice hall for students. However, after alumni-funded construction of a tea ceremony room within the main gate was completed for etiquette training, it naturally fell into disuse. Until immediately before the fire, it had been maintained as a storage shed with athletic equipment, old blackboards, antiquated lamps, empty bottles, worn buckets, and frayed wicker chairs haphazardly piled across both floors. The arsonist appeared to have laid the corpse on the lower floor before setting the blaze. Due to the flames' extraordinary intensity, muscle fibers from the abdomen downward had carbonized completely into black thread-like strands clinging to the skeletal structure—a ghastly sight by all accounts. Principal Morisumi Reizō, a devout Christian who had maintained celibacy while dedicating his life to education, had served as headmaster since the school's founding thirty years prior without a single misstep, receiving countless commendations, court rank certificates, and decorations. Renowned as a model principal throughout the prefecture, he had been at his Sanbanchō boarding house when the incident occurred but rushed to the scene upon hearing news of the emergency. There he retrieved a sacred portrait, directed faculty to protect critical documents, and worked tirelessly to prevent the fire's spread with composed bravery that drew public admiration. Afterward, however, he confined himself to the Sanbanchō boarding house, refusing all visitors while growing increasingly gaunt with resentment—a state that stirred sympathy among those familiar with his typically prudent and meticulous nature.

Regarding the aforementioned matter, on March 28th, Ms. Torama Torao—a senior female teacher at the same school who had visited Principal Morisumi Reizō for an academic affairs meeting—disclosed the following statements attributed to him. "As the matter remains under investigation by the authorities, I must refrain from speaking prematurely. However, personally, I do not find such an incident particularly strange. Though the abandoned building stands within school grounds, entry and exit through the main gate after 6:00 PM are strictly prohibited except for night-duty personnel and the elderly janitorial couple. This was a security measure I had particularly emphasized, yet evidently someone managed to intrude and commit this act. I can recall no individuals bearing grudges against myself or the institution. Naturally, we cannot suspect anyone affiliated with the school, leaving us no choice but to deem this an utterly unforeseen and bizarre occurrence. I trust all matters will be clarified through official investigations; nevertheless, given that such an extraordinary incident has transpired within our premises, we must acknowledge some deficiency in our security protocols. As I bear full responsibility for this lapse, I have accordingly placed myself under confinement." And so she reported.

Principal Morisumi Disappearance

The Vanished Suicide Note and Incompre-

Mysterious Letter in Woman’s Handwriting

On March 26th following the Miss Charred-Black Incident at the Prefectural Girls' School, Principal Morisumi Reizō—who had been living in seclusion at a Sanbanchō boarding house to demonstrate contrition—was discovered to have suddenly disappeared around evening time the previous day, on the eve of the new student entrance ceremony, by Ms. Torama Torao, a female teacher from the school who had visited the boarding house for administrative consultations. As previously reported, Principal Morisumi had secluded himself at the Sanbanchō boarding house since the Miss Charred-Black Incident, his beard grown wild and complexion haggard from apparent nervous strain. However, on the night of the 31st—exactly one week after the incident—a letter in feminine handwriting arrived for him from unknown origins, after which he began exhibiting abnormal behavior: appearing before landlady Watanabe Sumiko wordlessly weeping while repeatedly kowtowing, or urinating from the second-floor window toward the street below while roaring with laughter—utterly unrestrained. At midnight he erupted shouting: “That bastard— “That bastard. “The Charred-Black One is that bastard. “Mars! Mars! “Devil! Devil!” He continued spewing such incoherent ravings, startling landlady Sumiko; whether from exhaustion or not, he remained bedridden throughout March 1st without taking a single meal. Around ten o’clock that night, when Ms. Torama Torao visited assuming Principal Morisumi still lay abed, landlady Sumiko went to rouse him—only to find the bedding hollow. At the pillow’s side lay an opened lengthy letter in feminine script alongside a suicide note addressed to Ms. Torama, sparking immediate uproar. Under full mobilization of prefectural authorities, police, and school staff, they launched a search for the principal’s whereabouts—yet as of this morning his location remained unknown. Only the bronze bust of his commemorative statue—destined for installation before the school entrance and reportedly crafted by Eastern Capital sculptor Asakura Seiun—now coated in dust and verdigris tumbled out from Morisumi’s private closet at the boarding house, still swathed in white cloth, startling all present. Incidentally, the two letters that had lain by the principal’s pillow were subsequently spirited away amid the commotion—neither landlady Sumiko nor Ms. Torama knew their whereabouts. Both professed ignorance of the letters’ contents, and together with the bronze statue matter these incidents—inextricably tied to Mr. Morisumi’s disappearance—drew intense scrutiny from involved parties as inexplicable phenomena. Moreover, extrapolating from Principal Morisumi’s earlier ravings, suspicion grew that these letters might contain critical evidence exposing secrets of the Miss Charred-Black Incident—the mysterious figure who vanished with them under public gaze increasingly seen as a prime suspect in the case. All truths would presumably clarify once Principal Morisumi’s whereabouts were ascertained—authorities reportedly devoted full efforts toward this search. Furthermore, per a station attendant who recognized Principal Morisumi, indications suggested a hatless man with unkempt beard resembling him had purchased a ticket to Osaka and boarded the last train—authorities extended their search accordingly.

Prefectural Girls' School in Chaos

Principal Morisumi Goes Mad! Female Teacher Torama Hangs Herself! Clerk Kawamura Embezzles Huge Sum!

Aftershocks of the Charred-Black Incident?

**[Osaka Dispatch]** As this newspaper had previously reported, there were indications that Principal Morisumi Reizō of the Prefectural Girls' School—who had gone missing—might have headed toward Osaka. Indeed, on the early morning of the 3rd, the principal appeared on a street in the vicinity of Nakanoshima in Osaka's Kita Ward, clad in a mud-smeared, disheveled frock coat. He asked everyone he encountered: "Do you know the Woman from Mars?" "Hasn't Miss Charred-Black come?" "Where is Amakawa Utako?" "Everything is a lie!" "Groundless slander! Slander!"

After taking into protective custody at Nakanoshima Station [the principal], who had been spouting nothing but such nonsense and baseless claims, and making inquiries with the local police, Vice-Principal Kobayakawa—who had been overwhelmed with preparations for the school’s imminent reopening—hurriedly boarded the eleven o’clock train to Osaka. However, after the aforementioned teacher’s departure, while preparations for reopening continued under the direction of second vice-principal Yamaguchi—keeping everyone frantically occupied—the senior female teacher Torama Torao (42) was discovered hanged in the school staff toilet by a janitor who had gone to clean it, plunging everyone into disarray. Amid this chaos, it was noticed by an officer on duty that Kawamura Hideaki (51), the school clerk who had also been working on reopening preparations—a hunchbacked clerk who had for thirty years been as much an institution at the school as Principal Morisumi himself—had similarly vanished without a trace. Upon investigation as a precaution, it was shockingly revealed that the passbook for over five thousand yen earmarked for Principal Morisumi’s bronze statue construction fund, along with eight hundred twenty yen from the alumni association fund—both kept in the school safe—had gone missing. Inquiries at Kangyō Bank, where the deposits were held, disclosed that around noon, Clerk Kawamura had visited the bank, withdrawn nearly the entire sum, and left in a panicked state. Furthermore, it was successively uncovered that Haru (47), his wife residing in suburban Jūken’ya, had abandoned their household belongings, packed for travel, and disappeared with him—clear signs of having fled together. As these revelations piled up, the commotion grew exponentially, leading to interrogations of all school staff and investigations being launched, until matters reached a state where resuming classes was deemed impossible for the foreseeable future. Incidentally, it has been established that Torama Torao—the female teacher who hanged herself—and Clerk Kawamura—who fled—had always worshipped Principal Morisumi as a god and were both most earnestly concerned about his whereabouts; thus, upon hearing that the principal’s location had been ascertained, they should have been overjoyed and relieved. Yet instead, they each took such contradictory actions—a series of bizarre incidents that can only lead one to imagine there must be some grave secret lurking beneath the surface. The woman named Amakawa Utako, whom the deranged Principal Morisumi had mentioned in Osaka, was a graduate of the same school this year and had been renowned for her athletic prowess, though she had long borne the nickname "Miss Mars." Having been employed at a certain Osaka newspaper company shortly after graduation, Principal Morisumi—after his mental breakdown—appears to have gone to that region while inquiring about her whereabouts; consequently, it remains difficult to determine whether any close connection exists between the Miss Charred-Black Incident and Amakawa Utako, though authorities are currently conducting a cautious investigation.

Principal Morisumi’s Hat

Upon the Cross

Along With an Ownerless Floral Hairpin Within the City Discovered at Catholic Church

The Puzzling Tooth Marks Left on the Front Porch As previously reported, since the bizarre fire on March 26th, the Prefectural Girls' School had successively triggered a chain of strange incidents—the Charred-Black Girl case, the principal's disappearance, his subsequent madness, female teacher Torama's death by hanging, and Clerk Kawamura's grand embezzlement—plunging the school, prefectural authorities, and police into an unprecedented whirlpool of confusion before even the fire's true nature could be ascertained. Now compounding this turmoil, an entirely unexpected bizarre incident had recently occurred within the Catholic Church where Principal Morisumi practiced his faith, casting all involved parties into ever-deepening bewilderment. On the 5th at approximately 10:00 AM, at the Catholic Church located at Block 41, 2-chōme, Kaigan-dōri in the city—it being a Sunday—the staff opened the altar doors at the front of the chapel in preparation for their usual prayer meeting. There upon the silver cross enshrined at the altar's center, they discovered an unfamiliar black bowler hat and a floral hairpin adorned with red cherry blossoms and dangling silver tassels hooked onto it. Greatly startled, they removed and inspected these items, determining through the signature inside the bowler hat that it belonged to Principal Morisumi—a devout member of the church. As for the floral hairpin’s owner, while remaining unidentified at present, it was nevertheless reported to the police station via a nearby police box together with the bowler hat. Given the tense circumstances, the police deemed it impossible to disregard and promptly dispatched officers to the church. They prohibited congregants from entering or exiting and conducted a thorough investigation; however, no suspicious points were found within the chapel’s interior. Moreover, a certain female parishioner who had first entered the chapel that day around nine o'clock stated she had witnessed no one approaching the altar doors from the beginning. Thus they withdrew empty-handed. However, upon bringing said bowler hat back to the police station for detailed examination, distinct impressions of incisor and canine teeth—firmly clamped onto the front brim—were discovered. Moreover, through expert analysis, it was confirmed these were indeed tooth marks from an exceptionally robust boy, sparking yet another sensational uproar. In other words, if this mysterious boy presumed to have intruded into the church indeed bore connections to the bizarre incidents following the school fire—then those who had suspected Torama’s suicide and Kawamura’s flight indicated masterminds behind these events now lost all basis for their theories. With any path to truth rendered entirely impassable, all parties involved found themselves once again plunged into utter bewilderment.

Shocking! Charred-Black Culprit: The Prefectural School Inspector’s Daughter?

Vanish with Mother School Inspector Father Prepared to Take Responsibility Following yesterday’s report on the hat-and-hairpin incident at the Catholic church on Kaigan-dōri within the city, police authorities appeared to have obtained a critical investigative lead regarding the previously reported Miss Charred-Black case. They escorted Tonomiya Aiko (19)—the girl who had first entered the church that day, referred to as “a certain woman”—to a separate room within the church and conducted a rigorous interrogation. However, to facilitate further questioning, around 3:00 p.m. that same day, they temporarily permitted Aiko to return home. Boldly evading strict surveillance, she then vanished to parts unknown, taking with her bedridden gravely ill mother and leaving behind a document resembling a suicide note addressed to her father, Mr. Tonomiya Aishirō. Regarding this grave blunder, it must be said that the police authorities’ conduct—remaining utterly silent without leaking a single word, and seemingly making no arrangements for a search—proved endlessly perplexing. However, as was widely known, the girl’s father, Mr. Tonomiya Aishirō, served as this prefecture’s school inspector and was the direct descendant of Duke Tonomiya Tadazumi, the elder statesman of central politics who might well be called a Grand Cordon recipient. Though plunged into grief by this unforeseen tragedy, he stated to visiting reporters that, in light of the suicide note’s grave contents and for his house’s honor, he had resolved to resign and take responsibility.

“I have no excuse whatsoever. “However, I simply cannot believe my daughter could commit such heinous crimes as murder and arson. “As for this story about Amakawa Utako—the Woman from Mars—and my daughter Aiko being inseparable friends during their time at the Prefectural Girls’ School, I only learned of such a thing moments ago. “Naturally, I recall no abhorrent circumstances like romantic grudges between them—I am simply astounded. “Given the authorities’ concerns and wishing to spare my daughter’s future happiness from public scrutiny, I must ask that you treat what has been disclosed thus far as the full extent of my statement. “…Why she took only her mother when fleeing—the reasons remain unclear at present. “Having been suddenly abandoned by the wife and children with whom I’d lived without secrets or strife until now, I find myself utterly adrift. “My wife Tome and daughter Aiko likely possess sufficient savings to avoid immediate hardship. “As for their whereabouts, I have not the faintest notion. “Of course I intend to assume responsibility—however, until this matter is officially announced, I must request confidentiality regarding both this statement and our prior discussions. …”

The contents of Miss Aiko's suicide note are as follows.

Father. I am deeply grateful for all your kindness over these many years. Mother and I shall take our leave as of today so as not to cause you any further trouble, and so as not to deepen Mother's sorrow and worsen her illness. I humbly express my gratitude for your benevolence up to this day. All that has occurred at my alma mater is my responsibility due to my inadequacies. The one who was burned to death was Ms. Amakawa Utako, and I guarantee this was undoubtedly a suicide. Had I but noticed Ms. Amakawa Utako's resolve to end her life slightly sooner, none of these events would have transpired - for this failure, I profoundly regret my actions. Furthermore, I have today confessed to the police officers that it was indeed I who placed Principal Morisumi's hat and a certain maiko's floral hairpin upon the cross, along with my reasons for doing so. When questioned about various unexpected matters concerning you by these officers, I refrained from answering as I possessed no knowledge of them. Through the written account left by Ms. Amakawa Utako who took her own life, the police appear thoroughly informed regarding the private aspects of your affairs - I mention this for your reference.

However, I will never commit suicide or anything of the sort. We have run away solely to care for Mother in quiet until her illness is fully cured somewhere, so I earnestly beg you not to search for our whereabouts hereafter... Furthermore, I implore you most humbly—as needs no explanation—to refrain from investigating the reasons behind my having taken such strange actions. For I believe this course will bring happiness to both you, Father, and myself...

Please take care of your health...

Aiko

Father Incidentally, Tonomiya Aiko had been renowned during her time at the Prefectural Girls’ School as its shining star—a beauty who bore the honor of exceptional academic achievements as its most accomplished student.

————————————————— Principal Morisumi

From the Woman from Mars I am so happy I can hardly contain myself… Now I can take my revenge on you, Principal… If I were truly the Woman from Mars, I might leap all the way to the heavens for joy…

My corpse would likely be discovered charred pitch-black, unrecognizable to anyone. This would then be sensationalized in newspaper reports with great commotion. I had made arrangements with my friend: “Please be sure to send this letter by express mail to the Principal’s office on the evening of the 31st—exactly one week from the afternoon of the 24th when I began writing it.” ...And...should the Principal examine my charred remains...and read this letter yet show no remorse—should he feign ignorance or calmly attempt to conceal matters—as precaution, I had prepared an additional letter to be delivered to the police station. Furthermore, should it become evident that even then the truth remains undisclosed—that those shameless individuals colluding with you, Principal, in vile acts seek to bury this incident in ever-deeper shadows—I arranged for another copy of this document, containing both those connections and suppressed news articles, to circulate through certain channels without omission for eventual publication. Procedures stand properly prepared to thoroughly expose your responsibility regarding my charred corpse. Given my friend’s intelligence and resolve, they would never commit such folly as allowing interception of this final letter.

I do not wish to blacken my entire life in vain. I wish to offer—together with you, Principal—a dose of "the Woman from Mars’s Blackened Remedy" to all those self-serving men of this corrupt modern age who wallow in decadence and unwavering egoism. Given that blackened remedies are in fashion these days, it cannot be said to be entirely without effect.

—The Woman from Mars's Blackened Remedy— What rare medicine this must be. Could it not surpass even a fragment of Egyptian mummy in value? How does it feel to have partaken? Surely it proved most refreshing, seeping thoroughly into every corner of your heart.

Hohohoho. Hohohohoho…. As for me... you would do well not to ponder who this close friend of mine might be—the one now assisting in exacting revenge for this charred Woman from Mars. Even should this come to light, you would merely gape in astonishment, find no means of retaliation, and wallow in helpless distress. That person nurses no grudge against you over some transient grievance as I do. That person tends to their biological mother—bedridden with consumption—and a stepfather reduced to heartless dissipation through your seductions, all while maintaining silence about these circumstances by eschewing even a maid’s assistance, laboring diligently with feigned cheerfulness. A paragon of filial devotion scarcely found in this world. Moreover, that person had ever sought within their heart to uncover the demon who cast their mother into such fate. Thus when that person heard this demon’s name from me, they unconditionally accepted my plea—solely to annihilate their mother’s sworn enemy... to chastise their stepfather’s clandestine indulgences.

To rephrase it—because her mother's heart remains so gentle—that person could never bring themselves to take decisive measures against you, Principal. Thus it became my role to turn to charcoal in their stead... something of that nature. You've come to grasp... the significance of my charred remains... ...No. Our hatred toward you, Principal—even were both of us reduced to blackened cinders—would still find no satiety.

You had come to understand... what manner of person this was who assisted my vengeance... The self-conceited Principal might still cling stubbornly to faith in his own wisdom. You likely remained oblivious that *that person* nurtured such profound hatred toward you—yet as you perused this letter line by line, comprehension would surely dawn.

I repeat. Principal Morisumi, you have no choice but to silently accept the Blackened Girl's revenge. You must resign yourself to this truth: there remains no path but to perceive this as unseen justice's judgment, to honestly disclose your sins as demanded by the Blackened Girl, and to vanish quietly from society. Yet regarding myself—the one penning this letter—you must have already discerned the Blackened Girl's true identity. And you must be trembling in shock, wondering how that timid, tearful Woman from Mars could commit such terrifyingly reckless acts.

Principal Morisumi…. You were my esteemed mentor. You were a man of seniority. You became that exemplary figure who, after losing your wife and child long ago, turned devout Christian and vowed to dedicate your life to educational endeavors. And you stood as that truly magnificent figure—praised by society as education’s paragon, one showered with frequent commendations. There might be those who deem it improper to contemplate revenge against someone of your eminence, no matter what persecutions they endured.

But Principal Morisumi...

I am, just as you named me, Principal, the Woman from Mars. I am different from ordinary women. Therefore, against the tyranny of men in this world—against the vices permitted only 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 is not solely a world for men. Especially when someone like you—a veritable embodiment of male vice—continues to guide nearly a thousand young women as a model educator, for me, born in Japan, this was utterly unbearable.

Did you ever truly know, Principal—what manner of upbringing shaped me, what convictions this woman you molded carried within her... I wonder... Even were you to hear the tragic chronicle of my fate—how I became charred dregs compelled to curse you, Principal, through but the fleeting touch of your hand—would genuine astonishment truly seize your heart, I wonder... To you Japanese men—who've nurtured only those moral precepts and suchlike conventions that serve your convenience—could the mission of the Woman from Mars ever be comprehensible, I wonder...

But I must explain. Otherwise, you must not dismiss what I have done as mere temporary theatrics born from some trivial emotional outburst and scorn me for it… I must use this letter to prove how deeply sincere the curse of my charred corpse is—to demonstrate how our resentment constitutes a rebellion against your profoundly cruel and inhuman actions as Principal.

For the honor of the Woman from Mars….

And for the vow of the Blackened Girl….

I was called Beanpole ever since I was little. My current mother gave birth to two half-sisters on my father’s side—both women of ordinary stature—yet I cannot help but wonder why I alone was born with this body. According to my biological father’s account, when I was born I weighed barely six hundred monme (about 2.25 kilograms), far smaller than average—a frail, premature infant—yet from around five or six years old, I began shooting upward rapidly. When I first entered elementary school, the homeroom teacher with his Charlie Chaplin mustache involuntarily—

“Hoh—” “You’re so tall—”

I was laughed at in that manner, but even as a child, I felt a kind of humiliation in that Charlie Chaplin-mustached teacher's smiling face. I think this was the first time I felt humiliation about myself. From that time onward, I continued to endure such humiliation in various ways. The elementary school principal also gave me the same kind of... yet pitying 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 remember my name right away—though I suspect this wasn't solely because my academic performance was the lowest in the class, except in composition, calligraphy, art, and physical education.

My name quickly became known throughout the entire student body. "Little Amakawa Utako the Beanpole—Oh... Needs a ladder to tie her hair—Oh..." The upperclassmen would chant from afar.

“Put up a ladder, hey—do your hair, hey—Amakawa Utako!”

...the upperclass male students would laugh from afar. I was a timid child, so at first I cried and declared I wouldn't go to school, but gradually grew accustomed to it, until even when cruel things were said to me, I could turn back with a lonely smile.

The time I was most popular was during the sports festival. From around second grade onward, I could outrun even the fastest sixth-grade boys, and there was even a time when my photograph appeared in the newspaper under the headline "Awe-Inspiring for Future Generations." But when my parents saw my overly serious face captured beneath the midsummer sun in that photo, they laughed until they doubled over. For two or three days afterward, I secretly wept while staring at myself in the mirror—but even if I were to recount that pitiful memory of mine, who would ever offer me sympathy? They would have simply doubled over laughing once more.

From before I even understood the world, I had to fully realize that I—this ugly, beanpole of a girl—was born to be laughed at by others.

I think it was due to the accumulated weight of such sorrow and loneliness that I came to immerse myself in reading new-style poetry and novels from around my sixth year of elementary school. In other words, thanks to all of you, I suppose I became a lonely, solitary literary girl from an exceptionally early age.

After entering the prefectural girls' school, I no longer suffered such blatant insults. But there awaited me humiliations far more profound and loathsome. Among my classmates—save for that single exception who stood as my polar opposite in beauty and accomplishment—neither teachers nor peers ever offered me a single kind word. They all maintained an odd distance, fixing me with strange, icy smiles that made me feel perpetually scrutinized. To those of you who competed so fiercely in your own refined skills and academic rankings alone, I must have appeared some inferior creature—a defective being. They seemed to regard conversation with me as inherently shameful, yet whenever inter-school tennis matches or track meets approached, teachers and classmates alike—even upperclassmen—would descend upon me in swarms to fawn over me. They would treat me like some divine oracle, plying me with special rations of raw eggs and fruit to keep me compliant before forcibly thrusting me into competitions. Never comprehending an ounce of my shame over this gangling, ugly frame... you would endlessly parrot phrases like "You're the pride of our entire school."

However, the day after the competition ended, not a single person would so much as glance my way anymore. They would withdraw as if they had even forgotten that a student like me existed. I came to feel unbearable humiliation even from the voices of teachers and students cheering ecstatically when I fought against athletes from other schools, overwhelming them or pulling ahead. I overheard underclassmen having this kind of conversation in the restroom.

“Amazing, isn’t she—the Martian!” “Well… who… who do you mean by ‘the Martian’…?” “Oh my… Don’t you know?” “It’s Miss Amakawa Utako.” “She’s the woman from Mars.” “That’s why the Principal declared, ‘No athlete in the world could ever beat her.’” “That’s why everyone’s been calling her ‘the Martian’ nonstop!” “How cruel of you, Principal… but what a clever nickname.” “It perfectly captures Miss Amakawa’s grotesque aura.”

And yet, timid as I was, I would again be deceived and flattered, only to be dragged into those competitions several times a year. Feeling the cold emptiness within my heart... At the far end of the school’s athletic field, in a corner enclosed by high firewalls, there stood an abandoned building that had become a storage shed. Originally said to be the school’s etiquette classroom, its walls and roof tiles had crumbled away, shepherd’s purse had overgrown everywhere, termites had devoured the pillars and stairs, and the tatami mats had become like pit traps—sagging and bulging.

When class break time came, I would often slip behind the archery hall's wooden fence via the restroom's backside and climb to that abandoned building's second floor. There I would recline on a crumbling rattan chair, gazing through storm shutters - their upper halves reduced to skeletal frames - at the deep, deep blue sky beyond the firewalls. This ritual became my private solace. I would compare the vast cold void nesting in my heart's depths with that limitless emptiness stretching beyond the azure expanse, letting such contemplations settle into habit. What began as mere avoidance - hiding my grotesque frame from athletic field eyes - gradually transformed into a secret pleasure I could never share.

I gradually came to feel more strongly that the emptiness at the very depths of my heart and the emptiness beyond the farthest reaches of the blue sky were exactly one and the same. And so 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 life’s flow—nothing but time and space. I came to clearly realize that my birthplace must surely lie in that void world beyond the vast sky—a realm devoid of sound and scent.

The multitudes of people were leaping about, jumping, crying, and laughing within that vast, vast void of time and space. The girls in my class would carry around whatever magazines, books, or flyer-like materials suited their whims—each engrossed in beauty techniques, knitting patterns, or various romantic fantasies they yearned after. Like ants swarming around sweets, or butterflies flitting from flower to flower—happily... joyfully...

To me, such things had come to appear utterly meaningless. The flow of emptiness within my heart and the flow of emptiness in the universe had gradually begun to harmonize. And so after school, stretching out on that tattered rattan chair in the abandoned building until sunset, comforting myself with the lonely, lonely tears that somehow welled up had become my greatest pleasure.

However, such secret pleasures of mine soon came to be hindered by a grave matter. That half-rotted, tilting abandoned building—cluttered with debris, infested with termites, and blanketed in dust—had long served as the nest for all manner of Principal Morisumi’s vices, just as that red-brick Catholic church standing squarely on the coastal avenue had been the bastion of his professed virtues. To maintain his façade as a model educator while secretly scheming unimaginable plots involving money and women behind the scenes, that derelict structure had become absolutely indispensable. This was precisely why Principal Morisumi could never bring himself to demolish that ruin. Even when the police hounded him with warnings about “thatch roofs being fire hazards,” he likely tormented the prefectural authorities for years by pleading insufficient funds for replacement storage.

My foolishness—coming day after day for self-cultivation without ever dreaming this was a den of such profound corruption... Soon from beneath my rickety rattan chair, what demonic fluttering began to sound! And how mercilessly did that demonic fluttering pound me down into this earthly hell from which there was no escape……. Into such torment—a reckoning that could never be settled even were I reduced to charred blackness—did they thrust me…….

The source of that fluttering was Principal Morisumi—a bear-like figure matted with jet-black fur—and Clerk Kawamura, who bore a pure white head without eyes or mouth upon his back……then one more emerging afterward: Teacher Torama Torao……that grotesque sow resembling a Yorkshire pig……our English instructor……these three were the demons who had secretly nested within that abandoned building. Principal Morisumi—who never imagined I used that derelict structure’s second floor as my hallowed meditation space—and the hunchbacked Clerk Kawamura would invariably slip in together as semester’s end neared, creeping past the staff lavatory’s canna leaves and along the forbidden archery dojo’s fence after classes. There they would settle directly beneath my reclining rattan chair amidst eight tatami mats’ worth of debris to confer on sundry matters. For Principal Morisumi—ever mindful of his delicate reputation as an educator wary of prying eyes both within and beyond school grounds—to linger too often for clandestine meetings risked drawing peculiar attention from night-duty teachers; thus this ruin proved an incomparably convenient den for their schemes.

Unlike the second floor, the ground level had its shattered glass doors and storm shutters closed double, so even moderately loud voices rarely leaked outside. But in exchange, even ordinary whispers would travel straight to my ears as I held my breath upstairs. And those discussions were mostly about matters related to alumni association funds, with the two of them zealously devising ways to cover things up. I heard that while the school's grand piano was recorded as 3,500 yen in the ledger, it was in truth a secondhand one costing 500 yen. I also came to understand the allocation of funds for the etiquette room building and furnishings beside the main gate, constructed with alumni donations—while officially recorded as 12,000 yen, the actual cost was something around 7,000-odd yen. Then I also heard stories about how the Principal had misappropriated alumni association funds, engaged in speculative trading under the name of Clerk Kawamura’s younger brother to make money, and split the profits with the hunchbacked Mr. Kawamura.

Then, to deal with the aftermath of their financial troubles from speculative trading, I clearly overheard Principal Morisumi revealing to Mr. Kawamura the bizarrely ingenious money-making scheme he had long prepared. Of course, this was something Principal Morisumi had confessed after being confronted by Clerk Kawamura—but the Principal, being an ardent Christian believer who had long worshipped his own character beyond all measure, had coaxed Teacher Torama Torao—the English instructor for us fifth-year students—into proposing that a bronze statue of himself be erected. And so, under the unanimous approval of all faculty members, they collected donations from alumni scattered nationwide and families of current students—but this garnered an extraordinary response, with over five thousand yen already amassed in Clerk Kawamura’s possession.

Thus, needless to say, the enthusiastic donors had expressed their earnest desire to make one final effort toward erecting a full-body bronze statue of Principal Morisumi; however, the Principal—for reasons unknown—had developed an intense dislike for full-body statues, declaring, "A bust is more than sufficient. I am fundamentally unworthy of having a bronze statue erected in my honor. A full-body statue is utterly out of the question!" With such vehement fervor did he insist—adamantly and repeatedly—that Clerk Kawamura, caught between parties, found himself in an exceedingly difficult position.

But when one inquired into the real reason why Principal Morisumi so detested that full-body statue, it turned out to be an utterly absurd behind-the-scenes matter.

Principal Morisumi’s bust had been properly completed two or three years prior and now lay in a corner of his residence’s closet, wrapped in a scrap of white cloth and 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 foremost sculptor serving as an Imperial Art Exhibition judge. Clever Clerk Kawamura must have uncovered that fact somehow. On some pretext, he stealthily traveled to Tokyo to meet Mr. Asakura Seiun and inquire about the sculpture’s origins—whereupon Mr. Seiun, who knew nothing of the matter, reportedly gave a frank reply.

“Ah. "That one?" “That was something I made as a small part of repaying my debt to Mr. Morisumi.” “Some time ago… about three years back, I received a letter from Principal Morisumi at a certain hot spring resort. The message said there was work he wished to entrust me with and asked me to come, so I went immediately—only to find he was requesting I create a bust of him.” “Principal Morisumi is my maternal uncle and a great benefactor who paid my tuition through middle school—how could I possibly refuse?” “I promptly obtained ideal clay from a tile kiln near that hot spring resort and completed the bust in about a week. After gathering all the plaster available at the chemical shop to make a mold, I brought it back to Tokyo, personally supervised the casting process, and then sent it directly to Principal Morisumi’s residence without submitting it to any exhibitions... Is that so?” “So it still hasn’t been erected?” “……Hmm……Is that so.” “No, no.” “I must beg your pardon, but I have no intention of accepting even a single penny in compensation.” “To have obtained the opportunity to preserve through these unworthy hands the likeness of such an esteemed figure as Principal Morisumi—a man of such moral prestige—for his hometown was truly an honor beyond anything I could have wished for.” “Should it come to be installed in your school’s grounds and require foundation work or pedestal stone tasks, I earnestly request you inform me without hesitation.” “I shall absolutely not cause any inconvenience—I would visit at my own expense and oversee matters like the stone fence and plantings, arranging them as economically as possible.” “If left to ordinary craftsmen, the statue’s proportions may become misaligned—risking complete demolition of everything…”

This was an account of how Clerk Kawamura—the hunchbacked one—had mimicked Mr. Seiun’s speech patterns, which I then mimicked myself—and upon hearing this retelling of events, Clerk Kawamura found himself marveling anew at Principal Morisumi’s remarkable cunning. And so—due to donations having accumulated far beyond expectations—when plans for erecting a full-body bronze statue began materializing, he resolved to support Principal Morisumi instead—the principal now thoroughly flustered and overwhelmed by this unforeseen development.

...In recent times, commissioning a bronze statue from a proper sculptor would cost five thousand yen—even ten thousand—for just a bust alone. A full-body statue would require estimating expenses at twenty to thirty thousand yen. Thus even for the bust, the donated funds still fell far short... By stealthily explaining such matters—how even a bust remained beyond their collected donations—they ultimately demolished the proposal for a full-body statue, finalized their scheme to split the majority of the over five thousand yen already gathered using the preexisting bust, and finally let Principal Morisumi breathe easy. In the end, these were the words spoken to Mr. Kawamura within that abandoned building by Principal Morisumi.

“Now then, on March twenty-second—the upcoming gratitude banquet for this year’s graduates.” “We’ll have an honor student present the donation sum to you then.” “Just say you’re entrusting those funds to me again—that you’re putting all bronze statue matters in Clerk Kawamura’s hands.” “I’ll mount the stage and announce we’ve commissioned Mr. Asakura Seiun for the work—him being a renowned sculptor from our hometown.” “Once I report he’s gladly accepted and will finish soon—get them clapping—it’ll all be ours.” “The craftsmanship—you’ll witness every detail perfected.”

However, the stories I heard in that abandoned building were not all such amicable tales. There were not merely two or three occasions when both of them argued in rather loud voices. And through this—as I wrote previously—the school's various secrets gradually came to light, though ultimately it was always Principal Morisumi who yielded and made peace.

“There, there.” “Fine, I understand.” “The ledger’s responsibility ultimately rests with you alone.” “I won’t make unreasonable demands… No.” “Understood, understood.” “I get it...” “Then shall we go patch things up somewhere fun?” “At that hot spring hotel’s third floor—no one will spot us there, I tell you...”

“No. “It’s already quite late today, so let’s pick somewhere closer.”

“Ah, if we take a taxi and speed there, it’s no trouble at all.” “Places nearby won’t do—they know our faces there.” “The third floor of the hot spring hotel would be best.” “You bring that courtesan along.” “A splendid place where one can freely indulge, I tell you.” “The governor and prefectural school inspector come here privately quite often too, I tell you.” “It’s my new discovery.” “Huh?!” “Is it such a luxurious place?” “It’s not just luxurious—it’s completely South Seas-style, a deluxe edition of pleasure.” “I’ll cover the expenses, so by all means bring her along.”

“Heh heh heh. Much obliged.” “No, no—she’s interesting,” he said. “Quite changed, I tell you. I’ll bring along a younger woman tonight too.” Such exchanges lingered strangely in my ears, as though bound by some karmic thread. When I pieced together these stories, I realized Principal Morisumi had been exploiting his honor and position to turn the school into a moneymaking scheme. And with those ill-gotten funds, he would gather companions to revel in some secret den of vice.

But I was not in the least surprised.

Despite being a weak-willed, tearful woman, I found listening to such terrifying, sordid tales utterly fascinating—so much so that I couldn't restrain myself. And so, driven by unbearable curiosity after hearing these stories, I took the Onsen Railway two or three times on my way home from school to visit the hot spring hotel. I thoroughly observed what sort of people frequented it and what transpired there, but witnessing and hearing such things became my greatest form of edification. To put it another way, as I came to understand this endlessly depraved world through such means, the current of nihilism spreading through my heart grew ever clearer—limpid as a mirror.

I had grown immeasurably strong against the world. No matter how much I was laughed at or scorned, I became able to calmly smile back. The people of the world... even the entire Earth itself had come to appear to me as a swarm of tiny insects spawned within a great void. And then, if there were insects calmly doing wicked things within that void, I had come to feel that it would be perfectly fine to just as calmly twist and crush them. ...If I became a female journalist, how interesting that would be... Such were the idle fancies I indulged in around that time.

Is a woman who harbors nihilistic thoughts a woman without value? My classmates had all bestowed nicknames upon me like "Woman from Mars" and "Man-Woman." Every time they saw my face, they seemed to sigh with visible discomfort. It even seemed to me that they felt relieved not to have 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 utterly devoid of parental interest—despairing eyes—but I understood those feelings all too well, perhaps even more than I should have.

I will never forget. It was the afternoon of March 17th of this year, the day of our graduation ceremony. I returned from the ceremony and, while changing out of my uniform into everyday clothes, ended up half-listening to my parents’ conversation in the living room. “Until that matter is settled, we can’t possibly marry off our two younger sisters.” “Well… If only she would just fall ill or even die, we’d be relieved, but that one has never once been sick…” “Hahaha. What cursed luck we have. If she were a proper cripple, she might at least have some other merits.”

“Ha ha ha.” "What wretched luck." “If one’s a cripple, they ought at least to have some other sense about them.”

My feelings upon hearing such conversations... Though I fancied myself a woman grown immeasurably strong in society's eyes, I—who still clung with scorching desperation to every last shred of affection within my heart—had now clearly realized I was forsaken even by humanity's final vestige of love... My unbearable anguish... The icy hatred saturating those words—though I fully understood it was but warped parental love—now implied my own plight: a woman with no path forward but suicide... My sorrow... My position—utterly desperate, unable to persist forever as the Woman from Mars... And yet this weakling of a woman, too frail even for self-destruction—could men ever comprehend such poignant grief?

I had no place left to position myself within this endless void.

On that evening when I had overheard my parents' conversation as described earlier, shortly after finishing dinner, I told them I was going to the movies with friends. Then I put on that ridiculously gaudy expressionist-patterned meisen silk lined kimono—which Mother had bought for me but which I had never once worn—and slipped 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 scaled the concrete wall and dropped down behind the schoolyard toilet. Such a thing was nothing to me.

I then resolved to return once more—after so long—to that abandoned building’s second-floor wicker chair, where I would slowly fold my sleeves and gaze at that familiar, lonesome sky, sinking back into quiet, quiet memories of nihilism. With my new felt sandals pinching faintly, I approached the ruin through the twilight of the deserted schoolyard, where only the stars loomed large. And then I quietly slipped one foot into the darkness of that earthen floor downstairs.

I was seized tightly by the arms of a hairy man who had suddenly emerged from that darkness. And thus, unexpected heartrending words of love were whispered to me for the first time in my life. “…You’ve come.” “Thank you.” “You’ve truly come.” “The one who can save this pitiful old bachelor’s troubles is you alone.” “I can no longer go on living without you.” “Please have pity on this lonely bachelor of an educator… you see… you see. For we both understand each other’s solitary feelings… you see… you see… you see…”

That voice… those words… how great my shock must have been the moment I realized they unmistakably belonged to the Principal.

My whole body seemed to have turned to stone along with my pounding heart. ...How did he know I would come here...? I did think that in that moment, but upon reflection, I recalled that the back gate could be seen through the leftmost window of the staff room. So perhaps Principal Morisumi, having come to the staff room on some business, spotted me and then circled around from behind the archery dojo’s plank fence... Such were the confused thoughts that ran through my mind. Being naively trusting by nature, even in such circumstances I must have been instinctively striving to interpret Principal Morisumi's actions in the kindest possible light—not only did I feel nothing particularly unnatural about his words, but having come to realize that for the Principal to commit such an unexpected, outrageous act must have stemmed from dire circumstances, my inherent timidity made me feel I must not resist. Thus I remained motionless in the darkness, my arms gripped tight, stiffened and bowed my head.

Ah... Spineless me... At that moment, enveloped in terror that even the slightest sound from me would reduce the renowned Principal Morisumi's reputation and position—everything he possessed—to utter ruin, I had become unable to move a muscle. Ah... Pitiful me... I found myself struck by Principal Morisumi's words—"We understand each other's lonely hearts"—as if compelled beyond my own volition. I had fallen into a sorrowful melancholy, as though ensnared by an inescapable fate.

Ah… Foolish me… How careless I was. The Principal was not the saint his reputation proclaimed him to be. He had arranged to meet another woman there... yet somehow, in that moment, I failed to perceive even a shred of evidence that he had mistaken me for her. Perhaps the lingering vestiges of respect deep within my heart had forbidden me from doubting Principal Morisumi. ...Ah... Shallow me... I knew all too well about the Principal’s numerous unsavory financial dealings. Yet regarding women, I had believed him utterly blameless. Even if others might indulge in vulgar escapades, until that very instant I had clung to the conviction that the Principal alone remained an admirable man who maintained his masculine fidelity unwaveringly toward his departed wife. That such a saintly figure should harbor secret agonies—how pitiable a thing it was. That he should entrust me with such confidences—what an extraordinary privilege... As I contemplated this earnestly, I became so overwhelmed with sorrow that I wept and wept until no tears remained. While turbulent memories churned chaotically through my mind, I slumped limply against Principal Morisumi’s chest.

Time swiftly flowed away.

Ah… but… what a sad, wretched fleeting dream that was, was it not? Soon after came Ms. Torama Torao—that veteran English teacher we used to call Fatty—and how mercilessly I was tormented by her. In that pitch darkness, how desperately I mustered all my strength to push Ms. Torama aside and flee outside the abandoned building. And then, once I had leapt outside the concrete wall, I immediately slipped into the archery dojo and pressed my ear to the gap in the side door of that abandoned building, listening with such desperate intensity to their argument.

How disarrayed Principal Morisumi was at that moment! Though I couldn't see his complexion, he must have turned deathly pale. Peering stealthily with eyes now accustomed to the darkness, I saw him pressed flat against the gap between the enormous sports festival Daruma doll's buttocks, prostrating himself before the imperious Teacher Torama—how he had bowed and scraped, apologizing over and over in a tearful voice!

“No, I won’t let you call it a mistake. You’re not just involved with me. You go on deceiving woman after woman in this manner! I know everything, you know. I know full well what you demand from those students and their mothers when you claim you’ll improve the grades of underperforming pupils. Your tools of the trade are the exam questions for all the students right there in your pocket, you know. The names of all the students and their mothers who have come to visit you on the second floor of your lodging are duly recorded in my notebook. The reason your landlady remains tight-lipped about such matters is something I have known in detail since long before now. Hohoho….”

“That is not all.” “Isn’t Miss Tonomiya Aiko—the current fifth-year honor student—your biological child?” “No.” “Even if you try to hide it, it’s no use.” “By seeing your face day after day, I have come to clearly understand.” “Don’t you find Mendel’s Law terrifying?” “It’s true that girls take after their fathers and boys take after their mothers, isn’t it?” “Take a good look.” “Isn’t she the spitting image of you?” “You—you got Tomoko... Maiyama Tomoko pregnant and had her graduate, then took advantage of her weak-willed nature to deceive and manipulate her into marrying that philandering playboy Young Duke Tonomiya, didn’t you?” “And then, having ingratiated yourself with that Tonomiya Ama-chan through your playful overtures, you took secret pleasure in tormenting Madame Tonomiya—that gentle, deeply reserved angel of a Japanese lady—twofold and threefold… No—” “You truly are that kind of person.” “You are the very crystallization of an extreme individualism with perverse tastes—someone who takes profound pleasure in and seeks to pride yourself on the unrecognized strength of your own unprincipled, dual-personality character to the utmost limits.”

“At present, the only ones who know about this are myself and Maiyama Tomoko—the current Madame Tonomiya—and it seems Miss Aiko herself has not yet noticed. She appears to single-mindedly believe you to be nothing but a principal of upstanding character and holds you in deep respect. Do you comprehend Ms. Maiyama Tomoko’s thoughtful consideration in all this? Ms. Maiyama and I have been most cherished friends ever since our days together in this school’s dormitory, you see. It was you who made that dearly cherished Ms. Maiyama weep—how could you possibly remain unaware?... From that point onward, I took an interest in your life and, through manifold hardships, sought opportunities to draw closer to you. There—you’ve come to understand now, have you not? The single-minded resolve of a woman is a terrifying thing, you know. Ohoho….”

“No, no. “I cannot remain silent. “I’m not like those traditional Japanese women who lack both means and power. “Once I dig my heels in, I’m the sort of woman who can carry that stubbornness through to the bitter end, you know. “I don’t mean to boast, but I’ve raised two boys with these two hands alone. “I’m a woman who knows the ways of the world all too well… and I know exactly how to make public those loving words you uttered twenty years ago when you embraced that angelically beautiful Ms. Maiyama. “Please, I implore you—take pity on this lonely single woman… or so I’d say. “Hohoho….”

The subsequent exchange did not remain clearly in my memory, perhaps because my mind was in disarray. But to put it briefly, through Principal Morisumi's desperate pleas, Teacher Torama finally came to accept his explanation of the misunderstanding. And so it appeared they reached an agreement - under the conditions of promoting Teacher Torama to a higher civil service rank with increased pay - that she would forgive the principal's transgressions. Then they began whispering about ways to silence me. Along with muffled snickers, fragments like "Osaka" and "recycling waste" occasionally drifted through the air, though most words escaped my hearing. Even had you ordered me to divulge these secrets - as if I were some gossipmonger - I listened with my heart in my throat, silently resenting the implication. In the end, their conversation concluded thus:

“How do you do, Mr. Morisumi? Should you forget your promise regarding my appointment to higher civil service rank and salary increase, you would incur grave consequences.” “With both my sons graduating from university and vocational school this spring, and possessing sufficient savings to last a lifetime, I fear nothing the world might say.” “My sole remaining desire is to secure my sons’ marriage funds and pensions... which means I could disclose anything at all, you understand.” “How do you do, Mr. Morisumi?”

“Heh heh. “I will never forget.” “I have duly taken note.” “Ah, what an unexpected mistake—I was so worried.” “Still, how did that girl manage to get in here?” “How disgusting…”

Hearing this much, I stealthily moved away from the sliding door. I slipped out from beside the firewall behind the archery range, meticulously adjusted my hair and face at the communal restroom near the back gate, and quietly returned home. That night, my mind swirled like a whirlwind; unable to find rest, I clutched my chest so tightly that both wrists went numb, passing the night in that state. Even someone sentenced to death would not have feared the coming of dawn so much.

When morning came, I noticed my entire body felt strangely heavy and sluggish beyond endurance. I felt a fatigue like wanting to vomit after intense training, the sunlight outside the window strangely tinged yellow, and when I tried to rise, my head spun so unbearably that for the first time in my life I remained bedridden all day—likely due to severe nervous shock. Having told my parents I had a cold, they called a young doctor—an assistant professor at the university living nearby—when evening fell, but there was no particular ailment to speak of, no fever or anything amiss, and my pulse showed no abnormalities. The doctor kept tilting his head in puzzlement. He took a small blood sample from my left hand and left, but how could I—in my confused state then—have realized this single drop would become crucial evidence plunging Principal Morisumi and me into such straits?

The morning after next... It was the early morning of the fourth day since then. I was finally able to awaken in a calm state approaching normalcy. This was likely due to the sleeping medication I had received from the young doctor the previous night. Still clad in my nightclothes, I went out into the garden and slowly gazed up at the deep blue morning sky shining through the eucalyptus tree's highest branches.

But how sorrowful I was at that moment...

Principal Morisumi.

No matter what others might say about me, I was still a woman.

Though I knew full well it was an improper, abominable act, I simply could not bring myself to harbor resentment toward you, Principal Morisumi. More than that, your weak, cowardly heart—forced to commit such improper, abominable acts—struck me at that moment as being nothing short of painfully sorrowful. And so, even if it must be through some abhorrent means, is it not the path granted to a woman like me to save that sorrowful, lonely principal—to admonish you so you may return to the proper, bright path? Could this not be the fate I was born with...? I had even come to think such thoughts. For me, it seemed—

“Save this pitiable, lonely old man.” The words you had uttered seemed to me as though they had sprung from Principal Morisumi’s true heart—I could not help but feel this way. Even if those words you mistakenly uttered to me were...

I had already ceased being nihilistic without my own awareness. Through your influence, Principal Morisumi, I had begun awakening to womanhood's pure innocence.

…This unfathomably foolish I….

“How about going to Osaka?” This exchange where Father broached the matter with me occurred before breakfast in the reception room. Even my stepmother—who had always been utterly indifferent toward me—seemed intensely interested in this proposal, her eyes glinting as she came to sit in the chair beside me.

My frugal father, uncharacteristically loosening his purse strings, said in an unusually cheerful tone. "You’ve 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, did you?” “Yes, I love it.”

I thought it slightly strange that Father would formally ask such things when he already knew I had been contributing essays to various newspapers and magazines and having my work selected for photo salons. "...So I think this timing couldn't be better." "An Osaka newspaper wants a female sports reporter." "Your job would be visiting girls' school athletic clubs - interviewing them and taking photographs." "Yesterday Principal Morisumi himself came to my office at the Forestry Agency specially to say they'd be overjoyed if you accepted." "They've even promised overseas assignments - opportunities like this don't come twice." "The salary's a hundred yen with three months' bonus. If you agree, I'll telephone Osaka immediately so you can depart right away..."

That was what he had said.

At that time, I thought it remarkable how calmly he had composed himself. In truth, more than the incident in the abandoned building three or four days prior, it was this Osaka proposal I heard from Father at that moment that slammed into and crushed me. Never before had my feelings been so betrayed as they were at this moment. The fact that Principal Morisumi was trying to send me to Osaka... was what filled me with despair.

“...Please let me think it over.” Even as I gave this response, my chest was already brimming with tears. Without understanding why, I began to sob and hiccup.

Having seen this, my father once again shifted forward a knee’s length from his chair and said. “You couldn’t ask for a better opportunity than this… In these times, even male university graduates with bachelor’s degrees can’t find positions paying thirty or twenty yen.” “There’s nothing to think about here… Or is there something else?” “Is there some reason you absolutely cannot go to Osaka?” Never before or since had I heard Father’s voice so solemn. So I involuntarily raised my face and looked around at my parents’ expressions, but because they were staring fixedly at me with solemn, rigid faces—even more severe than Father’s words—as if interrogating a felon, I became all the more startled.

Even so, still oblivious, I said while shaking my head from side to side. “No—there’s no particular reason like that at all. I only ask that you grant me two or three more days to consider. This concerns my entire life...”

I thought my parents exchanged a glance with strangely pale eyes at that moment. Then my father gave a formal cough. "Hmm. Then let me ask—aren't you hiding something from us? Is that why you can't go to Osaka?"

My chest was struck with a start, but I immediately calmed myself and casually shook my head from side to side. Letting out a sigh... "No. Nothing..." "Then... where had you gone the night before last, huh?"

My stepmother spoke in an icy, quiet voice from beside me. I jolted as if struck by soundless thunder and hung my head heavily. My face must have turned as pale as a corpse's. My nerves quivered and my chest throbbed violently, while blade-sharp tears kept dripping onto the knees of my nightgown. ...My ruin meant Principal Morisumi's ruin... Principal Morisumi's ruin meant my ruin... My ruin... his ruin... everything ruined... At this very moment we teetered on destruction's edge. ...And so we must never be destroyed. We must never confess. Only Principal Morisumi and I must cling fiercely to this secret together, tumbling headfirst into Avīci Hell's bottomless depths—down and down through endless darkness for eternity. As these thoughts whirled through my mind like a fan's blades, the blood coursing through my body seemed to transform entirely into tears—filling every crevice of my skull, pooling behind my eyes before streaming down in endless droplets. With this came the terror of my heart and lungs writhing out of rhythm in infinite voidspace, until I felt paralyzed beyond screaming.

At my ear, my father’s sharp, piercing voice rang out. “Even if you try to hide it, I already know." "The serum taken from you by the doctor the day before yesterday—when they tested it at the university, they discovered you’re no longer a virgin!" My stepmother let out a long, long sigh right beside me. A sigh colder than a stranger’s—no, colder still, even more like some complete stranger’s... “The doctor who examined you the day before yesterday...the one who came again last night...he’s a renowned medical researcher who even went to Austria for his studies.” “No excuse can justify this—this irrefutable scientific evidence...I...I’ve had it thrust right before my eyes!”

……What a terrifying power science wields……. That I was no longer pure in body... A fleeting instant of an event that even I myself could scarcely believe had occurred... That this could be discerned through a mere drop of blood in a test... ……What a cruel verdict from science……. I helplessly collapsed onto the carpet... in tears at my parents' feet. I, now cornered with no way out...

Father pressed me by any means necessary to reveal the other party. "I would never do anything unreasonable." "I'll make sure you're properly married." "It was our fault for not realizing someone cared for you so deeply." "Just tell us who it is, no matter who it is." "Do you not understand a parent's mercy?!" they both pressed through tears, but though I was made to cry as if dying, I ultimately held firm. The terrifyingly unthinkable act of disclosing the Principal's name was something I simply couldn't bring myself to do.

I had defied my parents' commands for the first time in my life. I had betrayed my parents' mercy. For the sake of the Principal's esteemed reputation... Why did I not go mad at that time? Then, around noon that day, I entered my bed utterly exhausted from crying. Taking a large dose of Adalin, I fell fast asleep under the watch of my two ashen-faced younger sisters. Thinking that it would be good if I just died like this...

The next day, March 22nd, was when our 27th graduating class alumni would hold the thanksgiving gathering to honor the Principal. Ah, that thanksgiving gathering... What a wretched, sorrowful, terrifying gathering it was for me. Still in a dreamlike state not fully roused from sleeping pills, I passed once more through my alma mater's main gate while thoughts of whether to die or live - either way, thoughts beyond any conceivable reckoning - swirled through every corner of my mind.

I wanted to see the Principal’s face one more time. What face would he show when looking at me... and... that alone became my sole anchor through heaven and earth... As usual, the Principal stood at the entrance wearing his worn-out frock coat and smiled warmly when he saw me. It was his face—as noble and merciful as ever. “Oh… Good morning, Miss Amakawa.” “There’s something I need to discuss with you.” “Since there’s still time…”

Having declared this in a calm voice, he practically took my hand and ascended the front staircase, leading me to a corner of an empty classroom at the far end of the second-floor corridor. And then, with that same supremely kind, noble, and compassionate expression on his face, “How about it? Have you heard from your father? Have you decided to go to Osaka?” Having declared this, he smiled warmly once more.

The Principal's face showed not a trace of recollection from two or three days prior. The skin of his gentle face glowed with a healthy sheen, a godlike smile playing about his lips... Could that night have not been a dream after all?... I even wondered if I hadn't concocted some absurd fantasy and become obsessed with delusions. Yet even as my mind churned with unthinkable thoughts, I believe I firmly refused to go to Osaka. At that moment, I felt neither joy nor sorrow nor anger—likely because my nerves still lay numbed.

However, the Principal did not relent. “This is for your own good… If you would only accept this position, I can promise that a favorable marriage proposal will surely come your way… A young gentleman who enjoys sports awaits at that newspaper company…” He continued preaching with ever-intensifying feigned kindness—repeating his admonitions over and over—but when I, listening with bowed head amid his words, timidly glanced upward, the coldness in Principal Morisumi’s eyes… that pallid, malicious, ruthless gleam shining like a man-eating fish’s…

The instant I saw that unspeakably cruel, icy glint in his eyes, I nearly—just barely—screamed "...Demon!" and lunged at him, but instead secretly sighed and bowed my head. This urge to reduce everything to ruin terrified even me... At that moment, the Principal's words—now far more fervent than when he'd begun speaking—a voice like prayer—reverberated in my ears.

“Look… Miss Amakawa.” “Please consider this.” “If by any chance you were not to go to Osaka, do you realize how much mental anguish you would cause your parents and younger sisters?” “Your parents are losing sleep night after night in worry, declaring that if you remain as you are now, you’ll have scarcely any chance of establishing a household and living a fulfilling life.” “This is what I say from the heart—what exactly do you intend to do about your future?” “Can you truly not comprehend how profoundly my heart cares for your welfare?”

So characteristic of Principal Morisumi—those words that seemed imbued with supreme dignity and benevolence befitting a paragon of virtue—were utterly abhorrent. I was seized by a fit of rage and driven by the impulse to shatter everything to pieces, but by then my resolve had already hardened—so I endured it, my entire body quivering violently. "I fully comprehend your considerations, Principal. "But please grant me two or three more days to deliberate. "I would never dream of acting contrary to your intentions, Principal..."

This was the first lie I had ever uttered in my life. What I had resolved at this time was anything but going against the Principal's intentions. Had Principal Morisumi perceived even a fraction of the resolve I had made then, he might have fainted on the spot. As I observed the Principal's composed face—solid as stone—I became deeply convinced that ordinary human means could never make him reflect on his actions. Having realized that if I were a Woman from Mars, Principal Morisumi must be a super-special-grade demon descended from Saturn—that no matter what occurred, this truth held firm—I knew I must devise means to make him tremble to his core... Mere murder would not suffice... I resolved firmly, firmly to transform this earth's surface into a place more terrifying than a frying pan—a realm where Principal Morisumi could neither live nor die.

I rose with a faint smile and quietly left the classroom. As I did so, I abruptly encountered Teacher Torama Debuko, who appeared to have been inquiring about the situation at the entrance, but since I was already fully composed, I politely bowed with feigned ignorance and proceeded down the stairs. Later, it seemed Principal Morisumi and Teacher Torama were having some discussion, but such matters were no longer of any concern.

I entered the sewing room that served as a waiting area downstairs and spent over an hour mingling with fellow alumni—laughing together, accepting sweets, and such—but it must have been the first time in my life I had ever interacted so unreservedly and cheerfully with everyone in such a lively manner. Throughout that time, I forgot everything—my height, my ugliness, even being the Woman from Mars—and in this lingering reluctance to part from everyone, I met gazes with as many friends as possible, laughed together, held hands and reminisced. That one hour must have been the most joyful hour of my entire life—the first time I finally felt something resembling human emotion.

I must now write in some detail about the scene of the thanksgiving gathering that soon began thereafter. For it was a theatrical production that dazzlingly and elegantly adorned the Principal’s unparalleled vice in this world. For it was a terrifying, protracted torture beyond compare—one that no one else but me had noticed... and that had been carried out solely to torment and intimidate me alone.

First came the entire student body’s chorus of “Kimigayo,” but from the moment those pure, supremely solemn waves of melody reached my ears, my entire body began shuddering uncontrollably—overwhelmed by such hollow terror that I could neither sit still nor stand upright, seized by the urge to flee immediately. ...I couldn’t suppress tremors rising from my very core... this “Kimigayo torture”... Then when Mr. Tonomiya, the school inspector, ascended the podium as the parents’ representative—how magnificent his speech sounded. How solemnly hushed the hall became as he enumerated and expounded upon each of Principal Morisumi’s noble virtues—down to the most trivial details…

After Vice-Principal Kobayakawa reported on the donation funds for Principal Morisumi's bronze statue, when Miss Tonomiya Aiko—the graduate representative who still knew nothing—presented the complete ledger of collected funds, the Principal's calm, faintly pleased countenance... Following Clerk Kawamura's administrative report, Principal Morisumi delivered his address of gratitude. How tear-jerking his words were... how they seemed filled with genuine emotion... how divine his bearing appeared... And precisely because it was all so, for that very reason, the underlying meaning of that address was demonic in a way no poet could imagine...

“I have not a single child of my own.” “Therefore, I have always regarded you all as my own true children.” “…Over these five years, I have committed to memory each of your names, your faces, even your innermost sentiments—your forms growing ever more pristine like flawless gems—carving them into the depths of my heart.” “How could I possibly remain composed at this very moment—this final farewell day—as I send you forth into this storm-tossed world, rife with injustice and immorality?” “How could I remain unmoved?” “That you are all so delicate, beautiful, and tender-hearted—precisely because of this—my heart swells with a sorrow far, far deeper than any mother’s seeing her valiant child off to war.”

“Needless to say, life is a battlefield. This society today may appear beautifully adorned through magnificent scientific civilization—but peel back that veneer, and you’ll find it no different from the realm of wild beasts... jungles, primeval forests, Africa’s dark heartlands. Spiritually and materially alike, we dwell in a terrifying arena where ‘devour or be devoured’ reigns supreme. The social evils born of this inexorable survival struggle—all manner of corruption and injustice—permeate every corner of existence with that same brutal imperative. Thus you must steel yourselves now—especially you tender-hearted young women—for the perilous crossroads awaiting you everywhere, where right and wrong shall blur beyond recognition.”

“...As I have often stated, the history of human culture up to this very day has been a history of culture for men.” “And so this history of men has evolved from an era of individual physical struggles to one of collective military competition—now we stand in an age of financial warfare.” “It is simply an era where weapons called bows and guns have been replaced by weapons called money.” “Thus, just as in ancient times of martial conflict—when any heinous or immoral act was permitted as unavoidable for waging war—so too in today’s society, it is considered entirely acceptable to carry out any manner of ruthless or inhumane deeds for money and its accompanying honors and status, provided they do not violate the law and remain undiscovered by others.” “To state it more bluntly: one could declare without exaggeration that in today’s world—whether in international relations or personal ones—it is a society where none but the cruel and cold-blooded, those capable of calmly ignoring conscience and trampling humanity, can become true victors.”

“...In other words，modern men are warriors of this dark age of struggle，fighting with money as their weapon.” “Men who can calmly and skillfully perform acts of conscienceless，unprincipled violence and scheming become victors and rulers—while evidence abounds everywhere that good people incapable of such deeds sink into inferiority and weakness.” “Therefore I must declare—the era when this world will be governed by gentle，beautiful，peace-loving women’s hearts still lies far beyond our horizon.”

“...Therefore, all of you must rejoice in having been born as women. “Some of you may know this from the Taikōki jōruri plays—when Akechi Mitsuhide, scheming to assassinate his lord and seize power, rebuked his mother and wife for opposing the rebellion with ‘This is no concern for women and children.’ “In that era as in the present day, it remains unchanged—women have entrusted all such ugly, evil survival struggles to men since the dawn of the world, while we have unanimously monopolized lives of beauty and love. “Through their pure and beautiful hearts of love, they have devoted themselves solely to cooking, sewing, and childcare, striving only to beautify and pacify their home lives, and to educate their descendants with proper and beautiful hearts. “And thus, gradually overcoming the savage world of brute strength and military conflict, they have brought forth today’s civilized world of happiness and tranquility—a realm beyond even the imagination of those in ages past.”

“...Therefore, there is absolutely no need for any of you to fear. “I have implanted in all of you a reverence for peace and taught you to cultivate hearts devoted to loving endurance and beauty. “With this spirit, you must fulfill your mission to combat the cruel, heartless, shameless world of vice created by men—a mission your very souls have instinctively inherited since time immemorial, long before history began. “Therefore, in accordance with your beautiful, gentle instinct that reveres peace and forbearance, if you devote yourselves daily with all your might to purifying this world as swiftly as possible, moralizing it, and nurturing a world of peace born from mutual human hearts—a world governed solely by women’s virtues—then that alone shall suffice.”

“...That is neither a difficult nor an incomprehensible matter.” “The beautiful instincts of women in the home... their pure love—this is the sole, invincible weapon with which to combat men.” “No matter how rough and heartless a man may be, when within a home guarded by women’s bottomless endurance and boundless love, he will find peace blossoming from his deepest heart’s core.” “And thus, without even realizing it, this great influence becomes implanted in those very depths.” “A woman who stirs up disputes within the household—what a calamity she is!” “...May all of you establish wholesome households as soon as possible, raise multitudes of pure and honest children, and make the Japan to come as unsullied, bright, just, and strong as can be—this I earnestly hope from the depths of my heart.”

"...It is for this single hope that I have abandoned my entire life and dedicated myself to this endeavor." "...I repeat." “All of you are the children of my heart.” “The state of my heart as I send these children out into society from this very day for such a noble battle… as we face this farewell…” When Principal Morisumi’s address reached this point, an unbearable whirlwind of applause erupted from the entire hall… followed by sniffling sobs and sighs that persisted for some time…

Then, just as at the graduation ceremony, began the tear-jerking strains of “Hotaru no Hikari” (Glow of Fireflies)...

Alas. What a scene brimming with profound emotion it must have been! What a divine figure the Principal must have cut!

Immediately after that thanksgiving gathering concluded, I visited the residence of Mr. Tonomiya, the School Inspector, which lay along my way home. I had the honor of meeting Miss Tonomiya Aiko—renowned as both the school’s most beautiful and top student—and upon stating that I had an important secret to discuss, we secluded ourselves in the parlor alone. Miss Tonomiya Aiko had been my most cherished lover during our school days. Among my friends, Miss Aiko was the only one who truly understood poetry. Though no one ever knew, we had met secretly countless times in that second-floor room of the dilapidated storage shed, discussing nihilism together on more occasions than I could number. Yet this marked the first time I had ever formally visited her residence.

Miss Tonomiya Aiko was truly a resolute individual. Though she listened to my story without showing surprise or tears, she clenched her beautiful lips firmly, her clear eyes turning crimson and shining with intensity as she accepted my long, long tale in its entirety. When I finished speaking, she finally let tears well in the corners of her eyes as she addressed me in a resolute, decisive tone. It was a beautiful, beautiful, quiet voice.

“……Thank you.” “Miss Utako.” “Thanks to you, everything I hadn’t understood before has become perfectly clear.” “Allow me to express my gratitude for your kindness in making Principal Morisumi—the true father I came to know for the first time—reflect on his actions.” “I do not know what form your revenge will take, but if it truly is revenge in the sense of making him reflect on his actions without anyone knowing—exactly as you say—then I think it would be an exceedingly good thing.” “I leave the method entirely to you.” “Whatever method you choose, I shall never resent you for it.” “And then, even if Father… Principal Morisumi still doesn’t reflect on his actions, I will absolutely send out the letter you entrusted to me exactly as you instructed.” “Yes, I won’t look at the contents… I won’t tell anyone… not even Mother… so please rest assured.” “I will continue to believe in you no matter what.” “……For I know no other way to atone for Father’s… for Father’s sins than to have you take your full revenge upon him……”

"But putting that aside... When you go to Osaka, please do write... please... will you?" With those words, Miss Aiko let a single tear fall with a soft plop. And without even attempting to wipe it away, she came running over and grasped my hand firmly.

A handshake imbued with infinite meaning...

And with that, my preparations were complete. The extent of my parents' joy when I agreed to go to Osaka, and the effusiveness of Principal Morisumi’s praise when he specially came to visit—it was truly something to behold. And then at that time I made an unreasonable request... that I wanted to depart for Osaka all by myself without informing anyone. My selfish wish to depart immediately without even greeting the Osaka newspaper branch office was accepted without them voicing any harsh objections.

However, I did not go to Osaka.

On the evening of that very day when the thanksgiving gathering was held, I bid farewell to my parents and left home in a light disguise of new Western clothes and a single handbag. But instead of departing, I immediately visited Inspector Tonomiya's residence. Insisting "I'm finally going to Osaka," I forcibly coaxed Miss Aiko out. Together we went up to Seiyōtei restaurant where we ordered lavish dishes for our farewell dinner. After that, we went to Modern Photo Studio and took commemorative photos. Then in the studio's salon, we embraced and shared a long, long kiss until we both became so drenched in tears that we could no longer see each other's faces.

Then Miss Aiko, who knew absolutely nothing of my plans, insisted on seeing me off and came to the station, so I had no choice but to board the train pretending to go to Osaka. But I immediately got off at a station along the way and returned by car, taking up lodging at a lonely inn on the outskirts of town. Then, wearing an all-black outfit consisting of a black suit I had bought from a nearby secondhand store, a black hunting cap, and black glasses, I began desperately trailing Principal Morisumi while walking with masculine strides. In the student-style handbag I carried were a long sturdy hemp rope, a black satin cloth for masking, an old familiar Kodak camera, a modern compact flashlight, wax matches, and a safety razor blade for cutting photographic paper - all items whose use I had studied on the inn's rooftop the previous night, well-practiced tools that served as weapons of revenge more terrifying to Principal Morisumi than any pistol or poison gas could ever be.

He must have had no inkling of such matters even in his wildest dreams. On the contrary, he must have thought driving me off to Osaka would give him one more thing to feel relieved about. On the evening of the 24th, the day after the thanksgiving gathering, Principal Morisumi emerged from his lodgings dressed as if for an official trip—wearing a sober morning coat and bowler hat, clutching a document-filled briefcase as though it were precious. He hurried along the dusk-filled streets toward the outskirts and proceeded to walk in the direction of Tenjin Forest. ...With my heart racing... I trailed after him with single-minded focus until there in Tenjin Forest waited two gentlemen in Japanese attire, just as I had anticipated. ...A tall, slender figure and a short, stocky one... When I drew near and confirmed they were indeed Mr. Kawamura, the hunchbacked clerk, and Mr. Tonomiya, the handsome inspector—exactly as I had imagined—how overjoyed I was in that moment.

On the national highway outside the forest stood a canvas-topped car with its interior lights extinguished, quietly waiting with three young geisha inside. Having noticed this, I fastened the handbag to my waist and swiftly masked myself with a black cloth. Almost simultaneously as the three men boarded the vehicle, I melted into the twilight shadows and darted toward the spare tire compartment, crouching low as I clung to it through the jolting ride. When I confirmed that our destination matched my hypothesis—the hot spring hotel—what relief and satisfaction flooded through me... what adventurous zeal and curiosity... how my heart must have pounded with exhilaration! For my revenge had targeted this very hot spring hotel from its inception—meticulously researched and planned in every particular— And now—from the very first instant of day one—it began unfolding exactly as designed...

But when I played that mischievous trick on a sudden whim, how utterly startled must those inside the car have been! That the automobile happened to be an open-top Chevrolet was truly heaven-sent. Moreover, that I had by chance prepared a safety razor blade might well have been nothing short of miraculous. Within the rattling vehicle body, the three men reveling wildly failed entirely to notice me using the safety razor blade to cut out a U-shaped section around the rear window.

When I thrust my hand through that opening, Principal Morisumi had been clinging from behind the leftmost and most adorable geisha. Snatching both her floral hairpin and the bowler hat worn askew on the principal's head, I leaped from the car and fled—how invaluable my leg strength proved then! Though the young driver came chasing after me shouting "Thief! Thief!" with all his might... this was a flat national highway shortly after nightfall...

Clutching the floral hairpin in my right hand and the handbag in my left, with the hat firmly clenched between my teeth, I quickly outpaced my pursuer before growing short of breath. Then I returned to town, stealthily summoned Miss Tonomiya Aiko—who was quite startled—informed her about the unexpected acquisition I had made during my work, and we rejoiced wholeheartedly together. Therefore, that bowler hat and floral hairpin should still be in Miss Tonomiya Aiko’s possession even now. If you have read this letter, go immediately to Miss Aiko’s residence to retrieve them. I do not know what dramatic scenes may unfold...

However, my true objective still lay ahead of me. I knew full well the Principal was not one to reflect over such trivial matters. "Miss Aiko... Should Principal Morisumi truly repent and apologize to your mother too, please give him this hat and floral hairpin... But even if he doesn't come to claim them, consult with your mother and dispose of these items as you see fit..."

Having said that, I immediately hired another taxi and headed straight for the hot spring hotel.

Ah... that hot spring hotel... That very famous hot spring hotel was a place I had scrutinized from front to back and thoroughly explored time and again on my way home from school—driven by curiosity, riding the hot spring railway there—long before I ever conceived of taking revenge against Principal Morisumi. And this job… this endeavor I had staked my entire life upon—I had calculated with utmost certainty that it could never be accomplished anywhere other than this very house.

I believed Principal Morisumi and his party would likely not turn back. The three of them at that time could not possibly have understood what sort of person—what objective such a miscreant who had cut out the rear window of the canvas-topped car and pulled off such a prank—might have had. Moreover, they could not possibly have realized that I—who should have arrived in Osaka long ago—had done such a thing. And with all three of them having gone to the trouble of gathering and conceiving tonight’s plan, there was no chance they would be so startled by such a trivial matter as to cancel it. I remained ninety-nine percent certain that they would simply have been startled by this Arabian Nights-like mysterious calamity, caused a flurry of commotion, and then hurried onward as planned.

Therefore, having gone a little past the hot spring hotel, I had the car stop at the foot of Yunokawa Bridge. Then, following a narrow side alley, I emerged beside the third floor of the hot spring hotel. As I strained my ears in the shadow of the dark wooden fence there, I caught the faint sound of Principal Morisumi’s laughter drifting down from a high third-floor window along with a bright shaft of light. I let out a hot sigh of relief. Immediately soundlessly scaling the wooden fence, I made my way up the emergency ladder to the third-floor exit. From there, following a sturdy copper rain gutter, I flipped nimbly up from the eaves onto the roof—but even I... the Woman from Mars... could not help breaking into a cold sweat when, during that upward flip, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the granite-paved path far below in the dark abyss, illuminated by stone lanterns.

After such arduous efforts, when I finally crawled up to the summit of the target red-tiled roof, I took out a thin rope from the handbag I had been carrying in my mouth, tied it to the base of the lightning rod at the roof's center, wrapped the other end around my torso, and began descending the steep red-brick slope hand over hand. And then, from the edge of the roof at the rain gutter, I stuck out just my face and peered into the room through the pivoting window directly below.

The third floor of the hot spring hotel was structured entirely like a viewing salon. It must have been due to the threatening rain and stifling humidity. With all upper window sections fully opened, every detail of the interior lay exposed as if graspable at a glance. I lack the courage to describe that room's condition at that moment - what surpassed even my darkest imaginings. I shall record only what necessity demands. Within that gold-leafed chamber adorned with towering palm bamboos, banana plants, canna-filled planters and opulent chaise longues, three figures held court: Inspector Tonomiya in his imposing stature; Clerk Kawamura displaying his ghastly pale hump; Principal Morisumi - that shaggy, bear-like bald-headed creature. Alongside the three young women brought by automobile stood two middle-aged local geishas, making five wretched female forms subjected to their bacchanalian revels. Through bestial guises and inhuman cries, they danced and leapt, rolled and crawled, cackled and wailed in their intoxicated frenzy.

For some time, I blankly gazed upon such a scene. Recalling Principal Morisumi's sermon—"Modern civilization is civilization for men"—I grew so appalled at this frenzied dance of specter-like men and beauties before my eyes that I nearly lost consciousness. But when I finally regained my senses, I hung inverted from the roof's edge and calmly adjusted the Kodak's focus. Then, after deliberately snapping a wax match with a crack and timing it precisely to the moment everyone turned toward this direction, I ignited the flash device. The intense bluish-white light seemed to pierce straight through to the far side of the hall beyond.

When I threw the flash device into the deep grove of trees below my eyes, some of the women who had been frolicking on the chaise longues seemed to let out a shriek and tried to put on their kimonos. “What was that just now…” “Wasn’t that terrifyingly bright!” “Sounded like crackling to me.”

“Must’ve been a shooting star.” “Don’t be absurd—it’s cloudy tonight, isn’t it?” “No. Stars can pierce through clouds sometimes. When their light’s strong enough, they might seem right before your nose. I saw it once... when I was little...” “There’s something damn peculiar about tonight.” “Looked just outside the window, didn’t it?”

Having said that, Principal Morisumi seemed to begin shuffling toward the window. In that moment, I became thoroughly amused and conceived yet another prank. After dropping the camera and handbag into the deep rain gutter, I swiftly undid my hair and let it cascade down 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 wildly as I hung inverted, I let out a suffocatingly shrill, melancholic cry.

“Pri-i-iincipal Morisumii-i-i…” The Principal, who had discovered my face outside the window in the bright electric light streaming from the room, clung to the window frame, his eyes wide and white as he glared at me. In his wretched, completely naked state, his pale tongue hung limply from his gaping mouth. Because his appearance was so utterly ridiculous, I couldn’t help but burst into loud laughter.

“Heh heh... Hahahaha... Hee hee hee...” At my laughter, everyone in the room leapt to their feet as one. “Whaaa—aat’s thaaat?!” “Kyaaaa—ah!”

“Someone, help—!” Women screamed incoherently while fleeing in disarray—some running while clutching others’ garments… another tumbling toward the entrance… people collapsing unconscious across chairs… seats toppling… tables overturning… cups, plates, and bowls shattering… the clatter of empty bottles rolling about…

……If you were to see the head of a woman hanging upside down from the eaves of a third-floor roof at midnight, her hair cascading down as she laughs, surely no one would think her human……. When that soon settled into an eerie silence, only Inspector Tonomiya and Clerk Kawamura remained—standing as rigidly as Principal Morisumi had been, glaring at me all the while. As I looked around at the faces of those three men in their utterly absurd states, I once again laughed with a resolute high-pitched voice from the depths of my heart.

“Hohohohoho… Ohohohohohoho… Have you figured out who I am…? …Principal… Mr. Tonomiya… Mr. Kawamura… I’m the Woman from Mars… Ohohohohohohoho… Heeheeheeheehee… Ahahahahahaha…”

Principal Morisumi's eyes turned white as his tongue hung limply from his mouth; like a Buddhist statue struck by a great earthquake, he toppled backward with a resounding crash. The other two men paid no heed to this collapse, remaining rigidly upright while glaring fixedly at my face, but I merely hauled on the rope and returned to the roof's highest point. Still crouched on all fours, I let out a drawn-out "Hoo..." sighed once deeply, and steadied myself.

I noticed then that I was so exhausted I could barely stand, but I couldn’t afford to rest any longer. It seemed the geishas who’d fled had donned their kimonos and alerted the hotel staff, for a frantic commotion now rose from below as people clamored about what was happening. Following this, two or three antiquated emergency lanterns began bobbing through the distant garden far beneath me, yet I remained utterly unperturbed.

Clutching the handbag containing the precious camera firmly between my teeth, I reached the opposite end of the roof's peak where I had climbed up earlier, leaving behind the rope tied to the lightning rod. When I gazed up at the beautiful starlight filtering through the clouds there, my chest tightened unbearably for some reason, and I grew distressed to find tears pooling in my eyes. Overcome by an impulse to die, I ran down the roof's slope and leapt onto the paved path in the dark garden below. But upon hearing the terrifying sound of footsteps climbing up the emergency ladder from beneath, I regained my composure and immediately descended using the radio antenna hanging below my feet, landing on the second-floor roof of the adjacent building. Then I jumped onto the branch of a large pine tree near that roof and climbed down outside the plank fence. Cutting across paths through rice paddies as a shortcut while running, I made straight for the Onsen Railway station, barely caught the last train, and returned to the town inn in under an hour.

The room I was staying in had the bedding properly laid out. Beside the pillow lay cold tea prepared like bitter, bitter medicine. Without even sitting down, I gulped down two or three cups in quick succession - how delicious it was... Completely opposite to when I had wanted to die on that hot spring hotel roof earlier, I felt my courage multiply a hundredfold. The development of the film that night proceeded one hundred percent favorably. Though the film was small, I could perceive with perfect clarity the scene of three men in their wretched states and five women turning toward me in startled unison. Since there was no need to enlarge it for verification, I found myself laughing alone at the thought that had I known this earlier, I needn't have gone through such trouble stealing hats and hairpins as future evidence through those perilous adventures. And so from that evening until nearly noon the next day, I rested my bones in great contentment.

After noon today when I got up, I immediately began writing this letter at full speed. In writing three such lengthy letters, it might well have been midnight by the time I finished—or perhaps even dawn—but I didn’t mind in the least. Before dawn broke, I would develop and print last night’s photographs, preparing three or four copies each to place inside the letters. I would place all three of these letters into separately addressed envelopes, enclose a note requesting they be mailed in the specified order, and deposit them into Miss Aiko’s mailbox on the evening of the 26th, when the entire town lay sound asleep.

Then, taking the ×××× and absorbent cotton I had stolen from the school’s chemistry classroom long before, along with the △△△△ and △△△ I purchased yesterday, I would sneak into that abandoned building filled with memories of my alma mater. I would pile up the straw, bamboo, and paper-made sports equipment stacked there and sprinkle △△△△ over them. Then I would place uncovered candles soaked in △△△△ firmly on the wet tatami mats, arranging them so that within twenty minutes the entire area would become a sea of fire. Then I would cover my face with cotton soaked thoroughly in ×××× and intend to crawl beneath the piled-up fuel. Since I’m the type to get dizzy immediately even from smelling volatile oil, if I inhaled too much ××××, I might well become over-anesthetized and die before the fire even started.

Principal Morisumi... This is how I shall repay your great benevolence in making me a woman. And with it, I wish to let my true beloved - Miss Tonomiya Aiko - fulfill genuine filial piety. Only through these means can I settle all accounts and return to primordial nothingness.

Please accept the Woman from Mars's parting gift—the Blackened Girl's corpse. My body shall remain yours eternally... Pfft... pfft...