Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

"What on earth is going on? They’re extremely late, aren’t they?"
"They’re extremely late, aren’t they?"

The one who furrowed his brows and spat out these words was Captain Senji Kawanami—a ruddy-faced, portly man.

Outside the window was pitch black, and a gloomy chill could be felt stealthily creeping in through the thin glass panes.

“Hoh—it’s already two minutes to eight. Doctor, haven’t you gotten yourself snagged by another female patient again?”

The one who wiped the glass cover of his wristwatch in a circular motion with the sleeve of his white lab coat and made that sarcastic remark was Dr. Yōgo Hoshimiya—a pale, lanky physicist.

This was part of the Third Aviation Laboratory—inside the room, no one could be seen besides the two.
Yet within this laboratory of roughly twenty tsubo, large test benches, complex measuring instruments with glinting metal fittings, and sturdy electrical machinery enclosed in iron frames were crammed so densely that the space felt constricted. Upon all four grayish walls crawled grotesque shadows of monstrous size—like a procession of specters—creeping upward.

“Creak... creak... creak-creak-creak!”

What an unpleasant screeching sound.

Thud, thud—the sound of the heavy entrance door being knocked.
The two exchanged glances.

With a creaking turn of the handle, the door quietly opened.
After that, a face stealthily appeared.

The owner of a pale sallow face marked by a bitterly tense sharpness—it was Dr. Ōashihara.

As the two men—Captain Kawanami and Dr. Hoshimiya, who had been waiting in the room—simultaneously let out a loud "Haaah" of a sigh, they also spoke in unison.

"You’re late. What happened?" said the Captain.

“Because you came in so quietly, I thought another strange woman had shown up.”
"Ha ha ha," Dr. Hoshimiya forced out a laugh.

“No—I’m late.
“A patient came by” (he emphasized the word ‘patient’) “and it ended up taking some time.
“But as a token of apology, I’ve brought a souvenir—here…”

Saying this, Dr. Ōashihara presented a bamboo basket filled with piled-up jet-black objects at the entrance.

“What in the world is that…”

“It’s turban shells. As a memento of tonight’s all-night experiment, I’ll cook them up nicely and treat you.”
Having said that, Dr. Ōashihara grabbed the largest turban shell from the bamboo basket and brought it over to the table where the two men were.
The briny scent rose pungently and struck the three men’s nostrils.
They were remarkably large, fresh turban shells that had clearly been caught just moments before.

“What large turban shells!” the Captain exclaimed with delight.

“So Dr. Ōashihara, I thought you only specialized in human cuisine, but it seems you’re quite adept at preparing turban shells as well,” jeered Dr. Hoshimiya.

Thereupon, a burst of uproarious laughter erupted among the three men.
However, though the uproarious laughter in this echo-filled room had been tremendously lively, once it faded away, a graveyard-like silence pressed in relentlessly as a reactionary force.

“Squeak-squeak-squeak!”

They squeaked again.

“Poor things. They’re squealing away.”
Having said that, Dr. Ōashihara peered into the large iron frame.
There was a large wire cage, and about thirty plump guinea pigs were rustling about as they crawled across the straw bedding.

“Well then, shall we commence the experiment?” said Dr. Hoshimiya as he rose to his feet and straightened his lanky frame.

“Very well,” Captain Kawanami, the research team leader, grabbed in one hand the temporarily bound book labeled “Experimental Policy Document.”
“We’ll set the first measurement for exactly 9 PM, but first let’s check the experimental preparations.”
“Dr. Ōashihara will transfer the guinea pigs into the glass bell jar.”
“Then Dr. Hoshimiya, you’ll start rotating the vacuum pump at once.”

The joint experiment among Captain Kawanami, the Physicist, and the Military Surgeon began.
This was Captain Kawanami’s research topic—an animal experiment related to aeronautics—and they would conduct hourly observations on guinea pigs inhabiting the glass bell jar under reduced pressure from that point onward.
The Captain assumed full command, the Physicist read instrument dials, and the Surgeon recorded the guinea pigs’ physiological responses.
These three scholars spent five minutes every hour on observation and recording; unless equipment malfunctioned, they found themselves feeling intensely bored during the remaining fifty-five minutes.

2

"If we keep up this pace until dawn, it'll be rather trying," said Dr. Ōashihara as he set down his small aluminum pocket whiskey cup on the table with a clink.

“If it weren’t for Dr. Ōashihara’s turban shell dish, I would’ve intended to sleep during each fifty-five-minute interval,” said Captain Kawanami as he picked up the jet-black turban shell pot—steaming hot—with one hand, slurped the broth before speaking.

“Dr. Ōashihara, you seem to prize these turban shell innards, but I must say I’d never tasted anything like this until today,” said Dr. Hoshimiya. With deft use of long chopsticks, he picked up a yellowish, plump morsel, tossed it into his mouth, and began munching noisily with an air of relish.

“Indeed—this has a rather peculiar taste, wouldn’t you agree? Did it please you, Dr. Hoshimiya?” The military surgeon wore a faint, almost bashful smile as he directed a piercing gaze at the lips of the dandyish physicist.

“Hmm—my turban shell hasn’t any peculiar flavor to speak of, but let’s see…” said the Captain as he reached across with his chopsticks to pluck from Dr. Hoshimiya’s pot.

“Wait—Captain Kawanami!”
Dr. Ōashihara interjected as though startled.
“There remain ample turban shells here—please take from this portion instead.”
“There’s no need to claim the morsel Dr. Hoshimiya so relishes…”

Saying this, for some reason, the military surgeon placed another turban shell pot before the Captain.

“Ah, right—my apologies,” said the Captain, momentarily put out, but thanks to the alcohol’s influence, he soon regained his former cheerful demeanor. “If they’re this fresh, I could eat them endlessly.”

“No—the one I just ate had the most distinctive flavor of them all. A truly exceptional turban shell,” said the physicist with lingering reluctance, shaking the emptied shell while thrusting his chopsticks into its depths and licking his lips. “Ah well, no matter how much I poke around, nothing more comes out.”

“I’m humbly honored that my treat has pleased you.”
Dr. Ōashihara raised his face—which showed no hint of flushing despite the whiskey he’d been pouring into himself—and continued:
“But with the food gradually dwindling away and our bellies now stretched tight like this, we’ll only grow sleepier.—So then, how about this… From now on, how about we all take turns—one hour each—telling some sort of firsthand account or true story; in short, tales effective at dispelling drowsiness—and make them ones scarcely known to anyone else, on the condition that it stays within this room. What do you say?”

“Hmm, that does sound interesting,” Dr. Hoshimiya promptly chimed in.

“Since it’s just past nine now, from ten to eleven to twelve o’clock—exactly by midnight—the three of us will have gone through one full rotation of stories.”
“Captain Kawanami, why don’t you begin by sharing some sort of confidential tale?”

“Making me speak up like this feels rather sinful,” said Captain Kawanami as he briskly stroked his close-cropped head, “but since it’s just the three of us here. It wouldn’t be any fun if someone backed out. Well then, shall I tell a story? Hmm, what should I talk about…”

First Story: Captain Kawanami's Tale

“As Dr. Ōashihara said, this truly stays within these walls—it concerns an incident from two autumns past during the Navy’s special maneuvers in the South Pacific, specifically on the fourth day when the exercises approached their climax.”
The location was fifty nautical miles south of Tosa Bay—the open sea where the Blue Army now found itself compelled to retreat.

“I was aboard the Blue Army’s aircraft carrier *Kōwashi* and was in charge of a fighter plane.”
“It wasn’t the latest model, but for us veterans accustomed to its ways through years of service—an extremely manageable aircraft.”
“At that time I commanded the Thirteenth Squadron as its leader shepherding two fighter planes matching my own model.”
“Our Blue Army’s stronghold at Tosa Bay became untenable forcing relocation orders to Yokosuka Naval Port.”
Military intelligence suggested Red Army forces advancing northward would exploit nightfall for mass assault on Tosa Bay under cover of darkness.
This necessitated our main forces covering retreat operations for damaged flagship *Kushiro*—its speed halved by torpedo strikes from previous dusk—to execute successful evacuation.
Thus before sunset fell urgent orders demanded our carrier-based air squadron anchored around *Kōwashi* intercept and blunt Red Army’s vanguard at all costs.

The three planes of our Thirteenth Combat Squadron repeatedly soared into the air at steep angles from the carrier’s flight deck, engaged enemy aircraft, and harassed the light cruiser squadron.
“Our squadron’s exploits—it may sound odd coming from me—were truly remarkable.”
In particular, Lieutenant Takehana piloted the second plane alone while Lieutenant Kumauchi manned the third—their masterful handling of the aircraft transcended mere exercise maneuvers, becoming so exhilarating it resembled actual combat. No, in truth, it grew so intense that ‘terrifying’ would have been more apt.
I, who always led this three-plane formation from the command aircraft at the forefront, would occasionally glance through the convex mirror at my wingmen’s murderous combat maneuvers and feel no small concern.
As evening approached—exactly as weather warnings had predicted—gray clouds sank lower and lower while fog gradually thickened over white-capped waves across the open sea.

(Tonight, a storm is sure to come.)

For our side, the situation steadily headed toward disaster.
The sun sinking westward would disappear completely behind dense clouds, only to suddenly emerge from a gap and hurl crimson rays against the aircraft wings.
It was exactly at that moment.
It was precisely then that the calamitous event occurred...

"If I’ve said this much, you all must have realized—this calamity was the very incident reported in the next morning’s newspapers as ‘A Sacrifice of the Grand Exercises:
Two Blue Army fighter planes collided mid-air and plunged into the Pacific Ocean.
The bodies of Lieutenants Takehana and Kumauchi, along with any trace of their aircraft, could not be found.
that very incident which was sensationalized with claims like “the cause being dense clouds...”’
"The naval authorities’ investigation also showed no significant discrepancies from what the newspapers had reported."
"Naturally, as the sole person present near the scene, I was compelled to testify before the investigation committee and stated the following."
“In order to rescue the Blue Army from crisis, they performed an extremely dangerous low-altitude sharp bank before enemy lines. At that very moment, sunlight grew dim over the ocean due to dense clouds, compounded by thickening fog, making communication between wingmen exceedingly difficult—thereby triggering a mid-air collision.” With this account presented as an unavoidable calamity, both lieutenants consequently received honors equivalent to death in combat.
“But here lies the story!”

"For my fellow officers’ sake, I had in fact submitted a false report."

“The truth was thus—listen well.”
As I flew over the open sea then, I realized I had unwittingly drifted far from my wingmen.
“When I looked back in shock—there they were! Those two planes far below, tumbling through the sky!”
“This was never my command.”
Thinking they might have malfunctioned, I gently turned the rudder while keeping watch—yet this bore no resemblance to mechanical failure.
One plane appeared to be doggedly pursuing the other.
When the fleeing craft executed a bold inverted loop, its pursuer matched it with an even more dazzling maneuver until their wings nearly scraped together.
I instantly understood this aerial dance held no trace of playfulness.
Left unchecked, both men would perish.
Though I racked my brains for some clever means to separate them, no stratagem emerged in that critical moment.

When I pressed the telescope to my eye and peered closely, the one baring his teeth in pursuit was Lieutenant Kumauchi. The one being chased was Lieutenant Takehana. His face, bathed directly in the slanting sunlight breaking through the clouds, appeared vividly at the bottom of my lens. He had torn off his flight cap and goggles, vainly waving one hand before his face—his expression like that of a sinner standing before Christ, pleading for a hundred mercies. “It was my fault!” “I’ll discuss anything you want later—just please don’t kill me!” His face as pale as death looked just like that. And still, he fled in an attempt to survive. To Lieutenant Takehana, the full extent of Lieutenant Kumauchi’s terrifying resolve had become clear.

The truth was, there had been such circumstances between the two men.
The two men had originally been comrades-in-arms from K Prefecture and close friends, but about a year before that incident—as I too can attest—a young woman named A appeared in their midst, and from that point onward, they abruptly began to turn against each other.
The young woman known as A had strikingly beautiful eyes and lips, with skin so pale it seemed drained of color—a girl who looked exquisite in crimson obi or haori adorned with crimson patterns.
When she laughed, her slightly parted lips would reveal a glimpse of snow-white incisors that appeared indescribably adorable.
That both men became simultaneously smitten with the young woman called Miss A was entirely natural.
However, once they became aware of each other’s feelings, they completely forgot their over two decades of friendship.
“On the surface, they carried out their duties with an innocent demeanor, but inwardly, they were glaring at each other like snakes and wolves.”
They used underhanded means to sabotage each other.
With their own blood, they washed each other’s bones.

As a result, Miss A had finally inclined toward Lieutenant Takehana; their betrothal had been exchanged, and once these exercises concluded, it had even been decided that their wedding would immediately be held at the Suikōsha naval officers' club.
Alas, Lieutenant Kumauchi—defeated in love—abandoned his conscience to be devoured by demons.
Thus was his horrifying revenge plotted.

"How could I ever let Takehana have that woman?" he seethed.
"And how could I let that bitch who dragged me through hell have her happiness so easily?" With these words grinding through clenched teeth:
"Alright then—watch me drag Takehana down to hell."
What tear-streaked face would that bastard make when he realized my plan?
Ah—seeing that would be my one small pleasure.
"Roar! Scream! Lieutenant Takehana!"

Lieutenant Kumauchi's plan had been splendidly effective.
The swollen visage of Lieutenant Takehana that I glimpsed then—his face contorted with rejection of 'death' and obsession with 'life'—was less pitiful than it was terrifying, like that of a demon.
Even I covered my eyes.
When I finally came to my senses, the two planes had locked together as if biting into each other's fuselages, their torn yellow wings entangled, emitting white smoke as they plummeted toward the sea.
That was finally the end.
"I had come to keenly realize this: one should not engage in love as a jest—no, not even in earnest."
"Even now, when I recall that day, my heart begins to beat with strange pulsations."

Having said that, Captain Kawanami softly wiped the oily sweat that had beaded up like water droplets on his forehead.

Just then, as the clock hands overlapped at 10 PM, the three men wordlessly stood and lined up in front of the measuring apparatus.

3

Part Two: Dr. Hoshimiya’s Story

“Now then, I possess no tales of the grotesque like Captain Kawanami’s.”
“But since retreating after such a declaration would be most unsatisfactory, I shall instead reveal romantic tactics befitting my own character.”

“Earlier, Captain sir spouted that holy maxim—‘One should not love in jest, nor love in earnest’—like some Zen monk or seminary student, but I find it rather questionable.”
“In which case, I’d like to wedge in a particular inquiry I’ve been meaning to make.”
“It concerns that splendid wife of yours, Captain sir.”
“To keep such a magnificent beauty while declaring ‘no to love’ strikes me as positively dreadful.”
“Though ignorant of the details, I can’t imagine that paragon being devoted to you without some extraordinary romance involved—not that you mightn’t take offense at this, mind you—”
“And speaking unreservedly, I believe your conclusion exposes not your true heart, but rather a masked verdict meant to serve some hidden purpose.”
“Where lies your true intent?”
“This makes for a fascinating problem—” I adopted this irritatingly combative tone because, truth be told, I feared my forthcoming clumsy tale might otherwise induce drowsiness.

“So if you ask me, Lieutenant Kumauchi—who threw away his life forcing a double suicide with his love rival after being jilted—was a complete idiot.”
“Lieutenant Takehana—who only got a whiff of the eel before losing it—wasn’t much better than a half-wit.”
“The reason being, in Kumauchi’s case, securing a woman like A would’ve required nothing more than basic tricks and skill—utterly effortless.”
“Though A was engaged to Takehana, since she didn’t actually loathe Kumauchi like some revolting insect deep down, making her willingly break off the marriage would’ve been child’s play.”
“After all—she’s just some naive unmarried girl who can’t tell east from west.”

“They say you can’t seduce another man’s wife, but I have a record of succeeding in two days.”
“As for that wife—let me see—let’s tentatively name her Mrs. B-ko.”
“Her complexion white as milk, with a lower lip as plump and resilient as a charming cherry—though seemingly nearsighted, those round eyes framed by long, dewy lashes that formed beautiful hyperbolic curves... Now that I describe it, there does seem to be something reminiscent of the Miss A from Captain sir’s story, doesn’t there?”
“In any case, that Mrs. B-ko had fiercely whetted my appetite.”
“I even found myself wondering—was it my stomach acting up, or was it that red fruit with its temptingly sweet fragrance? Which was to blame?”
“But true to my usual convictions, I remained thoroughly and scientifically composed.”
“I took no proactive measures until the chance arrived as scripted.”

Before long, the chance arrived unexpectedly and rapidly.
"This was because Mrs.B-ko had spent four or five awkward days with her husband."
The motive had arisen from the lack of a small amount of money.
"By the next day, I had even come to know that her husband would be leaving on a business trip."
"Mrs.B-ko left her suburban home that day to go shopping at a certain department store, but on the way, she was suddenly attacked by a group of street thugs."
"After she had been led into the dimly shaded woods, it was I who leaped out just as an outrage was about to occur."
"You gentlemen might laugh scornfully at such foolishness, but Mrs.B-ko—like any ordinary woman—not only failed to doubt this old-fashioned charade of an assault, shedding tears as she thanked me, but even sent me a strangely engraved ring as a commemorative gift, did she not?"
"At that time, I did not forget to say, 'It would be better if you kept this from your husband.'"
"What dreams Mrs.B-ko—with that void in her heart—might have envisioned in her breast, and how hospitably she welcomed me when I visited as if by chance the day after her husband left on his business trip."
"Women—no matter how much they try to act new, they’re truly old, old things at heart."

Having said this, Dr. Hoshimiya exhaled softly—the cigarette smoke he had inhaled deeply and pleasurably into the depths of his chest—yet maintained a countenance that feigned complete obliviousness to how Captain Kawanami, who had been listening nearby, had suddenly stiffened with a twitching visage.

“And then, there’s this story,” said Dr. Hoshimiya as he began narrating the continuation of his second tale.
“This one was the woman who required the most effort from me—it took exactly six months.”
“Of course during those months, I wasn’t fixated solely on her—while hunting numerous young women on the side, I closed in on her meticulously as if composing a full-length novel.”
That woman was a noble young lady like Kujō Takeko, raised in a proper household.
“Let us call her—C-ko” (as he said this, Dr. Hoshimiya momentarily held his breath) “—yes, C-ko.”
This girl possessed a body bursting with vitality, yet mentally remained nearly insensate and of peerless purity.
The strict education behind her had made her so entirely.
“I invited her two or three times but concluded this approach wouldn’t work.”
“There existed means to simply consume her as she was, but that wouldn’t have let me fully savor her flavor.”
Having realized this, I racked my brains through the night and devised the most scientific method.
“Fortunately securing position as her mathematics tutor, I would invite her to concerts whenever we met for lessons.”
“Next I took her to film screenings.”
The films transitioned from educational to romantic ones, then to those barely escaping prohibition through heavy cuts, advancing finally to uncut preview reels.
She never once furrowed her brows.
This resulted from the pace being thoroughly gradual.
When we tired of films, we attended revues.
“From Takarazuka’s charming revues to Casino Folies and Puppe Dansant, progressing to erotic dances like Kitamura Tomiko’s troupe, then Apache dances.”
“It was precisely then that C-ko insisted on dancing with me.”
“I provisionally restrained her—naturally as part of the tactic.”
“In heightened excitement, she rebelled against my caution with more than twofold defiance to enforce the dancing.”

“After watching that obscene acrobatic dance and returning home, the very next day we would shut ourselves completely in my room and try imitating the previous night’s dance together.”
“Of course, with no experience whatsoever, we couldn’t possibly have danced such an intense dance.”
“We would suddenly lose our grip and be thrown onto the floor, forming bruises, gushing nosebleeds, and with a dislocated arm slung over a shoulder while streaming tears from the pain—yet we continued our bizarre dance.”
“But our bodies remained pure, and C-ko was still a virgin.”
“Deeming the time right, I took her out on rounds of dance halls that had secret rooms.”
“After four or five days had passed, C-ko was the one who challenged me.”
“But I curtly refused.”
“Yet being rejected only planted a storm-like excitement throughout C-ko’s entire body.”
“Everything went exactly according to my plan.”
“The following day, I deeply savored the rich, exquisite wine that was C-ko—a vintage I had spent six months fermenting.”

“In this way, the number of women I’ve tasted exceeds a hundred. I can’t fathom the minds of those who make such a fuss about this—calling it ‘violation of chastity’ or ‘lascivious demonry.’ Don’t the young women of Russia say, ‘With washing, it becomes as clean as if nothing had ever happened’? That must be it. Everyone should just think things through thoroughly and act accordingly. Sure—there have been times when discarded women pointed pistols at me, but it’s nothing. Even if I were shot dead—after becoming utterly intoxicated by such sweet wine—death would hold no pain for me, nor would it feel like punishment. On my desk at home sits a plump elbow pad, but beneath its red and black crepe lies something I’ve stealthily plucked from every woman I’ve been involved with…”

“Hey Dr. Hoshimiya, it’s eleven o’clock!” interjected Dr. Ōashihara from the side at that moment, his voice hoarse and off-key.

4

Part Three: Dr. Ōashihara’s Story

“Well then, I shall begin the third tale of tonight’s vigil.”
Having said this, the military surgeon lit a Three Castles cigarette.

“Though Captain Kawanami’s story and Dr. Hoshimiya’s tale we’ve just heard differ entirely in content, there appears to be a point of connection where they both contain—shall we say—a discourse on love or sexual theory.”
“Therefore, I find it fitting to have my story proceed as if naturally taking up their thread.”
“However, it so happens that right here, there exists a most suitable story for this third installment.”
“I believe I’ll tell that one.”

“The truth is, my arrival here tonight was unusually late compared to my usual punctuality, causing you all inconvenience”—here the military surgeon gave a slight bow—“so I shall explain why I was delayed.”

At seven o'clock tonight, a female patient came to the clinic I run from my home.
Though it might have been due to her beauty, she was a youthful woman who didn’t appear to be over twenty.
“The woman—whom one might even call a girl—wanted me to perform what was in fact an artificial abortion.”
“After all, to perform an artificial abortion, even a practicing physician cannot carelessly proceed without a medically substantial reason.”
“Artificial abortion is legally permitted only in cases such as when the mother has pulmonary tuberculosis or chronic nephritis—where fetal growth or childbirth would threaten her life—or when she carries a malignant genetic disease.”
“If, contrary to these conditions, one performs an artificial abortion when the mother is not in any particular danger, not only the physician but the patient as well must be indicted for the crime of abortion.”

Now, after conducting a thorough diagnosis of the young woman’s entire body, it became clear that deciding whether to perform an artificial abortion would require an extremely difficult judgment.
The reason being that, upon examination, while the woman was fully mature physically, she exhibited slight yet excessive mental exhaustion and faint yet concerning rales in her left lung apex.
If this patient’s physical exhaustion proved a temporary phenomenon that would resolve naturally, and her lung apex catarrh was likely to heal soon—given this being her hard-won first child—it would be permissible to forgo inducing abortion and allow matters to proceed to regular childbirth.
“However, should this exhaustion persist unabated and worsen further, it would be advisable to decisively perform an abortion.”
“When considering this woman’s prognosis, it could swing either way.”
“For me, this was a matter I found impossible not to agonize over.”

“Why don’t we wait one more month?”

I was about to say. However, performing an artificial abortion one month later would mean the fetus had grown slightly too large, raising some concern about the mother’s subsequent condition. Yet I did not voice these thoughts aloud—for I had previously heard a story from this woman’s own lips, told through tears.

This young woman had no man for her fetus to call Papa. That is not to say the man was dead. To put it plainly, she had given herself to a man her parents disapproved of and ultimately become pregnant. The man had cast her aside like a worn-out sandal. She could not become like those Russian women Dr. Hoshimiya had spoken of. When abandoned, she finally awoke to reality. The anguish of having her chastity toyed with carved deep furrows into her small chest. From then on, she shut herself away in her tiny room all day like a changed person, avoiding even her family’s gaze—until she fell into extreme nervous exhaustion and began uttering unspeakable things.

Her family members could not stop cursing the man who had abandoned her.
Among them, the one who harbored the deepest fury was her second brother.
Her second brother had doted on her especially since her childhood.

“When I grow up, maybe I’ll take you as my bride.”
He had been roundly laughed at by parents and aunts for remarks like that.
Seeing his beloved sister weeping day and night under irredeemable disgrace, the second brother—

“Revenge! Revenge! I’ll kill that man and tear him to pieces! Even if they execute me the next day for it—so be it!”

he would stomp through the entire house, roaring.
He had considered one way and another for methods of revenge, but ultimately realized they were all futile.
"The reason being that this man was of the sort who held modernist ideologies like Dr. Hoshimiya here—the type who wouldn’t feel any sense of retribution even if killed—and well, unless I connect the story in this manner, it simply won’t have any flavor.”

The military surgeon took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his sweat.
At that moment, the glass window facing south rattled, and soon large raindrops began striking it with a sharp clatter.

“Well，this has turned into quite a downpour，hasn’t it? —And so，as this second brother racked his brains time and again，he finally conceived a magnificent revenge—one so startling it could make a man leap three feet into the air... That was—”

As Dr. Ōashihara had spoken up to this point, somewhere—

“Knock, knock…”

There was a sound resembling a knock on the door.
The three men suddenly paled and turned in unison toward the entrance door.

“Gah!”

The door began to open quietly inward.

From behind the door appeared the figure of a young woman.
She was beautiful in a scarlet Western-style dress that clung snugly to her body and suited her perfectly.

“Kōko—”

It was Captain Kawanami who called out.
It was unmistakably Captain Kawanami’s wife, Kōko.

“Kōko, why on earth have you come to a place like this at such a late hour?”

“Just wanted to see your face, that’s all.
“That’s all—Ohohohoho!”

Kōko laughed as she surveyed the group unapologetically.
At that moment Dr. Hoshimiya smirked.
Captain Kawanami—as if poised for this—was first to register it.
He dismissed the surgeon’s narrative and rose abruptly from his seat.

“Kōko, there’s something I want to ask you. That ring with the unusual carving—the one I told you I bought in Turkey—I gave it to you, but the other day you said you lost it somewhere, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”
“But that’s already settled, you know,” said Kōko, hunching her round shoulders slightly.

“Alright, as long as we know it’s gone, that’s fine.”
Having said that, the captain whirled around and suddenly grabbed both of Dr. Hoshimiya’s arms with force.
“You bastard!
“You bastard! You’re truly an outrageous wretch.”
“You seduced my wife and then dared to speak so insolently!”
“To you who claims not to fear death—I’ll show you what the agony of being killed feels like!”

The laboratory’s silence and peace crumbled away like an old stone wall with a clatter.

“Heh.
“Have you only just realized now, poor dear Captain?
But if you think you can kill me so easily, you’re making a big mistake.”

“Shut up, you lecher!”

“What the—” Dr. Hoshimiya located the pistol in his right pocket.
Intending to draw it out, he desperately tried to free his right arm from the captain’s grip and wrenched it loose.
With a sickening ripping sound, the academic’s Western-style clothes tore, and his right arm suddenly became free.

(Now it’s mine.)

Having thought this, Dr. Hoshimiya tried to thrust his right fist—still gripping the pistol—forcefully forward.
At that moment,

“Hah!”

The captain flew at him and forcefully twisted both arms.
Even as he was being twisted, the academic suddenly kicked the captain’s flank with all his might—

“Ugh!”

He kicked out, but this time the captain swiftly twisted his body leftward, narrowly avoiding being knocked unconscious—though in exchange, their entangled bodies tumbled head over heels and collapsed onto the floor.
The two men, struggling to spring up, continued their desperate grapple—overturning a desk and shoving document boxes—when suddenly the pistol slipped from Dr. Hoshimiya’s grasp, clanged loudly, and smashed against the far wall.

“Now, you bastard! If you’ve got any last words, go ahead and spit ’em out!”

It was Captain Kawanami who uttered this triumphant cry of victory. Dr. Hoshimiya had his slender neck twisted upward by the captain’s sturdy arms, leaving him nearly dangling in midair. But somehow finding an opening, the academic slammed both hands down into the captain’s groin and frantically seized his vitals.

“Ugh.”

The captain groaned.
His face turned red, then blue, but with a visage of desperate ferocity, he pulled the academic’s body forcefully toward him and squeezed his opponent’s neck as if to shatter the bones.
Amid his dimming consciousness, the academic kept gasping, his mouth gaping wide.
But his tenacious hands still gripped the captain’s vitals and showed no sign of loosening their hold.
If left as they were, both men would soon pass through death’s gate in a conjugate embrace.

“Kōko… Sh-shoot… The pistol… just use it…”

The captain’s voice, broken and faint, pleaded for his wife’s aid.

At that moment, Kōko had somehow already firmly gripped the pistol in her right hand, but upon hearing her husband the captain’s voice, she smiled faintly.

“How delightful!”

Kōko’s supple arm thrust forcefully forward.
The underside of the pistol glinted, and the trigger clicked.

“Bang!”

A single gunshot—the captain and the academic, still locked together from their position by the wall, scraped across the floor with a dragging sound and collapsed sideways.

When the pistol smoke finally thinned, one of the two fallen men unsteadily raised his upper body.
It was not the captain—unexpectedly, it was Dr. Hoshimiya.
When he realized that Kōko had shot and killed her husband Captain Kawanami with a single bullet, he quickly regained his composure, assumed an air of dignity, slowly rose to his feet, and staggered toward Kōko.

“Dr. Hoshimiya.
“Do me the honor of taking a seat here.”

The one who spoke these quiet words was the strange figure of Dr. Ōashihara—who had not uttered a single word nor lifted a finger during this exchange of lives.
When his name was called, even the usually composed Dr. Hoshimiya started and froze in place.

“Dr. Hoshimiya.”
“My third story was nearly left as a severed dragonfly tail.”
“Since you’ve managed to preserve your life—come now—sit here and do me the honor of hearing its conclusion.”

The military surgeon calmly pointed to the two now-empty chairs.
Dr. Hoshimiya staggered unsteadily toward them as though pulled by invisible strings until he finally reached their side and collapsed onto one.
“……”

“Now then, listen carefully, Dr. Hoshimiya.”
“Earlier, I had told you up to the point where the second brother of the girl who requested my surgical services had devised an exquisite method of revenge against the man who seduced his sister.”
“Now, to continue—that woman’s second brother conceived his vengeance as something beyond mere ‘death’ for a man who boasted of fearing nothing.”
“Thus resolved, he arranged for his sister’s artificial abortion that very night.”
“The procedure lasted forty minutes—completed skillfully by these hands.”
“What emerged occupied half a thick test tube—a four-month-old ××××××.”
“Mark this—the fetus settled at that tube’s bottom was their true child, grown from shared blood and flesh between that man and the fair maiden.”
“Yet torn prematurely from its mother’s womb, this specimen here had already lost all vital signs.”
“Today commemorates that ill-fated fetus’s death anniversary—consigned from darkness into deeper darkness.”
“For it, tonight’s account serves as a proper wake tale.”

“If I’ve said this much, Dr. Hoshimiya, you must have understood everything by now. The father of that fetus is you. The mother of that fetus is called Chidori-ko. Now then, there’s something I want you to ask me. Can you answer that?”

“Earlier, you gorged yourself on the turban shells that became my handiwork, didn’t you? In particular—you picked up that ××××× with your chopstick tips and ate it gleefully while declaring ‘This one’s sweet,’ if you recall.”

“Now then—if I were that Chidori-ko’s second brother—no need to look so startled—and if that ×××× you just tasted in your mouth, dropped into your stomach, and have likely absorbed through your gastric walls by now weren’t turban shell entrails but rather that fetus born of your own flesh and blood—tell me—would you still—”

“You tried devouring the ×××××× and found it so tasty,”

“Would you have declared that delightedly, eh, Dr. Hoshimiya—”

“Ugh…”
“I didn’t know!”

It was Dr. Hoshimiya who cried out in a strangled voice.
His face rapidly turned deathly pale; his entire body trembled violently as he clawed at his own throat with both hands.

Ah, it was already too late.
Even if he now realized and was overcome with sickening nausea, the turban shells he had eaten were already more than half-digested, having passed through his stomach walls as tainted blood.
Even if one were to sever the carotid artery and frantically drain that tainted blood, it could never have been fully expelled.
Even if one were to tear apart each lump of his flesh and cast them into the fire, they could never have been fully incinerated.
He felt an all-encompassing urge to vomit from self-loathing and extreme terror,

“A bestial scream!”

With a single bestial scream, he collapsed on the spot.
Accursed cannibal—.

×

Having confirmed this, Dr. Ōashihara smiled faintly for the first time, took Kōko’s hand as she sidled up beside him, and began walking toward the entrance door.

Tonight, having shot and killed her husband Captain Kawanami, why did Kōko not even attempt to reflect on this act?
That was because Captain Kawanami himself had been the villain who instigated that horrific forced double suicide involving Lieutenant Kumauchi from the first story.
For that reason, she—who at the time had gone by the name Ayukawa Kōko—had forever lost Lieutenant Takehana, her fiancé whom she had enshrined in her hall of love.

In other words, tonight’s husband-shooting incident was akin to exacting vengeance for Lieutenant Takehana.
Kōko had come to know this hidden fact only very recently, and it was Dr. Ōashihara—with his piercing insight—who had revealed it to her.
Kōko’s appearance tonight had naturally been one part of the military surgeon’s meticulously crafted program.

Here we are—before praising this military surgeon, you readers must pause to consider.
That being said—no matter how much this was revenge for his beloved sister—could such a method of feeding what she had birthed to a human being truly be permissible from a humanitarian standpoint?
Strange though it may be, as Dr. Ōashihara—who was now familiarly embracing the woman who had been his friend’s wife—made his exit, should he not be considered the most terrifying figure of all, a veritable demon or devil?

Be that as it may, just as the figures of the two vanished into the darkness outside, within the laboratory where two blood-soaked corpses lay sprawled, the pillar clock began tolling midnight—bong, bong—with an ominous resonance.