Pathway to Japanese Literature

1 A man who had gotten off the streetcar took out his watch and glanced at it mechanically, then walked from Etochujima toward Edogawa Town while being scorched by the intense sun. To the left, separated by a dull black drainage ditch, stretched the desolate surface of the No. 6 Reclaimed Land from the Kawaguchi Improvement Project, over which countless seagulls were swirling. The man came to a stop in front of the old rail yard of a flour company and, while looking around at the cluttered rows of low houses on either side, suddenly began twitching his nose repeatedly. He detected some subtle omen.

In the center of the vacant lot diagonally across stood a makeshift two-story house shaped like stacked boxes, its side nearly engulfed by the languid, lifeless branches of a large willow tree that hung thickly over it... The man gazed at the house with intense focus. Then he approached the glass entrance door and bent close to examine the nearly faded painted letters. It read: <10-Cent Stand, Naha>.

After hesitating briefly, the man pushed open the door resolutely and stepped into the bar. In the dimly lit bar, the lights were still on, and a puddle on the dirt floor glistened. Pungently, it stank. At the counter, a monk with a crew cut—wearing a soiled and decayed white upper garment—was rinsing glasses with slovenly movements, while two earlier customers sat quietly at the table before him.

One was a man around fifty years old - extremely short and looking like a petty official - wearing a shrunken cotton serge suit. With what seemed to be no chin at all and eyes bright red and bloodshot, he looked exactly like a Twenty-Day Mouse sitting there. The other was around forty years old, a man with a black soft hat perched askew on his head and a slightly dissolute appearance, yet one could tell at a glance that he had received higher education. Appearing to be a heavy drinker, the tip of his nose was reddening as if ripening.

The man who had just entered sat with his summer hat uncomfortably clasped on his lap, gazing restlessly out toward the street. Indeed, he was a man who seemed utterly out of place in this filthy bar on the outskirts of town. He was a strikingly handsome young man of thirty-four or thirty-five with a face drawn tight in intensity, wearing a smart light-gray suit and a yellow tie tinged with vermilion carelessly draped around his neck. He was a beautiful young man not often seen even in Ginza.

The young man and the two earlier customers sat back-to-back as if avoiding each other’s gaze and hadn’t made a move for some time…. Time passed in this manner. About twenty minutes later, the door suddenly opened, and two men entered one after the other.

One of them moved his head restlessly like a bird, peering around the bar while hesitating for a moment before fleeing outside and quickly vanishing across the street. The other man—a burly figure in work clothes with a flushed face—leaned against the counter and stared persistently at the three men from that position, then—

“Hey, Mr. Tsuru—sake,” he said, jerking his chin toward the liquor shelf. This one appeared to be a regular here. He was likely either a motor vessel engineer or a shipyard lathe operator. The Chaplin mustache he wore stood out conspicuously.

Wiping his lips with the back of his hand in an oddly ostentatious manner,

“Hey, Mr. Tsuru… Nobody came lookin’ for me this mornin’, did they…” asked the man. The monk shook his head. (Upon hearing this exchange, the three customers all appeared to shift slightly in unison.)

The man in work clothes tilted his head several times with a "Hmm," then said in a low voice,

“...Right then, I’m gonna head over to the machine shop again. If anyone comes lookin’ for Furuta...Furuta Shinosuke, tell ’em Shinosuke’ll be back here real soon, got it?” “…Hey, I’m countin’ on ya, Mr. Tsuru.” “I’ll be right back, I said—got it?” After reiterating his point emphatically—lighting a cigarette as he did so—he left. Ruddy Nose watched him leave, then seemed to remember something as he pulled out his watch and glanced at it. “Oh—eleven o’clock…” he muttered. Then the Twenty-Day Mouse suddenly opened his tightly shut eyes wide—

“Excuse me, but could you tell me the exact time…?” “The precise time is…” he asked in a voice like the scrape of deer hooves.

11:10. “To be precise, it would be 11:09, I suppose.” Twenty-Day Mouse lowered his head and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes again. Ruddy Nose put away his watch and turned to the young man,

“This is your first time here too, I take it. …I’m waiting for someone myself, but this is quite a place…” “It’s my first time.”

The reply was curt. Ruddy Nose turned back toward the man with an annoyed look, “Hey—what happened to the madam here?” he called out. The man sneered and,

“Madam?” “The boss… still sleeping upstairs.” “…Overdid it last night, see.”

“A fight?” “Nah… Last night some strange woman barged in here… Seein’ as how the boss is soft like that, he suddenly took up with her and drank himself stupid.” “Though mind you—I was on days yesterday, wasn’t there myself. But from what the night boys said, that dame was somethin’ else… Came crashin’ in all ‘Let me entertain ya,’ then kept pourin’ drinks down his throat nonstop.” “Even the boss finally went off the rails—ended up tossin’ in the towel altogether, they say.” “Me? I only saw her slim backside as she left… But accordin’ to the boys, she was this twenty-three, twenty-four-year-old Modern Girl—a real knockout. Said she’s some hostess from a bar in Susaki… But hell if I know what her game was…”

At that moment, the door opened again, and a slender, tall woman of about twenty-two or twenty-three entered. She wore a lotus-colored dress and a black felt hat, her bright face undeniably that of a beautiful young woman. After looking around the bar, she awkwardly took a seat next to the young man and hung her head timidly.

After pouring port wine and returning to the counter, the man picked up a newspaper and— “Oh, another murder,” he said in an affected tone. “…So—uh—they used some kinda log-splitting tool… bludgeoned ’im repeatedly, left ’im in a six-tatami-mat sea o’ blood… Really gettin’ trendy these days, ain’t it? …Just t’other day, some gravel laborer over at Onamegawa’s Fuji Spinning front got his gut slashed open ’n’ collapsed… Damn awful sight—intestines all spilled out… Dunno if it was pain or desperation, but he died clutchin’ at ’em with his own hands, tryin’ to stuff ’em back in…” “Ugh, I’m sick of this, I tell ya.”

Factory sirens began blaring here and there. Then, as if that were a signal, the man in work clothes returned. He strode briskly up to the counter,

“What? Nobody came?” “But that can’t be right…” “(Tilting his head) Then maybe the old man knows somethin’.” “…Hey, Mr. Tsuru.” “Is the old man still sleepin’?” “…Hmm.” “…Well, sorry ’bout this, but go wake ’im up for me.” “I got somethin’ I wanna ask ’im, I tell ya.” “It’s urgent business, I tell ya.” “The Boss is still in the dead of night, Mr. Shino, I tell ya.” “Besides, last night… (He started to say, then suddenly pricked up his ears toward the second floor.) Hey, someone’s walkin’ around up there…” “Heh heh, the Boss ain’t never woken up ’fore noon in his life, so… (grinning slyly at Ruddy Nose, then to Shino) Best leave ’im be—that’s just cruel, I tell ya. There’s a woman here.”

And with that, he held up his pinky finger with a crude grin.

Twenty-Day Mouse sprang to his feet. But that wasn’t to leave—

“I must ask an impertinent question—everyone, by any chance, have you all also received a letter from an unknown man like myself, and are therefore… that is… waiting here for some unspecified person? I must apologize for my impertinence, but…” When Twenty-Day Mouse said this, the faces of the other four flushed crimson, and they exchanged panicked glances.

“...The truth is, yesterday I received a letter from an unknown individual regarding inheritance matters—requesting a confidential consultation—which brought me here.” “...While it’s true I do have an elderly uncle working in São Paulo, South America, the whole affair strikes me as rather implausible.” “At first I thought it a joke or scam. But when greed takes hold, humans become so pitifully susceptible—thus despite my doubts, here I stand. Well then... might this situation apply to you all as well?”

Having said that, he looked around at the four faces and laughed with a rather smug, knowing air. No one denied it. A look of bewilderment was on everyone’s faces. Twenty-Day Mouse,

“Haha… (he said with a wry smile) So it was indeed the case.” “I have the letter here with me… Perhaps I should read it aloud for everyone’s benefit.” With that, he fumbled around in his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper typed on a Japanese-language typewriter, and began reading in an exaggeratedly declamatory tone. Article 1: Due to urgent circumstances, I hereby refrain from disclosing my identity; rest assured that all shall be revealed in full at our meeting. Article 2: I hereby have the duty to urgently notify you regarding an unknown inheritance to which you are entitled.

Article 3: The aforementioned inheritance hereby consists of real estate, securities, and bank deposits; the inventory of assets shall be made available for your perusal at our meeting. Article 4: The aforementioned inheritance is one in which you stand at risk of disqualification; it is therefore imperative to promptly complete the qualification application and all requisite procedures. Furthermore, owing to intricate circumstances that must remain undisclosed beyond what has been stated herein—and as there exists no alternative but to provide a thorough explanation during our meeting—we hereby entreat your esteemed presence at the designated location at the appointed date and hour without delay. Respectfully yours,

June 4th

Article 1: June 5th, 10:00 AM.

Article 1: Fukagawa Ward, Edogawa Town, 225. “Naha,” c/o Suminami Nampūtarō. Twenty-Day Mouse sat down on the chair and, making a displeased face, fell completely silent. The young man blushed slightly, “...How childish of me… I have the letter here as well, but... I do have some inkling of what this is about.” “Though, half of it is curiosity… (Then, smiling at the girl) Are you the same?”

he asked gently.

When the girl finally raised her face, she murmured sorrowfully... Hers was a beautiful voice. "I came to Tokyo for the first time about half a month ago, and now I work at Shinjuku’s ‘Cineraria.’" "Yesterday morning around ten, a woman called my apartment—said the same things as this letter—begged me to come no matter what." "There was something like a man’s voice too... I thought it was a customer playing a prank... I said ‘No,’ laughed, and hung up." "(with a faint laugh) But last night... I got carried away imagining things... couldn’t sleep till morning..." "When I was little... I was separated from my father... He must still be alive somewhere... This morning... I kept telling myself how foolish it all was..."

The man in vegetable-colored clothes, unable to contain his impatience, snatched it from the side.

“Same here, I tell ya.… I was wolfin’ down wonton at this Chinese joint in Tomioka Town when the phone rang there.” “Refined lady’s voice, I tell ya… This here’s legit.” (glaring at the girl) “No lies mixed in that dame’s voice.” “So with that sweet deal dangled, I jumped right in—said I’d come for sure, no question.… ’Course, at first… even I did some thinkin’.” “But y’know what? Never struck me as no joke.” “Got proper logic behind it, see?”

Twenty-Day Mouse let out a soft “Hmph” and gave a wry smile. The man in vegetable-colored clothes stood up with a sullen look. “Hey, what the hell’s with that creepy laugh?” Twenty-Day Mouse retorted. The man in vegetable-colored clothes flared up. Even the man joined in, and the situation grew increasingly chaotic, becoming impossible to pin down. The girl inched toward the young man imperceptibly, little by little. The men who had just met were crudely hurling abuse at each other. In this filthy bar, the young man’s refined handsomeness was indeed a saving grace.

The girl whispered into the young man’s ear.

“...I couldn’t find this place at first, so I searched all over… It’s so silly… I really am a greedy woman, aren’t I?” Her way of speaking was so utterly childlike that the young man couldn’t help but smile.

“But as of now, it hasn’t been confirmed that we’ve been tricked either…”

Ruddy Nose, who had been sitting in the corner with his arms crossed, aloofly ignoring the trio’s argument, suddenly spoke up.

“I don’t think we need to dismiss this as a joke outright,” “In short, it’s simply that the letter’s sender hasn’t arrived yet… If a whole year had passed, then you could safely assume we’ve been duped.” “However, only two hours have passed since the appointed time.” “There’s no telling what unavoidable circumstances might be causing their delay.” “Moreover, I’ve privately concluded this is no joke.” “I’m convinced there’s some grave motive behind it… After all, what profit could there be in summoning five strangers to a dive like this?” “It’s hardly an entertaining spectacle… Furthermore, it’s possible—nay, probable—that the letter’s sender is none other than the master of this establishment himself: Suminami Nampūtarō… Or perhaps not.” “But… likely… he knows something about this.” “At the very least, he must possess materials sufficient to provide us with a satisfactory explanation.”

The man in vegetable-colored clothes growled. “So I’ve been sayin’ that since this mornin’, damn it! Ask the old man here about it—he’ll know what’s up, I tell ya.” He pointed blatantly at Twenty-Day Mouse. “...And it’s ’cause this ‘professor’ keeps spoutin’ nonsense like that—makin’ me damn mad.” Turning to Ruddy Nose, he added, “How ’bout it? ’Stead o’ wastin’ time, let’s go wake ’im an’ ask straight?” Then he wheeled back to Twenty-Day Mouse. “An’ you—if ya think this’s some joke, ain’t no reason to stick ’round dawdlin’. Get the hell out already.”

“Quite so.” “I should take my leave now.” “Oh well—you understand the situation anyway.”

Yet, he showed no sign of getting up.

Ruddy Nose turned toward the man, “Hey, young man—go wake up Hae-tarō-kun and bring him here.” “…If the old man knows something, he has an obligation to explain it to us.” “…On the contrary, if he knows nothing at all, then having disturbed his well-deserved rest, our entire group will drink here profusely as an apology.” “…At the very least, I shall drink heartily.… It’s already past noon.” “Hurry up and go wake him already…”

The man scratched his head, “Am I supposed to wake the master?… I really don’t wanna.” “He’ll bite my head off again, I tell ya.” “So that’s why we’ll all apologize to him, I tell ya!”

Then, Ruddy Nose shouted in a loud voice.

“I’ve figured it out! “…Hey, Boy. “Seeing you stall like that—you’re in on it too, aren’t you? “That letter was just a scheme to lure customers to this bar…. “Well? Confess!”

“D-don’t joke around. Our boss ain’t like that.… Even if he gathered paupers like you lot, the postage’d cost more’n it’s worth—quit mockin’ us.… Our boss ain’t one to lie abed late, I tell ya. What gets me riled is… But fine—if you’re pushin’ that hard, I’ll go rouse ’im.”

The man, making the floorboards creak, slowly climbed the narrow staircase at the back of the bar with heavy thudding steps. Eventually, the footsteps came directly above the five.

The man was gently knocking on the door. Downstairs, the five people pricked up their ears toward the source of the sound. The man, this time knocking somewhat more forcefully, was shouting.

“Boss… Boss… It’s past noon already, I tell ya.” They waited for a response. But there was no response.

A shattering sound of knocking on the door shook the entire bar.

“Boss… Boss—are you feeling unwell?”

There was no reply…

The man came tumbling down the stairs. Ruddy Nose caught hold of the young man. “He’s not answering… (frowning, in a strained voice) Ah, this is weird.… Never happened before… What’s goin’ on… I’m tellin’ ya…”

Ruddy Nose said. “Alright! I’ll go with you… We’ve gotta take a look no matter what…”

With stiffened faces, the two began ascending the stairs. When they arrived in front of Suminami’s room, Ruddy Nose peered inside through the keyhole. “...The storm shutters are closed. “...It’s pitch black—can’t see a thing.” The two of them pounded on the door with all their might.……Still, there was no response. It reeked of something foul. “Hey… There’s a foul smell here… (He had been pondering something but suddenly paled, his voice turning insistent.) I know this stench…” “Hey, young man!” “Quickly go to the police box and call a patrolman here!” “Quickly!”

The young man dashed off. Ruddy Nose came lumbering down after him. In a slightly trembling voice, “I sent for a patrolman… The door was shut… And there’s a strange smell.”

“What kind of smell is it?”

Twenty-Day Mouse asked with a look of shock on his face.

““……Go and take a sniff. You’ll know right away…” Twenty-Day Mouse did not move.”

“Does he always sleep this soundly?” After pounding on the door with all his might, the patrolman asked the man. “Right?…Let’s try opening it then.…Got a crowbar here?” “...If not, go borrow one from somewhere.”

The man brought a crowbar. The patrolman took the crowbar, inserted it under the door, and heaved it upward. The hinges came off. The lower part of the deadbolt was still in the way. "Hngh," he gave it a push with his shoulder. The door collapsed inward.

A stiflingly heavy smell assaulted their nostrils. Someone fumbled along the wall for the switch and pressed it. ……The lights came on, and there—leapt into view before their eyes—the stage setting of the massacre unfolded in a single stroke…… A pool of blood lay in the depression of the bedding; atop the rattan chair, a metal basin held red water filled to the brim. Blood spatter had drawn vivid floral patterns across the wallpaper and ceiling. From all of it rose a suffocating slaughterhouse stench. On the floor between the bed and the wall lay a bare human foot—the dry, shriveled sole of an old man thrust out.

“Oh! There he is... You’ve done something horrible.”

The patrolman wiped around his neck with a handkerchief. Behind the dazed man, the five customers were looking at the thick, glistening pool of blood under the bright electric light. The blood that had soaked through the straw mattress dripped plop, plop onto the floor—the sound could be heard with perfect clarity.

Twenty-Day Mouse hunched his back and breathed roughly through his teeth. The shrill whistling sound—like a grass flute—intermingled with the gloomy drip of blood, setting people’s nerves on edge.

The girl turned to look back at the young man, her eyes taking on the desperate gaze of someone about to drown. The young man hurried to the girl’s side and embraced her in his arms. While pressing her pale forehead, the girl said in a voice like someone not yet awake from a dream, “Please… downstairs…” At that voice, the patrolman turned around. When he saw the five, as if noticing them for the first time, he asked the man: “What’s with this bunch?” “They are customers of the shop.” “They’re all first-time people here, so…”

“Hmm.” “Now then—everyone down, down.” “Wait downstairs and don’t come back up.… Not another step up here.” The patrolman herded everyone downstairs before rushing out to the street. A car halted as the inspector’s team entered and ascended to the second floor. Another patrolman started shooing away rubberneckers at the entrance with sharp “Hey!”s. The examination dragged on for nearly forty minutes. The inspector came downstairs whispering with two department heads. He settled at the bar table and swept his gaze across the five faces. Pulling out his notebook,

“Now then…” (pointing at Twenty-Day Mouse) “Let’s begin with… you.” “Well? You there.” “What brought you here this morning?” “We five were directed by an unidentified person to come here by ten o’clock today—hence our arrival—yet the designated notifier ultimately failed to materialize. …The letter in question is this one here.”

Twenty-Day Mouse took out the letter from his pocket and, bowing reverently, handed it to the inspector. “Your full name?”

“Inui Minehito. “…Higher Official, Seventh Rank. Former Ministry of Communications official. I currently live on a pension while also operating an antique dealership specializing in Western furniture. My residence is Yodobashi Ward, Tsunohazu 2-chome, 27-banchi.… Fifty-two years old. Yes, I am indeed entirely single.” “And next, the woman over there…” “A-Amea Aoi... I currently work at ‘Cineraria’ in Shinjuku. ...Y-Yotsuya Ward... Ōkido 2-1... Bun'en Apartments. Twenty-three years old. I am single.”

“Good. …Next.” “…Next.” “Nishikai Keizou”—the man with the drinker’s nose answered casually—“Toto Newspaper’s entertainment reporter. Yotsuya Ward, Shinjuku 2-chome 58. Thirty-seven years old this year.” The inspector jerked his chin toward the man in the leaf-green uniform.

“Furuta Shinosuke. Fukagawa Ward, Tomioka Town 2-17. I work at ‘Metropolitan Taxi’.” “A driver?”

“Well, I do drive too, but right now I’m mainly fixin’ up old cars.” “…As for my residence, I stay on the second floor there.” (scratching his head) “I don’t have a wife yet.” “Well, I’m thirty-three.”

The inspector said, “You are free to leave now,” as he put away his notebook.

The young man stepped forward before the inspector.

“I have not yet finished.” The inspector, somewhat bashfully, “Ah… And you?”

“I arrived in Tokyo from Taipei four days ago and am currently staying at Kōjimachi’s Nanpei Hotel.” “I was formerly employed at Qingdao Trade Company.” “Currently unemployed… jobless at present. …Kuga Chiaki.” “Born in Meiji 35.”

Having said that, he gave an elegant bow.

The five of them pushed through the clamoring gawkers and emerged onto the street.

Kuga raised one hand. The car carrying Kuga and Aoi drove away.

2

In the dark streets behind the Imperial Garden, "Cineraria" bloomed like a nocturnal flower, its lights glimmering faintly.

The ground floor had been turned into a coffee shop; through the white gauze curtains, one could glimpse palm leaves and the faces of regulars. However, the dancing bar on the second floor was not so open. Flesh-colored curtains concealed its corporeal form like thin undergarments. The people gathered there were what one might call the connoisseurs of Great Tokyo. They were the most decorative elements of this metropolis and distinguished folklorists thoroughly versed in the legendary lore of Tokyo’s "amusement quarters." They knew each other’s social standings to some extent and felt a quasi-familial kinship toward one another, bit by bit.

The center of the bar’s hall had been turned into a "dance floor," where the connoisseurs engaged in illicit dancing. This beloved secret was maintained through a simple method.

A man other than the “regulars” entered. (This might be a vice officer.) Then, the signal’s cicada buzzer emitted a low hum. It was a signal from downstairs. The tango on the second floor had to freeze mid-step, one leg still lifted. …It was this very peril that formed Cineraria’s allure.

Around 10:00 PM that night, Kuga Chiaki pushed open the door to Cineraria. At the entrance counter was an elderly man with a gentle face, and when he saw Kuga, he bowed respectfully. Kuga felt daunted and hesitated for a moment at the foot of the stairs, but soon began climbing the narrow staircase with resolve.

Kuga stood at the entrance to the hall and quietly surveyed its interior. Along the walls of the somewhat spacious square room were placed fifteen or sixteen small tubular metal tables, with about thirty men and women seated before their drinks. As Kuga entered, everyone in the hall turned toward him in unison with scrutinizing gazes. What they saw was a young man of about twenty-five or twenty-six—smartly dressed in slightly too luxurious clothes—a beautiful youth of a kind rarely seen.

Kuga sat down at a small table near the entrance and once again carefully surveyed the hall. However, Aoi's face was nowhere to be seen there.

A woman stood up and went to start the gramophone. A whisper-like rumba melody began to flow from there. Four or five men stood up, went over, and began to dance. In the center of the dance floor was embedded a large polished glass panel, and the lighting from below, like footlights, dimly illuminated the hems of the man and woman dancing upon it. When a young woman of seventeen or eighteen in a salmon-colored soirée dress came and sat beside Kuga, she gazed at his profile with a startled expression for what felt like an eternity.

The cicada buzzer atop the liquor shelf began to ring rather amiably with a rhythmic buzzing drone.

The dance stopped abruptly, and the men and women hurried back to their respective small tables, putting on oddly nonchalant expressions. A woman stopped the gramophone. When the floor lighting was turned off, small tables and chairs were instantly pushed out onto it, and a man and woman there began drinking ginger ale. All these actions were carried out astonishingly in an instant. It was exactly like a play’s "quick scene change." The man who entered was around forty, with a doctor-like appearance. Upon seeing Kuga sitting near the entrance, he abruptly averted his face and headed toward a secluded small table.

The salmon-colored girl said “Please dance with me” while wrapping her right hand around his arm. Kuga gently placed his hand on her shoulder and said “There’s a message from a friend for someone named Aoi—if she’s here, I’d like to meet her.”

The salmon-colored girl put on a serious face and,

“Oh, that person isn’t here.” (Immediately bursting into laughter herself) “That’s a lie. ...Miss Aoi is downstairs right now. I’ll go call her for you, okay? ...In return, you’ll dance with me later.” She stood up casually and ran downstairs.

Aoi came up. She stood at the entrance to the hall and looked around toward the back. The amber light from the bar counter highlighted her nearly childlike profile. A fragile-looking neck, thin skin like a white poppy. It was the face of that mysterious quintessential "Tokyo woman"—twenty-three years old yet somehow still childlike in appearance. When Aoi spotted Kuga, she seemed to freeze for an instant. Then, as though fearing that too sudden a movement might dispel the illusion before her, she began approaching with slow, cautious steps.

“Oh… but… how… I…” Her face shone, and she seemed unable to speak properly due to emotion. Kuga, searching for words, ultimately—

“Good evening...”

was all he said. It was an utterly awkward greeting.

After escorting Aoi to her apartment, Kuga felt his heart racing—sleep now seemed utterly impossible. He stepped out of the car, removed his jacket and slung it over his arm, then began wandering aimlessly back toward Shinjuku, letting the pleasant early-summer night breeze brush against his chest. Kuga had not a single acquaintance in all of Tokyo. The city’s loneliness felt unbearable to him, so tonight’s kindness from Aoi seemed to seep deep into his heart.

...Aoi had said she was alone in Tokyo too, he thought....Why would such a beautiful girl be all alone? Come to think of it, there was something frail about her....Could it be because her face looks too childish? A bit too radiant....That type of face always makes people feel nostalgic. Two years ago I would've written poetry about this theme....But now I'm no poet, at least....Ah, my apologies.

As Kuga walked along thinking such thoughts, he collided with a man emerging from an alley there.

"Oh, my apologies." The man also removed his hat and, upon seeing Kuga's face, suddenly adopted a breezy tone, "Well now, what an extraordinary coincidence!" Ruddy Nose... It was Nishikai Keizou.

Kuga was also startled. “Well, this is unexpected.” “Didn’t expect to bump into you here... How about it—if you’re up for it, we could grab a beer around here or something. There’s an all-night oden shop right nearby where our hungry colleagues gather. Plenty of young society desk reporters drop by too—you can get all the latest on this morning’s case! …How about it? If you’re up for it…” Kuga let out a loud laugh and,

“Of course.” “I’d be delighted to join you.”

“Right there… Behind the gun shop in 2-chome… It’s called ‘Yanagi’… What we call the ‘United Press Association’.” “By the way, did you see today’s evening paper?”

“Yes… But it didn’t seem to contain anything beyond what we already know.” “Right… That guy Nasu’ll be here any minute—ask him and you’ll get the full details.” “Well—here we are.” Nishikai took Kuga by the arm and led him into a chic front-facing oden shop. The tables were nearly all occupied. Amidst the swirling steam and cigarette smoke, flushed faces were busily eating and drinking. A Chinese man with multiple dragonfly-patterned glass bead necklaces draped around his arms stood blocking the aisle, persistently hawking his wares to a group of waitresses.

Nishikai pushed past him and made his way to a secluded table in the back. The Chinese man who had been pushed aside passed by Kuga at the entrance, then suddenly pointed at his face and cried out in a shrill voice— “Looma! Looma!” He shouted a couple more times and left.

The customers all looked up at Kuga’s face suspiciously.

When Kuga took his seat at the table, Nishikai asked. “What’d that guy just say?” “He thought I was the one who pushed him aside and started cursing at me. ‘Rōman’ means ‘eel’ in Taiwanese, but it can also mean a villain or murderer.” “Hey, you know Taiwanese?” (Then, raising his voice) “Hey—Nihonsakari!”

he shouted.

“I was born in Taiwan. But my parents are Japanese. …After graduating from the Chinese Language Department at Osaka University of Foreign Studies, I joined Daito Trading Company in Qingdao—but I just wasn’t cut out for being a salaryman. So I flew back to Taiwan, made some money in the coca trade, then boldly quit the salaryman life and came to Tokyo intending to become a journalist…… I can speak Shanghainese, Beijing dialect, and Taiwanese—do you think I might be able to sneak into some newspaper company?”

Nishikai, vigorously gulping from his glass, said in an irresponsible tone,

“It’ll be fine—something’ll work out,” Nishikai said, refilling Kuga’s glass to the brim. “Well, drink up. So—written anything before, have you?” “Believe it or not, I once wrote poetry. As a token of our budding friendship, I intend to present you with a volume and thoroughly torment you with it. Please brace yourself.” Nishikai—his face flushed crimson from alcohol and summer heat—stroked his cheek with a flourish and burst into jovial laughter.

“You’re quite the character. “…As for me—I’m the son of a monk, you see. I was supposed to become one myself, but a man of such refined purity and lack of worldly desires as yours truly isn’t cut out for that line of work.” “So… after graduating from university, I resolved to become a New Theatre actor.” “Well, it all started when—” he began, then glanced toward the entrance and suddenly half-rose from his chair— “Oh—Nasu’s here!” “He’s got something new.” “…When it comes to cases that require a bit of imagination, the likes of the police are completely out of their depth.” “The young guys at the newspapers aren’t half bad.” And, raising his hand high, “Hey, Nasu…”

he shouted.

Nasu was a tall, lanky young man with hair plastered flat against his skull. Upon spotting Nishikai, he broke into a delighted smile, hurried over, and no sooner had he pulled up a chair than he barked, “Hey—Kikumasa!” Nishikai jerked his chin toward Kuga, “This is Mr. Kuga. …He’s another one who got a letter from that weirdo.” “Got any news on that front?”

Nasu clutched his head, “No good... no good...” He raised his face and shook his body vigorously. “From noon till now I’ve been running between Eitaibashi Bridge and Arakawa Floodway.” “Then I combed through every last regular at Naha and local tough around there.” “...Found something interesting though.” “There’s this waitress at Kinshō bar in Tomioka Town—name’s Shusa Hana.” “Same as our murdered Nampūtarō—born in Itoman village of Ryukyu.” “Nampūtarō brought her up to Tokyo too—lived together like man and wife for a spell.” “She even taught elementary school back in Ryukyu once—now she’s gone straight downhill.” “Takes customers openly on Kinshō’s second floor.” “Bit of a looker too... dressed like some Modern Girl... Got real excited when I heard about her.” “...Remember that Modern Girl who came drinking at Naha night before last?” “Went charging straight at her thinking ‘This has gotta be it!’... But—” He clutched his head again—“G-goddamn joke!” “She’d been cooling her heels at Suzaki Station eighteen days for secret hooking—just got out ten this morning! No way she’s involved.” “...But we did confirm Suminami Nampūtarō’s background.” “Turns out this Suminami Nampūtarō was big-time.” “Made tens of thousands yen two-three times over years—but clung tight living like skinflint.” “So definite money motive here—perpetrator didn’t leave empty-handed.” “Hell no—grabbed fat stack and ran.” “Suminami didn’t trust banks—stashed all cash right there in his room... Heavy Chinese chest made of red sandalwood cornering place—clearly kept money there judging by how torn up inside.” “...Also hid some in whatchacallit—bengu drum? Taiwanese drum body stuffed full—they missed that one somehow... Even just drum cash totaled eight thousand yen paper bills.”

“…The perpetrator entered between twelve and three o’clock—that is, just before Suminami Nampūtarō came to his room to sleep—by climbing the willow tree beside the house and getting in through the second-floor window, then hid in the wardrobe and waited.” “…At two o’clock… or perhaps closer to three, Suminami Nampūtarō, completely drunk, came up and collapsed onto his bed.” “They pinned him down and, without a word, stabbed a meat cleaver-like blade three times around the heart area.” “…Then, when he thrashed in agony and rolled off the bed, they went for the kill this time—plunging the blade deep into his carotid artery—or so it goes.”

“That’s horrible.” With a frown of his beautiful brows, Kuga said. Nishikai, pouring sake for Nasu, said in a pressing tone,

“So, what’s the situation? “Can’t they track the perpetrator’s movements?” “Still no leads?” Nasu drank the poured sake in one gulp and, in an increasingly loud voice,

“There’s been some leads from the station about her.” “…At first she kept playing dumb.” “But get this—the Metropolitan Police Headquarters and Suzaki Station are working in tandem like a damn gear mechanism.” “Last night from ten, we raided Komatsugawa’s riverbanks, Suzaki’s bars and cafés, Enjuku Hotel—all at once.” “…Hunting that Modern Girl we’ve been chasing.” “Not that they think she’s the actual killer.” “Metro HQ suspects Ryukyuan or Korean involvement, while Suzaki Station’s betting on local ex-cons.” “Opinions are split down the middle now—but with a woman mixed in, it’s complicating everything.” “Either way, snagging her would sharpen the picture—so the force is throwing everything into tracking her down.” “Naha’s errand boy—well, the kid’s dim. Couldn’t give a decent description of the dame he saw.” “‘Some classy broad, tall and slim’—useless! Here’s how it went: Next morning around nine, heading from his flophouse in Wakura 2-chome to work, he bumps into this Yamase-gumi underling—guy who’d dropped by Naha once or twice… Starts yapping about ‘last night being one helluva show,’ first mention of the woman. But this ‘underling’—kid just assumed he was Yamase. No proof he’s even connected.” “We’re chasing that angle too, but she’s still in the wind… Boy claims the Modern Girl wandered in around ten—but Suminami and the underling were already going at it earlier…” (Wiping sweat) “Christ, I’m plastered.” “…Chugged on an empty stomach… Vision’s swimming.”

At the neighboring table, a young man of about twenty-four or twenty-five—who had been fidgeting in front of an empty beer bottle—now called out to the three. “Hey, Mr. Nasu… I know that Suminami Nampūtarō.” (With a forced smile) “When I lived in Fukagawa Ward’s Hamazono Town, I used to drink at his place often.” “See, he used to work yearly in Kamchatka and Etorofu.” “After all, he was originally an Itoman fisherman… Then while he was at it, that massive Rumoi Port Construction project started up at Hokkaido’s northern tip.” “So Suminami tricked over two hundred folks from his Ryukyu hometown into coming along and sold them off to Obayashi-gumi—the Hokkaido Prefecture’s contractors—for eighty yen a head.” “He pocketed about twenty thousand yen that way. But those poor bastards he sold? Between the brutal climate and backbreaking work… By the time they finished Phase Two of that breakwater project, only fifty-seven out of two hundred were left alive. And besides that—I hear he’d been dumping women in horrible ways over in Saigon and Singapore… With all that hate piled against him? I’m thinking this whole mess wasn’t just about money.” “After all… The little wheel of karma keeps turning…”

Nasu thumped the table.

"Oh, I like what this brat's saying." "Thank you, thank you!" "This here's good swill... Appreciate it... you, you." "Truly grateful." (He stood up and went over, throwing an arm around the young man's neck) "Hey... c'mon, have a drink..." The young man cleared his throat as if he'd been waiting impatiently,

“Uh. “…Well then, beer and shellfish rolls.”

“Got it… Hey! Beer and shellfish rolls.” “Bring ’em bundled up!” “This here’s Nihonsakari.”

(With his speech now heavily slurred, Nishikai Keizou bellowed in a gravelly voice) “Hey, Kuga Chiaki… Kuga Sen! You’ve been drinkin’ nothin’ but that sorghum hooch made from straw—try proper Japanese rice wine! Chug a whole cup! Hey, Nasu Ichi… Nasu Ichi… This kid here’s all dolled up fancy-like, but dig down to his roots—he’s Taiyal tribe! The chieftain of Musha! Get it? Nasu—drink! Hey—rookie detective…”

The inside of the bar was a deafening clamor. No one was listening to what anyone else was saying. Everyone was acting selfishly, shouting whatever they wanted at the top of their voices.

Two men left, leaving the door wide open. From there, the pale light of dawn and a cool morning breeze came flowing in. The three no longer spoke. A terrible drowsiness swept over them.

Nishikai Keizou took out a wallet and said.

“Let’s go home…”

“…I… let me handle it… how much…”

Unsteadily lurching toward the table, Kuga thrust his hand into his pocket and grabbed a fistful of loose bills.

At that exact moment, Amea Aoi woke in her poor bed within Bun'en Apartment.

Aoi was having a painful dream. What kind of dream it had been, she couldn't recall, but it was likely an event from her past—a single bitter day.

……Her past was not to be touched upon here.

……Her past was shrouded in gloomy clouds and filled with sighs of lament, but when she first met Kuga Chiaki, she had not changed in the slightest from her twelve- or thirteen-year-old self—who had been somewhat happy (or so it seemed) save for one nightmare-like day in Tokyo.

In her profile, she still retained the semblance of the girl she had once been, her heart and body remaining as pure as in those days. Aoi’s charming, bright countenance endeared her to nearly every man she met. Even after beginning work at Cineraria, she had already acquired five or six male companions. Three among them had proposed marriage. (One had even been a minister.) Yet she had loved none of them. (Through all her twenty-three years, she had never loved anyone.)

When Aoi sat down next to Kuga for the first time at Naha, she couldn't help being flustered by his refined beauty. When he spoke to her next, her flushed ears could scarcely comprehend what was being said. When her senses had finally recovered, she found herself acting like a fool. To put it precisely—she had grown timid and crude, transformed completely into a sorrowful, awkward girl incapable of uttering even a single phrase that might please him.

When Kuga first visited Cineraria, at first, Aoi simply couldn’t believe it was real. It was so unexpected. This joy was so overwhelming that it nearly drowned her and drove her to madness. When Kuga offered to escort Aoi back to her apartment, she unwittingly shed tears.

When Aoi entered her room, she hurriedly took off her kimono and slid into the white slope of her bedding like a skier. And (I'm not alone anymore), she murmured repeatedly, as if in a trance. Now, through the thin curtain of Aoi's room, the morning light began to smile gently. She had only slept around four hours, yet she felt as though she'd gotten enough rest. Her body felt invigorated, and it was as though a breeze was sweeping through her mind.

Aoi placed her right arm under her head and considered where to spend her time until evening. The sky held not a single cloud. A blue early summer morning sky. Aoi closed her eyes, unable to endure her happiness.

Someone knocked on the door. Probably the apartment manager’s daughter. Still, what could have happened for her to come this early...

The person who entered was not the apartment manager’s daughter.

They were two gentlemen in matching gray serge suits. The other one sported a stern mustache. While trying to speak politely, smartly, and as casually as possible, “...We won’t take up much of your time. Please come with us to Suzaki Police Station for a moment.” “It’s nothing serious. Just a small matter.” “You’ve gotten caught up in such an awful mess—truly, I feel sorry for you.” Aoi covered her face with both hands and collapsed limply backward.

3

In the long corridor devoid of human figures, the sickly-sweet stench of urine characteristic of police stations drifted through the air. Several half-eaten bowls and discarded lunchbox remains lay scattered about, with flies buzzing over them. In the distance, the violent clashing of bamboo swords could be heard. The door labeled "Judicial Officer" opened, and after a beltless policeman carrying a thick bundle of documents passed through, Aoi emerged slowly to sit on the bench by the window.

Her face was gaunt, making her look like a completely different person. Her clothes were wrinkled and crumpled from sleep, and a large sweat stain had formed on her back. Her nape and the backs of her hands were entirely covered with horrifying red spots from bedbug bites. As the policeman disappeared through the next door, Aoi began scratching the back of her hand as if unconsciously, her vacant eyes fixed on the view outside the window.

Outside the window was a vacant lot, and under the intense sunlight, the gravel sparkled white.

Aoi suddenly closed her eyes. Tears began to flow from between her eyelids. She wasn’t crying. The harsh light irritated sleep-deprived eyes.

On the third day, Aoi was finally released from custody. A state of paralysis following extreme fatigue and tension had rendered her head numb, leaving her unable to think of anything. Why she had sat down here was not even entirely clear. She was just unbearably itchy.

Aoi underwent a harsh interrogation. She had been interrogated not as a witness, but as a murder suspect. The police had concluded that both the woman who had appeared at Naha on the eve of the murder and the woman who had called Furuta Shinosuke about the inheritance notification were Aoi. The man from Naha had testified that this woman was not the one, and since Aoi also had a solid alibi, she managed to evade suspicion on that front; but regarding the phone call, despite Furuta’s clear statement that "the voice wasn’t nearly this resonant," they simply refused to accept it. In the end, they suggested that the two of them must have conspired together. At this point, it seemed futile to try to defend herself.

Especially for Aoi, there were parts of her past she did not wish to clarify, so inevitably her responses had to remain ambiguous. The judicial officer pressed down on that point. Aoi could only repeat that she hadn’t made the call—she had no other way to respond. In the end she fell silent with nothing left to say. Then the judicial officer—who until now had maintained a gentle demeanor—suddenly glared fiercely, his entire face twisting into a snarling mouth as he bellowed: “Don’t mock us! This woman—!”

On the afternoon of the second day, she was forcibly subjected to a venereal disease examination. If she had carried any infection, they seemed determined to use that to silence all objections. The police doctor slipped rubber covers over his fingers and examined Aoi's body. The results proved unexpectedly favorable. With an odd chuckle, the police doctor remarked, "Hey boss—this one's still a virgin." This somehow improved the judicial officer's disposition toward her. If possible, Aoi wanted to confess everything and flee from this place. Her heart had grown apathetic; had this been her former self—the Aoi who'd long abandoned hope of earthly happiness—she likely would have done so. But now she was different. Through Kuga's tender gaze, she faintly discerned within its depths the hazy outline of her own joyful future. Through twenty-three years of existence, Aoi now stood finally poised at happiness's threshold. This dream alone she refused to relinquish.

When they laid her down on the iron examination table in the venereal exam room, Aoi felt indignation and sorrow pierce her heart. At this moment alone, she truly thought of confessing everything. If she did that, she could avoid enduring this humiliation. But if she were to say that, Aoi would never meet Kuga again for the rest of her life. It was her fierce love for Kuga that made her endure this disgrace. Her tears began to overflow with no way to stop them.

A cool wind blew in, passing through the sparse treetops. Aoi began to doze off……

At the end of the corridor, Kuga appeared. As he approached with long strides in a voice that seemed to burst forth, “Oh...”

He said. His lips twitched. In an instant, he wore a look of being unable to say anything. Aoi half-opened her drowsy eyes and looked at Kuga. Her eyes snapped open.

“It was awful, wasn’t it?” “It was nothing… They said I can go home today.”

He said in a deliberately dismissive tone. If he hadn't said it like that, he might have burst into tears. Kuga gazed at Aoi with eyes that seemed to caress her when he suddenly pointed at the back of her hand and asked with a surprised expression. "What happened here?" "...A whole swarm of them... Fleas, mosquitoes, lice, bedbugs... It's been tough."

And she managed a smile. ……She couldn’t quite manage it.

Kuga’s expression hardened slightly, “That’s terrible… And what exactly do the police intend to do about it?” “With a face that wouldn’t hurt a fly, they go and do something so outrageous…” “That’s a terrible thing to say!” “This is the reckoning for greed.”

Kuga sat down beside Aoi and, “...However, it’s not just you.” “That morning, everyone who gathered at Naha was summoned—even Mr. Nishikai, the newspaper reporter.” “...In that room over there, the Metropolitan Police officers are holding firm and are now questioning the man from Naha, Inui, and Furuta.”

“You too.” “Yes, of course me too... But I was relieved you seemed unexpectedly resilient.” “...I’d been worried—truly—that they might do something awful to you.” “...And with this heat besides...” “At least, thinking maybe something cold would help, I tried arranging things.” “But the police just made annoyed faces and wouldn’t accept anything no matter what I said.” “Have some mercy—it’s not like I left it unattended.”

Aoi could no longer endure it. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob, her body shaking. Kuga, too, had moist eyes,

“You’re just tired. Go home quickly and get some rest... I’d like to walk you home, but I’ll probably be called in soon...” Having said that, he handed a handkerchief to Aoi. She immediately stopped crying. After wiping her eyes clean, “I’m sorry... No, it’s fine... More importantly, I’ll wait here until you’re done...” “No, don’t do that—come with me now. You must be exhausted... But if you’re up for it tonight... (gaining momentum) Actually, we discussed it earlier—we’ve decided to hold the ‘Suminami Nampūtarō’s Persons of Interest Meeting’ tonight... The journalist Mr. Nishikai... old man Inui... Mr. Furuta... and then me... Since you must be tired, I won’t invite you...”

Am I going to collapse right here like this? ……Aoi was beginning to fade. But if I could meet Kuga tonight... Aoi said quietly.

“Something like this… If I sleep even thirty minutes… I’ll be better….” “Tonight… where?”

“Seven o'clock. Shinjuku’s 〈Mon Namur〉.”

Aoi stood up. “I’ll be there. Well then, goodbye.”

“Well then, at seven.”

At the end of the hallway, she glanced back once, then with the unsteady gait of someone not fully awake, slowly turned to the right and disappeared.

Kuga waved in that direction. He took out his watch and gazed at it, then began pacing restlessly down the hallway with clacking steps.

Before long, the lower door opened, and Inui emerged. Inui flipped up the hem of his gauze haori and stood blocking Kuga's path,

“Finally finished. …What a foolish precaution. Ridiculous.” “That aside, for this carefully arranged meeting, Furuta won’t be able to attend, will he?” “Blood was found on the jacket.” "...It’s only natural, of course." “He’s got such a villainous face, that one.” Having said that, he twisted his lips and contorted his face into a mask-like visage reminiscent of a Noh theater demon. A chill ran down Kuga’s spine.

While he remained unable to respond, Inui slowly lit a cigarette and began to mutter idly, “So this case reaches its conclusion, does it? Well, well. …Ended rather abruptly, didn’t it? …I do enjoy trials—I often attend them—but criminal cases are quite fascinating.” “...There are some I’d like to get involved in myself, you know. ...This one in particular—I was rather deeply connected and quite enjoying it, but for it to end so abruptly leaves me at a loss. ...And speaking of which, just how incompetent are Japan’s police?” “They need to seek more cooperation from citizens.” “...If a snitching system were established and submissions vigorously encouraged, efficiency would undoubtedly improve compared to the present...”

(Grinning slyly) “Though recently, it’s improved somewhat…” (Then suddenly lowering his voice) “Actually, I’m the one who reported Furuta Shinosuke.” “Heh heh… Don’t tell anyone.” “…They’d resent me for it.” “Cooperating with police is a citizen’s duty… Don’t get cocky!” “Looking down on everyone!” “…Serves you right… Murderer.” “Well then… at the appointed hour tonight…” He flicked his half-smoked cigarette—still lit—into the hallway and sauntered off with a dancelike stride.

Kuga stood dumbfounded, watching him leave, when the door opened again and this time Nishikai emerged. In a boisterous voice,

“You’re next!” he said. He was breathing heavily.

A patrolman stuck only his head out from the door and, in an unexpectedly polite voice, called, "Mr. Kuga."

As Kuga tried to stand up from the bench, his straw hat slipped from his knee. It rolled all the way until hitting the far wall with a dry thud and stopping there. For some reason, Kuga became terribly flustered. He picked up the hat and returned with faltering steps.

“Hey, Kuga! I’m waiting.” “At the press lounge.”

Kuga glanced back slightly, then nodded with a faint, curiously memorable smile. The door closed.

“Oh, how did it go, Mr. Nishikai?”

As Nishikai entered the press lounge, Nasu suddenly called out from within the thick smoke. About three people stood up and noisily crowded around Nishikai. Nishikai perched himself on the table and spoke in an angry tone.

“I don’t matter at all.” “I offer all kinds of helpful advice, but they’re not listening at all. …Let a man talk while they’re busy reading Furuta’s interrogation report. …You know—that Chaplin mustache guy…” “So they’ve got some new evidence again, huh? …Did you hear about this, Nasu?”

Nasu stuffed his half-written manuscript into his bag while,

“Right… When we looked into various things, ambiguities started emerging in that guy’s actions.” “…The Naha guy finally started talking today.” “…Come to think of it—around eight o’clock on the night before the murder, Furuta came drinking with a young woman.” “This one—he got a clear look, so he remembers her face.” “She was a good-looking woman of twenty-two or twenty-three. When the officer asked if he recognized her voice, he said she didn’t speak much and just acted aloof, so he didn’t really remember it well.” “So…”

“So, what’s that woman to Furuta?”

“That’s where Furuta’s story falls apart—he claims he met her at the edge of Koyanagi Bridge, called out ‘Miss, let’s grab a drink,’ and she just said ‘Yes’ and followed him.” “…But they’ve more or less settled on an investigation plan.” “The Metropolitan Police Headquarters’ opinion has aligned too.” “The evidence at the scene is scarce, but based on how the room was handled, they’ve concluded it’s a first-timer’s work.” “For now, they’re presuming the culprit’s a woman—desperately hunting her whereabouts… In the end—” Nishikai snatched [it].

“In the end, there’s no need to chase after that stuff. …If they slap Aoi harder, that woman’ll come out whether she likes it or not.” “…In other words, A equals B, see.” …But that man couldn’t possibly understand this methodology. …Of course, they likely didn’t resort to such a childish method of proof that even a half-wit could see through… In short, that imbecile could only perceive the process of biological transformation as isolated phenomena. Nishikai couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that he’d still be Nishikai Keizou even if his hair turned white. …When they’re basing their entire investigation on such unreliable testimony, there’s no way this’ll ever get solved. Same goes for the voice on the phone. The voice’s tone isn’t the issue. The critical point is that only Furuta and Aoi received the notification through a special method. …With just this, isn’t it sufficiently clear that there’s some common recessive factor between them? Because they carelessly let something slip, this has now become their weakness. …In fact, aren’t they actively collaborating on that very point? …On one hand, they spout off that it wasn’t this kind of voice, while on the other, they claim there’s no one more honest than this. …Hey, Nasu. …After all, that woman isn’t a fool. “Pull yourself together. Hey, Mr. Detective.”

“That’s precisely where Toshiro and a famous detective differ.” (Nasu retorted with a laugh) “…About Aoi, Mr. Nishikai.” “At that nine o’clock time, she was properly working at Cineraria, I’ll have you know.” “Moreover, the one clinging to Aoi all night long… (here, he pointed at the modern boy-style reporter beside him) …let’s not hide it—it was this guy here. …This one’s nicknamed ‘Dani Chu,’ see—once he latches onto a woman’s side, not even thunder could pry him off… Plus, that night, he…”

Another person picked up where they left off and said.

“I properly escorted her all the way to her apartment, only to get turned down at the door, chased after the Red Line streetcar and took a spill… Ugh.”

Everyone burst out laughing; Nishikai said. “The murder was at 3:00 AM.”

“But Aoi was in her room until morning. When she returns, the caretaker’s daughter always gets up to lock the front door. That night too, after locking up, they chatted for about five minutes before going to bed.”

“There’s an emergency ladder on the window.”

Nasu forced a bitter smile, as if to say it was unbearable,

“That’s ridiculous. A young woman climbs down an emergency ladder in the dead of night, travels all the way from Shinjuku to Fukagawa, kills someone, and then returns to her room—pulling this off from start to finish without a single person noticing.” “It doesn’t seem impossible to pull off… but in reality, it’s practically absolutely impossible…” “The impossible within the possible…” “It’s an imaginary number in everyday life. The safety margin is too slim to be practical.” “If you think that’s a lie, go ahead and try the experiment yourself.” “Your window has an emergency ladder too, right?”

“It can be done.”

“Around 2:00 AM…”

“That’s right.”

“Well, well—I didn’t know you’d already tested it out.”

“I never said I did any experiment.” “But I’ll do the experiment right here and show you.” “You see—split a single person into two parts and use ’em both, it’s a piece of cake.” “…The possible within the impossible—take for example…”

From the side, one person interjected in a shrill voice.

“By the way, Mr. Nishikai. …You’re the one who—where were you that night?”

He turned sharply toward that direction, frowning sternly,

“Why are you asking that?” “There’s no particular reason, but that night at Yanagi, I ran out of money and went to wake you at your place around two. When you weren’t there, I panicked… That spot’s not really my scene…” “I was in Ginza.” It was a razor-sharp retort.

The large wall clock struck three.

Nasu stood up and, while yawning,

“Won’t you come out for some tea, Mr. Nishikai? Let’s continue our discussion there.”

“Enough already.” “Just go ahead without me.” “I’m waiting here for Kuga.”

Then, Dani Chu said. “Kuga—that young man… Wait, isn’t he from the Special Higher Police’s Second Unit? …I definitely saw him at the main office.”

With a flustered gaze fixed on his interlocutor, Nishikai said, "The Second Unit? Th-that's... That's absurd!" Leaving Nishikai behind, everyone noisily filed out while chattering.

Kuga was the first to arrive. He had wanted to speak with Aoi alone, even for just a moment, before the others arrived. He sat at the central table in the hall and had some water brought. The water was lukewarm.

The hall was unreasonably packed with people, and they all held their jugs as if by prior agreement. A large electric fan flapped its wings irritatingly across the ceiling.

Aoi arrived. She wore a Fuji silk blouse with a thin woolen skirt... Her neat and modest attire resembled that of a serious department store clerk. She rushed over, sat down next to Kuga, and let out a labored breath. “Haa, haa… You’re out of breath. What happened?” She only giggled softly and didn’t respond. “Your stomach’s empty, isn’t it?” She nodded like a child, again and again.

At the entrance to the hall, Nishikai and Inui were loitering. Aoi raised both hands toward them and waved them like semaphore flags. The two men approached from afar, calling out, “Hey, hey.” Inui wore a black jacket, and under it, a stiff white waistcoat. Fanning his wrist with a folding fan, “Having escaped the harsh hands of justice, we four have safely reunited here.” “That we can share a drink like this is a most auspicious occasion indeed.” (After rattling on, he thrust his short chin toward Aoi.) “…Well now, Miss Aoi.” “You must’ve endured quite the ordeal amid all that commotion.” “Ah, I can well imagine.” “This time, it seems you were at the greatest disadvantage of all.” “Being born beautiful does tend to leave one vulnerable…”

Nishikai made an openly displeased face,

“Let’s drop the police talk.” “Anyway, let’s at least wet our throats first.” “Tch, ain’t nobody comin’ over.” (Banging the table violently) “Hey, waiter!” “Have all the waiters died off?” he shouted. Inui looked around at the three of them, “...By the way, may I ask who is in charge of this evening’s expenses?” “…No—or rather?” “…It’s better to clarify such matters in advance, you see…”

Kuga responded. Smiling, “Pardon me, but today I’ll take care of it. …Since I’m not yet accustomed to Tokyo, I chose this dreary place…” Inui formed a vulgar smile, muttering, “Oh my, oh my…” as he... “This has truly been a strange twist of fate… However, if matters conclude thusly, this misfortune may not be entirely unfortunate.” “I earnestly ask that we maintain our cordial relations henceforth.” “…And particularly, I’d like you to host such gatherings frequently in the future…” “Well then, perhaps I’ll make myself comfortable.”

With that, he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. Aoi hung her head and began to giggle softly. She seemed unable to stop laughing. Inui appeared utterly unperturbed and continued noisily smacking his tongue.

“...Every time I look at all your faces, what comes to mind is that inheritance matter.” “...You see, I’ve been thinking lately—if only Mr. Suminami hadn’t been killed, I would’ve certainly gotten my hands on some of that inheritance. And that’s why I can’t stand the bastard who did him in—loathe them to my core.” “That’s interesting.” “What do you mean by that?” Kuga asked seriously. Nishikai and Aoi set down their forks and looked up.

“That inheritance notification was neither a joke nor a prank.” “It was entirely genuine.” “…The notifier was none other than Suminami Nampūtarō himself. …That morning, he meant to invite all five of us to his establishment and apportion shares of his wealth to each. …I surmise he was afflicted with cancer or some such illness and knew full well his remaining time was limited.” “Moreover, judging from the letter’s phrasing, his condition must have been gravely critical.”

Nishikai burst out laughing. “...Inui, old man.” “You must’ve read the papers—Suminami was the biggest tightwad there ever was, y’know? …That he’d go and leave his fortune to some nobody from who-knows-where...”

Quietly, Inui responded. "I had thought you would likely say that." "...I too read the newspapers." "Upon learning of Mr. Suminami's conduct through them, it became increasingly clear my assumptions weren't mistaken." "Mr. Nishikai—your statement stems from misunderstanding a miser's psyche." (After taking a sip and setting down his glass) "To be frank, I myself—the one speaking these words—am also a miser." "Hence, I grasp Mr. Suminami's feelings with perfect clarity." "When driven to such extremity, misers often commit acts utterly divorced from character." "When cornered beyond escape—when realizing fate can't be defied—everything long suppressed detonates at once." "...They vault from a materialistic world straight into void and nothingness." "The greater the miser, the fiercer the backlash—the more aberrant the explosion. As you know, that very night Mr. Suminami hosted extravagantly for some unknown woman and drank himself senseless—behavior unseen for decades among those who knew him. Doesn't this vividly demonstrate my point? Well?" "Do objections remain?...(abruptly shifting tone) So mark this—though I know not the sum, imagining what was rightfully mine being snatched away leaves me so aggrieved I can't keep still!" (Placing both hands on the table and leaning toward the three) "I was born in the Year of the Snake." "Being both fiercely jealous and tenacious by nature, I shan't endure such humiliation meekly." "...With these hands, I'll surely apprehend that villain ere long." "...Ah well—this protracted aftermath won't linger...Just wait—you'll witness their reckoning!" "You thief!"

Having said that, he suddenly slumped and rested his cheek on the table, beginning to mutter something deliriously under his breath. Even for a drunken state, this was rather bizarre.

Nishikai whispered to Kuga. “His mental state is terrifying.”

Kuga whispered back. “Rather, it’s quite unorthodox.”

Nishikai said.

“...Inui, old man. ...The difference in personalities is no trifling matter, eh? ...I was born in the Year of the Tiger, but I’d long since put that inheritance business out of mind.”

“Forgetting is your business.”

Inui growled in response. “Now, don’t get angry. ...But if Suminami’s assailant saw that look on your face, they’d probably freeze in terror.” “After all, it was terrifying!”

Inui merely sneered with a derisive snort and didn’t bother to engage.

Kuga grinned slyly and, “I couldn’t agree more. …I just stepped out of the interrogation room myself a moment ago, and on my way back, the judicial officer said this: ‘…He was in quite a good mood, you know… You see, the perpetrator really is one of the five who came to Naha that morning. Just wait and see—we’ll know who it is by tomorrow…’” (Looking quite amused as he surveyed the three faces) “…Come to think of it, the perpetrator might be among this very group. …It could even be me. No—or rather, it might be Old Man Inui himself…”

Before Kuga had even finished speaking, Inui abruptly stood up. Gripping the mug handle as if about to hurl it, his eyes flying wide open, he glared at Kuga while—

“What did you say?! …Say that again, you bastard!” he shouted. He had taken on the same villainous officer’s face I’d seen in the corridor of Suzaki Police Station. Nishikai, theatrically waving his hands and saying “Here, here,” turned to Inui. “Cut it out with the shouting. …Can’t you see everyone’s listening?” Inui glared at Kuga once more, “Damn it!” he shouted, then suddenly collapsed into his chair, covered his face with both hands, and began to sob. He sobbed and wept.

Nishikai scratched his head as if to say there was no managing him,

“Tch, you shouldn’t start crying now.” “…(reaching across the table and patting Inui’s shoulder) Old Man Inui…” “Look, Old Man Inui.” “Your liquor isn’t all that great either.……Crying over nothing—what a joke.……” (Then he winked at Kuga) “Mr. Kuga, you ought to show a bit more restraint yourself.” “It’s not good to mock an old man.” Kuga, wearing an embarrassed smile, turned to Inui and,

“Please forgive me. It was just a joke.”

Inui finally raised his face and, with tear-filled eyes, glared resentfully at Kuga while—

“You shouldn’t do that. Even as a joke—saying something like that goes too far… You’ve finally made me cry…”

And he wiped his eyes with his palm. He was no longer crying.

Kuga said, “I just said it without thinking... Please forgive me. What I just said was a joke, but... it’s not a lie that the judicial officer said that.” He lowered his face close to the table and whispered, “Miss Aoi—keep your head down like that, then raise it quietly.” Aoi raised her face with a fearful expression. “...No—there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. “Beside the third pillar from the back... at the table next to the potted palm plant—there’s a man sitting alone, right? Could you see him?” When Aoi nodded, he concluded, “Right... That’s a police officer.”

Aoi furrowed her brows and spoke in a voice that was almost inaudible. “...I thought it was over...” “...I don’t want this...”

Kuga continued. “I saw that man in the detective room at Suzaki Police Station twice.” "...(To Nishikai and Inui) When you two tried to pass by that man earlier, he jerked his chin in your direction and signaled to someone."

Nishikai said in a high-pitched voice. “Well then, I likely know that fellow... I’ll go have a piss and get a look at his face.” “If you keep spouting grand claims, I’ll take you down a peg.” There was also an air of bravado about him. Inui clapped his hands together like a child and shouted. “Yes, yes! Go on, go on!” Nishikai stood up and, stomping his feet heavily, walked in that direction. Inui watched intently in that direction, his eyes glistening. Nishikai approached the man who was looking down into the dish. There, he slowed his pace, stared persistently at the man’s face with an intrusive gaze, then entered the washroom at the back of the hall.

When the meal ended, Nishikai and Inui announced they would leave ahead of the others. Already in very good moods, they left walking shoulder to shoulder amicably.

After a while, Aoi timidly spoke.

“Please take me home… If I go home alone, I’m frightened…”

Kuga did not reply and instead laughed. "That story about the judicial officer was nonsense." "I only said it because Old Man Inui kept droning on about trivial matters—I wanted to shut him up." "There's a certain cunning to it, don't you think? ...(his expression turning slightly serious) Miss Aoi, you won't be summoned again, so there's no need to worry." As he spoke, he pulled out a police notebook bearing a gold emblem from his inner jacket pocket and flipped it open to the first page. "Kuga Chiaki"—his name was written there.

“Please rest assured. …Since I’m the one saying this…”

And he gently took Aoi’s hand.

What was wrong? …Aoi suddenly turned pale and hung her head low. In Kuga’s palm, Aoi’s small hand twitched. As if she wanted to flee from there immediately.

4

Truth is stranger than fiction—that is certainly possible. However, if it becomes too strange and slightly exceeds the bounds of normality, people will no longer believe it. It is exactly the same in the case of novels.

The murder case of Suminami Nampūtarō—with its coincidental excess of fictional elements like "the Mysterious Woman" and "the Unknown Inheritance Benefactor"—found itself somewhat ridiculed by the straightforward public that detested novels. Yet there existed another faction with intense curiosity—a surprisingly large contingent, as always—and within those circles, the case had been vigorously debated for a week. Given that the perpetrator was a young woman employing amateurish methods, some offered penetrating critiques declaring this a crime of passion. ...One mustn't leap to conclusions. Then what of the inheritance notification? The passion theory ground to an abrupt halt there. Regarding 〈the woman〉, newspapers embellished her story with outlandish speculations, but concerning 〈the Mysterious Inheritance Notification〉—the truth the public most craved—they could provide no satisfactory explanation beyond deeming it likely a criminal ploy to confound police investigative strategy.

The woman with a slender figure and bobbed hair—said to be twenty-two or twenty-three years old—who had reportedly appeared at Naha on the eve of the crime, had since vanished without a trace. Yet her existence had been confirmed. This was no hallucination from Naha's intellectually disabled errand boy. There had been one more person who recognized the woman...

A police officer spotted a woman that night turning right in front of the Imperial University Aeronautical Testing Grounds in Etchujima and walking toward Kosekibacho 4-chome. It was nearly 3:00 AM. She walked very hurriedly. At first glance, she looked like a barmaid who had just closed up shop. No—she was not that type of woman. Her refined attire... suggested a young lady from a respectable family. Given the lateness of the hour, I intended to question her and was about to call out, “Hey! Hey!”—but just then she turned the corner at 4-chome, 1-banchi. At that exact moment, I had been patrolling deep within an alley forming a T-junction with that road. I rushed out and turned the corner to look, but her figure had already vanished. ...As you know, that area is a maze of narrow alleys. Though no effective action was possible under such circumstances, I must express profound regret for having failed to fully discharge my duties...

When the police officer read about Suminami Nampūtarō’s murder in the evening paper and realized that the described appearance of matched exactly with what he had seen the previous night, he panicked and promptly reported this to his superiors. The investigative focus was immediately shifted to this lead, and the full force of the Metropolitan Police Department’s First Investigative Division and Susaki Station began tracking her trail across the entire city, starting from Kosekibacho. It was discovered that had turned right from Botancho 3-chome into Hiraku-cho and gone as far as the vicinity of Kyokushin Lumber Yard, but her trail abruptly vanished there. She had suddenly melted into the earth itself.

With no clues whatsoever, a week passed since then. A certain newspaper this morning mocked that the Metropolitan Police Department’s tendency to lapse into gynocentrism was unlikely to be of much benefit to the investigation.

Aoi read it in bed. As Kuga had predicted, she was no longer summoned thereafter, so each morning she could lose herself in the newspaper with ease. Whenever Aoi's eyes fell upon an article about the case, she would always happily remember that morning when she first met Kuga. Fragments of memories... She recalled with particular clarity the intense impression from when his identity as a Special Higher Police officer had been revealed.

The reason Aoi turned pale and hung her head at that time was that she grieved over her own detestable past—a past she had to maintain as a lie at all costs—in the face of Kuga’s utter sincerity.

Aoi had lied to Kuga when she said she had come to Tokyo for the first time about a month ago. She was born in Tokyo, and there she grew up.

Aoi was born the eldest daughter of a certain daimyo aristocratic family. A branch of the Izumi Takatora clan of western Japan, Aoi’s family was its branch family. For generations, they held fertile fiefs in Kiga, and before the tiles were destroyed, they were a lineage that served in the Phoenix Chamber. In the old shogunate era, even if they were relatives, branch families were generally treated as vassals; however, in the Izumi domain, the branch families’ status was akin to that of servants bound to their lord. The Izumi branch family’s family code included the following chapter.

〈…We hereby decree that unwavering loyalty to the honorable main family shall stand as the foremost precept of our family code—that no act of defiance shall arise even in response to any declaration of incompetence from them—for all generations to come…〉. This family code was still strictly adhered to without violation even in modern times. Aoi’s father was an inherently weak and weak-willed man. Her mother was a beautiful woman, but due to severe melancholia, by the time Aoi became aware of her surroundings, she was already living alone in a detached sukiya-style cottage and would not speak to any human being.

Among the various customs of the Izumi family, it had been a generational rule for the second and third sons of the main family to marry women from branch families—thus Aoi too could not escape this precedent. To reveal the truth, the main family’s lineage was what is called a recessive lineage, necessitating frequent marriages into hereditary diseases. Thus Aoi had a husband from birth. The one who had been designated as Aoi’s husband was the fourth son of the main family, named Seimei. This was pure dementia—and not only that—he also suffered from nystagmus, a condition where his eyeballs moved incessantly, an eerie affliction.

In the spring of Aoi’s fifteenth year, when her father died of laryngeal cancer, Seimei—twenty-one years old—was abruptly sent to her household under the pretense of founding a branch family. From that night onward, Aoi was compelled to share a room with this imbecile and live as husband and wife. The old woman who had accompanied Seimei from the Izumi main family—an inexpressibly foolish woman—assumed control of everything with the demeanor of a madam indoctrinating a novice prostitute, permitting no one in the branch family to voice dissent or consent.

The following night, Seimei stood fiercely before Aoi. He had an abnormal tendency toward satyriasis, though she did not truly understand its nature. Even when the old woman tried to explain it, Aoi seemed unable to comprehend. When his frustration finally peaked, he would grow out his nails and scratch the old woman indiscriminately. Out of single-minded loyalty, the old woman seized Aoi with all her strength. Nearby, his idiotic face—with eyes ceaselessly rolling and nostrils flaring—persisted in frenzied, futile motions that seemed utterly alien to this world.

However, in the end, it was always Aoi who prevailed. She would push them away with all her strength and flee to the sukiya where her mother resided. At this, the old woman would rail that not a soul in this house would lend her aid—nothing but unspeakably disloyal wretches—work herself into a frenzy, and finally burst into loud sobbing. This struggle would repeat itself five or six times every month without fail. Aoi could think of nothing but escaping this environment. Her mother, being infirm, could not be relied upon in any case. She came to understand that to flee this place and survive in the world, she must diligently cultivate her own capabilities. The sole ally who lent her strength was the young female tutor who visited three times weekly. From this woman, Aoi assiduously learned every manner of skill—methods, emotions, handicrafts, and worldly knowledge. In the autumn of her eighteenth year, Aoi abandoned her home. She journeyed to Fukue Island in the Goto Archipelago, hiding in a fisherman's household of Catholic faith. (This had been her tutor's family home.) She lived there until her twenty-first spring, worked nearly two years in Kobe's dance halls, and returned to Tokyo two months prior where she began frequenting 〈Cineraria〉.

The reason Aoi hadn’t disclosed her past to the police was that if she were taken back this time, she would have no way to meet Kuga anymore. (Seimei was sound of mind and eagerly awaiting her return home.) In such circumstances, there was no reason the police would take her side. By applying the investigation request from six years ago, they would fully carry out their duties.

The reason she was deceiving Kuga was solely because she didn’t want her recessive lineage to be known. If Kuga were to imagine even in her blood the hereditary factors of an unfit person, he would immediately cover his face and run away. Losing Kuga by telling the truth was unbearable... Moreover, she had already told too many lies. There was no going back now. Aoi had resolved not to confess.

Even so, Kuga was beautiful. When she looked at him as a lover, his face was so handsomely refined that she couldn't help feeling uneasy. He carried himself with such elegance that it strained belief a young man like him belonged to the Metropolitan Police Department. Even the most aristocratic youths who gathered at 〈Cineraria〉 lacked Kuga's degree of cultivated grace.

By now, Aoi harbored not the slightest doubt about Kuga’s sincerity or his love. He had even secured her 〈release〉 from the police. What else could this be if not proof that she was loved? She must certainly be right to believe that. Despite his beautiful features, Kuga’s temperament was steady. Moreover, he was an exceptional poet. In another five years... By the time he turned forty, he would accomplish some notable achievement. Being at home and collaborating with him on that was undoubtedly a joy. She had to quit being a dancer as soon as possible. For his sake, this was the most fitting course of action.…

When Aoi spoke about Kuga to the apartment manager’s daughter or her colleagues at 〈Cineraria〉, she referred to him as (betrothed). Those who held enough goodwill toward her hoped to see that announcement ceremony as soon as possible. The one who desired it more than anyone was Aoi herself, but… Aoi met with (betrothed) almost every night. Kuga would come to Cineraria to pick up Aoi, and then the two of them would have supper together somewhere in the Tsunohazu neighborhood. Nishikai would sometimes bring companions and join the two of them for supper. Old Man Inui’s antique shop was also located nearby, so whenever they sent for him, he would come rushing over without a word of protest.

Aoi seemed to enjoy herself just the same whether she was alone with Kuga or sitting at the table with a crowd. Especially at such times, she would stay close to Kuga and perform various attentive gestures, like a new bride. Even when Nishikai, drunk, made lewd jokes, she did not get angry. When Inui spilled sake from his cup and wet his chest, each time she would stand up and gently wipe it for him. Then Inui, his face drenched in tears, would repeatedly apologize again and again: "Miss Aoi... It was me who first informed the police about you... There's simply no excuse for this..."

“……In other words, I’m just being resentful……This awful habit of mine.” “……A warped clerk’s mentality isn’t something you can shed overnight……Compounded by fifty-two years of lonely bachelorhood.” “Finding joy in spitefulness becomes inevitable, doesn’t it?” “……But really, you must forgive me.” “I’m truly sorry to you, so…”

Until around two o'clock… At times, they would spend the night happily in this way.

Lightning flashed across the dark sky. Kuga came to escort Aoi to her apartment as usual. As Aoi tried to go inside, he called her back with a “Wait,” then said, stammering so badly it was hard to listen.

“...Miss Aoi, please... marry me.” (After saying that, he stepped back as if fleeing.) “Well... good night. No—don’t answer now... Take the night to think it over. Come to my place tomorrow at noon—we’ll have lunch together...” (Then murmuring:) “...If you accept... wear gloves when you come.” “...Um, the ones with lace...”

Kuga and Aoi got married.

Suminami Nampūtarō's murder case quite unexpectedly finally resulted in the creation of one happy couple.

Since both had no parents or relatives in Tokyo, those gathered at their wedding celebration were inevitably none other than the group they had met that morning at 〈Naha〉. Nishikai Keizou, Old Man Inui... and one more—the young newspaper reporter Nasu—joined them. It was a private room in a small restaurant called 〈Tensaku〉 in Shinjuku. Nishikai and Nasu presented a marble mantel clock and made an elaborate show of it.

Inui presented a large globe. What was she supposed to do with this? ...As for that line of inquiry, it hardly mattered now... Nishikai stood up and delivered a congratulatory speech. Using his index finger to pick his nose, “In short, the utilitarian method of marriage is nothing more than having kids as quickly as possible and shirking all your own responsibilities onto those brats. When they turn seven, spank their butts nonstop and make them earn pocket money. No matter how useless the brats are, you can at least have them do things like ‘Make them sing.’ If by chance you pick out a good one, its utility would truly be immeasurable. In the end, they’ll become geisha or courtesans—well, no need for the old man to slave away earnin’ money! The utilitarian results’ll all come together to put food on the table. Therefore... I humbly pray you’ll produce countless brats and live in ever-greater peace and security in your old age.”

And raising both hands, “Banzai!” he shouted. Nasu joined in with a shrill voice. Everyone was already quite drunk. “What kind of congratulatory speech is that?! Do it properly! Properly!” Old Man Inui staggered over and protested.

“...May I ask—then how do you plan to feed them?” “Ain’t nothin’ to it. Have the brats take care of each other. …The older brother’s got an obligation to support whoever’s right below him. That brother then supports the next one down… Keep goin’ down the line like this… The very last brat supports your eldest brother… So basically”—he spread his hands—“the Kugas can just sit back watchin’ with their mitts tied!” Inui muttered through clenched teeth.

“Hmph, journalists’ minds are such trifling things.”

This became the trigger, and the two began to argue. Nasu even joined in, and it became impossible to keep track of who was arguing with whom. Aoi seemed hardly aware of the commotion, her eyes dreamily smiling. ...The afterimages of her bleak past and her memories began to waver like morning mist over Dream Moor. The fog cleared, and now, above the field, the morning sun was beginning to rise. In the cheerful bed of her new life, she would not even dream of the past. ...Above all, she was no longer alone. This Adonis, with the resplendent soul of a poet, would surely lead her to the secret places of life’s pleasures. ……Aoi quietly felt around under the table. There was Kuga’s hand. It warmly enveloped her small hand within it. A shudder of happiness coursed through Aoi’s spine.

Seeming as though the argument had reached a lull, Nishikai, shaking his head like a turtle hatchling, approached Aoi.

“A murderer and a bond formed by birds—what a pair, eh?” “...Delightful, isn’t it, ma’am.”

With that, he said, and disgustingly leaned against Aoi’s shoulder. Aoi smiled and nodded. Nasu stood up from the far end while saying, "Aoi-kun."

“Hey, Aoi-kun… Tonight’s the night you bid farewell to your dancing career.” “Let’s dance a tango for the occasion.” “... (thrusting his face toward Kuga) Hey, you don’t mind, do you, Kuga?” “...Don’t make such a strange face. ...Who cares what face a husband makes?” “...Aoi-kun, come on, let’s dance, let’s dance...”

Failing to grab Aoi’s hand, he lurched onto the table and, carried by his momentum, rolled over onto Inui’s lap along with the half-eaten dishes. And so, another commotion began. While clinging to her husband and leaning close as they returned to their apartment in Nakano, Aoi was so happy she felt like singing.

Kuga said.

“...Around the end of this week, I have to go to Taiwan on official business. ...(pulling your shoulder closer) Of course, you’ll come too.” “...We’ll get married amidst longan and flesh-colored orchid flowers, right?” Instead of replying, Aoi closed her eyes and offered her lips. Standing on the pale road where the grove cast shadows, the two shared a long kiss.

11:00, Tokyo Station departure, Shimonoseki-bound express.

The two departed Tokyo in the heavy rain……. Inui arrived breathlessly after rushing over, added a box of caramels to the Osaka sushi, and pushed it through their window. “I’ll be back soon.” Aoi said to Inui. And she extended a small, childlike, slender hand toward him.

The train departed.

5

Inui returned. His summer haori’s shoulders and hem were soaked through, leaving him in a miserable state like a stray dog that had fallen into a river.

Pulling out a key from his soaked inner pocket with an uneasy look and attempting to insert it into the keyhole, when unexpectedly—with a whoosh—the door swung open from within... He suddenly sharpened his gaze and tilted his head. There's no way I forgot to lock it. ……There’s someone inside. He pressed his ear to the gap in the door and held his breath. Then he stepped back two or three paces and fixedly looked up at the second-floor window.

Behind the sign that read 〈FOREIGN ARTOBJECTS〉—likely meant to be interpreted as "Western art antiques"—the window’s armored shutters silently dripped droplets. It was a strangely sealed-off building with neither display windows nor glass doors, as if coated in moss. He opened the door and quietly slipped into the shop, bending down to peer toward the back of the earthen-floored area. A legless writing desk, lithographs, a Sèvres porcelain mantel clock, an accordion, a gilt bronze candelabra, an old urn…… Within thin stripes of light seeping through gaps in the armored shutters, dust-covered antiques lay in disarray, their fragmented forms emerging from the gloom. In the dim darkness beyond, a shadowy figure flickered into motion.

After locking the entrance door, Inui strode purposefully toward that direction.

"Who's there?!" The figure in the darkness must have shifted position. A faint creak of shoe soles sounded. Apparently, they were behind the sofa.

“Come out—over here!” He drew a trident sword from among the antiques, gripped it in his right hand, and twisted the switch. Bracing himself toward the sofa, Inui shouted in a sharp voice.

“Come out now, or I’ll run you through with this!” An eighteen- or nineteen-year-old petite girl tentatively revealed her face. Rolling her eyes playfully, she said: “You’re the thief!” She was an adorably healthy-looking girl with sunken eyes and a sharply pointed nose—slightly reminiscent of a Filipino. She shook her overgrown bobbed hair vigorously and wore a chic Scottish tartan dress. In a drained voice, Inui said.

“...You... Tsuru...” The girl stepped over the backrest and plopped down into the chair with a thud, then sang in a peculiar melody. “...Suminami dwarves falling from the sky—how many have gathered and fallen now?!” And then, with a hoarse voice, she laughed—ha, ha. Standing rigidly in place, Inui wore a fiercely grim expression,

“Tsuru! How did you get in here?!” he shouted. Tsuru puckered her mouth and responded. “It was open.”

“That’s a lie—the lock should’ve been engaged.” After saying this, he stomped over and yanked her ear. “Hey! I told you never to come here, no matter what!” Tsuru nodded “uh-huh” with an unperturbed face. “And I told you not to use Ryukyuan language. ...That was our agreement, Tsuru.” Tsuru turned away and gave a sharp shrug like a Westerner would. Inui stared fixedly at her profile while,

“Fine, fine—keep sulking like that forever. I won’t help you all anymore…”

Tsuru turned around sharply, and suddenly her expression took on a mature look. “It’s the usual arrangement. …You don’t have to lecture me like that every time.” “I know I shouldn’t come here without being told. …I came because there was business.” “In this rain—if I’d just stood at the entrance like some half-wit, I’d have looked even more suspicious. That’s why I came in.” “If I messed up, sorry.” “Answer the question.”

“Don’t ask such tactless things.” “So I’m telling you—I fell from the sky…” She turned sideways and began fiddling with her hair. Then, for some reason, Inui suddenly became gentle and,

“...If you’re seen coming in here, it makes everything harder for me. All of this... it’s all for your sake...” Tsuru gave a quick bow of her head. “...My bad. But... you’re the one who started yelling out of nowhere...” “If that’s enough for you, count yourself lucky! Now—what sort of people did you pass on your way here?” “...From Fifth Prefectural way—a furoshiki bundle... a girls’ school teacher carrying one... just her... The clack-clack of a kamishibai show... Three kids... That’s all.”

“What about the alley entrance?” “No one was there.” Inui snorted “hmm, hmm” noisily while, “...Well, let’s assume there was no one there...”

With that, he walked toward the entrance, stuck his head out through the narrow gap of the barely opened door to scan the street in all directions, then returned to Tsuru’s side. “So, what’s this business?”

Tsuru sullenly answered. "A telegram came." His eyes glinting,

“What did it say?” “Heading to Shanghai. Kobe, Toa Hotel.” Inui rested his cheek on his hand on his knee, remained silent for a while, then abruptly asked. “What time is it now?”

Glancing at her wristwatch, Tsuru answered.

“7:10.”

Inui suddenly stood up, gripping Tsuru’s wrist. “Listen—you’re leaving for Kobe immediately. “The 7:30 train. “Twenty minutes left. “The money?” “Just fifty yen.” “Fine… (staring fixedly into Tsuru’s eyes)… What else?”

Propping the handbag under her chin, “It’s inside that.” “Good!” With that, he rushed over to the desk and, with the pen tip creaking, began hastily writing something like a letter. Before long, he returned to Tsuru with two envelopes and handed them over, “Take this brown one to Kobe.” “Once you hand it over, come back immediately.” “Leave this white one at Nishikai’s apartment on your way.” “Just toss it into the letterbox.”

Without uttering a word, Tsuru stood up and swiftly donned a rubberized coat, pulling the hood deep over her face. By doing this, she looked exactly like a grade schooler.

Inui went ahead to the doorway, once again scrutinized the street carefully, then placed both hands on Tsuru’s shoulders and pushed her forward. “Go.” Without looking back, Tsuru stepped out into the rain. Once Tsuru turned the alley corner and disappeared from view, Inui closed the door, went to the foot of the back stairs, and stood there for a while as if deep in thought before finally ascending to the second floor with a dancing gait.

In a twenty-tatami room, at its far end—likely another piece of surplus goods from somewhere—an imposing canopied bed loomed heavily. By the window stood a mahogany desk and chair, while the floor lay buried under old newspapers, chamber pots, empty tin cans, metal washbasins... and other assorted debris scattered so chaotically there was scarcely room to plant one's feet. Stepping over and kicking aside the detritus with his toes, he reached the desk where Inui—as if suddenly remembering—pulled an evening paper from his pocket and began skimming through it.

Due to reports that one of the bank gang members involved in a crime occurring about five days before the Suminami Incident had been arrested in Nagoya that morning, the third pages of all evening newspapers across the city were convulsing with coverage of this case. Through the perpetrator's confession, the incident's full picture stood poised to emerge. As the Metropolitan Police Department’s Special Higher Section had anticipated, it proved to be the work of ideological elements. Even the Suminami Incident found itself sidelined by this explosive development, reduced to a faint shadow of its former prominence. The evening paper carried only a perfunctory ten-line article noting Furuta Shinosuke’s release that morning due to insufficient evidence.

Inui furrowed his brows and thought deeply for a while. Then, clicking his tongue in annoyance, he folded the evening paper into a neat square and threw it onto the bed along with his damp haori. The wind grew stronger, and rain blew in through the gaps in the armored door. Inui closed the glass window, drew the heavy-looking curtains, then plopped down cross-legged on the chair. He took out a large paper folder from the desk drawer. He selected four or five photographs from the vast collection of newspaper clippings, carefully arranged them one by one across the desk, then propped his cheek on his hand and began scrutinizing them with a coldly calculating gaze. Nishikai, Furuta, Kuga, Aoi, the boy from "Naha"... photographs of the persons of interest and suspects in the Suminami case.

When alone, anyone's features shift slightly from their usual appearance—but Inui's face now lacked both the mean wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and that mocking sneer he habitually wore, making him look like a completely different person. He appeared almost noble. He seemed to be struggling with something, occasionally letting out muffled groans. After staying that way for a long time,

"...In the end, maybe they're not among these..." He muttered while picking up Furuta's photograph. Furuta stood wearing a military uniform, arms crossed smugly at the center of a supply motorcade of about twenty men. After gazing intently at it, he suddenly scowled, tore it to shreds, and scattered the pieces across the floor. A faint creaking sound came from somewhere downstairs... Inui didn't seem to notice. This time he picked up Kuga's photograph. He carefully wiped its surface with his palm, then read aloud the Roman letters at its edge in a peculiar accent.

“With best respect… ‘With the utmost regards,’ huh….” Hmph. Putting on airs while secretly sneering at everyone in your gut. That face and those diplomatic phrases are a bit too refined for your type... In short, you’re an enigma. ...But soon enough, that disguise will peel off. ...Playing the composed gentleman makes you seem earnest, but these eyes give you away. Come to think of it, they do resemble an Edo detective’s gaze. “But... still...”

The stairs creaked. Inui half-rose and sharply turned toward the sound. Rats scurried noisily across the ceiling. “Hmph, rats…” Just as he started to turn back to his desk in relief, there came another loud thud. A faint scraping of shoe soles sounded. Someone was quietly ascending the stairs. After swiftly stashing the photographs into the drawer, he spun around— “Who’s there?”

he shouted... No response. (Ah, right—I did send someone to fetch Nishikai earlier.) (Damn you... Why the hell are you sneaking up here without a word?) As he stood up, Inui called out.

“Nishikai?”

The door opened quietly. The one who entered was Furuta Shinosuke. He was deathly pale, his face twisted into a vicious snarl. His lips twitched spasmodically, his white teeth flashing and disappearing between them. Closing the door behind him with his hands behind his back, he kept his wide-flaring eyes fixed on Inui as he lumbered closer. Removing his hat and shaking off the droplets, “Evening.” he said in a low voice. Inui began inching backward toward the bed, his movements almost imperceptible. Furuta pulled a chair closer, sat down, and grinned fiercely.

“Today, I came to say thank you.” Inui put on a deliberately surprised expression, “...Thank you...? What’s that supposed to mean...? I-I didn’t ask you for anything...” “Shut up!” His mouth snapped shut.

“Before that, there’s something I wanna ask. Quit standing around. Sit there.” Inui cautiously sat down on the bed. Furuta crossed his arms firmly, “By the way, what’s your business?” “As you can see… I deal in antique furniture, but…” “I see… Then you’re not part of the police after all.” “That’s absurd…” “Then why the hell did you inform on me? ...A joke? ...Or just some twisted whim?”

Furuta's teeth clattered.

Inui darted a glance toward the door.

This... I'm done for. (If I tell the truth, there's no telling what he'll do... Maybe I can somehow bluff my way out of this...) Furuta barked. "Make him talk!" Inui, wondering how he could extricate himself, "...Sas...? "...What are you... I have no idea... I-I've never done anything to cause trouble for others..."

“Bastard! Quit playing dumb!”

Furuta stood up. Inui bent at the waist and scrambled noisily toward the door. He was immediately cornered against the wall. Furuta grabbed Inui by the collar, dragged him roughly to the bed, pinned him down on his back, and while choking his throat with his left hand, thrust his right hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a dagger. The dagger throbbed and glinted before Inui’s nose. It looked about to plunge straight into his throat at any moment.

“Help me!” “Shut up!” An icy chill grazed his nape. “That’s… impossible… I didn’t do anything…” “I’ll kill you!” He choked his throat with all his strength. “Guh... I... can’t breathe...” “There’s a bastard who told me you’re the snitch.” “...Tell me!” There's no use dealing with this lunatic. Fine, let him do as he pleases. Surely he wouldn’t go so far as to kill me. Still... which bastard ratted me out?

In a deliberately angry tone, “Who the hell said that? Who’s the bastard spouting such nonsense…?!” “It was Kuga.” Inui ground his teeth.

"Damn it," he muttered, then began in a pitiful, sing-song tone. “Ah, now I get it… He’s been buttering you up… planning to have me killed. Kill me, then corner you into an inescapable situation—this is a two-birds-one-stone scheme…” “Please… take a good look at the reasoning here.” “When you think about it… Suminami was done in by… Kuga after all. Now that I look back, I too was being buttered up… It was all done under that bastard’s instigation…”

"I have to admit, that was a slick line," he thought. Sure enough, his throat eased slightly. Furuta's face jerked closer. "You... That true?" As he spoke, he seemed to recall something. "I would never lie." "To think at my age... I let myself be manipulated by some greenhorn... I..." The tears came unbidden. 〈Alright, time to cry.〉...Right on cue, tears began flowing. He broke into convulsive sobs.

Furuta yanked Inui up and, "Whether it's a lie or the truth... we'll know soon enough. If it's a lie... then..."

With that, he glared at him intently. Eat shit and die. You're the one who should watch your back. I'll make you regret this...

Inui bowed courteously.

“Please, I humbly beg your forgiveness.” Furuta sheathed the dagger with a click and jostled Inui about, “Hey! You! Thanks to you, I lost my job... My sister got divorced, my old lady’s drinking paint thinner... It’s hell, I tell ya. And all of it—every damn bit—is your doing! Hey! Apologize! Get on your knees and say you’re sorry!”

Inui sat on the floor in a wretched state with his clothes still hanging open in front, bowing his head repeatedly. "I... I don't even know how to begin apologizing..."

Just as he finally raised his face, the tip of Furuta's shoe came flying at his jaw with tremendous force. Inui let out a "Gah!" and fell flat on his back. As he crawled toward the door trying to escape, another dizzying blow struck his flank. He involuntarily let out a pained "Ugh." Furuta twisted Inui down to the floor, then mounted his chest and, with all his strength, continued pummeling him relentlessly...

Nishikai's figure appeared in the doorway.

Dumbfounded, he stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the scene. After delivering one final ferocious blow to the side of the face and standing up, Furuta roughly shoved Nishikai aside and left, shrugging his shoulders. Approaching Inui, who lay stretched out on the floor, Nishikai squatted down over his face, “Hey, what happened to you?”

he said in a mocking tone. From his upper lip down to his chin, a copious nosebleed streamed; in the dim light, it suddenly looked as though he had grown a beard. His face was swollen as if bloated, and it glistened with heat. When he caught Nishikai’s voice, Inui pressed his swollen eyelids and,

“I’ve been done in.” (Speaking in an unexpectedly energetic voice while pointing to the metal basin lying nearby) “My apologies, but could you go downstairs and fill that with water? Then... there’s a hand towel in the kitchen...” When Nishikai drew water and went up to the second floor, he found Inui sitting on the bed, tearing newspaper and stuffing it into his nostrils again and again. “Hey, Inui, old man. “...What the hell happened to you?”

Inui wrung out the hand towel and pressed it to the bridge of his nose, “...He came here after hearing that I was the one who informed.” “...Damn, he really put me through hell.” At that, Nishikai sneered, “...Hmph. So that’s how it is.” “Well, in that case, there’s nothing to be done. Sooner or later, you were bound to get it.” “Just accept it as karmic justice.” “But damn, your face has turned all weird. It’s distorted.”

Inui exaggeratedly held his forehead and, “The very core of my head won’t stop aching.” “My face hardly matters now, but things turned quite dangerous for a moment there.” “Had to go flashing a dagger around too.” “Hmph,” he muttered, as if talking to himself. “Seeing him lose his temper like that… Perhaps he wasn’t the killer after all.” Nishikai thudded both feet onto the desk and, “With that kind of fury, he might’ve even done in Suminami.” “Though who knows—maybe he’s actually decent under it all. No, scratch that.” “When you’ve been thick with Suminami these past few years, who can tell anymore?” “And out of us five, he alone knew Suminami’s comings and goings inside out. So… came today to shut your trap for good?”

Inui nodded obsequiously while, "Exactly, I do think so too." "But you know what? Even if he tries to scare me into keeping my mouth shut, it won't go so smoothly." "When you think about it, he must have some kind of weak point too." "Just you wait. I'll make sure he gets it good..." "I'll make sure he gets it good..." "And besides, he's..." Nishikai cut him off, saying, "By the way—did the newlywed Kuga couple depart safely last night?"

“Hmph. They boarded first class or something and were in high spirits.” (Lowering his voice suddenly) “About that… I’ve actually had a little thought about it.” “How did you feel? …Did you get envious or something?”

Glancing up with upturned eyes, he said, “...Hey, Mr. Nishikai. You don’t suppose Kuga has run away, do you? If that’s the case...” “Are you saying Kuga’s the one who killed him?” Inui whistled idly and said.

“You know it.”

Nishikai snapped back. “The hell should I know about that? Heh. So even after snitching on Furuta and Aoi, now you’re planning to rat out Kuga too, huh? ...It’s like some festival checkmate puzzle. If that move doesn’t work, try this one? ...Hey now, when you start informing on people, make sure to leave me out of it.” Inui grinned slyly. “...As I’ve said before, I won’t give up even if I die until I’ve made the inheritance thief pay with these hands. Watch yourself—sooner or later, your turn might come too. ...Well, that’s just a joke.” His voice slipped into its usual nagging tone. “Hey, Mr. Nishikai, what do you really think? I don’t believe Kuga’s coming back... Probably fled to Shanghai or somewhere like that. For a young punk, he acted too much like a stage veteran—I always suspected he wasn’t clean. ...And let me tell you—it was that bastard Kuga who told Furuta about me. That’s why... he views me this way. Furuta just clapped his fan, but I say Kuga’s the one who really orchestrated today’s bloodbath. ...Putting Furuta up to killing me...”

Nishikai clicked his tongue in annoyance and,

“If you’d just get yourself killed already.” “(Standing up sharply) So you summoned me here with that letter earlier just for this nonsense?” “Then I’m outta here.”

Inui panicked, flailing his hands like he was swimming through air. "No—that's not it at all. I had prepared those items you requested the other day. I'll bring them out now, so just sit tight a little longer." "I see. Thanks." "You'll draft the promissory note, but you won't mention interest rates, right?" "No need to fret about that." "After all, we're comrades in this." (Leaning forward until his torso hovered over the table) "Now then, Mr. Nishikai." "So what exactly is Kuga? Just because he stayed in Qingdao long-term doesn't mean I've grasped anything concrete about him..."

Nishikai stared fixedly at Inui’s face with an utterly exasperated air, “You’re really persistent, aren’t you.” “I’m downright impressed.” “That’s why I’m telling you—I don’t know anything.” “No, that’s a lie. …You’re hiding something from me even though you know it.” (Suddenly adopting a pitiful voice) “Hey, don’t say that—just tell me, please.” “I… I may be rotten through and through, but even so—I’m still a man with some shred of innocence left.” “If they had a reason to steal it, they wouldn’t be demanding you return the snitching.” “But you see, I can’t stand it when you keep feigning ignorance.” “As you can see, I’ve got the spirit to lend money interest-free and unsecured. …And even if you tell me, I’ll never cause you trouble. …(with a faint smile) So—it was Kuga who killed him, right?”

“If that’s how it is, then just decide on your own! There’s no need to keep pressing me about it. …(loudly) You’re being too persistent.” “Now, don’t get angry—just tell me.” “(with a threatening glare) Or else…” Nishikai tensed up,

“Or else what?” “Heh heh, I can’t do a thing... But anyway, Mr. Nishikai.” “There’s also a rumor that Kuga’s a detective—do you know about that?” “Someone said they’d met him at the Metropolitan Police Department’s High Criminal Affairs Division...” “So you did know after all... You’re quite the trickster yourself.” “But... is that really true?” “They say he’s with the Osaka Prefectural Police’s Thought Division—whether it’s true or not, I don’t know.”

Inui exaggeratedly tilted his head and, “...So did he go to Taiwan to investigate Suminami’s background? Or maybe to chase down the culprit…” “That’s ridiculous—I told you he’s with the Thought Division. If that’s true, something comes to mind… That guy—that morning at Naha—he casually let slip he’d come to Tokyo four days earlier. The Osaka bank robbery happened exactly five days before Suminami’s incident. He must’ve come straight to Tokyo tracking leads right after it happened. And this time—it’s not Taiwan or anything—he flew off to Kansai instead… One was arrested this morning, but his accomplice Nakamura’s still on the run around Kansai they say…”

“I see… That does sound plausible when you put it that way. But… taking your wife along on a police operation? That’s unheard of.” “The police these days are gettin’ civilized, ain’t they? You can just assume that kind of thing happens.” “But y’see, Old Inui… Kuga’s one thing, but that Aoi woman’s the real shady one. Only told Nasu this, but she slipped out around 1:00 AM the night Suminami got killed—climbed down the emergency ladder real quiet-like. Turns out a buddy of mine from college was in the room right below hers.” “That guy found her and told me there are some strange things going on.” “Hmph… A detective’s wife being a murderer—can’t say this ain’t goin’ a bit too far…”

Inui went, "Huh," and tilted his chin back, “Th-that… was r-really Aoi?” “It’s true, I tell ya. …A woman came outta a room where only Aoi was supposed to be—that’s gotta be her, no doubt about it.” “Did you tell the police about that?” “Who the hell would do such meddling? It ain’t any of my damn business. Even if I don’t say anything, the time’ll come when it’s known. …Y’know… Heaven’s net is wide—nothin’ slips through.”

Inui remained lost in thought for a while, but then gathered momentum, "But you could also look at it this way... That night, there was another woman in Aoi's room—and the one who left wasn't Aoi, but that person..."

Nishikai burst out laughing. “Hey, Old Inui… Just like they say, you’re really in love with Aoi, aren’t you.” “I see… So Aoi’s name has been removed from your blacklist. …Which means, who’s left on it now?” “(with an oddly probing gaze) Kuga… Furuta…” Inui quietly interjected. “And then… you.” Nishikai’s knee twitched. His face suddenly paled as he barked,

“Me? Don’t kid around!”

Inui remained calm,

“No—there is a great reason for it.” (staring at Nishikai’s eyes) “Mr. Nishikai—where were you around 2:00 AM that night?”

……There was no reply. “Around 2:00 AM at Naha—no—rather, at Echizenjima, someone claims to have seen you. …Exactly what business did you have around there?”

6

Aoi sat by the hotel window and gazed at the sky with a restless heart.

Since arriving in Kobe six days prior, this sky had been shrouded in gray clouds, and every evening without fail, a light rain would fall. In that rain, a steam whistle would occasionally sound softly. That drew Aoi’s heart into a boundless sea of sorrow. The slightly too spacious room was silent and dim even at midday; the large double bed, the sofa, the table, the flowers in the vase… everything had dried out, bleached pale and lifeless.

For the past two or three days, Aoi had been haunted by an indescribable feeling, finding herself restless for no reason or sinking into depression. At times, even tears would start to flow. What exactly it was, even she herself couldn’t clearly articulate, but if pressed, it was something like an ominous premonition.

Aoi was happy. She had unexpectedly found someone to love, and this was their honeymoon. Kuga was always gentle and seemed to spare nothing to please her.

Kuga had chosen a spacious room with a balcony and bathroom for Aoi, had an abundance of flowers delivered every morning, and filled every corner with flowers. Every morning, Aoi awoke amidst flowers—this joy was beyond compare.

They spent the entire day inside their room without going out. They had their meals delivered to their room and took long, enjoyable hours to eat them. Aoi kept talking enthusiastically about trivial matters, and Kuga read novels and poems aloud for her. Aoi had seen the title of such a novel. ……"Life Among Flowers". And she thought. 〈In that novel, there must live a girl as happy as herself...〉

However, over this happy life of theirs, like an indifferent breeze, a shadow began to creep in little by little.

On the morning of the third day after their arrival, a bellboy brought a letter to Kuga. It was a white, luxurious envelope without a sender’s name. When Aoi received it and casually held it to her nose, a faint scent of heliotrope wafted up. Kuga opened the envelope and, after just glancing over it, hastily stuffed it into his pocket. She felt a strange sensation. When Aoi asked what the letter was about, Kuga’s face flushed slightly,

“It’s official business.”

With just that, he stood up abruptly and headed to the balcony. It looked as if he’d fled in panic. 〈Official business with the scent of heliotrope〉... There could be no such thing. Yet Kuga’s flustered state was so glaring that she couldn’t bring herself to press him further.

Maybe… That’s fine, isn’t it? What woman could look upon this handsome young man and not love him? Even if however many women lay behind him, that had nothing to do with me. If he loved me in this present reality, then his past history didn’t matter at all. Moreover, I myself was falsifying my past. I had no right to reproach Kuga. It was a bit disheartening that he wouldn’t tell me who sent the letter, but if that was how it was, then so be it……

However, the anxiety that had been clinging to Aoi these past two or three days was no trivial matter. It was somewhat strange—something even more elusive. Kuga was inexpressibly gentle—not only that, but at times he even seemed to go somewhat beyond reasonable measure. There was no reason for Aoi not to be happy about this. But at the same time, it also gave rise to a peculiar sensation. This kindness did not seem to her like that of a husband toward a wife, but rather closer to pity for an unfortunate human being. When she put it all together, various such points came to her attention.

Ever since arriving at this hotel, Kuga seemed to go to great lengths in various ways to comfort and console Aoi. At times, forgetting his usual reserve, he would act playfully in an overly casual tone. It was transparently clear he was trying hard to behave in a way that didn’t come naturally. Even regarding Aoi’s past—which he should naturally have had to address—he never once attempted to broach the subject and even seemed to be deliberately avoiding it. And he repeated time and again that all our grammar needed was the present and future tenses. The first time, Aoi too thought it reasonable, and the second time she nodded in agreement. However, when it happened three or four times, she began to feel strange about it.

Why Kuga would say such things and for what purpose he would behave this way—Aoi simply couldn’t comprehend. At first, she thought he was acting this way because he knew she came from an inferior lineage and was trying to subtly comfort her. However, in Tokyo, the only ones who knew that this girl using the pseudonym Aoi was in fact the eldest daughter of the Izumi family—a daimyō aristocratic family—were herself and her former tutor, Shiki Yoshie. Yoshie was not in Tokyo. She was now missing.

……Then she wonders—could it be that Kuga believes I killed Suminami? …Kuga believes that and，trying to make me forget unpleasant memories，is comforting me in every way possible…

When Aoi’s imagination reached that point, she would—for some reason—grow intensely sentimental and shed tears that were neither sorrowful nor touched by gratitude. 〈...Then keeping me hidden away here after taking me from Tokyo—that must be to help me evade arrest.〉 〈Even his claim about going to Taiwan wasn’t official business—it was meant to help me escape that far.〉 〈To do this, he might even be willing to abandon his position.〉 〈If that’s the case...I must put a stop to such futile sacrifices and efforts...〉

However, as she thought a little further, there were aspects that didn’t seem to have been done solely for Aoi’s sake.

Regarding Kuga’s past as well, Aoi knew nothing. She had been told almost nothing else besides that he was a high-ranking detective and that he had previously been a poet. Moreover, if he was a police officer, there were aspects of his behavior that simply didn’t add up. When they left Tokyo, he had said it was official business taking them to Taiwan; then he said it had been changed to Shanghai en route; and when they arrived in Kobe, he claimed that a somewhat serious incident had occurred and that he had to do a bit of work there. Despite that, aside from sending telegrams and making phone calls, he rarely went out and instead idled away his time with Aoi at a luxurious hotel. Seeming not to want to meet anyone for some reason, he even used the pseudonym Yamada at this hotel. Since leaving Tokyo—and especially since coming here—the way he was spending money had become somewhat excessive. 〈Where is all this money coming from?... Perhaps this police officer business is a lie... And maybe... Suminami's...〉

When she thought this far, something like a chill ran down Aoi’s spine…… Once one doubt arose, new suspicions bubbled up one after another, tormenting her heart. 〈Probably……〉 Aoi thought. 〈The sudden physiological changes from married life must be making me this neurotic…… When I think about it later, everything might turn out to have been nothing but trivial worries……〉

Aoi felt a little suffocated and, catching rain in her palm, pressed it to her forehead.

In the next room, the sound of water flowing fiercely could be heard, and soon Kuga, his cheeks stained a vivid blood-red, emerged from the bath. With a playful expression on his face,

“What are you thinking about over there? Nostalgia?” he said. Aoi forced a cheerful voice: “The opposite... When I hear the whistle’s sound, I start wanting to go somewhere far away.” Kuga pulled a chair beside Aoi and sat down. “(The wind carries longan’s fragrance, clouds echo with peacocks’ cries, this sweltering heat’s peculiar joy)... I want to live in the subtropics again. When my emotions touch that air—somehow they grow invigorated and exalted. It even makes one healthy... Shanghai’s dull, but I wish we’d at least reached there. I’ve done you wrong. Only let you expect things...”

Aoi said in a conciliatory tone.

“I hate both Shanghai and Taiwan... Staying still among these flowers is what makes me happy.” Kuga gazed at Aoi’s face as he said, “That can’t be the case. ...You’ve been saying such nice things lately—why is that?”

She involuntarily lowered her eyes, “...But this is my natural self.” “No—that’s not it. You started showing changes these past two or three days. ...And Aoi, why do you keep lowering your eyes like that?”

When she hurriedly raised her face, Aoi—

“Why? What did I do?” “...You’ve been thinking about something these past two or three days.” “...I have a pretty good idea what you’re thinking about.” “…(while gazing at the ceiling) For example, you think like this.” “...that my actions aren’t suitable for a police officer, or something like that.” Losing her composure, Aoi faltered.

“……That’s not…” “It’s not a lie. It’s only natural for you to think that way. Otherwise, that would be heartless. …As both a friend and husband, remaining silent while you’re tormented by doubts isn’t exactly commendable behavior. …However, our profession has an ethical code. …To maintain what must remain secret. …Not through abstract notions like responsibility or duty—something higher… like conscience. …So violating this pains me deeply. …You might think it old-fashioned, but since I’ve sworn to this code, you too must acknowledge it. …Even if I don’t explain every action to you, surely you wouldn’t question my affection over such things……”

“I understand perfectly well. ……I don’t recall ever asking about your work before, you know.”

Kuga smiled while,

“That’s right. “You don’t ask questions.” “But your eyes are always wanting to ask.” Aoi blushed slightly and, “My eyes are being rude… I’ll be more careful from now on.” “Be that as it may, I should probably explain a bit (looking at Aoi’s face)... Do you know about the bank robbery incident that occurred in Osaka on June 1st?”

“Huh? That one?” “That was the work of the Anarchist Communist Party, you see. (Then, closing his eyes) One of the accomplices is right here nearby.” “Yes, and then?” “I can’t say anything more, so don’t ask me. ……In short, that’s how it is—use your imagination.”

The bellboy entered holding a business card. Aoi almost instinctively stood up and accepted the business card, then cast a quick glance at the name on it. On the business card, in stern 4-point type, 〈Hyogo Prefectural Police Special Higher Division – Yamase Juntarou〉 was printed. When Kuga saw the business card, he suddenly tightened his expression, told the bellboy to have the person wait in the downstairs waiting room, and then began quickly changing his clothes.

Bright sunlight streamed into Aoi’s heart. The stark atmosphere of the room and the leaden hue of the sky no longer seemed as desolate as they had moments before. Kuga neither believed Aoi was Suminami’s assailant nor had he falsified his identity. He was nothing more than one of those slightly too strict police officers. To Aoi, who had found him somewhat dissolute, he had in fact been steadfastly continuing his unseen activities to apprehend the bank gang case culprit.

Could a heart free from suspicion truly be this buoyant? ...Aoi pushed open the gauze curtain to its fullest and began singing in a bright and clear voice.

The rain clouds broke apart, and between them, the crescent moon shone yellow.

Kuga hailed a taxi on Sakaemachi-dori and ordered the driver, "I’d like to go for a drive—just take me anywhere." The car began moving toward Hanshin National Highway at considerable speed. As the vehicle started forward, Yamase—his sunburned, soldierly stern face breaking into a smile—said:

“...Congratulations. “I hear you got married. ...So, what’s your wife like?”

“She’s a beauty… but there’s something a bit shadowy beneath the surface. ……Something in her past must have made her that way. ……In short, she has an ill-fated nature. Somehow, she gives that impression.” “I see… But you were quite resourceful. I hear you got married about twenty days after meeting her, didn’t you?” “No—fifteen days.” “That was quite swift of you. What tactics did you use?” “Reverse strike.”

“Then I’m all for it. …After all, it’s our side’s tactic.” “So how’s the search area looking now?” “In short… a triangle with Tsuruga at its apex.” “And the traffic checkpoints?” “We’ve deployed them everywhere.”

“What about the route to Shanghai?” “First of all, that’s completely impossible.” “Qingdao?” “That’s also impossible. All routes are blocked. They won’t slip through no matter what they try. And your situation?” “Field duty… I was at Shirahama Onsen until today.”

“So, what’s the plan from here?” “If we set up positions in Kansai like this, Tokyo will be short-handed next. …Shall we pull back to Tokyo?” “That sounds good. …Then I’ll return tonight as well. …What’s the plan once we get to Tokyo?” “Independent firing.” “What about the portable rations?” “For now, we’re fine. …(Lighting a cigarette) That aside, I hear you’ve gotten involved in an interesting case.” “The Suminami Incident?” “It’s got some rather interesting embellishments, doesn’t it?”

“Those decorative elements aren’t merely interesting—they’re the most dangerous part.” “...Among the four heirs, there’s an old man named Inui—but from my assessment, he’s the most nefarious.” (With an inscrutable smile) “And then... that Aoi, my... Well, I’ll explain this properly another time—but I’ve already made some headway.” “But you see, detective novels simply don’t suit me after all.” “In the end, I gained nothing of value.” “So I’ll be departing shortly... at 10:20. And you?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow at 11:18.”

Reaching out a hand toward Yamase, Kuga said. “Well then, I’ll get off here. Since there’s no time left, I’ll call the hotel from around here and have them prepare everything in advance.”

It was just near Amagasaki. Yamase gripped Kuga’s hand in return while, “Well then, see you in Tokyo.” “Please take care of yourself.” Yamase replied in a calm tone.

“It’s okay. “I’ll do anything for you. “We just have to wait until the time comes for it to be lifted… Well…” Kuga raised one hand in greeting to Yamase’s tuxedo and entered the bright café in front of the bus stop. As he stepped inside, a young girl came out. Sunken eyes, a high nose—this typical South Islander face was one he had certainly seen somewhere before.

He finally remembered. The first time he had gone to visit Aoi at Cineraria, that girl in the salmon-colored soirée dress who had come up beside him and said, "Dance with me." Even so, had she already drifted to a place like this? Kuga ordered coffee and immediately stood up to head into the phone booth.

When the phone rang, Aoi had just stepped out of the bath. The matter was settled in almost a single word. But when she returned the receiver to its place, Aoi’s face suddenly turned pale. The voice Aoi had just heard was unmistakably that of the woman who had first notified her of the inheritance. In Aoi’s heart, suspicion once again welled up like a cloud. However... 〈But... such a thing couldn’t possibly be,〉 she thought. 〈...There was no way she could remember the voice of (that woman) she’d heard only once. And yet, why did she think it sounded like Kuga’s voice? This must certainly be neurasthenia.〉

Even so, this made no sense. Kuga's voice was 〈that woman’s〉 voice. …Aoi stood up and began arranging Kuga’s clothes to pack into the suitcase. As she absentmindedly shook them, a white envelope fluttered down to the floor. …There was no sender’s name. Her hands trembled. The letter read as follows: 〈There exists a fact that Miss Amea Aoi secretly slipped outside via the emergency ladder around 1:00 AM on the night Suminami was murdered. I do not know what this signifies, but considering that being aware of such matters may prove advantageous, I have taken the liberty of bringing it to your attention. From a friend〉

Aoi sat down on the floor and covered her face with both hands. That night, the one who had gone out using the emergency ladder was not Aoi. It was Yoshie Shiki—Aoi’s former tutor who had been like a mother or sister to her. Fearing the fallout from the June 1st bank gang incident, she had fled to Tokyo and hidden in Aoi’s room for three days. Aoi had neither sympathy for nor interest in such ideological movements. It had been done purely out of love for Yoshie—but even if she confessed this to Kuga, would he believe her? Moreover, no matter what Kuga might think, I couldn’t confess this yet. The one thing I didn’t want to do was betray Yoshie’s trust.

Even so, who would do such an underhanded thing? …Suddenly, it came to her. Nishikai. Come to think of it, Nishikai’s subtly disrespectful attitude toward Aoi at their wedding reception and his insinuations that practically accused her of murder now made sense.

Aoi lay down on the floor for a long time and closed her eyes.

Someone knocked on the door.

7

After returning from Kobe, Kuga and Aoi moved to a cheap apartment called 〈Friend-sō〉 behind the Yodobashi Purification Plant through an introduction from Nasu, a journalist. Though Aoi had felt uneasy about Kuga’s overly flashy lifestyle and actually approved of living more modestly, even so, this apartment was a bit too much. In the depths of a dimly lit alley stood a house that looked like a cheap diner, adorned with a garishly colored electric eaves light. The walls were crisscrossed with cracks, and every piece of furniture bore revoltingly obscene stains. One side of the alley was lined with a corrugated iron fence that reflected an intense glare all day long.

This apartment was one of those so-called flophouses, and while it went without saying that it had managed to retain department store salesclerks, dancers, and hostesses, it also housed earnest, low-paid salarymen at astonishingly low rents. This was to divert police attention and the neighborhood’s scrutiny, and while those earnest tenants vaguely knew the circumstances, they found it difficult to bring themselves to leave there due to the nearly free rent.

The landlady of the apartment, Shusa Hana, was born in Itoman, Ryukyu, and until just recently had been working as a hostess at the Suzaki Bar. She boasted that she had once been an elementary school teacher, and while this didn't appear to be a lie, she gave off a thoroughly shrewd impression. She had a dusky, sinister-looking face with a receding hairline, and in the evenings, she would play the organ in the back of the office with an impudent air.

Her business connections seemed to extend in all directions, and even if she sat quietly, there appeared to be a considerable number of inquiries coming in daily by telephone. She would respond briskly in a high-pitched voice with a Ryukyu accent, and once the matter was settled, she would immediately head up to the women’s rooms. If the woman wasn’t there, she called the café to inform them of her whereabouts. She specialized solely in mediation and strictly forbade bringing men into the apartment, yet for some reason turned a blind eye to the gymnastics school students. A girl of seventeen or eighteen with a cat-like face was being kept through pooled funds by five middle school students. The young masters would gather there every morning to eat the breakfast the girl had prepared and then head off to school together in high spirits. It seemed that the rotation came around every fifth day, for each evening, a different face would come alone to the girl’s room. Since their room was right next door, the unrestrained indecent noises came through the thin walls as clearly as if one could reach out and touch them.

Aoi understood well why Kuga had moved them to such an apartment. Though putting on a carefree front, Kuga had no money. It seemed he had taken an advance on his salary for their honeymoon, but all he had brought home at the end of last month was a mere five yen. Since Aoi had no savings to begin with, she had no choice but to sell the clothes off her back. She would wrap clothes in newspaper and pass through the pawnshop’s curtain. They didn’t lend her much. Not wanting to let Kuga experience shabbiness, she maintained their daily life in a manner almost too lavish, so they rapidly reached an impasse. As for Aoi's belongings, they had dwindled to just the old afternoon dress she was now wearing.

Aoi was preparing breakfast while reading the newspaper in front of the gas heater in the corner of the room. It had already been over three months since Suminami Nampūtarō's murder case had entered what's called a labyrinth. The third pages of newspapers had forgotten about this case since then, but starting with yesterday's evening edition, active coverage had resumed in accordance with new developments. The Metropolitan Police Department's First Investigative Division seemed to have finally cornered the true culprit into a dead end. An unexpected clue had been discovered from the empty ditch in front of Naha. It was a deposit receipt from Matsumura, a rental clothing store in Asakusa Umamichi, which read: "Twenty yen deposit - Light gray crêpe de chine afternoon dress (one)." On its back was a thumb-sized round brown stain suspected to be blood. Someone must have picked up a button covered in crêpe de chine or chirimen silk from the pool of blood and wrapped it in this paper. The fabric weave was clearly imprinted in the button's roundness. When taken to the forensics department and examined, it was indeed confirmed to be Suminami's blood.

The detectives promptly rushed off to Umamichi. Matsumura was a rental clothing store specializing in hostesses and dancers and was quite well-known in that line of business. According to the clerk, she had been a walk-in customer—an unattractive woman around eighteen or nineteen years old with sloping shoulders and freckles all over her face—who had ordered an afternoon dress of about four sun in size. When they had shown her two or three dresses of that size, she took them without even properly trying them on. Indeed, she had been a large-framed woman who would likely wear that size. It was a one-piece dress with a belt, and there were three fabric-covered buttons on the back. "The dress ultimately hasn't been returned, but as we retained the deposit, there's no particular loss on our part..."

The breakthrough was at hand. It stated that the true culprit behind the Suminami case, which had stirred up society, would surely be arrested within the next few days.

“It looks like they’ll finally be caught. “……I wonder what kind of woman she is.” “She’s caused quite a nuisance.”

Kuga closed the book, then heavily rose from the desk and pulled the bowl closer while...

“Just because someone came to borrow clothes doesn’t mean they’re the culprit.” “……They might’ve been asked to run an errand too.”

With that, he glanced up at Aoi’s face. It was a look that seemed to say, "You know all about that, don’t you?" Aoi's chest trembled. "But even that would be discovered soon enough." “Women who wear size four aren’t exactly common, and then there’s the matter of the button…” Kuga maintained a terribly impassive expression,

“There are plenty of women that size. First of all, you wear size four too… And your afternoon dress is missing one of its back buttons.” Aoi’s throat made a gulping sound. “I lost this a long time ago in Cineraria’s hall. How did that happen?” “I’m not asking what’s wrong. This too is just a coincidence, they say.”

Blood rushed to her head, and her vision darkened. Disjointed thoughts fluttered one after another, racing through her mind. 〈...Kuga never loved me. ...He married me to obtain this evidence.〉 ...despicable detective mentality...

The bowl she had been gripping unexpectedly slipped from Aoi’s hand, flew toward the wall, and shattered into pieces with a sharp crash.

Across the table was Kuga's face, looking utterly stunned. Aoi glared intently at his face while,

“Do you want to frame me as a murderer that desperately? “…Are you trying to set some trap and claim credit for it?” “…How cowardly.” “If that’s what you insist…”

〈I have things I want to say too. I'm the one who thinks you're the culprit. But have I ever once said that out loud? And yet, you...〉

Unbearable loneliness tightened its grip around Aoi's heart. When she collapsed onto the table, she cried out loud. Kuga stood up, came over, and placed a hand on Aoi’s shoulder. “...Aoi, you’re exhausted. That’s why even trivial things get on your nerves. You need to get some rest... To tell the truth, I’ve grown thoroughly sick of this line of work myself. Lately, I’ve been thinking about nothing but quitting.” He peered into Aoi’s face. “How about it—feel like going deep into the mountains together? My friend up in Kamikochi raises many cattle. He’s been urging us nonstop—‘Come visit, come visit.’ It’s in the mountains that you find nature in its purest form. Let’s live leisurely for a while, mingling with cattle and mountain air. Right now, you need that kind of life more than anything.”

The coldness she sensed beneath his gently phrased words pierced her chest sharply. She raised her tear-soaked face and resolutely brushed away Kuga’s hand.

“If it’s for my sake, please just leave me alone. ……If you want to go, you can go by yourself.” With this, she had said what she wanted to say—she thought. With a dark look in his eyes, Kuga pulled away from Aoi’s side,

“…I won’t say anything more for now. …I’m going to the Metropolitan Police Headquarters.” “…Take your time to think it through carefully by yourself.”

Then, standing up irritably, she spat out,

“There’s nothing to think about. Whether it’s the Metropolitan Police or the Prosecutor’s Office, I’m not afraid anymore… I’ll go there anytime you want. If I’m even willing to confess my past, there’s no reason for me to cower… Then that would be the end of things between us…”

Without responding, Kuga slowly closed the door and left.

When she pushed open the curtain and entered the office, Inui and Shusa Hana sat side by side on a dimly lit bench in the corner, whispering furtively about something. When he saw Aoi, Inui swiftly stood up with a slick, ingratiating smile.

“Oh, Miss Aoi. ...I was just about to come pay a visit to your room.” “Since then, matters have only intensified in their gravity—truly a matter of the greatest joy.”

Hana also half-rose from the bench, “…Were you talking for a bit? …Or perhaps there was some business you needed?” she said. Her tone practically said, “If you don’t have business here, leave quickly.” Aoi was in no state for that. Flipping through the pages impatiently, she finally found the Special Higher Police Section’s number and asked to be connected to Kuga Chiaki. Then came the reply: “There’s no such person here—must be a mistake with another department.” They told her to try calling the General Affairs Section instead. When she called the General Affairs Section, there was no one by that name at the Metropolitan Police Headquarters. They told her to inquire at other stations and hung up the phone.

Aoi leaned against the telephone room wall and stood there blankly. There was no need to inquire at other stations. Every morning, Kuga would say he was going to the Metropolitan Police Headquarters and leave. He wasn’t a police officer…… He’d been deceiving me all this time. But for what purpose?…… Her mind went numb, unable to grasp a single satisfactory answer. Inui pulled back the telephone room curtain and thrust his head inside. “……Miss Aoi, what are you doing in a place like this? Oh my—you’re looking terribly pale. Are you feeling unwell?…… Come now, over here.”

While saying this, he took Aoi’s hand and guided her to sit on the bench. Hana rose smoothly and left without saying a word. Inui glanced briefly after her departing figure before sidling up to Aoi’s side, “Even if he’s briefly absent, there’s no need to mope so.” “My, what profoundly intense affection—I must say.” “It’s bad for your health... Making his beloved wife fret like this—Mr. Kuga isn’t being proper either. Where could he have gone?”

And then he laughed mockingly—"Heh heh heh." His tone suggested he had pieced everything together. "...Everyone's got struggles nobody knows about, you know? When this place first opened, I went through hell arranging antique furnishings, but they never paid up." "Faced with something like this... you'd be completely helpless." "...It'd really make you cry." Whether trying to comfort her or not, he kept rambling endlessly while tapping his forehead.

The telephone rang in the telephone room. Aoi instinctively stood up and took the receiver. Sure enough, it was Kuga. It was a call saying he had arranged to meet Nasu and the others at Shinjuku’s *Isonare* that afternoon, so he might be a little late for dinner.

Aoi adopted as cheerful a tone as possible,

“Oh, I understand. Is that all? So where are you now?” she asked. Her voice trembled involuntarily. Kuga answered that he was now at the Special Higher Police Section of the Metropolitan Police Headquarters. Aoi spoke haltingly, holding her breath and fighting back tears. “...And I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t myself. Please forgive me. Please... don’t grow tired of me, okay? ...Let’s go to Kamikochi. As soon as possible. ...This nervousness of mine must be such a burden... Yes, that’s right. Even tomorrow would be fine. There are so many things I want to talk about—please come home as soon as you can.”

Kuga decided they would depart tomorrow if that was settled. As for the travel expenses—though unpleasant—it was acceptable to borrow from Inui... Saying that, he hung up the phone.

This voice... I've heard it somewhere before, Aoi thought... That's right—it was "that woman's" voice, the one who had notified her about the inheritance succession. Even at Kobe's Toa Hotel, I had thought the same thing. At that time I'd dismissed it as my imagination, but this time there was no mistaking it. This hoarse voice that seemed forced out, this slightly accented 'zu' sound, this rapid way of speaking that tangled the tongue... It was "that woman's" voice... Then, the one who killed Suminami was indeed Kuga after all. At the very least, he had some connection... Kuga is the murderer...

While thinking this, strangely enough, Aoi felt neither sadness nor fear. On the contrary, she felt herself being drawn into some kind of calm emotion. ...O my beloved, if only you had confided in me even once, how happy I would have been. If that's how it is, do you think I would run away? ...I can only think in terms of ordinary ethics, but you alone are different. Now, you are my ethics. Even if you were a hundred times more wicked than you are now, my love would only grow deeper—it would never fade. No matter what, I am already your blood relative, so I cannot leave you. ...The only thing I find pitiful is that we are bound together by a fabricated past. The chance to confess to each other—both of us have lost it forever. Holding secrets in their hearts, they would have to go on living for years upon years. It's a sad thing, but there's no choice but to endure....Perhaps this is the fate of the two of them...

However, if that were true, she couldn’t afford to sit around sniffling. Anyway, she mustn’t let Kuga get away. …Since Inui had overheard, Kamikochi was out of the question. ……The Fukue Island of the Goto Archipelago where I once was…… that place would be good. Aoi exited the telephone room, briskly walked over to Inui, and blurted out.

“Could you lend me a little money? Just a small amount would be enough…”

“Huh?” he said, suddenly adopting a guarded expression as he puckered his lips and spoke.

“Money? I haven’t got a penny to spare, though it’s kind of you to ask…” There was no island to moor at. “Just a little... Please... Fifty yen would do…”

Unconsciously, she clasped her hands together over her chest. She noticed and blushed.

Inui suddenly adopted an arrogant manner, "...It's intrusive of me to ask, but... what exactly do you plan to do with that money? From what I've heard, there's talk of going to Kamikochi. Are you planning to use that money for the travel expenses?"

She felt no shame anymore—or anything else.

“...No, that’s not all. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’ve reached a point where I have nothing left to sell. …I have nothing but the clothes on my back. If I take this off, that’ll be the end of it. …It’s all my fault. It’s all because I foolishly went along with Kuga’s reckless way of spending money…”

Inui shook his head ostentatiously, “Huh, I hadn’t realized things had gotten so dire.” “Just being shackled to that irresponsible husband must be such a trial for you.” (With that, he glared at his forehead as if deep in thought, then abruptly continued) “Very well—I’ll handle it.” “But let me clarify—this isn’t a loan to Mr. Kuga.” “It’s you I’m lending to.” “You simply look too wretched to ignore...” “In exchange—though it pains me to say—I do have a small request.” “You see, soon a man named Yamase Juntarou—built like a military officer—will come calling on Mr. Kuga.” “...A hulking man nearly six feet tall, with a face burnt black by the sun.” “The sort you’d recognize instantly—I lent him two hundred yen last autumn. ...Word has it he recently inherited his father’s estate and now flaunts his wealth while carousing.” “By rights he should’ve come groveling with a ceremonial sake cask first thing, but since the bastard’s thick-skinned enough to keep dodging me, I aim to corner him and squeeze out every drop. ...So if that wretch visits Mr. Kuga, slip away quietly and inform me.” “Now Miss Aoi—this may seem rather cunning—but if you provide that information, we’ll consider the money yours.” “...What say you?”

Yamase Juntarou... It was a name she had heard before. But where she had met him, Aoi simply couldn't recall. Moreover, she felt a pang of guilt. She couldn't respond immediately. However, in this situation, Aoi lacked the courage to refuse it outright.

Inui rubbed his hands together with satisfaction,

“Well, that’s just how it should be.” “This world is all about give and take.” “…But please keep this matter from Mr. Kuga. After all, he’s stubborn.” “It’d be troublesome if someone interfered. …And though I hate to say it, Mr. Kuga may be a fine man, but his true nature remains a mystery no matter how you look at him.” (While saying this, he gradually sidled up to Aoi and placed a hand on her shoulder.) “Now, Miss Aoi, that journalist Nasu looked through employee registries—apparently there’s no Special Higher Police officer named Kuga Chiaki in Kyoto or Osaka, let alone Hokkaido’s police department.” “The fact he’s knowingly using a false official title means there’s substantial reason behind it.” “Miss Aoi, calm yourself—you need to think carefully.” “If you’re careless, even crying won’t save you.” “There’s no sense clinging to someone whose true nature you don’t know.” (While holding Aoi’s hand) “Of course, when the time comes, I’ll back you up as best I can.” “To be honest—I love you. I’d do anything for you.” “But there’s no need to wait for trouble—best to break it off now. …I’m not giving bad advice.” “If you’re leaving him, now’s the time.” “Now, Miss Aoi—make up your mind and cut cleanly…”

Through a gap in the curtains, Hana peered in. Suddenly assuming a stern expression, she flipped up her skirt hem and stomped forward, hands still tucked in her sleeves, then planted herself before Aoi and barked.

“Hey! Don’t screw around!” Aoi was taken aback and looked up at her face. “What’s with that face? Play dumb and I’ll knock you out. You may know this, but this is Genji Inn. If you’re turning tricks here, pay your cut. You think I’ll let you work here for free? A bitch like you…” Unable to endure any longer, she spoke up. “How rude… What do you think I’m doing here?” “If you play dumb, I’ll flip you over and check. …Hey, want me to show you right now?”

With that, she grabbed the hem of Aoi's skirt. Aoi writhed and gasped out. "Forgive me—please." Inui slowly stood up and took Hana's hand in a reverse grip,

“Don’t be ridiculous. We were just discussing household matters. ...Come now, show her some mercy.” (With this, he suddenly averted his face and snorted.) “Pfft... You’ve been drinking. How tiresome.” Indeed, he stared fixedly, cold sweat streaming from his receding bluish-black forehead.

Hana struggled to free her hand,

“Yeah, I’m drinking. …Couldn’t stand watching, so I’ve been holed up at corner Masuya till now.” “Ow, damn… You don’t even hesitate to fondle each other right in front of me, then grab my hand… Let go, damn you! Hey, I said let go! You lech… If that’s how it is, just say it straight! I’ll take you on anytime… What’s with all this sneaking around…?” Then Inui suddenly made a terrifying expression,

“You lunatic! Do as you damn well please!” With that, he threw Hana toward the long bench with all his strength. Hana struck her head hard against the backrest. For an instant, her eyes took on a breathless look—then she sprang up fiercely and lunged at Inui’s throat.

“Damn... Damn...” Her face was no longer human.

8

A cluster of sesame bamboo in the garden swayed with a dry rustle whenever the national railway train passed by. Near Shinjuku Theater stood the cheap detached room of a small eatery called 〈Isonare〉.

Across a large imitation rosewood dining table, Nasu and Furuta sat with their arms folded. A short distance away, Nishikai was using the alcove as a pillow, staring fixedly at the ceiling. The scene had an oddly bleached appearance. After a while, Furuta uncrossed his arms and, impatiently lighting a cigarette, "That bastard must've noticed and given us the slip. We should've taken him down while he was asleep after all." (With that, he pulled a large pocket watch from his belly band.) "It's already 1:30... Hey, Mr. Nasu, he ain't comin'."

Nasu raised his face and said in a calm tone, "No—he'll definitely come. But listen here—Mr. Furuta—you can say your piece, but I can't have you interfering. Because I'll be the one inconvenienced... Listen—I'm making sure of that." Furuta, in the smoke, nodded reluctantly, "Fine... I got it."

With that, he turned away. Nishikai spoke in a flattering tone, “I don’t mind you landing three or four punches. You won’t be satisfied without that much, right, Mr. Furuta...”

Nasu furrowed his brows. “Let’s stop this. As I said earlier, today’s purpose isn’t about that sort of thing. And,” (he looked at Furuta with an ironic gaze) “if you do something reckless, Mr. Furuta, you’ll get a blam-sized hole blown right through your chest.”

Furuta widened his eyes, “So does that bastard even have a pistol or something…”

Nasu nodded.

Nishikai sneered,

“Is that true, hey, Nasu? Aren’t you just putting on another act here?” Nasu snapped back, “As you know, members of the Anasheviki faction generally all carry them. So I think that guy probably has one too.” Nishikai sprang up while exclaiming, “Huh? That guy...” Furuta made a knowing face and shook his head. “Anash... Hmm, I see... No wonder I thought he was shady.”

he said. Then Nasu said in an ironic tone,

"Hmph, shady characters are everywhere." With that, he cast a sharp, nonchalant glance at Nishikai. For some reason, Nishikai suddenly made a dark face and turned toward the garden.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Kuga entered following the maid. As usual, with a slightly prim demeanor, he greeted them courteously.

“I’m terribly sorry to have kept you waiting…”

His intensely tense and handsome face damp with sweat, he stood with eyes gracefully softened into a gentle smile. It held a beauty slightly beyond human. The three men called out "Hey..." in hoarse voices, then fell completely silent. When he took his seat, Kuga began scrutinizing the three men’s faces,

“What’s wrong? You all seem unusually formal…” Nasu sat up straight and, raising his mallet-shaped head with its plastered-down hair, said bluntly: “Mr. Kuga, this is abrupt and rude of me, but please allow me twenty minutes for an interview. If here is unsuitable, we could go to another room alone…”

“No, I don’t mind. ...So... what would you like to ask...?”

“As you know, I’ve been handling this Suminami case from the very beginning, but recently I’ve arrived at a certain theoretical conclusion regarding its interpretation. Since this concerns you to some degree, I want to test whether my deductions hold by questioning that person directly. Let me clarify one thing—I have no petty intention of exploiting this professionally. It stems purely from experimental curiosity. And of course, this stays strictly between us—I absolutely won’t leak it outside... You need only answer what you wish to.”

Kuga remained silent for a while, then slightly tightened his expression, "Please go ahead and ask. I don't know if I can provide answers that will satisfy you." Nasu spoke with a defiant air. "Then let's begin immediately... Mr. Kuga, you're Iwafune Jūkichi - dispatched to the Pan-Pacific Labor Conference in Hankou during spring of Showa 2, missing ever since until today - aren't you?"

His eyes glinted sharply, "That’s right... You’ve figured it out well." It was a steady voice. Nasu made a face as if he had been taken aback. Kuga looked amused, "I’m already on the verge of losing my Japanese nationality... How did you figure it out?" "In Iwafune Jūkichi’s old poetry collection, there’s a poem titled ‘Self-Portrait.’" "The appearance described within it is exactly the same as Kuga Chiaki’s." "Therefore, Kuga Chiaki is none other than Iwafune Jūkichi."

Kuga gave a faint bitter smile. "Mr. Kuga, when did you return to Japan?" "What were you doing in China until then?" "Do you have any connection to Zenkoku Jiren?"

“It was the end of May this year—I returned after exactly ten years. In China, I moved around from place to place—Hong Kong, Hankou, Beijing. For the past two years, I was in Shanghai, working as something like a manager at a gambling den there. I have no connection to Zenkoku Jiren.” Having finished speaking, he stared at Nasu’s face. “But is this what you wished to ask about? Earlier, it seemed you mentioned the Suminami case, but...”

Nasu made a slightly embarrassed face,

“No, that’s not it.…Your responses were so smooth that I got carried away. My apologies… Well then… Let me ask you one thing. As you know, the crime scene had been completely ransacked—one could tell at a glance it was a first-timer’s work. But they were an extremely meticulous individual who left behind nothing you could call evidence. Every place they’d touched had been wiped clean with a handkerchief—not a single spot overlooked. Truly admirable… What remained was just the abrasion on the willow trunk and some dried mud in the wardrobe. Then there’s this button’s bloody emblem… That’s all… We’ll assume this button was retrieved from the blood pool at the scene. Naturally, this means the perpetrator wore women’s clothes… Now then, four female types have appeared in this crime drama’s cast… First—the modern girl in her early twenties, slender and elegant, whom the boy saw rush into around eleven that night to drink with Suminami… Second—the petite beauty of eighteen or nineteen whom Mr. Furuta met at Hamaguri Bridge’s foot around eight that evening and drank with at until just before ten… Third—the refined woman in her early twenties, like a young lady, whom a patrolling officer spotted around three that morning near Hamazono-chō… Fourth—the square-shouldered, slightly awkward tall woman who appeared at Matsumura Rental Clothing Store on June fourth… Now then, compiling these traits gradually reveals these four women fall into three categories… No need for tedious explanation—the second woman’s petite stature puts her in standalone Category A… The fourth woman’s awkwardness lands her in separate Category B… Since both first and third are twenty-two or three—refined and slender beauties—we’ll assume they’re the same person under Category C… Examining these categories: Mr. Furuta’s Category A wore a kimono and left with him just before ten, walking together to Monzennaka-chō before parting… Given the perpetrator wore crepe de chine clothes, we can exclude Category A from suspicion… As for Category B—based on statements from the patrol officer and boy—no such person appeared in Fukagawa or that night… Thus logically, we must assume Category C as perpetrator… If we tentatively deem Category A unrelated—wouldn’t B and C’s relationship look like this?”

“...In other words, B went to borrow garments for C.” “...The fact they brought them back without even properly fitting them serves as evidence.” “If choosing clothes for oneself, one wouldn’t make such selections.” “Moreover, B took home the deposit receipt.” “Had they known these clothes would be used for murderous disguise, they’d have torn up the receipt and discarded it.” “This doubly proves B had no prior knowledge of the murder—merely running an errand.” ...(After slurping tea from the bowl’s bottom with a noisy slurp) “Now, arranging these materials in order brings us here.” “...A refined, slender beauty in her early twenties had someone borrow garments for her, arrived at around 10:10 wearing them—the boy only saw her back.” “...Then the boy left.” “They drank heavily with Suminami and three decoy customers until about 1 AM—or rather made them drink—watched Suminami collapse drunk, pretended to leave before circling around, climbed the willow tree to enter through the second-floor window, and hid waiting in the wardrobe.” “Suminami stumbled upstairs dead drunk.” “When he fell onto the bed asleep, they pounced—three stabs to the heart, one to the carotid artery.” “They poured water from the pitcher into a basin, washed hands, searched for and found the money.” “Meticulously wiped every surface.” “Picked up the button and wrapped it in the receipt.” “Nothing overlooked.” “Closed the door, locked it, exited calmly through the downstairs entrance.” “By then it neared three o’clock.” “As they tried crossing Hamaguri Bridge toward Hamazono-chō, an officer approached.” “Panicking, they turned right at the first block’s corner and headed straight for Fukagawa Garbage Disposal Plant.”

They went as far as Kyokushin’s lumberyard near there and then suddenly melted into the earth.

(Staring at Kuga’s face) “How does this sound so far?” Kuga said with a smile. “That’s interesting. “I understand perfectly. “And then?”

Nasu became increasingly eloquent. “……Now then, within the shortest radius of this crime, there are two women who hold suspect rights. “One is Suminami’s former mistress… now running , Shusa Hana. “The other is Mrs. Kuga—that is, Miss Aoi… But as for Shusa Hana, she had been arrested prior to the 18th—the day of the incident—on charges of clandestine prostitution and was in Suzaki Station’s detention cell on the night in question… There’s practically no more perfect alibi than this. “Now, as for Mrs. Kuga—she is twenty-two or twenty-three years old, refined, a slender beauty. “Under normal circumstances, she would have been unable to avoid suspicion. “In other words, precisely because she was a beauty, she ended up suffering this misfortune. “One wouldn’t want to be a beauty. “But fortunately, she too had an alibi that was nearly perfect. “That night, she worked at from 8:00 PM to midnight and from 12:30 AM until morning was properly at her own apartment. “Not only that, but the boy from asserted that she was not this woman. “‘He made his determination based solely on seeing her from behind… Quite the sharp one, this guy.’ “Jokes aside, given these circumstances, Woman C’s status has remained X as before. “Not only that, but she supposedly vanished suddenly from a corner of Fukagawa—no ordinary matter… A human being melting away. “There’s no way such a thing could happen. “There must be a properly made opening somewhere… Therefore, we need to conduct a practical test of this magical stage.” …(As he said this, he took a notebook from his pocket and showed a meticulously drawn map) “As you can see, Edakawa-cho Itchome—where the murder occurred—is a square-shaped island surrounded on all sides by sea and moats. “To leave this island and reach Fukagawa’s tram line you must cross this Hamaguri Bridge to Hamazono-chō or cross this Shirasagi Bridge to pass through Shiozaki-chō—there are no other routes… Truly Fukagawa is like Venice—a place where isolated islands are connected solely by bridges—but few areas are as inconvenient as here. “…By the way a police officer came from the direction of Hamaguri Bridge. “When they tried to cross Shirasagi Bridge in a panic there was a police box at the bridge approach.”

“…This × mark indicates that checkpoint.” “To leave the island, you must pass through there no matter what.” Having no choice, they retreated into the island’s interior. “…They must’ve soon returned, passed the police box, and headed toward the city tram’s wooden bridge—that’s the only possibility.” “…Because a person can’t just vanish.” “And if a young woman loitered there…the danger would escalate by the minute.” “…Cool sea breezes make officers patrol aimlessly while cooling off.” “The area’s an open expanse—you can’t hide there long. They had to pass the police box… But that night at Shirasagi Bridge’s station…” “…Two officers sat outside from midnight till four AM due to the heat.” “…Yet no women passed through then…only men… I hit a wall.” “In desperation, I tried an ‘acquired method.’” “I placed myself at the crime scene’s heart.” “…Yesterday on Kyokushin Lumberyard’s log—if I were the killer…I pondered deeply…(grinning)…and soon found my answer.” “It was simple.” “…Here’s how.” “First, strip naked except for loincloth.” “Weight the bloody clothes and sink them in Kiba’s inlet.” “Then wet your head and body…walk briskly past the police box with shirt tucked underarm.” “…Locals here casually swim naked at night when overheated.” “Of course—nude travel.” “Cops don’t bat an eye… Thus, our culprit slipped through unscathed.”

Nishikai snickered and, "So you're telling me a woman strips down to just a loincloth, walks past a police box like that, and gets away scot-free?" Nasu remained stone-faced, "Precisely. Since no woman could manage such a feat, I deduced the culprit must be male." "This deduction is irrefutable." "If you doubt me, dredge Kyokushin's retention pond—the clothes will surface. ...(Turning to Kuga) Your thoughts?"

Having said this, Kuga looked back at Nasu’s eyes,

“Appropriate. I admire your deduction,” he said. Nasu suddenly tightened his face and said in a low voice, “Mr. Kuga, you’re the one who killed him, aren’t you?”

The room suddenly fell silent. Furuta audibly gulped. Kuga quietly spoke.

“I cannot answer that.”

He placed both hands on his knees, maintaining a composed demeanor. Nasu nodded, “Of course. If you have no intention of doing so, there’s no need for you to answer. ……Well then, one last thing…… Has my deduction been generally successful?”

“To state my honest impression, first of all, I believe what you have is not deduction but an outlandish theory.……Even if I had been cross-dressing at Naha that night, that alone would not prove I committed the murder.” “Here, the two states of cross-dressing and murder are merely placed separately without any connection.” “To connect these two nouns and form a meaningful sentence, a copula is absolutely necessary—yet nowhere can such a thing be found.” “You claim that I killed him.” “However, it completely lacks logical proof for that claim.……The police may not care whether it’s a baseless theory or a mere assumption.” “All that remains is to trip someone up in interrogation and force a confession, but since you aim to arrive at it logically, this approach won’t do, will it?” “……Now, regarding the cross-dressing—on what basis was it determined that it was me?”

“Among the five inheritance recipients, you are the only one who meets the qualifications.”

“What is the basis for asserting that the culprit must be among the five?” “...That ‘inheritance notice’ was undeniably a trick planned to throw the investigation into disarray. That notice lures several people to the murder scene and forcibly drags them into the vortex of the case. It’s a trick intended to complicate the situation, obscure their own traces of the crime, and, if successful, shift their guilt onto an unknown person. Needless to say, the person who sent out the ‘inheritance notice’ is none other than Suminami’s killer. In such cases, that individual would inevitably come to the scene. Because it is absolutely necessary to ascertain the extent of its effectiveness.... Therefore, it can be concluded that the culprit is among the five who gathered at Naha that morning.”

“That the culprit must have been present there... That is an imperative.” “It must necessarily be so.” “However, putting that aside—while you claim the purpose was to complicate the case and confuse the investigative approach—if I may say so, this trick seems only capable of achieving the opposite effect.” “Far from causing confusion, it’s as if the culprit is announcing their own presence here. ……Because in such cases, anyone would immediately deduce that the culprit must be among those gathered there.” “……The more intelligent a first-time offender, the more elaborate methods they devise—but any premeditated scheme inevitably suffers one of two flaws: either rigidity or excessive complexity.” “……Much like an over-engineered glass becomes fragile.……Moreover, this wasn’t conceived by a particularly sharp mind.……Mr. Nasu, I assure you I’m not so childish as to devise such a method.” “Not only that—I possess advantageous conditions allowing me to execute this far more casually without resorting to such methods.” “I returned to Japan just recently after ten years abroad.” “There isn’t a single person in Tokyo who knows me.” “I could act with utter boldness, complete nonchalance.” “……Given these advantages, why would I choose such a cumbersome method—one that reveals my amateur status and traps me in my own snare?” “I agree with your direct proof method—that whoever sent the notice must be the culprit.” “If that holds true, then by the logic I’ve outlined—I cannot be the culprit.”

Furuta readjusted his cross-legged position and turned to Nasu, “Alright, it’s finally my turn, I tell ya.” “Alright.” (Emphatically turning to face Kuga, he rebuked:) “Shut up! Cut it out already!” “You can try to cover it up with logic all you want—there’s evidence that won’t let that slide.” “…Hey, Kuga!” “When you were being chased by the policeman and coming down from the second floor, you quickly crouched and picked up something round from the pool of blood.” “It was definitely something like a button… Hey!” “How about this one?”

......This time, no matter how long they waited, there was no reply. A bitter look surfaced in Kuga's eyes, his forehead darkening faintly. Nishikai rested his cheek on his hand at the dining table and declared in a boisterous voice,

“Well, this is finally the climax,” “Hey, Bazaroff! Just give it up and confess already.” “Or do your precious maxims reject something as crude as a formal confession?” Furuta glared, “Bastard, quit your bullshit!” “Hey! You locked up an innocent guy like me, and now you’ve got the nerve to act all shameless, huh?” “...Just you wait!” “Next time, I’ll be the one dragging you in!” When he raised his face, Kuga said.

“Indeed, I picked up the button． Whether you think of me as a murderer or whatever else—that’s your prerogative．……Now that we’ve more or less finished talking—I’ll take my leave．”

He picked up his coat, stood up, slid open the fusuma door, and left.

“Bastard, trying to run?!”

Furuta stood up while shouting at the top of his voice. Nasu shouted "Wait, wait, hey wait!" as he lunged at Furuta’s shoulder.

From between the scale-like clouds, the setting sun became thin stripes and cast itself over the surface of the putrid water.

In the stagnant water-filled moat, several logs bound together into rafts floated. Three tramps stood atop them, dredging the bottom with a four-handled net fashioned from wire.

On the shore, large square timbers were piled up like a mountain, and on their high peak sat Inui and Nishikai. Nishikai lit another cigarette and, with a petulant air, blew smoke into the sky while— “...It’s a money-driven world, I tell ya.” “There’s no such thing as loyalty or human kindness—in this world, it’s all about clinging to money.” “Right? That’s how it is, I tell ya, Old Inui...” He seemed slightly drunk. Inui, his eyes glittering, gazed intently at the moat and answered irritably.

“Well, suppose so.”

Nishikai licked his lips and, “Don’t give me such a half-assed answer.……By the way, Old Inui—if Kuga’s stuffed doll surfaces from this moat, how much’ll you pay?” “Even if it’s just twenty days or a month—you’d sell out a friend you’ve shared drinks with.” “No way I’m doing it for free, I tell ya!”

Inui answered sullenly. "If it surfaces, I’ll give you ten ryō." Nishikai clapped his hands with a vulgar smack. “You win.…Was gonna say thirty ryō myself, but it’s all a sham from the start.” “Take your loss like a man.” “Selling lives for ten ryō’d give anyone nightmares—but I guess the greater good demands sacrificing kin.” “Once you’ve sworn your oath and crawled in bed with loan sharks, you’d better steel yourself for this.” (Turning toward Inui) “Quit gawking at that damn moat.” “Face me proper.” ...(Scanning the area) “Hell, this feels like some third-rate kabuki farce.” “The upper stage gets its fancy reed field, while we’re stuck down here with lumberyard trash...” “Toss in a mokugyo drum and call it Zen meditation—now that’s authenticity!” “What’s tangled in that four-handled net? Blood-soaked rags...” “Speaking of which—getting dark, ain’t it?” “...Quit glaring like that, Inui.” “Don’t just sit there mum—spit it out!” “...Your big moment’s finally come.” “Show some damn enthusiasm!”

Inui hunched his back and continued smoking his cigarette, “Whether it’s an ambition or a prayer—I wouldn’t know. "If something like that were to surface, it’d be some small comfort." “If you know it won’t surface, there’s no need for this sham of wasted effort.” “If you know it won’t surface…” “This was always a job I took knowing it was fool’s work…This right here—this is obsession.” “I can’t rest until this cloud lifts.” "...(Glaring at Nishikai) You’ve got some grudges weighing you down too, y’know.”

he said. Nishikai’s cheek twitched spasmodically, and he hung his head. After a while, when he raised his face, “Old Inui... I’ll confess.”

With that, he bowed his head. Inui glared at Nishikai for an instant, then— "What’s this, suddenly…" "What’s wrong, Mr. Nishikai…"

Despite his tone, he showed no sign of surprise.

“I did go to Naha around one in the morning on the night Suminami was killed… But I swear to heaven and earth, I didn’t kill him.” “At least believe me on this.”

Inui did not respond. Nishikai pressed urgently, “...That night, I left the theater around eleven o’clock. After hopping between two or three bars and drinking again at Takoda in Shinbashi, I remembered the ‘inheritance notice’ letter I had received that morning. It might have been the alcohol, but once I started thinking, there was no stopping me. It’s absurd, but at that moment, I felt like tens of thousands... worth of inheritance was about to fall right into my hands…. I got so agitated, you know. In this state of mind, I couldn’t possibly wait until tomorrow… Alright, I’ll go storm in right now and settle this once and for all…” In a panicked frenzy, I sped by taxi to Edakawa-cho. …When I arrived there, it was exactly 1:10. The second-floor shutters were open, and a faint light seeped out. ...I rushed up to the entrance... (with eyes wide in dread) I reached the door but... I just couldn’t bring myself to grab the handle... For some reason, it felt too intense, too terrifying—I couldn’t make myself go in... Eventually, my pride and patience snapped—I bolted all the way back to Hirakisumachi... and only when I saw the lights of Suzaki from there did I finally feel human again. “…Looking back now, I suppose that was probably when the murder was taking place inside.…To put it plainly, that’s how it was.” “There’s no lie… no falsehood.” “Please… resolve this obsession… Just save me…”

Whether he was serious or joking, he pressed his hands together. Inui smirked, "I know. It might seem underhanded of me, but I'd mostly known all along." "But y'see... I had to hear it straight from your mouth..."

As he said this, he shifted his gaze toward the moat. The instant he saw it, he sucked in his breath with a "Hmm..." From the mesh of the hauled-up four-handled net, drops dripped down. Inside the net was something like a roundly bundled rag. “Hey, boss! Somethin’ came up!” A white-haired vagrant in a rotten-looking shirt came running toward the shore, clutching it in both arms.

He untied the tightly wound wire and spread it out on the ground. The original color was no longer discernible, but it was a woman’s garment made of Chinese crepe. Inside lay white Fuji silk undergarments. When he spread it out using the tip of a stick, bloodstains clung thickly like drawn map lines.

Inui examined it thoroughly, then adopted an oddly composed demeanor and said: "Hey, old man. Tie this back up and sink it where you found it."

“Huh? Sinking it again?” “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told… What I’m after isn’t something like this… You’ll only get dragged into trouble.” “Huh, you’re quite right…”

When it was tied back up with stones as before, the kimono sank once more into the stagnant moat water. Suddenly, dusk began to fall, and in the dimness, Nishikai’s cigarette ember started glowing red.

9

The autumn wind blew.

Through Shinjuku's overly narrow streets, the flow of people - now grown dusky - moved sluggishly. One stream descended the Tsunohazu sidewalk; another turned from beside Mitsukoshi toward Yoshimoto Show, ultimately flowing into the station. Shinjuku is no hometown for those with sorrow. You can neither hide yourself within it nor forget your sorrows here. Shinjuku does not embrace people like Asakusa does. Once your business is done, you must leave without delay. Shinjuku is nothing more than a modernist transit point.

Kuga emerged from Shokusho Shindo next to Niko. Pushing against the crowd, he came to the front of Takano, then suddenly stopped and peered into its display window. Under the bright lighting, various foods were arrayed in irritatingly vivid colors. Kuga had eaten nothing since noon the previous day. Stomach acid had begun eating at his stomach lining. The area burned. He now clutched a single fifty-sen silver coin in his palm. He unconsciously moved to enter. Yet Aoi too had eaten nothing since yesterday. Pulling his body back from the window, he slowly began walking toward Sanchome.

He had gone to Inui's place to borrow travel expenses for Hotaka and had just been curtly rebuffed. How could anyone possibly extend credit to a man cohabiting with some woman of dubious origins? "Once we part ways, I'll handle your little errand," Inui had said. With an air of mock generosity, he'd produced a single fifty-sen coin. Since Inui had been his sole recourse, Kuga felt his vision swimming. Ever since returning from Kobe, Kuga would leave home each morning claiming he was going to police headquarters, walk as far as Yotsuya Mitsuke, then waste the long hours until evening dozing on the embankment there. He knew full well how Aoi was wearing herself to the bone, but even if he tried seeking work—in this Tokyo where he knew not a soul—he couldn't find so much as a starting point. After agonizing over it, he'd inevitably succumb to sleep.

Ten years ago, he had been actively engaged in activities as a member of Tom-Tom. After going to China and beginning a wandering life, he gradually lost interest in everything; unbeknownst to himself, he drifted away from the movement and lived without doing any proper work. As for what he had gained in these ten years, it was only the aphorism that idleness alone frees the human spirit. His return to Japan was not, of course, due to any sense of homesickness, but simply because he had thought to go see a different place.

When he arrived in Osaka, that very night, as if by fate's design, he came face to face with his past karma. His former comrades Ishihara and Nakamura had been planning a bank robbery to secure party funds after their unification. Kuga was familiar with Osaka's underworld, so he inevitably became involved in the scheme. Yet even this involvement sprang from no clear intent. Rather, it arose out of sheer indolence.

This plan failed, and Kuga fled to Tokyo. The forged police credentials he had bought in Shanghai proved extremely useful during this escape. In Tokyo, two unexpected events lay in wait for him. Murder and romance and... And then he married. Don't work. That kills the freedom of the spirit. For Kuga, idleness had been the very focus of his intense will to live. While alone, it had indeed liberated his spirit, letting him wander freely through beauty's garden, but after marrying, even his carefully crafted aphorism now served only to torment his wife. Indeed, she bore double the hardship and struggled under his self-centered assertions.

At times, this awareness would stir his soul lying comatose in the depths. Each time this happened, Kuga would abruptly sit bolt upright, mutter "I can't go on like this," and wander the town aimlessly and frantically. It wasn’t just about daily survival. What circumstances had led to this? Aoi had killed Suminami. He had to find a way to get her away. The reason he had taken Aoi to Kobe two months earlier was to meet up with Ishihara and the others there and escape together to Shanghai. However, five hours before Kuga arrived in Kobe, Ishihara had been arrested in Nagoya and confessed that he had planned to flee to Shanghai with his comrades, causing all routes to China to be shut down. Before long, staying in Kobe had also become dangerous, so they returned to Tokyo again.

For a time, even the Metropolitan Police Department's First Investigative Division had completely thrown in the towel, and it seemed the Suminami case would remain unsolved forever, but recently the situation had suddenly taken a dangerous turn. The dragnet was already closing in around Aoi's neck. The time had come when he could not hesitate a moment longer. To get Aoi away, he needed money—but he had absolutely no plan for obtaining it. Kuga grew frantic, looked up at the evening sky, and let out an involuntary groan. He had come to feel that he would resort to anything if it meant getting his hands on money.

Someone gently placed a hand on Kuga’s shoulder. Reflexively reaching for the pistol in his coat pocket, he whirled sharply toward the source. An eighteen- or nineteen-year-old girl with sunken eyes that set her apart from typical Japanese features stood on one leg like a crane, her raglan-sleeved blouse billowing in the autumn wind. When she saw Kuga’s face, she closed one eye mockingly, “I’ve been tailing you every single day. …Did you know?” Kuga sternly knit his brows and stared at the girl’s face—the same salmon-pink evening dress that had persistently clung to him that night when he first visited Aoi at Cineraria. Then he had glimpsed her once more in Amagasaki... A girl called Tsuru or something like that.

Tsuru began laughing with uncontainable delight, "...See? You didn't know, did you?" "I'm happy." "Hmm, but let's not just stand around here—let's start walking. I... have something to talk about." (With that, she took Kuga's hand and briskly started walking in whatever direction she pleased.) "I know everything you've done."

"Why would you follow someone like me around?" Tsuru lowered her eyes slightly. "I can't say." "So you were tailing me in Kobe too?"

“That’s right… But who cares about that? …You’ve peered into restaurant windows three times since earlier. You’re quite particular about food, aren’t you?”

The assumption was so wildly off-base that he couldn't help bursting into laughter.

“I don’t have any money—I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.” Tsuru stopped and widened her eyes. Tsuru pulled Kuga’s arm so suddenly that he staggered,

“Let’s eat… I’ve got money.” “I appreciate it… but there’s no reason I should let you feed me.”

“No—I owe you. “…When I was at Cineraria, you gave me tips. The next time you came, you gave me more... I’m returning the favor... Now walk! If you don’t start walking... I’ll kick you!” She dragged him relentlessly to a Chinese restaurant called Beijing. Dinner hour had slightly passed, leaving the establishment empty, white chrysanthemums quietly perfuming the air above rosewood dining tables. Tsuru fussed over every detail of the meal, repeating “Eat lots, please eat lots” like a prayer countless times. When Kuga finally began eating, she propped her chin in both hands and stared holes through his face. Then abruptly:

“Please leave Tokyo and go somewhere.” “Anywhere’s fine—just escape quickly, please.” “I’m begging you.”

He set down his chopsticks, his face tightening slightly,

"Why do I have to run away?" "You’ll understand later… Hotaka won’t do. Shanghai or Qingdao—go somewhere far away..."

“Hotaka? Why would you say such a thing…” “So I’ve been telling you I’ve been tailing you every day, haven’t I? … (Taking out a thick white envelope from her handbag and pushing it toward Kuga) There’s three hundred yen in here.” “So take this...” He pushed it back, “There’s no way I’m accepting this kind of help.” “But you don’t have anyone to borrow from, do you?”

“It’s fine… I’ll get it soon.” “So will you run away?” “I won’t run away. I just felt like taking a trip.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow… Or if sooner, tonight.”

She let out a long sigh,

“I’m relieved… (pressing Kuga’s hand against her own chest) Now please—stay safe forever and ever.”

While her lips trembled minutely at the corners as she made a strange face, she suddenly bit down hard on Kuga's finger and spat, "Hey! You idiot!"

Her eyes were moist. “Hey!” When Kuga called out in a low voice, Yamase sat up abruptly from the grass. It was an open field north of Meiji Confectionery known as a shooting range. Kuga spread out a paper bundle on the grass. Inside were five raisin breads. Yamase grabbed one and frantically stuffed it into his mouth. The setting sun struck his gaunt cheeks, gleaming leaden with each movement.

“Tasty…”

After looking up at Kuga’s face and smiling, while his shoulders trembled, he bent back down and continued eating intently. Every now and then, he would choke up suddenly and shed tears as if in agony. He looked like a stray dog devouring its meal. There was a certain fragility in the sight of this large, imposing man behaving this way.

Kuga said.

"...I've talked quite a lot," Kuga said. "Shall we part ways here? There's something I want you to hear... but we don't have time for that." Yamase worked his mouth while replying, "No need to worry. Since we may not meet again for some time, let's both say what's on our minds. Let's make sure there are no regrets." His voice tightened slightly. "...What do you mean by that?"

Kuga forced a wry smile, "You'll probably think this is trivial, but actually, that night, I went to Naha dressed as a woman."

“So it’s adaptation, huh. …Why, that’s quite appropriate.”

“Oh, don’t say that. I didn’t do it with that intention from the start. That night there was a dance at the hotel, and since they insisted we dress up as much as possible, I had a hotel maid lend me women’s clothes and went to the event wearing them.” Around midnight when I thought to return to my room and asked at the front desk for my key, the clerk said, “If you mean Mr. Kuga, he’s been in his room since this evening.” When he added, “Shall I check if he’s available if you need him?” “Ah—of course—I had the key myself,” I realized. A strange feeling came over me. That restless sense of adventure surged up again. As I’d mentioned earlier, within two hours some crime would occur at Naha. Only the notice’s sender and I knew this beforehand. My alibi had naturally fallen into place like this—the event would continue until about three o’clock, so I just needed to return by then. Alright—time to go. If I waited in front of that house, I’d surely discover what happened. If by chance someone emerged carrying money, I planned to flash my police notebook and seize it from them mid-transaction—no, but they were likely asleep by now. Saying I’d return tomorrow, I rushed out of the hotel. I drank at an oden shop in Suzaki until past two before heading to Naha. Hiding in the shadow of an old rail yard across the street, I waited endlessly for something—anything—to begin until impatience got the better of me and I quietly slipped inside Naha. There was a room on the second floor. Groping my way through the darkness, I suddenly tripped over something and fell. When I fumbled for the switch and pressed it, there lay a man in his fifties—dead. Instantly my situation became perilously dangerous.

...I was cross-dressed. I was covered in blood from chest to hands. Night would soon break... Moreover, the geographical conditions around there were almost fatal for a deserter like me. A complete dead end with the exit blocked. To escape from that island in this state would indeed require a kind of genius. ...After thoroughly cleaning up, I went outside. When I tried to head toward Hamaguri Bridge, sure enough, a policeman came from the opposite direction. At the other end of Shirakibashi Bridge, there was a police box.

...he slipped into the shadows and sank down cross-legged. To let my thoughts leap—what exactly were the conditions endangering me now? One was that I wore a bloodstained woman’s kimono; another was having to cross a bridge with a police box at its foot. At first glance, these seemed utterly unavoidable. Yet when I turned my thoughts around slightly—the true danger lay not in those conditions themselves but in being shackled to the idea that crossing was inevitable. I stripped off my clothes and sank them into the stagnant pond. He swam cautiously across the moat and surfaced near Bentencho’s boat rentals. A rotten workman’s jacket hung there. Hemp-soled sandals too. As I stood there wearing them—a taxi pulled up. “When I returned to the hotel—just as expected—they were still making an uproar...”

Yamase grimly interjected.

“But there’s no use in me listening to this.” “……What exactly do you want to discuss?”

After a brief pause, “Actually, it was my wife who killed Suminami.”

Yamase gazed coldly at the sky, as though he hadn’t heard a word. Kuga began speaking a little faster, "The next morning, I went up to the second floor with a policeman." "When I glanced over, I saw a button from a woman’s garment lying in the pool of blood." I thought, "Oh no." I seized the opportunity to pick it up and put it in my pocket. “However, when I checked, it didn’t match the base color of my clothes... There was a garment among Aoi’s clothes that closely resembled that color.” "When I gently tried matching it, it became unmistakably clear that this had fallen from that garment." “Moreover, Aoi snuck out of her apartment around 1 AM that night using the emergency ladder... Phenomenologically speaking, there’s no other conclusion but to think she did it.”

“Yeah, I got it.” “So what’re you tryin’ t’say?”

“...The woman who went to borrow clothes from the costume shop is now being vigorously pursued. The hotel maid hasn’t said anything yet, but she’ll likely confess once she can’t take it anymore... My arrest is only a matter of time now. I didn’t kill anyone. That’s exactly why I mustn’t be caught—for Aoi’s sake. No matter what happens, we’ll escape together... I have a friend in Hotaka. If we reach there, we’ll get our hands on a substantial amount of money. Then we’ll go to Otaru. There should be a regular cargo ship route from Otaru to Qingdao—we’ll take that to Qingdao. We’ll manage somehow after that.”

Yamase sat up and crossed his legs on the grass, a smile playing on his lips as he spoke. "I fully grasp what you're trying to say... If you want my opinion, the real danger isn't your circumstances—it's that you've genuinely begun loving your wife." "If you tried fleeing alone, that'd be child's play... We once had that naive argument about what lies beyond nihilism." "...You claimed nothing exists beyond nihilism except its abyss." "I seem to remember countering that love exists beyond nihilism." "...Do you recall?"

Kuga stared at Yamase’s face and said in an agitated voice,

“I remember it well. “Nakamura, I initially…””

Yamase raised his hand to interrupt while,

“There’s no point in me listening to your love confessions.” “Cut it out.” “……So, how are you getting to Hotaka?” “With things being this urgent, are you confident you can slip out of Tokyo?”

Kuga declared proudly. "I do... Not confidence." "It's will. And I've had an epiphany now." "We can't move because we're shackled by travel expenses." "If we mean to walk, there are boundless possibilities." "I'll walk... I'll walk endlessly onward." Yamase glanced at Kuga's face with pity, then looked down and silently lit a cigarette. The fog rolled in.

Aoi returned to her room looking haggard. Without even removing her kimono, she lay down on the bed. On the wall, the twilight was gradually beginning to fade...

When Aoi went to Inui’s house, Inui was on the second floor carefully wielding a small knife to repair the legs of a flower stand. There had been an agreement—if she informed him about a military-looking man named Yamase meeting with Kuga, he would lend her fifty yen for travel expenses—so she had rushed to deliver the information. When she reported that the two had gone to the Ōkubo shooting range, Inui furrowed his brow as usual and seemed to be contemplating something, but soon smirked and began moving toward Aoi. There was something chillingly lewd about that laugh. It felt slightly different from his usual manner.

Aoi resisted with all her strength. But as she was suddenly thrown forcefully onto the bed and began experiencing slight dizziness, she became unable to move. She struggled to push Inui's body away, but her hands went limp and she couldn't muster any strength at all. She continued to gasp deliriously, repeating "Please forgive me, just that—please forgive me." Dinner preparations must have begun. The sound of running water could be heard incessantly from rooms here and there. Aoi closed her eyes.

〈Even if she used all the water in the world, she could never wash away her own defilement...〉

But what did it even mean to be defiled? She wanted to think it through properly, but her mind turned hollow and she couldn't grasp anything. The faint pain remaining in her body felt somehow more visceral. It was a quiet evening.

There was a presence in the room. When she startled and opened her eyes, Shusa Hana stood framed in the doorway. Her deep purple gauze kimono and white Hakata obi made for an impeccably chic ensemble. She remained at the threshold gazing at Aoi before gliding forward. “Oh my, what’s happened? Are you feeling unwell?”

She spoke in an uncharacteristically gentle voice while scrutinizing every inch of Aoi's body. Aoi felt as if every part of her were being laid bare and involuntarily sat upright.

“It’s nothing… I’m just a little tired.” “Yes… But your complexion looks terrible. Shall I get you some cold water?”

With that, she stood up and went over. After peering meticulously into the sink area here and there, she filled a glass with water and came back. She sat down close to Aoi and said in a heartfelt tone, “Look, Aoi, you’re in trouble, aren’t you? ……I understand it well.” “You two haven’t eaten anything these past few days, have you?”

How did she know that? Aoi looked up in surprise. Hana heaved a dramatic sigh, “...Suffering has its merits, but this is rather overwrought.” “What you do is your own affair, but trying to subsist on pure emotion seems rather indulgent, don’t you think?” “If you were alone, you could wallow however you like—if you’ve no will to live, that’s fine too.” “But if you insist on surviving, adopt a more desperate mindset.” “Emotions, morals, customs... Such sweetness won’t sustain you. ...If you’ll play the martyr, then commit to it fully.” “...(leaning close to peer at Aoi’s face) Tell me, Aoi—have you considered taking clients?” “...Of course they’re beasts.” “No—not even beasts. Mere phenomena.” “...Just as getting drenched in a downpour isn’t our sin, the less human they are, the less any contact with them defiles us.” “What we endure is merely perception. ...Though I’m in this trade, I’ve never abetted vanity or greed.” “I aim to forge rational paths for women of talent—those ground down by mere survival.” “They shouldn’t waste hours scrambling for scraps.” “Take one client daily—devote the rest to study. ...I won’t press you, but consider this: hypocrisy won’t feed you.”

It was a room like a windowless photographer’s darkroom. The peach-shaded bedside lamp seductively illuminated the bed. Aoi stood at the room’s center. She felt neither sorrow nor fear anymore. Bodily defilement meant nothing if it meant survival. What’s more, whether they obtained that paltry sum would decide Kuga’s fate. To secure it, she couldn’t afford hesitation. What meaning could preserving chastity possibly hold under such circumstances…

The door opened with pretentious flair, and a pimply youth wearing knickers entered. He produced a lighter and lit the golden cigarette holder, “Hey, what’re you gonna do now?” he said.

10

The sharp-eyed man facing Inui jerked his chin each time he spoke.

“Shinshu’s a big place. ……Where in Shinshu?”

"I don't know." The man looked sullen. "What's this—'I don't know, I don't know'? If you keep covering for him carelessly—regrettable as it is—I'll have to drag you into this too. Tell me—where in Shinshu?" Inui kept his hands on his knees and stared downward, but eventually raised his face. "I'll tell you. But first, there's one thing I must ask. Is it certain that Kuga did the killing?" "What will you do if you hear that?"

“Unless I hear that first, I’ll wake up feeling unsettled.” “Our acquaintance may have been brief—a month or two at most—but a friend is a friend.” “If there’s sufficient evidence, I’ll have no choice but to accept it. But if not, even if detained like this, I couldn’t possibly disclose anything.” “However... if Kuga truly did the killing, I intend to lay everything bare. As you know, that Suminami’s fortune—though I don’t know the exact amount—would have naturally fallen into my hands had this not happened.” “When I think how it was snatched away from me so easily, I’ve been consumed by such regret and frustration that I haven’t been able to sit still from that day until now.” “…The police can’t be relied upon.” “I meant to crush him myself—spent money freely, wrung my brains dry, ran myself ragged trying everything.” “…Given all that, to make absolutely certain, I’d ask you to clarify one point.” “In exchange...”

The man looked somewhat troubled, “Alright, alright, I get it. Everything’s been figured out already.” “The ‘woman’ who went to borrow clothes turned out to be a bellboy at Nanpei Hotel. When we interrogated him, he said he’d borrowed them for some man. The bastard disguised himself as a woman and went.” “Pretty clever trick.” “With that face of his, trying to pull off a robbery—no one would’ve noticed a thing. What a cocky son of a bitch.” “And yet he’s been living bold as brass in Tokyo all this time...”

Inui made a thoroughly frustrated face, “Damn it… So it was him after all.” “I also thought something was fishy, but I kept dismissing it as unthinkable... Making a fool of people like that...” “If he’s the killer, there’s nothing more brazen than that.” “He flashes a forged police notebook or something and then turns around and threatens me with it...” “So where’s he headed?”

“He has a friend in Hotaka who keeps cattle—if they go there, they’ll manage somehow. That’s what his wife said when she came to borrow money just now.”

“Did you lend it to them?” “Do I have any money to lend to people? They know there’s no way out if I refuse them, but you can’t give what you don’t have. ...So unless they resort to stealing, they’ll have no choice but to walk there.” “Well, thanks. That’s all I needed to know.”

As he said this, the man picked up his hat from atop the clutter. Inui looked up at his face with a strange, suggestive tone, "Is that all you need to know?"

The man looked back with a doubtful expression. "What?" Inui said sullenly.

“There are still things I know.”

He sat down again on the pile of old carpets and leaned forward,

“I see… What’s that?” After a moment’s pause, “That kimono—it’ll come up when they dredge the reservoir in Edagawa-cho.” “Wh-which reservoir? How do you know this?” “Across from the city garbage incinerator, there’s the Kyokushin lumberyard… That reservoir there. Of course, this is just hearsay on my part—you’ll want to ask that newspaper reporter Nasu for details.”

“Nasu?” “I know him well.” “I see… This—this was unexpected.” “Well, thanks—” He started to stand up hurriedly. “Oh, are you leaving already?” The man half-rose again. “You got more?” Glancing up sharply, he said, “You see, Kuga here’s an accomplice in that recent Osaka bank gang case. His real identity is Iwafune Jūkichi—a big shot in that world. …Didn’t you know?” His knee twitched. Trying to act nonchalant,

“Oh, is that really true?”

“That plan failed spectacularly. So they say this Suminami case was done too—how should I put it—like their usual... scheme to raise funds. After pulling off such a big job, them acting all timid suddenly makes perfect sense now. ...But I don’t know the details. After all, this is just hearsay too... They say Nasu took them down and made the gang confess, but... Well anyway, Kuga and Nakamura are at the Ōkubo Shooting Range right now. ...I saw it with my own eyes.”

The man looked like he could no longer sit still, gripping his hat as if to crush it.

“Once I hear that… I can’t just sit idle… Eventually…”

Inui calmly composed himself, “What are you going to do? “Are you going to launch a raid right away?” “You’d better be careful. “They both have pistols, you know. “If you carelessly try to capture them alive, you’ll meet with terrible trouble. “After all, they say that guy’s an expert…” He forced a bitter smile,

“No, thank you. “…I know that well.” “Anyway, I’m in a hurry—I’ll thank you properly later…”

While kicking aside the old pots there, he left in a terribly flustered state. Inui glanced briefly at his retreating figure, picked up a bamboo spatula, and slowly began kneading the tsugimeshi paste.

Tsuru entered. She sat down next to Inui, "The one who just left was a Metropolitan Police detective, right? "...What did he come here for?" "...What did you talk about?" “It’s nothing important. “Just some nonsense about my background…” She frowned, “Didn’t you say anything about Kuga?”

“I told him he came to borrow money.” “That’s all.” Tsuru grabbed Inui’s sleeve and shook it, “You didn’t tell them anything else, right?” “Saying something foolish would implicate me.” “Who’d do such an idiotic thing?” (Glancing briefly at Tsuru’s face) “But why ask that?” Tsuru’s eyes suddenly welled with tears, “No matter what they say, Kuga didn’t really kill him, did he? So please—just stop tormenting him with your informant tricks… That’s why I came to beg you.”

Inui, with rice grains gathered on the tip of his bamboo spatula, stared at Tsuru with a look of utter boredom. “To be honest, the reason you’re so determined to have Kuga arrested is that you also intend to get your hands on Aoi, isn’t it? If that’s the case, there are plenty of other methods, aren’t there? Just spare him from being informed on—I’m begging you.” “What’s this all of a sudden? Tsuru.”

“The reason? It’s simple… I’ve fallen for Kuga,” she said, leaning her head back against the chair. “It’s completely beyond my control now. Lately, I feel like crying ten times a day.” “Well, I’m surprised.” With that, he snorted derisively. Tsuru twitched her shoulders. “I was surprised too… When I really thought about it, I’d been in love since we first met. I even sent those fire escape letters trying to drive you two apart… How pathetic of me. To think I’d become such a fool… What surprised me was this… I’m completely smitten now. Even my life… Lately, I’ve been following him around from morning till night.”

“Oh? And why would that be?”

Tsuru glared sharply back into Inui’s eyes, “I can’t stay away.” “There’s no doubt about that.” “But, to put it bluntly, I’m actually trying to protect him.” “If an emergency arises, I intend to help him escape somehow… Things have already gotten quite dangerous, as you know.” Inui’s eyes glinted sharply, “Hey, are you planning to let him escape?” Suddenly bending her lips into a ヘ-shape, Tsuru began sobbing like a child.

“……I want to let him escape. "I want to let him escape." “...But I won’t act on my own and disregard you.” "I know full well that resisting you is pointless." “…That’s why I’m surrendering like this, isn’t it?” “……I’m begging you to help him.” “……If you must inform on him, then do so—just wait one more day. ……I’m begging you, I’m begging you.” “In return, I’ll obey whatever you say…”

Inui, in a manner that suggested full comprehension, said while shaking his head vigorously.

"I see. I understand completely," Inui said, his eyes glinting coldly. "I can't perform such delicate tricks as sparing lives or offering help. But if you insist this much, I'll delay informing on him." He roughly pulled Tsuru closer, his breath reeking of stale rice. "If I wait, will you truly obey me?" Tsuru closed her eyes and gave a faint nod.

A thick fog had settled.

It was nearly midnight. Both houses and street trees sank into an ambiguous milky whiteness, swaying like seaweed with each gust of wind. Through Shinjuku's backstreets swam an extra edition delivery person, his bell clanging through the fog. Kuga and Aoi materialized from the mist. Noticing a newspaper extra fluttering on the gas company's lamppost, Kuga approached it. The damp broadsheet bore these printed words: "Fugitive Black Gang member Ryōichi Nakamura (36), mastermind of the Osaka Eighth Bank robbery incident, was discovered loitering in Shinjuku Sanchōme at 10:30 PM tonight and fatally shot in self-defense."

Kuga lowered his head, closed his eyes for a moment, then quietly left the spot and walked into the Kōshū Highway shoulder to shoulder with Aoi. As they approached the garage near Sasazuka, Aoi suddenly stopped and said she felt like someone was following them. When Kuga looked back, about half a block behind them, four drunkards were linking arms, shouting something loudly as they staggered along. “There's no way we're being followed. You don’t need to worry. Those are just drunkards.”

The two came from Daitabashi through Shichikencho to the vicinity of Shimo-Takaido. It was nearly three o'clock. When they stopped at the street corner, Aoi said in a feeble voice, "I'm tired."

Kuga stood on the road and listened intently in the direction they had come from. There was no sign of anyone—just the chirping of insects. “Then let’s rest in the shadow of that house.” The two turned right from the road, passed in front of Moriyama Farm’s barn, and entered a narrow grassy area that resembled a courtyard. There was a crape myrtle tree adorned with white flowers, and it was fragrant in the fog. The two of them sat down beneath it. “The dew is terrible.” “But it’s a nice place though. There’s no worry of being seen by anyone, and the flowers smell nice…”

Aoi drew closer to Kuga, rested her head on his shoulder, and took a deep breath. At last, we had escaped. We were safe. We would be all right now…

Kuga embraced Aoi’s shoulder,

“Did you sigh? Are you tired? ……But just a little more patience. When day breaks, we’ll sell this fountain pen in Fuchu town. They’ll give us enough money for a day’s food… After that… we’ll manage each time as it comes.” Aoi lowered her eyes.

*There's no need to worry.* I have money. Let's take the train when morning comes. And then they would go to the mountains, live among cows and mountain air, and spend simple days free from worry. If this wasn't happiness, then what was? If she stayed still like this, she felt she might dissolve into the very air around her...... After shaking her head two or three times, she soon began to breathe in low, steady sleep.

Kuga smiled while peering into her face. His heart was deeply moved, and he felt inexpressibly happy. Here was someone who lived solely to love him. Her head rested on his shoulder, breathing quietly in sleep.

Kuga had not loved Aoi at first. He had sought her out as a diversion from his solitary life in Tokyo. And he had married her without love. He had believed that things like affection were unnecessary for marriage. But now it was different. He was discarding both his long-cultivated self-centered spirit and freedom, resigning himself to becoming an ordinary family man. He was steeling himself to do anything for her sake. Was this what they called love? For Kuga, this was truly an astonishing thing. He had never once imagined such a transformation could occur within him.

Kuga took Aoi's hand and gently touched it with his lips. Aoi snapped her eyes open. “I fell asleep, didn’t I? … Do we have to leave already?” “…I’d like to stay like this a bit longer…” “Of course. “……I’ll wake you when it’s time.” “…Aoi, do you know what I was just thinking?” Aoi partially closed her eyes and answered in a voice like someone not fully awake from a dream.

“About me…”

Kuga laughed out loud. A sharp whistle sounded nearby.

Five towering men emerged one after another from the fog, forming a semicircle as they edged closer to the pair. A streak of fire burst forth from the breast pocket of Kuga's coat. The acrid smell of scorched metal filled the air as a sharp crack reverberated through the woods. The report echoed repeatedly through the trees. One man groaned and collapsed to his knees in the grass. The remaining four scrambled backward while shouting in unison.

“You bastard, still resisting?!” “You’re under arrest, Iwafune Jūkichi!” Kuga’s pistol roared and flashed once more. The four men scrambled behind the shed like locusts. “Quick!” Kuga grabbed Aoi’s hand and tried to dash toward the cow shed on their right... At that moment, something like molten lead tore through his body with brutal force. He staggered and reached for the post... The post rapidly vanished from his view...

Overhead, he heard someone shouting in words he couldn't understand. He couldn't stay lying here like this...... He tried to get up, clawing at the soil about twice with his nails...... Aoi...... Aoi...... His strengthless gaze drifted, then he slumped face down and stopped moving.

Under a dim twenty-candlepower electric light in the shop's plank-floored entryway, Inui and Shusa Hana sat cross-legged drinking sake. It was the evening of the following day. Both seemed thoroughly drunk by now, thrusting their cups at each other while urging, "Drink! Drink!" Most of the liquor ended up spilled across the floor.

There was a sound of a kick at the entrance, and when the door was violently pushed open, Tsuru staggered in. Stomping into the plank-floored area without removing her shoes, she plopped down onto the ceramic bench. She was apparently drunk as well, her face pale and eyes fixed.

Hana tilted her head unsteadily and stared up intently at Tsuru's face from below.

“Well now, not half bad—this brat’s been drinking. … Hey, where’d you get liquored up?” Inui, in high spirits, kept tapping his forehead as he said, “A crane in the garbage dump, eh? … Well, I’ve been waiting, waiting. … Drink up.”

He raised the cup high and pressed it against Tsuru’s chest. Tsuru violently brushed it away. The cup left Inui’s hand, went flying off into the distance, and shattered with a sharp crack. Inui let drops of alcohol drip from his forehead as he grinned slyly.

“Well now, even this one’s booze ain’t worth shit.” “Shut up!”

Tsuru shouted in a shrill voice. While glaring at Inui with bloodshot eyes, in a strangely weighted voice,

“Hey, you really did it... Getting me all excited just to screw me over—what a sick joke. Never figured you’d be such a stingy cheapskate bastard.” “That was my mistake.” “If I’d known that, I would’ve thrown aside any sense of honor and let him escape right then.” “…Did I let the lover I cherished more than life itself—the one I loved with all my soul—die right before my eyes, all because of a single moment’s carelessness?” “…Will I never meet him again in this world?” “…How hateful... How cruel.” She cried out as if unable to hold back any longer and began weeping. After suddenly stopping her tears and wiping her eyes, she continued: “Hey, I know I’m being repetitive, but you really did it... Why 9 ryō 3 bu 2 shu?” “I’ll curse you for sure!” “…You might think you can use my life as collateral and that I’d never dare spill everything, but as of this very moment, I don’t care about my life anymore.” “I’ll rush straight to headquarters, lay everything bare in my report, and have a noose cinched tight around your necks—you better believe it!” “What’s with that stupid face? Just because I’m some ditzy young girl, you thought I knew nothing—used me up like spent tea leaves—but I know every last detail of this case from start to finish!” “Hey, why don’t I give you a little recap right here?” “…In June 1918, at the northern tip of Hokkaido, the notorious large-scale construction of Wakkanai Port began.” “Then Suminami Nampūtarō deceived over two hundred people from his hometown of Itoman and brought them here, selling them off to Ōbayashi-gumi—the contractor for the Hokkaido government office—at eighty yen per person.” “Those who were sold couldn’t endure it.” “After all, it was a notorious prison-like quarters.” “The climate was harsh and the work was brutal; by the time it was completed, only eighteen out of two hundred people had survived.” “…My father was also deceived and sold, becoming one of those who lost their lives there... And the money he hoarded this way amounted to about thirty thousand yen.” “Because he was terrified, he didn’t deposit it in the bank but instead installed a Chinese-style cabinet resembling a safe in his room and hid it there with the idea that anyone who saw it would turn into a frog.”

“The only ones who knew about this were Suminami and his mistress at the time—Ms. Hana over there—just the two of them.” “Ms. Hana had been after it for ages too, but he was too cautious to let anyone make a move.” “Not only that—he wouldn’t even give her decent spending money! They finally had a falling-out, and while she was scraping by working at that Kinshō bar in Suzaki, she met this Mr. Inui here—like attracts like, right? Then after scheming up all sorts of plans, he called me over—I’d been a dancer in Amagasaki—and said: ‘Suminami’s your father’s killer! Don’t you want revenge?’” “Don’t you want revenge?” “‘If you’re serious,’ I egged him on like lighting kindling from below, ‘I’ll help you for sure.’” “Hearing about my father’s brutal death over and over from my mom—it seeped into my bones! The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t let that bastard live another day. So I begged you to help me finish him.” “After saying that, even an idiot like me felt the shame of crawling through Han Xin’s legs.” “…We knew they’d arrest Hana first because of their history, so we deliberately had detectives take her into ‘protective custody’ at Suzaki Station.” “…The fourth and seventh were the days when Naha’s boy worked day shifts, so we settled on June fourth for the job and sent out those crafty ‘inheritance notices’ everywhere.” “Right around then… we decided to pin everything on that new girl Aoi who showed up at the bar. We made sure to plant detailed instructions in the inheritance calls, planned to leave evidence at the scene—even plucked one of her buttons.” “…So that night around eight, I put on a peach-split wig disguised as some sixteen-year-old girl, loitering around Hamaguri Bridge’s edge. Sure enough, that moron Furuta took the bait.” We dragged him along to Naha. “After confirming the boy had started closing up, we left Naha.” “When I parted ways with Furuta at Monzennakacho and rushed up to Kinshō’s second floor, there you were waiting, Mr. Inui—transforming me into this flashy twenty-two-year-old Modern Girl with a bob cut and garish makeup.” “I stuffed my shoes with lifts to match Aoi’s height, squeezed into a long evening dress, put on my best innocent face, and headed back to Naha again.” “But when I saw the boy was still there, I thought we’d blown it! While desperately hiding my face, luckily he left soon after.” Suminami came downstairs and took his place behind the counter. When I started cozying up to him flirtatiously, the drugs kicked in fast—left him slack-jawed like a dead sea bream. I pinned him down and forced more drink down his throat. While this was happening, some rough-looking laborer—who knows where he came from—barged in at just the right moment. Leaving him to handle things, I pretended to leave but doubled back around the side, climbed through the window using the willow tree trunk, hid inside the cupboard… and waited.

Before long, Suminami came upstairs, collapsed onto the bed, and immediately lost consciousness. ...Papa... Papa... Please watch over me. Now, lay your obsession to rest. Please accept this. ...Did you finally understand? she thought as she thrust recklessly. ...When she went downstairs, you were waiting there and said it was fine. "What a splendid filial daughter, truly admirable," you said. Overcome with emotion, she burst into tears. ...You left me crying and went upstairs. After quite some time had passed, he came back down carrying a square-shaped bundle. When she asked "What is it?" he replied, "It’s the clothes you took off." She hadn’t paid it any particular mind, but it went without saying—this was the target: thirty thousand ryō. ...The next morning, Mr. Inui nonchalantly went out to observe. Contrary to expectations that Aoi would be dragged away from the scene—such are the unfathomable whims of fate—the button ended up being found by Kuga, resulting in their meticulously orchestrated scheme completely backfiring. Ill-advisedly sending those unnecessary letters only ended up making them a hindrance, and now we’re the ones in danger. In their panic, they hastily listed every imaginable accusation on a postcard and reported Furuta. Because it didn’t hold up logically, this too was no good. In their frantic desperation, assuming that Kuga must have some dark secret after all, they even had Ms. Hana tail him all the way to Kobe to gather evidence. When it came to light that he was part of the bank gang, you were thrilled, weren’t you? "With this as the trigger, everything else fell right into place."

Clothes were retrieved from the stagnant moat. Detectives came rushing. Everything had gone according to plan. Kuga had been shot dead. "...You think your dear country will now enjoy peace and eternal prosperity? But the wholesaler won't lower prices that easily." "I'll expose everything now... Listen—using a child like me for robbery makes you an indirect principal. Even if I survive, you'll never escape punishment... If you'd heeded my clasped hands begging mercy, we wouldn't be in this mess." "Good seeds bear good fruit, bad seeds bad fruit—hurry to the gallows and die sniveling snot." "...Shall we depart then?" "I've thoroughly said my piece—must've been hard hearing some truths." "Do forgive me... Well then, you two—we'll meet again in court..."

With that, she jumped down from the couch with a thud.

When Inui shot a glance at Hana, she quietly stood up and moved around to Tsuru's flank. Tsuru kept warily backing toward the door while sneering.

“What’re you gonna do?” “Planning to kill me?” “Don’t you dare underestimate me, you demon!”

Inui didn't so much as glance at Tsuru as he went to the radio on the back shelf and turned it up full blast. Tōya Sanraku's naniwa-bushi ballad began blaring at an ear-splitting volume. Having done this, Inui lumbered toward Tsuru. The two of them spread their arms wide like chicken herders and began cornering her against the wall from both sides.

Somewhere, insects were chirping.

It seemed quite late, and the area was deathly silent. Under the dim light, Inui and Hana were diligently scrubbing the floor. They continued quietly scrubbing away the copious bloodstains—resembling scattered dark crimson dye—using ash-coated scrub brushes.

At that very moment, Aoi was gazing at the autumn night sky from her cell window.

Aoi had just been returned from the interrogation room. Kuga was already dead. She had nothing left to hide or fear. When questioned, she confessed: "The one who notified me about the inheritance was Kuga's voice." She had voluntarily declared herself to be the eldest daughter of the Izumi family, former daimyō aristocracy. Kuga must have ascended to the sky and been watching over her. He wasn't in some distant place at all. In eternal form, he still embraced her even now.

Thinking back, it had been an ephemeral bond. Though less than four months had passed since she first met Kuga, one had already returned to the sky while the other remained mired in worldly filth. All emotions and karmic ties binding one to this transient world proved equally brief and futile—yet perhaps by returning to that sky, a crystalline eternal life would await her there. There could be no lingering attachment to a world devoid of Kuga.

Aoi reached out to the sky and said in a low voice.

“…Please wait for me. “Right now…”

The next morning, when the cell guard went to inspect, the woman in East Cell 8 had tightly bound her throat with a thin cord and hanged herself. Lightly touching her chest and confirming she was already dead, he hurried off down the concrete corridor, his footsteps echoing loudly.

Could there really be such a blissful face in death? The corners of her lips were slightly upturned, her face bearing an innocent expression as though stifling a laugh. The rising morning sun stained her profile peach-colored...