Pathway to Japanese Literature

Chapter: Refusal of Medical Examination

Chapter: Refusal of Medical Examination

In this hot spring town, the Maeyama Villa was likely the largest villa.
Adjacent to it stood Namiki Hospital.
Within this hospital, a critical meeting had convened that evening.
Three men gathered.
They were: Dr. Namiki (age fifty-five), proprietor of the hospital; Master Gensai Ushiku (age seventy), practitioner of kendo; and Mr. Kyoroku Ishikawa (age fifty), a woodcarver specializing in single-sword carvings and nanga painter—all three gentlemen deserving of the honorific "sensei."

"This disaster occurred because you couldn't keep your foolish mouth shut," Dr. Namiki snarled at Kyoroku with a murderous glare.
Under that fearsome stare, Kyoroku trembled uncontrollably,

“Don’t spout nonsense! Your glare’s murderous! Anyone who sees those eyes would think they’re about to get poisoned, I tell ya! Quit it! You’re the one poisoning me!”

“What did you say? I cannot let such words go unchallenged!”

“Now, now—let’s stop this internal squabbling,” said Kyoroku—though as expected of their eldest member, it was Gensai’s authoritative command that made for a splendid display indeed.
A body like rock tempered by kendo; a youthful voice; a dignified bearing—it was a presence that inspired awe itself.
Kyoroku scratched his head while,

“But, you know.
“You’re pinning this on me, but…
“Sure, I’m loose-lipped and might have a knack for blurting out weird things, but you’ve all had some shift in your faces lately.
“You’ve lost that carefree dignity you once had as proper adults.
“Now you’ve got this look—like you’re hiding something in your guts.
“I think it’s cruel to blame this on my mouth.”

While muttering this—perhaps fearing the enemy’s murderous intent—he assumed a stance ready to flee if approached.

The origin of it all lay in Issaku Maeyama, patriarch of the Maeyama family, having fallen inexplicably ill.
The Maeyama family, firmly convinced that Dr. Namiki had administered poison, refused his examination and went so far as to summon another doctor.

The reason the Maeyama family came to think this way was that Dr. Namiki had long been in the grip of his fervent wish to borrow their vast villa and open a medical hot spring inn.
Hot springs are fundamentally for the sick.
Yet modern-day hot spring inns all cater to healthy people.
However, according to Dr. Namiki’s view, all humans are patients.
No human being exists without illness.
They are simply unaware of their own illnesses.

If a medical hot spring inn were to open there, and the guests who stayed there were to receive examinations from a renowned physician, discover their own illnesses, obtain appropriate prescriptions, and return home after a day of rest over the weekend, their good fortune would undoubtedly be immense.
The idea was that word would spread from guest to guest, resulting in such a bustling success that people would be jostling to get in.
The one who immediately laughed this off was Kyoroku.

“No one with time to spare is coming to a hot spring to check into a hospital.”
“First off, isn’t the reason you came up with that idea because your reputation’s tanked lately and patients stopped coming?”
“Isn’t this all just your single-minded scheme to open some flashy new-concept hotel and rake in cash?”
“Yet that mentality of yours—insisting it’s all for the sake of the world and others—is utterly laughable.”
“With that mentality of yours, no matter how many novel ideas you devise, do you really think you can make money?”
“I’m desperate for money myself, so if it were a truly profitable venture, I’d jump at it immediately.”
“If you want to borrow a villa and turn it into an inn, wouldn’t a regular one suffice just fine?”
“For what purpose does a quack doctor like you need to show up at that inn and examine the guests?”
“It’s a complete farce!”
“Having a ghost or something show up would be more tasteful than you appearing.”
“But, you know.”
“You showing up would be a disaster, but having Master Gensai appear might actually be a clever gimmick!”

When Kyoroku said this, he couldn’t help but slap his knee at the brilliance of his own idea.
He flushed with excitement and shouted.

“That’s it! Why don’t the three of us run an inn together?”
“Imagine Master Gensai standing solemnly at the entrance in that dignified posture of his, reverently welcoming guests—calmly pressing his forehead to the tatami and booming, ‘Welcome!’ How spectacular! The style of this innkeeper—no, calling him a mere manager would be an insult!”
“Calling him a manager feels almost insulting—but just look at this manager’s dignity!”
“Travel is a matter of mood, after all.”
“If being a manager is no good, since there’s such a thing as hired madams in bars, then a hired master will do just fine.”
“Master Gensai, I hear you’re turning seventy, but you’ve only grown more flirtatious with age.”
“For several years now, I’ve been thinking that the sex appeal of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old youngster has been oozing out of you.”
“This must be where the profundity of swordsmanship lies.”
“It seems the grueling toil of swordsmanship endured since youth revives in old age as the sex appeal of a young samurai.”
“I think you’d be popular with young girls.”
“Who knows—you might even end up with a seventeen or eighteen-year-old schoolgirl as your lover.”
“I’ve just got this feeling, you know.”

Kyoroku was not being facetious.
He was by nature reckless in his convictions, reckless in his passions, and reckless in his outbursts.
Even if someone tried flattering Gensai—reduced to the depths of poverty by the national ban on swordsmanship—he wouldn’t so much as get a nosebleed.

“Hey, let’s run an inn together—the three of us!”
“I’ll go out to the station and attract customers—heck, I’ll do anything!”
“Dr. Namiki’ll be the bathhouse attendant, huh?”
“When you go out to scrub a customer’s back, you get aroused and misdiagnose them—so you’re stuck behind the bathhouse adjusting the water temperature instead, huh?”

Now, it was in the following words that Kyoroku blurted out a matter of grave importance currently under major dispute.

“However, you know.
“As long as Issaku Maeyama’s still alive, they won’t lend us the Konrinzai Villa.”
“I wish he’d just hurry up and die already.”
“So, there’s another benefit besides that.”
“Mrs. Hanako is truly a peerless beauty, you know.”
“Heh heh.”
“Gentlemen, you’re making such strange faces.”
“You know it, don’t you?”
“I’m not the only one smitten with her, you know.”
“In the aged chests of both gentlemen, molten lava seethes and burns.”
“When I idly reflect upon it, both the doctor and the swordsmanship master are truly pitiable people.”
“And what’s more, they’re even more emaciated by poverty than I am—burdened by money and women.”
“No sense of decorum at their age!”
“Even if Dr. Namiki poisons Mr. Maeyama and Master Gensai cuts him in half in the dead of night, I couldn’t hate them.”
“No—I might even come to love them!”

If only the listeners had been the two masters, it would have been fine—but there, seated among them, was a yakuza-like young man named Koichi Maeyama, Issaku’s eldest son.
Koichi was not Mrs. Hanako’s child.
Mrs. Hanako was the second wife.
She was still twenty-eight.
Koichi was a mere three years her senior.

Despite being in a cast due to tuberculosis, Koichi was an utterly eccentric youth who would buy boxing gloves to practice brawling or suddenly take up painting and French studies on a whim.

However, no matter how eccentric he was, Issaku Maeyama remained his father.
Even for someone as inherently reckless as Kyoroku to declare he wanted to poison Issaku and slice him in two was excessively harsh language—yet upon hearing his subsequent words, one might nod in understanding, for there indeed existed a reason.

“Heh heh, Koichi-kun, I know.”
“The ones targeting Mrs. Hanako aren’t just these three masters here, you know.”
“Since the widow’s also part of the old man’s inheritance, you seem to believe there’d be nothing strange about inheriting her too, don’t you?”

“Of course I agree with your theory.”
“She is a rare beauty, you know.”
“What a waste on the old man.”
“Moreover, she is an intensely seductive woman.”
“Moreover, she remains unaware of her own amorous nature.”

When it came to women, he was an exacting aesthetician.
He had no intention of betraying his elderly friends, but in the sense of conveying the truth—which was to say, because that truth happened to suit his fancy—he proceeded to tattle out a full report of the three masters’ statements not only to his sister Mariko but even to Mrs. Hanako herself.

“Ha ha ha. That was amusing.”
“In the end, Mr. Kyoroku appears the most innocent yet proves the craftiest of all.”
“Without stating his own role, Mr. Kyoroku proposed: ‘Should Dr. Namiki administer poison and Master Gensai cleave him asunder at midnight—’”

If only matters had concluded there—but soon afterward, Mr. Issaku succumbed to an illness of unknown origin and staggered to his sickbed.
At this, the chaste Mrs. Hanako flew into a rage, declared Dr. Namiki barred from entry, and called in a physician from outside.

Under the pretext of this report, Koichi visited the three masters and, in his joy of conveying the truth, laid bare every last detail of the affair.
And then—whether intending to console the three masters or simply reveling further in that joy of truth-telling—he brought his account to a close as follows.

“In short, she remains—for now—a chaste woman.”
“The very embodiment of chastity.”
“Utterly unconscious of her own true nature, you understand.”
“That’s the sum of it.”
“Are you implying the real amusement lies ahead?”
“Hah.”
“What disagreeable people you are.”

The Pit Viper Chapter

For Dr. Namiki to be banned from entering the Maeyama residence would not end with merely losing one advantage.

The building of Namiki Hospital was the property of the Maeyama family.
The previous head of the Maeyama family, who had struggled with asthma and other chronic illnesses, provided Dr. Namiki with tuition to graduate from medical school and built a hospital for him next to the villa.
Therefore, if he were to be banned from the Maeyama residence, not only would he lose all credibility as a doctor and as a human being, but he also risked losing both his medical practice and his home.

Thereupon, Dr. Namiki immediately convened the Three Masters Conference; however, this incident held unfavorable implications for the other two masters as well.
For both the kendo master and the sculpture master resided within the Maeyama family’s estate.
This was because the previous head of the Maeyama family, aiming to combat his asthma through swordsmanship training, had built a dojo within the villa and installed Master Gensai—a master of the Kankage-ryū school—therein.
If you read kōdan books, there are stories about Hirate Shuzō being a lung disease patient, but tales of asthmatic swordsmen never appear.
The story goes that he had decided upon this course of action, thinking that swordsmanship might prove effective against asthma.

Moreover, Issaku had been lame since childhood and was too sickly for strenuous labor; thus he left financial matters entirely to his predecessor while devoting himself to pursuits of refinement.
For that reason, he called upon Mr. Kyoroku, who had been a classmate from elementary through middle school, and had an atelier built for him within the villa.

In this war, the Maeyama family’s main residence was destroyed, and many of their other villas and lands passed into others’ hands due to property taxes, leaving only this villa remaining; yet thanks to this, Masters Gensai and Kyoroku, despite having almost no income, somehow managed through those turbulent years of unlivable chaos.
Given these circumstances, if Dr. Namiki’s entry prohibition were escalated in an unforeseen manner, they risked losing their sole safe haven.

The one who was most shocked to learn that they might possibly be expelled from the estate was Master Gensai of the Kankage-ryu school.

As is well known, after the defeat, swordsmanship had been prohibited; not only had the Kankage-ryu school become utterly worthless, but Gensai himself was treated like an archenemy of democracy, with even his children and wife belittling the master.

When Kyoroku proposed the joint management of the inn and exclaimed that Gensai’s dignified bearing was unrivaled as a hired master, [Gensai] was ecstatically impressed by his keen insight.
From that moment on, Gensai became possessed by the dignified figure of a hired master, and day and night he could not rid his eyes of his own imposing demeanor as a hired master.

Gensai possessed some proficiency not only in the Kankage school but also in traditions like Urasenke and Umewaka; for reasons unknown, he had been oddly fixated on personal bearing since childhood, which perhaps explained his oddly meticulous knowledge of textiles from across the provinces.
He also collected fabrics as a hobby—a pursuit that proved immensely useful in his postwar life—having amassed a modest trove of cloth dating from the Meiji (1868–1912), Edo (1603–1868), and even Muromachi (1336–1573) periods.
This was no mere pastime: he had long operated a lucrative scheme of selling these textiles at inflated prices through his swordsmanship circles.

Fortunately, he still had an old indigo-dyed Satsuma-jōfu fabric on hand, so he lined it with floral-patterned cotton—though rakugo comedians might mock it, he pondered in rapt contemplation: *Wasn’t this rugged attire precisely the distinguished uniform of a hired master?*
Quietly placing his hands on the wooden floor and pressing his forehead against it,
“I humbly present myself,” he pronounced, rounding the final syllable on his tongue as if swallowing it.

Didn’t Kyoroku say it himself?
At seventy, growing ever younger, he radiated a dewy freshness like a lad of seventeen or eighteen.
He himself had grown keenly aware of this moist vitality lately, feeling somehow peculiar about it—but now it seemed others too had discerned this boyish freshness about him.
Truly, this must be a miracle of the Kankage-ryu school.
Perhaps ceasing his daily bamboo sword practice after defeat had caused his vital essence to coalesce within and now emanate outward.
At seventy, a rejuvenation into a youth of seventeen or eighteen.
Ah, miracle indeed! Miracle indeed!

"This body tempered by the sword stays fresh and youthful without Hiropon."
"Wouldn't be half bad having schoolgirls swoon over me."
"I've got the stamina for it, no question."

Lately, gazing into the mirror had become his greatest pleasure.
He wanted nothing more than to scrutinize himself in the mirror from every angle.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about any single part, yet wherever he looked, he found satisfaction.
By thoroughly recognizing every single part of himself in the mirror, he was simply so satisfied he couldn’t help it.
However, far from opening an inn, there was talk that they might even be expelled from the estate; thus, it was only natural that Gensai, contrary to the secret teachings of the Kankage-ryu school, was utterly astonished.
His freshly vibrant aged body was mercilessly crushed,

“That was truly a grave blunder—one would scarcely expect from someone of your stature, Mr. Kyoroku. However, as you possess profound understanding of the new era, and as the new era itself appears to comprehend you in turn, I humbly beseech you, sir—please lend us your aid.”

“Huh? Help you? Me?”
“Don’t go spouting weird stuff, Kendo Master.”
“Haven’t you been acting a bit off lately?”
“The missus said so.”
“I hear you’re peeking in mirrors twenty or thirty times a day—ain’t that right?”

“Yes, that is the essence of martial arts.”

“Hah! So mirror-gazing’s part of it now, eh?”

“The sacred objects at various shrines are mostly sacred mirrors, but the mirror, jewel, and sword are all one.”
“This is the essence of martial arts, and my rejuvenation in old age is precisely due to this trinity—…”

“Hah! So, Master. It’s because I said you’d started exuding the allure of a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old lad that you got obsessed with delusions…”

“Preposterous!”

“Oh. You’ve turned red, haven’t you? Proof over arguments. Heh heh. You brazenly expounded on the Trinity, didn’t you? You’re more quick-witted than I gave you credit for.”

“No, I’ve already been cast aside by the times—a man with nowhere to turn.”
“I implore you, Mr. Kyoroku—please help me.”

“I see, ah.”
“Truly befitting the essence of martial arts—adaptable and ever-changing, and what a devout tone that is.”
“You’ve dabbled as an antique broker alongside swordsmanship, and I’d heard tales of you being a master at amassing wealth and seducing women in your day—so those were true stories after all.”

“Preposterous!”

“Actually, y’know.
“Master.
“Master, I’ve got a favor to ask—what with your devout way with words and all—but y’know how I turn reckless once I start flappin’ my gums.
“Specially in front of lookers—my tongue goes all stiff.
“See here now—three-four years back I got this notion to make brushes from pubic hair—when I’m on the road I get inn folks to gather room trash so I can fish out hairs and try brush-makin’.
“Works a treat.
“Nah—wait—
“You can’t go pluckin’ hairs that’re still rooted.
“Gotta use ones that fell out natural-like.
“So here’s my life’s wish—gather hairs from some worshipped beauty to make one proper brush—but since I can’t just up and ask Mrs. Hanako myself—no—see—
“Reckless as I am—might spill the beans accidental-like.
“Could you get Mrs. Hanako to have someone collect her parlor and bedroom trash mornin’ and evenin’ for me?”

“At this critical moment of imminent expulsion—could you possibly make such a request?”

“Hmm…”
“Oh, right.”

“However, it is precisely that optimistic disposition which constitutes Mr. Kyoroku’s merit.”
“Our ideology is already outdated.”
“With your new ideology, I humbly beseech you to resolve this crisis.”

Indeed, the master of Kamikage-ryu understood the balance of urgency and restraint; unlike Dr. Namiki, he lacked the imprudence to confront Kyoroku’s blunders head-on.
In the end, through the esoteric teachings of Kamikage-ryu, Kyoroku found himself relentlessly cornered, leaving him no choice but to stand alone in confronting the crisis.

Thereupon, Kyoroku had Koichi guide him and secretly met with Mrs. Hanako,

“In other words, both ‘taking a breather’ and ‘cutting through with one stroke’ were slips of my tongue—the person in question never actually said such things.”

“But hey.”
“In short, I bet you hit right on what’s in their hearts.”
“I mean, even I felt that jolt for real.”

“Cut it out.”

“You shouldn’t butt in from the side.”
“You get out of here!”

“I’m an observe~er.”
“Moreover, the fact that you alone are sitting across from a chaste Madam from a respectable family—against today’s chaotic times and this motley crew of eccentrics—is something no person of common sense could overlook.”

“Don’t spout nonsense.”
“Aren’t you the eccentric one here?”

“Hey, Mama-san.”
“This guy here—”
“He collects pubic hair that’s fallen off in brothel rooms and makes brushes out of them.”
“So he’s been asking me to sweep up and collect the garbage from Mama-san’s parlor and bedroom every morning and evening, but…”

“Cut it out.”
“I said something about inns when traveling.”
“I never mentioned brothel lodgings.”
“That’s uncalled for!”

“You’ve never stayed anywhere besides brothel lodgings, have you?”
“For example, Atami.”
“Where did you stay?”
“You only know Itokawa, don’t you?”

“Cut it out already!”
“You—just exercise your right to remain silent already!”

“In this situation, it’s all backwards, isn’t it? You’re the one who should do it.”

“Shut your trap! What’re we even here for anymore? Listen—about this Dr. Namiki business—the idea he’d slip someone poison is ridiculous. Doctors know poisons inside out—if they killed someone that way, they’d get caught for sure. Poisoning’s for amateurs! And I read detective novels—well, sure, there’re a couple cases where doctors used poison… Wait, actually—weren’t there loads? Damned if I remember the old ones though. But you’re a detective novel fan too, Mrs. Hanako—can’t fool you, eh?”

“The reason I declined Dr. Namiki’s services was because his diagnosis proved inept.”
“However much I might enjoy detective novels, I’d never imagine Dr. Namiki slipping someone poison.”

“So—the suspicions are settled then?”

“Mr. Kyoroku, get a grip.”
“Now even I’m getting embarrassed.”

“Oh, right.”
“Because his diagnosis was inept,”
“In other words, so that’s it.”
“Well, this settles it.”

“That’s correct.”
“Indeed, there’s no room for objection.”

“Hmm.”
“That guy’s a quack, you know.”
“Why did the previous head of our household provide scholarship funds to that doctor, I wonder?”
“What a waste that was.”

“Isn’t your single-sword carving technique just as bad?”
“Someone must be saying you’re wasting your time on such pointless things.”

“Cut it out.”
“You’re so damn noisy.”
“I’m having a proper conversation with you here, aren’t I?”
“If I wanted to talk with you, there’s no need for this charade—we could do it anytime, couldn’t we?”
“Today’s been a complete waste.”
“My apologies, Mrs.,” said Kyoroku, forced to retreat without even a chance to plead his case.

The Murder Case Chapter

However, after lying in bed for about a month, Mr. Issaku somehow ended up dead.

“It’s just… rather odd.”
“As the attending physician, I’ve lost all credibility, but the cause remains unclear.”
“At first, I thought it was due to high blood pressure and there was nothing else significant, but…”

It was Dr. Ota—who had been chosen to take over the examination in place of Dr. Namiki—who let this slip to Koichi after the funeral had concluded.

“So, does that mean it was murder?”

“No.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m only saying we should’ve performed an autopsy to confirm the cause,” Dr. Ota deflected—though not exactly evasively—but under Koichi’s relentless probing, the conversation ended up feeling like a half-truth.

“Hey, Doctor—if someone used a special poison, what kind wouldn’t show up as poisoning even to a specialist’s external exam?”

“Cases where such overly intricate chemicals are used for poisoning are unthinkable in Japan.”

“Why?”
“Is a defeated nation incapable of even handling poisons properly?”

“Generally speaking, amateurs lack the foundational lifestyle or knowledge to handle them effectively.”

“Can’t they study it covertly?”
“For instance.”
“They say Japan leads the world in literacy—but even if poisoning methods were published in writing, could you still claim Japanese lack the basic lifestyle foundations to wield poisons?”

“Such poisons are generally difficult to obtain.”

“For murder, the culprit would surely go to great lengths, wouldn’t they?”
“Anyway, it’s not murder.”
“Why is that?”
“At this point, it’s too late. Because they didn’t perform an autopsy.”

Such was the conclusion.

Since it was Koichi who had conducted this conversation, it was only natural that the discussion quickly spread through society. That said, while this did not prompt the police to take action, the residents within the Maeyama household found themselves in utter disarray, each suspecting others.

I knew it—he did it. No matter how much of a quack he was, he was still a doctor through and through. When you thought about it, compared to medicine that saved lives, poison seemed easier to compound.

Kyoroku thought this.
Needless to say, the majority of suspicions were primarily directed at Dr. Namiki.

“Ever since his patient count plummeted, the doctor’s gaze had taken on a terrifying edge.”
“He might’ve lost his mind.”

Such observations were made.

However, Dr. Namiki paid no heed to the rumors swirling about him. Now, as for who the culprit was—while the eldest son Koichi seemed the most suspicious—neither Gensai nor Kyoroku were ordinary men, so no matter what bizarre actions they might take, it would hardly be surprising.
Having thought this, Dr. Namiki suspected everyone; yet, strangely enough, though he was a physician, he did not consider who had used what drug and how to kill, but instead devoted himself entirely to psychological inquiry into who had committed this crime through what motives.

At this point, Kyoroku said to Dr. Namiki.

“That’s odd.”
“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
“Then why aren’t you considering who used what drug to kill him?”
“You—you just don’t want to think about it, do you? So you’re dodging into psychological issues to cover it up.”
“In other words—you killed him, right?”

Even when confronted like this, Dr. Namiki remained utterly composed, as though someone else had been accused, maintaining the face of a bystander and a serene smile at all times.

“Confess to me alone.”
“You’ll feel lighter.”
“I, you know—”
“I’ve long since promised the gods I’d pay my respects to whoever killed Mr. Issaku.”

“This culprit possesses an extraordinarily potent sexual drive,” Dr. Namiki remarked. “While you yourself exhibit strong carnal appetites, Master Gensai—though seventy years old—still maintains vigor comparable to a man in his thirties or forties.”

“What exactly did this quack study in medical school?” Kyoroku shot back. “Even when lying through your teeth, can’t you at least fabricate something doctorly?”

“Consider this illustrative case,” Dr. Namiki continued unperturbed. “Master Gensai arrived at this conclusion: To delight womenfolk, seduction proves paramount.” His voice took on clinical detachment. “This represents one of those insights acquired through life’s exhaustive observation—the perspective of a seasoned survivor.”
“Thus Master Gensai propositioned Mrs. Hanako,” he concluded, “but she deflected his advances like willow branches yielding to zephyrs—swaying delicately beneath faint breezes.” A sardonic smile played on his lips. “Quite picturesque.”

“What the hell are you saying, old man? He really does seem to be losing his mind. However, this is the first I’ve heard that Master Gensai made advances, huh. That old geezer, I tell you. But honestly, lately he’s been acting downright flirtatious—wouldn’t put it past him to make a move. Adjusting his pace freely, slowly but surely—through the essence of swordsmanship—because he’s so solemn, I tell you.”

“However, besides Master Gensai, there is another middle-aged man who made advances toward Mrs. Hanako. He’s an artist, you know. He does sculpture. However, he only rushes people along, and his speech lacks poetic charm.”

“What the—! You knew about it? I was shocked! Who’d you hear that from?”

“In any case, it’s a matter of sexual desire.”
“When someone consumed by lust makes advances toward women, it inevitably culminates in murder.”

“Enough of that.”
“It’s clearly some repressed recluse who can’t even court women properly—dosing him with poison.”

While this exchange unfolded, Mrs. Hanako disappeared without warning.
She had apparently taken a lover and established a new household in Tokyo.

Before vanishing, she called an antique dealer and sold off a considerable number of valuables.
The Maeyama family being a wealthy household, there were various valuable paintings, calligraphic works, and antiques.
Having evacuated the treasures stored at their Tokyo main residence to the villa before they could be burned in air raids, everything had remained perfectly intact.
What Mrs. Hanako sold amounted to merely a fraction of this—a drop in the bucket when viewed against the whole—but she was said to have received three or four million yen from the dealer.
Koichi had known his stepmother sold part of the treasures but kept silent.
No—that wasn’t all.
He had known from early on about his stepmother taking a lover but feigned ignorance.

“Mama-san’s still young, you know.”
“And that beauty, you know.”
“The pitiable thing is having a youth like me call you ‘Mama-san.’”
“I wanted to make her just an ordinary woman quickly.”
“Ah ha ha!”

he said, sounding oddly reasonable.
At this point, it was Kyoroku who kept a close watch.

“Hmm.”
“When ya think about it, the culprit who killed Issaku Maeyama might just be a peerless beauty, I tell ya.”
“In that case, I ain’t got no complaints.”

“You should refrain from such arbitrary deductions.”
“There might not have even been a murder in the first place, don’t you think?”

“Cut it out.”
“Don’t you go putting on airs of reasonableness!”
“I was being reckless too.”
“I’d forgotten how magnificent this culprit is.”
“After all, they killed him in a way even a doctor couldn’t detect.”
“That’s magnificent.”
“We mustn’t forget this magnificence.”
“And if they refused Dr. Namiki’s examination to create another plausible culprit scenario—now that’s truly an artistic masterpiece!”
“I was so terrified of getting kicked out of this place I broke into a cold sweat, y’know.”
“What utter nonsense.”
“The likes of Dr. Namiki or Master Gensai couldn’t possibly commit such an artistic murder.”

“Ha ha ha.”
“More of a masterpiece than your single-sword carvings, I suppose?”
“Don’t get cheeky.”

However, one day, when Mariko—Koichi’s sister—was hurrying to leave for work, she spoke to her brother who was taking his morning stroll alongside her.

“You poisoned Father... didn’t you... Brother?”

“Cut it out.”

“The one who orchestrated Mama-san getting a lover, and the one who slyly planted the idea of her running away—that was you, Brother.”
“Isn’t Mama-san’s lover just some phony crony of yours, Brother?”

“Is that so?”

“You’re really playing dumb.”
“You’re such a greedy person, Brother.”
“Do you really want the inheritance so badly that you’d go that far?”

“I’ll say one thing to you too, Mariko-kun.”
“The one who poisoned Father might surprisingly be Mariko, don’t you think?”
“Well, whoever the culprit is, it’s fine by me.”
“Next, as long as you don’t kill me to monopolize the inheritance.”

“We’re in the same boat—so just don’t kill me to hog the inheritance, all right?”
“Then let’s both quit that game.”

And then, the brother and sister fell silent and parted ways to the right and left.
In short, it seemed they couldn’t determine who the culprit was.
And so, in short, it seemed an era had arrived—one indifferent to such absurdities that it no longer mattered who the culprit was.
It might be because the looming shadow of war—that great slaughter—was drawing near.
The oddballs might now be like that about everything.