Pathway to Japanese Literature

Myoushin, Kyoujiro, Yasukawa and their group were transferred to the Special Attack base at April's beginning, but the base was an even more frenzied madhouse than they had heard—every single night in the barracks and assembly halls brought men singing, others dancing, some crying, those raging with twisted faces, all part of this murderous uproar.
A man drew a real sword to perform a sword dance before slicing a chair clean in two; another smashed beer bottles against glass windows; and thus they set off on their one-way missions.
Discipline was utterly nonexistent—some would drunkenly leap from barracks windows to visit brothels; others staggered into town to collapse at their mistresses' houses, which counted as decent behavior compared to those who pinned women down to force themselves on them. The superior officers pretended not to see this, declaring with straight faces that such rampant enthusiasm proved their morale was high—after all, without that reckless spirit, how could they crash into enemy warships?

Myoushin took this chaos as an opportunity and acclimated to the life.
He was a temple child from Asakusa; while he had grudgingly memorized sutras out of obligation, he had devotedly studied Kiyomoto and Tokiwazu narrative music under a master.
Though no good at fighting, he adored carrying mikoshi portable shrines through rowdy festivals - this made him think the war had gone too far, though he could never stand the temple's head priest.
With such inclinations, he'd been privately musing that military life without disciplinary slaps wasn't so unbearable after all - until being assigned to the Special Attack Unit. Dying now felt premature, plunging him into utter despondency. Yet in self-destructive recklessness, ever since becoming a pilot, he'd sometimes bolt upright mid-night, suffocated by loneliness and futility, seized by an urge to roar at nothingness.
When he wondered - had it finally come? Or had it been canceled? - he would sometimes spend the next day or two paralyzed by icy dread that seized his entire body without warning.

Therefore, when transferred to the Special Attack base and witnessing its madhouse frenzy—Ah, everyone's doing it; I'm not alone here—he found himself confronted by this grotesque karmic spectacle that felt all too personal. Yet when he considered the anxiety closing in on him, it was enough to make his hair stand on end. Still, mingled with that dread came an oddly thrilling exhilaration that left him strangely emboldened.

Alright, I'll do it too! I'll slip out the window under cover of night—no slaps to hold me back now, so I'll go all out! I became a regular at a brothel, got myself a mistress from the Women's Volunteer Corps, grew close with a female clerk, and even found one good nurse.

Yasukawa was the third son of a doctor and an aspiring painter who had come to this base when he happened to meet a widow named Hoshino.
The Hoshino family were locally renowned as an old-money lineage of considerable wealth. The widow had borne a son and a daughter, but when her eldest son was drafted and died in North China, his twenty-five-year-old wife Akiko remained behind as a young widow—unfortunately without any children of their own.
The younger sister was nineteen and called Tokiko.

Mrs. Hoshino, both due to her own son’s death in battle and her fondness for soldiers, held deep sympathy for the young men of the Special Attack Unit.

It was her hobby to invite young passing soldiers to her home and treat them to meals, but this didn’t mean she invited just anyone—if she didn’t take a liking to someone at first glance, that was the end of it; if she did, whether on the street or in a shop, she would invite them on the spot and escort them home.
Thus, the soldiers who came to frequent the Hoshino household numbered five, including Yasukawa.

All five soldiers were in love with Tokiko.
By their very nature, those in special attacks were destined to die without exception—so becoming husband and wife was not a future that should exist.
So at the base, one woman would become a mistress shared by five or six men.
Such cases were common enough, but those with no future prospects remained carefree, and no quarrels arose.

If she had clearly become a mistress, there would be no quarrels; but since she was a virgin—a pure young maiden—things grew complicated.
This stemmed from their reckless pursuit of glory; so the five men held a discussion and resolved: “Since Tokiko-san is our cherished ideal, we’ll keep her close to our hearts without defiling her.”
They had agreed that if they wanted a woman’s body, there were prostitutes available—but then Lieutenant Murayama, the eldest at twenty-six, spoke up: “Dying with our cherished ideal held close may sound noble, but if four die and the last remaining man can do as he pleases, that would make a mockery of those who perished first.”
Therefore, let us establish that only those who are set to depart on a special attack may claim Tokiko-san as their own until their departure.
He had proposed this because as a lieutenant and squadron leader, while others like Yasukawa could not yet be called full-fledged pilots, he himself would likely draw the short straw first; indeed, when pointed out, the bleakness felt by those destined to die earlier seemed unjust—therefore, they agreed to this arrangement.
This was a pact among only the five men—unknown to Tokiko or the widow—and while their dictatorial high-handedness seemed utterly self-serving, considering the annihilation of their homeland before their eyes and their own impending self-destruction, one could hardly withhold tears of sympathy for their inner turmoil.

Ironically, however, no special attack orders were ever issued to these five men.
Before long, sorties became increasingly rare, and after August arrived, suddenly two squadrons of ten men were formed—among them was Yasukawa.
Among the five, Yasukawa was designated to lead the vanguard.

Among these ten special attack members were Yasukawa’s trio and his close friends Myoushin and Kyoujiro—who had sworn to die together as comrades.

Kyoujiro was viewed as an oddity by the other members, but this wasn’t due to him being taciturn, never singing or feigning drunkenness—rather, it stemmed from his inexperience with women.

Kyoujiro had absolutely no experience with women.
When Myoushin and Yasukawa would leap from the barracks under night's cover to visit prostitutes or solicit mistresses in town—no, even before arriving at this base—Kyoujiro had never accompanied such activities with women.

However, he was by nature an exceedingly sociable fellow; when invited to anything else, he had never once refused—unwanted drinks, movies he had no interest in seeing—he went along with it all.
Only when it came to women was it different—even when Myoushin tried arranging introductions to friends of his own mistresses, nothing ever came of it.

Sentimental pure-hearted types and stubborn virgin archetypes—even within the Special Attack Unit there were some of those—but Kyoujiro was neither sentimental nor stubborn.
Tolerant of others’ matters, flexible in disposition, and no narrow-minded idealist of pure-heartedness—but as for me, well, I’ll just die without knowing a woman—he carried himself with a strangely composed air.

Fundamentally, this man affected a demeanor of not wanting to engage in what everyone else did—though he claimed no particular complaints otherwise—his eccentric nonchalance carrying such an air of detachment that he appeared an oddity.

However, Kyoujiro, secretly in his heart, actually desired a woman most of all—he had wanted a woman’s body.

Even if he said he wanted to experience love, his entire life had been left to others’ hands—and moreover, the question of when he must die was already looming right before his eyes.
There was no freedom, no nature, no will—in truth, none at all.
Even doubt could not exist.

He did not want to die.
It was wrenching.
Yet since this was a reality he could do nothing about, even if he drowned himself in liquor and women and acted on every passing whim, rather than finding distraction through such means, he could only see with painful clarity the wretchedness of being killed by others.
If he was going to be killed anyway, let it happen quietly—without a sound, without futile struggle. Thinking this, his mind seemed to grow somewhat clearer.

The homeland would inevitably be annihilated.
There were no heroes or war gods.
That one couldn't believe in superhumans truly pained those destined to die.
They were utterly no longer human.
The fact their existence held no meaning beyond being energy to crash into warships left them voiceless—dumbstruck and sinking into despair with no hope of resurfacing.

That said, he wasn’t particularly fixated on women—so why did he fixate on them alone? Such thoughts never ceased.

Then again, unfortunately, suppressing what he most desired—finding at least some satisfaction in that—or rather, feeling as if that alone constituted human awareness—such reasoning often sufficed.

Therefore, rather than harboring feelings like wanting to give those detestable officers and the commander a good thrashing when his time came to die, he preferred to bid everyone a cheerful farewell and die swiftly.

Yet when the command was finally issued, his eyes and ears darkened; his mind vanished; he froze—ah, this was what they called despair.
Despair was never something that dwelled in the human heart.
It existed beyond madness, residing in a heart no longer human.

Suddenly Kyoujiro burned with rage enough to shatter the entire universe.
Then abruptly he was sealed within despair again—loss and falling and darkness and ice.
Then suddenly maddened by fury once more; loss and falling and darkness.
Even this self, emerging through the ebb and flow of such repetitions, now bore a loathsomely clinging sensation of difference—a clear yet inexplicable divergence from who he had been mere moments before.

★

That day during the daytime, the three of them went to town and stopped by the Hoshino household to pay their respects while at it.
For Myoushin and Kyoujiro, it was their first visit; they simply went inside, drank some tea, and left.

That night saw a farewell party at the assembly hall with the usual mad commotion; while some other members had faces pale with panic, the trio remained as they always were—Myoushin hummed Kiyomoto ballads and danced Kappore before stripping completely naked for Yakko-san; Kyoujiro stayed silent per usual; and Yasukawa too kept his normal demeanor until Lieutenant Murayama came staggering in drunk and poured him a drink.

“Hey, you leading the charge? That’s rich.”
“Make it count.”
“Bottoms up.”

He radiated contempt.
Naturally, disparities in rank and age separated them.
The drinking party’s lax hierarchy had momentarily smoothed those divides—but since their bond existed not as soldiers but as men, a connection forged solely through shared desperation, Yasukawa’s nerves crackled taut.

Having paid daytime respects at the Hoshino house with a mere sip of tea, Yasukawa felt he’d discharged his obligations; he now believed he could settle things without obsessing over claiming Tokiko’s body through their pact.

However, in Murayama’s overbearing attitude lay traces of cruelty—a character that would sacrifice others for selfish desires. This man would force his way regardless; he was precisely the sort to pin Tokiko-san down and have his will even if she wept in refusal. This anxiety had long festered in his chest, yet so long as he didn’t witness it directly, it had remained containable.

Yasukawa’s gaze changed.
His hand trembled even as he set the sake cup on the table and stood up—

“You. Won’t you drink the sake I poured?”
“You impudent bastard.”

“What’s impudent about it?”
“I’m leaving because I don’t want to stay at such a hollow uproar of a gathering.”
“And I’ve got a promise to keep.”

The stark-naked Myoushin,

“Whoa there! Wait. I’ll come along too. I’ve got my own rounds to make.”

They put on their military uniforms and left together.
Kyoujiro also followed them out.

When they reached the crossroads, Myoushin announced he would part ways to take a different path,

“What about you?”
“If you’ve got nothing better to do, why not come with me to the Hoshino place?”

“Even if I went to Hoshino’s place, it wouldn’t do any good.”
“I think I’ll take a stroll around here.”
“I just have this odd urge to wander about, you see.”

“I see.”
“I somehow wanted you to come along too, but well—can’t be helped.”

The two went right and left; as Kyoujiro began to turn back, Yasukawa looked over his shoulder—

“Hey, can’t you come? Don’t you feel like coming along together?”

“Can’t do that. Not like I’ve got plans or anything—but tonight’s only tonight. I suppose there’s no choice but to do as I see fit.”

“I see.”

Yasukawa thought it was because Kyoujiro wouldn’t come along with him. If things continued like this, he would inevitably end up deflowering Tokiko. It wasn’t resolve but recklessness—a desperate, all-or-nothing state. That’s what it was. He had invited him out of caution against that very outcome, but since Kyoujiro wouldn’t come along, he couldn’t help but end up that way. He felt as if he had once walked a path long ago with this same reckless, almost clinging desperation—the kind he’d known as a child, clinging to his mother in tantrums, rebelling in broken defiance. As a child, he had clung to his mother, raged at her—all in such broken defiance.

When he met Tokiko’s mother and Tokiko, his feelings settled as if he were a different person.
However, when he took Tokiko out for a walk to the riverbank on the outskirts of town, a sudden surge of lust triggered a chaotic fit.
What he took for jealousy was despair, and when he willed curses and destruction upon everything, he also found himself blinded by single-minded affection.

Yasukawa was holding Tokiko.

“If I part with you like this, I won’t be able to die.”

Yasukawa resentfully thought that everyone must use such words to do such things, but he could no longer consider anything.
And he was startled to find no brakes anywhere within himself.
No—without even time for surprise—only practical actions and the power to complete them, only those surged forth one after another as if natural.
It was as if they pulsated with the robust force and disciplined rhythm akin to art's supreme harmony.

Tokiko did not resist.
When she was pushed down onto the ground, she let out nothing more than an “Ah…”—a vacant voice.
Yasukawa’s remorse arose from the recollection of that voice.
It was neither love nor even some fleeting affection.
It was nothing but this compulsion—the idea that I couldn’t die cleanly if parted from you like this—and merely the resignation of a maiden serving as ritual sacrifice to youths scattering their lives for that homeland.

He had been desperately suppressing this thought, but ever since leaping out of the assembly hall and descending into the night road, he had heard a voice: if his motive was jealousy, then he ought to cut down Murayama—doing so would not require deflowering Tokiko.

If he cut down Murayama, he would no longer be able to die for his homeland.
So there was no other way.
That Tokiko had connected with someone like him was also due to his ordained fate to die for the homeland—and this alone he had to accomplish, trampling down whatever despair, frenzy, or chaos might arise.
All special attack units were doing so, and even Murayama—he too must abandon Tokiko and eventually depart; moreover, depart he would—he was certain to depart.

If that was how things stood, there was no other way but to go through with deflowering her. Since it was a promise, he even thought that the sentiment of not fulfilling it was more cowardly.

But when he considered what remained after fulfilling his desire, there was only the bitter aftertaste of having made a pure maiden into an offering in the name of the homeland. As he rose to his feet and stood frozen in bewilderment, Tokiko too got up, her steps unsteady from both mental turmoil and physical pain.

As remorse surged up in his chest once more and he flew into a rage, he realized it wasn’t just Tokiko who was being made into an offering in the name of the homeland.
Wasn’t his own life the same?
What was Tokiko?
In his case, his life was everything he had.
When he thought of that, there was nothing but despair.
Tear it away, tear it away as he might—could he not strip off this curtain of despair blinding his eyes?

“Tokiko-san.”
“I’ll die honorably and make amends.”

These too were trite, repulsive words—but if he could just say everything he felt, perhaps his heart might clear.

“I don’t want to die, don’t want to die, don’t want to die.
“This is all my true feelings.
“But now—now I can endure it.
“In the homeland’s name, since you’ve become the ikenie of my violence, I too will submit to being its ikenie.
“Who cares about the homeland?
“For your sake—”

Tokiko brought her lips close.
When he embraced her, Tokiko wept into his chest.

Holding hands and walking silently down the long night road, when they reached the front of Tokiko’s house, Tokiko came to a stop and pressed her face close.

“I’m not an *ikenie*.”

Her entire body burned with heat; emotion overflowed.

“I loved you.”

Tokiko was about to throw her entire body into Yasukawa’s chest, but since Yasukawa was unprepared to catch her, she twisted away in terror and shame and fled into her house.

Yasukawa could not pursue her.

That was a cruel remark.
Here, he should have parted from her in silence; otherwise, as per that hackneyed routine, he could have died honorably with a *Banzai*—that would have sufficed.
Apart from *ikenie*, there existed no room for the likes of humans.

Yasukawa felt as though his throat were being constricted, a coarse rope wound around his neck as he was dragged about by a mad horse.
He was at a loss, and only grew increasingly despairing.

There was nothing worthy of joy.
Relying on Tokiko’s affection, taking that affection as a token—such toying with feelings was not something that could have been done.
It was nothing but thoughts writhing in torment.

Damn it!
Damn it!
It's Germany that's killing me.
Homeland.
Screw that—toss it aside like worn-out straw sandals!

Why does she start talking about love and romance?
The whole nation's gone mad—we're puppets on war's idiotic stage, just tools starving ourselves gaunt, working ourselves to death for the homeland, nothing but a type of weapon—isn't that right?
To bring up love and romance now of all times—how cruel, what nonsense.

Love is blue sky, thoughts are sea—at least let me self-destruct on a clear day.
That he couldn't fully become that feeling was agonizing.
There was no other path but this—none at all.
Yet he couldn't transform.
Looking up, stars hung like lies in the sky.
The Milky Way—a sadly tarnished, worthless stretch of stars.

What am I?
If I dwell on that any longer, there’s no ground left to stand on.
At the very brink, strung up taut—just waiting for death.

★

That night, not a single one of the three managed to sleep soundly.

However, by the next morning, they had regained some composure.
Having prepared their gear, when they saw the planes, their hearts tightened like soldiers'.

However, it wasn’t that they were about to sortie now; rather, they would first head to the southern advance base, load bombs there, and then officially vanish southward over the sea—their actual sortie was scheduled for the following day.

However, when they arrived at the southern base, the situation had changed; the reports of an enemy fleet mobilizing appeared to have been a reconnaissance error, and it had been decided to observe developments a while longer.

The thought of surviving another day felt richly fulfilling; had this been that base over there, they might have imagined being alone with Tokiko, but even without such thoughts, they felt at ease and relaxed.

The next day came, and the next after that, and still there were no orders.
Then it was concluded that the earlier large fleet had been nothing but an insubstantial phantom; well then, you all can go play around—that became the decision. And then came August 15th, leaving the base in a daze.

The three couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

The sensation of being alive.
It may have been the three of them who felt that sensation more keenly than anyone else.
Wait—was this real? By chance, they had been permitted to go out and listened to a radio in a civilian house in town.
They wondered if the civilian household’s radio broadcast was fake—so much so that their taut feelings of Japan having lost and them having survived slackened into listlessness.

When they returned to the base to verify the truth, they found many there who hadn’t listened to the radio, which only deepened their uncertainty—especially since some were still digging air-raid shelters. So the war wasn’t over after all—their hearts chilled momentarily at the thought—but soon the comings and goings of liaison planes grew more frequent.
In the evening, when they went to the mess hall—men crying, men raging, men vomiting, men laughing—it became clear that they had lost.

Lieutenant Murayama, the platoon leader,

“Life’s been spared.”
“What’ll you lot do?”
“What you do from now on—I don’t know.”
“The whole damn country prisoners now?”
“Makes no sense.”
“No response from base after inquiries—we’re heading back tomorrow.”
“Take that as orders.”

“Are you just returning without authorization?”

“It’s like poking a hornet’s nest.”
“They’ve gone completely mad.”
“Keep waiting here for orders and it’ll mean permanent exile.”
“Back at base, they’re likely writing us off as already dead.”

When the three of them stepped outside together and were met by the evening breeze,

“Hey, I’m heading back to base right now.”

Yasukawa grew irritable with mounting impatience.

“If you go back on your own, things’ll turn sour.”

“It’s a losing battle anyway.”
“If we’re questioned—since there’s been no response from base even if we inquire—we can just say the Lieutenant authorized us to act independently. That should settle it.”
“What comes after isn’t an issue anymore.”
“I’m going back no matter what.”

Once he resolved to act, there was no way to suppress the mounting impatience and anxiety.
"I wasn't some ritual offering—I loved you," Tokiko's words pointlessly raced through Yasukawa's innards.
He had to confirm those words.

Life had existed; life would continue to exist—and then, as if by a sudden shift, the entire problem transformed.
It was the birth of an entirely different person.
However, there was no time to be appalled by such things.
Murayama was a man of action, so he must have already initiated his moves in response to the changing situation.

Yasukawa, no longer waiting for the other two’s replies, turned with the momentum to stride into the airfield.

“Alright, I’m coming along too.”

Myoushin steeled his resolve.

Suddenly the three huddled together and broke into a run—not just Yasukawa but the others too were caught in feverish abandon.
Life would change.
How? What? With baseless anticipation and exhilaration, something unleashed coursed through their veins like rabid beasts.

They had lived.
They would keep living.
From now on I would live—I would seize something for myself.
Run run.
Trample soldiers and military law under your boots!
Departure.

However, Kyoujiro was gripped by an inexplicable anxiety.
Do I even truly exist?
What am I?
From then on, he felt a gloomy weariness that left him at a loss.
Yet his chest still swelled with something, taut.
Liberated life!
Fatigue made his eyes swim, yet he felt no inclination to slow his running pace.

★

Several days later, the chaotic base had mostly evacuated, leaving only those handling the aftermath. Of the original five-member Tokiko alliance, three had departed, leaving Yasukawa and Murayama as the remaining pair. Myoushin—whose family temple in Asakusa had burned down, leaving his household’s whereabouts unknown—and Kyoujiro, who likewise held no hope in his hometown, stayed on together. They ultimately took up lodging at the Hoshino house, which had many rooms available.

However, when Yasukawa and the others left the base, Murayama could no longer endure.
If that bastard Yasukawa had already taken her virginity, then Tokiko’s purity was no longer an issue.
The five-man pact had also been a promise regarding Tokiko’s virginity—so once a blemish had been made, what followed was all the same. Invoking the rationale that “the early bird gets the worm,” he immediately pressed for direct negotiations through coercion and succeeded.

Given this state of affairs following the unforeseen end of the war, both mother and Tokiko found themselves at a loss over how to handle the two men’s pressing negotiations.

The problem was that the mother and Tokiko’s heartfelt intentions diverged.

Since Tokiko’s brother had died in the war—leaving her an only child—this necessitated adopting a husband; Murayama, being the third son of a wealthy family who had graduated from a private university’s economics department, was already a full-fledged gentleman, while Yasukawa—the third son of a doctor, an apprentice painter at twenty-two—offered no discernible indication of what sort of man he might become hereafter.

For the present, since Murayama undeniably met all requirements to become master of an established household in everyone’s eyes, the mother privately considered him as her prospective son-in-law.

Tokiko liked Yasukawa.

Though the two never voiced their true feelings, their intentions were understood implicitly—Yasukawa proposed leaving the matter entirely up to Tokiko herself, while Murayama insisted they should follow the parents’ will in accordance with Japanese custom—and so this too reached no resolution.
When mother and daughter expressed their heartfelt thoughts, they only tangled further—so for Yasukawa they let him have his way, for Murayama likewise did the same, trying as much as possible to avoid offense and keep both men appeased—until matters grew ever more twisted and entangled.

“People who were supposed to die—the bonds formed under that premise have now become a mess because our fates to die have changed. We can’t resolve things by basing them on those old bonds.”
“You having had the first relations with Tokiko-san, me doing whatever afterward—let’s declare bankruptcy on these Special Attack Unit bonds.”
“Shouldn’t we, as entirely new suitors who emerged separately after the surrender, formally compete?”
“We should abandon direct negotiations and, following Japanese custom, obtain parental consent; through parents or mediators, conduct formal house-to-house negotiations, properly follow procedures to propose marriage, and receive an official response—shouldn’t we?”

It was Murayama who first voiced this idea, and once the proposal’s plan had been formulated, he had promptly sent letters of entreaty to their parents. This proposal was presented at a meeting where the mother, daughter, and four others were seated together—formal negotiations being what the women naturally desired as a matter of course—and with it being three against one, opposition would be futile; thus Yasukawa too agreed. However, Yasukawa’s parents’ clinic had burned down; with only letters to hint at how they were managing their lives, and with his marriage proposal as a twenty-two-year-old former kamikaze brat being met with nothing but anxiety over whether anyone would even entertain it—it was a flimsy situation, but he couldn’t back down.

Then Murayama, considering that if matters were settled this way he would win, saw the rest as a question of time—with protecting Tokiko’s person being crucial now that things were decided—and skillfully proposed that until resolution, they should play fair by taking lodgings elsewhere, since having suitors cohabiting at the daughter’s house risked mishaps; thus the two men took separate rooms as neighbors in a tenement directly across from the Hoshino house.
The two kept constant watch over each other’s movements—whenever one slipped through the Hoshino house’s gate, the other would instantly give chase, their vigilance never relenting—it became a frenetic routine.

Due to changed circumstances, Myoushin and Kyoujiro—who had until then been complete strangers to the Hoshino house—were left behind there alone. Myoushin, having various mistresses, frequently stayed out overnight for those dalliances, while the habitually taciturn Kyoujiro was often left utterly alone, at a loss for how to sustain the conversation.

Nobuko (Tokiko’s mother), who had been passing her widow’s solitude by comforting kamikaze pilots bound for death, now found herself—in surrender’s wake—plunged into a fragmented state of mind, uncertain what would become of anything.
Kyoujiro had belonged to a Special Attack Unit steeped in reckless abandon with alcohol and women—yet even on the day meant for his death, he had never known a woman.
He had never even tried to know one—and now she felt like playing with such a child.

On nights when Myoushin did not return, she served sake and ended up taking Kyoujiro into her own bed.

Kyoujiro knew absolutely nothing.
At first, when she let him do as he pleased, he fumbled through inexplicably clumsy motions—even basic limb placements became alien maneuvers performed with no discernible logic—so Nobuko gradually grew bolder, guiding him *this way* and *that way*, until abruptly realizing: this was neither a child nor an innocent youth, but an utterly arrogant, shamelessly crude brute of a man.
Having grasped just the initial method, he became one who knew all that followed.
Her husband had been far frailer—reserved, delicate in sensitivity, gentle.
This man growled, provoked, seized, and overpowered like a savage beast.
When fully sated, he rose without sparing a thought for the woman left behind yet still uttered “Good night” before departing.

The next morning, Kyoujiro’s attitude hadn’t changed in the slightest from usual. It was something even more arrogant and insolent than the demeanor of a man who had conquered a woman—a bearing that made it clear Nobuko meant nothing to him. Nobuko burned with anger and hatred, was struck with astonishment, and grew intoxicated by a force that drew her in. When she thought about it, even this was nothing more than her own one-sided struggle circling around the shadow of this rough man. The arrogant bearing of this young man—barely twenty-two—could this be what they called manliness? It was incomprehensible, even mystical, carrying an overwhelming force that pressed down on her nape like a vise.

“Being a virgin—that’s a lie, isn’t it? There’s no man as slick as you.”

“What does virginity even matter? My abstinence wasn’t some fixation on purity. I wanted women more than anything—but as a war puppet who couldn’t control his own life, I suppressed that craving just to preserve my self-respect.”

It occurred to him now that Kyoujiro, while keeping women at a distance during the war, had in fact been most fixated on their bodies and had continued seeking them out.
Until he came to know Nobuko’s body, it might have remained that way.

But now he understood women were no longer an issue—what need was there to fuss?
The war had ended.
Through his own power, he could carve his path.
There was no need to obsess over petty things.
Crush the petty things and advance.
Any ideal was possible—for that ideal, he could willfully stake his life.

If women were necessary, one should seek the ideal woman.
Why not discard all worthless women by the roadside?
No hesitation, no timidity, no regret.

But what was the ideal?
What kind of person was the ideal woman?
That remained something Kyoujiro couldn't begin to grasp.
He could only realistically believe that by seizing it, he might discard all dissatisfactions and accept what remained as inevitable.

The war had ended.
And humanity was resurrected.
He began with the resurrection of humanity—how could newborns possess fully-formed ideals?

The war widow Akiko was young, innocent, beautiful, and rich in emotion—more than enough to stir Kyoujiro’s carnal desires.
Because he felt guilty about being involved with Akiko, he resolved to pursue it even more deliberately—to test himself, humanity, and sin.
To fear acting on one’s own will was inhuman.
He grew furious at the absurd notion that acting under compulsion was somehow easier.

However, he had cobbled together plausible-sounding excuses with sophistry, yet he also knew that in truth he was merely a brat possessed by carnal desire—that his living heart held nothing but the single-minded wish to play with a pretty woman.

Kyoujiro stormed into Akiko’s bedroom late at night and forced himself on her.
Akiko offered some resistance, but—as if stifling her voice out of shame—she yielded, presenting the appearance of an unfeeling lifeless figure.
However, from the next opportunity onward, not only did she no longer refuse, but her body became one intoxicated and writhed in pleasure.

"So this is all there is," Kyoujiro thought.
He came to hate Akiko’s body.
Was this all there was to human beings?
Truly, was this not all there was?
If waking up, washing one’s face, cleaning, eating meals, doing laundry, cooking, greeting acquaintances, entertaining guests, and conversing—if these are not the purpose of human existence—then what remains beyond this flesh?
Human beings were not merely this, he thought.
But that was something like sophistry serving as steps to deflower Tokiko.

He imagined Tokiko resisting.
He fantasized about himself facing their blades were Yasukawa and Murayama to discover him.
And he succeeded in convincing himself that he had to go that far and do it.
Kyoujiro shook Tokiko awake.

“It’s me. Sit up, please.”

Tokiko sat up.
Tokiko was not the kind of woman who would resist fiercely in his fantasies.
Outside of his fantasies, Kyoujiro knew this clearly.

“I’m neither Yasukawa nor Murayama.
“I won’t say I want to marry you or anything like that.”
“I came simply to amuse myself.”
“But even if you say you don’t want to, that won’t work.”
“Because I’m staking my life on amusing myself.”
“Here—place your hand on my heart.”
“Is that clear?”

Kyoujiro grasped Tokiko’s wrist and made her press it against his heart.
Appearing unable to do anything, the arm offered no resistance and was lifted limply like a piece of wood.

“My heart is beating just as slowly and regularly as anyone else’s. Compare its sound with yours.”

Kyoujiro grasped her other wrist and made her press it against her own heart.
Because of this, their knees pressed tightly together, and their body heat seeped into contact as if merging.

“In other words, I’m not afraid at all.”
“There’s nothing I fear.”
“Because this is my time now.”
“Do you understand?”
“Tomorrow, you’ll wake up.”
“Then it will no longer be my time.”
“It becomes your time—the time of you and Yasukawa, of you and Murayama.”
“In that time, you and I are perfect strangers with no connection whatsoever.”
“But right now, since this is my time, I must control both time and the person entangled with me—you.”
“That’s why I’m calm.”
“You can feel how steady my heart is, can’t you?”
“What about your heart?”

Kyoujiro released the gripped wrist and, replacing Tokiko’s pressed palm with his own, placed his hand against her heart. That heart beat as if its sound might burst forth. Kyoujiro kept his hand there endlessly. Then grasping Tokiko’s shoulder, he found himself holding her in his arms.

He pressed his lips to hers.
Tokiko did not resist.
When it had all ended,

“I don’t want you to tell Mr. Yasukawa or Mr. Murayama.”
“It’s a secret from everyone.”
“A secret just between us.”

Tokiko whispered.

Kyoujiro pursed his lips, let out another sigh, and recalled her body twisted through every torment,

"Can you keep it a secret forever?"

"Of course I will."

“Do you want to make so many, so many secrets like this?”

Tokiko did not answer.
Her fresh naked body lay carelessly sprawled, making no attempt to conceal itself as she covered her eyes with her hands.

Kyoujiro became absorbed in the thought that secrets were the purpose of a woman’s life.
For some reason, Tokiko’s body was not hateful.
Women who accumulate secrets, who make that their purpose—even Akiko, even Nobuko—isn’t that how they are?

However, he thought Tokiko was cute.

★

It was Myoushin who first noticed the relationship between Tokiko and Kyoujiro.

Even on nights when Myoushin slept in the same room, Kyoujiro could not suppress his carnal desire for Tokiko; thus Myoushin, with his sharp perception, saw through it and discerned that the person involved was none other than Tokiko.

It was none other than the hot-blooded Myoushin—burning with righteous indignation more intensely than even Yasukawa or Murayama—who proposed a duel to Kyoujiro.

Around that time, an envoy came from Murayama’s parents and, after assessing the situation here, offered to share a portion of their wealth if he became their adopted son-in-law. Formal negotiations had commenced. From Yasukawa’s home, there had been no word. Yasukawa could no longer help but consider himself defeated, teetering on the brink of reckless abandon—if he was to be bested by Murayama, then Kyoujiro was no different; in fact, he almost relished the thought of Murayama getting his comeuppance. Though his fervor had cooled, he still detested Kyoujiro for having taken her. When he dwelled on it to the point of wanting to slit his throat, he joined the duel’s coalition regardless.

Kyoujiro accepted the proposal and walked off toward the riverbank on the outskirts of town as the three urged him.

Nobuko and Akiko were taken completely by surprise.
Each of them had convinced herself that Kyoujiro was involved solely with her alone.

“You’re absolutely insane!”
“Mr. Murayama has already had his formal envoy come here time and again,”
“It’d be best if that brutish, ill-mannered lowlife good-for-nothing Mr. Kyoujiro had his head split open by the three of them and got half-killed.”

Tokiko hung her head but maintained a resolute expression and did not reply.

“You couldn’t possibly be in love with Mr. Kyoujiro.”
“He must have violated you.”
“I understand that.”
“Why didn’t you confide in me then?”

Tokiko did not answer.

“When they return, you must apologize to Mr. Murayama.”
“Can you do that?”
“That can be done.”
“You must do it.”
“However, if they do not forgive you, what do you intend to do?”

After a long silence, unable to bear it any longer, Nobuko muttered.

“By now, that good-for-nothing must be sprawled out covered in blood.”

“It’s three against one, you see.”
“But isn’t Myoushin-san being meddlesome?”
“That’s something that person doesn’t know about...”

"...", Akiko muttered.

“It’s justice—that’s only natural.”
“What do you mean by ‘meddlesome’?”

At that moment, the four returned roughly.
Clothes were torn, blood oozed, faces were swollen, and only their eyes remained upturned in utter exhaustion.

“It’s utter madness,” said Myoushin. “That Yasukawa bastard was pummeling Kyoujiro, then suddenly wheeled around and went charging at Murayama like some samurai.”
“When you think about it,” he added, “fighting’s downright idiotic.”
“The four of us reached an agreement—Tokiko-san, you’ll pick one from these three dashing gentlemen.”
“Since none of them object, let’s settle this now.”

A heavy silence fell.
Tokiko wore a stern expression as her gaze swept across each man’s face—

“The ones with minor injuries—which two of you are they?”

“Well now...
“They’re all about the same,” answered Myoushin.

“In that case, all of you, please carry the luggage you have at our house to Mr. Yasukawa and Mr. Murayama’s lodgings.”
“Please don’t act so high and mighty.”
“The war is already over.”
“You should all return to your hometowns at least once.”
“I’ll find my own husband in due time.”

Having said all that in one breath,

“Come on—quickly now! Carry your luggage! And don’t you dare act so high and mighty!”

The four men carried the luggage and vacantly gathered in a room of the boarding house. The conclusion was unexpected and didn’t sit right with them, but as for why she had told them twice not to act so high and mighty—the meaning of that eluded everyone.

“There’s nothing unclear about it. You lot were just acting as high and mighty as you pleased.”

When Myoushin said this, the three men grew faintly vacant as if hollowed out and laughed together.

The next morning, when the four woke up, Tokiko-san and her family of three had already vanished to some hot spring at dawn.
That night, as the four waited at the station for the Tokyo-bound train, a maid from the Hoshino household came and delivered a message—"The young mistress had forgotten this letter for all of you"—before departing.
When they opened it,

“Thanks to you, I’ve grown stronger.”

That was all that was written.
They seemed to understand, yet couldn’t grasp the meaning.

“Originally, that young lady was contrary by nature.”

Myoushin said this, but the one most deeply preoccupied with this letter and Tokiko’s words from yesterday was likely Kyoujiro.

Kyoujiro felt utterly defeated by Tokiko.
Hadn’t Tokiko cast the three of them aside?
That alone was plenty.

Already, women were advancing.
They were advancing with their bodies alone.
While men get bogged down in sentiment and sophistry, women leap through time.

Because they had disdained women and been humiliated, this time they would show respect.
They would respect women enough to be humiliated themselves.
Yet as he brooded over whether women would feel shame or not—regardless of that—Tokiko had been lovely.
Suddenly thinking this way, he found himself in the peculiar state of feeling a sharp twinge in his chest.