Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Ran Ikujirō

I

At a remote hill on the village outskirts appeared a hastily built hut hung with gaudy curtains, bearing the name Far East Circus Troupe. To the raucous jinta music and reedy flutes carrying through the air, villagers young and old briefly reveled in intense colors, music, and thrills—yet even after the troupe drifted elsewhere, they would still recall for a time, amid white drifting clouds, visions of boys' and girls' hanged limbs.

Even amidst that brilliant atmosphere, there still existed a small "tormented insect."

I-2 “Idiot! Can’t you even do that, you fool!” The Boss barked those vulgar words, then glared fiercely at Kurokichi while slamming the leather whip in his hand repeatedly against the floor. Still a young boy, Kurokichi trembled in fear,

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” After muttering those words, he kept rubbing the shoulder area of his tattered flesh-colored undergarment while clumsily rolling over into handstand after handstand on the ice-cold floor, his awkward body thudding repeatedly against the ground. Hunger, fear, pain, cold—and above all, the other troupe members’ ridicule—swarmed around Kurokichi as they always did. Before he knew it, seething blood-like tears streamed down, leaving black stains on the rough-hewn floorboards as they seeped soundlessly into the wood.

—There was the backstage of the Far East Circus Troupe. Clumsy at handstands and awkward, Kurokichi was the troupe’s boy performer there. Karasu Kurokichi. That was his name. But was this merely a stage name, or his real one? Judging by the characters, it was likely a name the Boss had arbitrarily bestowed—but as for his true name, not only did he himself have no certainty, one might doubt whether even the Boss knew it clearly. As for Kurokichi’s own memories, they were exceedingly vague—yet the pitiful thing was that they always began in this circus troupe’s corner, at the costume closet.

And so, from when he first gained awareness—from when his memories began—his surroundings had always been suffused with the mournful jinta music, crumpled gaudy costumes, the stench of cheap white makeup clinging to them, and the stifling odor of sweat-soaked flesh-colored undergarments, all overlapping to color the air. Amidst this decadent atmosphere, the ceaseless friction among troupe members and the warped bluish-black air settling beneath the glamour had completely stripped away every trace of "cheerfulness" from young Kurokichi’s heart. And what remained was a gloomy, shade-dwelling insect of a boy’s heart that made him perceive the world solely through a distorted lens.

When he had no tasks, he would always be in the dim backstage corner—where thick logs were crisscrossed endlessly with rough ropes like a spiderweb—lost in vague thoughts. It was a melancholic, effeminate figure unbefitting a boy. Kurokichi clearly—from his fellow boy performers— “Hey, get over here!” he seemed afraid of being called over.

However, that was merely his own anxiety. None of the other boy performers wanted to willingly play with Kurokichi—this melancholy-faced boy, clumsy in his acts, who stood in the Boss’s bad graces. (While this may have been out of consideration for the fearsome troupe leader,) it rather seemed that even when Kurokichi approached them, they would never give a kind reply. In the end, Kurokichi took advantage of this situation to remain utterly alone in the corner of the hut—left forgotten—and lose himself in the trivial “fantasy” that was the sole oasis remaining to him.

I-3

What was the melancholic boy Kurokichi thinking about? —Before that, we must explain why he stood in such poor favor with the Boss. (For this had significant bearing on his melancholic nature as well.)

Kurokichi, by any measure, did not seem to be the Boss’s “favorite.” Of course, his lack of skill and clumsiness in performance was certainly one cause, but the other major reason lay in the congenital misfortune of his ugly physical appearance.

Could a boy’s physical features truly oppress a young heart so utterly— Indeed, for those who lived on the stage, beauty and ugliness of face posed an immense disadvantage. If his fellow adorable boy were to—say—take an accidental tumble and land squarely on his bottom during a performance, the audience would— "Oh, how pitiful... Why, he's blushing and looking over here—just like Masami-san!" Thus would that cute, handsome boy gain even greater popularity through his blunder. Yet when Kurokichi—with his ill-favored features—committed similar errors onstage, that same audience would mock this graceless boy's incompetence without the slightest compunction.

Kurokichi, who was even ridiculed by these spectators, made it all too easy to imagine just how much of an utter fool and good-for-nothing he appeared to the Boss. Therefore, one could well imagine what kind of harsh treatment the Boss had meted out to Kurokichi—

(I’m terrible at my act.) (I’m an ugly man.) In the dim corner of the hut, Kurokichi sat alone, lost in thought—far from pleasant fantasies, his young heart perpetually ravaged by these two unchildlike torments that raged incessantly within him. And this only served to forcefully drive those boyish, dependent feelings deep into his heart, doing nothing but make him even gloomier. In the cold, cold chest, the only hot thing was a single tear.

Karasu Kurokichi, confined within such an atmosphere, could not have grown straight and true. And thus came into being there alone a boy with a pallid "distorted psyche." Was this around the time when ordinary boys and girls were joyfully beginning elementary school? Of course, such a privileged life lay far beyond Kurokichi’s imagination. Yet from this period onward, Kurokichi began viewing the boys and girls among his fellow young troupe members through a different eye.

There was no clear difference—nothing one could pinpoint as "this"—but when mocked by the girls, he strangely didn’t feel the same indignation as when insulted by the boys. Rather— (If only I were struck by those hands……) When he thought this, he felt a shuddering sensation akin to joy.

What this was—Kurokichi had gradually come to clearly perceive its shape.

I-4

In this decadent circus troupe’s backstage—where the stench of cheap white makeup, sweat-drenched body odor, and flimsy garments in garish colors lay scattered like rags—the “distorted psyche” of a gloomy boy raised amid contempt began to seethe with a strange obsession toward precocious girls.

—And then an event occurred that spurred it on even further. It was the day when they had finally finished erecting the huts on the grounds—the eve of their public opening tomorrow.

The Boss, as usual, oversaw the hut construction with a stern face, but once it was finished, he put on an expression as if he had accomplished some grand feat and went off somewhere to amuse himself with other favorite executives.

After seeing off the Boss as he left for his amusement, the older troupe members and band staff finally began to relax, bursting into raucous laughter as they chattered freely—but Senji, the joker, while inspecting his clown costume for his role, “Hey, the Boss has left. Should we head out too?”

As if that had been a signal, the voices suddenly grew louder.

“Yeah, we gotta have a drink once in a while…” “Tch—‘Once in a while,’ my ass. You really had the nerve to say that.” “There’s tomorrow—you sure you’re good?”

“What? We gotta do at least a bit or this won’t last. If ya don’t like it, quit then.”

“Nah, ain’t quittin’.” “Ha ha ha! Damn noisy!” And so, looking thoroughly delighted, they chattered noisily while hurriedly getting ready, then were released into the town.

And before long, within this desolate cabin, only Old Man Genjirō the bedding manager and the child troupe members remained, left here and there in isolation. The child troupe members were prohibited from going out. That was of course a precaution against “running away.” The one tasked with this watchman role—now senile—was none other than Old Man Genjirō, who had once carried the troupe on his shoulders in his prime.

In the end, the young children had no choice but to play each on their own inside the cabin. The boys played among themselves, dashing about the stage, while the girls clustered together in girlish fashion to jump rope.—And Kurokichi remained alone in the corner of the cabin, solitary as ever.

However, unlike usual, Kurokichi’s eyes seemed fixated on something with singular intensity.

(What could this gloomy, timid boy be watching so intently?) Anyone who knew his usual self would surely have tilted their head in puzzlement had they noticed this behavior. And had someone casually followed this boy’s line of sight, they might have abruptly averted their eyes.

Right before Kurokichi’s eyes, the girl troupe members, wearing simple clothes, were jumping rope—. However, what he was watching was not that. When these girls jumped over a rope as tall as themselves and landed with a thud, their simple skirts fluttered in the wind at that instant, revealing glimpses of plump white thighs—.

(Would a boy of about ten stare so intently at such things with bated breath—) When one considered this, before that intensely unpleasant feeling lay something bone-chillingly terrifying.

However, that still wasn’t all.

II The plump white thighs that had viscerally shaken this melancholic boy’s heart to its foundations now swirled ceaselessly through his mind in great, surging vortices. When at last the whirlpool in his heart began to subside, what rose from those churning depths was the face of the troupe’s star girl—Kishida Yōko. Yet simultaneously, Kurokichi felt a violent discomfort crash through him, as though he’d been struck headlong.

(Tch, no matter how much I try to play with Yō-chan, it’s useless.) I’m hopeless at my act. And besides, would someone as beautiful as Yō-chan ever play with a dirty kid like me……) But the strange fixation on Yō-chan—seared deep into this boy’s heart—would not budge an inch for such trifles.

Rather,

(No good) The more he thought this, the more his urge to suddenly shout at the top of his lungs intensified—no, rather, it only grew more frenzied.

—Around this time, his demeanor seemed to have gradually changed. Had one looked carefully, they would have noticed that Kurokichi’s eyes—still alone in the cabin’s corner—had taken on a strange gleam. And at those times, without fail, the young star Yōko would be flitting about in an adorable form at the end of his gaze. Yōko was still around ten years old like Kurokichi, but with her beautiful face, skilled performances, and cheerfulness akin to a free bird—so much so that even that stern-faced Boss doted on her beyond measure—she alone appeared truly happy within this dismal circus troupe.

And of course，she likely never noticed that this gloomy，ugly Kurokichi was scrutinizing her every move as though devouring them． For Kurokichi himself，the fact that she didn’t care about him in the slightest was a tormenting mix of pain and irritation．Of course，if she were to— Come over here，you— how happy he would be．—But on the other hand— You’re so slovenly．I absolutely despise someone like you．

The moment he feared she might say such things—he couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her—even when Yōko casually glanced his way, (Is she laughing at me?) This sensation surged back like fire through his veins. And so, he promptly averted his eyes. Even while aware of his own warped feelings, Kurokichi still could not shed them—nor his adoration for Yōko.

× As if suddenly remembering, the lively jinta finished playing through "Shikishima March" and then began "Kachiusha." The sound of the flute faded feebly into the azure sky, and in its intervals, the desiccated gatekeeper's "calls" echoed in a way that made even the troupe members feel strangely restless. “Come on, it’s Yō-chan’s turn now.” “Oh, it’s my turn already? I’m so busy!” “Hurry, hurry!”

Yōko, flustered, took a bite of her rice cracker and rushed out of the costume room. Just then, Kurokichi—who happened to be passing by—caught a glimpse of it. For some reason, he gently picked up that half-eaten cracker and carried it away as though it were something precious.

二ノ二 Kurokichi, who had quietly retrieved the half-eaten cracker Yōko had bitten into and tossed aside, passed through the area where troupe members—their faces flushed beneath thick layers of white stage makeup—were busily conversing, pretending not to notice them. He then arrived at the shadowed corner of the hut where cushions were stacked like a mountain. Through experience, Kurokichi knew that once the performance began, people rarely came to a place like this. Even so, after carefully ascertaining that no one was around, he sneakily hunched his body and slipped into the gap between the precariously stacked cushions that looked ready to collapse at any moment.

The gap was undeniably cramped, yet it had a strangely warm resilience that felt somehow nostalgic. Kurokichi finally savoring a breathless calm took that fragment of cracker in hand, then—as though it were some precious gem—gingerly laid it on his palm to examine.

(This is Yō-chan's half-eaten one.) When this thought came, he felt happiness that involuntarily loosened his cheeks. ...he wanted to keep it so preciously... wanted to clutch it tight——.

Kurokichi, having fully savored his happiness, gazed at it once more, thoroughly, in the faint light. When he looked closely like this—whether it was his imagination or not—the fragment of rice cracker seemed somewhat moist. When he carefully touched it, the bitten part was indeed slightly moist. (Yō-chan’s saliva…?) Kurokichi’s small heart trembled violently at this unexpected treasure.

He was, despite being a boy, not someone who had picked up this single fragment of rice cracker simply because he wanted to eat it. To Kurokichi, this rice cracker—as Yōko’s half-eaten piece—appeared every bit as precious as a diamond of however many carats.

However, when he touched it, this fragment was moist... (It’s Yō-chan’s saliva.) At that moment, two images rose vividly in Kurokichi’s mind: Yōko hurriedly holding this cracker between her lips in the costume room, followed by a close-up of her adorable crimson lips. Along with that, he involuntarily gulped down a thick lump of saliva. With an uncanny gleam in his eyes and stealing glances around, Kurokichi finally resolved himself and brought the cracker fragment—undoubtedly moistened by Yōko’s saliva—gently to his lips…

(Salty...) This was undoubtedly the taste of the salted rice cracker. Yet Kurokichi's hands trembled violently nonetheless. His face—unboyish and shadowed—had grown feverishly flushed, while the torrent of blood surging from his heart made his temples throb rhythmically.

And then, having completely melted into a sticky mess on his palm, he kept licking over and over at the rice cracker fragment—still trying to detect "Yōko's scent"—forgetting everything else...

“Oi! What’re you doin’, Kurokō?” Kurokichi started—Old Man Genjirō’s face glared suspiciously from beyond the cushion pile, anger simmering in his eyes. “Ain’t your turn? Keep lollygaggin’ an’ you’ll catch hell again.” “Yeah.” The Boss’s face flashed through his mind. Kurokichi jerked upright, frantically scrubbing his sticky palms against his flesh-colored undergarment before bolting toward backstage.

二ノ三 Kurokichi, while performing the various acrobatic feats he had been ordered to do, found his mind perpetually consumed by thoughts of Yōko. (I want to talk properly with Yō-chan just once.) This was the sole desire that had arisen in his warped heart.

If he had been a more cheerful, ordinary child—given that Yōko was always in the same hut—such a thing would undoubtedly have been easily realized. However, for all that, Kurokichi was an overly gloomy, perverse boy—though this was undoubtedly due to his dark surroundings—.

And when his obsession with the precocious Yōko could no longer be contained, what he discovered was the terrifying ecstasy born from that cracker fragment. Once his heart had found such an outlet, there was no way it would stop there—rather, it surged toward that outlet like a tsunami. He would quietly ascertain that no one was around, slip into the costume room, and bury his grotesque face in Yōko’s small flesh-colored undergarment.

The smell of white stage makeup and the pungent stench of body odor gave him an intoxicating sensation, accompanied even by dizziness. And then, when he suddenly found two or three strands of Yōko’s bob-cut hair clinging to that flesh-colored undergarment, he rejoiced wildly at this monumental discovery. Carefully plucking them up and wrapping them in white paper, he then took whatever pencil was at hand and—

“Yōko-chan’s Hair”

He haltingly wrote such a phrase in clumsy characters, rubbed over them once more, then tucked it deep against his skin...

That this bad habit of his grew increasingly obsessive was evident from how Yōko’s belongings began disappearing frequently afterward. Even when things went missing, of course the circus troupe girl didn’t possess any significant items to begin with—it was always utterly trivial things like a single worn-down geta clog blackened with greasy footprints, or a bamboo toothbrush whose bristles had fallen out. And so,

(Stolen) That Yōko herself never sensed this feeling—(that they’d been stolen)—proved nothing less than miraculous fortune for him. Yet how dearly these “trivial lost items” were cherished by Kurokichi remains all too easy to imagine.

Up to this point, it had been a lonely (yet tenacious) love—one that fermented solely within the boy Kurokichi’s heart, confined to his breast.

But here, with the storm as her accompaniment, Yōko was about to make her dramatic entrance onto the real stage.

× The Kyokutō Circus Troupe drifted from town to town, from bustling district to bustling district, entertaining crowds all the while. And then, almost at the same moment they finished setting up their tents after renting a plot in a rural town, the sky—which had hung ominously since morning—ruptured all at once. Large raindrops laden with eerie winds began pattering down, only to transform into a torrential deluge that fell like a dense curtain of bamboo.

The bosses had retreated early to the inn, but the child members and lower-ranking members were always ordered to stay in this hut due to financial constraints. The children had taken this for granted, and in fact seemed rather pleased by the bosses’ absence. However, there was no way this hastily built hut could withstand the torrential downpour unscathed. After scrambling to avoid leaking rainwater, they finally managed to huddle together and lie down in a corner of the backstage area—by which time night had already grown deep.

Kurokichi lay with his eyes closed, listening to the rain that seemed to have finally lightened, when from beside him—where their shoulders touched—even faint sleeping breaths began to reach his ears. At that same moment, he felt something jolt through him. (The person lying next to me... could that be Yō-chan—?)

二ノ四 In that instant, Kurokichi felt his head become crystal-clear. (Could it really be Yō-chan sleeping next to me?) Of course, this was—what one might call a sixth sense—something extremely vague. But given that commotion had everyone sleeping in a jumble, it wasn’t entirely impossible. When he thought this, the area of his shoulder touching hers felt feverishly hot—even stifling. And his heart swelled along with its beating, filling his chest entirely.

Kurokichi resolutely sat up and felt the impulse to peek at her face. The surroundings were pitch black, but if he peered carefully enough, it seemed possible to discern her features. He gently placed his hand on the edge of the thin futon. But— (Wait wait. If it’s Yō-chan, there could be nothing more wonderful. But if I move around and get up in such tightly packed sleeping quarters, she might wake up.)

That alone would be fine, but if she were to wake up and discover I’d been peering at her, Yō-chan would surely turn crimson, berate this ugly me, and undoubtedly move her bedding somewhere far away. Rather than doing something so foolish, how much more sensible it would be to indulge in the sensation of Yō-chan’s soft shoulder like this until daybreak—even if only briefly… The timid half of Kurokichi’s heart whispered this.

He quietly withdrew his hand from the futon, then fragmented his entire awareness into minute focus as he inched his body closer to hers. And there—mingled with warmth—he listened to the gentle pulse of her heartbeat near his shoulder... Suddenly feeling a chill wind, he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed and noticed an extremely faint light seeping through the surroundings. (Is it already dawn—when did I fall asleep?)

Along with that, he felt a jolting regret—a trembling through his body akin to bitter frustration.

(Yō-chan…)

Kurokichi, first and foremost anxious about that, jerked his neck around to check the person next to him.

(Oh…) What entered his eyes before Yōko did was a piercingly clear, sharp half-moon. The canvas of the hastily erected hut, battered by the evening’s great storm, gaped open to the night sky. Through this very breach, the moon leaned forward as if peering in, scattering pale, silken threads of light into the hut’s interior—stagnant as the earth’s depths in dead silence. The moon after the storm was intensely, piercingly clear.

(It was still the middle of the night.) Kurokichi huffed away his worries. Beside him, Yōko slept with apparent discomfort. Though he couldn't definitively confirm it was Yōko earlier, now—even in this faint light—her form gradually came into clear view as his eyes adjusted. Resolved, Kurokichi extracted half his body from the futon—careful not to block moonlight nor make noise—and gently peered at her face.

Beneath his gaze lay Yōko’s youthful face—paler than usual in the moonlight—her mouth slightly agape as she slept deeply. If only the moonlight were stronger, he thought, this tousled bobbed hair would gleam like gold——. Moreover, the stage makeup washed from her nape made this slumbering Yōko appear all the more enchanting to the boy.

For a while, Kurokichi stared vacantly at Yōko’s face—hazy like a dream—then gulped down a hard lump in his throat. As if trying to listen for her sleeping breath from those thinly parted lips, he gradually drew his face closer. For some reason, his lips were parched dry. Eventually, under the frail moonlight, when the shadows of their two small heads merged into one, he felt the small endearing mole on Yōko’s cheek pressing into his own.

二ノ五 The sensation of Yōko’s lips that Kurokichi felt against his own was warm and yielding, like soft yet elastic fish cake. It was a strange association, but in his experience, this was what resembled it most closely. However, there was a different aspect—a profoundly different aspect—but unfortunately, he didn’t know the words to express that. He tried to gently relax his arm. The moment he did so, the panel beneath his elbow made a dull sound. Because it was a poorly constructed temporary hut, even a slight shift in weight would make the boards creak. In the dead silence around him and through his needle-sharp nerves, that sound reverberated—amplified layer upon layer.

Kurokichi’s heart seemed to stop with a loud thud in that instant. “Guh…” Beneath his eyes—he who had raised his flustered face—Yōko, as if seeing a bad dream, let out a guttural sound from her throat, turned over, and faced away. (Did she wake up?)

Kurokichi, taking a deep breath, watched Yōko’s ink-black, back-turned sleeping form. (No—it’s fine.)

Yōko, who had turned over, fortunately did not seem to have woken up, for soon the faint sound of her breathing could be heard again. He finally exhaled a hot breath—huffed—then, touching his lips, scanned the bluish-black surroundings……. ……The following day—in stark contrast to last night’s storm—an endlessly clear azure sky arrived.

Kurokichi climbed up along the hut’s log, trying to savor last night’s chance event all by himself.

When he reached the top and stuck his head out, what entered his eyes was the sight of the forest directly ahead—steam-laden and glistening. (How beautiful… —but) What flickered across the edge of his chest was “Yōko.” In that moment, to this boy, Yōko seemed to possess a more vivid beauty. (The forest…) As he muttered this, his arm gripping the log twitched violently when someone suddenly spoke near his ear—for until now, being spoken to by others had almost never brought anything good—

“What’s so great about some forest, Kuro-chan?” Kurokichi couldn’t respond. Before he knew it, Yōko stood before him. Moreover, until now, he had never been called “Kuro-chan” so kindly by anyone—not even once…….

“What’re you thinking about?” Yōko smiled adorably in the warm sunlight.

“I was looking at the forest.” Kurokichi could not look directly at her face. And, fidgeting his toes, he said to the crossbeam:

“Oh, so you were looking at the forest—what a poet you are.”

This cute, precocious girl—where had she learned such things?—said this. Kurokichi couldn’t come up with a reply. “What a truly beautiful forest. You really like the forest, don’t you, Kuro-chan? Because it’s beautiful—”

“Nuh-uh，I hate forests.” “You’re way prettier，ain’t ya？”

“Oh—” Yōko opened large eyes in delight, embodying girlishness utterly.

“But I’m ugly, see…—” “Would you still play with me?” He had gradually grown able to speak.

“Of course I will.” (Yōko sometimes used rough language.)

“I like you because you’re so gentle, Kuro-chan.” “Even last night…” “Eh?! “You knew—?”

Kurokichi involuntarily twitched.

“You don’t have to act so surprised.” “It was my first kiss too.” Kurokichi felt his face flush hotly. And when he thought that this ten-year-old girl would speak such things so bluntly, it seemed a demon might dwell within this lovely form. However much she had grown up in decaying surroundings, it was nevertheless a terrifying thing. “When did you get here?” He said this, at a loss for a reply.

“I saw you climbing up here, so I came right after.” “You need something—” “Hmm, no reason at all… You’re such a strange person—do you hate me? Then why did you do that?” “No! No! I love Yō-chan! But… I just… I can’t get the words out right…”

This was Kurokichi's true feeling. "Oh well, let's sit here."

Yōko cleared a space for Kurokichi, and the two sat side by side on a log in the roof framework.

To anyone who saw them, they would have looked no different than circus troupe children basking in the sun.

“I knew about last night.” Yōko was strangely persistent. “Then why’d you pretend to be asleep?”

“Because.” “That insect-like—oh, I’m sorry (everyone calls you that because you’re always huddled in the corner…)—but I’ve come to like you.” When Kurokichi heard the unpleasant nickname “insect” come from her mouth, he felt like he’d been forced to swallow bitter gall and fell silent.

“So I’ll tell you something good.”

Yōko said this and began swaying her dangling legs, swinging them idly. Each time, Yōko’s plump shoulder brushed against Kurokichi’s somewhat stiffened body. He felt an indescribable squirming from that soft sensation and sensed last night’s dream vividly reviving within him. And the bitter gall gently evaporated away. “What’s this ‘good thing’?”

Yōko kept swinging her legs. At times their bodies collided violently—so intensely it seemed deliberate. With each impact, Kurokichi's hardened heart melted away without a sound. "You see, this 'good thing' won't work if you're bad at performing. The Boss will hate you, and everyone will mock you." Yōko spoke like an elder sister might.

“Yeah.” “So I heard something good.” “You’re really planning to give it your all?” “Absolutely! Are we doing it together, Yō-chan?” “No, not together… but it’s an incredibly difficult act. Nobody does it now—they say Old Man Genjirō last performed it when he was young. If you can manage it, even the Boss’ll treasure you.” “Yeah.”

“If you can really do it, why don’t we do it together? I’ll ask the Boss…” “Ah, let’s do that—otherwise it’d be boring.” “But what kind of thing is it?”

Kurokichi had become utterly cheerful. Having shed the dampened mood from days past in thoroughly boyish fashion, he now felt like laughing with sunlit brightness. Down below, Old Man Genjirō—drying seat cushions soaked by last night’s rain—glanced upward and spotted the troupe’s star girl Yōko and “Insect” chatting merrily while clasping hands atop the hut’s roof, his face contorting into an expression of puzzled suspicion.

III

The “puzzlement” that Old Man Genjirō first felt soon spread to every member of the troupe—all except Yōko alone. Kurokichi—that gloomy, clumsy performer nicknamed “Insect”—began obsessively practicing acrobatics whenever he had free time, as though reborn. It was nothing short of an astonishing transformation. Did timid, effeminate Kurokichi regain the boyish “cheerfulness” that was rightfully his?—Even so, his training was excessively intense, a blood-straining affair.

Kurokichi’s boyish, still-moist eyes were flushed with blood vessels like a spider’s web, and from his tightly clenched lips, one feared fresh blood might soon come trickling down.

At times his body would fly through the air and be slammed against the wooden boards. Even so, apart from the groans he inadvertently let out, Kurokichi still did not bare his teeth. However, when they heard the dull, ghastly sound of flesh and bone clashing—as if in mutual destruction—it was instead the other troupe members who had been watching in bewilderment that reacted: some bit their lips reflexively, while others turned their faces away. And even the strict, ice-like Boss could only stand dumbfounded.

But Yōko—

Strangely enough, Yōko—the very force that had sent Kurokichi’s heart into sudden upheaval—was nowhere to be seen here. But if any troupe member had carefully observed their surroundings, they would have noticed Yōko—hiding in the dim corner of the training area—staring fixedly at this scene. Even if they had noticed Yōko, no one would have connected this girl to Kurokichi’s dramatic transformation—or rather, her secretly watching this blood-drenched training seemed far more natural.

However, this was a fortunate coincidence for her. She had been feeling such intense excitement that even though she wanted to rush out into this beast-like atmosphere of clashing flesh and bone—this fierce turbulence—her legs refused to move forward. And the hallucinatory intoxication—accompanied by a relentless, constricting pressure—emanating from the writhing mass of flesh before her eyes inflicted pain upon this girl even from the mere act of standing. She clenched her sweaty palms and was breathing raggedly.

(Ah, blood—) Kurokichi had a nosebleed. He panicked, tilted his head back, and the nosebleed—leaving a dark red streak with a hiss from beside his nose—retreated behind his ear.

Yōko felt, in an instant, as if the inside of her chest had become hollow. At the same time, what welled up was a dizzying, perverse ecstasy….

Yōko—as if suddenly noticing something—looked around and found that Kurokichi was no longer there, perhaps due to his nosebleed, while the other boy troupe members were beginning their own practices, whispering furtively among themselves. (They’re gossiping about Kuro-chan, I bet) Yōko finally stood up to search for Kurokichi while thinking this. After searching everywhere in vain, when Yōko spotted Kurokichi in a sunny spot on the tower platform, she immediately rushed over. “Kuro-chan, you’re amazing—I never thought you had that much courage!”

“It’s not amazing—I was watching you, Yō-chan.” Kurokichi’s nosebleed had stopped, but even as he rubbed his still-swollen body, he looked happy. “I saw it—I was shocked when you got that nosebleed… Oh my—it’s still bright red… The blood’s seeping through.”

For some reason, Yōko fixedly stared at Kurokichi’s shoulder—red and swollen, its pores filled with blood.

III-2 The tower was bathed in bright sunlight, pleasantly warm all over, with no other human figures visible in the surroundings.

“Is it bleeding?” “Ah! Don’t touch it—it hurts!”

“…………”

Yōko did not respond. However, her eyes were fixed on the bruise-like wound with scorching intensity. “Kuro-chan, does it hurt?” Yōko, having said that, seemed to gently touch the wound again.

“It h-hurts…”

Kurokichi involuntarily swallowed back the words that had nearly escaped. Around the wound, though invisible, he felt something lukewarm and fluttering. (Did she lick it?...) The moment he thought this, the half of his body with the wound thudded numbingly, the sensation spreading all the way to the tips of his feet.

“Yō-chan…” Flustered, even his words were numb. For Kurokichi himself, this bizarre sensation was a first, but as he felt himself being licked two or three more times, it began to seem not entirely unpleasant. Rather, there was that mysteriously heart-pounding pleasure one feels when being tickled. Each time her thick, elastic, warm tongue dragged across what must have been an unsightly wound, Kurokichi’s heightened nerves thudded dully down through half his body, colliding at his feet.

“Well? Does it hurt?”

Yōko peered into his face.

“Nuh-uh.”

Kurokichi flusteredly shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt!”

“But your body was trembling. I said licking it would make it heal faster.” Applying saliva to wounds was among them a common, most primitive treatment method. But had Yōko truly licked it out of genuine kindness—? At the very least, Kurokichi believed it to be her kindness. But when considering the inexplicable scene from earlier, what was terrifying was that this cute girl might have felt a cruel fascination—an impulse to lick—toward this ghastly blood-seeping wound. No—she had indeed felt that excitement. If it were merely about applying saliva, there would have been no need to go so far as to lick it—

But Kurokichi’s chest swelled with happiness. “You’ve done enough, Yō-chan. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Yōko silently raised her face.

“Yō-chan, there’s something I want to ask you.” “What’s that?” “What do you mean? Why do you spend time with someone as ugly as me?” “You aren’t ugly at all.” “I like you.” “You’re gentle, you know.” “I can’t stand pasty-faced guys like Gikō who act all high and mighty, you know.”

Gikō was a fellow young male member of Kurokichi’s troupe and a cute, handsome boy. Kurokichi found even hearing that name from her lips unpleasant. “And then, when Gikō catches me on the ladder, he deliberately hugs me tight, you know.”

Before Kurokichi’s eyes floated Gikō’s impudent face. (Damn it...) He growled under his breath as if striking down the phantom. At that moment, an intensity of jealousy unbefitting a boy scattered like sparks within Kurokichi’s heart.

三ノ三 “Yō-chan, I’d die before losing to some nobody like Gikō.” Kurokichi spat out those words and stood up, forgetting the pain of his wound. “Really don’t lose now. If you become the star performer here, I’ll be happy. …I’d even marry you.” “As husband and wife…”

True to form, Kurokichi's childlike face flushed slightly with instinctive shyness as he looked back at Yōko. "It's true... You think I'm lying?" Yōko puckered her lips earnestly.

“Alright. “Then let’s make the promise here.” Kurokichi—hiding his embarrassment as he said this—stuck out his pinky. And so the two of them, atop the brightly lit scaffold bathed in sunlight, exchanged a firm—unbreakable—promise through a method utterly childlike. —In what form would this boy and girl’s promise come to them…— Though entirely unclear what shape this would take, between this grimly persistent boy and the girl who found exhilaration in cruelty’s atmosphere—between them—no ordinary conclusion could ever be hoped for.—But that would come much later.

Atop the scaffold now, bathed in sunlight, Kurokichi’s heart surged without reservation—happiness riding waves of jubilation. And his grueling, blood-soaked practice now made his body writhe upon the cold floorboards as nothing more than a single lump of flesh. In direct proportion to this, Yōko’s caresses toward him escalated with accelerating intensity. What exactly those caresses entailed remained their secret alone, but Kurokichi had discovered the small mole hidden beneath her lip and come to know how Yōko’s palms grew damp with sweat at night.

There was a time when he quietly examined his shoulder wound in the costume room’s mirror and discovered something strange—the injury had bled into the shape of a small lip, as though Yōko had forcefully sucked on it. Yet separate from these dark undercurrents, Kurokichi’s skills advanced rapidly. This life-risking, relentlessly driven regimen bore no resemblance to those earlier days when even his awkward handstands had provoked the Boss’s ire.

His supple, stretching body completely stripped away any apprehension from his performance, leaving the audience with nothing but ecstasy and applause. And the name “Karasu Kurokichi” was printed prominently alongside “Kishida Yōko” on galley paper advertisements as the leading stars for boys and girls. The mere fact that his name was listed alongside Yōko’s filled him with inexpressible joy. When they arrived in a new town and the entire troupe paraded through the streets to draw crowds—times when only the two of them rode together in a small car joining the procession—beneath his thickly applied white stage makeup, what intoxicating ecstasy Kurokichi must have felt—.

As he felt a confidence in his craft unlike anything he had ever experienced before, he also felt an unforgettable obsession—one akin to what he had experienced with Yōko.

Kurokichi, while learning breathing techniques from Old Man Genjirō—drawing on his former dexterity—finally began practicing a terrifying acrobatic routine. The act involved two trapeze swings suspended from either end of the tall tent’s ceiling—leaping from one to the other. Simple enough to describe in words, but this death-defying feat performed in the dizzying heights of that aerial space became a gamble of life and death. If one’s hand slipped even slightly, a blood blossom—like a rotten fig—would burst forth upon the cold earth far below.

四

Amid such an overwhelmingly complex atmosphere for a boy so young—after finally coming to spend nearly every day consumed by his art and dealings with Yōko—Kurokichi’s surroundings had quietly relegated several incidents to the past, and he became a sixteen-year-old youth.

However, this long and arduous training—fortunately tempered by Yōko’s soothing comfort—was never monotonous, nor was it ever in vain. He was already, in this troupe, an undisputed star acrobat. Indeed, at sixteen—in terms of age and in their world—one was already a full-fledged man. Moreover, he had made the terrifying aerial acrobatic feat—one that no one else could perform—his own signature act.

Also, what must not be forgotten here is Yōko.

Yōko too had developed plump flesh with fat all over her body; the lines flowing from her smoothly rounded form had become white and richly elastic. Moreover, when passing by her side, the faint fragrance he suddenly noticed spoke clearly of her maturity. Furthermore, Yōko’s blessed beauty was drawing ever closer to a bewitching perfection with each passing year. The jet-black cropped hair that flopped down with a swish each time she shook her neck against the stark white forehead possessed seaweed-like beauty. Her bright eyes and well-proportioned nose embodied a beauty of serene observation, while the gleaming white teeth glimpsed through slightly parted crimson lips mercilessly hollowed out the hearts of spectators.

Why did this beautiful Yōko show favor to that ugly-faced Kurokichi—? “Yō-chan’s got peculiar tastes, don’tcha think? No matter how much his act improves, getting involved with the likes of Kurokō…” “It’s not like there ain’t any pretty boys around—” Clown Senji stroked his chin while still in that ridiculous costume. “Hahaha.—When you’ve got a handsome man like Mr. Senji right here…” “Seriously…”

“He’s got her wrapped around his finger, damn him!”

Though their conversation was half-joking, this remained among them the most intriguing and mysterious of issues. From what Senji had said, the troupe members seemed to believe Kurokichi had gained Yōko’s favor through his improved skills, and none appeared to know of that strange childhood incident—an event known only to those two.

“But—”

Senji once again adopted a serious expression and continued. “Heard somethin’ wild, I did. That Kurokō bastard told me straight up. ‘I’m gonna marry Yō-chan,’ he says—claims Yō-chan told him they should do it,” he spat out. “Ain’t funny one bit.” “Really?… Can’t tell at all with how things’re goin’…” “Don’t be stupid!” The one who suddenly cut in was Gikō—the pretty boy who’d lost his star status to Kurokichi, and even Yōko herself.

“There’s no way that’s true.” “I know for a fact.” “That Kurokō guy gets beaten up by Yō-chan all the time, I tell ya.” “Huh, really…?”

Those present instinctively stared at Gikō’s flushed face.

四ノ二 Gikō, suddenly finding himself the focus of everyone’s attention, flushed faintly across his cute face but pressed on immediately. “It’s true, I tell ya!” “I saw it clear as day.” “And beaten up with a whip, I tell ya!” No one responded. “But… but that Kurokō guy isn’t even fazed.” “He’s actually happy to get beaten, I tell ya.” “He’s getting beaten while grinning and chatting with Yō-chan, I tell ya…”

Having said that, Gikō tilted his head suspiciously. Of course, Senji—who had just heard this—along with the other troupe members had no way of understanding the cause behind that mysterious ecstasy. Ecstasy—indeed, that was a terrifying delight. Yet within Yōko’s beautiful flesh, the ecstatic realm born from Kurokichi’s relentless training—where blood, flesh, and bone clashed—revived vividly beneath the whip cutting through empty air, luring her into a sweet dream. And yet again, Kurokichi remained delighted beneath this flailing whip.

He felt yet another surge of desire at the sight of the beautiful beast raging wildly before his eyes. When this storm-like frenzy ended, what followed was rain-like caresses. When Kurokichi felt Yōko’s sweaty palm—soft and dimpled like smiles at the base of her fingers—against his shoulder, against his chest came the hot breathless weight of her breasts. That was through the thin flesh-colored undergarment, of course... Kurokichi found his own ugly face reflected in Yōko’s pupils brought perilously close and instinctively jerked his eyes away. Yet when he realized Yōko’s image nested within his own reflected eyes’ pupils, he yearned to peer again.

“Yō-chan…” He muttered her name under his breath and embraced her with all his strength. But no matter how much force he applied—so much so that it seemed she might not even feel it—Yōko’s body was filled with a firm, supple elasticity… These games were carried out in the deepest shadows, unbeknownst to all. And another kind of ecstasy unfolded before the audience’s very eyes. That was their acrobatics.

When the jinta’s rapid-fire storytelling concluded, greeted by a whirlwind of audience applause, Kurokichi—wearing form-fitting pink flesh-colored undergarments and a black velvet cloak adorned with decorations—appeared on stage hand in hand with Yōko in matching costume. Then, with a flourish that revealed the crimson lining, they cast off their black velvet cloaks and grasped the ropes dangling one each from either end of the hut’s ceiling. No sooner had one looked than the two of them were already climbing smoothly upward, almost parallel, as if being sucked up.

At the ends of those ropes, amidst logs crisscrossed like a spider’s web, simple trapeze swings—quintessentially circus-troupe—hung one by one from red-and-white braided ropes. While the audience watched these preparations, the agile pair had already each climbed to their trapezes. At the same moment, assistants in the attic hurriedly wound up the climbed ropes, while far below on the stage, Senji—dressed as a clown—delivered his practiced spiel. Even to the two suspended high apart within the hut’s space, his words reached them intermittently.

四ノ三 “Ladies and gentlemen… presenting now a death-defying feat… a leap from trapeze to trapeze… Should that beautiful young lady succeed in catching him, we’d ask you for… a round of applause!” Listening to the intermittent spiel, Kurokichi peered down at the stage far below to see Senji the clown flamboyantly gesturing with exaggerated charm, while in his place, about three stagehands clad in spirited happi coats emerged carrying rescue nets.

Kurokichi unconsciously rubbed the greasy sweat that had formed on his palm against the thighs of his flesh-colored undergarment over and over. (If I fall, that’s the end.) The rescue nets were, of course, merely nominal. This ostentatiousness, while not serving any great purpose for Kurokichi, was sufficiently effective in exciting the audience. Kurokichi glanced briefly at Yōko, then silently regulated his breathing and began to swing the trapeze as if counting one, two.

As they grew larger，the log-built hut began transmitting a dull creaking sound from somewhere.

(Ah…) The instant the entire hut seemed to lurch violently, Kurokichi’s body transformed into a pink mass of flesh and was catapulted into the air.

The mass of flesh somersaulted through the air—and in the blink of an eye, it flew to Yōko’s trapeze. It was an aerial feat executed in an instant—so fast that a pink streak still lingered in the audience’s vision. And by the time the audience—as if suddenly remembering—began murmuring restlessly and erupting into fierce applause, Kurokichi was already tightly embraced between Yōko’s warm breasts, listening to the violent pounding of his own heartbeat. As the applause finally began to subside, the two bodies on the trapeze moved with extreme caution, entwined as though tangled together—but no sooner did that entanglement unravel than Yōko, having wrapped her legs around the trapeze rope, hung downward while Kurokichi dangled from her pale hands, suspended by his feet and stretched out limply.

And just as Yōko’s hips writhed subtly, the perfectly synchronized pair of joined bodies—forgetting even the strain in their necks—began swaying above the upturned faces of the audience watching with bated breath. If Yōko’s crossed legs were to come undone—

If Yōko were to let go of her hands— In the chests of the audience who had entertained such thoughts, a death-like tension toward the next moment seeped through with a chilling, creeping cold.

That was not entirely groundless fear. Yōko—this beautiful beast—felt some unknown allure toward blood. (Would she impulsively let go?) Even Kurokichi sometimes felt a terror so intense—as if all the blood in his body were scrambling to retreat inward at those pallid premonitions. At this thought, greasy sweat oozed from the ankle gripped by Yōko’s hand, slipping slickly—he seemed on the verge of plummeting into emptiness.

(For Yō-chan’s sake, I’d die.) Meanwhile, those very feelings were battling within his chest, trying to kick away the terror.

But it was okay——. Yōko clenched her teeth firmly, her cute face flushed crimson as she gripped Kurokichi’s foot. (If I were to fail on stage, it would be better to die right then and there.) This innate acrobatic temperament occupied Yōko’s tense, small chest—fortunately leaving no room for other emotions——.

Five

Such an anxious, oppressively humid and intimidating atmosphere was ultimately but a byproduct brewed by this life-risking aerial feat. As the audience gripped hands slick with sweat—each consumed by their own tremors—the flesh-assembled trapeze in the hut’s airspace gradually began swinging wider like a pendulum. “Timing it just so—the instant this young lady releases her grip, that lad’ll slice through empty air to leap onto yonder trapeze… A one-in-a-thousand chance of…”

This was the spiel Senji had delivered earlier, but the audience, determined not to miss that instant, stared unblinkingly as they swiveled their necks right and left following the trapeze's swing. At the very moment someone's gulp of swallowed saliva was heard, Kurokichi—released from Yōko's grip and hurled into the air—seemed to stop the audience's breath in a collective gasp. Kurokichi's body flew with terrible force, arrow-like along the hut's high roof—and just as his form twisted midair, it magnificently returned to its original trapeze.

Though it was over in an instant, Kurokichi felt an intense obsession with this life-risking venture. He found the sensation of slicing through the air while flying inexpressibly delightful. Or perhaps it was a perverse pleasure— With a sharp gasp as he was hurled skyward, the entire toy-box-like hut far below—a riot of colors—swiftly flipped as if abandoning him alone. Half-dazed, he leapt onto the opposite trapeze when suddenly sweat—as though doused from nowhere—gushed forth all at once. His heart careered wildly through his veins, colliding chaotically in every direction.

Within himself—flying breathlessly through the narrow gap between life and death, his feelings taut as steel wire—he felt an ecstasy so intense it rivaled Yōko’s caresses: a dizziness that made his vision swim. When leaping alone onto Yōko’s trapeze, it wasn’t particularly bad—but during the return, when Yōko grabbed his foot and he remained suspended upside down, swung with great force, all mental faculties like memory and thought were cast away entirely. And he—with his utterly empty head and nerves twitching convulsively within the void, his entire body torn asunder the moment he was hurled away—found his own innate twisted nature harmonizing with this bottomless allure that left him intoxicated, as though his heart were being wrenched from his chest.

However, lately—for some reason—whenever he finished this acrobatic act, Kurokichi would again sit alone in the corner of the dressing room, lost in thought as he used to be. (How strange…)

Kurokichi muttered. Lately, during that acrobatic act—at the very moment he released Yōko’s hand and leapt toward the opposite trapeze—Yōko’s smiling face would abruptly float before his eyes. Of course, there would be nothing strange about seeing her face when leaping toward Yōko—but even when flying backward, completely turned away from her and risking his life, there it was: Yōko’s face floating like a phantom in the hut’s airspace, vague yet unmistakable.

(How strange.) Kurokichi muttered again while looking toward the dressing room—and there stood Yōko, who happened to be passing by. “Did you need something?” Perhaps misunderstanding that she’d been summoned, she approached while brushing back her shaggy bobbed hair toward the nape of her neck. Her body—clung tightly by flesh-toned undergarments—writhed with ominous undulations at each step, once more commandeering Kurokichi’s gaze.

Five-Two

“I didn’t call you, but…” Kurokichi found it unbearably delightful that Yōko had noticed his brief muttering and gone out of her way to come to him.

“What were you saying just now?” “What do you mean? (Hmm, that’s strange) I muttered to myself.” “Why is it strange? What’s—”

“When you put it that way, it’s hard to explain… but it’s just something strange.” “What on earth…? Oh fine, how mean! You don’t want to tell me? Fine then.” Yōko said in a nasal voice, then wriggled her voluptuous body sinuously as she pretended to sulk.

Kurokichi would sometimes whip himself and laugh with delight, but before he could even wonder how this young beautiful demon had acquired such extraordinary skill, he found himself utterly drowning in her sensual beauty. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you. There’s nothing I can’t tell you, Yō-chan… I… I see your face."

“My face?”

“Yeah, that’s when I’m flying through the air—on that trapeze. Is this what they call a phantom?” “Oh, at a time like that? When I’m that focused, I can’t think about anything at all.” “Well, I’m just as caught up in it. But right before my eyes, it floats up all hazy-like. So that’s why I said ‘It’s weird, huh?’”

“That’s weird… What kind of face was I making? At that moment—” It was such a girlish question. Kurokichi twisted his body to peer into Yōko’s face while— “This kind of face. Skin white as snow, eyes like lacquer, lips redder and lovelier than camellia buds…” Kurokichi strung together every flowery phrase he knew—“your dimple seems to suck in my fingertip…” As he spoke, he poked her plump cheek with his finger.

“It hurts—you know!”

Yōko scrunched her face in exaggerated displeasure yet giggled with apparent delight—a suppressed titter escaping her lips. "This beautiful face seems to have taken over my head." Kurokichi continued, once again deliberately putting on a serious face. "I don't know! Flattery won't work on me."

Having said that, Yōko ran off toward the stage while laughing. Kurokichi smiled faintly and kept watching Yōko’s retreating figure—her bobbed hair bouncing buoyantly with each stride—but the moment her form vanished behind the partition curtain, that strange phantom began spreading through his mind once more. (Ah well—I really do think about nothing but Yō-chan.) The moment he did, Jinta—who had been taking a break—began resounding that familiar frenzy.

(It must be time for the show to start.) He slapped his thigh once and listened to the murmuring footsteps of approaching audiences, (Alright—time to get ready.)

Muttering to himself, he stood up from the costume trunk he had been sitting on.

“Kuro-chan.” When he turned around with a start, Yōko—wearing an uncharacteristically tense expression—came running toward him.

“It’s terrible, Kuro-chan. The Boss is furious because you’re the only one who hasn’t come.”

5-3

“What on earth—” “It’s not ‘what’! It’s serious. You know about the Boss’s ring, right? The gold one he always wears. The gold one he’s always wearing. They say it’s missing—it was definitely here until just now, so he must’ve dropped it inside the hut. We gotta find it before the show starts—it’ll definitely disappear otherwise. Everyone’s been searching frantically until now.” “And then you’re the only one who didn’t show up, so the Boss doesn’t seem too pleased…”

“But since we couldn’t find it no matter what, the Boss got all worked up, and now that the show’s started, you’d better go see him right away.” “Even if you say that, no one came to get me—how would I know?—” “Saying that now won’t work—the only one who knows you’re here is me—” With this, Yōko laughed slyly. “Wait… So you didn’t tell me on purpose, Yō-chan…? That’s cruel.”

“It’s not really like that. Just go and see for yourself.” (She’s a cruel one.) Why didn’t she tell me? (Even though she knows full well what happens when the Boss gets angry…)

He thought this, but after Yōko spoke, he found himself unable to summon any will to resist the words flowing from her moist, vividly colored lips.

“Yeah, I’ll go check…” Having said just that, Kurokichi cast the rest of his words into the depths of his chest and walked off. (He’s always been obsessively attached to that thing—if it’s really gone, he’ll definitely take it out on me.) As he walked, Kurokichi felt his inherent gloom intensify twofold. When he went to look, there in the corner of the room sat the Boss, sullenly brushing dust from his silk hat as he prepared for the performance. And in that vicinity, troupe members with later acts were pacing about near the costume room and preparation room—though of course, these were merely partitioned by flimsy curtains—in a manner that practically screamed “We’re searching!”

(This isn't good.) He saw how roughly the Boss was brushing dust from his silk hat—the motions so violent they resembled striking. (He's really in a terrible mood.)

he intuited. Kurokichi tried to avoid looking in the Boss’s direction as he furtively searched. However, since many people had already searched for it, there was no way it would be found easily. On the contrary—whether it was his imagination or not—he felt a chill run down his spine as the Boss seemed to occasionally send white glares his way.

“Kurokō.” “Did you find it?” “Though mind you—it’s downright suspicious you’re only starting to search now. Do you even know what you’re looking for?—”

The Boss’s voice was eerily quiet. But in that quietness lay the Boss’s signature brand of sarcasm.

(Here it comes...) Kurokichi gulped down a mouthful of saliva. At the same time, he stumbled upon an unexpected stroke of luck.

“Kurokō. Isn’t it your turn? Where are you?” From behind the curtain, the voice that had shouted like that was likely Senji’s. This might have been his paranoia speaking, but it seemed unlikely Senji had called out to help him; rather, it would have been more accurate to assume Senji—still thinking Kurokichi hadn’t arrived—had deliberately shouted loud enough for the Boss to hear. Be that as it may, in this situation, Senji seemed like nothing short of a savior to Kurokichi.

“Well… I’ll go check…” Kurokichi said just that and, without waiting for the Boss’s reply, hastily exited the room.

Five-Four

He hurriedly changed into his stage flesh-colored undergarment, was escorted by Jinta’s marching tune as usual, and stood on stage with Yōko—but his mind kept being stolen away by the missing ring. (If I mess up while thinking about this, it’ll be bad.) Kurokichi shook his head vigorously to cast off those worries, glanced briefly at Yōko, and then, as always, nimbly climbed up the rope to the ceiling’s trapeze swing with swift and light movements.

And then, carefully mounting the trapeze, he began to sway while steadying his mind—one after another. Before his eyes now existed neither the Boss, nor the ring, nor the audience—only a world woven with eerie stripes shifting violently across his vision. Yōko’s trapeze swing alone remained: at one moment appearing needle-thin in the distance, then in an instant swelling to fill his entire field of view, only to collapse again like a thread unraveling from sight. (Alright...) Kurokichi’s blood had all been replaced by nerves. His body had left the trapeze.

Everything suddenly went dark (or perhaps he had closed his eyes)—the next instant, for some reason, the area around the washstand in the corner of the hut drifted faintly into view before his eyes.

(Oh, something's shining there.) There was something glinting in the shadow of that washstand. (Ah—the ring! Found it!) At that instant, the trapeze swing carrying Yōko was about to streak past the edge of his vision like an arrow.

(Damn it!)

Terror with terrible force seeped into his brain like sulfuric acid. With a *gwah!*—a scream that felt like vomiting his heart out—Kurokichi twisted his body into the air with all his might. Fortunately, his one hand finally managed to grasp one end of the trapeze. *Huff—* He released a leaden sigh toward the ground below.

And though he finally managed to clamber up onto the trapeze, there was absolutely no way he could now grab onto Yōko’s hands and swing back to his original trapeze.

“What’s wrong, Kuro-chan…”

Even as he tried to respond to Yōko—who whispered with unexpected composure by his ear—everything inside him congealed in his chest with an indescribable heaviness, while paradoxically his stomach felt completely hollowed out, every shred of strength having vanished without a trace. In the end, having given up entirely, Kurokichi clung desperately to the rope that the considerate attendant had lowered for him, descended to the stage, then crept furtively into the backstage as though fleeing.

The kind-hearted audience thought this was part of the acrobatic act and clapped enthusiastically, but to Kurokichi backstage, it sounded like nothing but mockery. Kurokichi timidly walked toward the Boss’s room. (No matter how much he yells at me, there’s nothing to be done.)

He had thought as much, but when he saw the curtain partitioning the Boss's room—perhaps shaken by his fury—quivering faintly before his eyes, he came to an abrupt halt.

Sure enough, inside was the Boss’s blazing fury.

"You idiot! How dare you show your face here after that shameless display?" When Kurokichi was yelled at from the very start, his mind instead grew perfectly calm.

“Boss. “I… I found the ring.” “When I was flying through the air…” “Don’t spout nonsense.” “You think you could see anything from that height?” “But… but…” Kurokichi himself thought it dubious, but at this juncture, there was no alternative.

“But I definitely saw it.” “In the shadow of the washstand…”

The Boss glared sharply at Kurokichi and, “Fine.”

With that, he left, deliberately making his footsteps echo.

5-5 Kurokichi stood rigid and dejected, listening to the fading footsteps of the Boss receding into the distance.

His head grew hot with swirling thoughts, eyes cast down at the floorboard cracks remaining inexplicably moist. (This is trouble…) He unconsciously rubbed his palms—slick with greasy sweat—against the flesh-colored undergarment. (I hope it's really there… no—it can't be.)

I shouldn’t have said such a thing—this regret swelled steadily with each passing moment.

Even into this swamp-like room, the audience’s murmurs and applause would occasionally drift in like the ebb and flow of the tide. Suddenly, from beyond the hut, Jinta’s melody began. And when that melancholic clarinet with its ephemeral tone played familiar tunes like “Koko wa Okuni o” as if instructing them one by one, something hot and nameless welled up silently in Kurokichi’s chest as he listened in absorbed stillness.

He bit his lip, fighting the moisture welling at the corners of his eyes from something he had long forgotten. At that moment, a clattering sound came from behind.

(The Boss?)

Startled, Kurokichi wiped his eyes and turned around. There, a dirty gray curtain swayed heavily as if caught by a gust of wind, and through a gap of two or three inches between the curtain’s hem and the floorboards, what appeared to be a costume box or something similar lay overturned, only barely visible.

He stared fixedly at the partition curtain. He saw—in that instant he turned around, brief as it was—a white hand flicker into motion beyond a small triangular tear in the center of the curtain. (Yō-chan…)

He intuited that. (Why would she try to peek from there?) He couldn't help but find it strange. Clearly, Yōko had tried to peek by climbing onto the box, which must have overturned and made that noise. (Was she worried I’d get scolded?) He recalled Yōko’s lovely crimson lips.

(But――) As Kurokichi recalled Yōko’s curious eyes—which had worn an unexpectedly calm face, even a bewitching smile during that terrifying moment when he had nearly been crushed to pieces—they swept across his retina. (She came to see what they’d do to me.) Thus, for the first time in his life, he felt a cold emotion toward Yōko. (That’s certainly true.)

If she had come out of concern, then with the Boss gone now, she should have offered at least one word of comfort—and besides, Yōko sometimes struck Kurokichi and seemed to derive some strange pleasure from it. (Tch—that pretty face of hers.)

Kurokichi muttered as though spitting the words out.

“Kurokō. “Kuro…”

It was the Boss. He instinctively started, then turned around in a fluster. “Kurokō, look—it’s here.” “It’s strange, really.” With that, the Boss thrust his left hand before Kurokichi’s bewildered eyes. On the base of the ring finger of that gnarled, sturdy left hand—as usual—the gold-based ring engraved with something gleamed silently.

5-6 “Ah… so it was there after all…”

“It was there. “Kurokō—where on earth did you find it?”

“That’s good… because… when I was flying through that sky…” “Don’t give me that crap—I ain’t gonna get mad, so spit it out. You ain’t no clairvoyant… And there’s no way you could’ve seen clearly from that height! Plus, from up there, the washroom’s in shadow—couldn’t see a damn thing…” “W-well, yes…”

(How strange... Indeed, as the Boss said—from that ceiling, it should’ve been hidden by the backdrop’s shadow—)

Kurokichi tried desperately to gather his thoughts, but his mind only grew more muddled. "I don’t know why, but I saw it anyway." "In the midst of all that muddle, only the washroom and the ring... Maybe because I was only thinking about the ring——" "That’s some dreamlike tale you’ve got there—so you’re saying you were so obsessed with thinking about it that… hunh?" "Yes, that’s right."

“Hmm.” “So then…” Kurokichi, anxious not to ruin the Boss’s newly improved mood, desperately tried to explain himself—but how could the Boss possibly grasp something even he didn’t fully understand? “So then… the moment I thought I’d found it, I completely forgot about the act and messed up. …I’m really sorry… I never meant any harm…” “Course—even if you’d meant harm, you were riskin’ your life… Must’ve dropped it when I washed my face…”

The Boss, while stroking the ring, convinced himself and— “Well, I’ll let it slide for today… But if you go dreaming about women from now on and fall—you’re dead, got it?” “Wha—”

Kurokichi was startled, wondering if he had been referring to the illusion of Yōko. “Ha ha….” “There, there. Go over there and get ready.” He realized that the Boss, in high spirits from having found his ring, had made an uncharacteristic joke. “Uh… My apologies…” Kurokichi exited the Boss’s room while maintaining as expressionless a face as possible and showing deference. How strange— It’s a truly perplexing matter. That illusion of Yōko floating in the sky, and now this discovery of the ring—things that should be utterly impossible to see—and what’s more, they flicker through my mind precisely when I’m flying through the air in a frenzy, having shaken off all capacity for thought or memory—

What on earth was this? Kurokichi exited the Boss’s room and came to a corner of the backstage. However, his mind was utterly occupied by those madness-tinged doubts, and those doubts fiercely, feverishly clashed against one another. (Am I dreaming in broad daylight—)

Kurokichi plopped down onto the costume trunk he always sat on.

Perhaps because the trunk had gone cold, he felt an icy terror. (Have I gone mad—) Nothing proved more terrifying than brooding this deeply on such thoughts. I am sane. On what evidence could I claim that? Even a madman can think—can see things. Can speak, hear, sleep, run— All these capacities—taunting *How about this? And this?*—drove Kurokichi himself into a swamp of terror and gnawing anguish.

VI

“Tch… Go ahead and do whatever the hell you want…” Kurokichi spat out words that had stagnated thickly in his mouth.

“Me? This me being crazy? Hmph.” He deliberately raised his voice to tear away the anxiety in his chest and mocked himself.

But after voicing his soliloquy aloud in that empty space, what lingered was a quiet steeped in madness. Unable to remain seated, he sprang up from the costume trunk with one forceful motion, yet still some “anxiety” seemed to cling to his back. With nowhere to go, Kurokichi paced back and forth in a corner of the backstage partitioned by stain-mottled waterproof curtains, like a caged bear.

Irritated by the desperate urge to cling tightly to even a straw scrap like a drowning man, he paced back and forth. If some great force were to embrace him until his bones crunched… he would surely find peace—as he thought this, at the very edge of those words, suddenly,

(Yōko)

Her face floated up. That’s it. Yō-chan... He involuntarily muttered and stood up. Perhaps from all his pacing, he became aware of clammy sweat forming on his forehead. Thud—

An ominous shadow pushed Kurokichi back into the depths of melancholy.

(Lately, hasn't Yō-chan been acting a bit strange?) Even earlier, when I was about to be scolded by the Boss, she came to watch. Not only that—she deliberately didn’t tell me about the missing ring and tried to make the Boss angry… One after another, Yōko’s recent cold-hearted treatments came flooding back. (Why had Yōko come to dislike me…)

As Kurokichi thought this, he was assaulted by an intense emptiness unlike anything he had ever imagined. The terror of that daydream blurred and faded like an old photograph. Heartbreak—. Kurokichi was stunned. “B-bullshit…” (There’s no way such a thing exists)

No matter how much he shouted inside his mouth, his anxiety only grew and never diminished. Precisely because he couldn’t understand why Yōko was distancing herself from him, the potential outcome grew all the more terrifying.

(Alright, I'll ask Yō-chan. If there are bad parts, I just need to fix them)

Kurokichi hurriedly peeked at the stage. Just then, Yōko was on stage, and there before the excited audience, her figure—writhing freely like a white snake—glistened sleekly.

VI-2 When the air grew restless with scattered applause, Yōko returned at once to the dressing room, her face faintly flushed. “Yō-chan, just…”

Kurokichi waved his hand slightly and called out to stop her. “What do you want?” “Yeah, just a little bit.”

“Fine, just a bit.” “Besides, I have to go back out soon…”

Yōko sat down on the costume trunk Kurokichi had been using, appearing uninterested. The silver-thread embroidery on her flesh-colored undergarment near her waist prickled into Kurokichi’s eyes and trembled. Every time Kurokichi tried to open his mouth, his heart thudded up to his throat and hindered him. “What is it, really… You called me here and then what, huh?”

“Yō-chan… Yō-chan, you’re really good at this, aren’t you?” Kurokichi gasped as words he hadn’t even thought of suddenly tumbled from his mouth. His face seemed to flush bright red. “Hohoho, what did you think I was going to say? Going through all the trouble of calling me over.” “Disgusting Kuro-chan.” Yōko half-rose from her seat with an exaggerated look of mockery.

“W-wait!”

Kurokichi, flustered, pulled her back and, “Wait a moment, I have something to ask… Yō-chan, don’t get angry.” “Why… why did you start hating me?” He finally blurted it out. “Oh, who said such a thing?” The round, glossy black eyes were, rather, curious. “Who? No one said anything.” “It’s just… I think that way.” “Oh, when did I ever say I hated you? There’s no such thing.”

"But... even if you don't say it out loud... I think that's how it is." Sen had been so kind to me—maybe I should've stayed with Sen instead. "Even when everyone kept laughing and calling me 'clumsy, clumsy,' you were the only one who never laughed, Yō-chan. You always encouraged me." Kurokichi felt his eyelids grow hot and swollen as he kept talking, stirred by his own words. "That's just your petty jealousy talking. You improved exactly because I stopped praising you and let others do it instead."

Yōko’s face also turned pale and stiff.

“I’d much rather be praised by you alone than by everyone else, Yō-chan.” “Someone like me… I’m ugly.” “I can’t even compare to someone like Gikō.” “But no matter what anyone says… I love you.”

“Oh, Kuro-chan, what are you saying?” “Hohoho, so you’re in love with me? Talking like an adult now, are we?” “Why don’t we have that kind of conversation?” Yōko, true to her spirited nature as a girl, stated this as if it were nothing and hurried off to the dressing room.

Kurokichi watched her retreating figure blur hazily as something hot trailed down his cheeks from swollen eyelids.

(To become husband and wife with Yō-chan...)

Such a fantasy was shattered into countless fragments. Amidst the tears that fell steadily, Yōko’s clear betrayal began to stir up every corner of his chest like a sharp rake.

6-3

“Kuro-chan, what are you thinking about?” Standing vacantly as if drained of spirit, Kurokichi had been engrossed in the frenetic jinta jazz when he jolted and spun around. “Oh, it’s Yoshiko… Don’t scare me like that.”

“Hohoho, not Yō-chan? Poor you.” The one who said that and laughed mischievously with her whole body was not Yōko—whom he had expected—but fellow young troupe member Yoshiko Sonodo. “What’s so pitiable about that…” “Oh please, I know already.” “You had a fight with Yō-chan, didn’t you?” “That’s a lie…”

“It’s not a lie. I know for sure—I saw it.” “Yō-chan’s such a strange person, don’t you think? I’ve grown so sympathetic toward you.” “This guy…” (Stop acting so grown-up!)

He tried to say it, but his mouth would no longer obey.

Kurokichi wanted to stay alone forever during these sorrowful times. When by himself, even tears he could desperately hold back would—when met with kind words of comfort—instead become boiling water that surged through his chest.

“It’s fine, Yō-chan.” “Thank you.” “It’s nothing.”

“Well, if that’s how it is…” Even as she said this, Yoshiko stood there as though trying to spit out something lodged between her back teeth. Though Yoshiko Sonodo had been close with Yōko, she neither shared her beauty nor possessed particularly outstanding artistic skills; thus Kurokichi—who had fixated solely on Yōko—naturally maintained no connection with her. Yet now that he had been forced to reevaluate Yōko herself, it seemed Yoshiko’s sudden presence might stir some turbulence within Kurokichi’s heart.

6-4

“Kuro-chan.”

“Yeah.” “Look, I’m not saying this to be mean, but you’d be better off forgetting about someone like Yō-chan…” “Why—”

“Why…” “What’s the use in saying that?” (I can’t forget Yōko!) “Don’t talk about unnecessary things.” Kurokichi uttered curtly and rapidly. “But, but... you’re just going to end up unhappy anyway.” “You’re saying such strange things. I’m doomed to be unhappy anyway—since I’m not pretty like Yō-bō...” “Oh, Kuro-chan, you shouldn’t say such things! Are you doubting me? You shouldn’t be so resentful!”

Yoshiko too grew unwittingly excited by her own words and widened her eyes. "You really don't know?" "I knew it—boys never notice details! You don't know about Yō-chan's terrifying habit..."

(Yō-chan’s terrifying habit—)

Kurokichi, dimly, felt as though something had come to mind. “A terrifying habit…” “Yō-chan is so cruel—she has such a beautiful face, but… don’t you notice?”

(So it’s true after all…) Kurokichi silently shook his head. "She’s absolutely terrifying—she’ll tear apart rats, frogs, even snakes without batting an eye." "But even she herself sometimes tells me—just me—‘I need to see blood now and then, or I get all restless—’ It’s terrifying." "And—and—she says it definitely gets worse once a month—" "That’s when she’d lash you with her whip—no—no lie—it’s true! I know it for sure! And afterward—‘Ah, what a relief—’ she’d say! Isn’t that awful? Isn’t that terrifying?" "She apparently adores seeing people beaten to a pulp—when she sees them oozing blood and collapsed limply everywhere, she feels compelled to cling to them—that woman might kill someone any day now."

“And then she said this too: ‘Using a pistol to kill someone? How stupid. If it were me, I’d carve them up with a dagger—isn’t that amazing?’ “But when Yō-chan—with her beauty—says such things and her eyes gleam, it’s so, so… Kuro-chan, Kuro-chan, I’m telling you…” Kurokichi silently left the side of the talkative Yoshiko and, faintly creaking the poorly laid backstage floorboards, walked aimlessly toward the face-show stage.

Beneath the face-show stage, a great number of town children were chatting about nothing in particular while gazing at the gaudily painted pictures. In those painted pictures, Yōko and Kurokichi’s entangled acrobatic poses were gorgeously depicted as if they were completely different people.

(No matter how much I’m beaten—even if I’m killed—I still love Yō-chan.) “Tch!” Kurokichi shook his head and brushed away the image of Yoshiko’s chattering face floating before his eyes. Yoshiko herself—who went on and on badmouthing Yōko—seemed far closer to a demon.

(What the hell is Yoshiko even going on about?)

He unconsciously shrugged his shoulders.

7

Had that young beautiful demon Yōko—who once recklessly showered him with tempestuous caresses—already lost all interest in this insect called Kurokichi? Or was this Yōko’s signature brand of persistent torment? Before Kurokichi’s heart could resolve this crucial—this most crucial—question, it was smashed into an even more dreadful chaos beyond earthly comprehension that had materialized before his eyes.

――A Dream Floating in the Sky―― That was it.

Because of the problem with Yōko, that illusion floating in the sky had temporarily lost its vividness like an old photograph. It came back to life. It came back to life, now imbued with raw realism.

In broad daylight, in front of a large audience—when flying through the sky—it began with Yōko’s face suddenly floating into view and led to the discovery of a “ring” that should have been absolutely impossible to see. The “daytime phantom dream” that had made even Kurokichi himself suspect he might be going mad now scattered with terrifying clarity behind his eyelids as he flew through the sky. Whether Kurokichi kept the memories of his time with Yōko close to his heart or not, he had to fly through the sky at least once a day.

When he flew through the sky—it was a moment of utter selflessness, crystal clear and strained to the limit like taut steel wire, where not a single nerve could be spared. Yet why could he see dreams so carelessly? This was a problem that seemed impossible to resolve quickly. (I wonder if my brains have grown stains.) Even seriously considering such things didn't feel absurd. As for those visions—unimaginable things would surface. A nameless weed would sprout violently, burst into an enormous crimson bloom, then scatter its petals like dripping blood before one could blink—or else he found himself darting through a garden of grotesque boulders and twisted stones like a dragonfly. Or—ah—when had I become a mole? Through pitch-black, tepid underground depths, I had to dig onward endlessly....

But if these were the only dreams, it would still be manageable.

7-2 If they were all such trivial things, there would be nothing to fear. They could simply be dismissed as dreams—illusions—————. However, what about that "discovery of the ring"? Facts that absolutely, unequivocally, by no means should be visible were now vividly surfacing behind his eyelids.

The illusion—a phantom resembling an eerie cloud that appeared in the fleeting instant of shaking loose and flying, overwhelming even thoughts of Yōko whom he could never forget waking or sleeping—dragged Kurokichi relentlessly into a four-dimensional universe. In short, it had gradually become a "prophetic dream."

When he thought about it, the discovery of the ring had indeed been the beginning of those "prophetic dreams." If dreams—so to speak—are the regurgitation of memory, then the illusions floating in the sky were dreams of the future....

……On a certain autumn day. As usual, Kurokichi—with Yōko assisting—leapt like a bullet into the empty sky, freed from all supports. Behind his eyelids vividly projected the scene of their troupe’s wild success in the next town. And when they opened their first show in that next town, there was an uncannily high turnout. As the bustling opening day ended, the Boss’s unusually cheerful laughter—like spring returning after long absence—echoed through the suddenly quiet tent. When seats are full, everyone feels buoyant.

“Come on, everyone. “—Is everyone here?”

The Boss, in his stage-tailored tailcoat, stroked his signature mustache as he surveyed the troupe members. Soon cheap sake bottles were brought from somewhere, and once again the tent filled with clamorous noise. Under yellowed electric lights, as the drunken clown began stomping on creaking floorboards to dance, soon men in patterned happi coats, silk-hatted gentlemen, and women in flesh-toned undergarments—their bodies exuding a sweet-sour stench—unfurled a hellish panorama across the cavernous tent. Like clay dolls wound haphazardly tight, they filled every space with obscene shrieks.

Whenever intense laughter erupted near his ears, Kurokichi knocked his head. He had been sitting cross-legged in a corner of the hut since earlier. But his eyes were bloodshot. (I’m the one—I’m the one who saw this exact scene the other day…) The bizarre scenes unfolding one after another were nothing but repetitions of dreams that had floated in the sky without the slightest deviation.

Even Old Man Genjirō—who normally wouldn’t so much as touch a cup for fear of trembling—now appeared utterly drunk— A cold sweat coursed down his spine.

The bizarre dance between Yōko and Gikō—seemingly meant as a taunt—was, in another sense, a nightmare laden with an oppressive pressure that swarmed over him. The bitter liquor swallowed in panic gurgled in the throat. (Which one is real...?)

(Could I be dreaming...) He hit an abrupt dead end at a simple question. So... so unbearable— Kurokichi, in a frenzy, desperately tried to drown his nerves in alcohol…….

7-3

For the first time, Kurokichi tasted fear in flying through the sky. Simultaneously, he sensed an indescribable fascination.

However, the next "prophetic dream" he saw was, ominously, a dream of the troupe’s utter failure. Moreover, it matched with not a fraction of difference, just like a positive print developed from a negative. They could only draw so few spectators that it was almost as if the troupe members outnumbered them. When Kurokichi flew through the sky, he would clench his hands, grit his teeth, and fly with desperate force.

(I’ve got to make it happen again.)

But—what on earth was happening? The "prophetic dreams" would no longer herald happiness. (Was it because I peeked into what lay ahead...?) Kurokichi shook his head.

(Even so, it’s not like I give a damn.) He shrugged his shoulders unconsciously, out of habit.

“If this keeps up, we’ll disband!” The Boss grew even crankier. Yōko, Yuko, Gikō, Senji—everyone—sensing a dark shadow, spoke less and less. Old Man Genjirō too, while drying the zabuton cushions, stared vacantly at the sky. It’s none of my damn business, I tell you. Kurokichi roared inwardly, but still felt uneasy. I just keep having the same dream... “That’s what’s wrong!”

He felt like he’d heard such a voice somewhere and shuddered. “Have you all gathered—”

The Boss, for some reason, gathered the troupe members and began to speak.

“Have you all gathered…” “As you all know, lately, nothing’s been working out.” “I can’t keep this up anymore. If we try in the next town and still fail… then we’re disbanding…” After that, he couldn’t hear anything. “Disband!” This single word sufficed. Though they had vaguely anticipated it, everyone was shocked anew.

7-4 “Disband!”

Kurokichi suddenly felt as if he had been knocked flat on his face. (I would have to part with Yōko—) When he thought that, the disbandment itself wasn’t particularly frightening, but he couldn’t bear having to part with Yōko. His clenched fist trembled uncontrollably. (Damn it! No matter what…) He resolved that even if he had to clench his teeth on a stone, he would see "good dreams".

Even as the wild jinta music erupted around him, Kurokichi remained standing utterly alone in the backstage shadows. “Kuro-chan, hang in there…” Before he knew it, Yōko—now changed into her stage costume—appeared evidently more affected by the word “Disband!” than she let on; her face stiffer than usual as she patted Kurokichi’s shoulder.

Kurokichi suddenly raised his head, “Yeah…” Though normally he would’ve felt a warm flush spreading through his shoulder from her mere touch, today he only gave a single nod. “Yō-chan, let’s give it our all.” “Yeees.” “Parting with Yō-chan… it’d be too much to bear...”

“Oh, what’re you even saying… If we give it our all and there’s still no crowd, what else can we do?” “But…” “If you’re gonna mope like that, why don’tcha just fall and turn into bloody mincemeat…” “Heh—if I’m dyin’ alone from a fall, no way—I’ll drag you down with me, Yō-chan—”

“Oh—hmph, of course you’d say that.” Her eyes glinted sharply as she tossed a flippant retort over her shoulder and strode away. Kurokichi remained rooted in place, closing his eyes against the grotesque undulation of Yōko’s retreating waist—a temptation that burned like hatred. (No matter what—I’ll see good dreams…) When he shut his eyes, the mad jinta music howled through every corner of his world….

× When his turn came, Kurokichi donned the snug flesh-toned undergarment, gave the scant audience a fluid glance of acknowledgment, then fixed his gaze on the trapeze hanging from the ceiling. And then, while smoothly climbing the rope, his mind—no, his entire body—was filled with “good dreams.” Before long, the trapeze groaned and creaked as it shook the entire hut, beginning to swing wildly. “Ah!” In an instant, the blood drained—Kurokichi leaped into the void.

“Ah—” By the time some audience members let out low groans, Kurokichi’s body had already fully transferred to Yōko’s trapeze, and a breath had passed. (It’s no good—) Kurokichi wiped his pale forehead with one hand. (No good, no good…)

For some reason, today of all days, that sinister daytime vision floating in the sky refused to appear. (Have I... lost the power of prophecy...?)

The "sinister daytime vision" he had so feared did not appear to Kurokichi today—he who had instead filled his chest with expectation—for reasons unknown. (All right, once more.) Entangled in the trapeze with her toes twisted around it, suspended from Yōko’s soft hands as she hung inverted, swaying back and forth in the sky amidst the reverse-flowing tide of blood, Kurokichi gasped repeatedly while continuing to think. “Gwa…” Leaving behind the eerie sound of Yōko’s throat that seemed ready to rupture in an instant, Kurokichi spun around and seized his original trapeze; after a breath, he swung his hips upward and properly seated himself on the bar. Provoked by the uproarious applause rising from far below, sweat gushed out all at once, drenching him.

But Kurokichi forgot even to wipe his sweat. (It’s no good—) The “dream” did not appear. As if his field of vision were a stage plunging into darkness, everything was pitch black. That only made him want more desperately to glimpse the “next scene.” (Good fortune or ill—)

Eventually, as if snapping back to awareness, he smoothly descended the rope and returned to the dressing room—yet even then, that single matter completely occupied his entire mind.

7-5

The day waned, fires were lit, and then one by one the lights went out. The show had ended, and the area was steeped in silence. What time was it? Kurokichi, who had once gotten into bed, suddenly sat upright. Kurokichi’s eyes bore an uncanny gleam, as though possessed by some entity. He couldn’t sleep no matter how desperately he tried—this troupe’s future, this “tomorrow” that held such immense significance for his and Yōko’s fate—would it bring good fortune or calamity…?

If it's good fortune, then good. If it’s calamity, then calamity… (Even if this troupe disbands, I won’t part with Yōko…) (If we were to part, I might as well kill Yō-chan…) Even having steeled himself to that extent, still, "tomorrow" weighed on his mind. Normally, tomorrow’s affairs would be beyond one’s control—but whether fortunately or unfortunately, Kurokichi had acquired the means to glimpse the future—a blasphemy against that terrifying “future,” one might say—through some twist of fate.

...Unable to bear it any longer, Kurokichi stealthily slipped out of bed without anyone noticing, then muffled his sounds as he climbed up to the high ceiling of the hut.

When he climbed up and looked, the scenery there was utterly different from usual. The desolate audience seats stood starkly vacant without a single soul in sight, while overhead, the tent seams flapped restlessly in the night wind with a dry clatter. Far below his eyes, on the stage that yawned like a valley floor, a single yellowish five-candlepower bulb traced nothing more than a faint halo of light. Kurokichi lowered the hoisted trapeze, nimbly leaped onto it, then—as if counting each motion—gathered his strength and began to swing.

The arc traced by the trapeze gradually expanded, and as acceleration mounted, the silent tent hut began creaking with a startling noise. When he suddenly peered down, he saw Yōko and Yuko in their nightclothes—when had they woken?—mouthing something silently while waving their hands. Though Kurokichi didn’t understand what it meant, he gave a firm nod, closed his eyes, and continued to exert more force on the trapeze.

“Hyah!” Leaving behind a groan-like cry, he shot through the dark hut’s air like a bullet. “Ah!” Kurokichi had committed a terrible blunder—while an assistant would normally have lowered the opposite trapeze beforehand, there was no assistant present now, and he himself, absorbed in thought, had completely forgotten to lower the trapeze he needed to swing toward. (Damn it!)

The moment he thought that, at the edge of his vision, the end of the hoisted trapeze glinted. “Thud!” With all his might, he twisted his body in midair—but such efforts were utterly futile; it was already too late. Kurokichi’s body let out a ghastly death scream, spun rapidly several times through the air, and with tremendous force plummeted straight down through the eerie hut’s space.

Yuko,

“Ah…”

With just that utterance, her face drained of color, and she sat down unsteadily, hugging her head to her knees. Even Yōko averted her eyes for an instant. Truly, it was less a crash and more akin to being slammed into the earth—a sound so tremendous it defied description. Kurokichi did not even let out a groan. The next instant, Yōko rushed over breathlessly. Then, after staring intently at Kurokichi’s mangled figure—stretched out as though pasted to the sandy arena—she gently lifted his upper body and murmured softly.

“Kuro-chan… Kuro-chan… that was incredible… wasn’t it?… Truly incredible…”

And then, parting her lips faintly as if in a dream, she gazed up at the high, high ceiling of the tent.

8 After gasping endlessly in an interminable, pitch-black hell of needles—when he finally came to his senses—Kurokichi discovered himself lying in a corner of the infirmary, reeking of disinfectant. (I... didn't die after all?) In the hazy twilight between dream and waking, as he thought this, the first thing he noticed was that his face and head—indeed, his entire body—were swathed in thick bandages, leaving only his left eye and the corner of his mouth exposed. Then, before his eyes could adjust, the forgotten pain suddenly throbbed dully back to life, surging over him, and once more Kurokichi was dragged into an endless coma.

……And then—how much time had passed?—like smoke, (Yōko’s face…) surfaced, and he snapped his eyes open—but his body remained as if nailed to the bed, not moving an inch. Pain and a chill-like agony—riding the pulse of his blood—throbbed dully all the way to the tips of his toes…

(Yō-chan…) Even as he muttered deliriously, all he could manage was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. With only his left eye—its vision dulled—fixedly staring at the hospital room ceiling whose depth he could barely discern, within it appeared the face of a "woman," her cheeks slightly stiffened. (Yō-chan!) His haze-covered eyes were frustrating; he blinked rapidly, but still they only appeared as if seen through a veil. And then, as the entire hospital room suddenly became unpleasantly warm and distorted, a hot tear welled up and was absorbed by the bandage at the edge of his eye, and everything around him suddenly darkened.

(Oh, was I crying—) Thinking such things, he fixedly stared at the "woman’s" face—but whether due to his eyes or not—it did not seem to be Yōko. (A nurse—) It also seemed like a nurse, but that face was one he had seen somewhere before. (If she’s a nurse… I shouldn’t know her…) When he closed his eyes, the very act of thinking itself grew wearisome. Beside the ear of his closed-eyed self, the "woman" seemed to whisper something faintly—but he couldn’t quite make out what it was—and even attempting to "listen—" grew irritating. His entire body was feverish and painful, as if riddled with cracks……

……Could it have been over a week since then? Kurokichi, whose body had always been unusually robust, visibly began to recover steadily and rapidly. And when he became able to speak, the first thing he asked about was, of course, the Far East Circus Troupe’s whereabouts. However, the reply that the doctor on rounds gave in a pitying whisper once again kicked Kurokichi down into a deep, deep abyss. “That circus troupe has disbanded…”

The doctor’s words inflicted upon him a far, far greater disappointment than when he had plunged headfirst from that hut’s ceiling. “Doctor… will I survive…” “Of course you’ll be fine. You were incredibly lucky—the spot where you fell was sandy.” “……” “What do you need? Does it hurt?” “Nah… It would’ve been better if I’d died… That would’ve been cleaner… With the Far East disbanded… there’s no way to earn a living…”

(More than anything, I have to part with Yō-chan.) “……And also, and also I can’t even read properly—there’s no one who’d hire me……”

Even after the doctor had made his rounds elsewhere, Kurokichi continued to mutter to himself, barely audible. (But. Wait—) Who on earth had me hospitalized here? (The troupe leader?—) But there’s no way the troupe leader would have that kind of extra money—if he did, he surely wouldn’t have disbanded the troupe…… (Who could it be—) Of course, Kurokichi had not saved his meager salary; he had spent nearly all of it to win Yōko’s favor.

(Who is this kind person—)

At the same time, (Was it that "woman" I glimpsed half-asleep at first—)

He had hit upon the thought—but who could that "someone" be, (If it's Yō-chan...) He tried to let his heart leap at the thought, but first of all, that face didn't seem to be Yōko's, and besides, that spendthrift Yōko couldn't possibly have such money.

However, even though he didn’t know who it was, Kurokichi began to regain some vigor. (There’s someone covering for me…)

When he thought this, precisely because he had been raised in a gloomy circus troupe, he felt something intensely warm. And he wanted to express his heartfelt gratitude to that person. While bearing grave injuries, his heart felt uncharacteristically buoyant—.

8-2

As usual, once again, the doctor on rounds came in.

“How are you feeling…” Behind thick myopic glasses, the old doctor smiled gently. “Yes, I’m feeling much better.” “I see, that’s good… It’s progressing well.” “When… when can I be discharged, I wonder…”

“Not just yet. You can’t rush things like that. Take it easy.”

“But… but I don’t have any money…” “Ha ha ha, you don’t need to worry about that—this is a charity hospital, you see—” “Charity hospital—?”

To Kurokichi, the meaning of those words remained unclear— (It must not require much money—) he managed to deduce. And then: “Well—”

To the doctor who was starting to leave, “Doctor… I was wondering if you might know of any circus troupes…” “Hmph, why do you ask?” The old doctor turned back.

“Well… once I leave here, I’ll have to eat…”

Kurokichi looked up at the pupils behind the glasses as if pleading. "You still intend to perform those acrobatics… with that one leg—" "Huh?!"

Kurokichi was stunned.

“One leg!” This single statement was indeed a bolt from the blue.

Kurokichi, seized by an incomprehensible dread, trembled uncontrollably and—forgetting even the pain in his arm—began frantically feeling his body from chest to stomach, stomach to waist. And from his waist… ah, from his waist… no matter how much he groped around, whenever his hand reached that point, it would drop onto the bedding with a dull thud. Ah, (I don’t have my right leg!)

(My right leg—it’s gone!) Beneath the thick bandages wrapped layer upon layer, his forehead grew clammy with sweat, and he felt the blood drain away from his entire body. All around, as if poison gas had been spread, it became hard to breathe… (I have become a terrifying cripple.) In this fleeting world, by what means am I supposed to endure from now on? Faced with his own fate, which was far too cruel, even his tears had dried up.

If they were going to amputate it anyway, they might as well have resolutely cut off my left leg, right hand, and left hand altogether... After all, I can no longer fly through that sky... That’s right—I can no longer soar through that sky.

And then... In Kurokichi’s head, the longing for that acrobatics’ strange sensation of the sky swirled like a torrent and scattered. (Just one more time… If I could just taste that pleasure once more, exactly as my heart desires…)

8-3 The next day, Kurokichi had completely given up on his other leg—and yet,

(I want to fly!) That desire grew even more intense.

That boom, boom resonating through his entire being—the exhilarating throb of the swing! The instant he thought 'Ah—'—the intoxicating void of soaring through emptiness!

And then—the sudden vision of “tomorrow’s dream” floating up from the depths of his eyes! How utterly captivating that must have been—.

Kurokichi had already become a captive of this "uncanny daylight dream"—a vision ordinary people must not glimpse. Why was it that only when he was in midair—having lost all bodily support—could he see such an immense and yet chillingly precise “tomorrow”—? This was a psychological phenomenon not easily unraveled. However, for Kurokichi, whether it was hypnosis or sorcery—such things were not an issue at all. Like an opium addict, he didn’t care what consequences it might bring. If only he could drown himself completely in it—he would have been happy.

Kurokichi spent the entire day staring fixedly at the stain-covered ceiling, thinking of nothing but that.

Tap, tap, tap… When footsteps crossing the hallway stopped precisely in front of Kurokichi’s hospital room, “Are you already alright…?” The voice was unmistakably a woman’s—the very timbre that lingered in Kurokichi’s eardrums. “Yōko!” Having thought only of his one leg and flying through the air, he joltingly recalled the name he had nearly forgotten. Almost simultaneously, when the door was pushed open, the one who entered quietly was not the anticipated Yōko but that Yuko.

“Yuko-chan…?”

Kurokichi, blatantly disappointed, let his half-raised torso collapse back down. “Kuro-chan, how are you—” “Yeah…” “Still…how wonderful you’ve recovered so quickly…” “Yeah.” “…Still feeling unwell—” “Nah. I’m completely fine now.”

“That’s good…” “Yōko-chan—” “Yōko-chan?” Yuko made a faintly disgusted face but quickly regained her composure. “Yō-chan said she’ll leave with Gikō right after the troupe disbands—she’s going to depend on her uncle in Tokyo.” “With Gikō—”

Kurokichi felt a sudden heat flush through his chest. When he imagined Yōko and that pretentious, deathly pale Gikō swaying away on the train like newlyweds, a dizzying revulsion surged through him, his heartbeat thundering violently. “Yō-chan’s so cruel… She could’ve at least come to see you once, Kuro-chan…” Yuko peered into Kurokichi’s face, deliberately lacing her words with implication. (Tch—what the hell are you spouting…)

And though the words rose to his lips, they never became sound. As his mouth twitched and contorted spasmodically, tears began to spill down for no apparent reason. “Oh, what’s wrong…” “Nah… It’s just… my leg hurt a bit…”

Kurokichi turned his face away. It wasn’t his leg—the inside of his chest hurt so much it felt like splitting open……. After a while, Kurokichi finally turned back. “Yū-chan… I’m sorry. You came to visit me sometimes, right…? Aren’t you going anywhere else?” “Oh, don’t apologize like that. I hate it.” “Isn’t it only natural to come visit you…? I felt sorry for you, and besides—” Though her last words died on her lips, their meaning was still fully understood.

“Yū-chan… thanks for your kindness… but I’ve… I’ve gotten even uglier than before… and now I’m a one-legged cripple on top of it… heh heh heh…” Kurokichi’s voice was superficial and hoarse.

“I know… That’s why I felt even more sympathy for you…” “Hmph. Living it up, huh?” “It’s fine—it’s really fine—I like your feelings—your face, your lame leg—none of that matters.” Even Yuko finally turned her slightly flushed face to the side. A few strands of stray hair that had caught on her reddened earlobe trembled faintly. Kurokichi stood half-dumbfounded before Yuko’s bold words—words unbefitting a girl her age. That Yuko who once wore flesh-toned underrobes and darted about—that chatterbox Yuko—now wore but a single threadbare kimono with an adult-like obi fastened about her waist. As her words suggested, Yuko had already become a woman. Vitality—vigorous as spring grass—must have been coursing through her veins with violent sound. That constrained swell of chest, those rounded hips cascading downward—though lacking the heart-constricting power of Yōko’s form, they held a faintly fragrant beauty of living flesh.

8-4 Kurokichi closed his eyes. Even as this rough, vital Yuko pressed in on him, he found himself thinking he had to forget it all—. The rococo-like image of "Yōko" had been seared far too vividly into his chest—. (Yōko had gone off with Gikō.)

(Yōko doesn’t have someone like you in her sights anymore—) And yet, even as he thought this, Kurokichi remained unable to relinquish his lingering attachment. “Yū-chan, I think I’ll go back to doing stunts once I leave here…” Kurokichi changed the subject and spoke. “Oh… With that body of yours—”

“But I just can’t forget that feeling of aerial performance. “I want to forget everything and fly—” “But you know… even though it’s counterintuitive to say this to you—that aerial act is all about true breathing rhythm, right? If the swing and your breathing aren’t perfectly aligned, it’s dangerous.” “Yeah—” “But—but once you lose a leg, that breathing rhythm becomes completely different—the way you swing with one leg versus building momentum with both legs is totally different… You probably couldn’t even perform half of those moves.”

“Nuh-uh…”

(That’s right… That’s exactly how it is……)

Kurokichi sank into dejected contemplation. (Can I really no longer perform those stunts—)

(Can I no longer fly through the sky—)

“Yū-chan, don’t you have any good ideas?” “Anything—anything—I want to hurl this body of mine with all my might—hey, hey—maybe I should just jump off a high mountain—” Kurokichi was grinding his teeth.

“You—you—”

The old doctor came around.

“You shouldn’t get so worked up. What’s wrong?” “Ah, Doctor, Doctor—isn’t there a job where I can fly through the sky? Something where I can leap with all my might—where it doesn’t matter if I have legs—”

The old doctor, taken aback by the sudden question, stared blankly for a while at Kurokichi, whose left eye alone gleamed from within the bandages, but— “Well, how about an airplane?—though I suppose you can’t pilot one…… Oh, right—there’s something good! Three stations by train from this town, there’s a place called ‘Kashiwa Aviation Research Institute’—you’ve heard the airplanes sometimes, haven’t you?—they’re recruiting parachutists there, they say. How about that……”

“Parachutist?…” “Don’t you know? Well, it’s jumping down from an airplane with a parachute.”

“Ah! That thing—it’s primitive… But Doctor, aren’t they already full?” “Not at all! They’re nowhere near full—it’s a life-risking job after all. They’re researching new parachutes there, see? They need people for field tests—that’s why they’re hiring. Heard they pay ten yen per jump.”

“Ten yen!” “Do they really give ten yen?” Both Kurokichi himself and Yuko, who was beside him, instinctively widened their eyes. They had rarely ever seen something like ten-yen notes. “Ten yen is cheap though.” “If the parachute doesn’t open, that’s it—you’re done for…… Now, let’s get you treated.”

With that, he had the nurse assist him and began removing the bandages. However, Kurokichi—far from feeling the pain of his wounds—had become utterly absorbed in imagining the magnificent sight of that airplane rending the azure sky, its silver wings glinting as it soared over vast cloud ridges, and then his own dashing figure nimbly leaping down from that very aircraft. Parachutist. Parachutist.

Kurokichi kept muttering the foreign term he had just heard—as though it were a phrase he had yearned for since before birth—again and again. And again, that daydream of the sky that would unfold. I wonder what hallucination I’ll see next time……. (Perhaps Yō-chan and I…) His chest pounded and surged.

The uncanny allure of hallucinations! He was dizzyingly quivering with excitement, his face flushed. As for Yōko, (The High-Earning Kurokichi)

Imagining the high-earning Kurokichi, she felt pain in her nipples.

Nine

Less than a month later, an ugly, one-legged, eerie small man visited the reception desk of the Kashiwa Aviation Research Institute.

Needless to say, that was Kurokichi. The receptionist, upon hearing that this monster-like small man was volunteering to be a parachutist, had been rendered utterly dumbfounded before he could even burst into laughter. “You—.” “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you even know what a parachutist *is*?… Heh heh heh… If *you* could become a parachutist, *I*’d have done it myself a hundred years ago…”

But Kurokichi, enduring that ridicule, after a persistent back-and-forth—how many tears he had shed by the time he was finally referred to the director…! That director too had taken one look at Kurokichi and— “So you’re the one who wants to be a parachutist—” To this, he was left dumbfounded instead.

“Yes, sir. “I beg you.” “Please, I beg you.” “It’s impossible. Even ordinary people find it quite arduous, and you’re missing a leg.” “But a parachutist doesn’t need legs—I was an acrobat before—I’ve done all kinds of arduous stunts—jumping from an airplane is nothing… I beg you.” “I beg you—without this parachutist job, I cannot go on living…”

Kurokichi had to plead so desperately there as well—it seemed as if his mouth might dry up from the effort, just as it had at the reception desk. The sight of this grotesquely maimed cripple pleading with eyes brimming with tears was less a scene of pathos than one of sheer ghastliness.

“I beg you.” “Even if I die, it’ll be my fault.” “Whether I can do it or not—just let me try… Please…”

Even the director, who had stubbornly refused to consent, finally gave in,

“You’re hopeless… Fine—if you’re prepared to die, go ahead and try it once…” he spat out, then pursed his lips into a taut line. Kurokichi’s joy in that moment……. It was beyond words—he couldn’t express it verbally. With that monstrous face of his brimming with a twisted smile, swinging his unwieldy crutch about, he clunked around the room—clunk, clunk—until at last he let out an eerie, moan-like cry of joy.

And when he spotted Yōko’s figure—who had accompanied him out of concern—outside the gate, he dashed over like a grasshopper and, like an infant, clenched his teeth and burst into tears… It was astonishing how the tears kept flowing…

After about half a month had passed, Kurokichi’s body adjusted fully, his ground training ended, and he was finally set to ride in an airplane for the first time. The sensation of being on the plane for the first time—how utterly magnificent it was… The engine roar erased all abhorrent memories as it flowed—the infinite azure sky he gazed up at held nothing within it that cared about his ugly appearance. Even that alone was supreme delight for him—and behold! Far below lay a mountain, muddily stagnant. Like a silver snake, the stream twisted and squirmed. The forest staggered spindly backward, while the sea, like a pus-swollen basin, occasionally glared with envious eyes. Eventually, the Earth—transformed into a shabby motley of specks—gradually receded into the distance——.

Kurokichi was utterly ecstatic. (This was way, way more wonderful than I’d ever imagined!) (I’ll leap down spinning through this scenery.) (In that tight-lipped world below, there must surely be some bold, talkative “dream”…) When he thought this, an impulse to jump immediately seized him. Gripping the door involuntarily, he leaned out of the aircraft and peered again and again at the distant world below.

Nine-2 “How was it…?” With the meager stipend he received from the research institute, Kurokichi managed to get by day to day. Yōko had taken up residence as a live-in waitress at the only café in this small town. And so, frequently sneaking past the watchful eyes of Café Kintori’s owner—a café so meager in earnings it hardly warranted commuting—she would visit Kurokichi, who idled away his days on the second floor of a hardware store. “How was it…?” “Yeah, it’s awesome, Yō-chan.”

“Oh, is that so—” “But—how should I put it? Anyway, compared to airplanes, acrobatics are like boogers. Airplanes are just… amazing…”

“How marvelous it must be… I’d love to ride it too—” “No way—women—” “Oh, that’s nonsense! To say women can’t do it—how cruel, how cruel…” Yōko cooed through her nose, making her whole body ripple with seductive charm as she jostled Kurokichi’s shoulders. “Quit it…” Even while protesting, Kurokichi kept embracing Yōko’s rounded shoulders with his gnarled hands.

Kurokichi found himself perplexed. Kurokichi—a man born ugly who had long known, better than anyone else, that his own body and face were twice as repulsive—now, after losing one leg and one eye in that trapeze fall and acquiring a thick earthworm-like scar running diagonally from the upper right of his face downward, found even himself unwilling to look into a mirror. No—Kurokichi had always harbored a violent loathing for mirrors that reflected his hideous visage as it was—so why did Yōko and others show such special “favor” to one as unlovely as he? Was this what they called women’s whims? Or was it women’s psychology, preferring extremes to extremes…….

“Yō-chan”

Kurokichi placed his chin on Yōko’s soft shoulder and, gazing in fascination at her translucent white neck, “Yō-chan—why do you like someone like me? A monster-like man like this—” “There must be plenty of handsome men coming to the café…” “What are you talking about? Hmph, I hate those fair-skinned guys who come to the café posing as handsome men—they put on airs, but they’re all thinking the same thing. Everyone who goes there is just a bunch of lust-crazed perverts—disgusting, or whatever you call it… It makes me sick—”

Yōko disparaged the “customers” in an unexpectedly vehement tone, spitting out the words. “Hmph, I prefer someone with an uncomplicated heart like you over those wolf-like guys…” This was the precocious psychology of love harbored by the sixteen-year-old girl. Yōko had twenty years more experience in love than others—and yet, back when she was in the circus troupe, she had seemed such a child—.

“So—then to be liked by girls, it’s better to deliberately pretend not to notice, huh?” “Well, I suppose so… but if you do it too often, I won’t stand for it.” Yōko glared with adult-like severity. “I wouldn’t do something like that—” Kurokichi stared at her neck—where disheveled hair clung—with burning intensity. “No way—I’d never do that…” As he spoke these words and moved his hand toward Yōko’s full chest, he discovered beneath the stiff obi an unexpectedly plump swell of flesh—so soft, so warm, so tormenting that it seized his trembling fingertips like a suction cup, drawing an involuntary gasp.

Yōko, who had turned around, smiled silently with an inscrutable expression; that face was no longer a girl’s. “Oh… you mustn’t… you mustn’t…” Even as she said this, she kept Kurokichi’s hand pressed firmly against her chest without any intention of letting go, and closed her eyes. Kurokichi closed his eyes too. The writhing, supple body in his arms merged into a double exposure with the Yōko behind his eyelids, until it seemed as if he were crushing that Yōko against himself with all his strength.

(Yō-chan...) When he thought that, the woman in his arms was no longer Yūko. Passion roared and surged through his veins. (Yō-chan!) In his heart, he shouted this; even as he cried out, he pressed his cheek against Yūko's and embraced her tightly.... That day, Kurokichi married Yōko; Yūko married Kurokichi. The precocious pair were mutually satisfied with that.

9-3

After those splendid accompanied test flights concluded two or three times, Kurokichi was finally set to carry out his first jump as a parachutist, entrusting his life to a single lifeline. After leaping out, he would count to five in his head, then yank the cord with all his might to deploy the parachute—and there he’d be, gently swaying as a citizen of the sky. But what a moment packed with thrill that was. Even if he pulled the cord, if the parachute didn’t open—!

One in a thousand, one in ten thousand—no, absolutely—Kurokichi could not survive to stand on this earth again. Moreover, the parachutes here were, so to speak, still experimental—who could possibly guarantee their absolute safety? Even if the engineers who designed them had confidence, regarding that final point, they had to repeat this field test many times. If there was a single mistake with the rope, if there was one error in the folding method……. That Kurokichi’s body would be reduced to splinters was clearer than seeing fire—what a terrifying job this was. What a life-disregarding experiment this was.

Parachutist—that was a cosmopolitan of the vast skies. …That day, on the ground, the researchers of the institute held their breath as they stared fixedly at the silver wings speeding across the blue sky with engine roar—wondering just what kind of “descent performance” this cripple Kurokichi would deliver. The airplane circled in a rigid buzzard-like posture.

This old-model training plane required clamping an earpiece to one’s ear to hear commands from the pilot. “Hey!”

A terribly loud voice echoed in Kurokichi’s eardrums like a mosquito’s whine. Because the surroundings were so saturated with noise, it wasn’t clear whether that voice was loud or faint. “The northeast wind’s about ten meters… Jump when you see the airfield on the right… We should drift right toward it… Almost there… Ready? Hey! Get set…”

The pilot’s voice came through in fragments. Kurokichi quietly removed the earpiece from his ear and took off the headband. And then, while moving his hand around to stroke the parachute securely strapped to his back, he closed his eyes…

There was nothing behind his eyelids. He wasn’t scared…… Then, when he quietly opened his eyes again, the pilot up ahead was turning around, flight goggles glinting, waving his hand――.

In the eyes of the ground staff, the airplane glinted. And from that aircraft, a single speck of dust-like stain plopped out, trickling away. (Kurokichi jumped—) Meanwhile, Kurokichi—having left the silver wings as if swimming—fell on and on and on into a pitch-black world devoid of resistance. In the air—violently exploding, shaking, and surging—within Kurokichi’s head, now freed from all color and sensation, an indescribable rainbow-like thing burst into sparks for an instant—and in the next moment, there appeared the face of an unfamiliar, lovely girl, her gaze fixed on him with a faint smile.

(Who?…) The moment he tried to re-examine it, tightening his body with a forceful twist, a deafening sound like dynamite erupting clamorously erupted at his feet—and simultaneously, Kurokichi felt himself lifted dozens of meters by an incredible force, as though being violently tossed about midair. The parachute had opened. The moment Kurokichi twisted his body with a forceful jerk, he unconsciously pulled the cord to open the parachute. (If I had remained intoxicated by that dream and forgotten to open the parachute...)

Of course, he would have been smashed headfirst into the ground. He recalled himself being enraptured by that strange illusion after being suspended in midair by the sturdy rope, and felt a spine-chilling shiver racing down his back. When he timidly peered down, the ground was already drawing near, and a lone pine tree in the field, writhing and swaying exactly like waterweed in a marsh, stretched upward toward him.

9-4 When Kurokichi landed on the ground, the researchers rushed over with worried expressions, but he silently took the crutches and began walking across the vast airfield with a limp—as if shaking off those people—with no particular destination in mind.

His mind was occupied by that “girl from the illusion.”

(Who… could it be?) “Ah!” He jerked to a halt. (That… that’s Yō-chan—)

"That’s right… Yō-chan… It’s definitely Yō-chan…" Though the “Yō-chan” within that rainbow hadn’t been clearly visible, it seemed she wore her hair in an elaborate updo——.

(Why?) Like an endless airfield stretching before him, it was a monumental doubt.

(Was it because I'd been thinking about Yō-chan too much...?) Even so, why had that vision shown Yōko with her hair done in an elaborate updo—a style she'd never once worn? (The dreams I have when flying through the sky are prophetic—if that's true, then maybe I'll meet Yō-chan wearing that updo soon.)

Kurokichi abruptly raised his face and glared at the azure sky. His eyes—perhaps it was his imagination—glinted like a beast’s. (Yō-chan... might have gone to Tokyo with Gikō...) Kurokichi slumped dejectedly. (There’s no way I could ever meet her——) After passing through the research institute’s back gate, Kurokichi walked aimlessly along a rutted, dusty white path toward the edge of town. His head was feverish and flushed; his dragging leg was as hard as a board.

As exhaustion mounted, it became unbearable—he found himself at a loss. He felt like letting out a wail of tears; as if he wanted to collapse right in the middle of the street... Through his parched throat and bloodshot eyes suddenly flashed Chidori Shokudo—an izakaya with a faded signboard promising respite. He shoved the stained curtain aside with his shoulder and entered.

Inside was an earthen-floored room with only three or four long benches—a dreary, dimly lit izakaya.

There was no one. “Hey…”

When Kurokichi called out, immediately from beyond the shop—from behind the soot-darkened cupboard in the raised living area— “Yes?” a hoarse reply came. “Hey, it’s your shop—” Following the old man’s voice,

“Oh, welcome…” As a cheerful young woman’s voice—unfitting for this dilapidated izakaya—rang out, a woman in an elaborate updo, wearing red lacquered geta, appeared as suddenly as a blooming flower. “Welcome, what would you…” “Ah—” “Oh—”

“Yō-chan!”

(Yōko—. (So that sky dream really was true after all……)

Kurokichi was stunned. And then, like a fool, he stood there with his mouth agape, unable to utter a word——. (Yō-chan, who was supposed to have gone to Tokyo with Gikō... Why is she at a place like this izakaya...?) (Why—why—WHY——)

X “Yō-chan, it’s been a while, huh.” “Really……” “Um… I heard you went to Tokyo…” “Yes, I did go to Tokyo once—but since the uncle I was going to visit had apparently returned to this town, I ended up coming back again, you see…”

“Hmm, I see… Um… um, what happened to Gikō—”

“Gikō? Ah, that guy’s hopeless—he was so persistent I had to bail on him in Tokyo… You’re well-informed, Kuro-chan.”

(Kuro-chan!) How many months had it been since he last heard those words from those adorable crimson lips? It felt like he hadn’t heard them in decades……. Yōko’s words—carrying a lyrical cadence within an unexpectedly fiery tone unbefitting a girl—……. That hair—vividly arranged in an elaborate updo and glistening with oil—held something that shook a man’s heart to its very foundations. The mingled scent of hair and womanly musk—that chest-piercing alluring fragrance——.

“It’s because of Uncle’s hobby, you see—I’m stuck doing up my hair like this——” Saying this, she slightly bowed her head—the beauty of her smoothed-down nape……. Kurokichi felt his vision swim. “Yō-chan, Yō-chan… I wanted to see you so badly.” “But we did meet.” “Yeah, it’s good… really good——” Kurokichi was excited and overwhelmed, as if he had finally laid hands on a gem he had sought for many long years.

Yōko, beyond a momentary surprise at how this boy who had always been ugly had now transformed into an even more monstrous figure—one-eyed and lame—felt little particular emotion at their reunion. Put another way, Kurokichi alone was moved and excited.

But that these two had reunited in such a place was, by any account, entirely coincidental. To Kurokichi, the fact that Yōko’s only uncle had opened an izakaya there was divine intervention—no—rather, he believed it to be the work of that “prophetic dream.” “Yō-chan, I found you—I found you before coming here.” “Oh, when did you—” “Just now… Hey, I told you before, right? That dream I see when flying through the sky—that’s it.” “Today, when I jumped down with the parachute, I suddenly saw Yō-chan’s face…”

“Oh, is that so——” Yōko made a slightly frightened face. “That’s creepy…” “It’s not creepy… I… I’ve always been thinking about nothing but Yō-chan…” “Well… I hate people who say things like that—why are men all like that? Gikō kept saying that stuff too, so I ended up hating him and saying goodbye.” “Gikō…”

(Damn it! That Gikō likes Yō-chan...) Kurokichi instinctively gripped his crutches. "What's wrong, Kuro-chan?" "Yeah, no—it's nothing." "Oh..." "Hey Yō-chan... won't you come over to my place..." "Well..." "Yes! Thanks. My place is... on the street in front of the research institute's main gate. Go straight down that way—left side's a hardware store called Hirotaya... second floor." "You're alone...?"

“That’s right, of course…” “Oh my, how impressive—managing all alone like that… In that case, I’ll come.” “It’s true, I swear… right…?”

十ノ二

Kurokichi returned home drunk like an adult, humming some incomprehensible tune with the first cheerfulness he’d shown since being discharged from the hospital. ——unaware that Yōko was following behind, her eyes shining with curiosity——.

“My, what’s come over you today…”

When he had finally managed to crawl up the stairs to the second floor, someone suddenly called out to him from above, startling him. “Oh… Yukō…” “My, you’re energetic today.” “That’s right.” Kurokichi thrust out his leg and, “Yukō-chan… Today… I met Yō-chan…” “Eh! With Yō-chan?!” “Yeah—Yō-chan… Yōko… The one who’s close to me—” “Oh really… Where…”

Yukō—perhaps imagining things—made a displeased face and looked down. “You know, near the back gate—there’s a bar called Chidori, right? That’s where it was.” “Oh, that place—no wonder.” “The customers at the shop were saying it—‘Lately there’s a real looker over at that place’—and thanks to that, all the people from the institute go running there.” “They must be going there to compete for Yō-chan’s attention, I suppose…”

“Hmm.” Then Kurokichi made a disgusted face and fell silent. “Hey, Kuro-chan—do you like Yō-chan or me more—” “Yeah.” “Hey... hey... well...?” “I… I… Yō-chan too…” “Yeah, that’s how it is, right? Someone like me…” “No—Yukō-chan, Yukō-chan—that’s not how it is… right…?” While even he himself was troubled by his alcohol-laden breath, Kurokichi firmly pulled Yukō’s trembling shoulders close and—

“Yukō-chan—don’t think it’s weird—I—I just said I met Yō-chan after a long time… right? That’s all it is—”

At that moment, the stairs creaked, and in an ill-timed coincidence, Yōko popped up from below. “Oh—” Yōko, still gripping the handrail at the top of the stairs, took in the state of the cramped room at a glance and— “Kuro-chan, enjoy yourself… Hohoho… ‘All alone,’ how laughable….” “Yukō-chan, long time no see… Do take good care of that crippled monster for me, won’t you? I was just bored and thought I’d come tease you a bit, but it seems you’re already occupied… Take your time—goodbye—”

“Ah, Yō-chan!” Abruptly releasing Yukō, Kurokichi— (Oh no—)

While thinking this, he desperately— “Yō-chan, Yō-chan—don’t misunderstand! It’s nothing at all! Yukō-chan just came over to visit, and—and we were saying maybe we should go see you… That’s all it was…” “I’ve had enough—spare me your visits. You went out of your way to call me here just to flaunt yourselves together… Hmph. If even Kurokichi-san is this shameless, then women—women are all the same… Kuro-chan, don’t you dare misunderstand. I despise you—utterly—”

“If you’re coming to consult me, it’s hardly the sort of talk that requires hugging each other, now is it—” Yōko’s face—pale with sharpness rising to its features—was terrifyingly beautiful. Yōko, who since childhood had carried traces of a femme fatale, now unleashed her gang-leader-like fiery tone—it blazed forth like flames, stabbing through Kurokichi’s chest with venomous intensity. Moreover, these harsh words—with which Yōko, the Yōko he had devoted his entire being to loving, the Yōko unforgettable even in dreams—had so cruelly cast him aside pierced through his skull like venomous needles.

“Yō-chan… That’s not…” Kurokichi looked up as if chasing after her, his single wide-open eye soaked with overflowing tears. “That’s enough—I don’t want to hear it—” Yōko raced down the stairs and was gone. “W-Wait…”

With his disabled leg, hopping desperately in pursuit, Kurokichi— (Ah—)

The moment he thought this, he tumbled headlong down the stairs. (Ugh…) His breath caught, and in that moment of dulled vision, Yōko’s undulating hips—departing briskly without so much as a glance back—burned into his retina… Strangely, they were completely bare—tormentingly alluring hips not clad in a kimono or anything else.

10-3

“Kuro-chan—”

Finally, when he made his way up to the second floor with Yukō’s shoulder as support, Yukō looked utterly exasperated—

“Kuro-chan—what a humiliating spectacle—how dare you disgrace me like this… Hmph. Just because Yō-chan came over, you didn’t need to leap into such a ridiculous panic! If you hate me this much, why not just act like it? —I only came here because I pitied your disability, but you’ve grown so arrogant—! Fine, I’m not Yōko, but *I’ll* be the one apologizing here. Honestly…” “It’s absurd for someone with such a monstrous face to call me ‘Yukō-chan’.” “Stop it.” “I won’t have you call me Yukō-chan anymore.”

“……Wasn’t I a fool? My half-baked sympathy got taken advantage of by this man… ended up hated… Huhuhu… oh, how hilarious… Yukō, you utter fool—”

Yukō, who had been snarling her words, finally grew hoarse and left while stifling her rising sobs with her sleeve.

Kurokichi no longer had the energy to stop it. For no particular reason, he had no strength left to wipe away the ceaselessly overflowing tears. In an instant—he had lost both Yōko and Yukō—. It felt unreal, like after a torrential downpour—yet somehow, something uncanny still lingered—and even now, as he sat there, he half-expected Yōko and Yukō to come laughing through the door with a “Hello—”, their voices brimming with eerie familiarity.

But—it was an unbearably cruel moment. Yōko, whom he had loved so deeply, and Yukō, who had cared for him so devotedly—because of this mere trivial misstep, they had now drifted far away from him. It’s an awful thing to say to Yukō—and when you think about it, a strange thing at that—but the one he had truly loved, the one who had truly satisfied him, was not Yukō after all—it was indeed Yōko.

Kurokichi, while holding Yukō close, thought of Yōko—and caressed her as if she were Yōko. In other words, Yukō’s body was, for Kurokichi, “Yōko’s phantom.” It was nothing more than a warm, realistic shadow. Kurokichi, while holding Yukō with all his strength, was intoxicated by Yōko’s scent. What twisted love this was—what fervent longing for Yōko—. That first kiss on the circus troupe’s storm-lashed night! That was when Kurokichi was still ten years old… .

Even if Kurokichi could forget Yukō—that pitiful puppet—he could not forget Yōko. (Yō-chan…) Kurokichi, amidst his falling tears, continued to call that name over and over again.

Eleven

From then on, Kurokichi—ridiculed by the institute staff and even scorned by Yōko herself—would nonetheless steal moments of free time to drag his disabled leg and persistently visit that Chidori Diner. By the time that circus troupe disbanded, Kurokichi—already utterly cast aside by the fickle Yōko—now found himself with an even more grotesque visage; attempting to regain Yōko’s favor anew was an utterly impossible proposition.

(At least once—anyway—she did come to my house…) Kurokichi must have clung to this thought in his heart—but for Yōko, it had merely been a casual, half-unconscious visit typical of her fickle nature, and moreover, she felt as though the sight of his amicable interaction with Yukō—his rival from their circus days—was being deliberately paraded before her, (Hmph…) if anything, her resentment only intensified—she owed this poor, ugly boy not a single smile.

Yōko was too beautiful and too excessively pampered to bother with such things. Moreover, busy entertaining high-ranking officials with good financial connections and sons of the wealthy who sniffed their way in from somewhere, she conversely found Kurokichi—who knew too much about her past—to be a nuisance, yet had no reason to show him even a single kind expression. The more coldly Yōko treated him, the more Kurokichi’s longing only intensified. Yōko would deliberately sit on other men’s laps and flaunt it before Kurokichi as he kept persistently visiting. But Kurokichi merely remained silent, his face twisted into a lonely smile.

Though his heart ached with a pain as if being clawed at, on the surface, Kurokichi—helpless in love—merely smirked. Yōko, spurred on by the unresponsive Kurokichi, grew all the more frantic and forced herself into the midst of the euphoric crowd of men…… It was an eerie premonition—one that made it clear this state of affairs could not persist much longer as it was. × However, once he entrusted himself to the plane and leapt down from the sky, in the illusions of that moment, Kurokichi could bestow ceaseless caresses upon Yōko.

(Yō-chan, I was so lonely when I heard you went to Tokyo.) (Yes, I’m sorry…)

(It's okay... I'm just so happy we can be together like this now.)

(Yes... I think I came here because I wanted to see you too, Kuro-chan.) (Yeah, I’d be happy if that’s true…) (But... but I feel bad about Yukō-chan.) (What’re you talking about? Someone like her—it’s nothing, really. She’s just coming to hang out.) (Oh? Well, if that’s true…)

(It’s true—) (Ah! Dangerous!)

The moment Kurokichi reached out toward Yōko, a tremendous sound erupted—the parachute deployed—and that delightful illusion vanished without a trace, leaving Kurokichi to drift down through the void like a leaf.... That was a pitiful reality. But Kurokichi believed in the revival of that “dream.” (Someday—it will come to pass—)

And.... And so, night after night he would sit alone like a solitary beast in a corner of Chidori Diner, licking Yōko’s entire body with his gaze as he remained perched there, while by day in his dreams of the vast sky he would clutch Yōko tightly to himself.

Eleven, Part Two Around this time, Kurokichi would voluntarily undertake that terrifying aerial adventure two or even three times a day. And on days without flights, he would sit dejectedly in a corner of the research institute, clutching his crutches and lost in thought, utterly listless. It was the figure of a lonely man who tethered his joy solely to the uncanny illusions of plummeting through the sky.

However, even to this oasis of a dream—the single remaining one—a terrifying catastrophe at last arrived.

It was an accursed vision—one where, before Yōko’s misunderstanding could be resolved and their heartfelt conversation realized, there came a sudden revelation that she would soon wed the son of a cosmetics magnate from a town not far away—a development that struck him like being hurled into a thousand-fathom chasm. From the instant Kurokichi beheld this sinister apparition, his mental equilibrium shattered completely. (My joyous dream... my glorious paradise... soon to be smashed to splinters...)

(Never once had those “aerial daydreams” been wrong—if that were the case, then this accursed “prophecy” must surely come to pass—) What a terrible thing this was. From the moment he had gained self-awareness, the idol “Yōko”—whom he had loved, revered, and adored from the depths of his heart as though she were a parasitic plant entwining his very existence—was now abandoning him to marry another.

Judging from Yōko’s recent treatment—cold to the point of cruelty— (Could such a thing really happen…) The very thing he had feared and dreaded was at last about to come true. That Yōko—the most beautiful flower to have bloomed in this world, Yōko whom he loved and yearned for more than life itself—was now about to be firmly embraced by the lustful arms of some stranger. (Indeed, I am disabled—and what’s more, an ugly man…)

Daga, an ugly man is born that way—didn’t Yōko make an ironclad promise with that ugly Kurokichi? And wasn’t it Yōko who taught him about “womanhood” even in their youth? Being disabled—when you got down to it—was because he’d tried to glimpse “tomorrow,” unable to bear parting from Yōko and fearing the circus troupe’s dissolution— It was Yōko who turned Kurokichi—mocked as a cowardly “bug”—into the troupe’s star performer. It was Yōko who gave motherless Kurokichi his first taste of feminine tenderness. His first love, his first kiss… none could be separated from “Yōko” in Kurokichi’s world.

And now, his first tearful “heartbreak” was about to be given to him by her…

Just the thought of it was terrifying enough to make his skin crawl with dread. Why did he have to think such things—that was what frightened him. (I just hope it isn’t true—) (The way things are now is fine. Even if she never offered a single kind word, even if those cold eyes were turned upon me—as long as I could be near her every day, that alone would be enough…)

Kurokichi could no longer stay still. He crossed the dimming, desolate airfield and hurried off toward the Chidori Diner.

Eleven, Part Three

The sunset was the color of rotten blood. An eerie silence, like an ill omen, pressed down over the entire field, and the evening haze loomed oppressively, shrouding the surroundings. And a dark, howling wind scythed through the weeds…

Ahead, the lights of Chidori Diner came blearily rippling into view—and at the same moment, the retreating figure of a young woman emerged faintly, like a shadow puppet.

Oh, could that be Yōko? The woman with distinctive features, seductively swaying her hips as she walked, was indeed Yōko. (Damn her—she’s going to meet that cosmetics merchant’s lover…) Kurokichi’s head flared white-hot. And then, with a terrifying speed that belied a one-legged man, he dashed across the field.

“Yō-chan—” Finally catching up, Kurokichi called out in a high-pitched, hoarse voice as if leaping forward to stop her.

“Huh—”

When Yōko whirled around in surprise, a black shadow of instinctive fear flickered across her face for an instant. “Yō-chan—how many months has it been since we were last alone like this, just the two of us, even though we meet every day?”

“……” “You don’t have to make such a disgusted face… Do you really hate me that much…”

“……” “I—I’ve been risking my life thinking of you… Come on, come on, you could at least try to understand, couldn’t you? Huh?” “……” “You could at least give me some kind of answer… Are you going off to meet that ghostly pale cosmetics merchant’s son again…?”

“Well… why would you—” “Heh heh heh… Surprised? I know everything.” “That’s not true… I just had some business here—” Even Yōko—perhaps momentarily moved by Kurokichi’s fervent passion—began speaking with melancholic sincerity. But when stray moonlight fell upon his cursed, grotesquely disfigured face, she shuddered and spat out words like venom:

“Kuro-chan, let’s just say goodbye already—it’s for both our sakes. Hohoho—come now, Kuro-chan, let’s leave the past buried along with *Kyokutō*’s disbanding and become strangers… You should think yourself lucky I ever showed you even a little affection… As for me—well, I’m off to meet that person now… Staying over tonight—must be making you green with envy…” Even through the mist-filtered moonlight, her face held nothing for Kurokichi but despair’s sharp edge.

“Yō-chan, just once more—let me hold your hand, let me embrace your round chest… That’s all I need—I’ll be satisfied with that, okay… Just once more——” “What’re you even saying, you lame fool?… Your face looks just like a monster’s—how bizarre that you dare spout such audacious nonsense with that mug… At best, you should be hugging Gikō or something…” The autumn airfield was enveloped in desolate darkness. The surroundings were dimly dark; Kurokichi’s eyes, ablaze with fury, glared fiercely with murderous intent, and from his misshapen body, a ghastly, blood-tinged breath erupted violently.

“Ugh… Damn you!” With a groan, his left hand was already digging into Yōko’s pale, constricted throat. “Wh-what are you doing—” It was the moment when Yōko, brushing off that hand and sneering at Kurokichi’s single leg, was just about to suddenly twist away and flee.

Blind with rage, Kurokichi raised his crutch overhead and, mustering every ounce of his strength, struck Yōko with savage force. With just a single scream, Yōko collapsed like broken porcelain. Kurokichi had already become the devil’s captive. He threw the crutch he had been gripping as though wrenching free from his own flesh, “Damn… Damn…” Howling madly, he suddenly pounced atop Yōko’s fallen body like a beast and began throttling her throat with all his strength, squeezing tighter and tighter.

——What cruel acts were carried out in this utterly deserted field… All that remained visible was her stark white soles, jutting out obscenely like sea stars on the ocean floor in the pale moonlight melting into the haze, while kimonos and undergarments lay scattered like blossoms after a storm across the ground, and the acrid tang of a young woman’s blood hung thickly in the air.

11-4

The next day——.

The mid-autumn sky was high, a bright and serene day. As usual, the airplane towed from the hangar to the runway—after taking Kurokichi aboard, oblivious to the brutal murder that had occurred on that field the previous night—plunged effortlessly into the cloudless blue sky.

Suddenly noticing, Kurokichi found something like a large furoshiki bundle crammed into every inch of empty space at his feet—forced in as though into a cramped hole. ……No one had noticed when such a thing had been loaded aboard……. But that—it seemed to be Yōko’s corpse—struck him as an ominous premonition.

× The “Yōko” he had loved so deeply, the “Yōko” he had yearned for so desperately. That Kurokichi could be so fiercely scorned and mocked by that Yōko—even he himself had not anticipated it. Overwhelmed by the extremity of it, Kurokichi flared up; in the same instant his vision swam dizzyingly, and in a half-trance-like frenzy, he plunged Yōko into “death,” then pressed scalding hot kisses to her beautiful corpse as it grew cold. And then, for the first time, Kurokichi returned to himself——.

Kurokichi—who first awakened to consciousness amidst the garish hues of that deranged circus troupe’s backstage, its coquettish voices, obscene songs, and sweat-stained undergarments; who had already come to know and fallen in love with the beautiful, transgressive girl Yōko— Kurokichi—who, in those acrobatics where he gathered all his strength and flew through a line of nothingness, had discovered a strange self-hypnosis— And then Kurokichi—crippled, his fixation deepening further, chasing only “delightful dreams with Yōko,” now to the point where even the boundary between dream and reality blurred beyond recognition——

For Kurokichi, it was only natural that he had reached this terminal point of “murder.”

However, Kurokichi, having murdered Yōko, was intoxicated by an indescribable happiness. (Yōko—the Yōko he had yearned for so desperately was now entirely his to control——)

Yōko no longer made a single unpleasant face. No matter how close Kurokichi brought his ugly face, she did not laugh. No matter how tightly he embraced her……no matter how her fragrant petal-like face became drenched in slimy wetness from kisses as fierce as rain, as bullets……. (What bliss this was——) However, Kurokichi could no longer afford to remain intoxicated by that happiness. Perhaps it was his imagination—he jerked his head up to look and found that the long autumn night had already passed, the sky now paling into dawn.

(If someone saw…) He knew all too well that if they were seen by anyone, it would all be over. In the end, after being separated from Yōko, I would be sentenced to death and thrown into some incomprehensible grave pit. The death penalty itself wasn’t particularly frightening. He simply couldn’t bear being separated from Yōko, whom he had finally obtained. After much agonizing deliberation, Kurokichi hit upon the idea of taking Yōko into the sky.

Once he conceived this idea, he dragged Yōko’s corpse all the way to the hangar over a long period, brought it inside through a familiar entrance he knew well, sneaked into the sole old-fashioned training plane available, forcibly crammed it into the unusually wide hollow space that opened sideways beneath the seat, and then feigned ignorance while waiting for the flight…….

×

The airplane took off. Fortunately, no one had noticed——. Kurokichi and Yōko’s aerial honeymoon now began. The needle on the altimeter installed nearby spun rapidly upward. The distant Earth was staggering and writhing beneath his feet…

Kurokichi, after a while, as if suddenly remembering, began to untie the furoshiki bundle at his feet. When the cloth was peeled away like a scab, what lay abruptly exposed was the entirely naked form of that beautiful young sorceress Yōko—not a single thread clinging to her body. And though her soul had long departed, those pale, exquisitely proportioned limbs—writhing as if alive from the airplane’s mechanical tremors—now knelt obediently beneath Kurokichi’s knee.

“Yō-chan… my Yō-chan… mine alone…”

The voice that had been shouted with all his might scattered vainly into the void.

But Kurokichi was happy. Inside his flight helmet, he flicked his thick tongue over his lips repeatedly. With his ugly face twisted into a lewd grin of apparent delight, he gazed incessantly at Yōko’s lascivious form.

11-5 In an infinitely clear blue sky that seemed to melt one's eyeballs, Kurokichi flew while clutching Yōko tightly. "Hey—get ready..." Suddenly, through the speaking tube came the pilot's gruff voice. Startled, Kurokichi rose from his seat and peered down at the distant world below—the diorama-like landscape spread its hands wide, swaying languidly as if poised to embrace Yōko's corpse.

――Had Kurokichi gone mad? Suddenly removing the parachute, he tore off his flight helmet and ripped away even his flight suit—then, brutally lifting up Yōko’s corpse, and at the same time, (Ah—) The instant he thought this, from the silver aircraft, the tightly entwined naked man and woman hurtled toward the distant, distant Earth far below with a bomb-like ferocious force, falling on and on and on…….

× Kurokichi was satisfied. The mountains, rivers, forests, and fields he had grown accustomed to seeing daily until now seemed to gently embrace just the two of them—himself and her. And what divine blessing this was—in his own arms rending through atmospheric layers as they plummeted—was he not clutching Yōko with all his strength, determined not to release her even to hell——?

Had not Kurokichi’s mysterious daydreams—those he had while flying through the sky—now become clearer than reality…….

(Kuro-chan, forgive me. After all... I’m completely yours now.) (You finally understood me, Yō-chan. You finally grasped my feelings.) (I understand now—I’ll never leave your side again.)

(Thank you, Yō-chan. Thank you. (I too, I too will never let go……)

Ah.

Yōko stared at him with a coquettish look even in her black eyes. Yōko’s lips—crimson like blood blossoms—trembled violently as they drew nearer…… (Ah, I’m happy……) (*Detective Literature* June–October 1935 issues, unfinished. (Completed when included in *Dream Demon* in 1936.))