Pathway to Japanese Literature

If There Is Life...

One

Photon’s condition, which had kept her bedridden since November, still showed almost no sign of improvement even by March.
When her fever of around thirty-nine degrees subsided slightly, chest pain would come, or she would be seized by violent coughing fits.
When she thought her cough had slightly improved, she would be tormented by a high fever again.
States of insomnia and drowsiness came alternately to her monotonous sickbed.
And behind all these fluctuations lay constant loss of appetite and progressive weakness.
Everything lay in chaos, defying any prediction of what might come next.

The nurse checked each time whether thread-like streaks of blood were mixed in the sputum.
And everyone’s eyes intently watched that gaze.
Though referred to as "everyone," those keeping vigil at her sickbed were her parents and Sōsuke.

The setting sun striking the window was blocked by the white curtain, yet it still cast an oddly bright light throughout the room.
And in that brightness, the room appeared even more cramped and squalid.
On the tokonoma alcove of the single room sat an old-fashioned chest emptied of its contents, with medicine bottles and a sickbed journal left scattered in one corner beside it.
The six-tatami room was slightly cramped for a sickroom.
The white wildflower pot placed atop the chest and the steam rising from the round Seto brazier’s iron kettle conveyed a strangely uneasy feeling.

Photon lay with her eyes open, blankly staring at the ceiling boards. Her gaunt cheeks now showed prominent cheekbones, distorting her facial contours strangely, yet those same cheeks still held a faint flush, while around her small, childlike mouth lingered the same endearing charm as before. Her lips gave the impression of lacking essential musculature whenever she spoke. And from their depths emerged sluggish, drawling words.

“How are you feeling?” Sōsuke whispered.

Photon looked toward Sōsuke and let out a lonely smile.
Her gaze answered, “I’m fine.”

“I…” Photon began, but abruptly stopped speaking.
Then she drew her right hand from beneath the futon and said, “My hands have become so filthy.
“I’m not allowed to wash them, am I?”

Her fingers stayed pale and clean—almost translucent—yet above the wrists, unwashed for so long, the skin bore black grime.
The lifeless, parched flesh looked ready to crumble away in flakes if scratched with a fingernail.

“Just a little more patience. Once you’re healed, you’ll be clean again right away.”

Sōsuke took that hand and gently placed it back into the futon.
At that moment, he discreetly checked the pulse at her wrist.
A light and slightly rapid pulse registered at his fingertips.

“She keeps saying her body’s dirty and fretting over it…”

Mother said this and began to tear up again.

“No matter how dirty she gets, it’s perfectly fine,” the Nurse answered.
“A patient with a clean body isn’t a good sign. The dirtier they get, the better it is.”

“But… If we gently wipe her when it’s warm, what do you think?”

“Hmm, I think it would be better to wait a while longer.”

Photon had closed her eyes and turned away before anyone noticed.
Beside her, the nurse bent over.

“Would you like something to eat? Well, just a little bit.”

“I don’t want to eat anything at all. Please leave it for later.”

“There’s nothing to be done if that’s how it is.”

The nurse peered into the leftover rice gruel again.
It had barely been touched since morning.

In the sickroom, everything moved quietly.
And within those quiet movements and words lingered the patient’s faint breath.
Yet the nurse’s mechanical motions—her practiced, brusque manner—kept threatening to shatter that atmosphere.
This always left Sōsuke unsettled.
But within the patient’s treatment lay another world beyond his observation.
He could only stand with folded arms and watch from the sidelines.

When he stood up and went to the next room, Mr.Hashima (Photon’s father) was reading Water Margin.
The nearby bookshelf was packed with Japanese and Chinese books such as Hakkenden, Journey to the West, and Zuo’s Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals.
“How is she?” he asked, removing his glasses and studying Sōsuke’s face.

“She seems slightly better, but…”

“I see... Does this not inconvenience you—coming to visit so often?”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Given your work obligations, you must have little time to spare. But if you don’t visit for a while, the patient grows terribly lonely.”

Mr.Hashima had been tilting his head slightly in thought at that moment, but saying “Just a moment,” he stood up first.

Immediately next to the living room，alongside the kitchen，there was a dimly lit three-tatami room．The two of them stooped at the entrance to that chilly，fireless room．In one corner lay the nurse’s clothes and belongings．

“The patient’s hearing has become quite sharp，” Mr．Hashima said as if making an excuse．

“That must be the case．And is there something you needed？”

“It’s not exactly urgent business, but there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

What Mr.Hashima had to say was as follows—

The doctor’s medicine showed no effect whatsoever.
When she suffered from coughing fits, when fever tormented her, when insomnia plagued her—each time they reported these symptoms to the doctor—he never seemed to prescribe any medication addressing those specific afflictions.
The subsiding of such sufferings seemed merely the result of her natural exhaustion.
The same medicines always lined the patient’s bedside.
When tasted, they appeared to be gastrointestinal medicine.
Moreover, each time the doctor had her provide stool samples for testing.
He couldn’t help suspecting some abdominal complication.
Touching her abdomen revealed constant swelling despite minimal food intake.
If there truly was a major abdominal illness, perhaps they should consult a gastrointestinal specialist instead of her current respiratory doctor.
Of course joint consultations were said to offer little benefit, and costs would differ greatly—but surely there must be some way to change physicians.
“This remains mere speculation on my part,” he said, “but should there indeed be a serious abdominal condition, I wanted to consult you out of concern.”

A heavy pressure rose in Sōsuke’s head.
If indeed there was a serious illness in her abdomen as Mr.Hashima suspected, then her body—already ravaged by tuberculosis in the lungs—would ultimately have no hope of recovery.
Or, as he himself had feared… if tuberculosis had developed in her intestines, the outcome would be even more dire.
In any case, fate was inexorably closing in on Photon.

“What do you think?” Mr.Hashima cast another question at Sōsuke, who sat silently lost in thought.

In Mr.Hashima’s heart, worn out from long nursing, there was something sharp and decisive enough to turn even a slight shift in thought into a dire prediction made fact.
And that thought immediately infected Sōsuke as well.

“At any rate, I’ll question the doctor thoroughly.”

“Please, I implore you.”

“Since respiratory illnesses fundamentally require fortifying the gastrointestinal system, one must continuously take gastrointestinal medicine—but if an actual gastrointestinal disease were to develop…”

“Is there no hope?”

“Well… but…”

He could not put anything into words.
An unbreakable black wall stood before him.
There was nothing left but to advance inexorably toward that wall; he could no longer look back.

"And also…"

Mr.Hashima began to say something when a voice called “Excuse me!” from the shopfront.
It rang out loudly once more.

Mr.Hashima stood up.

“No—then please consult the doctor.”
“Depending on that outcome...”

Sōsuke remained perfectly still where he was.
From the front entrance, the voice of a young man resounded: "Pencils and paper."
The sound of Mr.Hashima seemingly taking out a box of pencils could also be heard.
That was the meager business supporting the family.

The Hashima family had conversely been people driven from countryside to city.
The rapid societal changes and rural income difficulties—particularly the violent fluctuations in land prices and interest rates—forced many provincials into urban centers.
There, instead of tiresome social formalities and pretenses, awaited even fiercer livelihood competition and a bottomless abyss of uncertainty.
The Hashima family numbered among these displaced souls.
With their meager accumulated capital, they opened a stationery shop at their present location—fortunately well-situated enough to attract steady customers—yet soon lost their elderly grandmother to deficiencies of sunlight, fresh air, and exercise.
In the three years following her death, they somehow restored domestic order disrupted by her passing, outfitted Photon decently after girls’ school graduation, and arranged minimally satisfactory care for her current illness—though naturally never attained income sufficient for all this.
Sōsuke—a middle school English teacher and distant relative—remained their sole threadbare reliance.

Sōsuke absentmindedly looked around the room.
And the nurse’s belongings scattered in the dim corner once again caught his gaze.

"It’s already been over two months since the nurse came!" he suddenly thought.
And that fact strangely irritated him.
When he closed his eyes, the scene from that time surfaced clearly.

The illness that Photon had said would improve “once we pass the year…” showed no signs of recovery even after the New Year arrived.
One day, when Sōsuke came to visit again, Photon said she was feeling very well.
While he was talking with Mr.Hashima in the living room, a piercing voice shouting “Quickly!” resounded from the sickroom—it was Auntie (the name Sōsuke used for Photon’s mother).
The two sprang to their feet and rushed to Photon’s sickbed.

Photon lay collapsed on her back on the floor.
She clenched her teeth, her eyes drawn up under their lids so that only the whites showed.
And she kept clawing desperately at her chest with both hands, but those hands never reached it.
In her chest, a gurgling sound echoed.
No one knew how long that breathless moment lasted—that time when her tenacious life struggled to throw off the weight pressing down upon her.
And finally, when something gurgling rolled through her chest, a torrent of crimson blood burst forth from her mouth.
And into that pool of blood, she limply stretched out her hand.
A long, drawn-out light exhale escaped from her bloodied mouth.

The doctor who had been summoned tilted his head.
“She must be hospitalized,” he said.
However, circumstances made that utterly impossible.
And leaving everything as it was for better or worse, only the nurse was kept on.
Auntie, setting aside such discussions between Sōsuke and Mr.Hashima, continued to shed tears incessantly at Photon’s bedside.

The problem from that time now returned to Sōsuke.

“She must be hospitalized…”

No one questioned whether it would actually be effective.
There was nothing to do but that—only in doing so alone could they cling to the faintest hope.
Sōsuke bit his lip and stared fixedly at the corner of the room.
There floated the face of the usurer Furuya.
That corpulent, greasy face—the one belonging to Furuya who had come repeatedly and persistently to threaten that he would even seize his meager salary.

“Are you still there in that spot?”

At Mr.Hashima’s voice uttering this, Sōsuke started.
When he raised his face, Mr.Hashima abruptly turned his eyes away.
And he spoke.

“I seem to have spoken out of turn.
“Please don’t trouble yourself about it.
“Truly, I must have been overcomplicating matters.
“It’s fine—perfectly fine.”

Mr.Hashima nodded repeatedly to himself about something.

Sōsuke stood up, came over, and silently drank the tea Mr. Hashima had prepared.
Mr.Hashima had great confidence in his ability to make tea well.

II

That evening, when the doctor came for the examination, Sōsuke waited until it ended and stepped outside first.
He thought he needed to obtain a definitive answer.

If, as Mr.Hashima had said, a major illness had developed in her abdomen, it would be better to have a specialist in that field examine her.
However, replacing the attending physician was nearly impossible both ethically and under medical community regulations.
Essentially, there remained only two options: either arrange a joint examination or hospitalize her.
They could devise something about that later.
For now, there was nothing to do but advance unflinchingly toward the truth.
Fate would decide everything.
And fate now stood immovably before Sōsuke.

When the doctor came out, Sōsuke drew back as if hiding in the shadows and looked around.
Then he briskly stepped out in front of the doctor.

“If I may, there’s something I’d like to ask.”

“Hmm? What is it?” The doctor answered and halted.

Sōsuke fixed his gaze into empty space, then without another word took the lead toward the doctor’s house and began walking.
The doctor also followed along from behind.

The hues of twilight lingered within the still-bright street.
Through it passed people in a hurry.
However, no one passing by paid any attention to the two of them.

“Regarding the patient’s condition,” Sōsuke began.

“Hmm.”

“Is it quite critical?”

“Well… At present, I’d say it’s slightly better than before, but…”

In response to those utterly ordinary words, Sōsuke felt paradoxically betrayed.
And soon he was pressing straight into the heart of the matter.

“Could there be some complication in the abdomen?”

“Complication, you say?”

“Could she have developed a serious intestinal complication?”

“Ah, regarding that matter, you may rest assured.”
“In my examination, I see no signs of complications developing.”
“Of course, I cannot speak to what may happen from now on.”
“I did think there was something slightly irregular about her abdominal condition and stool at one point.”
“If tuberculosis bacilli were to infect the intestines, it would prove extremely taxing on that weakened constitution—that’s what concerned me.”
“However, despite conducting frequent stool tests, we detected no bacilli.”
“Moreover, while there remains significant infiltration in the left chest area of the lungs, her phlegm production has decreased considerably of late—a favorable sign.”
“Still, considering her youth combined with severe wasting despite having no appetite, extreme caution remains imperative.”
“There also appears to be slight edema present.”

“So does that mean her current condition isn’t considered dangerous?”

“If you say it’s dangerous, then yes, it’s dangerous…”
“I don’t believe there will be sudden changes.”
“In any case, we must build up some appetite.”
“If her body recovers somewhat, there are treatments available—but given how severe the weakness is…”
“We must also prevent fevers.”
“If a fever develops, the disease progresses—phlegm increases and weakness worsens.”
“And we must keep her heart from weakening.”

Sōsuke didn’t know what to believe.
However, it was certain there were no complications in the abdomen and no tuberculosis in the intestines.
From there, hope welled up.
He craned his neck to look up at the doctor’s face from the side.
To this young medical scholar—with his long hair, short beard, and habit of peering downward—he suddenly felt grateful.
And he inquired about various detailed instructions.
That strengthening her gastrointestinal system and stimulating her appetite were the immediate priorities, and that nourishing substances directly extracted from raw meat and vegetables were better than various pharmaceuticals—to these opinions of his, Sōsuke could assent based on his limited knowledge and common sense.

The two of them had somehow come to the front of the doctor’s house before they knew it.
Sōsuke suddenly bid farewell in a startled manner.

“In any case, since we’ve managed to temporarily halt the disease’s progression, you must remain extremely vigilant,” the doctor concluded.

When he found himself alone, Sōsuke suddenly wanted to leap into the sky.
The dark, severed thing was suddenly swept away from before him.
Everything will be well; everything will turn out good.

He returned to Mr.Hashima’s house nearly running.

When he circled around to the narrow back entrance and tried to enter from there, Mr.Hashima, catching his footsteps, came at once.
Yet he said nothing and merely watched Sōsuke’s face.

“There’s nothing to worry about at all.”

The careless remark he had blurted out ended up startling Sōsuke himself.
He held his breath for a moment and looked up at Mr.Hashima’s face, then said quietly.

“Apparently there are no complications in the abdomen or anywhere else.”
“Because complications would be extremely dangerous if they occurred, they conducted stool tests repeatedly as a precaution.”
“They also said the phlegm in her chest has decreased significantly these days.”
“The progression of the disease has apparently been temporarily halted.”
“If the fever doesn’t return and her appetite continues to increase from now on, she’ll be all right.”
“However, they say we can’t rest easy because her weakness is severe, but I’ve been taught all sorts of detailed treatments.”

Sōsuke said nothing about the intestinal tuberculosis concern.
There were always numerous considerations he needed to observe toward the old man.
And in that fleeting moment, Sōsuke remembered them all.
Then he recounted the various meticulous instructions he had heard from the doctor.

Mr.Hashima had been listening in silence, but when Sōsuke finished speaking, he made an indescribable face. From within his dazed expression, calm moist eyes peered out.

“Then she might somehow pull through.”

“Huh?”

Sōsuke parroted the question back but immediately averted his eyes as if flustered. The premonition of Photon’s death that had taken root in their hearts without their notice now manifested itself outwardly. “I must save her somehow…” Deep within the mind that thought this way, a premonition of death—no, an anticipation of death—had crept in unnoticed. Anxiety, resignation, and hope waged battle there.

“In any case, what comes next is crucial.”
“I see…”

Mr.Hashima raised his hand and stroked his slightly balding face.
What cause for grief or suffering remained!
“She’ll be all right.”

Sōsuke left those words behind and retreated toward the sickroom.

Beside Photon, the nurse was paging through an entertainment magazine.
Photon’s gaze grazed past that figure and settled firmly on Sōsuke’s face.

The faint medicinal-scented warmth enveloping the sickroom drew Sōsuke’s heart into fleeting transience.
He grew short of breath.

“Could you go fetch hot water? I’ll stay here.”

“Very well,” answered the nurse after a moment’s consideration. “Then I shall go briefly.”

After the nurse departed, the sickroom sank into quiet stagnation.
The auntie’s noises from the kitchen area became distinctly audible at intervals.

Photon’s eyes, which had been looking at the ceiling, turned once more to fix steadily on Sōsuke. Since the illness had hollowed her cheeks, her eyes now appeared larger than usual, their clear black pupils gleaming and exposed.

“Hey, Mr. Sōsuke!”

Sōsuke raised his eyes from the tatami mats when he heard his name called.

“Will I ever get better like this?”

“That’s why you mustn’t think that way.”
“You should only think about getting better.”
“The doctor said it’s going very well.”

Photon remained silent for a moment.

“Won’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“What were you discussing earlier with Father?”

Sōsuke stared fixedly back into Photon’s eyes.
Her eyes held a piercing, interrogative gleam, but upon meeting Sōsuke’s gaze, they immediately melted into profound sorrow.

“Even you are trying to hide things from me.”

“No, I’m not hiding anything.
I’ve never hidden anything from you at any time, have I?
Earlier, you see, Father was very worried, so I told him I’d ask the doctor about everything in detail.
And when the doctor was leaving, I walked outside with him and asked about all sorts of things.
The doctor said the illness has improved considerably, but you’re terribly weak now, aren’t you?
That’s why you’ve got to take nourishing food and regain your strength quickly.
Now is the crucial time, you know.”

Photon didn't particularly seem to be listening to Sōsuke's words.
And when he finished speaking, she brought the conversation back to where it began.

“Nobody tells me anything.
Father doesn’t tell me anything, and Mother—as you can see—doesn’t understand a thing.
And then the doctor always just says ‘Fine, fine’ and leaves.
The nurse too only makes me take my medicine and milk and chats about various things, but never tells me anything important.
There are so many things I want to ask—important things—and yet...
And no one tells me anything at all, I tell you.”

“Well… The things you want to ask aren’t things just anyone can understand.”
“You yourself don’t even clearly know what you want to ask, do you?”
“But you see—these are things everyone will come to understand clearly once the illness improves.”
“So just focus solely on getting better...”
“I’ll tell you anything I know, you know.”
“I’ve never hidden anything from you before, have I?”
“So if there’s anything you want to ask, just say it all to me, all right?”
“It’s not good to hear about one thing from various people.”
“I’ll tell you anything I know, you know.”

“Yes,” Photon nodded faintly.
“I’ll come as often as I can whenever there’s opportunity, you know.”

“Yes, please do come.”
“But I’m so sorry about this though.”

Photon let her head drop heavily onto the pillow and stared at the corner of the ceiling.
Her long braided hair had fallen from the pillow onto the tatami.
Sōsuke gently gathered it and tied it up neatly on the pillow.

“Because I love you…” Sōsuke said within his heart—if she were to hear those words spoken aloud, she would likely be shocked and burst into tears. And then she would smile brightly again. She would look at Sōsuke with a gaze that seemed to say everything had become clear.

But that must be a terrifying thing.

Sōsuke averted his eyes from Photon’s face and looked around the room as if startled.
What a quiet and impoverished room this was.
The lingering dusk’s glow reflected on the window’s paper panes, and in the room, a dim electric light had come on without notice.

Sōsuke took the bottle of chicken soup from the tokonoma.

“Won’t you try drinking a little?”

He pressed the bottle’s spout to Photon’s lips as she gave a faint nod.
She gulped down two mouthfuls but then shook her head.

Sōsuke took the cloth from beside the pillow and wiped around Photon’s mouth where some broth had dribbled.
Even around that strangely childlike mouth—which seemed underdeveloped in its musculature—the flesh had wasted away, leaving the skin slack.

“If I get better, I have a request.”
“Go ahead and tell me.”
“You’ll listen?”
“I’ll listen to anything.”

“You know, I don’t want you to tell anyone… When I get better, I want to eat sweetfish from Tamagawa.”

Sōsuke smiled forlornly.
There was a time when they had gone with Auntie—all three of them—to Tamagawa to play and eat sweetfish dishes.
Photon had barely touched the chopsticks.
When he asked, she replied, “It’s delicious, but…” and laughed.

“Yes—when you get better, I’ll take you there again.”
“So you must build up all the strength you can.”

Photon smiled as though relieved.

“Once it warms up soon, you’ll be able to get right up, you know.”

And within his heart, Sōsuke cried out: You must recover!
But he found it strangely painful.
A wavering anxiety flowed through his chest.

Three

Sōsuke walked toward his boarding house along a dim backstreet around nine in the evening.
The face of Photon, sleeping fitfully, was etched in his mind.

After a moment, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
“Today is exactly…” he tried thinking, but his head was too foggy to clearly recall what day it was.
And he grew inexplicably irritated.

He turned his steps toward the tram street, and when he reached the intersection there, the usual evening paper seller woman was standing vacantly with a child on her back, not even ringing her bell.

“Hey, give me one—any paper’s fine.”

He snatched the evening paper and checked the margin—it read March 6th.

"So today really was March 5th after all!"
Sōsuke was walking two or three blocks with the newspaper clutched in one hand, but discarded it right there on the spot.

The face of Furuya—cleanly shaven with a razor, perpetually gleaming, broad and greasy—floated before Sōsuke’s eyes.
And he felt as though he could see that figure—waiting for his return—sitting imposingly before the brazier.

That was last September.
When his uncle by obligation departed for Manchuria after a business failure, Sōsuke borrowed a hundred yen from the usurer Furuya—both to repay part of the money he had received from his uncle from student days through graduation into society, and to celebrate his uncle’s new prospects—carelessly taking the loan.
Then in December, to cover Photon’s medical costs, he desperately secured another hundred yen from Furuya by pledging his meager salary.
All loans came with a two-month deadline.
Every two months, he would add an eight percent commission and high interest to the principal and roll over the debt.
By the time he realized he was being trapped in an inescapable snare, it was already too late.
From mid-February onward, a barrage of urgent collection demands targeted him.
And March 5th became the final deadline after repeated negotiations.
But he—who knew no means of raising funds no matter what, who had to maintain at least the dignity to go on living—had dragged his feet until today.

Standing at that street corner, he gazed through the sky and earth.
In the sky there was starlight; on the street, the glow of eave lamps.
People passing by stared intently at him as they went.
His own figure—estranged from all things—stood forlornly reflected before him.
And it was tiresome.
Things that needed doing, things that ought to exist—all of it was tiresome.

As he walked on absentmindedly without realizing it, he was suddenly called out to from behind.
Kawabe hurried over to him there.

“What’s wrong?
You’re awfully spaced out, aren’t you?”

At Kawabe’s vivid face and voice, Sōsuke felt as though he had been roused from a dream for the first time.
And then a force to confront everything flashed through his mind.

“Where are you off to?”

“I’m going home.”

“I see.”
Having said that, Kawabe peered into his face.
“Then I’ll walk there with you.”

Kawabe had been his classmate in school.
And even after that, they had remained quite close.
From his school days—when he had been blowing off steam in his own slovenly, impulsive way—he had somehow come to be regarded as a solid up-and-coming critic whose future was being watched by the literary world.
His face always bore a feverish expression.
And he was always excited about something.
His spirit thrived vigorously amid excitement.

“Hey, how’ve things been lately?” said Kawabe.

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Photon’s illness.”

“Ah, she seems somewhat better—the doctors keep saying positive things—but nothing’s truly clear yet.”

“Since when can you trust what doctors say? What your gut tells you—what you see with your own eyes—that’s what matters.”

“Maybe so… But does pulmonary tuberculosis ever really heal?”

“Don’t be absurd—of course it heals! There are countless cases. But whether it does or not… that’s probably fate’s doing. They’ve come up with all these new drugs in medicine too, but in the end they’re just creosote or goyacol derivatives. Even tuberculin injections depend on your constitution. Real recovery from that disease always comes down to nature’s elements—sunlight, fresh air, proper nourishment.”

“There you go again with your usual line of reasoning.”
“And that’s the truth. …But if you’re not careful, it’ll spread.”
“Let it spread for all I care.”

Kawabe momentarily glanced toward Sōsuke.

“I see. With that resolve, you’ll be fine.”
“Then love her ardently.”
“No—you must love her.”
“If that orientation of your heart is inevitable and free of regret, cultivating it becomes the path that cultivates you.”

Sōsuke gave no response.

“The essential flaw is that our lives as Japanese lack genuine feeling—this cannot continue.”
“Living through genuine feeling is even more deficient.”
“We perpetually confine ourselves within fabricated garments.”
“And cling solely to those garments.”
“The interior is void.”
“An irreparable cavity gapes.”
“The sole method to fill that cavity lies in becoming bare.”
“Once stripped bare, your inner self inevitably comes into focus—and there, the dormant genuine feelings will breathe unrestrained.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but that’s an odd way to phrase it.”

“What’s odd about it?”
“…For instance, there exists a fitting direct metaphor.”
“Consider humanity during the ancient semi-nude era.”
“According both to historical records and our imaginable reconstructions, their physical forms overflowed with vitality.”
“As they progressively clothed themselves and added layer upon layer, that radiance—that luminous strength—ebbed from human bodies.”
“And in place of this lost vigor remained a vast emptiness.”
“Emptiness and frailty ever constitute vice.”
“Does this not hold equally true for our very spirits?”

“So you’re saying we should return to nakedness?”

“That’s right.”
“Though obviously we can’t go about naked, discarding the heart’s garments remains most crucial.”
“There exists no official interference like with physical nudity.”
“And from that place, true love and work emerge.”

In a corner of a certain toy shop’s display window, many small battledore paddles were lined up.
Kawabe abruptly fixed his gaze on them.

“Hey.”

Sōsuke followed him and came to a stop before it.
On the battledore paddles, actors' likenesses were crafted in silk with layered hues of red, white, and purple.
There were also those of Benkei, Niki Danjō, Megumi no Tango Gorō, Yako Sanji, Masaoka, Asagao, and others.
They appeared to have been left exactly as they were, remnants that had once formed part of the Hina doll decorations.
And in the place where various toys were now displayed, until perhaps two or three days prior, several sets of Hina dolls had likely been arranged on crimson silk tiers within black-lacquered frames.

“Those small battledore paddles are nice, aren’t they? How much do you think they cost?”

Kawabe’s words suddenly transformed Sōsuke’s mood. The oppressive tension that had built up until now melted away, and he gazed at Kawabe’s face with bewilderment.

After they started walking again and had continued for some time, he said to Kawabe.

“Could you… perhaps lend me twenty or thirty yen for a while?”

“What do you mean twenty or thirty yen? Do you think someone as poor as me has that kind of money? But is it absolutely necessary?”

“Well, it’s not absolutely necessary, but…”

“Then you should tough it out. No matter how much you have, it’ll never be enough in the end…” And Kawabe paused briefly. “Money—for some people, it just rolls around wastefully in endless amounts. For others, it’s the precious product of their labor. And for others, it’s a treasure that cannot be obtained no matter how much sweat they pour out. From there arise many mistaken concepts and views of life. It’s best to be content with poverty. To keep the mind and heart from deteriorating…”

“There you go with your logic-obsessed habits again.”

Sōsuke said that and gave a bitter smile. However, something that couldn’t be laughed away suddenly began to threaten his heart.

In any case, he had to meet Furuya.

Sōsuke suddenly bid Kawabe farewell.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I just remembered something urgent I have to do.”

Sōsuke had stopped thinking altogether.
Nothing remained but the single thought that he must meet Furuya and settle matters—this thought now dragged him relentlessly toward the boarding house.

When he returned to the boarding house, the landlady came out immediately.

“Oh my, where have you been all this time?”

“Did something happen?”

“Look—that Mr. Furuya came early and had been waiting here until just now.”
“Since you weren’t back, he left in a huff.”

“I see.”

To the landlady, who still seemed to have something more to say, Sōsuke merely repeated what he had said and silently went up to his room. He threw the guest cushion that had been beside the hibachi into a corner of the room.

He felt like shouting at something. But there was nothing that could serve as a target for his anger. A great anxiety enveloped his entire body. An ominous premonition grated on his heart. In the midst of this, he vacantly lowered his head and crossed his arms as if bound by something.

IV

That very feeling persisted into his dreams.
And then it continued even after he woke up the next day.

He went to school with an uneasy premonition and returned with that same uneasy premonition only to find a single registered letter lying on his desk.
When he saw Furuya’s name on the back, Sōsuke instead felt a certain relief.

The letter contained phrases that bordered on threats.
It had notified him that Furuya would come on the evening of the eighth.
By then, arrangements were required for at least one portion of the debt; if impossible, just the principal—or even half—would suffice.
However, should there be no response by then, seizure of salary and residence was declared.
This three-day extension from the fifth to eighth was framed as an extraordinary kindness.

And in reality, Sōsuke felt this was an extraordinary stroke of luck.
He believed Furuya had already initiated seizure proceedings or had resolved to do so.

"In any case, he had to urgently procure some money.
Sōsuke's heart sank into that abyss.

He felt that having his assets seized bore no direct relation to himself or his very life.
Yet he knew it immediately concerned his daily bread.
The petty educational society and petty world stood arrayed before him.
There everything was ordered—excessively ordered in surface appearance.
And beneath that orderly mesh lay vast darkness.
Once fallen into that abyss, none could ever resurface.
Through his fall, the mesh might momentarily quiver.
But soon it would surely regain its former orderly pattern, eternally sealing those beneath.
In his limited experience, Sōsuke had seen people clinging to that mesh and multitudes forever entombed in its shadows."

"Japanese society is too meticulously ordered.
Living feels so constricting that..."
Sōsuke thought.
But ultimately, that line of reasoning proved utterly useless.
With a heart that felt battered to the ground, he thought of Photon.
He couldn't remain still.

However much he combed through his memories, he couldn't find a single acquaintance he could ask to urgently procure money.
There were two or three people he could speak with.
But the outcome was entirely predictable.
And from beginning to end, his thoughts kept returning to the boarding house landlady.

That she had a small sum of money became clear to Sōsuke soon after he began lodging there.
Moreover, this fact occasionally slipped from her own lips.
She had once said that there was a loan of about two hundred yen to a certain university student who had previously lodged at her house, but since he was not repaying it at all, she had enlisted a lawyer.
“I can’t sleep unless I have about ten banknotes under my pillow.”
“When you get old, it’s just all about money.”
And she let out a creepy giggle…

Feeling as though that eerie laughter still echoed in his ears, Sōsuke abruptly emerged from his dazed thoughts and shook his head violently.
When he regained awareness, there materialized before him Photon’s face—gaunt from prolonged sickness.
That visage smiled at him with desolate tenderness.

In the name of love, no humiliation is wretched!

Sōsuke bit his lip firmly.
And then he went down to the landlady's quarters.

“Granny, I have a small request, if you don’t mind.”

The old woman was holding a needle by the engawa’s shoji.
And when she saw Sōsuke, she removed her large glasses and blinked.

“Do you have some business?”
“Oh my, rushing into things…”

Sōsuke gave a wry smile.
And bending his stiffly standing frame there, he abruptly blurted out his business.

“Could you lend me some money?”

The old woman gazed intently at his face.
He, unable to bear it any longer, continued speaking.

“Twenty yen would be enough.”
“I’ll definitely return it in about a week.”

“What’s the sudden need for money?”
“Is it… that Mr. Furuya?”

“Yes.
Because if I don’t make a payment now, there will be trouble.”

“Oh, that man—he’s always spouting such nonsense.”
“Threatening asset seizure again, I suppose?”
“Same old routine… Just leave it to me.”
“I’ll go sweet-talk him into compliance.”
“Should’ve let me grease his palm earlier.”
“Leave it all to me!”

“No—I mean to settle everything completely.”
“I’ve friends working on it.”
“Matter of a week at most.”
“But I must pay something now—immediately—or there’ll be consequences.”

“Are you truly going to pay all of it off?”

The old woman peered suspiciously into Sōsuke’s eyes after saying this.

“That’s correct.”

“My, you do fuss over such trifling matters.”

She picked up the long pipe lying there and began smoking tobacco.
At this attitude that seemed to mock the very person involved, Sōsuke suddenly felt irritation rising.

“I’ll pay back every last cent to that bastard.
So... could you lend me about twenty yen right now?”

“Well now, I don’t have any money here at present...”
She started to say this, then appeared to reconsider as she added, “But let me check.
I’ll bring it up immediately, so please wait in your room.”

“Yes, please do.”

Sōsuke returned to his room with relief.
And he was vaguely lost in thought when suddenly his eyes instinctively lit up.
—The figure of the old woman appeared before his eyes.

……One late evening, he went to the toilet.
And suddenly wanting to drink water, he tried to head toward the kitchen area.
When he opened the engawa’s shoji, there lay the landlady’s room.
She always slept with a folding screen set up beside her bedding.
As he tried to pass by that side, the figure of the old woman sitting on the bedding suddenly caught his eye from behind the folding screen.

By the bedside, a faint bean-sized lamp glowed dimly in the room’s five-candlepower electric light. This struck him first as peculiar. Beside it, the old woman clutched a turmeric-stained cotton bag and stared fixedly at him from behind the folding screen. Her graying hair merged with her ruddy forehead and flattened nose—from their midst glared small, sharp eyes. Sōsuke absorbed it all in one glance. A sensation like icy water drenching his whole body overcame him. He rushed to the kitchen, gulped down water, then fled back to his room as though pursued.

That scene plagued him for a long time.
He had considered changing lodgings, but due to the lack of social pretense with just one old woman, a maid, and one fellow lodger; the room being sunlit and to his liking; the relatively low cost compensating for the unpalatable food; and the hassle of moving—he had ended up staying put.
And that scene too had gradually faded from his memory before he knew it.

Now that scene reemerged in his mind.
It loomed with a different hue than it had possessed then.
There existed no fear there—only a certain temptation.
Keeping his head slightly tilted to the left rigidly, Sōsuke sank deeper into the scene.

When footsteps echoed from the staircase, Sōsuke jolted back to awareness.
He felt heat radiating from his eyes—a burning sensation he kept to himself.

“Mr. Sōsuke, this is truly all I can spare now.”

Having said that, the old woman placed fifteen yen before him.

“Ah, this will suffice.”
“Certainly.”
“It should be ready in about a week.”

“No, anytime is fine… However, even if you get the money, you mustn’t pay it right away.”
“Leave it to me—paying everything off is simply absurd.”

“Ah, I may ask for your help if it comes to that.”
“Then I’ll make this quick.”

Sōsuke said that and turned to his desk.
He felt the old woman’s piercing gaze watching him from behind.

When he was alone, an emotion that made him want to burst into tears suddenly welled up within him.
Everything was irritating and infuriating.

He hurriedly wrote a letter to Furuya.
—that urgent business had delayed him on the evening of the fifth; that he was currently working to secure the money and requested a brief wait; that he was sending fifteen yen for now and asked that it be applied toward the interest.

Sōsuke stuffed the letter and money into his pocket and rushed outside.
After handling the money order at the post office and sending it off, he was finally able to reflect on the day’s events.

When he looked up at the sky, the sun had already sunk westward.
He paused for a moment and glared around sharply like a starving dog, then abruptly started walking toward Mr. Hashima’s house.
And in his heart, he cried—Photon!
“Photon!” he cried out.
His eyes grew moist.

V

A sinister temptation had gradually entwined itself around Sōsuke’s heart like a spider’s thread.
Even when sitting at his desk, if he let his guard down for a moment, his ears became intently attuned to noises from downstairs.
And before his eyes floated the old woman’s ruddy face.
She remained seated leaning against the hibachi by the shoji, glaring around sharply.
Right beneath the tatami mat that met her knees at night—where her pillow was placed—lay a faded turmeric-dyed cotton bag containing a bankbook and crisp new bills.
Sōsuke’s eyes, fixedly staring into space, grew hot and flushed.

That was not necessarily the intent to steal.
But if he took one step—and once that step was taken—there would be no turning back.

Sōsuke found the old woman’s eyes—fixedly watching for any opening, yet oddly hesitant—surrounding him everywhere.
When passing the engawa, her eyes from behind the shoji were directed toward the sound of those footsteps.
When passing through the front lattice door, her eyes were cast into the depths of his kimono.
One time, when attempting to pass through the kitchen area, Sōsuke unintentionally cast an uneasy glance around the old woman.
At that moment, her eyes were directed at his inner thoughts.

As the old woman’s eyes coiled around Sōsuke’s nerves, his awareness in turn fixated relentlessly upon her.
She never sat at the room’s center.
She always worked and ate in corners.
Each evening she deliberately dragged the lamp to a side nook and read the evening paper there.
Then before bedding down, she would sit awhile on her futon pondering something inwardly—this being her nightly custom.
On the chest of drawers beside it sat a small Inari shrine with two or three Seto ceramic foxes arranged before it.

She would usually go to the morning bath after the sun had risen high.
Occasionally she would go out somewhere in the afternoon and return before dinner.
During her absence, a slightly thin, clever-looking young maid worked in the kitchen.
He would fabricate some errand to send her away briefly—and in that moment he stood in the old woman’s room…

Sōsuke suddenly came to his senses and severed the thread of fantasy with a snap; anxiety began seething within him.
Something bad—something irreversible—was about to happen.

When he suddenly rushed outside, the sky was clear.
The sun was shining.
Within that light, his own solitary figure grew so desolate it brought tears to his eyes.
And once again, he called Photon’s name in his heart.

Photon’s illness had remained almost stagnant in the same state.
Days of unchanged condition dawned only to dusk again.
Yet there was a sense of something—some force—inexorably drawing near, poised to set things into motion.
Whether this meant improvement or deterioration remained unclear.

“There’s nothing left but to entrust it to fate.”
Mr.Hashima’s gaze spoke.

“What ever are we to do?” Auntie’s gaze seemed to ask.

From kitchen work to laundry, Auntie had to handle everything alone.
And Mr.Hashima had his Water Margin and his business.
Even from their meager dining table, they had to frequently rise and leave.

“There’s truly nothing to offer…” Auntie made an apologetic face.

“No, that’s actually better.”
“If there’s going to be a feast, let’s have plenty once Photon-chan gets better.”

Sōsuke often felt that even troubling them with dinner preparations was somehow improper.
The meager dining table made one think of the family’s strained financial situation.
And... that made him reflect on himself—the substantial sum of money he had to procure in the near future, with no means to obtain it.

“If Photon survives, it will all be thanks to you.”

Mr.Hashima said this with a lonely expression and picked up his chopsticks.
At those words, Auntie kept her eyes firmly lowered.

What self-deprecation! And there lay both life’s exhaustion and prolonged worry. Yet that returned to Sōsuke himself with even greater intensity. He gazed up at Mr.Hashima’s figure—at that sallow face—with a heart seeking aid, with a heart keenly aware of having given one hundred yen, and… with a heart that seemed to demand repayment.

Sōsuke felt he could no longer bear to remain seated.
When he entered the sickroom, Photon suddenly opened her large eyes and looked at his face, a guileless smile drifting across her lips.
Sitting beside her, he turned his face away as tears streamed down.

When the nurse stood up, Photon suddenly turned her face toward Sōsuke.

“Mr. Sōsuke, why did you cry?”

Sōsuke stared back intently into Photon’s eyes.
He felt the muscles of his cheek begin to twitch.

“Why are you crying?”
Photon’s gaze repeated the question.

“Photon-chan, you know... It’s because you aren’t getting better quickly that I ended up feeling sad.”

“I’m really not that bad.”

“So you need to take nourishment and regain your strength quickly…”

“Yes,” Photon said with a slight nod of her head.
“That’s why I’m enduring this and eating, you know.”

At that moment, Photon suddenly seemed to try to sit up.
Sōsuke clearly understood what that meant.
He took up the bottle by the pillow and showed it to her.

“This?”

“Yes.”

It was the bottle of soup.
Its contents had been completely consumed.

“I drank it all today.
“……But it doesn’t taste good.”

Sōsuke didn’t know how to respond.

“When will I get better, I wonder.
“I feel like I’m already better… but…”

Her eyes were simply blankly open.
And what was reflected there were faint shadow-like objects.
A clear, unveiled light lingered there, as if empty of sorrow or suffering.

Around seven o'clock, the cough would usually come.

When her faint breathing grew disturbed, there came a sound obstructed by phlegm from a prolonged inhalation in her throat.
And almost instinctively, several dry coughs were produced.
Her breathing became irregular, and the redness in her cheeks deepened.
And the sound of phlegm rattling in her throat became clearly audible.
That continued for some time.
Due to weakness and long habit, she made no particular effort.
Then eventually, with a thick, choking sound, the phlegm was violently expelled into her oral cavity.
The nurse applied a small piece of cut paper to her lips and wiped the phlegm from the tip of her tongue.

“Water,” Photon said.

After sucking about two mouthfuls of cold water from the bottle’s spout, she moved her mouth area slightly for a time.
And her eyes were moist.

Photon gazed vacantly at the people there but immediately averted her gaze.
And that same state of indifference led her into a drowsy sleep.

Sōsuke stood with arms crossed, gazing at Photon’s profile, but found his own heart feeling as though left behind alone.
A restless feeling welled up in his chest.

When taking his leave, he lowered his gaze before him and did not look at Mr. Hashima’s face.
He feared his own gaze as it fell upon him.

When he stepped outside, it was a spring night of glittering stars and damp air.
Somewhere, a quiet atmosphere imbued with warmth and the glow of eaves lights lured people’s hearts into the distance.
Sōsuke drifted along the bright street, mingling with the crowd as he was drawn onward.
And without any clear will of his own, he entered a certain moving picture hall.

Shinpa tragedies, Western action films, period dramas—such pictures unfolded before him.
And the vulgar benshi’s voice reverberated in his ears.
The crowd’s heads clustered together in rows, their collective warmth filling the theater.
All things vulgar and passionate, all curiosities fermented in murk—such elements clouded his mind hazily, filling his head with a swirling fevered haze.
When the lights flared brightly during the film intermission and he noticed the thick-browed man in a hunting cap and the woman in a red headscarf beside him, he became immersed in a feeling that made lifting his face impossible.

When jostled by the crowd and pushed out of the movie hall, he had already grown weary of everything.
Even so, his feet quickened as if pursued by something.
There was a distant ache deep within his skull.

When he quietly opened the closed door of the lodging, a loud voice came from inside—the landlady’s.
“Please lock it properly.”

Upon hearing that voice, suddenly the muscles of his body tightened.
And something—a heavy, dull thing—was abruptly placed before his eyes.
There, everything reached an impasse.

“Let things turn out however they may,” he muttered, as if flinging the words out.
But immediately afterward, a different voice whispered: “When the day called tomorrow arrives…”

However, within that oppressive slumber, a sinister dream awaited him.

It was a room like one might see on a spacious, brightly lit stage.
An illumination without discernible source suffused the space completely.
And there stood a single peculiar man.
Though his form remained indistinct, the fact of a man standing there was undeniable nonetheless.
He likely wore a black cloth mask.
...And something... A theft was imminent.
The man counted the tatami mats one by one.
Yet the mats never ended......

The awareness that “I’m dreaming” resurfaced here momentarily. But he was dragged along just like that by a mysterious, relentless force... Before he knew it, he was standing on the veranda, peering intently through the paper screens. No one was in the room. Then, just at that moment, a tatami mat in the room naturally lifted up, and from beneath it emerged a wallet. That was the work of the mysterious man from earlier. The man bent down and was taking out bills from the wallet... The old woman was intently watching for an opening from behind the folding screen. “Danger!” he thought—and in that instant came a sharp thud as blood sprayed out... At that moment, he stood dazedly in the center of the room. The old woman lay collapsed nearby. In the corner of the room, Inari-sama’s foxes were lined up on top of the chest... He found himself strangely lost in thought about something. And he had to return the money immediately. At any rate, he had to go out. When he turned around, the old woman’s face was cackling in the far corner. When he turned around, there again was the old woman’s face, cackling... He began spinning around and around the room. A large whirlwind arose, and he was caught in its vortex. Countless old women’s faces spun rapidly, encircling him. His vision grew dim, his breath choked, and he began to lose consciousness...

With a gasp, he exhaled, his entire body drenched in sweat.
The area around his belly band felt unpleasantly clammy, so he gently fanned it with both hands.
And even that seemed like part of the dream.
The electric light's glow was dimly reflected in his pupils.
And his head began working on its own, pursuing the vestiges of chaotic visions.

The next morning, when he saw the light of the rising sun, Sōsuke suddenly leapt up.
While he was washing his face in the kitchen, the landlady called out to him.

“You’re always up so early.”

He said nothing.
And he recklessly poured cold water over his head.
Then he went out to the second-floor corridor and breathed in the fresh morning air.
That was his meager daily effort each morning.

But within his head, anxiety and impatience congealed.
And before him lay the duties of a monotonous life dragged by inertia—deferential colleagues who cloaked their schemes in courtesy, and students who gazed at him with eyes that seemed from another race and era.
And he, returning home bearing fatigue and weariness, was greeted by the landlady’s monetary temptations, the chaotic state of Photon’s condition, and the vulgar air of daily life.

A stagnant future threatened him.
There was no longer any radiant strength there that had given aid to Mr. Hashima.
With a ravenous gaze, he surveyed his surroundings.
And within surroundings filled with baleful shadows, he saw his own heart that could no longer stand on its own.
Within his heart, a heavy, turbid atmosphere had congealed.

Sōsuke wrote a letter to Kawabe almost blindly.
He didn’t question what the outcome might be.
As if doing so were his very duty.
In the letter, he explained the circumstances up to that point and asked Kawabe to suggest a way to secure funds from somewhere.
He would explain the details when they met, but for now he included a provisional request in the letter.

After sending the letter, he felt an ease as though he had thrown off all burdens.
And he rushed to where Photon lay.

He stared fixedly at Photon’s face—eyes grown overlarge, flesh fallen away.
Photon’s unveiled pupils drank in his gaze, lingering there dimly like an enigma.

“I feel perfectly well now.”

Photon said.
Then, in a manner as though searching for something, she briefly trailed off but spoke again.
“When I start feeling better, I suddenly remember things like my deceased grandmother.”

“When you recover, let’s visit the grave together.”

“Yes.”

But her expression held a faint murkiness.
He sought within her the assurance of life—the faint glimmer of life’s force striving to persist.

When he took the sickbed journal from beside the pillow, he found within it the three-colored lines representing fever, pulse, and respiration continuing their intersecting undulations of peaks and valleys.

“Let me see your hand.”

“Huh? What is it?”
Having said that, Photon extended one hand from under the futon.

Sōsuke took her wrist.
A faint pulse—and within it the flow of blood that seemed to hold heat—was felt at his fingertips.

I’ll still live—I must live!
As he muttered those words to himself, a flood of unmanageable emotions welled up inside.
And he gripped her palm firmly.
When he felt her palm quiver faintly, he looked at the two bare eyes fixed upon him.

Something unavoidable existed within both their eyes.
Their souls gazed steadily at each other.
Something stifling—as if breath itself were held—drew inexorably closer.
And as Sōsuke felt a gravitational pull—as if being seized—within his own gaze, he snapped back to himself.

Photon averted her eyes and gazed vacantly into space.
Everything was still and unmoving.
And Sōsuke’s tears streamed down.

“What’s wrong?”

Having said that, Photon’s eyes turned toward him once more.

“…………”

Photon smiled softly.
There was simply a peaceful life existing naturally within.

“If there is life for her…”
Sōsuke shouted within his heart.
“Everything shall be saved.”

However, after but a moment, a desolate emotion of decay awaited him.
His suffocating, severed life lay before his eyes.

Fate and all things were on the verge of tumbling toward some unknown end.
Once they began, there seemed no way to stop them.
Everything stood at a perilous crossroads.

The night was dark, and in all things there existed apprehensive premonitions and a dull light.
There were eyes trying to peer into the depths of Mr.Hashima’s household affairs.
There were eyes targeting the old woman’s money.
Moreover, while shouldering those burdens, there existed an oppressive labor as if being dragged by some unseen force.

The next day, as Sōsuke leaned against his desk—exhausted yet neither fully awake nor asleep, traversing some dreamlike border—he was startled by Kawabe’s sudden visit.

When Sōsuke encountered Kawabe’s excited, feverish face, he suddenly wanted to leap up.

“You must forgive me for sending such a letter.”

Sōsuke suppressed his emotions and, chin jutting forward, watched his friend’s face intently.

“Actually—I thought you might be worrying, so I came.”

“And?”

“The money should work out.”
“I went to the bookstore today to request an advance on my current translation manuscript fee.”
“Since the person in charge was absent, I can’t confirm definitively, but it should probably be possible.”

Having said that, Kawabe lowered his eyes and sank into thought.

“…………”

Sōsuke couldn’t say anything in words.
He suddenly felt as though he had stepped out into a bright place.
It was as if a step forward had been taken.
Everything had been considered, and he understood clearly.

“You said three hundred fifty yen, right?”

“Ah.”

“How much does the usurer’s side total now?”

“The amount borrowed was two hundred yen, but with various expenses, it’s now close to three hundred yen.”
“And there’s repaying the landlady here and wanting to help Photon’s family a bit too.”

“Then I’ll put together three hundred fifty yen for now.”
“Money—depending on the situation, it can be utterly useless, yet also surprisingly flexible where you’re most desperate… I’ll go to the usurer’s place.”
“I’ll make him back down.”
“You think there’s some fool who’ll let them take everything they demand?”
“It’ll be fine.”
“And I have… a certain stake in this myself.”
“It’s wrong to act on pure self-interest alone—but since it’s not entirely that either, you’ll forgive me.”

“Ah, do as you please.”

“And how is Ms. Photon’s illness?”

“She seems a little better, but…”

“That’s good.
I absolutely must save Ms. Photon.”

“Ah.”

At that moment, a tragic surge of emotion welled up within Sōsuke’s heart.

“Thanks to that, what I’ve done will finally have meaning.”
I didn’t have the power within myself to help others.
I didn’t know my own power.
And I tried to collapse under the burden I had chosen myself.
If I had collapsed, everything would have become sin.
I believed that helping Photon’s household finances was a righteous act.
"And I didn’t consider my responsibility toward what was right."

“Yes—that’s a terrifying word.”
“But there must have been something within you that you had to do.”
“And even if you had collapsed, it might have been better to have done so.”

“Ah, that…”

And as Sōsuke tried to say “It was for the best,” his words were suddenly severed mid-air.
He felt his flesh tremble violently from within.
A massive weight—something tearful—clogged the cavity of his chest.

The two sat wordlessly facing each other for a time.
Through the shoji screens came what seemed like radiant outdoor light.
Kawabe glanced toward it before abruptly rising to his feet.

“In any case, please rest assured.”

“Are you leaving already?”

“Ah, I have a small errand to take care of.”
“I just thought it wouldn’t do for you to worry, so I stopped by.”

“Well then, I’ll leave it to you.”
“It’s thanks to you I managed.”
“And within about a year, things should work themselves out.”

“No—you shouldn’t let such things concern you.
"...But if possible, return it—this was money I’d planned to send to my mother back home when my book was finished."

Kawabe lowered his eyes with an oddly sorrowful look.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.”
“We’re in this together.”

When left alone, Sōsuke stayed leaning against the desk as tears welled in his eyes.
While feeling a path opening before him with relief, he simultaneously sensed that all the workings of fate had taken some terrible turn.
And when—from beneath that heavy burden of responsibility, like a drowning man straining toward the surface—he thought of Photon, tears overflowed from his eyes.

“Photon, Photon—if only there were life for you, and if there were life for me, for us—everything would surely be right!”

When he raised his eyes, pale sunlight filtered through the shoji screens.
As he watched that sunlight, a distant field began to take shape in his mind.
...Let's get a house in the suburbs—for Photon's illness, for her life. Whether she becomes my wife, my sister, or remains a stranger—none of that matters.
If only she could live...
And I will work.

Sōsuke saw how everything had emanated from this single point—Photon's life.
Now all things converged back to that same point.
Is loving life truly this agonizing?
...From treetops in the field, from black soil, blue buds were pushing forth.

Sōsuke stood up.
In his heart was reflected Photon’s life—clinging to a single thin thread and trembling without motion.
And those exposed eyes were opened wide and quiet.
“Photon!”
He shouted again in his heart.