Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

I had always considered so-called "perfect crimes" to be nothing more than a form of fantasy.
Having served as a police affairs journalist at a certain company in Marunouchi, my mind—sharpened through exposure to relentlessly brutal and realistic cases—had no space remaining for such fairy-tale notions.
I had reached such a state that seeing friends absorbed in those discussions would inevitably stir contempt within me.

This same I who harbored such disdain found myself compelled to seriously contemplate "perfect crimes."
That I should have been forced into circumstances requiring me to execute one myself truly originated from an extraordinary confluence of events.
All elements conspired to forge flawlessly opportune conditions for transgression while seducing me with intensifying fervor.

It was the end of the New Year period.
As usual, I left the office around midnight, then stopped in the biting wind and glanced around me.
I had developed a nightly routine where after leaving work, I would wander through Marunouchi and Ginza, grab a drink somewhere, then trudge up the darkest slope at Kasumigaseki's far left to return precisely at two o'clock to my Sannencho boarding house—since sleep eluded me otherwise—but tonight I found myself deliberating which direction to take.

Then grazing past right before me came a mud-splattered Ford, and three soiled gloved fingers appeared before my nose.
It was the fingers of a young driver wearing a new hunting cap pulled low over his brows and a black flu-prevention mask... but I immediately waved my hand.

But the car did not move.
This time the driver deliberately brought his face close to the window and spoke in a thin voice audible only to me,

“I don’t mind if it’s free...”

said.
His eyes were laughing derisively.

I was momentarily taken aback—but—immediately gave a single nod and settled into the compartment. I thought this guy might make for a good story... So when the driver—who seemed to understand something unspoken—accelerated without even asking our destination, swiftly crossing Sukiyabashi Bridge before turning into the Ginza backstreets...

At that moment, I felt my heart pound a little. Having grown thoroughly suspicious... However, no sooner had we passed alongside the Enbujo theater and reached the sparsely trafficked area of Tsukiji Riverbank than the driver—suddenly slowing speed—whirled around to face me while removing his cap and mask.

“I don’t want you writing about this in the papers... Hohohoho...”

I involuntarily widened my eyes.

That was the theater actress from a certain company for whom a missing person report had been filed about two weeks prior. She was the short-haired modern girl (moga) with whom I had shared a single encounter long ago at a macabre round-table discussion for a certain magazine—her face, pale and tense as she listened to my casual talk on "murder art" during that time, still lingered in my memory. After fleeing her studio under the pretext of being "tired of acting life" and escaping to Tokyo, she had chosen of all places to rent a small shanty right near my boarding house in Sannencho, where she began living off boxed meals. And so, taking advantage of her real driver’s license under a male name, she disguised herself as one of those Moro taxi drivers in the area. Once confident she wouldn’t be caught, she began leisurely tailing me… or so she narrated with laughter. Once again,

“I don’t want you writing about this in the papers.”

While she pressed the point...

Upon hearing her story, what intrigued me most was understanding why she had specifically chosen me as her target—the workings of her mind that led to this selection.
That she would go to such lengths to pursue me in absolute secrecy suggested something deeper than mere romantic interest must be lurking within her psyche... I became determined to uncover its true nature.
Simultaneously intrigued by her mastery of male disguise, we began making arrangements while circling aimlessly in the car to establish our completely secure secret life together.

As a result, every night after finishing work at the company, I began utilizing that established routine to stop by her place for just one hour.
She too decided to continue roaming the city daily in driver's attire.
And so she resolved to become a woman solely before me... merely one hour each day....

……It was exceedingly simple and clear.
Moreover, precisely because of this, our secret life was supposed to maintain a 100% safety rate—but…

Yet this very "100% safety rate" became nothing less than the temptation of a "perfect crime" that began assailing me—all occurring not long afterward... It was after her personality's unimaginable abnormality started revealing itself before my eyes in all its starkness, less than a week after our secret life had begun.

She seemed to have been playing various pranks while waiting for me in that bleak, undecorated shanty—boiling water for hot whiskey. Of course, I had sensed from our first meeting that she likely harbored some peculiar hobby, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined it would prove to be such an inhuman one until it first met my eyes.
Even I—whose nerves had been tempered through police work encountering every manner of brutal incident—could scarcely bear to look upon such a cruel pastime.

She had tied a stray red Pointer mix that had wandered in from somewhere to the kitchen’s dirt floor, forced it to swallow about three old Gillette blades smeared with butter, and was making it die in agony.
When I pushed open her doorway, the dog already lay with its head in a pool of bloody foam, eyes staring glassy and wide—yet even so, one glance at the blood-soaked traces of suffering covering the dirt floor was enough to make me shudder.

“...Hohohoho... Why didn’t you come sooner? I’d kept it tied up to show you, but… You know… when you make them eat Gillette… Just as it tried to bite down, the blade got caught on the outside of its back teeth and wouldn’t come loose. So it suffered—gasping with hiccup-like breaths as it thrashed about… And this stubborn mutt here… Since it slurped up all three blades together, one finally went down. That must be why it died. Took exactly forty-five minutes to die… Wasn’t that amusing? Couldn’t even breathe properly… Dogs are such fools. Really…”

“…………”

“...Sorry about this, but could you tie a stone to this dog and toss it into the old well out back? You’ll find stones and wire lying around under the tennis court fence up front... I’ll wash away the blood on the dirt floor with the hose... okay... okay...”

In the midst of this, her eyes suddenly began to glitter.
...Before I could process this thought, she thrust both hands reeking of dog stench toward me with a thud, suddenly sinking her teeth into my neck before pressing gasoline-tinged kisses countless times against my cheek.

However, I had been feeling nauseous from the very beginning.
Amidst these mingling stenches—forced to contemplate her bottomlessly cruel nature—and as her kisses grew increasingly unbearable… I shut my eyes tight and shoved her away with all my strength, causing her to fall backward onto the tatami with a heavy thud.
And then, all the while taking off her socks as if to feign bashfulness, she burst into loud laughter.

“Ohohohoho.”
“You’re hopeless…”
“You don’t understand my feelings, do you?”
“...But you’ll surely understand soon.”
“If it’s you, surely… Ohohohoho…”

I remained with my eyes tightly shut and shook my head vigorously from side to side.
Because I understood her state of mind all too well… because I had finally realized at this moment that she was a peculiar type of woman who used the stimulation of such games to heighten her sexual spasms into a singular condition… and because even her conviction—that she must have marked me from our very first meeting as the sole sympathizer of these proclivities—stood so vividly affirmed…

This was likely an instinctual blind passion that even she herself remained unaware of.
That blind passion—having been awakened by my offhand remarks during that macabre round-table discussion long ago—resulted in her becoming ensnared by such proclivities.
And as a result of this, had she not abandoned everything to become instinctively drawn to me… Was she not deluding herself into believing this was love…

And... having thought this far, I involuntarily shook my head vigorously once more from side to side.
My hair prickled, and a chill began creeping down my back...

Moreover, her psychological state became truly seared into my consciousness when, two or three days later, I discovered her tormenting a neighborhood stray cat she'd hooked through its flesh with a fishhook baited with meat scraps—reeling it in and letting it struggle out again.
At the same time, that her choosing me as a companion in these depravities had been a catastrophic error... that within me lurked something far more terrifying than she could have conceived... this truth too became irrefutably clear to me.

It seems she had intended to appease me at that time.
While tormenting a tiger-striped cat caught on her fishing line using methods too disturbing to even describe here, she laughed uproariously, doubled over with mirth.
As I desperately stared at that unbearable sight of the cat—eyes wide open yet unable to make a sound—sweating profusely all the while, I became aware of my own nerves rapidly congealing in a terrifying direction.

……This woman was a harmful and useless existence.

...this woman was a more passive, trivial existence than any criminal under the law on earth.
...and at the same time, she had to be an existence more accursed, more abominable, and more tenacious than any of those.

...this woman possessed instincts that compressed and sharply modernized the natures of women from foreign cruelty tales... Moreover, having deliberately abandoned her actress life for these proclivities—withdrawing from human society to lurk hidden in such a place—who could know how many more animal corpses beyond those I witnessed she might have thrown into the old well out back...

...this woman was an utterly unbearable, profound nightmare to me.
...At the same time, socially, she had to be an existence honed to nightmarish sharpness...

...And... While staring fixedly at such thoughts, facing the kitchen's darkness with eyes stretched wide open, from behind me came the distant, drawn-out screech of the last train rounding Toranomon's curve—resounding far, far away, long, long into the night.

I shuddered and involuntarily wiped the cold sweat from my forehead.
When I looked, she had apparently thrown the cat’s corpse—it might have still been alive—into the well at some point, and now lay with her eyes closed contentedly, warming herself under the electric kotatsu in her bedding.

It was precisely at that moment that I vividly felt the destiny compelling me to kill her.
...And at the same time, it was precisely from that next moment—as I looked down upon her sleeping face—that this destiny swiftly transformed into an irresistibly powerful allure, closing in around me with suffocating intensity, beginning to tempt me so fiercely I could scarcely breathe.

...In all this world, there exists only one person capable of eradicating this nightmare.
Here I stand—just me alone.
...Killing this woman is my mission.

……No.
No.
This woman had been destined to end up like this from our very first meeting.
...As proof, wasn't this woman right here before me—having come of her own volition to have me commit an absolutely safe crime—waiting like this with eyes tightly shut, creating the perfect opportunity to fall into my hands?

...I needed only lay her corpse here, turn off the light, and return to my boarding house at the usual time.
All I had to do was fall asleep knowing nothing.
Then starting tomorrow night again, simply repeat my customary walk as before.

...Fate... Yes... It must be fate... This is her...

As I kept turning these thoughts over in my mind, I grew so calm that a high-pitched ringing filled my ears.
And with that calm brain of mine having thought through every outcome like lightning, I knelt by her pillow without hesitation and—just as I'd jokingly tried four or five days prior—placed my gloved hands around her warm throat, applying slight pressure.
Of course, I still intended it as a mere joke—

Her long eyelashes quivered faintly at that moment.
Then she blinked her large eyes several times, comparing the two black gloves gripping her neck with my fedora-clad face.
Beneath my hands, she rotated her small Adam’s apple two or three times, swallowed saliva, then closed her eyes with cheeks flushed crimson—smiling sweetly all the while as though savoring every moment.

“……You may kill me…… It’s all right……”

II

Why did I kill her?

How utterly flawless were the means by which I killed her, and how magnificent the opportunity to execute those means.

And so—fundamentally—what manner of being am I?

If you examine any of Tokyo's newspapers from about three weeks prior, everything becomes clear.
You need only read "My Confession" within the article on "The Actress Murder Case"—likely printed in bold headlines with prominent coverage—to understand fully.
Through that article... I, who utter these words, was exposed as a young police affairs journalist at a certain newspaper company, thoroughly versed in police matters.
At the same time, should one clearly apprehend the fact that I was a man of extreme materialistic nihilistic disposition—one who considered conscience as nothing more than a fragment of inherited sensibility born from obsolete moral views—then that suffices.

Now, as for me currently writing here with the permission of the authorities, this is not a confession belonging to the scope of such newspaper articles.
Nor is it a confession of the sort that should be entered into police reports or preliminary investigation records.
In other words, this is a confession about why I made the confessions that appear in those newspaper articles and preliminary investigation records.
...it is a confession of an extremely mysterious and terrifying truth lurking beneath yet another layer of the incident's truth.
...even one who possesses an exceedingly sharp, calm mind accustomed to objectively examining and critiquing all criminal cases would find surprising...a confession that might be described as the center of light × the core of darkness = X.

This may sound repetitive, but I want to reiterate this point once more.

The extremely few people who thoroughly scrutinized that newspaper article…or those possessing a certain sharp-intuitioned type of mind must have noticed immediately.
Regarding this incident, I had been confident I could maintain complete ignorance and denial to the very end.
That I had possessed absolute, unshakable conviction in being able to force through to an "insufficient evidence" verdict—without a fraction of discrepancy—no matter what famous detective or prosecutor might appear...this assertion of mine would undoubtedly meet with your wholehearted approval.
...And yet why did I—of all people—voluntarily confess my own crimes?... To probe deeper: why did I—who absolutely denied the existential value of anything called conscience... who should have retained not a shred of sympathy for her whom I killed with my own hands... why did I so heedlessly spill my guts?... Why did I willingly walk into detectives' snare that had been cast as a mere blind guess?...

...Such questions must have naturally arisen in the minds of those few who truly scrutinized that article. They must have collided head-on with the great question of "Why did I confess?"

Yet strangely enough, the police officers and court officials handling this case didn't seem to be making any official issue of such matters. Though they'd thrown me into detention, not a single one appeared to have raised questions regarding this point. That they never once interrogated me about it... served as the most eloquent proof.

However, when you think about it, this was only natural.
They had become utterly satisfied with my confession and remained oblivious to anything beyond that...
After all, they were nothing but mindless instruments for apprehending criminals...and they were far too busy becoming such instruments to collect their salaries...

Therefore, I was not writing this sentence with the thought of providing it for their reference.
I was writing this as a mere parting gift for the few astute readers who had scrutinized that article and raised questions about my psychology of confession, and for the court-appointed lawyer who had gone out of his way to obtain official permission to provide me with this paper and pencil.

And in the sense that I wanted to settle my "perfect crime" once and for all...

I left the empty house—where I’d left no trace of the crime beyond “her death”—and walked leisurely back to my boarding house across concrete frozen below zero in the depths of night.
It was the same walking route I always took when strolling back from the newspaper company, but whether due to the extreme cold, not a single stray dog could be seen along the way.
Only the dead leaves lingering here and there on the street trees fluttered intermittently under the chrome-colored starry sky, stirred by a wind so faint it might not have existed at all.

Everything unfolded flawlessly and ideally, exactly as I had anticipated.
It was as though all creation had conjured for me this supreme instant that made possible the execution of a "perfect crime," moving precisely according to my design to guarantee the soundness of my mind to the utmost.
On a whim, I stopped at the boarding house entrance and checked my wristwatch under the eaves light—the time differed not a single minute from my usual return hour.

……She had now been completely washed away from my world of memories as a being of the past.
And so from now on, for the time being, I just needed to repeat my nightly walk along that same route every evening.
Leaving out only those liaisons with her in that empty house...

Repeating this thought, I pressed the boarding house's front entrance bell and greeted the sleepy-faced maid who had undone the latch.
As usual, I said, “Thank you… Goodnight.”
At that moment, the pillar clock hanging above the front desk struck two o'clock with a dry clatter.

With the clock’s sound in my ears, I was able to untie the shoelaces methodically down to the very tips of my nerves.
Then, with my usual gait, I climbed the stairs mostly looking downward—but it became such a composed, even impressively so to my own mind, sleepy-sounding footstep that echoed through the upper and lower floors late at night.

……It’s all right now.
There’s not a single flaw.
All that remained was to enter my room at the stairway landing above, blow one bat as usual, then cover myself with the futon and sleep.
…Forget everything…

Thinking such thoughts over and over as I climbed about halfway up the wide staircase, then came to the roughly four-mat wooden-floored area at the right-angle turn to the right—there, likely following my usual habit, I carelessly raised my face...and I involuntarily gasped.
I might have nearly let out a sound.

...I found myself standing rigidly face-to-face with "myself"... In the life-sized mirror embedded in the wooden wall before me stood another me—who must have ascended from the staircase beyond—illuminated by the yellow ten-candlepower electric light overhead, stopping to stare fixedly at myself.
...Pale...seemingly composed...yet with a complexion sharpened like a criminal's...eyes hollow and tense to their very core...

“I hadn’t anticipated this mirror at all,”...the moment I realized this, I felt all my nerves unexpectedly begin to reel.
I felt as though everything that had until now guaranteed and supported my perfect crime was suddenly collapsing behind me with a clattering crash.
…Simultaneously, I thought I felt myself sprinting up the side staircase and tumbling into my room at the corridor’s edge…yet in the very next instant, I found myself rigid once more, standing stock-still at the center of the wooden floor facing the mirror…remaining in a flustered state as though I’d been seen through by myself…

At that moment, the me in the mirror—with those black, sharp eyes—clearly issued this command to me.

“You mustn’t stand frozen like that.”
“Behaving in such a conspicuously special manner before this mirror tonight of all nights will expose you to grave danger.”
“If you hesitate even a second, you’ll keep confessing that ‘you’re the culprit’ for one extra second!”

...Yet leaving my presence while remaining so nervously agitated would prove all the more conspicuous.
You must immediately return all your nerves to their usual calmness.
And then you must climb the stairs on your right with your usual composed gait and return to your own room.
"...Listen... You mustn't move yet... Your nerves are still trembling... Not yet... Not yet..."

While desperately meeting the unrelenting gaze of those sharp eyes issuing command after command, I felt my nerves draining away like water through sand. As my entire body stiffened into stone and began swaying leftward—or so it seemed—I frantically planted both feet, biting my lips bloody while maintaining that fixed stare into the mirror’s depths, until somehow I’d slipped back into self-awareness. At last moving my right hand, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped away the cold sweat drenching my face. Then came the slackening—nerves unraveling faster than I could track—leaving me not calm but hollowed out by disappointment that churned my stomach and left me spent.

I began to find everything strangely amusing.
The sight of myself being so strangely flustered until just now began to seem utterly ridiculous.
And I felt an absurd impulse—as if I wanted to burst into a loud "Ha ha ha" laugh...as if I wanted to roar "What’s wrong with laughing?!"

I wanted to despise the self in the mirror—overwhelmed by the impulse to spit in his face and demand, "What the hell are you?"
Then once more I took out the handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my face, looked around furtively, and when I turned back toward the mirror, the me in the mirror likewise—with a bloodless face like ceramic—stared timidly back at me……but……then suddenly, as if remembering something, bared white teeth in a cold, thorny smile.

I involuntarily averted my eyes. ...I gulped down saliva.

It was a certain morning about a week later.
I was sleeping in as usual, debating whether to get up now or... what to do, when as I unfolded today’s morning paper—which I’d brought back from the newspaper company last night—the voices of a man and woman conversing at the front desk downstairs unexpectedly filtered through the shoji screen.
When I heard the voices, I averted my eyes from the newspaper.
Hmm... sounded familiar... Thinking this over while pretending to read the newspaper and half-listening, I realized they were the voices of Detective T from the Metropolitan Police Department—a familiar acquaintance—and the boarding house landlady.

“Hmm… Has there been anything unusual about that man lately…”

Detective T had a famously barrel-chested voice.

“No…
“Not really... He’s always been such a particular gentleman.”

The landlady was known for her shrill voice, but today she seemed somewhat intimidated...

I laid the newspaper on top of the bedding and, while gazing at the wood grain on the ceiling, strained my ears intently.
It’s all right—this isn’t about me… remaining convinced…

“Hmm—”
“Gestures or any little things would do... but if you don’t tell us everything openly, it’ll cause trouble later on.”

“...Well... If you say so, there is something...”
“It’s just a small thing, though…”

“What sort of thing?”

“…………”

The landlady's voice suddenly became inaudible.
Though she seemed to be whispering into Detective T's ear, to me straining to listen, that theatrical scene lay bare before me with vivid clarity, giving me an oddly comical sensation.
Even as I thought this, Detective T's booming voice began ringing through unmistakably clear.

“Hmm…”
“Every time he passed before that mirror, he’d pause for a moment.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Then he’d adjust his tie, strike some dandyish pose, straighten his cap, and go downstairs... But these days he doesn’t even glance at that mirror.”
“Being such a lady-killer, all us maids noticed and remembered that habit… For about this past week… Hmm… Started right around the day after that incident… Hmm… Anything else…? Any other observations…”

I bolted upright.
It was still too early to go to the company, but I couldn’t afford to worry about such things.
However, I never panicked.
Having anticipated every contingency for precautionary measures... I swiftly discarded my everyday clothes and changed into tennis gear, though I must admit my heart pounded a little at that moment.
I never imagined... never imagined they’d act so swiftly... and at the same time, I felt no small amount of anger.
It seemed I would have to resort to the most troublesome final measure after all...

...They always resort to these half-baked shots in the dark during their investigations—what a nuisance.
If they actually secured proper, unshakable evidence, they wouldn't come here even in a hundred years... Tch...
What's more, the sheer shallowness of this trick they're trying to pull on me now—do they really think I'd bite at such an old bait?... I want to snap back, but just this once I'll specially take their hook... I'll use their own moth-eaten tactics against them.
In return, I'll make damn sure every shred of evidence becomes insufficient—not one iota left—so don't you dare start howling when that happens....

Thinking such thoughts while wearing my gym clothes, I snugly pulled on a sweater, stuffed the coin purse into my back pocket, gathered my newsboy cap, Western handkerchief, racket, and sneakers, then quietly slid open the soap-coated shoji door—its surface made slippery for this purpose—and stepped out onto the second-floor corridor overlooking the rooftops of the back alleys. There, as a precaution, I looked around both ways, but no one was present.

……Got them now.
Depending on how things go, that earlier performance might not have been an act after all.
There might still be ample time to escape… But I won’t know for sure until I make it out to the main street…

As I thought this and moved through the corridor connecting to the back stairs—doubting yet half-expecting something—there he stood... I came face to face with Detective A, that veteran officer from the Metropolitan Police Department who must have been stationed there lying in wait.

I widened my eyes in shock and froze... or so I thought.
Because the appearance of this veteran Detective A was something that only occurred when they had ninety percent certainty about arresting a confirmed criminal... and because in that moment, I seemed to fleetingly recall that figure of myself in the mirror from that night....
Detective A smiled gently while stroking his unkempt salt-and-pepper beard.

“Oh… Out rather early… Where might you be off to…”

I blinked two or three times.
I immediately began laughing while thinking to make some clever excuse, but in that very instant, I once again felt as though my own figure from the mirror had blocked my vision, so I involuntarily rubbed both eyes with the racket-holding hand.

“Uh… uh… That… just…”

I became aware of how poorly I was acting—even to myself.
I realized cold sweat was dripping steadily from my armpits.
Detective A apparently also noticed my unusual restlessness.
He smiled gently while slightly tensing his facial muscles.

“Where to?”

“I’m going to play tennis... I have an appointment...”

The old detective leisurely looked me up and down.
He continued stroking his chin...

“Hmm—... Which court...”

At this point, I finally managed to laugh.
I don’t know what kind of smile I managed though….

“The Hibiya courts… However, is there something you require?”
“Well… There was a matter I wanted you to come for.”

“Me?”

“Well… I don’t think it’s anything major…”

“That’s not it… You’re suspecting me of something, aren’t you?”

The resolve I had long steeled myself for—that it was best to proceed as usual, cutting straight through—finally solidified at this moment, and I boldly declared exactly that.
Sure enough, the old detective’s gentle smile began transforming into a bitter grimace before my eyes.
He seemed rather flustered.

“Th-that’s not it...
“Aren’t you a newspaperman?”

I sounded a triumphal fanfare within myself. If I could provoke this detective into recklessly arresting me here and now, that would achieve true perfection.

"But that's exactly what's happening, isn't it? If it were truly nothing urgent, wouldn't you have called instead? Since it's not yet time for me to go to the office, I could head there immediately."

The smile vanished completely from the old detective's face. He squinted his suspicious eyes blearily and looked me up and down once more.

As I simultaneously looked up and down at that face from my side as well, I completely regained my composure. My head turned to ice, sharpening into crystalline clarity in every direction.

I once again realized the situation was not simple. The fact that the old detective wasn’t readily treating me as a suspect was proof that he had already pinpointed me as the exact perpetrator despite insufficient evidence… Thus, I clearly understood this was his signature persistent tactic—trying to first thoroughly unsettle me, make me carelessly reveal some irreparable flaw, and then clamp down precisely.

…But how exactly had the Metropolitan Police Department zeroed in on me… Depending on their approach, I supposed it was better not to panic… Hmm…

As I hesitated for a mere second or two while thinking this, the old detective once again began smiling warmly and leaned in close to my ear.

Before I could retreat, he began muttering in a hushed tone—but upon hearing his words, they were word for word what I had imagined.

“Listen well now… Come along quietly.
“I won’t treat you poorly.
“Listen well.
“You live near that vacant house where the actress was killed, yes?
“And pass by that house every night on your way back from the office, don’t you?
“The method was remarkably clean—left no evidence whatsoever.
“Given it must be work from someone sharp-witted and method-savvy, our confidential investigation led us straight to you.
“Not that we’ve got solid proof.
“So if this goes to court, evidence’d surely be deemed insufficient.
“That I can absolutely guarantee.
“Listen well.
“You grasp this already…
“These words come from beyond my duties—pure desire to help you. You must believe me.
“Clever lad like you understands.
“I’ve had you assist me countless times before, well… well…”

I wasn’t someone who couldn’t see through the dreadful, detestable trap hidden behind these words.
At the same time, as I contemplated my plan to undermine their scheme, I found myself unwittingly wanting to smile.

However, I didn't make the blunder of letting such feelings show on my face.
Having instantly realized that if I were to fall for such honeyed words and hesitate even momentarily, that very hesitation would become "evidence of guilt," I indignantly declared—just as the old detective's words were ending—

“...No good.
“Stop joking... If you all drag me in, your reputations might be salvaged, but what becomes of mine?
“It’s not just reputation—I’ll lose my livelihood too, won’t I?
“This exceeds even shamelessness!
“...Outrageous... Withdraw from me...”

Shouting angrily at the top of my voice, I pushed past Detective A and tried to head toward the back staircase, but regarding my composure at that moment, I thought even to myself it was a masterpiece of authenticity.
The old detective’s persistent, crafty methods were truly infuriating...

However, I was well aware such actions of mine would rarely pass without incident.

The old detective, with greater strength than I had anticipated, swiftly grasped my shoulder and pulled me back.
Then, just as I thought he had merely tapped my hands holding the racket and shoes for an instant, he snapped the still-warm handcuffs onto me with perfect precision——when——from the veranda behind me, Detective T and another young detective who seemed to be a rookie emerged from around the corner as if they had been lying in wait, blocking my path behind me.

I deliberately surveyed the faces of the two detectives I knew among them with feigned bewilderment.
Then, adopting an utterly disgraced appearance, as I slumped forward dejectedly, I inadvertently staggered sideways and thudded my back against the wall—whereupon Detective T came striding over from behind and peered into my face with a slight bowing motion.
He then let out a transparently false laugh—as if pitying me... or perhaps making excuses.

“Ha ha ha ha ha.
“You took the bait in that little performance just now.”

“…………”

“……With someone like you, we hardly expect any careless slips."
“I knew you wouldn’t be handled with ordinary methods, but setting a small snare and having you bite so readily was a relief.”
“Now, kindly resign yourself.”
“I won’t treat you harshly… We’re not exactly strangers… Ha ha ha ha…”

As Detective T’s laughter was ending—or perhaps before it had fully subsided—I, who had been bowing my head, suddenly darted like a startled hare past the young detective, hooked one leg over the second-floor corridor railing, and tried to leap down.
Of course, it was all part of my suicidal charade—but when the young detective firmly restrained me, I immediately began smashing the handcuffs against the railing before my eyes as if to shatter them, all while wringing a sob from my throat to let out a piercing scream.

“It’s a lie… It’s a lie… A mistake… Take these handcuffs off… It’s a false charge!”
“I am innocent… I know that woman.”
“But there’s no connection!”
“I didn’t even know where she was… I… I leave the office every night at twelve and return to my boarding house exactly at two o’clock.”
“For years now… That’s right… Two or three years now… Take off these handcuffs.”
“These handcuffs—I need to go play tennis!”
“The weather’s nice… Hnngh—let go! Let go! Eeeeeh!”

However, even my physical strength, honed through ball sports and tennis, proved no match for the three detectives.
This too had been evident from the outset, but to maintain absolute denial in court, I believed it imperative to stage this preparatory act of resisting violently at least once... Moreover—knowing from actual cases that leaving a sympathetic impression on fellow boarders and neighboring families would prove highly advantageous later—I persisted in screaming and resisting until thoroughly spent.

Then, as planned—my sweater and pants torn and twisted in wretched disarray—I was hauled to my feet by the three detectives.
With eyes clamped shut and face tilted upward, gasping for breath as I moved straight down the wooden corridor toward the front stairs—but when I reached the mirror along the way, I froze once more.
Just like that other night’s path… without ever truly understanding why…

In the large mirror stood three dark-skinned, stern-faced men and—before I knew it—my own pallid, wretched face smeared with nosebleed, lined up rigidly side by side.

As I stared at my transformed visage with a magnetized intensity, I felt the hairs on my head begin prickling and bristling upright for no discernible reason.
I felt as though I had clearly realized that the "flawless crime" I had constructed had been utterly shattered into minuscule fragments by this single mirror.

……And…… The moment I became aware of this—still facing my own reflection—I felt myself plummeting into an infinite abyss. My consciousness dimmed; I swayed unsteadily, teetering on collapse.

Bracing myself with desperate resolve, I took a step toward the mirror’s image. Fixing my eyes that threatened to go pitch-dark, I twisted my face into the most hateful expression this world could contain and brought it close to my nose’s tip. With all my strength, I thrust out my chin.

“……It’s me——me……”