Pathway to Japanese Literature

I Dr. Akazawa’s private brain hospital stood atop a low red clay hill near M City’s outskirts, with a dense grove of mixed trees at its back as it overlooked the road leading to the crematorium—but this old-fashioned single-story structure seemed less like a building and more like some enormous spider hunched close to the ground.

Truly, they say misfortune comes in waves—and long before this unspeakably cruel tragedy occurred, a sinister air had already been steadily intensifying within the decaying plank fences of Akazawa Brain Hospital, rising like invisible miasma, while the entire household followed a path of ruin as single-mindedly as an insect-riddled main pillar collapsing under its own rot. According to Dr. Akazawa’s firmly held theory, the nursing of psychiatric patients presented inherently formidable challenges—for many patients would frequently commit violent acts like assault, escape attempts, or arson over trivial motives or none at all, while others might attempt unmotivated suicide or refuse food and medication due to petty emotional misunderstandings, thereby posing grave dangers not only to themselves but also to their caretakers and society at large. Therefore, he argued, such individuals absolutely required confinement within properly organized hospitals to isolate them from social freedom while providing thorough supervision and mental repose. Yet when considered from another angle, he conceded that since most psychiatric patients—unlike ordinary ill or injured persons—lacked awareness of their own condition, remaining placidly unaware of impending dangers despite being incapable of self-protection, their care demanded extraordinary attentiveness and compassion. In this regard, he maintained that home nursing—where a small number of patients could be tended within attentive domestic environments rather than large institutional settings—often yielded superior outcomes, particularly as the fundamental principle of caregiving necessitated having one dedicated caretaker constantly attending each patient.

Director Akazawa’s ancestors—hailing from Kyoto’s Iwakura Village, renowned as Japan’s foremost center of home nursing—had astutely recognized this principle early on. By combining these two mutually contradictory nursing systems, they established what might be termed a small home-like hospital. However, maintaining one caretaker per patient made this an institution that was quite costly. The first director had apparently managed to get by without incident. But under the second director, financial difficulties gradually emerged. And by the time of the third director, he had finally exhausted nearly all his personal assets.

When a new era arrived and a new municipal mental hospital was completed, the already sparse number of patients began dwindling rapidly from that time onward. As generals adorned with medals and great inventors who had once bustled through the wards departed one by one, even the previously cheerful singing voices took on a strangely timid and lonely quality—and particularly on windy nights, this would brew an uncanny eeriness too oppressive to bear. Meanwhile, caretakers too began slipping away two or three at a time to request leave until now only a single elderly caretaker over fifty remained, struggling to tend to three patients who seemed to have nowhere else to go. To be sure, there was one maid who also worked as a pharmacy student outside this group, and with the addition of the director and his wife, seven men and women lived there—though even this gathering remained far too gloomy to dispel the silence of the barren hill they inhabited.

As shut windows hung with cobwebs and dust-choked tatami mats accumulated alongside mold-speckled vacant rooms multiplying like blight, Dr.Akazawa found himself increasingly consumed by irrepressible agitation. At first, it had merely been that while tending to the bonsai care he’d grown engrossed in at some point, he would over-prune new shoots or let his regular rounds fall into disarray—tolerable lapses. But when his mounting anguish began lashing out at patients with reckless outbursts like “You lunatic!” or “You idiot! I’ll have to replace your brains!”, the caretakers and maids witnessing this grew more uneasy about the director than the patients themselves, exchanging furtive glances and pulling bitter faces. Yet at such times, the patients would abruptly fall silent—as if straining to parse the director’s words as instructed—and while fixing him with peculiar upward stares, they would inch backward in timid retreat.

The three patients were all middle-aged men who, though they each had real names, had been given special nicknames here. Namely, the man called “Ton-ton” in Room 1 would lean against his hospital window each day, watching processions of cars heading to the crematorium or staring at crows perched on utility poles while maintaining his habit of incessantly tapping the wooden panel before him with the tip of his right foot—tap-tap. This habit was exceedingly persistent, so the section of tatami beneath the window where Ton-ton always stood had become rough and frayed from the friction of his soles each time he performed his tap-tap routine, its fibers standing on end until it grooved like a mortar’s furrow.

The man in Room 2—(to clarify: after the patient count dwindled, the three lunatics previously scattered across various rooms had been consolidated into Rooms 1, 2, and 3 nearest the main house for nursing convenience, leaving all rooms from 4 to 12 vacant)—was called “Diva.” Despite being a bearded man, he wore women’s kimonos and projected a delicate soprano voice as he ceaselessly sang outdated popular tunes likely memorized around the time of his breakdown. He would clap his own hands vigorously to applaud imaginary encores, only to burst into meaningless giggles moments later.

Next was Room 3’s occupant, called the “Bandaged Man,” though he had no actual injuries anywhere. Claiming to have suffered grave wounds, he swathed his head and entire face in bandages and lay perpetually on his back in his room under the pretense of requiring absolute rest. If even a caretaker approached him, he would raise his voice and cry out, vehemently refusing to let anyone touch his “injured” areas. However, even he would obediently submit only to the director, and by periodically having his bandages changed, he barely maintained cleanliness.

The three patients were all of a rather mild and cheerful disposition, diligently applying themselves each day to their respective routines within the narrow confines of their wards, utterly indifferent to whether Akazawa Hospital survived or collapsed. Yet as nursing grew increasingly negligent and meal quality declined, even their cheerfulness began to show a tinge of shadow seeping into their vigor and complexions—and when this shadow clashed with the director’s ever-mounting displeasure, they exhibited such acutely sensitive and cringing reactions that an indescribably foul air gradually swelled up like a darkening wind. And that wind grew ever stronger and fiercer, swirling up like a cyclone until it finally ended up blowing against the wretched Akazawa Brain Hospital’s demise.

It was a stifling morning—for reasons unknown—when from daybreak onward, an unceasing procession of automobiles bound for the crematorium passed by, their exhaust perpetually enveloping the bald hill's base in a smoke-screen-like haze.

The elderly caretaker Torizuka Ukichirō awoke at six as usual and walked down the corridor leading to the wards with a toothpick between his teeth—but as he walked, he absently noticed the back gate in the plank fence at the corner of the exercise yard standing open, and with a start, he halted abruptly.

Here, allow me to briefly explain: The grounds of Akazawa Brain Hospital spanned approximately 1,815 square meters in total. Within its high plank fences stood an examination room, pharmacy, and the so-called main house where Director Akazawa, his wife, and other household members resided. An L-shaped ward building encircled three sides of a roughly 495-square-meter exercise yard for patients, while the remaining side abutted directly against the fence. Near this fence on the ward side stood the aforementioned back gate facing the mixed grove—though being a gate that connected directly to the lunatics’ exercise yard, it was absolutely never left open like the main entrance or the main house’s kitchen door, and should have remained firmly locked at all times. Now, since the director did occasionally take morning strolls through here to the back grove, it occurred to caretaker Torizuka Ukichirō—and thinking that perhaps the director had gone out, he first made his way toward the gate. However, even if the director were to go out for a walk, leaving such an important gate open—even for a brief moment—was absolutely impermissible. Torizuka Ukichirō, thinking this, came to the gate, then stood up and peered anxiously over the fence.

There was no one. Unseen little birds in the mixed grove’s treetops sang their morning song with chirps. Then Torizuka Ukichirō suddenly noticed something strange and instinctively took the toothpick he’d been chewing into his hand. Come to think of it, the soprano of "Diva"—who always sang from early morning—wasn’t audible at all this dawn. Far from hearing "Diva’s" soprano, even Ton-ton’s usual obstinate racket was somehow absent. The deserted hospital ward fell into an unnervingly solemn stillness, and within this brightness lay a deathly silence thick with eerie tension. It was utterly quiet. From that silence emerged only the sound of Ukichi’s pounding heart—low and slow at first, then faster and louder.

“This… this is a disaster, I tell ya!”

Torizuka Ukichirō, who had involuntarily muttered this, felt his face rapidly pale as he hunched over and dashed toward the ward.

*Clatter… bang…* For a while, the sounds of doors being thrown open and slammed shut echoed through the halls. Then a trembling voice thick with distress—*“D-Doctor… It’s terrible…”*—rang out through the corridor from Room 4 to Room 1 before racing toward the still-sleeping main house in frantic footsteps.

“Terrible! It’s terrible!” “It’s terrible!” “The patients—they’ve all escaped, I tell ya…!”

Before long, the interior suddenly became noisy with the commotion of startled people. "What happened to the Doctor? The Doctor?" "In the bedroom over there... Go wake him quickly!" "He isn't in the bedroom over there." "Isn't he here?" "Anyway—all the patients have run off." "What about the vacant rooms?" "They're all gone."

“Wake the Doctor…” “The Doctor is nowhere to be seen.” Soon Caretaker Torizuka and Mrs.Akazawa—followed by the maid—came rushing out into the exercise yard in disheveled states.

――It was terrible! They couldn't stay like this.

With Ukichi at the lead, the three immediately began searching from inside the hospital to the outer grove, their eyes bloodshot as they split up to comb through every corner. But no trace of the lunatics could be found. And before long, these people—their faces trembling on the brink of tears—had all converged before the back gate.

“……But what about the Doctor?”

The maid said timidly.

Startled by the noise, crows in the treetops of the mixed grove began letting out ominous cries. Torizuka Ukichirō stood bewildered, his knees trembling violently—then suddenly crouched down, “Oh!” “This…?”

He shouted and lurched forward. Sure enough, immediately inside the gate lay something like a beer bottle, shattered into fragments and scattered about. A glance revealed it was the glass deodorizer bottle installed in the ward’s toilet. And across the surrounding area, splatters of a dark red liquid—already dried and nearly hardened—began to stand out in scattered spots. The maid let out a shrill scream.

“Torizuka. Isn’t this some kind of drag mark?”

On the ground where Mrs. Akazawa pointed, there was indeed a drag mark from something heavy, faintly continuing toward the ward. Stitching along it were dark red spill marks, drip... drip...

The three gulped down their voices and lurched forward as they began tracing the marks. Immediately following the plank fence along the ward, they came to the toilet at the far end. It was a cement-floored space without any floorboards. But when the three peered into that cement-floored space, they let out a scream of terror beyond words—neither “Ah!” nor “Gah!”—and froze where they stood. In the cement-floored room spread a sea of blood—and there, collapsed in a backward arch at its very center, lay Director Akazawa’s unmistakably gruesome figure, still clad in last night’s pajamas. Lacerations ran from face to scalp—likely inflicted by glass fragments shining coldly in that sea of blood—spurting jellied clots, but most unbearable to behold was the gaping hole split open from forehead to skull: his brains had been extracted, leaving only emptiness within. As for where the extracted brains had gone—not a shadow nor shape remained in the vicinity…

II

It was a mere twenty minutes later that a squad of police officers from M City’s police station, led by the judicial officer, came swarming into Akazawa Brain Hospital upon receiving the emergency report. After obtaining a full account from Torizuka Ukichirō—now completely distraught—Chief Yoshioka immediately dispatched officers in all directions and ordered the search and arrest of the three escaped lunatics. Soon after the prosecutor’s office personnel arrived, an efficient crime scene investigation and questioning by the examining magistrate promptly commenced. Ukichi, Mrs. Akazawa, and the maid—appearing utterly distraught in both mind and body—initially flustered the officials with their incoherent statements. Yet as they gradually regained composure, they answered each inquiry in turn: about Akazawa Brain Hospital’s current state, that dire atmosphere, the director’s unraveling daily life, and even the distinctive habits of the three lunatics—however haltingly.

According to the police doctor’s assessment, the Hospital Director’s death was estimated to have occurred around 4 AM—a time when the family members were still asleep and had heard no noises. It also became clear that the Hospital Director had always been an early riser with a habit of doing exercises and taking walks while still in his nightclothes, among other details.

When the initial investigation concluded, the prosecutor said to the judicial officer.

“In any case, the motive for the crime is clear.” “The question is whether the three lunatics conspired together, or whether one of them committed the act and the rest, taking advantage of the open door, scattered and fled—those are the two possibilities.” “By the way, how many police officers have been assigned to apprehend the culprits?” “We’ve dispatched five officers for now.”

“Five?” The prosecutor scowled. “And have there been any leads?”

“Not yet.” “I thought as much. With just five officers, it’s far too understaffed. After all, there are three escaped lunatics, aren’t there? They might be hiding out somewhere and…” As he spoke, the prosecutor suddenly noticed something terrifying, his face stiffening visibly as he continued. “That’s it—in this situation, whether we catch them or not isn’t even the issue. No—this is going to be catastrophic… Listen here—the culprits are three lunatics, not just ordinary madmen. They’ve suddenly turned violent—there’s no telling what they might do.”

“Good grief,” interjected the examining magistrate, his face ashen. “...If those bastards were to flee into the city—where there are so many women and children... what then?” “This is terrifying,” the prosecutor said in a trembling voice to the judicial officer. “No—absolutely—we can’t afford to dawdle." “Send police reinforcements at once, please.” “That’s right—we should also alert every police box in the city…” Chief Yoshioka’s eyes widened in alarm as he hurriedly rushed into the main building’s telephone room.

From the crime scene to the police station, from the police station to every precinct across the city… A sudden surge of tension—viscerally palpable—darted across telephone lines, and Akazawa Brain Hospital’s temporary investigation headquarters erupted into commotion. The police force that had been reinforced shortly thereafter was divided into two groups, with one part immediately dispatched into the city and the other into the surrounding suburbs centered on the brain hospital’s bald hill. However, favorable reports were slow to arrive. The judicial officer ground his teeth impatiently. The fact that no further heinous incidents had yet erupted was the sole saving grace.

But there was no time to dawdle. They must arrest them without delay and prevent a catastrophe before it occurred. Right—but even so—if the lunatics had concealed themselves somewhere out of fear of people, this would become an exceedingly difficult problem. As he thought this, the judicial officer grew increasingly impatient.

From a lunatic’s perspective—would they really hide in such a situation? But if they were to hide—where on earth would they go? ...Right—this wasn’t something one could figure out without a specialist. When noon arrived without any good news, the judicial officer made his decision and stood up. Then he relocated the headquarters to a police station in the city, entrusted its management to the station chief, and came to the municipal mental hospital located in the suburbs on the opposite side from Akazawa Hospital.

In response to the request, Dr.Matsunaga, the director, immediately granted him an audience.

“They’ve done something dreadful, haven’t they?” Dr. Matsunaga—ruddy-faced and amiable, seeming to have already heard about it from somewhere—said this and offered the chief a chair.

“Actually, regarding that matter—though abruptly—I’ve come to make a request.” “Haven’t all three been caught yet?” “They haven’t been caught.” Chief Yoshioka’s face twisted in frustration as he blurted out, “Doctor. Would lunatics even hide in such circumstances? Or perhaps…” “Well… Given they remain at large, they must be concealing themselves.” “Then how exactly would they hide? ...They’re dangerous individuals—we must act swiftly…”

At this, Dr. Matsunaga smiled wryly, “A difficult problem indeed. However, I’m afraid that can’t be determined without closely studying each patient individually. Generally speaking, those individuals have low levels of thought and emotion, but even within that baseline, there are varying degrees—each one possesses their own arbitrary logic tinted with personal idiosyncrasies. To state my opinion frankly, I believe the crux of this case lies not in where, who, or how someone hid, but rather in whether the director’s murder was a collaboration of three people or the act of a single individual. If it were the act of a single individual, that culprit would be somewhat troublesome, but at least the remaining two would surely slink out of their hiding spots once their excitement subsides and hunger sets in. Well, once the excitement subsides, there would be no danger. But if this were a joint crime—”

After saying this, Dr. Matsunaga repositioned himself in his chair and continued abruptly in an impassioned tone.

“...If it’s a joint crime, that becomes rather troublesome.” “What do you mean?”

Chief Yoshioka involuntarily leaned forward.

“In other words, if it were the act of a single individual, by the same logic that makes it somewhat difficult for that culprit alone to emerge unscathed, the safety of all three becomes a concern.” “I… I don’t quite follow… What do you mean by that?…”

The chief’s face flushed crimson with consternation. “It’s nothing serious,” Dr. Matsunaga smirked, “…I heard this from the pharmacist—apparently Dr. Akazawa had grown terribly haggard recently and often recklessly shouted things like ‘Replace your brains!’ when scolding patients.”

“That’s it. That’s the motive.” “Wait. …Now, from what I’ve heard once or twice, I’m certain it was ‘Replace your brains,’ not ‘Take out the brains.’ Do you understand? ‘Replace’ and ‘take out’ differ considerably.” “...Haa…”

The chief gave a vague reply that seemed both comprehending and uncomprehending. Dr. Matsunaga continued still further.

“You see,” “Even a fool has understanding suited to their station.” “When a man who was told ‘Replace the brains!’ yanks out an intelligent person’s gray matter—what do you suppose he does next?...” “...”

The chief stood up aghast in silence. And grabbing his hat with trembling hands, he involuntarily gave a quick bow to Dr. Matsunaga.

“Thank you very much.” “I understand completely.”

At this, Dr. Matsunaga laughed cheerfully and, “No, that’s quite all right. Then please apprehend that poor lunatic as soon as possible—before he ends up smashing his own head in and dying.” With that, Dr. Matsunaga added as he stood up. “There are many lessons to be learned from this case… Everyone must take care…”

III

Chief Yoshioka, who had withdrawn from the psychiatric hospital, felt strangely relieved all the same.

Following Dr. Matsunaga’s teachings meant that the danger of escaped lunatics assaulting ordinary citizens had been somewhat mitigated. The three lunatics—or perhaps one among them—were now engrossed not in harming others, but first and foremost in replacing the extracted “Doctor’s” brains with their own. But what a madness-tinged horror this was.

Chief Yoshioka, as one anxiety lifted only to be replaced by another terror that left him sweating cold sweat, returned to headquarters and frantically continued directing the investigation.

However, true to the expert's accurate appraisal, Chief Yoshioka's efforts gradually began to bear fruit.

First, that evening, one of the escaped lunatics—"Diva"—was finally apprehended near the crematorium. As Dr.Matsunaga had deduced, Diva—now calmed from her agitation—began singing her plaintive soprano from a hideout in the grove behind the crematorium just as the western sky started burning crimson. One quick-witted and cautious plainclothes officer who had heard this approached and clapped his hands sharply. Then Diva instantly stopped singing, showed a suspicious silence for a moment, but soon began singing again plaintively as if reassured. The officer clapped his hands again. This time came an immediate encore. Another round of applause followed. And another encore answered it. In the end, even laughter began spilling out; their distance gradually closed until, with unexpected ease, she was apprehended.

When Diva, clad in women’s kimono, was brought by automobile not to a stage but to the police station, Chief Yoshioka eagerly launched into his interrogation. However, upon immediately realizing that this opponent was no mere individual he could handle on his own, Chief Yoshioka placed a call to Dr. Matsunaga.

After leaving the hospital, Dr. Matsunaga had gone to Akazawa Brain Hospital ostensibly to pay a visit, but upon receiving the chief’s call, he came immediately. And upon hearing the details, he first praised the officer who had captured "Diva" for his resourcefulness.

“No, that was splendid work. “In any case, when handling such individuals, you must never resort to provocation.” “Gently—like strangling someone with silk floss—you must descend to their level and skillfully synchronize with their childish emotional rhythms and thought patterns as you proceed.” Dr. Matsunaga then engaged in a peculiar exchange with Diva while seemingly conducting a discreet physical examination with his sharp eyes, but he soon turned back to Chief Yoshioka and said:

“This man is not the culprit.” “There’s no blood on him anywhere.” “After committing such a horrific act, a lunatic couldn’t possibly remain this spotless.” “…Which means he’s no accomplice—it must have been one of the other two who did it.” “In any case, you may return this man to his original quarters now.”

Following Dr. Matsunaga’s instructions, “Diva” was safely taken back to Akazawa Brain Hospital.

And Chief Yoshioka began devoting all his efforts to investigating the remaining Ton-ton and Bandaged Man.

However, within less than an hour, Dr. Matsunaga’s dreadful prediction finally became fact and was reported.

It happened like this—when the proprietress of Azuma, a sake bar catering to laborers near the outskirts of M City, lifted her shop’s straw noren curtain to head to the public bath after nightfall, a man came staggering from the dark road beyond. But upon seeing him approach, she let out a shriek. It was said to be a middle-aged man with his kimono disheveled at the front, his face smeared with blood and both eyes fixed in an uncanny stare, holding something resembling crumbled tofu on the palm of one hand held out like a Jizo statue—he disappeared toward the railway tracks with a visibly staggering gait.

Upon receiving the officer’s report—gleaned from Azuma’s proprietress—Chief Yoshioka turned pale and stood up. Then, after requesting Dr. Matsunaga’s accompaniment, he immediately had the car driven straight to the sake bar in the outskirts.

After confirming the aforementioned report once more with the proprietress there, they promptly began a rapid search throughout the area in the direction of the railway tracks where the lunatic was thought to have disappeared.

Around that very time—perhaps having entered what Dr. Matsunaga called “the calm after the storm when hunger sets in”—another lunatic was captured near M River, which runs through the city. The Bandaged Man—his face and head tightly swathed in bandages—appeared unsteadily on the bridge, much like when Diva had emerged, and peered into the dark water with an air of extreme exhaustion. A policeman who had received a report from a passerby captured him as though catching a cicada. Unlike Diva, the Bandaged Man put up a bit of resistance. But he quickly became docile and was taken to headquarters.

Upon receiving this report near the railroad crossing hut, Chief Yoshioka immediately addressed the officers who had rushed to the scene. “And that lunatic—wasn’t there blood on his kimono or anywhere else?” “No, not a drop on him. However, it seems he’d been lying down somewhere—his head bandages were covered in a lot of straw-like debris.”

Then Chief Yoshioka exchanged a brief glance with Dr. Matsunaga beside him and laughed,

“Alright. Then send that lunatic to Akazawa Brain Hospital. Handle him gently!”

“Yes, sir!”

When the police officer left, Chief Yoshioka began walking through the darkness along the railway tracks once more, side by side with Dr. Matsunaga.

“It’s finally coming into focus.”

Dr. Matsunaga said.

“Absolutely…” The chief nodded deeply. “Even so—where on earth could he have vanished?” In the darkness here and there, the police officers’ flashlights occasionally flickered like fireflies—flaring up and dying out, flaring up and dying out.

But before they had walked even ten minutes, suddenly from the darkness ahead—likely over the railway tracks—a flashlight drew a large arc,

“Heeey—!”

A shout was heard.

“What happened—?!” Chief Yoshioka involuntarily raised his voice.

Then, a voice from ahead continued:

“Chief~?… He’s here, sir.” “He’s dead, sir!…”

The two of them broke into a headlong sprint. When they soon reached where the officer stood, the chief finally came face-to-face with a horrific scene.

Ton-ton, who had collapsed beside the railroad tracks, appeared to have rested his head on the rail as if using it for a pillow—but that head had already been mercilessly crushed to dust by a train’s wheels, its fragments scattered across the gravel nearby.

After temporarily moving Ton-ton’s corpse to the side of the tracks, Chief Yoshioka and Dr. Matsunaga promptly began a brief examination of the body. But before long, the chief stood up as if unable to bear it and muttered to no one in particular. “Well now... this truly is a horrific end, I must say...”

Then, Dr. Matsunaga—still crouched before Ton-ton’s corpse, frantically probing the soft soles of both feet—suddenly looked up. “The end?”

With that sharp challenge," Dr. Matsunaga said—but then stood up utterly dejected.

What had caused such a stark transformation? His complexion had turned ghastly pale—an intense mix of doubt and anguish now suffused every inch of his face.

“Please wait…” Eventually, Dr. Matsunaga groaned as if in pain. He twisted his face in frustration and lowered his gaze, then spent several moments glancing intermittently at Ton-ton’s corpse with apparent bewilderment—before finally raising his face with resolve. “Right—actually, please wait… You did say ‘the end’ just now, didn’t you?” “No… It seems I’ve made a catastrophic miscalculation… Chief.” “This likely isn’t the end yet.”

“Wh-what did you just say?”

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, the chief pressed forward. Then Dr.Matsunaga, paying no heed to the chief's ferocious demeanor, cast another fleeting glance at Ton-ton's corpse and said something peculiar. "By the way, Dr.Akazawa's corpse is still at that brain hospital, isn't it?"

IV

About twenty minutes later, Dr. Matsunaga practically dragged Chief Yoshioka to Akazawa Brain Hospital.

On the night-shrouded Hageyama, the treetops of the mixed forest rustled in the wind, and somewhere an owl hooted incessantly. Dr. Matsunaga apprehended Torizuka Ukichirō in the main building and requested to see the director’s corpse. “Yes—as we haven’t yet received official permission, we’ve refrained from beginning the wake.” While saying this, Torizuka lit a candle and guided the two toward the ward. As they passed Room 2, the soprano of the returned “Diva” could be heard from within—tonight, even her voice had sunk to a murmuring low tone. When they reached Room 3’s entrance, casting a large shadow across the electrically lit frosted glass door, the Bandaged Man—who had slid the door open just a crack with a clatter—watched their passage with suspicious eyes. From Room 4 onward, the electricity had been cut, leaving the corridor pitch black.

Torizuka swayed the shadows in the candlelight as he led the way into Room 5. “As the coffin hasn’t been prepared yet, he remains in this state.” Torizuka extended the candle while speaking.

The director’s corpse had been laid in the corner of the room on spread oilpaper, covered with a white cloth. Dr. Matsunaga wordlessly approached its side immediately and, crouching down, removed the white cloth. Then forcefully lifting the corpse’s right leg, he turned to Torizuka, “Let me see the light.” he said.

With trembling hands, Torizuka held out the candle, whereupon Dr. Matsunaga began vigorously kneading the soles of the corpse’s feet with both thumbs. He began kneading, but the soles were inexplicably hard and wouldn’t yield. It appeared to be a large callus. Dr. Matsunaga lifted the foot a bit more this time and twisted the tip of the big toe toward the light. But when illuminated by the light, that thumb—how grotesquely swollen it was—had hardened like pumice stone.

At that moment, Ukichirō dropped the candle. Suddenly, everything plunged into total darkness. And in that pitch-black void, Ukichirō’s voice—a sound neither sob nor scream but of primal terror— “Aaaah… Th-that’s… Thaaat’s Ton-ton’s feet!” But before that voice could die away, another sound tore through—Dr.Matsunaga’s razor-sharp scream—hurtling toward the doorway through the dark alongside frantic footsteps, tumbling like a stone through emptiness.

“Chief! Come here right now!”

No sooner had violent footsteps clashed in the corridor than something collided with the sliding door—the crash of shattering glass—

No sooner had the startled chief rushed out into the corridor in a frenzy than two grappling figures were already tumbling before Room 3. He dashed over, wavered—then aiming straight for the white bandage on the head, the 75-kilogram chief’s hulking frame crashed into them with a thud. The Bandaged Man was seized at once. When they clamped the handcuffs on him, he sulkily flopped down where he stood, wearing a strangely blank look as though trapped in a dream, his eyelids fluttering incessantly.

Dr. Matsunaga stood up while rubbing his lower back, then with one hand brushed the dust off his trousers,

“This is the first time I’ve ever been in a scuffle.”

Chief Yoshioka finally could no longer bear it,

“Wh-what in the world is this supposed to mean?!” Then Dr. Matsunaga, while looking toward the “Bandaged Man”,

“Hmph.” “He’s playing dumb.” “…Whether he’s genuinely deranged or just pretending—let’s put it to the test.”

Having said that, he crouched down before the Bandaged Man and fixedly glared at the face peering out through bandages with only eyes visible. The Bandaged Man began struggling again with desperate frenzy. “Chief! Keep holding him tight!”

Having said that, Dr. Matsunaga swiftly stretched both hands toward the Bandaged Man’s head, whereupon the man suddenly began struggling with desperate frenzy. The Chief pressed down vehemently. The two men finally ended up standing with their combined strength. Dr. Matsunaga also stood up next and began mercilessly unwinding the bandages around his head. The long white cloth, though struggling against its bonds, gradually unraveled to reveal from beneath... a chin... a nose... a cheek... an eye! And then Ukichi, who had been standing frozen behind the doctor all this time, shrieked as though his guts had been ripped out.

“Wh-what?! This is Dr.Akazawa!” Indeed, before everyone’s eyes stood Dr.Akazawa—who should have been dead—his face deathly pale.

Inside the car dispatched by the police, Dr. Matsunaga said: “I’ve never heard of such a cunning crime—have you? …Pretending that the lunatic—who’d always been scolded to ‘replace his brains’—had finally taken those words to heart with madman-like sincerity, when in reality he killed the actual lunatic and faked his own death… Of course, if one performs radical surgery to extract brains, faces become unrecognizable.” “If they had simply swapped the clothes, that would’ve sufficed… But Director—mixing up Ton-ton’s and the Bandaged Man’s corpses? That was quite the blunder… Hmm?” “Ah, the man seen by the proprietress of Meishuya wasn’t Ton-ton—it was obviously the Director.” “After having someone witness that scene, when they came to the railway tracks, they made it appear as though Ton-ton himself had done it—replacing the brains in the head of the Bandaged Man, whom they’d already killed beforehand—and then had the train run him over.” “Now here’s where you see the mark of a true professional in that field—he’s masterfully captured the psychology of lunatics.” “But having killed the Bandaged Man, he then—in his haste to bring the case to a swift and conclusive end—disguised himself as the Bandaged Man and deliberately allowed himself to be captured temporarily. That’s where he went wrong.” “By doing that, whether we liked it or not, we would think the man who died on the tracks was Ton-ton.” “If it had just been a matter of us thinking that, it would’ve been fine—but the fact that there were no calluses on those soles, the very soles Ton-ton had rubbed against the tatami hard enough to dent them—is what ruined everything.” “Right—if he had first killed the Bandaged Man at the hospital and then killed Ton-ton at the railway tracks, it would have been a complete success.” “Then within two or three days, they’d claim someone had come to collect him, and the counterfeit ‘Bandaged Man’ would vanish permanently from Akazawa Brain Hospital… After that, Mrs.Akazawa would liquidate the hospital’s assets… Right—the Director must’ve had massive life insurance policies… The widow, now holding the money, would relocate alone to some remote countryside where no one would know them… And there, she’d smoothly reunite with her supposedly deceased husband… That’s roughly how they intended to proceed, no? …Well, regardless—pathetic as it is how desperately that Director panicked—I simply cannot sympathize with such cruelty exploiting those innocents as decoys.”

Dr. Matsunaga looked at Chief Yoshioka’s face as he said this, but then suddenly seemed to recall something. With an irritated expression, he added with a touch of forced dignity: “However… In any case, there are many lessons to be learned from this incident… Everyone must take care.” (“Shin Seinen” (Shin Seinen, July 1936 Issue))