Pathway to Japanese Literature

A Year of Endured Suffering

The incident of Dr.Kenuwa's unnatural death remains such an uncanny affair that even now it sometimes haunts my dreams. Then less than a month later, when Dr.and Mrs.Kasagami—my mentor whom I revered like a father—took their own lives so unexpectedly, I found myself beyond shock, reduced to an empty husk that could not even weep. When at last I regained my composure and read the sole suicide note Dr.Kasagami had left addressed to me, I felt despair as though plummeting into the abyss. I immediately resolved to follow my mentors into death by departing this world, yet somehow stayed my hand.

At that time, I could not fathom how harshly I had been pressured by both the police authorities and newspaper reporters to disclose the suicide note. However, I firmly upheld Dr. Kasagami’s last wishes and maintained until the end that disclosure would not be possible until a full year had passed. Because of that, how much misunderstanding must I have endured from the world? Yet that had been unavoidable. Thus passed for me a year of bitter endurance—neither simply painful nor futile, neither purely sad nor frustrating, but something utterly indescribable.

Having now marked the first anniversary of my mentor Dr. and Mrs. Kasagami's passing, and being permitted to publicly disclose Dr. Kasagami's suicide note here at last, I cannot express how profoundly relieved I felt to have lightened—if only partially—the mental burden I had carried for so long.

Hereafter，before I disclose Dr.Kasagami’s suicide note，I shall begin in proper sequence with Dr.Kenuwa’s unnatural death case.

Dr. Kenuwa's Unnatural Death

February 11th—Empire Day—was bitterly cold, with the temperature at six in the morning reaching a rare low of minus 5.3 degrees Celsius for the Tokyo area. Due to a threefold combination of causes—my overindulgence the previous night, the school holiday, and that bitter cold—I had pulled the futon completely over my head and remained unaware that nine o’clock had come and gone.

“Mr. Usawa.” A sudden voice at my pillow made me jerk my head up. The landlady stood there pale-faced, her suspicious eyes fixed intently on me. Sensing something gravely amiss, I forgot the cold and sat bolt upright. “Is there something you need?”

Then, instead of replying, the landlady presented the business card she had been holding. What struck my eyes first and foremost was the title: S Police Station Detective. “Wh-what’s going on?” I startled, flustered to a degree that even I found embarrassing. I couldn’t recall having done anything bad enough to warrant being summoned by the police, but perhaps due to lacking resolve, I found myself panicking in an undignified manner. The landlady looked at me once again with a probing gaze,

"I don't know what this is about, but they said they want to meet you."

I hurriedly changed into my clothes and descended the stairs while smoothing back my disheveled hair. Downstairs stood a neatly dressed young man who looked like a modern boy. That was the S Police Station detective. “Are you Mr. Usawa?” “Well, you see... Dr. Kenuwa has passed away—” “Wh-what?” I jumped up. It felt like something out of a dream. Late last night, I had escorted Dr. Kenuwa back to his home, confirmed him settling into bed in his bedroom, and then returned. After all, I’m about to enter my third year of medical school in two months—I can tell whether there were any dangerous signs or not. Dr. Kenuwa was indeed drunk, but there had been no dangerous signs anywhere. Dr. Kenuwa was already fifty-two years old, but he was so vigorous that he surpassed even us, possessing a magnificent physique without a single physical ailment anywhere.

When he saw me jump up, the detective smirked and said, "I hear you escorted him home last night." "Yes." "For investigative purposes, there are some matters I need to ask about. Please come to S Police Station." "Surely he wasn't... murdered?" Since natural death seemed inconceivable, this thought had suddenly surfaced - but before my mind could even issue a command, as if my mouth moved independently, I found myself uttering these words.

The detective, his sharp eyes a stark contrast to his modern-boy-like attire, shot me a piercing look, “We’ll discuss this thoroughly at the station. For now, please come with me.” After that, I prepared myself somewhat adequately and, in a half-dreamlike state, was taken to S Police Station. After being made to wait for some time, I was summoned to the interrogation room. A man with closely cropped hair and angular shoulders—every inch the police officer—sat behind a shabby desk. He hadn’t introduced himself as anyone in particular, but through the course of our conversation, I realized he was the police chief.

“I hear you escorted Dr. Kenuwa back to his home last night.”

The police chief’s questioning began with precisely the same words the detective had used earlier. “Haa.”

“What time was it?” “I think it was past ten o’clock.” Then, at this moment, I remembered the clock that had been placed in the bedroom of Dr. Kenuwa’s residence. “That’s right. When I left the bedroom, it was exactly 10:35.” “Then, the time you left the venue was—” “Since it’s about a ten-minute ride by round taxi, that would mean I left around ten twenty-five.” “What kind of gathering was it?”

“It was a social gathering of medical students who graduated from M High.” “About how many people attended?” “There were fourteen or fifteen students.” “Two professors—Dr. Kenuwa and Dr. Kasagami—along with one associate professor and one assistant. Another M High graduate was supposed to come but couldn’t due to prior obligations.” “Did anything unusual occur at the venue?” “No… nothing in particular.”

I recalled how Dr. Kenuwa and Dr. Kasagami at the venue had seemed to avoid conversing with each other in a way that differed from their usual interactions, but since it didn’t seem significant enough to mention, I refrained from bringing it up. “Was Dr. Kenuwa in good spirits?”

“Yes.”

“Did he drink a considerable amount?” “Yes, he drank quite a bit.” “How much exactly? Enough to make him lose his senses?” “No, I don’t think it was that much. Even after returning home, he properly changed into his nightclothes himself, said ‘Thank you, you may go home now,’ and went to sleep.”

“Do you always escort the professor home?” “No, that’s not exactly the case, but… Because the professor’s house was near mine, everyone told me to escort him.” “So Dr. Kenuwa and you were the first to leave?” “No, Dr.Kasagami was a step ahead.”

“After all, did someone escort him?” “No, since Dr. Kasagami doesn’t drink much alcohol, he was hardly intoxicated at all—” “Could you describe in as much detail as possible what happened from when Dr. Kenuwa entered his house until he went to sleep?”

“Well… After alighting from the round taxi and taking the professor’s hand—he was staggering quite unsteadily—we entered the entrance hall where he plopped down onto the floor and remained seated.” “The elderly maid who came to answer made a face and said ‘Oh my,’ then told me, ‘I’m sorry to ask, but could you please take the professor upstairs?’—” “Was it only the elderly maid who came to the entrance?”

“No, there was a housemaid.” “The housemaid had come downstairs and was taking off the professor’s shoes.” “So there was no live-in student, then?” “Yes—the live-in student who’s usually there had taken a couple of days’ leave to return home, you see. So I was asked instead. I held him under the arms while the elderly maid and housemaid took his legs, and we half-dragged him to the Western-style bedroom.”

“At that time, was there a gas stove lit in the bedroom?”

“No, it wasn’t lit. When the elderly maid lit the stove, the professor—his words slurring—said, ‘You should’ve lit it earlier; it’s freezing in here,’ while staggering about with limbs flailing as he began taking off his Western clothes.” “And then he changed into his nightclothes and went to sleep, correct?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, hesitated momentarily over whether to say it or not, but ultimately decided it would be better to speak, “At that moment, while swaying unsteadily, the professor pulled out various items from his coat and trouser pockets and placed them on the nearby desk. But when his hand touched one particular object in a pocket, he seemed to start—freezing mid-stagger for an instant as his body stiffened—then quickly retrieved it without showing us and thrust it beneath the pillow of his bed.”

“What was that?” “It was a small automatic pistol.” “Hmph.”

The Police Chief nodded approvingly at my lack of concealment and asked, “Did the professor always have such a thing?” “I’m not aware.” “Since last night was the first time I saw it.” “Was there anything else unusual?” “No, there was nothing else.” “The professor changed into his nightclothes and immediately got into bed.” “And then he said, ‘You may go home now.’” “So you left immediately after that, then?”

“Yes,” I hesitated again, “since it was my first time entering the professor’s bedroom, I felt slightly curious and looked around for a while—though it was only a minute or two.” “Did you just look?”

“Since there were rare foreign texts and academic journals piled on the desk, I briefly touched them.” “Just the books?” “Yes, I absolutely did not touch anything else.”

“Then you left the room, correct?” “Yes—during that time, the elderly maid and housemaid had quickly gathered up the Western clothes the professor had discarded and were holding them. I left first, then the elderly maid and housemaid followed me out.” “The gas stove remained lit, I take it?” “Yes, that’s correct.” “When you departed, had the professor already fallen asleep?” “He appeared half-asleep. Muttering incoherently with his head pressed into the pillow, he kept shaking it from side to side.”

“Did you notice any sign of him immediately standing up and locking the door?”

“Yes, I didn’t notice.—Was the door locked?”

The Police Chief, however, did not answer my question. “The elderly maid turned off the light, correct?” “Yes, there was a switch on the inner wall near the door, which the elderly maid pressed to turn off as we were leaving.”

“Thanks to you, I’ve gained a clear understanding.”

“Let me ask you one more thing—it seems you told the detective who came to fetch you earlier, ‘The professor was murdered, wasn’t he?’—”

I was startled. I regretted saying unnecessary things. However, the Police Chief paid no mind to my inner turmoil and pressed on with his questioning. "Why would you say such a thing?" "I should think there's no way you'd say that without some reason."

Victor and Vanquished

When I first thought Dr. Kenuwa might have been murdered upon hearing of his death, there was no profound basis for that suspicion. As I'd previously stated, his death couldn't be attributed to illness; moreover, suicide seemed even less conceivable; and since accidental death hadn't vaguely occurred to me either, I'd inadvertently blurted out that he might have been killed—though this didn't mean my suspicion was entirely groundless. The primary reasons were Dr. Kenuwa's possession of an automatic pistol and his recent two-to-three-month display of a vague air of apprehension toward ordinary matters.

Dr. Kenuwa, as a professor of surgery, possessed an unrestrained and magnanimous disposition—a heavy drinker who delivered lectures with brisk efficiency, his vigor belying his fifty-two years, a man disinclined to dwell on trivialities. Yet over the past two or three months—though not conspicuously—he had exhibited traces of despondency: flinching at faint noises, committing trivial errors during lectures, deliberately ceding surgeries he would normally undertake to young assistant professors. Subtle departures, yet unmistakably divergent from his customary self.

While observing the Police Chief's expression, I “There’s no particular deep reason, but... the professor had been acting somewhat strange lately, and he had a pistol and all.” I stated my thoughts.

The Police Chief nodded,

“Let me ask you one more thing—do you know any reason why Dr. Kenuwa remained unmarried his entire life?”

I started again. I felt as though I'd collided with the very thing I'd secretly feared. Nevertheless, I answered immediately. "I don't know." My answer hadn't been a lie. To say I knew would stretch the truth—it was all hearsay mixed with my own conjectures. Nothing I could state as certain fact. Rumors claimed Dr.Kenuwa had suffered romantic disappointment in his youth. The woman in question being none other than Mrs.Kasagami. Dr.Kenuwa and Dr.Kasagami hailed from neighboring villages, sat side by side at their prefectural middle school locked in perpetual competition for top honors, progressed together through M High School maintaining their academic duel, then entered Imperial University's medical department. There they diverged—Dr.Kenuwa to surgery and Dr.Kasagami to forensic medicine—though only after graduation; their rivalry persisted undiminished throughout their student years. One might say these two men were cursed from birth to compete. Yet theirs wasn't some heroic clash of blades, but a silent war waged through hometown prestige and examination rankings and professional standing—a contest poisoned by base ambition and jealousy that must have tormented them both beyond measure.

If the rumors held true and my deductions were correct, these two men had competed in a love so fierce they would have discarded honor, power, even life itself like worn-out shoes—a truly tragic affair. I don’t know what transpired in their love triangle, but in any case, Dr. Kasagami emerged as the victor in love while Dr. Kenuwa suffered crushing defeat, ultimately remaining unmarried for the rest of his life. Though I had graduated from M High, being someone born and raised in Tokyo, it was only upon entering Imperial University that I first encountered both professors and heard such rumors; yet over the subsequent three years, having closely received instruction from both teachers—growing particularly intimate with Dr.Kasagami to the extent of visiting his household—I had come to fully infer that what I now called rumors were not mere gossip but something approaching fact.

However, since this was neither something I had heard directly from either professor's own mouth nor from Mrs.Kasagami herself, nor did I possess any evidence whatsoever, I answered that I did not know in response to the Police Chief's question.

The Police Chief stared at my face for a while but, regarding that matter, made no attempt to pursue it further and instead shifted the focus of his questioning. “I hear you frequent Dr.Kasagami’s place quite often.” “Yes.”

I thought—here it comes at last. That was what I had secretly feared. Indeed, I had frequented Dr. Kasagami’s place quite often. Now I cherished Dr. Kasagami not merely as my academic mentor, but like a father. When I calmly considered it, I realized there was nothing in particular to fear because of that. Granted, Dr.Kasagami and Dr.Kenuwa had been involved in a love triangle—but that was already over twenty years in the past. While what emotions they might have harbored toward each other at that time remained unclear, since then the two had maintained lecture halls at the same school, passing the years without incident, and were now both past fifty years of age. There could be nothing significant between them now; therefore, even if Dr.Kenuwa had met an unnatural death in a room of his own home, there was no likely connection to Dr.Kasagami.

Yet now, being questioned anew by the Police Chief about why Dr.Kenuwa remained unmarried and my closeness to Dr.Kasagami—though this should be nothing but my own groundless anxiety—I found it somehow unsettling. After all, I was the one who had escorted Dr.Kenuwa to his home’s bedroom, and I was likely the last person to have seen him alive—if they connected this fact to my close relationship with Dr.Kasagami and began viewing me with suspicion, it might lead to unforeseen consequences. Truly, there is nothing in this world as terrifying as misunderstanding—and nothing as difficult to rectify.

Though I knew it was superfluous, I couldn't stop myself from adding that excuse-laden explanation. “Since I plan to pursue forensic medicine, that’s why I’m closest to Dr.Kasagami.” “Hmm.”

The Police Chief did not seem to place as much importance on my relationship with Dr. Kasagami as I had feared, and gave a light nod,

“Dr. Kasagami is said to be quite an eccentric man, I hear.”

“Yes, a little.” “I hear Mrs.Kasagami is quite beautiful.”

“Yes, but she’s already past forty.” “Still, doesn’t she appear significantly younger than her actual age?” “Yes, some say she could pass for thirty.” “I hear Dr.Kasagami pays no mind to his family whatsoever.” “He doesn’t.”

I had no choice but to concede. Truly, Dr.Kasagami was so wholly absorbed in his academic research that his beautiful wife seemed entirely absent from his awareness. I cannot speak to the past, but now one might doubt whether this was a couple who had once been passionately in love. “Dr.Kasagami has nothing outside his academic pursuits—they say his one true love is scholarship itself.” “Yes.”

“And isn’t there talk of various rumors concerning Mrs. Kasagami?” “There’s no such thing.” I answered with a hint of irritation. Despite receiving such cold treatment from Dr. Kasagami, Mrs. Kasagami served him with utmost fidelity—a woman above reproach in every regard.

The Police Chief looked at me with probing eyes while,

“Is that so? When husbands bury themselves in work and neglect their families,” he continued, “wives tend to act out—such things happen often enough in society.” “I can’t speak for other households, but Mrs. Kasagami would never do anything of the sort.” “Yet here you are—a dashing young man—calling on her regularly.”

What an insult! My lips trembled uncontrollably. “Wh-what... are you suggesting?” “I-I visit Dr.Kasagami’s home so often out of deep admiration for him.” “Wh-what exactly are you attempting to ascertain?”

Perhaps because my fierce demeanor was so intense, the Police Chief abruptly withdrew his smirking smile. "There’s no need to get so defensive. I’m just investigating whether such facts exist or not."

“That depends on what you’re referring to. In the first place, why on earth are you investigating such things?”

“Whether there’s necessity or not—I won’t take instructions from you on that matter.” The Police Chief flushed with slight irritation but immediately regained his usual composure, “Let’s conclude this discussion.” “I hear you’re interested in forensic medicine—would you examine this for me?”

The Police Chief opened the desk drawer and took out something resembling a slip of paper.

Blood Type Research

I must digress here, but I wish to recount the strange connection between Dr.Kasagami and myself. As I mentioned earlier, both Dr.Kasagami and Dr.Kenuwa were seniors of mine at M High, and during my time there—as one finds at any school—we were often regaled with boasts about alumni, particularly how two distinguished professors from our ranks now graced the medical faculty. Yet it wasn’t until I entered university that I came to interact with them personally.

After coming under the tutelage of both professors—as tends to happen with anyone—I immediately grew fond of Dr. Kenuwa, while Dr. Kasagami became someone I rather disliked. Dr. Kenuwa was open-hearted and jovial, whereas Dr. Kasagami, with his pallid complexion and gloomy demeanor, naturally led everyone to favor the former while keeping their distance from the latter. Truly, it seemed extraordinary that both doctors shared the same hometown, progressed through middle school and university in the same class, followed identical career paths, and even after graduation stood shoulder-to-shoulder occupying professorial chairs at the same institution—yet equally remarkable how their personalities stood in diametric opposition.

Dr. Kenuwa appeared outwardly magnanimous and open-hearted—he drank freely, and being unmarried, frequented cafés and dance halls while engaging in spirited debates with remarkable sociability. Thus anyone would immediately be captivated into revering him, but upon closer observation would discover an internal timidity coupled with a rather spiteful streak and cunning nature. When it came to preserving his reputation, he grew consumed by anxiety and never hesitated to employ cleverly underhanded methods. I knew of two or three instances where associate professors—men of exceptional academic knowledge and surgical skill—had been skillfully sidelined to provincial university posts under the noble pretext of promotion, along with cases where he had disciples conduct research only to proudly present their findings to academia as his own work. With his silver tongue after all, he could thoroughly sugarcoat even the most hollow lecture content; while fellow scholars might see through this, presenting himself publicly as a man of profound erudition and earnest scholarship proved child’s play. For this reason, students who first encountered the professor’s dynamic lectures invariably ended up utterly captivated—with most remaining enthralled until the very end.

In stark contrast, Dr.Kasagami presented a thoroughly gloomy exterior—brusque and inarticulate. He didn’t drink alcohol, was oddly rigid in demeanor, and hardly someone anyone could feel close to. However, upon closer observation, he was truly a kind person—compassionate, utterly devoid of spitefulness or cunning, devoted to scholarship and scrupulously impartial. Though he had few disciples, he cherished them exceedingly and would ungrudgingly cede his own achievements to them. Dr.Kenuwa would lavish attention on those who served his interests but ruthlessly cast aside anyone inconvenient—those he favored yesterday might be discarded today without hesitation. In stark contrast, Dr.Kasagami would extend meticulous care even to those who spoke ill of him, provided they showed academic promise. The more one associated with him, the closer one became, the more his depth revealed itself.

I did not think, like Professor A of N University, that blood types determined a person’s nature. However, I found it quite interesting that Dr.Kenuwa and Dr.Kasagami had completely different blood types—Dr.Kenuwa being type B and Dr.Kasagami type A. Moreover, this disparity in blood types would later become a critical element of a harrowing tragedy forming the very core of this narrative, making it impossible to dismiss lightly. While there remains no need to tediously explain human blood types today—they having become common knowledge—I wished to briefly address them here, for they would later prove crucial to this story and because blood type issues played a pivotal role in connecting me to Dr.Kasagami.

I had already noted Dr.Kasagami’s specialization in forensic medicine; however, regarding blood types—a field he had researched most deeply—he stood as their foremost authority. That human blood can be classified into four types—A, B, O, and AB—based on its constituent blood cells and serum’s properties has become an unshakable fact of science; since this categorization proves relatively straightforward to perform, forensic medicine places greater emphasis on its practical applications than mere classification. Among these applications none holds more significance than determining parentage through blood typing.

Whether we speak of loyalty and filial piety, benevolence and justice, or courtesy, wisdom, and fidelity—the foundation of human ethics must lie in parent and child. Yet in today’s highly advanced civilization, there still exists no scientifically reliable method to conclusively determine parentage—a lamentable reality, yet one we must accept as fact. However, through blood type research, it becomes possible to negate parentage to a considerable degree. In other words, if neither parent possesses type A blood, a child will never manifest type A; if neither has type B, a child will never manifest type B. When the father is type A and the mother type O, should the child prove to be type B or AB, either the father, mother, or both must be ruled out. If the mother’s status is certain, then the father must necessarily be another. Yet when the father is type A and the mother type O with a child of type A or O, while parentage cannot be disproven, neither can it be definitively affirmed. This stems from the fact that a type O mother may bear any number of type A or O children through union with another type A man.

Now, when it comes to type AB, the theories split into two schools of thought. That is, according to the two-pair equal traits theory—which posits four-unit inheritance—if either parent has type AB blood, children of all types may be born. According to another theory—the three-unit inheritance theory—type A or B would be born from type O and AB parents; from A and AB, B and AB, or AB and AB parents, types A, B, or AB would be born, but never type O. In short, this means that type O will never be born from type AB parents, and type AB children will never exist for type O parents.

After a long-standing debate between these two theories, it can be said that the latter had been experimentally confirmed as correct. Dr.Kasagami was an ardent supporter of the three-unit inheritance theory and devoted painstaking efforts to its advancement. After entering medical school, I gradually developed an interest in forensic medicine—particularly becoming most fascinated by blood types and their applications—so I inevitably found myself drawn to Dr.Kasagami; but as I mentioned earlier, he was unsociable, rigid, and not someone one could easily grow close to. Among my friends there were those who mocked my intention to pursue forensic medicine,

“Someone like Dr.Kasagami is pointless.” There were even those who said such things. However, as I gradually interacted with him, I came to realize that beneath Dr.Kasagami’s gloom lay sincerity, behind his rigidity dwelled compassion, and within his brusqueness resided impartiality—and so my respect and admiration for him steadily grew.

However, about a year prior, an incident of the following sort occurred, and Dr.Kasagami—

“Would you care to visit my home?” Having received these words—ones he had never spoken to any student throughout his over twenty years as a professor—our friendship rapidly deepened. Having developed an interest in blood types, I naturally had my own tested and learned I was type A—then resolved to investigate my parents’ and siblings’ blood types for statistical purposes, seeking guidance from the professor.

By that time, the professor had come to acknowledge me as an earnest research student and had demonstrated considerable goodwill, so he willingly taught me the method for determining blood types and furnished me with the necessary serum.

I promptly investigated the blood types of my parents and siblings, but an unexpected result emerged. In other words, my father was type B, my mother type O, and both my younger siblings type O. Yet I alone was type A. Moreover, according to the established theory of blood types, it was absolutely impossible for type A to be born from parents who were type B and type O. That said, there remained no reason whatsoever for me to suspect my parents.

I reported this matter to the Professor and, "Could this be an exception?"

When I said this, the professor stared fixedly at my face, “There’s no mistake in your measurements, I trust?” he asked. The professor would habitually say—as if it were a mantra—that determining blood types appears deceptively simple at first glance, so much so that even a layperson could perform it immediately after being taught just once. Indeed, it could be done in practice, but he would emphasize that this was by no means a trivial matter—without sufficient experience and thorough preparation, one might easily mistake agglutination caused by other factors, making measurements by the inexperienced dangerously unreliable.

“I believe there’s no mistake, though…” When I answered this, the professor thought for a while, “Try it once more.” he said.

So I tried again, but the result remained unchanged. The professor said, "It’s not that I doubt your skill, but why don’t you collect some blood and bring it in?" So once again, I collected small amounts of blood from my reluctant parents and siblings and took them to the professor’s office.

Two or three days later, without mentioning the results at all, “Were you born in your current house?” the professor asked.

“No—we’ve only lived in this house for five or six years since moving in.” “I was born in a hospital, or so I’ve been told.” “In a hospital.” “Yes, since it was her first childbirth and to be cautious, she gave birth at Yotsuya’s K Hospital, or so I’ve been told.”

“In a hospital.” The professor responded with apparent surprise but quickly regained his usual composed tone, “Ah, I see.” With that, he said nothing more.

About a week later, Dr.Kasagami suddenly said, "Why don't you come visit my home?"

he had said. I of course gladly complied with the professor’s kind invitation. After that, I began visiting frequently. Whenever I visited, the professor would promptly usher me into his study—engaging me in various enlightening discussions, showing me rare original texts, and inquiring about my family—all with such earnest hospitality that one could clearly perceive how much effort it must have cost him, a man habitually taciturn and unsocial by nature. Through this, I came to know for the first time the overflowing kindness and benevolence that filled the professor’s inner self.

I also frequently met Dr.Kasagami’s wife. Mrs.Kasagami was, as I had mentioned before, a beautiful woman who looked a full decade younger than her actual age—her face nearly devoid of powder yet white and lustrous, her unadorned clothing nonetheless exuding an unmistakably refined air.

However, what struck me as odd was how strangely formal and distant the couple seemed toward each other. Dr. Kasagami would make every effort to engage me in various conversations, yet toward his wife he rarely spoke beyond what was necessary—and even those sparse words never exceeded four or five syllables at most. I had heard their marriage had followed a passionate romance, so witnessing this frosty dynamic between them left me utterly perplexed. However, depending on one’s perspective, this formal demeanor could be attributed to the professor’s character—being wholly absorbed in his studies, with no hobbies or interests beyond academia—and thus might not necessarily indicate coldness.

Mrs. Kasagami remained thoroughly gentle and virtuous. She never opposed Dr. Kasagami’s wishes in the slightest, never asserted herself, remained modest, and moved so quietly when entering or leaving the study that her footsteps made no sound. Toward me as well, she showed reserved yet ample kindness.

They were by no means the detached couple that some speculated them to be—Dr. Kasagami being Dr. Kasagami and his wife being his wife. Rumors had it that Dr. Kasagami and his wife’s superficially cold relationship began either about ten years prior, after their only son died in his teens, or else commenced shortly after their marriage—though which account held truth remained unclear. I couldn’t tell which was correct—or whether both were wrong.

Though the discussion had strayed considerably onto a side path, I believed with this you now understood how I had come to grow so close to the professor through blood type research.

Let me return to the main story.

Threatening Letter

The police chief took a slip of paper from his desk drawer and showed it to me. The slip was made of thin Kent paper cut into a rectangle, appearing slightly larger than a postcard. It had the following characters and symbols written in a rounded gothic typeface—a style used by draftsmen.

Erinnern Sie sich zweiundzwanzigjahrevor! Warum O×A → B ?

“This is German, isn’t it?” I said. “It says, ‘Remember twenty-two years prior,’ doesn’t it? And then, ‘Why’—I mean, this symbol—” I tilted my head in puzzlement.

After all, people tend to try solving matters using the knowledge they know best. For instance, it is often said that when a patient complains of severe abdominal pain, surgeons will immediately consider appendicitis while physicians will immediately consider gallstones. So I immediately considered whether this symbol might pertain to blood types (and this wasn’t entirely mistaken). “Well, isn’t this referring to blood types?”

“What do you mean?”

“In other words—why would Type B emerge from Type O and Type A?” “What are you talking about? That’s—” “That’s what it means. Why would Type B be born from parents with Type O and Type A—that’s what this is asking.” “How does that relate to the earlier statement?” “I don’t know.”

“Hmph.” The police chief nodded in a manner that suggested it couldn’t be helped.

I asked.

“What on earth is this? This...”

“It was discovered in Dr. Kenuwa’s bedroom.” “Huh.”

It was unexpected, but beyond that surprise, no further thoughts emerged. More crucially, I now recognized how they had subjected me to exhaustive interrogation without disclosing any vital information. I could hesitate no longer.

“Why did Dr. Kenuwa die?”

“It was gas poisoning—the stove pipe had come off somehow—and you see, the room filled completely with gas before being discovered around eight o’clock this morning.”

“Was it an accident?” “The professor’s—”

“Well, that’s likely the case. The room’s door was locked from the inside.” “So did Dr. Kenuwa kick the pipe loose or something? When I left, it was definitely still attached.” “That’s right. Since we know he woke up at least once—when he locked it, you see.” “How is it that no one noticed until eight o’clock?”

“Because it’s a holiday. Besides, it was late the previous night, and they must have been fast asleep.” Upon hearing the explanation, it seemed entirely plausible. In fact, there had even been one or two prominent figures who died from stove gas leaks. But to me, there seemed something vaguely illogical about Dr.Kenuwa’s death.

“So, you’ve concluded it was accidental?” “Yes.” The Police Chief scrutinized my face and said, “The matter’s largely settled. “However, given his prominence, we must exercise due diligence. “That’s why I requested your presence—would you accompany me to the scene? “There are details I’d like to verify on-site, and your forensic expertise might yield valuable insights.” “I doubt I can provide meaningful counsel, but I’ll gladly assist.”

We immediately drove by automobile to Dr. Kenuwa’s residence. It was a little past ten o’clock, and pale sunlight filtered through the cloud-heavy sky, but outside remained bitterly cold, the water scattered across the streets still frozen rock-hard. The uniformed officer keeping watch in front of the mansion had been hunched against the cold, but upon seeing the Police Chief, he suddenly straightened up and saluted respectfully.

The bedroom had been preserved exactly as found, the corpse untouched. Dr.Kenuwa - who had been so full of vitality mere hours before - now lay drained of all color beneath his futon, eyes half-open in a glassy stare, mouth twisted in rigor mortis as his stiffened upper body protruded from the bedding. A thread of suspicion unspooled within me.

Judging from the state of rigor mortis in the corpse, it seemed at least ten hours had passed since death. This would place Dr. Kenuwa’s death after midnight—specifically, an hour and a half after we left the room. Even supposing he woke up immediately after our departure, locked the door, and accidentally disconnected the stove pipe then, the gas would have needed a full ninety minutes to accumulate to fatal levels. Could a healthy man truly perish completely from mere ninety minutes of leakage?

I looked around the room. The room measured about twelve tatami mats in size with a notably high ceiling. Though now all windows stood wide open, even had they remained tightly shut, two wire-meshed ventilation openings pierced the ceiling corners. While I lacked precise understanding of gas toxicity levels, I found myself skeptical—even assuming gas had leaked from this pipe for ninety minutes, while losing consciousness or entering suspended animation might prove possible, actual death within that span struck me as doubtful.

Because I restlessly glanced around the room, the Police Chief immediately asked. “Has anything changed since last night?”

“No.” I answered, but prompted by the Police Chief’s words, I suddenly recalled the magazine that had piqued my interest last night. When I looked at the desk—though I had definitely arranged them neatly—the magazines now appeared slightly disorganized. (Did Dr. Kenuwa touch these during the night?) While thinking this, I approached it, picked up the topmost magazine, and flipped through a few pages—I nearly let out an involuntary gasp. However, barely managing to suppress it, I stole a furtive glance toward the Police Chief. Fortunately, he remained crouched on the floor engrossed in examination and seemed completely unaware.

What had so startled me? When I accompanied Dr. Kenuwa here last night and noticed the magazine on his desk, my interest had been piqued because it was precisely the publication Dr. Kasagami had been fervently searching for—no, that I had been seeking on his behalf all this time. This was a medical journal published in Germany twelve years prior, containing a photographic plate of a particular type of hanged cadaver that should have served as an invaluable forensic reference. Not only were there vanishingly few copies that had reached Japan, but even in Germany itself the journal had enjoyed such limited circulation that obtaining it had proven utterly impossible. When I chanced upon it last night, Dr. Kenuwa must have known how desperately Dr. Kasagami wanted this—a work wholly unrelated to his own specialty and of little personal value—yet instead of graciously offering it, he spitefully kept it hidden away. I'd felt a spark of indignation at this petty malice, but now upon opening it again—what? Only that photographic plate had been torn out. And torn so hastily at that—so roughly ripped that a corner fragment still clung to the binding.

*(Did Dr. Kenuwa tear it out?)* Had Dr. Kenuwa been half-asleep on the bed, aware I'd seen this magazine, then risen immediately after I left the room to tear it out in haste? Dr. Kenuwa was exactly the sort of man who would do such a thing. But would he have needed to act with such urgency? Could he have feared I might return to take it away? If so, couldn't he have simply hidden the entire magazine rather than tearing out just the plate? Surely he didn't imagine I'd sneak back to steal it in the night. None of it added up. I wanted to search the desk drawers and elsewhere for the missing plate, but knew I wouldn't be permitted such liberties.

I quietly returned the magazine to where it had been. When I looked toward the Police Chief, he was still crouched on the floor doing something. I quietly approached and peered over. The Police Chief was vigorously rubbing the thick carpet on the floor. When I looked, the thick carpet had completely changed color in a circular area about one sun in diameter. And when rubbed by hand, it crumbled away as if scorched. However, that it wasn’t an ordinary scorch mark could be seen at a glance.

Whether because I had drawn near, the Police Chief suddenly stood up while muttering something under his breath. Then, to wash his hands, he approached the wash area in the corner of the room and turned the faucet, but not a drop of water came out.

The Police Chief clicked his tongue. “Tsk, is it broken?” Then, the maid who had been outside the door, having apparently overheard his voice,

“It must have frozen from this morning’s cold.” Mrs．Kasagami said． The Police Chief offered no reply to this，abandoned his attempt to wash his hands，and returned to the center of the room．

At that moment, a detective who seemed to have discovered something hurriedly entered the room while clutching what appeared to be a Western-style envelope-like object. “Chief, this was found in the desk drawer of the study.”

The Police Chief received the envelope-like object and took out a square piece of paper from it, but—

“German again?” he said, turning toward me, “You—read this again.”

It was of exactly the same paper quality and size as what I had been shown earlier, written once again in that rounded script.

As I read on, my complexion abruptly changed. To my astonishment, written there in German on that piece of paper were these very words!

Recall April 24, 1922.

Ah, and then—this was none other than my own date of birth! “Wh-what’s wrong with you?” Seeing my utterly confounded state, the Police Chief demanded in a sharp tone. “It says, ‘Recall April 24, 1922.’” “That’s the day I was born.” “Hmm.”

The Police Chief stared at me suspiciously while,

“Is there anything else written?” “Yes.” When I had been shown a similar piece of paper earlier at the police station, I couldn’t make any sense of it, but now I understood clearly. This was indeed a threatening letter someone had sent to Dr. Kenuwa. The earlier note had merely instructed to recall twenty-two years prior, but this one bore a full date. And that date was none other than my own birthdate. What could those blood-type-like symbols scrawled on the previous document mean? If they were hinting at something about me—

O×B→A

It had to be O×B→A. Because I was type A born from a type O mother and type B father. I was losing grasp of everything. Yet one certainty remained—I was being dragged into the whirlpool of Dr. Kenuwa's bizarre death case!

Three Questions

As noon approached, I was finally permitted to return home, so I left Dr. Kenuwa’s residence while pressing a hand against my throbbing head. Then I was immediately surrounded by newspaper reporters lying in wait. “Who are you?” “Did Dr. Kenuwa commit suicide?” “Did Dr. Kenuwa have any involvement with a woman?”

They were licking their pencils while bombarding him with their own impertinent questions.

When I barely managed to escape that place and return to my boarding house, there too reporters were waiting. Then came an endless relay of visits from newspaper reporters. By the end, I wanted to burst into loud sobs.

Around two o'clock, I was finally released, but I had no mental energy left to think about anything. I immediately spread out the futon and crawled into it. Though my head was utterly exhausted, I couldn't sleep a wink. But try as I might, I couldn't form a single coherent thought. Of all the things I had ever experienced or read about in books, only the creepy and frightening ones kept surfacing in my mind one after another. I would doze off only to immediately jerk awake. In such a state, I greeted the evening.

In the evening, I got up. Then I went outside and bought up all the stacked evening newspapers before returning.

It must be something everyone experiences—newspaper articles about matters you're even slightly involved in are truly compelling to read. All the more so since this was an incident that, though I didn’t fully understand it, seemed to have grave implications—I devoured the articles, poring over them intently. Though I had been directly involved—summoned to the police station, interrogated, even witnessing the scene firsthand—I found myself utterly unable to access the case’s detailed substance, instead learning its particulars through newspaper reports. It was a profoundly ironic situation, but since that’s exactly how it was, there was nothing to be done.

The newspaper articles were all much the same. Putting together the facts I had gathered from them, Dr. Kenuwa's mysterious death unfolded as follows.

Dr. Kenuwa was discovered cold and dead on his bedroom bed this morning at eight o'clock. The room had filled with gas; the solenoid valve connected to the stove lay detached from the gas pipe, which was still spewing forth gas with violent force. The corpse showed no external injuries whatsoever and had been dead for seven to eight hours, conclusively determined to have perished from gas poisoning. Dr. Kenuwa had attended a gathering of M High School alumni medical students the previous night, become heavily intoxicated, been escorted home by one of the students around 10:30 PM, and retired to bed. After initially lying down, he had evidently risen once to lock the door from the inside—a clear indication he'd accidentally kicked loose the gas pipe during this act before sleeping unaware of its disconnection, thereby precipitating the tragedy according to prevailing theories.

However, on the other hand, there existed the facts that Dr. Kenuwa had recently received what appeared to be threatening letters and seemed to feel uneasy enough to carry an automatic pistol for self-defense; moreover, despite being heavily intoxicated, he had not forgotten to lock his door. Additionally, a theory had arisen that it seemed implausible for someone who retained enough presence of mind to lock a door to have failed to notice kicking over the stove and the subsequent gas discharge. The authorities were therefore conducting further scrutiny into the matter. The cause of death being gas poisoning was evident from the police physician’s on-site examination; however, due to the aforementioned reasons, it had been decided to send the body to the university for an autopsy. The autopsy was supposed to be performed by Dr. Kasagami, an authority in forensic medicine; however, due to circumstances, Assistant Professor Miyauchi ended up handling it.

According to the newspapers, even the authorities seemed to harbor a trace of suspicion regarding Dr. Kenuwa's cause of death. The police physician had estimated Dr. Kenuwa's time of death at seven to eight hours postmortem, but since this diagnosis was made around eight o'clock in the morning, his death must indeed have occurred around midnight - making it virtually certain the incident happened within two hours after I left. Would someone actually die from barely two hours of gas leaking from that stove? Though the newspapers made no mention of this matter whatsoever, I considered it the foremost major question.

Secondly—and this was something unknown to anyone but me—the fact that the photographic plate from that magazine had been torn out meant that unless Dr. Kenuwa had gotten up after I left and torn it out himself, we had to conclude someone else had entered the room. Yet how could that person have slipped inside? Given that the door was locked from the inside, I had to assume they'd entered with Dr. Kenuwa's permission. Alternatively—could someone have stolen into the room before he locked it, torn out the photographic plate, and slipped away undetected? After which Dr. Kenuwa might have suddenly awakened, risen to lock the door? But who would possibly want those faintly macabre photographs of hangings that held no value beyond academic interest? This line of reasoning suggested Dr. Kenuwa himself might have destroyed them. Either way, the missing photographic plate represented a problem of critical importance.

Thirdly, there was that bizarre threatening letter. My date of birth was written there, but was that merely a coincidental match? For a coincidental match, it aligned far too perfectly—but even assuming it was mere coincidence, what could it possibly signify? The more I thought about it, the more unclear everything became. It suddenly occurred to me, so I pulled out the inorganic chemistry textbook that had been shoved deep into the bookshelf and checked the section on carbon monoxide. The gas we use for fuel is a mixture of coal gas and water gas, containing approximately __% carbon monoxide. This carbon monoxide is highly toxic; when people succumb to fuel gas poisoning, it is precisely this carbon monoxide that does them in.

The section on carbon monoxide in the textbook contained the following. It is a colorless, odorless gas and possesses extremely potent toxicity. It stated that when air contains 1 part in 100,000 volumes of carbon monoxide, a person breathing it will already exhibit symptoms of poisoning; at 1 part in 800 volumes, death occurs in approximately thirty minutes; and at a concentration of 1%, death results in a mere two minutes. When absorbed, carbon monoxide combines with hemoglobin in the blood, causing hemoglobin to lose its function (oxygen transport).

I took out a pencil and paper and roughly calculated. Since Dr. Kenuwa’s bedroom was roughly twelve tatami mats in size, taking the floor dimensions as twelve shaku by eighteen shaku and assuming a ceiling height of ten shaku gave the room a volume of approximately two thousand two hundred cubic shaku. The gas stove’s emission rate wasn’t precisely known, but based on my experience with that type of stove, I didn’t believe it exceeded five liters per minute at maximum. That would make three hundred liters per hour—approximately ten cubic shaku. Even if Dr. Kenuwa’s death had occurred at 1:00 AM, the emission duration would have been at most two and a half hours, resulting in twenty-five cubic shaku. Assuming the gas contained eight percent carbon monoxide, this would result in a concentration of less than 0.1 percent within 2,200 cubic shaku of air. Since this represented the maximum concentration reached after two and a half hours, I could definitively state that death couldn’t have occurred under these conditions. Of course, since the exact time of Dr. Kenuwa’s death remained undetermined, any conclusion might have been premature without awaiting autopsy results—but according to this analysis, his death appeared highly anomalous.

But that being said, I had no inkling whatsoever as to what other cause could have led to Dr. Kenuwa’s death. If there were no external injuries whatsoever and he had clearly died from carbon monoxide poisoning, then there was no conclusion to draw other than gas poisoning. My head began to ache as if it were splitting. I threw down the pencil and paper and flopped onto the tatami mats.

Torn photographic plate.

The next day, I felt vaguely guilty about attending school. Though there was nothing truly shameful about it, I found myself uneasy at the thought of others seeing my face. Everyone was vigorously discussing Dr. Kenuwa's death. They weren't as relentless as newspaper reporters, but plenty still asked me blunt questions without hesitation. That day during Dr. Kasagami's lecture, the professor first offered condolences for Dr. Kenuwa's accidental death before trying to commence his lesson as usual. Then a classmate—

“Professor, was Dr. Kenuwa’s cause of death gas poisoning?” he asked. Dr. Kasagami gazed piercingly at the student and, “I believe that is likely the case. “In truth, I was ordered to perform the autopsy to confirm the cause of death; however, due to certain considerations, I declined and had Assistant Professor Miyauchi handle it instead. “When I briefly inquired earlier, it was confirmed that it was indeed carbon monoxide poisoning.” As always happened in such situations, today the Professor carried himself with even greater solemnity than usual, so even the most impertinent students found themselves unable to press further with their frivolous questions and fell silent. I briefly considered asking about the exact time of death, but reconsidered that I could inquire anytime—even outside of class—and kept my mouth shut.

The professor commenced his lecture. Whether real or imagined, he seemed less energetic than usual. I secretly thought he must be grieving over his colleague's unexpected death.

After school, I went to the Professor’s classroom.

“Dr. Kenuwa has met with such a terrible situation,”

"Yes, it was a grave matter." "But you've endured significant hardship through this."

“No, that isn’t an issue at all.” “Professor—I believe Dr.Kenuwa died around midnight. What do you think?” “Assistant Professor Miyauchi’s assessment states between eleven o’clock and one o’clock.”

“Eleven o’clock? So that would mean less than thirty minutes had passed since I left.” “Since estimating time of death cannot pinpoint an exact moment, we typically allow for a considerable interval.” “Probably closer to one o’clock.” “Even assuming one o’clock as the time, it’s been two and a half hours since I last saw Professor—but would that amount of gas emitted during that period cause fatal poisoning?” “It would occur, wouldn’t it?”

Having said that, he paused mid-sentence and considered, “At least he would enter a state of suspended animation.” “So then, the actual death would occur after that point, correct?” “That would be the case.” “Then, the time of death would be—”

As I was about to speak, Dr. Kasagami gently cut me off— "That presents a complex issue. Particularly with gas poisoning cases, the difficulties multiply." "I see."

I thought it somewhat odd, but since the authority in forensic medicine had declared it so, I had no choice but to acquiesce. "That being said—"

The Professor stared at me with meaningful eyes while, "I have something I’d like to discuss—could you come to my home today?" "Yes, I will come." I had no idea what he wanted to discuss, but I agreed immediately. Going to the Professor’s house and listening to various discussions was one of the most enjoyable things during that time.

That day’s evening edition carried only a few lines about Dr. Kenuwa. The autopsy results had confirmed that the cause of death was carbon monoxide poisoning, and the authorities had concluded based on the surrounding circumstances that it was accidental gas poisoning.

That night, I visited Dr. Kasagami. Dr. Kasagami welcomed me very warmly and, as usual, gave me various beneficial discussions in his study, but he did not touch at all upon the “matter” he had mentioned earlier that day with a somewhat meaningful air. Admittedly, this might have been my imagination, but at times the professor would start to broach a subject only to immediately reconsider and return to academic discussions. Such things had occurred two or three times, but the professor ultimately did not say anything. In hindsight, it seems that at this moment, he had wanted to discuss something far more important with me. However, he simply couldn’t bring himself to voice it and would let out a quiet sigh before continuing with other academic discussions. Had I realized that matter a little sooner—had I proactively inquired and heard the detailed account—it would have been possible to prevent the subsequent tragedy. That I could not do so due solely to my absent-mindedness remains profoundly regrettable.

Dr. Kenuwa’s funeral was conducted with great grandeur, with Dr. Kasagami serving as the chairman of the funeral committee. After all, he had been an exceedingly sociable man with friends across all spheres of society, so mourners exceeded two thousand people, prominent figures alone numbering several hundred. However, it was like a sparkler’s brief glow—once the funeral concluded, the professor, who had neither wife nor children, truly became as desolate as a flame that had been extinguished. Because his social life had been so flamboyant, there were scarcely any friends who lingered to pay their respects long after his passing.

By the time a week had passed and then two weeks more, most people had already forgotten everything about Dr. Kenuwa. Schools and their students, his friends, indeed everyone in society—they had all forgotten Dr. Kenuwa's very existence. Had anyone inquired about Dr. Kenuwa now, they would surely have answered, "Huh? Dr. Kenuwa... Oh yes, there was such a person, wasn't there?" If there remained anyone who still remembered Dr. Kenuwa's death at all, it was likely myself alone.

The three doubts I secretly nurtured did not readily fade as days passed. Particularly, the phrases from that threatening letter—far from diminishing—only grew ever more vivid in my mind with each passing day. Recall twenty-two years prior. And then my date of birth! I couldn’t possibly bring myself to believe it bore no relation to me whatsoever.

However, had I not encountered what happened next, I too would have ultimately ended up forgetting about Dr.Kenuwa like everyone else in society—without even realizing it. However, fate did not permit that. I had come to suffer even more intensely.

I think it was about half a month since Dr. Kenuwa’s death. I visited Dr. Kasagami’s residence as usual. As I mentioned before, the intimacy between us accelerated with each encounter. Rather, it was Dr.Kasagami who actively drew closer. Naturally, as I grew closer to him, I came to recognize his benevolence and honesty—my respect deepening all the while—yet ultimately he became less an instructor and more like family, bending over backward to keep me content as though catastrophe would follow should I leave. This intensity had grown since Dr.Kenuwa’s death, taking on an air one might show toward a lover. I even began to feel an uneasy premonition within.

Well, that day proceeded as usual—after discussing various matters, it ended up being treated to dinner—but this time, Mrs.Kasagami was also present. This too was peculiar—the professor, who had been so distant toward his wife that it spawned societal rumors, had gradually changed his attitude of late until he began treating even his wife with marked kindness. This shift, occurring precisely at the boundary of Dr.Kenuwa's death, took an abrupt turn—though he never openly doted on her—until he became more devoted to his wife than any ordinary husband. While Mrs.Kasagami welcomed this change, she nevertheless seemed to feel some trepidation toward its sudden intensity. Until then, sharing a meal together had been utterly inconceivable; yet this time, the three of us dined together quite agreeably. Afterward, Mrs.Kasagami withdrew to the kitchen to tidy up, and the professor briefly excused himself—so I casually picked up one of his books from the desk. As I flipped through its pages, something fluttered out from between them onto the tatami.

I hurriedly picked it up and saw it was that very magazine photo edition the professor had so ardently desired. Wondering when he had obtained it, I stared intently—and my face abruptly changed color. The corner of the photo plate was missing. The torn edge appeared jagged. This clearly hadn't been cut with scissors but rather ripped by hand. Moreover, I distinctly recognized that missing corner. The magazine at Dr.Kenuwa's place should still retain that torn fragment. Were I to align this photo plate with that remaining edge in the magazine, they would match perfectly without the slightest discrepancy.

I stared at the photo plate in a daze, overwhelmed by the utterly unexpected turn of events. And so, without realizing when, the professor had returned and was standing motionless behind me—a fact I had failed to notice.

When I abruptly turned around, the professor stood there pale-faced as if startled— “Ah, I’d forgotten to mention—I found that photograph.”

he said nonchalantly and resumed his original seat, but I did not miss how strangely hoarse his voice sounded. I, however, answered as if nothing were amiss.

"I see. "I was also searching desperately, but I ultimately could not find it."

“The regular secondhand bookseller found it and brought it over, you know.” “Since there was someone else who wanted the other articles, and I only needed the photo plate, I let them keep the rest.” It had become undeniably clear to me that Dr. Kasagami was lying. If the secondhand bookseller had brought the magazine and cut it out, they wouldn’t have used such a rough method. If he was going to lie, he should have claimed from the start that the secondhand bookseller had brought only the photo plate. The ordinarily honest Dr. Kasagami had been unable to suddenly tell such a convincing lie.

Dr. Kasagami continued making excuses. "Since I had asked you to look for it, I should have told you when it was found." "I was careless and forgot to mention it—my apologies."

“Not at all.” I slipped the photo plate back between the book’s pages exactly as found, returned it to the desk, and steered the conversation elsewhere at once. The Professor—appearing gratified by this resolution—never again broached the subject of the photographic insert. Try as I might, I could not suppress the shadow creeping over my thoughts. Masking this darkness from the Professor, I made my farewells with due propriety.

Who stole it? The discovery of the photo plate imposed a terrible burden on my heart. The photo plate in Dr.Kasagami's possession was beyond doubt torn from the magazine found in Dr.Kenuwa's bedroom. That magazine had been exceedingly scarce—despite Dr.Kasagami and I exhausting every possible method, we were unable to obtain a copy. Had it been a cleanly cut specimen from his collection, there would have been no issue—but its missing corner bore unmistakable signs of rough tearing. If another copy existed from which someone had violently ripped an identical photo plate leaving matching remnants—that might explain matters—yet such a scenario defied all plausibility. First considering the magazine's extreme rarity and the photo plates' inherent value—no one under ordinary circumstances would employ such crude removal methods. Even if accidentally torn during extraction, one would typically trim the ragged edges and reinforce them with backing paper to restore completeness.

Assuming the photo plate had indeed been torn from the magazine in Dr. Kenuwa’s bedroom—now, how many people could have done it? If a completely unrelated third party had done it, and that photo plate had come into Dr. Kasagami’s possession, he would have had no reason whatsoever to lie about how he obtained it. On the day he obtained it, he should have been smiling warmly at me alone and said, “You see, I’ve finally gotten hold of that photograph.” The fact that Dr. Kasagami had concealed his acquisition of the photo plate from me, then told a lie when I chanced upon it, meant there could only be two possible explanations for how he had obtained it.

Namely: 1. Did the Professor himself obtain the photo plate through illicit means? 2. Did a third party obtain it through illicit means, with the Professor fully aware of the circumstances and purchasing it?

In either case of one or two, someone must have sneaked into the room after I left that night when Dr. Kenuwa died of gas poisoning and stolen the photo plate. If we suppose a third party did it, then in that case, the following two scenarios could occur. Namely: 1. Did someone break in to steal it at the Professor’s request? 2. Did someone sneak in for another purpose, happen upon the photo plate, disclose the circumstances, and sell it to the Professor?

I wanted to reject Case One. Because Dr. Kasagami had been entirely unaware that the target magazine was in Dr. Kenuwa’s possession. Had he known, I believe he would have mentioned it to me. Even if he had known, Dr.Kasagami would have directly asked Dr.Kenuwa for it had he wanted it. I had heard nothing of such a request. Even had Dr.Kenuwa refused him, Dr.Kasagami was absolutely not the sort to commission theft. While the photo plate itself held undeniable value, it scarcely warranted such risks.

As for the second case, it seemed doubtful that Dr. Kasagami would have purchased it while knowing about such illicit circumstances. As I had noted in the first scenario, it wasn't something of such significant value. Had he acquired it unaware of the situation, he should have immediately said upon my discovery something like, "Ah, that was brought by so-and-so," or "I bought it from someone." Considering it this way, I concluded neither Case One nor Case Two could have occurred.

Thus, returning to our earlier point: since the notion that a third party obtained it and passed it to Dr. Kasagami does not hold water, I inevitably arrive at the conclusion that Dr. Kasagami acquired it directly himself.

I tried to recall Dr.Kasagami’s actions from that night. Dr.Kasagami had left just before Dr.Kenuwa. Whether he had gone straight home like that—that was the question. Suppose Dr.Kasagami had some purpose—leaving the venue one step ahead and arriving beforehand at Dr.Kenuwa’s house. Dr.Kenuwa was dead drunk and had collapsed in the entryway; with the old woman, the maid, and me making a great commotion as we carried him to his bedroom, the front door remained wide open during that time—so slipping in unnoticed and hiding in one of the rooms would not have been very difficult.

When I left, as the old woman and maid were tidying up Dr. Kenuwa’s discarded clothes while chattering away, Dr. Kasagami could have slipped unnoticed into the bedroom. Then, tearing the photo plate from the magazine, he would have slipped out of the room and exited stealthily. The old woman and maid hadn’t noticed at all. Dr. Kenuwa would have then abruptly woken up, locked the door, and gone back to sleep as before. There was ample possibility for this sequence of events. Yet I must restate the same point here. Even if Dr. Kasagami had sneaked into Dr. Kenuwa’s bedroom, it was perfectly clear this wouldn’t have been for that single photo plate. Dr. Kasagami likely hadn’t known about the photo plate’s presence in Dr. Kenuwa’s possession—and even had he known, that photo plate wouldn’t have warranted such a risk.

Then what was Dr. Kasagami’s purpose?

Here, I shuddered involuntarily. I had not a single clue why Dr. Kasagami would need to kill Dr. Kenuwa, but if he did sneak into Dr. Kenuwa’s bedroom, then wasn’t that late-night venture for the purpose of murder? Slipping quietly into the bedroom, releasing the gas pipe, and escaping—it was possible.

However, if that were the case, how was one to explain the lock fastened from the inside? If Dr.Kenuwa had woken up and locked the door, would he not have noticed the gas leaking with its hissing sound and strange odor at that very moment? A person possessing enough presence of mind to lock the door could not possibly have failed to notice such a violent gas leak. However, if that were the case, then the notion that he would kick the gas pipe while attempting to lock the door and go to sleep without noticing the gas leak became equally difficult to conceive. After all, at the peak of alcohol intoxication—when sensory nerves are paralyzed—it was possible to remain insensate to minor stimuli. In that scenario, it was not entirely impossible that Dr.Kenuwa could have rushed alone into the bedroom, kicked over the stove, disconnected the rubber tube—all without realizing it—and simply crawled into bed to sleep.

However, if he were to get a certain amount of sleep—even as short as thirty minutes to an hour—the paralysis of his sensory nerves would have recovered considerably. Rather, it might be more accurate to say that waking would occur through this recovery from sensory paralysis. If we suppose Dr. Kenuwa lay down on the bed and later awoke after some time, he would have been fairly sober by then—making it unthinkable that he would kick the gas pipe or fail to notice a leak. Moreover, Dr. Kenuwa hadn't been that severely intoxicated to begin with. After all, he'd possessed enough presence of mind to remove his Western clothes and change into sleepwear, and had clearly told me, "You may go home"—hardly the state of complete unconsciousness. Had he been that thoroughly drunk, he should have slept soundly through until morning without waking. Doesn't his having woken at least once before one o'clock to lock the bedroom door prove his intoxication was relatively mild?

No matter how much I thought, no matter how much I thought, it remained something I couldn’t fully grasp. Like a repeating decimal, it ultimately circles back to its original starting point.

Ah, how I want to quickly forget this problem and be done with it!

Eureka! But I could not forget. Accursed photo plate! I should never have laid eyes on such a thing! Of course, I have no intention of doing anything to Dr.Kasagami. Far from that—I revere him as both teacher and parent respect him wholeheartedly and am deeply attached. If there had been anyone who doubted *the Doctor* I would have defended him at any cost. Depending on how matters had progressed I might even have thrown away my life. And yet I cannot dispel this trace of suspicion toward *the Doctor*.

I could not help but profoundly lament how tenacious doubt was, how utterly inescapable it proved to be. Even if Dr. Kasagami had indeed sneaked into Dr. Kenuwa's bedroom, even if I were to discover he had harbored some terrible purpose, I possessed not the slightest thought of accusing him. Were Dr. Kasagami to encounter such circumstances, I would have willingly taken his place. Yet this suspicion persisted obstinately as suspicion itself. I wanted to know. By any means necessary, I wanted to know Dr. Kasagami's secret. I needed to understand why Dr. Kasagami had infiltrated Dr. Kenuwa's bedroom and unravel the enigma behind that bizarre threatening letter.

I no longer doubted that the threatening letter had been sent from Dr.Kasagami to Dr.Kenuwa. The German script,the symbols hinting at blood types,the fact that Dr.Kasagami possessed the photo plate missing from Dr.Kenuwa's bedroom—considering all these,I could conceive of no sender for that threatening letter other than Dr.Kasagami. There must certainly be some secret between the two doctors. Was it not likely rooted in a love triangle involving Mrs.Kasagami? Though such entanglements belonged to over twenty years past—seemingly settled on the surface—some ember must have smoldered beneath.

Horrifying suspicion! I desperately tried to forget it somehow, but instead found it growing ever more persistent in my mind. Now I thought of nothing else, whether waking or sleeping. I even began fearing I might fall ill if this continued.

I now had no choice but to resolve this horrifying suspicion through my own efforts—if I didn’t, I would only grow more agitated, and nothing else would come to hand.

The very idea of prying into the secrets of Dr.Kasagami, whom I revered, was repulsive to contemplate—yet I found myself compelled to do so. While desperately fearing Dr.Kasagami might notice my intentions, I posed questions to him with feigned nonchalance and engaged Mrs.Kasagami in various conversations. Furthermore, I made discreet inquiries to people who seemed to know about Dr.Kasagami’s past. However, I gained almost nothing.

I also strove to unravel the secret of that night when Dr. Kenuwa had met his unnatural death. Above all, the fundamental enigma lay in the bedroom door having been locked from within. I could never content myself with newspaper accounts alone. Time and again I met with the old maid who had served at Dr. Kenuwa's residence, verifying every detail. According to her unwavering testimony, the door had indisputably been secured from the inside. The windows too had all been fastened from within. The key itself, she attested, remained properly inserted in its lock. My mind turned to the contrivances found in detective novels. Foreign mystery writers had strained their brains devising methods for locking doors from outside - two or three such schemes existed. Yet these proved hopelessly divorced from reality; when I cross-examined the maid about Dr. Kenuwa's door as I remembered it, none of their literary tricks could possibly apply. That Dr. Kenuwa had died within a sealed chamber stood as irrefutable fact. The police authorities' verdict of accidental gas poisoning followed with dismal inevitability.

But how had the gas pipe come loose? And why hadn’t Dr. Kenuwa noticed it? And then—ah—how had that accursed photo plate come into Dr. Kasagami’s possession? If things had continued in this state, I might have had no choice but to either go mad or commit suicide. But fortunately, by a chance discovery, I was spared from that outcome.

It was about five days after discovering the photo plate—in other words, roughly twenty days after the incident had occurred.

I returned to my lodging house and, finding my feet terribly soiled, took the kitchen entrance instead of my usual path. What caught my eye then was what people commonly called a gas meter. It was a red-painted box-shaped dry meter fitted with a large valve. Closing this valve would shut off the gas supply to every room. In this lodging house where no gas stoves were used, the landlady strictly instructed the maid to close this valve without fail every night before bed. By doing so, there could be no accidental gas leakage, allowing everyone to rest assured.

However, when using a gas stove throughout the night, one cannot close this meter’s valve. If someone were to close it, the stove would go out. When I had thought this far, I leapt up. I had heard the historical anecdote about Archimedes—ordered to verify a golden crown’s authenticity—who entered his bath while deep in contemplation, saw water overflow with a splash, had a sudden realization, cried “Eureka! Eureka!” and leapt from the water—but now I was undoubtedly experiencing this very “Eureka” moment myself.

If someone were to turn the meter valve while the stove was lit, wouldn't the flame go out? And if they turned it again, wouldn't gas come gushing forth? It was absurdly simple. Dr. Kasagami—it needn't have been him.

A certain person had stealthily entered the house while I, the old maid, and others were in Dr. Kenuwa’s bedroom, holding their breath. Once they saw us withdraw from the room, they first closed the valve on the kitchen gas meter. Then they entered the bedroom. Then they removed the gas stove’s hose—at that time, of course, no gas leakage occurred. Dr. Kenuwa woke up for some reason, rose, and unlocked the door. At that time, although the stove was not lit and no gas was leaking, Dr. Kenuwa, noticing nothing, lay back down on the bed. When Dr. Kenuwa had fallen asleep again, a certain person opened the kitchen meter’s valve back to its original position. Then, wouldn’t gas start leaking copiously into the bedroom?

The aspects of this explanation that seemed slightly incomplete were how a certain individual could have anticipated that Dr.Kenuwa would rise to unlock the door, how they knew this had been accomplished, and why the doctor—having returned to bed a second time—failed to notice the gas leakage that subsequently occurred. Furthermore, there remained a major lingering question: why had Dr.Kenuwa’s death occurred in less than two hours? Linking this fact with the latter part of our current inquiry, it seemed plausible that Dr.Kenuwa had likely died shortly after lying down on the bed a second time, after which someone opened the meter’s valve. No matter how loudly the gas might have hissed as it leaked, if he had already been dead by then, there would have been no way he could have noticed it.

How did such a death come to occur? That was simple. Dr.Kenuwa's death had been conclusively proven by authorities to have resulted from carbon monoxide poisoning. Therefore, his death must indeed have been caused by carbon monoxide poisoning. However, it could be surmised that at the time Dr.Kenuwa’s death occurred, the gas leakage had likely not yet begun; and even if it had begun, the amount of carbon monoxide contained within that total volume would have been far below the lethal dose. If that were the case, then just as subtracting one from two leaves one, it became abundantly clear that the carbon monoxide had been introduced through an entirely different method.

Dr. Kenuwa’s death had been accomplished by introducing carbon monoxide into the locked room. The gas stove’s hose coming loose and the gas leakage—this was a trick designed to foster the misconception that his death had been caused by carbon monoxide from the fuel gas.

Now, how had the highly toxic gas carbon monoxide been introduced into the room? Here, I made another significant discovery. At the time, it had been nothing more than a thought that fleetingly crossed my mind, but that fact suddenly flashed across my consciousness at precisely the right moment.

The method of generating carbon monoxide was not particularly difficult. However, that required equipment, and if something like sulfuric acid—a highly toxic substance—was needed, heating would also be necessary. Sneaking into someone else's house to generate it would not have been easy. Even if one had brought in those devices and chemicals, delivering them into the sealed room would have been difficult. To make it effective with a small amount, it needed to be delivered near the victim—ideally around the nasal area—but doing so would have required attaching a rubber tube from outside the room. Even if someone had crawled into the attic, the ventilation hole had a fine wire mesh stretched over it, leaving no space to lower a rubber tube. Moreover, since it was a gas somewhat lighter than air, dispersing it from above would have been less effective.

If gas were compressed into pressurized iron containers—commonly called cylinders or bombs—the pressure would allow delivery from outside to inside the room. Yet even this method could not effectively achieve its purpose unless a tube extended into the interior. Moreover, since the container was made of thick iron, it proved extremely heavy, rendering it nearly impossible for someone to carry alone and infiltrate another person’s house. The remaining option was liquefied gas. If this were placed in a Dewar flask—commonly called a thermos—transportation would become remarkably simple. Then, were this poured through the ceiling’s ventilation hole, it would either fall onto the floor or vaporize before landing, thereby fully achieving its intended purpose.

The liquefaction of carbon monoxide could only occur at extremely low temperatures (-139°C critical temperature, -190°C boiling point), making it unlike carbon dioxide—a gas not ordinarily encountered in this state. Carbon dioxide, commonly called carbonic acid gas, could be easily liquefied (31°C critical temperature, -79°C sublimation point) and was used in liquid form within thumb-sized cylinders for household siphon-type carbonated water makers. Yet carbon monoxide too could be liquefied under proper conditions. Given that even a 1% atmospheric concentration caused death within two minutes, exposure to the pure substance would prove fatal almost instantly.

Now, as for why I focused on liquefied carbon monoxide—when the incident occurred, I had gone to the scene with the Police Chief, and there both the Chief and I recognized that the carpet near the bed had developed a hole about one sun in diameter that had become frayed and tattered. At first glance, it resembled a burn mark, yet differed fundamentally. As anyone who has observed liquid air experiments knows, its extreme low temperature rapidly leaches heat from whatever it contacts—skin develops burn-like injuries upon exposure, while rubber balls harden into porcelain-like rigidity and shatter into powder when struck.

The low temperature of liquefied carbon monoxide being not much different from that of liquid air meant that any spillage on the carpet would inevitably leave it tattered and frayed. At the time, I had completely failed to notice that this damaged area lay near the head of the bed—not directly beneath the ceiling corner's ventilation hole, but very close to it. There was another point—the water in the washstand had frozen solid that day. While the old maid attributed this to Tokyo's unusually severe cold that morning, and everyone readily accepted her explanation, upon reconsideration, it struck me as peculiar that the ice had persisted until ten o'clock when temperatures had already risen significantly. Given how the washstand stood aligned with the bed's headboard and how the ventilation hole occupied the midpoint between them, one could reason that as the intensely cold liquefied gas vaporized, it must have rapidly drawn heat from its surroundings, thereby freezing the water. In such circumstances where freezing occurred over an extensive area, it seemed entirely plausible that latent heat dissipation would prevent easy return to original conditions.

Through these incomplete explanations—flawed though they were—I believed I'd grasped how this crime had been committed. But who was he? What drove him? What cipher hid within those threats? And what sequence unfolded between his bedroom intrusion and Dr. Kenuwa rising—still alive—to lock death inside? None of this could I fathom. To call this resolution would mock truth itself; each answered question spawned ten fresh horrors clawing from shadowed corners!

I must still suffer!

Dr. Kasagami’s Suicide Note

After making the discovery I had described earlier, I continued to suffer for nearly another week. And then, I was suddenly confronted with the indescribably horrifying fact of Dr. and Mrs. Kasagami’s suicide—and with that, everything came to an end!

When I heard this news, I fell into a complete state of temporary unconsciousness.

Dr. Kasagami’s suicide note had one copy intended for public release and another addressed specifically to me. The public one stated that due to unavoidable circumstances, the couple had chosen to end their lives together, and that while they were bequeathing all their assets to me, they requested that I handle all matters concerning their funeral arrangements and posthumous affairs in return. The one addressed to me was something that absolutely must not be made public for one year, and as I mentioned at the beginning of this account, when I read it, I had immediately resolved to follow Dr. and Mrs. Kasagami in death by taking my own life. However, I barely managed to restrain myself and, while performing memorial services for Dr. and Mrs. Kasagami, endured a painful year.

Now I was about to make it public. What impact would this suicide note have on society once published? I would again find myself surrounded by swarms of newspaper reporters. And what would my parents think? That terrified me. I resolved to conclude this account by presenting Dr.Kasagami’s suicide note next before quietly departing without informing anyone. Yet I would steadfastly honor Dr.Kasagami’s teachings - never would I resort to suicide.

Mr. Kenichi Usawa / Shizuo Kasagami Though our acquaintance was brief, how profoundly happy I was to have become truly close to you. For this alone, I deeply thank God. Now, for the reasons I shall presently recount, I depart for the next world together with my wife. You will surely grieve. How you will grieve! That is what I fear most. However, you are a young man of great promise, and you must recognize the grave responsibilities you bear toward your parents, toward us as husband and wife, toward the nation, and toward society. We have come to hasten toward death under this accursed fate, but we will die taking your survival in this world as our sole comfort and sole hope. I earnestly beg of you. You must never entertain reckless thoughts. It is our wish as husband and wife. Please, strictly adhere to this one point. If you become a splendid person and hold memorial services for us as husband and wife, that alone would surpass even ten thousand volumes of precious sutras chanted by holy monks.

Now, where should I begin?

I believe you are already aware of the peculiar karmic bond between Dr. Kenuwa and myself. The two of us were born in neighboring locales and trod identical paths until graduating from university and attaining professorships. That we were rivals in all things ultimately led to our mutual ruin. Yet this was ordained by fate itself - there remains no profit in regret now. Upon graduating, we found ourselves compelled to desperately vie for a woman caught between us. That this woman became my wife is a fact I trust you already comprehend.

As you are well aware, Dr. Kenuwa was an exceedingly cheerful, sociable, and eloquent conversationalist. I was the exact opposite of Dr. Kenuwa in every way. In competing for love, I ask you to imagine how profoundly disadvantaged I had been. My wife too had been utterly bewitched by Dr. Kenuwa for a time. During her maiden years, my wife had associated freely with Dr. Kenuwa as close friends. I could do nothing but watch this unfold while trembling with envy and jealousy. However, she soon began to realize that Dr. Kenuwa was not necessarily the man he appeared to be on the surface. Dr. Kenuwa was nothing but an insidious, despicable, utterly selfish human being. My wife finally attempted to distance herself from him. Then one day, she nearly suffered a grave insult and barely managed to escape it before never approaching Dr. Kenuwa again. And thus, we soon held our wedding ceremony.

Dr. Kenuwa outwardly expressed delight at our marriage, giving gifts and even delivering a congratulatory speech at our wedding reception. At that time, we did not consider him such a terrible villain, so we assumed he no longer harbored any resentment toward us—but this only proved how naively trusting we had been. Behind our backs, Dr. Kenuwa was lying in wait for an opportunity to exact revenge, his eyes blazing with obsessive determination.

Unaware of such things even in our wildest dreams, we were profoundly happy. My wife soon became pregnant, and within a year of our marriage, we became the parents of a lovely baby boy.

Our misfortune befell us within three years of that time. As you are well aware, I began my research on blood types around that period. And just as you had done, I examined my own blood type, my wife’s, and our child’s. Yet while I am type A and my wife is type O, our child proved to be type B. No matter how many times I verified it, the results remained unchanged. In academic terms, it is established that type B absolutely cannot arise from type A and type O parents. Were there exceptions to this principle, all blood type research would become worthless and would have to be restarted from the beginning. However, my wife was chaste beyond any virtuous spouse imaginable, with not the slightest grounds for doubt. Yet science cannot permit a child of type B blood born to me as father and her as mother.

I, alas, was a scientist. I could not overturn the verdict of science with my wife's apparent chastity. Admittedly, blood type research remains incomplete and cannot claim absolute certainty—but if that be so, then neither can my wife's chastity claim absoluteness. For instance, during my wife's maiden years, or during my absences or outings, it stands to reason that one cannot place absolute trust beyond scientific proof in such matters.

I was tormented. Should I trust science, or should I trust my wife? I grew increasingly gloomy day by day, and I—who had always been reticent—became even more taciturn. There was but one thing I must do. That was research beyond blood types. If through those results I could overturn established theories, then my wife’s chastity would be indirectly proven in turn. If the established theories were not overturned, my wife would be branded as unfaithful. Her deep association with Dr. Kenuwa during her maiden years, the crisis she narrowly avoided, the pregnancy that came too soon—and then, ah, Dr. Kenuwa’s blood type was B.

No matter how I strove, I could not keep myself from growing more distant from my wife with each passing day. I did nothing but immerse myself in research like a maddened stallion. Naturally, I never breathed a word to my wife about the blood type matter. I believe my wife interpreted my aloofness as arising from my innate disposition and scholarly fervor. Contrary to my frigid demeanor, she attended me with ever-deepening devotion. Ah, though I refrained even from conceiving another child until my wife's virtue might be proven—

The child born to us died in his eleventh year, whether by fortune or misfortune. I now shed copious tears for that ill-fated child. Poor child—the one who passed into loneliness without ever tasting a father’s love. Truly, he was a pitiful child.

My research progressed. Yet it provided only evidence that contradicted my wife's chastity. Ah, for twenty long years—a couple wedded yet unwed, a wife who endured her husband's cold gaze and suspicions while remaining chaste throughout—what a pitiful woman she was! But what a pitiful husband I have been! We had to continue living this way for ten or even twenty more years, yet heaven did not remain merciless toward us forever. That you associated with me during your student days—I cannot believe this mere coincidence. Had it been simple chance, you would never have approached me as other students did. Nor would you have considered resuming blood type research or sought to determine your own blood type and that of your parents and siblings. All is divine will. This is by no means coincidence.

Ah, I will never forget it.

My first shock came when I heard that you had tested blood types—your father was type B, your mother type O, and you yourself type A. To be thorough, I measured them myself, and they were indeed as such. But what surprised me even more was learning you were born in K Hospital’s delivery room. And when I checked your date of birth—I often marvel that I didn’t lose my mind then.

By now, having written this far, you must have realized. My deceased child was also born in the delivery room of K Hospital. And the date of birth was exactly the same as yours. My deceased child and you were born on the same day in the same place. Newborn infants have no distinguishing features apart from their gender. In hospital delivery rooms, mix-ups cannot be entirely ruled out due to the carelessness or misjudgment of those handling them. Therefore, hospitals take measures such as marking garments with thread or assigning numbers. In maternity hospitals of major American cities, to prevent such errors, they record sole prints since obtaining fingerprints from newborns proves difficult. For this reason, even at K Hospital, there was no cause for infants to be carelessly mixed up. I do not believe such carelessness or errors occurred. However, intentional acts could not be prevented.

The one who intentionally swapped our child was none other than Dr. Kenuwa. What mercilessly cruel vengeance this was! When I learned of your blood type, discovered you were born at K Hospital, and ascertained your date of birth, I conducted an exhaustive investigation. Through this, it became undeniably clear that this was Dr. Kenuwa’s detestable scheme. At K Hospital, the delivery room lies directly adjacent to the orthopedic surgery theater. It was revealed that Dr. Kenuwa—having cultivated a friendship with an orthopedic staff member—had persistently frequented that department throughout the night preceding my wife’s delivery. Furthermore, were my deceased child and you restored to your rightful positions, this outcome would align perfectly with academic conclusions without contradiction.

What merciless, cruel vengeance this was! Because of this, what suffering we as a couple endured! And depending on the circumstances, we might have had to continue that suffering until death. Was there anything but death with which to requite him? However, killing him without purpose would have been meaningless. I needed to make him fully comprehend the method by which he would meet his end. I compelled him to recall the time our child was born and dispatched documents inscribed with blood type symbolism. This indeed provoked a palpable reaction. He began panicking uncontrollably—carrying a self-defense pistol and installing locks on his room. Through this silence, he confessed his heinous act.

That night I hid inside his house, and after you departed, slipped into his room and applied a certain trick to the gas stove. At that moment, my eyes chanced upon a magazine on the desk, and tearing out the photographic plate within proved an imprudent act. This later became the reason you came to suspect me. After implementing the trick on the stove, I gradually roused Kenuwa. As he awoke with a start and scrambled to grasp his pistol, I restrained his hand, rebuked him for his past treachery, declared my impending retribution, then swiftly exited the room while he remained bewildered. True to my expectations, he did not cry out to alert the household but instead immediately rose and locked the door from within. This unfolded precisely as intended. I waited until he reclined upon the bed once more before administering poison gas through a particular method and inducing fuel gas emission from the stove. I have no desire to chronicle the murder's minutiae. Kindly deduce those particulars yourself. My stratagem succeeded. None save you ever doubted the cause of death. It was ruled accidental gas poisoning.

Initially, since Dr. Kenuwa had tormented us through underhanded means in secret, I resolved to exact my revenge covertly and maintain an air of ignorance. However, my conscience would not permit it. Moreover, the fact that you appeared to have noticed something filled me with profound dread. I ultimately resolved to take my own life. My ill-fated wife, upon hearing my account, expressed her wish to die together. I finally granted this request.

Our greatest wish was to declare you even once while alive as our true child. Though we began to say it many times, we could never bring ourselves to speak the words. For I had been too cold toward the child fate brought into my care. And now we have lost even that chance through death. To claim you as my son now would be unforgivable toward your parents. They believed you their true child and raised you with devoted love. To my eyes, you bear little resemblance to either them or your younger siblings. Yet they nurtured you without a flicker of doubt—this affection never wavering. What chasm lies between their steadfast faith and my endless suspicion and anguish! Having shown such cruelty to my deceased child, I cannot face your parents with dignity. Nor can I find the courage to assert that you are ours by blood.

Well then, goodbye—and do not forget what I first entreated of you. Become a splendid and upright person, and live happily.

(June–July 1934 issue)