Pathway to Japanese Literature

"I can't leave things like this. "...Might as well finish him off."

As he walked along the edge of Hyōtan Pond in Asakusa Park, Tōjirō muttered to himself. However, this was merely him involuntarily voicing the pent-up frustration in his chest; he hadn’t yet formulated any concrete plan to actually carry out the deed. Yet now, with belated clarity, he found himself recalling both the incomparably cursed existence of this man Yōnosuke and last night’s incident—memories so viscerally repulsive they threatened to make him retch.

It was about a year ago that Tōjirō took up residence at Restaurant N-tei in Shinjuku as a live-in cook.

Up until his twenty-third birthday today, he had scarcely tasted the pleasures of frivolity. In truth, he was an unusual young man to be working in such a place and holding such a position. His sole pleasure was reading. Especially academic works or, failing that, books on self-improvement—he devoured them whenever he had a spare moment.

Tōjirō, the cook at Restaurant N-tei, had long intended to become a prominent lawyer someday and wield his silver tongue in court. Of course, he had no means to attend school. Therefore, having no choice but to teach himself, he had been studying law through XX University’s lecture notes for a considerable time. Given that he was such a serious young man, it went without saying that the master placed considerable trust in him. Therefore, today not being a regular public holiday, the fact that he had received a day off and was walking through Asakusa Park was not particularly strange.

But that Tōjirō—a man who neither indulged in frivolity nor drank heavily—had begun to feel genuine love was by no means strange. He too was human. And he was still a youth in the bloom of early manhood. The object of his affection was indeed a young woman named Miyoko, who had been working at the same restaurant for about eight months prior. Before coming to N-tei, Miyoko had worked at quite a number of establishments. However, she had never encountered a serious, promising cook like Tōjirō anywhere else.

Tōjirō began secretly loving Miyoko shortly after she came to N-tei. And so he gradually drove himself into a corner over her. However, it took considerable time before he could clearly confess his feelings to her. Of course, no one could easily put such feelings into words. Yet for someone as serious and single-minded as he was, expressing his love proved an especially daunting task. When he finally mustered the courage to confess his feelings, Tōjirō realized he should have spoken up much sooner. To such an extent had Miyoko given him a reply—simple yet clear, and deeply gratifying. He was ecstatic. He began to feel it was almost wasteful just to be living under the same roof as her. He wanted to talk with her at every possible opportunity. He would seize moments when the master and other waitresses were absent to speak with Miyoko. Yet she was relatively bold. Even when others were present, she clearly showed him affection. This was both intensely thrilling and mortifyingly embarrassing for Tōjirō.

In this manner, about two months passed by like a dream. Only one final step remained. However, this was not because Tōjirō lacked the courage to cross that final line—or so he himself believed. The opportunity had never come. If only the opportunity had arisen, Miyoko would have become completely his. He was simply waiting for the opportunity.

However, about six months prior, something of grave consequence had occurred to him. Namely, it was the arrival of Yōnosuke.

Yōnosuke was a distant relative of N-tei’s master who had come from the countryside to help at the restaurant. In both seriousness and promise, he nearly equaled Tōjirō. Yet in physical appearance, he surpassed him beyond all comparison. Tōjirō was by no means blessed with handsome features. To tell the truth, what made him most self-conscious when confessing his feelings to Miyoko had been his own face. By no stretch of imagination could he be called good-looking. He wasn’t outright ugly, but neither was he remotely handsome.

In contrast, Yōnosuke was a handsome young man who truly stood above the common standard. Thick eyebrows; a high, well-defined nose with handsome contours that sloped gently without sharpness; skin so fair one would never imagine it had been weathered by country sun; and full cheeks—these combined to form Yōnosuke's face.

Yōnosuke was two years younger than Tōjirō. Therefore, even if Tōjirō had been greatly moved by Yōnosuke’s striking beauty, it would have been entirely understandable—yet unfortunately, reality took a different course. No, from the very first moment Tōjirō laid eyes on this handsome young man, he felt a certain unease. This premonition indeed materialized into reality. Yōnosuke’s striking beauty ended up swaying not so much the hearts of same-sex individuals as, above all else, that of Miyoko of the opposite sex.

Within two or three days of his arrival at N-tei, Tōjirō already had to witness Miyoko fawning over Yōnosuke. That alone might have been bearable, but Miyoko utterly changed her previous attitude. Tōjirō no longer received even a glance from her.

Of course, he was tormented. He grew anxious. And amidst that suffering, he clung single-mindedly to something utterly unreliable. That was the fact that Yōnosuke was still young and inexperienced, and that he was an exceedingly earnest young man. Tōjirō’s trust was swiftly betrayed. The fact that Yōnosuke was still young, inexperienced, and earnest only made matters worse. Yōnosuke, who for the first time in his life had been fallen for by a city beauty (or so at least Yōnosuke and Tōjirō believed), soon succumbed to her charms and began taking quite proactive steps himself.

In this manner, several months of anguish passed for Tōjirō. Of course, he had tried every means to pull Miyoko’s feelings back toward himself. But all of that had been completely in vain. Yet based on his own heart’s inclinations and Miyoko’s past attitude toward him, he could not bring himself to believe they had fully reconciled. Nor did he wish to believe it. Yet something had recently arisen that would fundamentally shake this conviction of his.

It was around midnight about a week ago. Tōjirō, who usually slept like the dead—exhausted from his daytime labor, with reading lately being utterly beyond his capacity—awoke around two o’clock that night to a sudden stomach pain. He lay writhing in a half-awake, half-asleep state on his futon for some time, but once fully conscious, he hurriedly scrambled toward the toilet. In such situations, anyone tends to spend a relatively long time in the toilet. He finally felt the pain subside and, relieved for the moment, tried to leave.

Just then, the sound of footsteps stealthily descending the stairs from the second floor reached his ears. Once they had fully descended, there was the sound of someone passing by the toilet where he was, followed shortly by the sound of the shoji door closing in the room where he slept. It was at this moment that Tōjirō first recalled that when he had awoken earlier, Yōnosuke—who always slept beside him—had not been in his futon.

When Tōjirō returned to the room and got into bed, Yōnosuke was sound asleep right there. Tōjirō stroked his somewhat settled stomach and thought. At first, he felt: "That bastard was sleepwalking again." The young man who now lay beside him, showing a beautiful sleeping face, had an unfortunate illness. That was sleepwalking. Once, when he had been in his hometown, he had struck his father—who was sleeping beside him—suddenly with a wooden club in the middle of the night. After being awakened, he knew nothing. Apparently, that evening he had seen a swordplay performance by a traveling theater troupe. Of course, he had often sleepwalked before, but as there had been no such violent instances until then, from that point onward, the household became highly vigilant and decided to place no dangerous objects at all in his bedroom.

Even when Yônosuke had come to N-tei，Tôjirô had already been informed about that matter by the owner beforehand，but he had only witnessed his sleepwalking state once．When the sound of water rushing fiercely from the tap in the middle of night showed no sign of stopping，the owner came out to investigate and found Yônosuke pretending to wash his feet．When they shook him awake by hitting him hard，he had been completely sleepwalking and running the water．

Tōjirō was watching the scene. And together with the owner, he had beaten him. Tōjirō recalled the incident from that time while lying in his futon. However, the next moment, he heard the sound of someone descending from above again. The footsteps stopped near the toilet, and when the clatter of the toilet door opening reached his ears, Tōjirō suddenly imagined something strange. When there was another sound of a door opening—just as he assumed they would simply return upstairs—it came all the way to the front of the room where Tōjirō lay. And then it became quiet for a while. The person outside seemed to be peering in at the situation within.

Tōjirō glanced toward Yōnosuke. Yōnosuke had his back turned to him but seemed to be asleep. Then suddenly, from outside the shoji, “Yō-chan… Yō-chan.” He heard a voice that sounded like a whisper. Tōjirō realized with a start. That was Miyoko’s voice.

However, Yōnosuke did not stir. Then outside, “Yō-chan… You’ve already fallen asleep?” No sooner had he heard this voice than there came signs of departure; the footsteps swiftly ascended straight back upstairs. While still pressing his stomach, which throbbed dully, Tōjirō gazed at the ceiling for a while. He soon turned toward Yōnosuke. “Hey, you. You.” he called out. However, whether Yōnosuke was truly asleep at this moment or not, he kept his eyes closed, feigning complete ignorance.

Had Yōnosuke responded to Tōjirō then, or had Tōjirō shaken him awake—had some conversation been exchanged between them—perhaps neither would have lost his life. However, Yōnosuke ultimately did not open his eyes, and Tōjirō made no further attempt to rouse him.

The next day, Tōjirō lay in bed all day, claiming a stomachache. His chest ached more than his stomach. Everything seemed to have descended into chaos.

Even so, he still wondered—could it be? For Tōjirō, the idea that Yōnosuke would sneak into Miyoko’s room—she who lived under the same roof and even shared quarters with another waitress—was almost unthinkable. After that, he resolved to somehow uncover the truth. However, nothing happened afterward. Though resolved, Tōjirō would typically soon fall into a deep sleep regardless.

However，he could find absolutely no way to explain or justify last night’s events.

He suddenly woke up around midnight. With a snap, someone had turned off the twelve-candlepower electric light that always burned above his head. Because the bright room had suddenly gone dark, it might have been what roused him from sleep.

At that moment, in that darkness, what he clearly heard was Yōnosuke—

“Nah, Kappa—sleeping like a pig.”

was the voice saying that and the sound of someone else stifling a laugh.

The autumn sunlight shone serenely.

Tōjirō walked along the edge of Asakusa Park's pond while holding a blazing fire within his chest.

There was no way to describe it. And to go out of one’s way like that… I never thought Yōnosuke—with that face that wouldn’t hurt a fly—could say or do something so brazen. Women will be women, but men will be men. He was a complete fraud. His acting so damn serious and well-behaved had been nothing more than a ploy to deceive women. Back when he was in the countryside—who knows what he’d been up to there. When he thought this, Tōjirō was struck by a feeling as if he’d stepped on a centipede.

This morning, when he had concocted a flimsy excuse about needing to show a friend from his hometown around Tokyo and obtained a day off, he even considered confessing last night’s events to the master. However, thinking that this might not lead to a favorable outcome for himself—and that if Yōnosuke were to cease existing through some other means, the situation might change entirely—he said nothing. Having barely slept last night, he had thought to skip work for the day and even considered spending the autumn day sleeping in a grassy field, but ultimately ended up at his usual place of solace—the park. He intended to enter some movie theater.

Perhaps because he hadn’t felt like eating breakfast and left without doing so, he began to feel strangely hungry. However, Tōjirō—who had no desire to go out of his way to enter a restaurant—bought four eggs from a boiled egg vendor at the corner of the pond and tucked them straight into his sleeve. He intended to eat them while watching a movie.

After buying eggs and wandering aimlessly, he came upon a crowd. When he looked, there was a rickshaw parked, and atop it, a monk-like figure in a kesa robe was earnestly saying something. He abruptly stopped in his tracks and listened to the speech. He thought it might be a religious talk.

However, suddenly, that monk-like figure— “However, the current cabinet…”

he began.

Tōjirō, having lost interest for some reason, moved toward the crowd ahead. He could now muster no interest in any topic. However, he was striving to muster interest in any topic he encountered. At the center of the crowd further ahead stood a university student-like man wearing a square cap, clutching a book in his hand and chattering incessantly. No—he was vehemently denying. “Gentlemen, you likely think such things rarely occur—and it’s precisely because you think so that you’re being foolish.” “The problem is you people equate the law with a doctor’s medicine.” “Medicine is only needed when you’re sick.” “However, the law is not like that.” “You cannot exist even for a moment without the law.” “For example, do you know what kind of thing the security deposit you hand over to landlords actually is?” “Very well.” “Now, some of you may already know this.” “Now, I imagine some of you here are landlords.” “Do those people know to what extent using that security deposit is truly correct?” “Today you all came here by train, or bus—no, perhaps by jitney.” “Do you know what it means to buy a ticket and ride a train?”

The man who appeared to be a university student was talking about the law.

Tōjirō began listening to the man’s talk, thinking, When it comes to law, I get it. “Now then—does it clearly make sense to you whether a train ticket is merely a receipt for seven sen one way, or a token certifying that you’ve been granted the right to ride the train?” “On page 128 of this book, there is a precedent handed down by the Supreme Court of Judicature.” “That point is properly explained through legal precedents.” “To those of you who came by jitney—what would you do if it broke down midway?” “A malicious driver, reluctant to take you all the way from Shinjuku to here, will claim there’s a breakdown around Hongō and make you get out.” “Just the other day, someone who experienced such a thing came to consult me.” “I immediately opened this book to page 301 and showed it to them.” “Look—it’s clearly written here.” “Despite legal knowledge being necessary as such, it remains truly incomprehensible that most people scarcely feel its necessity.” “To attempt navigating society without knowledge of the law—isn’t that akin to walking a mountain path in pitch darkness without even a light?”

“However, gentlemen, you’ll protest—‘That only applies to civil law!’ ‘Knowledge of criminal law isn’t necessary for righteous people,’ you’d say.” “That’s precisely the problem!” “Even the most upright among you absolutely require that knowledge!” “Let me illustrate—suppose a madman were among us—no, forgive me, of course none here present are mad, hence your attentive silence—but gentlemen! Nothing terrifies like fools and madmen! Picture this: as I speak, a lunatic suddenly draws his sword and attacks! Escape would solve it—if there were time.” “You’d face a choice: strike him down or be cut down yourself.” “The answer seems obvious—‘Naturally, strike him!’ you’d declare.” “Very well—but may you beat him to death?” “Consider this carefully: your opponent is insane.” “Our nation’s laws—indeed, most countries’—hold madmen criminally unaccountable.” “A lunatic who kills would undoubtedly be acquitted!” “The true question is whether self-defense applies against such a person’s actions.” “The Penal Code merely states ‘against imminent unlawful infringement’—no further elaboration.” “Legal scholars debate this extensively.” “Yet they largely concur with the affirmative view.” “You might reach the same conclusion—but do you grasp why? Take another case: suppose a rabid dog appears.” “You’d surely bludgeon it to death.” “Could that be deemed self-defense?” “Now regarding animals...”

When he had listened up to this point, Tōjirō felt as if someone had poked him from the man to his right. A strange feeling came over him, and when he thrust his hand into his right sleeve to check, the Shikishima pack he’d bought was nowhere to be seen. In a panic, he reached for the pouch secured by a cord around his neck and tucked into his obi—finding it still there, he sighed in relief—but the man to his right had already vanished somewhere. Though it was a pack of cigarettes, the sensation of having been pickpocketed was terribly unpleasant.

He left the street-corner legal scholar where he stood and pivoted sharply. Skirting the pondside, he slipped into the movie theater called XX Theater. When he settled into his seat and began noisily munching eggs, a foreign comedy flickered across the screen. The man who'd been stewing in bitter thoughts since dawn finally found temporary relief in those rapid-fire images. As the comedy ended and the next feature began, he became utterly absorbed in watching.

It was a crime film of sorts. A wicked scholar—the narrator kept droning "Dr. Doctor"—tried to kill some countess to embezzle her fortune. Though called a countess, since this was set in France, she wasn't actually married to any count—in fact, had no husband at all. As for how exactly the Doctor stood to inherit her wealth if she died—that part remained unclear to Tōjirō. But none of that mattered. What fascinated him was the Doctor's method—he never dirtied his own hands. A handsome young man appeared onscreen, whom the Doctor hypnotized. Following these implanted suggestions, the man—in a trance—murdered his lover the Countess one midnight.

The clock filled the screen. It was exactly 2:05 a.m. "It was around two o'clock that night." He abruptly sprang up. He proceeded to the Countess’s room while in a trance. "If one were to peep through the doa (the explainer pronounced 'to' [door] as 'doa') keyhole..." As the explainer’s narration continued, the film reached its climax. The actor playing the young man skillfully portrayed the scene of him leaving his room in a dream. He knocked steadily on the Countess’s bedroom door, slightly diverging from what the explainer had described. When the Countess heard her lover’s voice and opened the door, the man suddenly lunged at her and strangled her to death. This part was extremely thrilling. Tōjirō gripped the empty egg bag while engrossed in the film.

From here came the famous detective's active involvement until it was finally revealed that Dr. Doctor was the true culprit. When Dr. Doctor realized the pursuit was closing in, he made his car speed away in flight. In the end, having no place left to flee, he ended up committing suicide, while the young man was pardoned and even became a millionaire - making the latter half utterly preposterous. Yet Tōjirō watched this film through to the end without pausing for breath.

He left the XX Theater after night had already fallen. He, who usually entered other theaters, for some reason walked to Tawaramachi and boarded a train.

When Tōjirō had his ticket punched, he didn’t consider what legal significance that might hold. In his head floated the film he had just seen. Particularly, the scene where the young man alone secretly slipped out of his room lingered. Around the time the train was passing through Yotsuya Mitsuke, what raced through his mind was something entirely different. “If a madman draws his sword and comes at you, what do you do?” “Would it be permissible to beat him to death?”

Those words of that street legal scholar floated back into his head again and again.

That night when he returned home, he vigorously pulled out the lecture notes he had long kept and became engrossed in reading them intently. Late into the night, several lines from those lecture notes flickered before his eyes and refused to fade. They were as follows: Self-defense requires that it be against an unjust infringement. And "unjust" means that said infringement is not permitted under the law. Therefore, if it is objectively unjust, that suffices. Self-defense may be invoked even against acts by those lacking legal capacity or acts committed without criminal intent or negligence.

From the next day onward, Tōjirō became completely engrossed in planning the murder. When he had said “I’ll take care of him” the previous day, there had been no preparations. However, the seed of crime had already begun to sprout in his mind. Unfortunately, one could not say that Tōjirō’s earnestness and rigidity prevented him from becoming a criminal. The fact that he had some knowledge of the law still could not be said to absolutely prevent him from committing crime.

And the most unfortunate thing was that Tōjirō simply could not abandon his utterly simple—one might say naive—belief that if only Yōnosuke were gone, Miyoko would once again show him favor. How to kill Yōnosuke, how to escape legal punishment—nothing else mattered. If he could only succeed in these two things, he believed his love for Miyoko would naturally follow.

“Coincidence” gave him a strange insinuation.

As far as he knew, self-defense could be invoked even against acts committed by those lacking legal capacity. And as far as he knew, Yōnosuke was a severe sleepwalker. It went without saying that sleepwalkers could commit crimes while in a trance. He had in fact witnessed the very act of commission in vivid detail on the screen. (To be sure, this differed slightly from actual sleepwalking.) How Tōjirō intended to connect his legal knowledge and the impression from the film to the crime he meant to commit from this point onward. The reader had likely already surmised as much.

A few days later, he had completed a certain plan in his mind.

One evening about a week later, Tōjirō appeared again in Asakusa. This time, Yōnosuke was also together.

Because it was Yōnosuke’s day off, Tōjirō lied to the owner and went out himself starting in the evening. He managed to bring Yōnosuke out to Asakusa. From here on out, everything had to proceed exactly according to the prearranged plan. The two stood by the pond bustling with passersby when Tōjirō abruptly stopped before a street vendor’s stall. Daggers in white sheaths lay arrayed there in numbers. Tōjirō bought one of them. “Hey, you—this looks plenty sharp. See, a friend from back home came up to Tokyo just briefly the other day and went right back. Said he wanted a decent dagger for self-defense.” “Figured I’d send it off tomorrow or so. What d’you think? How’s it feel in the hand?”

With these words, Tōjirō handed the dagger to Yōnosuke for inspection. Yōnosuke seemed surprisingly interested as he examined the blade while— “Hmm, this is really good.” “Whether man or beast, this’d take them down with one thrust.”

he answered.

Tōjirō purchased a fairly large iron paperweight at another shop. He passed this off as something a friend had asked for. According to his plan, it was precisely this paperweight that was to be used for the killing.

While examining the movie theater’s promotional stills, Tōjirō searched thoroughly for the most brutal scenes he could find. After much effort, he finally brought Yōnosuke to a particular venue—the XX Theater—which screened nothing but Japanese period films. His scheme had succeeded perfectly. The projected films were nearly all swordplay dramas. In one featuring a renowned film actor as the lead, a character who might as well have been a homicidal madman dominated the story. This figure cut down and stabbed dozens of people from start to finish—slaughtering his way through the entire runtime.

Each time the sword glinted and the killer’s murderous expression filled the screen, Tōjirō shot a glance at Yōnosuke’s profile. Yōnosuke was engrossed, watching the murders on the screen. “More killing! More slashing!”

“More killing! More slashing!” Tōjirō screamed inwardly.

Yōnosuke might perhaps be thinking the same thing. He was so fervent a member of the audience that such conjecture seemed justified.

They returned to Restaurant N-tei around eleven o’clock that night.

Explaining Tōjirō’s plan in detail now might perhaps prove tedious for the reader. However, it shall be made clear here. Tōjirō planned to kill Yōnosuke under the pretext of self-defense. It was well-known among many people that Yōnosuke had been afflicted by sleepwalking episodes up to this point. In fact, in Yōnosuke’s room at N-tei (that is, Tōjirō and Yōnosuke’s shared bedroom), there were absolutely no dangerous items. Moreover, within only half a year since coming to N-tei, he had already frequently experienced sleepwalking episodes. On one such occasion, Tōjirō had actually witnessed it.

Therefore, even if Yōnosuke were struck by an episode that night, it would be no surprise. And were he to lash out with a slash at Tōjirō lying beside him in his sleepwalking state, such a thing would not be entirely impossible. However, until now there had been no implement suitable for delivering such slashes. This was why Tōjirō had obtained a single dagger. Objects like kitchen knives kept in the kitchen were too familiar, likely failing to leave any strong impression on Yōnosuke. This was why Tōjirō had gone out of his way to purchase a dagger. And to etch its image clearly in Yōnosuke’s mind, he repeatedly showed it to him and made him hold it.

Furthermore, that night as a proximate cause for triggering an episode, he had shown him ample violent films. Yōnosuke had watched them with remarkable intensity. Not being a doctor, Tōjirō could conceive of no better methods. And so he became convinced this would suffice.

The reason why he had sought the dagger had been explained to Yōnosuke. Of course, it was a complete fabrication. It was a lie that would be immediately exposed if anyone investigated this so-called friend from the country. However, he had told that lie only to Yōnosuke. If Yōnosuke were killed, when questioned under investigation, he could simply offer any fabricated reason that came to mind. And the reason he had obtained the paperweight followed the same logic. To prove they had watched swordplay films at the theater, he carefully brought back two programs. To establish beyond doubt their presence there that night, he had committed to memory the scenes and stories of several chambara films. He had even checked his watch to note when each film began and ended. The reader will immediately recognize how clumsy this final contrivance truly was.

He intended to deliberately place the dagger in the nearby cupboard and leave its door open when going to bed. Of course, this had to be fully observed by Yōnosuke. Late at night, probably around two o'clock, he would wake up. And then, he took out the dagger. Next, he lightly cut himself in two places around his throat. Then he thoroughly wiped the handle (this was of course to avoid being detected as the last person to have used it) and made Yōnosuke, lying beside him, grasp it in his right hand. Tōjirō knew Yōnosuke wasn't left-handed. Rather than acting while he was fully asleep, shaking Yōnosuke awake and catching him in that drowsy-eyed state would actually work better.

And then, the moment Yōnosuke grasped it, without missing his chance, he would split his forehead with a single blow from the iron paperweight.

The decisive moment would be over in an instant. Yōnosuke was certain to die immediately. Then he let out a scream as if struggling. He would position Yōnosuke’s corpse in an appropriate location. In this way, he could perfectly carry out the murder and thereby avoid punishment. His claim should proceed quite simply. He intended to state the following to the authorities.

“I felt something cold against my throat in the middle of the night.” “When I felt a stabbing pain, I thought ‘This is it!’ and opened my eyes—there was Yōnosuke with a demonic expression, holding something white and gleaming, straddling me.” “Since the light in the room was on, I could see everything clearly.” “I thought I’d be killed the next instant.” “My body was pinned down and wouldn’t budge.” “Of course there was no chance to escape.” “Without thinking, I stretched out my right hand—touched something hard—and in desperation struck Yōnosuke’s face. He cried ‘Ah!’ and collapsed.” “That’s when I immediately called for help.”

Would the prosecutor truly believe this account? Of course there was no reason he wouldn’t. The rest would be covered by the owner and others testifying about Yōnosuke’s usual behavior.

“It’s a truly splendid scheme,” Tōjirō thought. And he smiled involuntarily.

The time had finally come for him to go to bed. Tōjirō stored the dagger in the cupboard before Yōnosuke’s eyes as planned. All that remained was to sleep. Yōnosuke displayed his beautiful profile and seemed to fall asleep almost immediately. Tōjirō stared intently at that face. It was nature’s exquisite artistry granted to the male form. Yet for Tōjirō, feeling any fondness toward beauty of the same sex remained utterly impossible. He now cursed Yōnosuke’s face.

It became half past twelve, then around one o’clock. Time was just approaching the depths of midnight. Yet somehow, the atmosphere still seemed unsettled.

Tōjirō had to battle the violent drowsiness that inevitably accompanied his robust physique. He, perhaps due to having been overly tense from the start, began to grow increasingly exhausted as it approached around two o’clock.

Tōjirō drifted off unwittingly. Then he began being assailed by a strange dream. Yōnosuke had appeared standing there without warning. Looking over, he saw something glinting in one of his hands. In the blink of an eye, Yōnosuke came right up to his side. The next instant, Yōnosuke's face loomed before his own like a movie close-up. At that moment, he felt something icy cold touch his throat. He tried to scream. This isn't a dream! In that jolting instant—as indescribable burning pain seared around his throat—Tōjirō's consciousness vanished forever.

Yōnosuke was arrested that very night. However, he insisted to the police officers that he had absolutely no recollection of killing Tōjirō.

He naturally maintained that claim before the prosecutor as well. He maintained that if he had killed Tōjirō, it was entirely an act committed while asleep. “I have often been attacked by sleepwalking episodes in the past,” he said. He stated that particularly back when he was in his hometown, there had been an instance where he struck his father’s head with a cudgel.

The owner of Restaurant N-tei corroborated his claim. However, the dagger used and the paperweight beside it were items unknown to the owner of Restaurant N-tei. "Not only that, but I believe such dangerous items were not present in that room," stated the owner. However, fortunately for Yōnosuke, the Asakusa merchants remembered the person they had sold to. They clearly stated that both the dagger and the paperweight had been sold to the man who had come with Yōnosuke the previous night. And upon seeing the victim’s photograph, the two merchants confirmed the buyer.

The origin of the murder weapon, the buyer, and the reason for its presence at the scene were clarified. The fact that Yōnosuke had watched the film with the victim the previous night was confirmed through his detailed statement and other professional testimonies. Moreover, it became evident they had viewed a film of sufficient brutality. Yōnosuke provided as meticulous an account of that night's film as Tōjirō himself might have given had he executed his intended crime.

Of course, his mental state at the time of the crime was submitted to expert evaluation. As a result, it came to be inferred that his killing was entirely an unconscious act, just as Yōnosuke had stated.

The preliminary judge acknowledged that the case should not be transferred to public trial. Yōnosuke was finally released.

The case was simply this.

But had Yōnosuke really killed Tōjirō in a sleepwalking fit? Was there truly no other way to consider it?

The evaluation was undoubtedly conducted with due care.

But could it truly grasp the absolute truth? Could it be mistaken?

Furthermore, if one were to treat this as a murder case, both the prosecutor and the judge would undoubtedly have found it exceedingly difficult to explain the motive. They, because they are legal professionals and hold positions of judicial authority, must in this case seek out and explain the motive for murder.

×　　×　　×　　×

People who are neither doctors nor legal professionals need neither absolutely trust this evaluation nor definitively prove a motive. Did Yōnosuke truly kill Tōjirō entirely during sleep? Is there no murder motive to be found in him? For example, suppose Yōnosuke had... No—perhaps it would be more correct to leave anything beyond this to the readers' free imagination. (Published in *Shin Seinen*, October 1929 issue)