Pathway to Japanese Literature

The drowsiness brought on by this Indian summer was beyond compare.
Having brought a desk into a square room surrounded by white walls，they were leaning on their elbows absentmindedly.
They had already been doing this for over two hours.
Their bodies seemed to be fermenting damply.

On the white ceiling，a black fly was perched.
It was perched but didn’t move at all.
Was it alive，dead，or mummified?

Even so，there were so many flies.
Oh，there were as many as seven of them.
In the midst of winter，in this clean room—seven flies were hanging from the ceiling—was this acceptable?

The moment they thought that, a faint voice sounded beside their ear.
"What's this?"
The fly was trying to tell them something.

"Wait a moment."
"I'll go get manuscript paper and a pen right now..."

Oh.
What in the world was happening?
Even though I had no memory of bringing them, manuscript paper and a pen were lying right before my eyes.
Strange things do happen—

First Story: Tanganika Fly

“Um, Professor—”

A voice came from behind.

Dr. Kurishima quietly looked away from the microscope.
Taking the opportunity, he took a deep breath and, while settling deeper into his chair, stretched his back.

“Um, Professor—”

“Hmm...”

“Have you put that egg away somewhere?”

“When you say ‘egg’...”

“The other day, you brought back from there that egg—the one as large as an ostrich egg—but…”

“Ah, that one,” Dr. Kurishima said, turning around for the first time.
There stood a young assistant scientist wearing a white lab coat.

“That—I’ve put that away in the constant-temperature room.”

“Ah, the constant-temperature room…”
“Thank you very much.”
“I’m sorry for disturbing you…”

“What will you do?”

“Yes.
“I was thinking of finally beginning work on it this afternoon.”

“Ah, I see. Hmm.”

Dr. Kurishima nodded with great satisfaction.
The young assistant scientist bowed respectfully and left without making a sound.
He was wearing rubber-soled shoes, so...

Thereupon, Dr. Kurishima turned once more toward the microscope.
Then, sliding the microscope slide slightly to the side, he once again pressed one eye against the eyepiece.

“Um, Professor—”

“Hmm...”

He’s come again—what could it be this time? thought Dr. Kurishima as he turned around and looked at his assistant’s face.

“Um, regarding the constant-temperature room’s temperature maintenance—it’s currently at fifty-five degrees Celsius. Might I ask if you activated the switch, Professor?”

“Fifty-five degrees, ne? ……That’s fine. The temperature of the sandy soil in that Tanganika region is just about that.”
“The animal specimens we brought must be kept at that temperature to preserve them properly.”

“Is that so?
“However, since cracking noises are coming from the constant-temperature room, I fear fifty-five degrees may be slightly excessive for that chamber’s intended temperature…”

“Ah, that’s perfectly fine.”
“That’s designed to withstand up to seventy degrees, you see.”

“Ah, I see. Then…”
The assistant gave a quick bow and performed an about-face.

Dr. Kurishima felt that his carefully cultivated mood had been utterly ruined by the assistant.
That said, it wasn’t that he found this particularly unpleasant.
It was simply that, due to this shift in mood, he had just begun to feel somewhat fatigued.

Dr. Kurishima searched the pocket of his white lab coat and took out a Pryer’s pipe.
The pipe still had more than half of its Mickischair remaining.
He struck a match to light it, puffing rapidly in haste, then leaned his back limply against the chair and proceeded to billow out purplish smoke into the air.

When the expedition team had crossed Tanganika... Dr. Kurishima found himself savoring those pleasant scholarly memories once more.

In Tanganika, he had discovered a peculiar egg.
The assistant had earlier likened it to an ostrich egg, but it truly matched that scale.
Its pale yellow shell bore scattered ash-white speckles.
He found himself struggling to identify its origin.
After all, this region was rumored to harbor creatures from the previous century—perhaps this might prove an unexpectedly valuable find.
Even among avian species, its size remained extraordinary.
Thus had he transported it all the way back to his laboratory.
There, alongside other zoological specimens, he'd placed it within the constant-temperature chamber—maintained at Tanganika's sandy soil heat—for a full day's cycle.

Bang, crash!

Crash! Crash! Crash!
Crack!

Dr. Kurishima dropped his pipe onto the floor.
A tremendous, extraordinary sound rang out.
The direction of the sound seemed to be the constant-temperature room.

“Ah, so the constant-temperature room must have exploded from the heat!”

Dr. Kurishima, startled, hurried toward the doorway.
As he reached for the door, it suddenly swung open of its own accord.
On the other side was the young assistant scientist’s ashen face.
Moreover, the shoulder of his white lab coat was badly torn, a crimson stain rapidly spreading across it.

“Wh-what happened?!”

“P-Professor! L-Look at that!”

The assistant’s trembling fingertip pointed to the window facing the main street.

Dr. Kurishima spun around and rushed to the window.
Through the glass, he gazed at the street.

A crowd chattered excitedly below, fingers stabbing upward in unison.
Their focus appeared fixed on the building across the way.

No sooner had a deafening sound—like that of an airplane crashing—resounded than a jet-black mass twice the size of a car suddenly came plummeting down right before their eyes.
Upon closer inspection, it had two basin-like eyeballs that were rolling around.
Wings as large as a tatami mat were quivering violently.
What a monstrous creature!

“Professor! It broke through the wall of the constant-temperature room and flew out!”
“Did you see it?”

“Yes, I saw it. I went to retrieve that egg you brought back and ended up seeing it. But Professor, that egg had split into two and was completely empty inside.”

“What? The egg was empty…” Dr. Kurishima flung his eyes wide open and stared at the monster anew. Then, as if having lost his mind, he shouted, “Look! Look! That’s a fly! There are records of flies in Tanganika reaching two meters in height—that egg was from those flies! It hatched in the constant-temperature room—that’s why it’s been making those intense cracking sounds since earlier. Ah, the Tanganika Fly!”

Dr. Kurishima stood frozen beneath the window in a daze, oblivious to the danger closing in around him.
Ah—what a monstrous horror!
This King Fly would rage uncontrollably until finally meeting its end upon colliding with a 150,000-volt power line.

Second Story: The Far-Left Flies

Around that time, a mysterious disease spread.

Fifty or sixty citizens dropped dead each day like felled leaves.
The capital descended into pandemonium, as if "the Red Death’s Mask"—said to have manifested once during the eighteenth reign—had slipped back into the world wearing new guise.

"Hmm... That makes... sixty-three today."

The Head of Infectious Diseases emerged from the mortuary and muttered to himself while soaking both hands in a fixed peach-colored mercuric chloride handwash basin installed in the hallway.
At that moment, the Head of Bacteriology passed by.

“So? How goes it?
“Is the vaccine ready?”

“Ah…” The Head of Bacteriology halted mid-stride with a bitter smile.
“Hopeless—utterly hopeless! We can’t even get a culture going yet—vaccine production’s out of the question!”

“This is dire.
“Today’s fatalities have already reached sixty-…”

Just as he was about to speak, a plump nurse came running over in a fluster.

“Doctor, please come to Room 29 immediately.
The pulse has suddenly become irregular...”

“Alright. I’ll go right away,” he said before turning back to the Head of Bacteriology. “Today’s a record-breaker. This one makes sixty-four.”

“……”

The two hurried off in opposite directions.

In their place, clattering down the hallway in their *geta*, Inspector Oeyama of the Metropolitan Police Department and Detective Homura walked side by side as they approached.

"So you see, I can’t help but think this is a crime, Inspector."

"I won’t say that line of thinking is bad," he replied. "But isn’t that overthinking it?"

"As I’ve stated repeatedly since earlier, this conviction stems from my own confidence," Homura countered. "After all, try systematically examining the locations where patients have appeared. Whether this is an ordinary infectious disease or not will become clear immediately. If this were an ordinary infectious disease, once cases appeared in one neighborhood like that, they wouldn’t just stop afterward."

"But the pattern of spreading infection zones perfectly demonstrates infectious disease characteristics."

"Of course it's an infectious disease—that's precisely why its abnormality fascinates me."

Their argument ceased abruptly there.
His footsteps slowed.
This occurred exactly as they reached their destination room.
On the black-lacquered sign's surface gleamed white chalk characters: "Pathology Room."

After knocking, the two pushed open the room’s door.

“Ah—”

The voice that called out from the dark room belonged to Medical Examiner Kayama.
With an expression that said he’d been waiting impatiently, he guided the two toward a large examination table.
There were stacked boxes with glass lids.

“As you can see here.”
“I’ve examined them all.”

Inside the glass boxes were numerous white narrow rectangular slips of paper pinned in place. And while most parts were filled with German text, in some blank spaces, small jet-black insects were affixed with gum arabic. Each slip was the same. They were nothing but flies.

“How were the results?”

Detective Homura asked with flushed cheeks.

“To summarize, most of these flies are not houseflies but what we call stable flies.”
“They are the sole fly species possessing the ability to sting humans.”
“Normally found in cattle sheds and horse stables, but we’ve identified slight deviations in these specimens.”
“In other words, these flies didn’t emerge naturally—we can determine they were hatched from cultivated stock.”

“So you’re saying they were hatched by human hands?” Homura asked back.

"That's precisely it," he continued. "The reason I can state this definitively is that these flies lack the bacteria commonly found in ordinary flies. The variety of bacterial strains is remarkably limited. While typical flies carry fourteen or fifteen types, these possess only a single strain. This is most peculiar. We might say they're flies raised in sheltered seclusion."

"Flies raised in sheltered seclusion?" Inspector Oeyama's solemn demeanor shattered as he burst into laughter—"Ah-ha-ha-ha!"

“What exactly is this single type of bacteria?” Homura asked without laughing.

“That—well, they’re all rather unusual strains, you see.”

“Unusual bacteria, you say?”

“Correct.”
“If we were to compare them to anything, they most resemble malaria bacteria.”
“In any case, they’ve never been discovered in Japan before.”

“If we’re talking about what resembles malaria—ah, that’s it!” Homura turned pale.
“You’re saying the pathogen behind this rampant mysterious illness also resembles malaria, aren’t you?”
“At first they thought it was malaria, so they administered malaria treatments expecting recovery any day—but far from being cured, by the time treatment became urgent, the patients had already stopped breathing.”
“Then doesn’t that mean the bacteria carried by those flies caused this mysterious disease?”

The medical examiner remained silent.
Because that answer was not within his domain.

Inspector Oeyama also remained silent.
The facts that had appeared before their eyes aligned all too well with what Homura had predicted.

“Come now, Mr. Oeyama,” Homura urged the inspector.
“From now on, we will search the area where those flies were collected.”
“If we make an even bolder assumption—the criminal raised a large number of flies, made each one carry pathogenic bacteria, and transmitted them to the citizens.”
“The criminal must undoubtedly be residing near the geometric center of the area where that mysterious disease spread.”
“Let’s go.”
“We’ll go and capture that indirect murderer.”

The two men rushed out of the pathology research room and immediately hailed a car.
The so-called geometric center of the mysterious disease outbreak area was effortlessly pinpointed by Homura.

It was not long after that the two men captured a man named Torataro the chindonya performer—a fellow who always strutted around in arm guards and gaiters, putting on airs like Ōishi Yoshio.
According to Torataro’s eventual confession, he was indeed the true culprit.
It was revealed that he, a medical graduate who remained among the far-left members, had continued these horrific crimes by loading flies with bacteria.
For him, twisted as he was, tormenting the citizens had been an unparalleled delight.
The poisonous flies he had painstakingly raised were discovered swarming inside the drum he carried to sound the chindonya rhythm.
When he struck the drum’s skin with the mallet held in his right hand—*boom*—flies emerged one by one from a small hole rigged atop the drum’s body.

Needless to say, the mysterious disease ceased to spread due to his arrest.

Third Story: The Motionless Fly

Megeino Senkichi, an enthusiast of peculiar tastes, was one of the members of a secret film appreciation society.

Generally speaking, once such secret films captured a standard set of gestures, they became utterly monotonous thereafter, failing to deliver even a shred of fresh amusement.
Thereupon, the meeting organizer, fearing a decline in membership, devised a plan.
The organizer listened to various requests from members and, adhering to them, endeavored to preserve the films' novel appeal.
It was a resounding success.
It goes without saying how gathering an abundance of genius intellects from fellow enthusiasts, rather than relying on what emerged from the meeting organizer’s narrow mind, resulted in creating one marvelous film after another.
Megeino Senkichi was a figure who had to be recognized as the foremost contributor in that field.

The society made a great profit.
The society highly valued his contributions, and finally spent 1,500 yen to construct a new residence and presented it to him.

"Well, well.
That my labor contributions in *that* field could turn into such a bright new mansion... the world truly is an interesting place."

He muttered to himself with apparent satisfaction and stretched out at length on the bed he had brought into the Western-style room surrounded by white walls.
The ceiling was pure white.
There was something truly pleasant about newness itself.
A fly was perched.
Even that somehow seemed to lend a bright Home Sweet Home atmosphere.
That fly was probably stretching out comfortably, sleeping upside down in this beautiful room.

He deeply savored the bright and serene life, immersing himself in happiness.
He felt his previous perverse state of mind gradually slipping away.
He even began considering avoiding those nighttime film society screenings as much as possible.
The bright new life steadily pulled his heart back to the right path.

Yet at the same time，he found himself feeling an inexplicable sense of vulnerability.
It might have been what they call loneliness.
Despite having a body with blood coursing through it，I began to feel as though I possessed a body made of ore.
What is missing?
What am I lonely for?

“That’s it—I’ll take a wife!”

He was almost impressed that he hadn’t noticed until now the foremost thing missing from this Sweet Home.

Megeino Senkichi promptly communicated his decision to the meeting organizer.

“Ah, so it’s a bride you want...”

The meeting organizer gave an emphatic nod.

“I’ve got a good one.”
“She’s a daughter of my distant relative, though.”
“Plump, fair-skinned—quite the pretty one, I tell you.”

“Oh! Will you give that to me?”

“My, you’d have me give her to you? You’ll be receiving her, you see. Hohoho.”

The meeting organizer laughed with an exaggerated look of surprise—Hohoho.

And so, he soon added yet another splendid new thing to his new residence.
That this was none other than his fresh new wife went without saying.

As anyone who has started a new household would know, those three months passed like a dream.
Instead of showing any signs of bearing children, his wife grew increasingly beautiful.
Before long, a year passed.

In that time, he had experienced his wife as a woman from every conceivable angle.
What followed was the suffocating weariness long foretold.
Naturally, his past mental overexertion had drastically hastened this fatigue phase’s arrival.
He thirsted purely for stimulation.
Was there nothing that could rouse him?
Even after his wife fell asleep on the bed, he stayed alone—leaning back in his armchair—lost in thought.
When he looked up at the white ceiling, a single black fly sat frozen there like painted detail.
As he stared vacantly at it, something unexpected caught his notice.

"That fly had been perched there before too, hadn't it?"
It remained there still now.
Was that the same fly as before?
Or a different one?
If indeed the same—was it living or dead?"

He suddenly found himself thinking such thoughts.
But that alone was insufficient to lead him into excitement.

“Something—whatever can excite me—come forth!”

He continued obstinately shouting in his mind.

"That's it.
That's the only way.
An old trick, but I haven't seen it in a while.
If I watch that a bit more, maybe I'll get some stimulation after all."

He remembered the secret film screenings of old.

(It’s been three months…)

With that thought, he bought a ticket from a broker and stealthily sneaked into a gathering where a secret film screening was being held.
This was because he wanted to avoid even superficially meeting the organizer and quietly take home the excitement all by himself.

The film discarded all shame and began dancing eerily across the screen.
The unpleasant voices of satisfaction that the many members naturally emitted were terribly grating to the ears.
However, he failed to notice that something akin to the shock of having his heart gripped lay in wait for him before long.
Ah, the sudden terror.
Where had this been filmed from? His playful moments with his wife had become a feature-length film and were being projected on the screen!

“Gah!—”

With that single cry, he froze in shock.

(Why?
Why?)

Before he could feel indignation, he was first shocked, ashamed, and terrified, stumbling out of the venue as if rolling away.
And returned to his room and threw himself onto the armchair.
And finally managed to regain a bit of composure.

(Why?
That bizarre film had been shot from above as if looking down on their playful games.
Where on earth could it have been filmed?
Even if they filmed it—there’s nowhere they could have filmed from…)

With a quizzical look, he glanced upward.
There, the pristine white-walled ceiling still stood clearly.
No windows appeared to be open anywhere.
The only thing that concerned him—if anything did—was a single large black fly that had remained perched alone in the same spot as before.

"It has to be that fly."
"I don't know why it's that fly, but there's no other suspicious element besides that one!"

Having shouted this, he defied all reason and brought a ladder.
Then, climbing it with an unsteady posture, he reached his hand toward the ceiling.
The fly was effortlessly caught between his fingertips in an instant.
However, its texture felt rough and dry, unlike that of a living fly.

"Oh.—"

He rolled the fly onto his palm and scrutinized it closely.
Ah, what a revelation this was.
It was not a real fly.
It was an artificial fly crafted from thin black gauze.
Because it had been clinging to the ceiling, from below it could only appear as a genuine fly.
But who would ever think to question whether a lone fly adhering to the ceiling was authentic or counterfeit?

(Who—and to what end—had positioned such a counterfeit fly upon the ceiling?!)

He looked up at the ceiling again.

“Oh—there’s still something strange here!”

When he looked closely, it was a small hole open in the exact same spot where the fly had been perched.
Why is there a hole here?!

At that moment, he jolted to realization.

“Damn it!”

With that cry, he violently flung open the closet doors.
And he slipped into the ceiling space.
There, he was able to solve the perplexing mystery.
Inside that hole was concealed an ingeniously crafted movie camera.
The life of Megeino Senkichi and his new wife had been completely filmed through that hole and was being projected at the secret film society he had joined.
The fact that the organizer had given him the house was none other than for the purpose of filming that movie.
For within the organizer's knowledge, there was no one as much of an enthusiast as he was.
The organizer had known exactly what kind of film could be made to delight the members if he would seriously perform.
Of course, she had already earned nearly ten times the construction cost of the new house through that film.

What of the fly?
The fly was merely a shield to hide the small hole.
The fly’s body, made of thin black gauze, was sufficiently transparent, so during filming, it did not significantly impair the lens’s capabilities.

Fourth Story: Cosmic Rays

It had not been long since cosmic rays—those terrifying radioactive beams—were discovered when humans proved themselves fearsome creatures by succeeding in creating artificial ones.
Even X-rays struggle to penetrate a single millimeter of lead plating while artificial cosmic rays pierce thirty centimeters with ease.
Thus iron doors and thick concrete walls became trivial obstacles.
The human body fared no better than paper before them.

Cosmic rays—of unknowable origin—have ceaselessly pierced through human bodies since time immemorial with relentless thrusts that predate our awareness.
Some drive straight through hearts.
Others penetrate ovaries or graze sperm heads.
Even as I speak these words throughout our laboratory experiments, countless rays stitch through our bodies—pierce after unrelenting pierce.

Is it truly safe for one’s body to be stitched through so thoroughly like this?
It cannot be said to be safe. For instance—what if just as a sperm was about to unite with an egg—they were suddenly pierced through by tens of thousands of cosmic rays?
Might the face that should have rounded like a tray not instead have been distorted into one as long as a horse’s?

I had recently been engrossed in experiments with artificial cosmic rays yet found myself unable to shake these anxieties.
Since artificial ones had been created，the number of cosmic rays flowing had increased rapidly．
In particular，within our laboratory，cosmic rays drifted like mist．
I imagined they had reached levels hundreds or thousands of times greater than what could be detected on the streets．
Even as I continued my experiments，I sometimes felt as if water had been poured over my back at the thought that some dreadful anomaly might appear in this room．
Perhaps due to such occurrences repeating since that morning，my chest felt unbearably queasy．

Readers might think that I—a scientist—am being needlessly assailed by panic and terror without taking any countermeasures, but I too am a scientist. It was not mere foolish panic that gripped me. Look inside this glass jar here. Do you know what it contains? Flies.

When first placed in this jar, there were two flies. Kept in a special apparatus, they gradually produced offspring until their numbers reached twenty-four or twenty-five. Day after day, I meticulously examined this swarm of flies. Yet my routine always ended in both disappointment and relief—because the flies had shown no abnormalities whatsoever...

But today of all days, I was met with the long-awaited shudder. It was because I had discovered a single peculiar young fly within this jar. What a terrifying form that young fly must have had! At first, I hadn’t noticed it, but when I found it crawling up toward the top of the jar after growing slightly stronger, there it was—a single body with two heads! In other words, it was a two-headed fly. Has such a bizarre fly ever come before our eyes? No, no—I had never seen such a dubious creature before. Probably, no matter which country's specimen room one visits, a two-headed fly would not be found. Especially with a jar containing flies placed right before my eyes, the fact that one could discover such a suspiciously malformed young fly within it could not occur without some markedly extraordinary cause.—Attributing that cause to the cosmic rays in our laboratory seems an entirely natural conclusion. Naturally, the reader would also concur with this conclusion…

*

Now then—the preceding text was abruptly cut off, for which there is no excuse.
The truth was, my chest suddenly grew queasy, and I felt the urge to vomit.
And I was even struck by mild cerebral anemia.
On everyone’s advice, I had left the room and was lying on a bed in another room.
About three hours had passed since then.
Just as I was thinking of getting up, having finally started to feel a bit better, the doctor whom my friend had summoned came to examine me there.

I now intend to relate the results of that examination—but whether the readers will believe me or not.
I doubt the readers will believe me.
But how can I not speak of it?

I had gotten up and was holding the jar containing flies in my hands, examining it. Three or four hours had passed since then, and the number of two-headed flies had suddenly increased to five. Abnormalities were occurring one after another indeed. And biologically speaking, what a fearsome rate of reproduction this was. What grotesque newborns these were!

Had I been a biologist, I would have had to notice a matter of great significance immediately when the flies began laying eggs. Consequently, I should have immediately realized the cause of my recent ill feelings as well; yet whether fortunately or unfortunately, I lacked the knowledge to distinguish male from female flies.

The truth was—I, Kamiya Hisao, Doctor of Science—had been found through that day's medical examination to be bizarrely pregnant.
For a man to become pregnant—such a thing, no one would ever truly believe it, yet this remained an indisputable fact.
What an abominable, terrifying thing this was!
To be male and yet pregnant—I must have been the first.
Why had I become pregnant?
The answer was simple.
—the cosmic rays drifting through this laboratory had altered my physiological state, bringing the phenomenon of pregnancy upon a male.

If I had been a biologist, I should have noticed the anomaly when the flies in this jar were laying eggs.
The reason being that the flies laying those eggs were all without exception male rather than female.
And from those males emerged those malformed young flies.

Ah, will I truly give birth to an infant with all five limbs intact?
Or perhaps...

Fifth Story: Robot Fly

In the Red Army’s camp, upon returning from headquarters, General Ivanovich suddenly ordered his staff to assemble in the command hall.

“I have received grave intelligence,” declared General Ivanovich, his ashen face carved with deep furrows of distress as he surveyed the assembled staff.
“It appears a fearsome number of new weapons have been distributed to the White Army."
"The exact nature of these new weapons remains unclear, but among them, one that has been ascertained pertains to lethal sound waves."
"A sound inaudible to the ear—they say that sound can sever human life in an instant."
"In any case, all of you must exercise extreme caution regarding the infiltration of these new weapons."
“And victory goes to whoever finds even a single unit first.”
“A single second earlier in discovery could save a thousand soldiers.”
“A single second later in discovery, and a thousand soldiers will be lost.”
“Each of you must pay utmost attention and discover the infiltration of new weapons.”

The assembled staff officers involuntarily gasped, their complexions paling.
Each of them rolled their eyes wide and scanned the room.
They wondered if an unfamiliar new weapon had been slipped into the space without their notice...

“Wait—there’s something strange here!”

One of the staff officers, Lieutenant Maleuski, suddenly shouted.

“Wh-what did you say?”

The staff officers looked toward the lieutenant, clattering their boots against the floor. He discovered a jet-black square box with a handle on a table in the corner of the room.

“Th-this is it! What’s suspicious is—”

“What’s that box?”

“Couldn’t there be a bomb planted here?”

“No—this is a shortwave machine! Couldn’t everything we’re saying be transmitted straight to enemy headquarters through this thing?”

“Or couldn’t there be a mechanism here that emits lethal sound waves?”

The group shouted in unison and formed a tight circle around the square black box.

“Ha ha ha!” An unrestrained burst of laughter resounded from behind the crowd.
It was the voice of Staff Officer Fyodor.

“Ha ha ha! That’s just a lunch delivery box from the takeout place.
Probably contains my dishes from lunch.”

“What do you mean? An empty lunch box?”

“Why would that be here?”

“No—the delivery boy must’ve come earlier and forgotten to take it back,” Staff Officer Fyodor said.

“It’s strange they’d leave it behind—check inside.”

“Hurry up! Hurry up!”

“Alright,” Staff Officer Fyodor stepped forward, “I’ll open it then.”

The faces of the entire group stiffened in an instant.
General Ivanovich planted his great sword and swung around, striving to maintain his dignity in this moment.

“Alright, open it!”

“I’m opening it!”

Fyodor placed his hands on the black box’s lid and began to carefully remove it without making a sound.
Their hearts pounded violently and seemed about to stop.

“……?”

The lid snapped open.

“What the…”

When they looked inside the box, there were only two or three white dishes stacked together. On the plates lay scattered remnants of pork fat, with two flies perched motionless.

“Ugh… It’s absolutely filthy.”

“I wish I hadn’t looked.”
“Because they said it was some new weapon, I ended up looking.”

The group, with looks of disappointment, showed signs of relief that it was, well, all right.

At that moment, the entrance door opened, and a boy stomped in.

“You there! Who the hell are you?”

“Whose permission did you get to come in here?”

The boy, pressed by the officers, could only dart his eyes around wildly and found himself utterly unable to offer any reply.

“Hey, let him go already,” Staff Officer Fyodor called out. “However fearsome the White Army’s new weapons might be, becoming overly flustered does us no good...”

“What?!”

“That’s the lunch delivery boy.”

“Even if he is just a lunch delivery boy…”

“Hey kid, get out of here before someone threatens you with a Browning.”

Whether the boy had fully grasped Fyodor’s words or not, he nodded, took the black box, lowered it heavily in his hands, and bolted out of the room.

“Oh... So he really was just a lunch delivery boy?”

“But a White Army spy could have infiltrated disguised as that delivery boy,” Lieutenant Maleuski cautioned sharply.

“We mustn’t let our guard down.
But if we act cowardly, we’ll lose the war.”

Having delivered his clever remark as he observed the squads, General Ivanovich finally settled into his large chair.

“I don’t consider vigilance to be cowardice,” Lieutenant Maleuski persisted.
“If anything seems suspicious, we must investigate it thoroughly.
For instance…”

“What do you mean, ‘for example’?” Fyodor glared resentfully at the lieutenant.

“For example—ah, look there, please.
“A fly is sitting on the wall.
“Isn’t it our duty to at least suspect whether there’s anything suspicious about it?”

“A fly is sitting on the wall, you say?”
“Tsk, that’s… that’s just one fly that escaped from the lunch box the delivery boy brought earlier, isn’t it?”
“It’s not suspicious at all.”

“That alone doesn’t prove it isn’t suspicious,” Lieutenant Maleuski countered. “You’ve merely established the possibility of escape from that black box. Capture the fly and examine its six legs and single proboscis under a microscope for foreign substances. If any material adheres to them, conduct a chemical analysis.” His finger tapped the table diagrammatically. “Should the results match pork residue from that container—good. But if they differ? Or show nothing at all?” He leaned forward, voice intensifying. “Then we prove this fly never inhabited a lunch delivery box. Which raises the essential question—” The lieutenant’s gaze swept across the assembled officers before settling on Fyodor. “—precisely what origin would compel such forensic scrutiny? Could this be...” His pause held theatrical weight. “...a new breed of weapon?”

“Ah hah hah hah!” Staff Officer Fyodor doubled over laughing. “I’ve understood your theory perfectly. Such theories have long been given a very simple name.” “They call it skepticism, you see.”

“No, Staff Officer, I think that’s a crude way of thinking. Isn’t it extremely strange that a fly is sitting in this room? This is the Corps Commander’s room. Moreover, it’s autumn. The presence of flies is a rare phenomenon in our country.”

“If it came from the lunch delivery boy, there should be nothing suspicious about it…”

“New weapons in particular ought to combine capabilities the enemy could never anticipate with truly grotesque appearances.”
“Suppose there existed a new weapon shaped like a fly…”
“And suppose that delivery boy were actually a White Army spy…”

“You’re neurasthenic!”

“The Staff Officer’s perceptions are too sluggish!”

“No—you’re the one who—”

“Imbecile Staff Officer!”

“Enough!”
the Corps Commander bellowed.

“Ha!” The two snapped to attention.

“Enough! This debate is useless. Instead of wasting time talking, why don’t you grab that fly and examine it?!”

“Ha!”

The two exchanged glances.
They wondered who should go examine the fly.
At that moment, both Fyodor and the lieutenant abruptly changed color and clutched their chests.
General Ivanovich also staggered unsteadily and clutched his heart with his right hand.
But that wasn’t all.
The staff officers, signalmen, and messengers in the headquarters hall all clutched their chests.
And in the next instant, just as the books that had been standing upright began to thud down one after another, everyone collapsed onto the floor in succession.
Before long, this great hall was left utterly devoid of life, as though the world had ended—not a single soul remained.
It was a truly sudden and inexplicable manner of death.

There was only one thing that remained active.
That was a single fly that had been perched on the wall.
One small wing of that fly was, for some reason, completely invisible to the eye.
It was not that the wing was missing, but because the wing was vibrating at an extremely rapid speed.
From the peculiar vibration of its wing, lethal sound waves were being dispersed throughout the room.
The White Army’s new weapon—the lethal sound waves—were indeed being emitted from this fly.

The fly looked ready to die yet remained remarkably lively.
It was strange that the humans had died while the fly remained alive, but had one taken it in hand and examined it closely with the naked eye—without even needing a microscope—they would have discovered that this was no ordinary fly, but a Robot Fly.

This elaborate Robot Fly was something the lunch delivery boy had brought and attached to the wall.
While no one paid particular attention to the perched fly, the spy disguised as that delivery boy fled far away.
Around that time, a single radio wave transmitted from the White Army's camp made the wings of that Robot Fly immediately begin vibrating.
Horrifying lethal sound waves emitted from those wings massacred everyone in the room.
As the Corps Commander had said, had they taken and examined the fly sooner, such a tragic outcome would not have occurred.

The Robot Fly went on to achieve one great feat after another.

Sixth Story: Flies on a Rainy Day

(It had been seven days since his wife disappeared.)

He kept his listless eyes fixed on the wall, waiting for something that should not be awaited.
His hunger had long since passed the point of being mere hunger.
His stomach must have shriveled to the size of a pickled plum.

Searching for his wife was not something he could accomplish.

Outside stretched an endless jungle, jungle without cease.
As for humans, only he and his wife lived there.
It was a dilapidated house in this jungle—reached after being starved out, oppressed, and twisted beyond repair.
He had been staying there until today, regarding it as a house without owners.

He had no energy left to search for his missing wife.
She hadn't been that significant a wife to begin with.
In the end, perhaps being alone was preferable.
Yet happiness itself seemed such a peculiar notion.
It felt like glimpsing a mirage while starving—he thought such visions brought no sustenance.

The faint sunlight filtering through gradually dissipated as if being siphoned away.
Sporadic raindrops began pattering down.
The jungle rain roared with dissonance.
Leaves crackled like brittle parchment.

A gust of wind swept forth from beneath the stool—constructed by cutting a log into rounds and nailing planks atop them.
There was a large window open in the floor.
The needle-like rain that suddenly began pouring down was driven sideways by the wind, clattering sharply against the window frame.
It seemed as though the jungle might slowly ooze out, taking this hut along with it.

Let them flow out.
He thought everything should be left to divine will.

After pouring for a while, the rain soon rapidly lost its force.
And gradually, the surroundings regained their brightness.
The wind too had gone somewhere.

Before long, the pale sunlight came filtering through softly.
He still had not moved a muscle and was staring at the torn wall.
When the rain let up, he felt as though his wife would come running into the hut from somewhere, shrieking in her shrill voice.
But that expectation crumbled away noisily, just as it always did.
No matter how much time passed, the shrill voice never came.

In his eyes as he stared at the wall, something like a new vigor appeared to rise.
On the wall, for some reason, many flies were perched.
He counted them one by one—one, two, three—up to ten, but after that grew weary.
There were still more than ten buzzing about.

(Why are there so many flies?)

He finally felt as though he had latched onto a manageable problem.
He didn’t particularly need to solve it.
As long as he pleased, like a piece of candy placed on his tongue, he could roll it this way and that.
Well, why were so many flies perching here?

(Hmm, that’s right…)

That's right.
It didn't seem like a single fly had been perched on the wall until just moments earlier.
The sudden multiplication of flies across the wall had happened following that recent torrential rain.

(That's it.
The rain had fallen, and so the flies multiplied.
Why had they multiplied?)

The window didn’t have a single glass pane installed.
There was a door made of planks, but it hadn’t been closed.
(There was no doubt—those flies had flown in through this window.)
However, even considering their entry, for such an enormous swarm to come pushing through was something that had never occurred in the year since he had begun living in this hut.

(Why had this enormous swarm of flies come flying in only today?)
(Where had this enormous swarm of flies come from?)

His eyes gradually darkened with a sinister hue.

Where had this enormous swarm of flies come from?!

"Ahh...!"

he shouted.

"For these flies to come, there must be some object outside this house where a large number of flies have gathered."
"The rain fell—and then the flies were struck, rushing to fly in through this window."
"Yes, yes—that solves the mystery!"

He stared with blazing eyes.

(But what on earth was that object swarming with so many flies?)

He suddenly grew restless and shuddered violently.
His eyes flew open, and both hands trembling violently clutched at his own head.

“Ah! — Ah! That’s it!”
“That’s it!”

He suddenly stood up from the stool.
He stood rigid as a driven nail.
A violent spasm crawled up his cheek.

"My wife.
"It's my wife's corpse!"
His voice was harsh and withered.
"My wife’s corpse is buried right under that window there.
"It’s rotting away, rapidly decaying, swarming with flies all over it... The swarm there, battered by the rain, came fleeing through the window.
"Ah! The flies that fed on my wife’s corpse—they’re perched there on the wall!"

He stepped back and thudded his back against the wall.

……And who in the world had killed his wife, and who had buried her there?

He imagined his wife’s corpse—utterly decomposed beneath the soil.
He thought that in the recent downpour, half of it might have been washed out and exposed on the earth.

“Who killed her?”
“Who killed my wife in this desolate wilderness?!”

At that moment, the entrance door rapped repeatedly.
Someone was knocking.

“Ah—”

He spun around and shrank into the corner of the room.
as if spiderlings scattered into hiding.

Knock, knock, knock.

Once again, an eerie knocking sound could be heard.

He lay as if dead and stifled his breath.

At that moment, outside the door, there was a metallic clank.
It was the sound of a lock being released.
Suddenly, the heavy door swung outward.
Outside stood a hulking man in a high-collared uniform and rigid military cap, shoulder-to-shoulder with another in a suit who looked like a magazine reporter.

"This is the man," said the uniformed guard, pointing toward him in the room.
"A patient who believes he murdered his wife and buried her corpse outside the window."
"They say he used to be a detective novelist—when flies enter through the window, he starts connecting events like he's plotting a story."
"And when he finally convinces himself he's a sleepwalker who killed his wife, it all comes together neatly."
"Then he leaps about wildly, like he's just finished drafting a novel's plot."
"...Being a violent psychiatric case, this room has—"

Seventh Story: Devoured by Flies

On the desk, atop a small evaporation dish, a parent fly and its offspring were perched.
They lay as if dead, motionless.
These two parent and offspring flies had clung fast to the small amount of honey I had dripped for them and would not leave.

Thereupon, I took out two small bottles from the cupboard.
One had a red label affixed to it, and the other had a blue label affixed.
Inside these bottles was an extremely valuable secret medicine.
The red-labeled one contained Growth Serum, while the blue-labeled one contained Shrinking Serum.
This was a powerful new drug I had obtained from a certain place.
I planned to use this secret drug to conduct a small experiment.

I removed the stopper from the red-labeled bottle and softly inserted the tip of the yangzi.
After a while, when I pulled it out, a red liquid had formed into a bead-like shape on the tip of the yangzi.
That was a drop of the Growth Serum.

I moved the tip of my wife’s toothpick toward the evaporation dish. And onto the honey where the parent fly clung, I plopped a drop of Growth Serum. And then, holding my breath, I watched the parent fly.

With a violent buzz, the fly shook its wings.

_Hmm…_

And I sighed. The fly was incessantly rippling the area around its abdomen. When I suddenly shifted my gaze to the offspring fly beside it, I felt as though my chest had been seized.

"Ah! It's growing!"

Compared to the offspring fly's body, the parent fly had already grown seven or eight times larger. And still it appeared to keep swelling incessantly.

"Oh ho," I murmured. "It's growing! What a remarkable effect this serum has!"

Had the serum finally begun taking effect on the fly? Before my eyes, it grew larger and larger. Thirty seconds later, it reached the size of a pocket watch. Then after another thirty seconds, it swelled to resemble a turtle-shaped scrub brush. I felt a faint uneasiness creep over me.

Even so, the fly's growth did not cease.
The fly, which had been the size of a turtle-shaped scrubbing brush, grew to the size of a straw sandal, and soon reached the dimensions of a rugby ball.
Its bulb-sized eyes glared fiercely, and the terrifying flapping sound struck my cheek hard.
Even so, the fly continued to grow rapidly.
By now, the fly’s ongoing growth became clearly visible to the eye.
I became completely terrified.

The fly’s body would soon reach the size of an eagle—this seemed imminent.

(This was no time for delay.
I must kill it quickly before it's too late!)

Thinking I needed some suitable weapon, I frantically looked around me, but not a single bat lay there. There was the option of going to a friend’s place to borrow a shotgun, but it was already too late. If I kept fumbling around like this, this fly would grow as large as an elephant.

In the throes of both panic and regret, I suddenly hit upon a strategy. Though somewhat reckless, there was no more time for hesitation.—Having resolved myself in that instant, I grabbed the red-labeled bottle containing Growth Serum, pulled out the stopper, and gulped down the serum in one breath.

Instantly I felt warmth inside my body like ignited alcohol.
No sooner had this thought come than my body began swelling unevenly.
It started expanding like an amusing soap bubble.

When I looked at that parent fly, it indeed began appearing smaller than before.
This must have been because my body had grown larger.
Compared to the room's furnishings, the fly now seemed about the size of a Tosa dog.
Having consumed copious Growth Serum, I kept steadily enlarging.
Soon enough, I could nearly grasp that parent fly between both hands.

"Alright, this bastard—"

I instantly leaped at the parent fly and clamped its throat.
The fly rolled its bulbous eyes wildly, oozed glutinous mucus from its proboscis, until at last its breath gave out.
Then with a heavy thud it rolled onto its back, six legs that had been spasming airward now frozen in a pantograph's angular pose.
I heaved a shuddering sigh.

That was when it happened.
I bumped my head with a light thud.
When I looked, my head had hit the ceiling.
After all, I was rapidly growing larger, which had led to this situation.
I had originally been sitting but had risen to a half-crouch when killing the fly.
If I remained like this, I risked breaking through the ceiling, so I startled and lowered my head, plopping back down heavily.

"Ah, that was close."

But I immediately realized that the real danger lay ahead.
My body was swelling rapidly.
If this continued, it would undoubtedly fill the entire room.
I thought to go outside, but at that moment I discovered something terrifying.

“Oh no, this is terrible!”

I involuntarily shouted.
Now that my body had grown this large, I could no longer exit through either the windows or the doorways with doors.
If I couldn’t escape from the room, what on earth should I do now?

Probably, unless my body knocked down the walls and destroyed this house, I wouldn’t be able to get outside. But I had constructed this room to be especially sturdy. My body might be the one to give out. What would happen when the terrifying force growing inside me pressed against these sturdy walls and pillars? My body would become like Ryogoku fireworks and explode into a crimson mist of blood. Then my shoulders began creaking.

I was struck by two waves of overwhelming panic.

“This is bad!”

Now that it had come to this, there wasn’t a moment to spare.
I prayed to God, gritted my throbbing jaw, and scanned my surroundings.
At that instant—whether by divine mercy—my eyes fell upon a single medicine bottle.
It held shrinking serum marked with a blue label.

"That's it! If I drink that, my body will shrink!"

I wet my fingertip with saliva and pressed it against the blue-labeled bottle. Then, using my nail tip and trying various methods, I finally worked out the stopper.

"There! Got it!"

I let that utterly unmanageable serum drip into my mouth. It was an intensely bitter concoction.

I felt a cool breeze sweep over my body, then began to feel as though I were descending in an elevator.
As this happened, my body grew cold and began trembling violently.
But, ah, my body was steadily shrinking.
While sitting with my head resting on top of the dresser, it had now become level with the dresser.

I continued shrinking more and more.
Even when I stood up, my head remained below the lintel.
Even when I sat down on a chair, the way my hips settled felt just right.
I felt I had now returned to my original state.

But there was more.
Another alarming development occurred.
My body had returned to its original state yet was still rapidly shrinking.
While sitting in the chair，the soles of my feet had unknowingly come away from the carpet.
When I tried to get down，I became terrified as if about to leap from a window.
I was now the size of a doll.

If it had stopped there, it would have been manageable, but my body continued to shrink smaller and smaller.
I tripped over a caramel box and scraped my shin.
This was beyond absurd.
Before long, I discovered something strange.
It was a monster as large as a pig, staring fixedly at me and glaring as though about to pounce at any moment.

“What in the world is that?!”

I tilted my head.
I had never once imagined such an animal would be in this room.

However, upon closer inspection, the monster had large wings.
It had mirror-like eyes.
It had limbs like iron girders, with sharp hairs like soldiers' swords growing all over them.
It was then that I finally realized the true nature of that monster.

“Ah, this thing is the spawn of the fly I killed earlier!”

For a fly larva, what a colossal beast—if you could call it that—it had become!

That terrifying fly spawn crawled steadily toward me.
Its eyeballs whirred like searchlights.
An eerie, earthquake-like rumble began emanating from its wings.
The lotus pond-like proboscis twisted grotesquely as foul-smelling ooze dripped thickly.

"Aghhh!"

From above my head, that nauseating lotus-pond maw came crashing down inverted.
My flank was pierced through with a wet stab by the bayonet-like claw of the fly.

“Aghhh!—”

At that point, I could no longer comprehend anything.
All I knew was that I had been devoured by that fly spawn.
Miraculously, it remained frozen clearly in my memory, forever and ever.