Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

A man who had disembarked from the city tram took out his watch and glanced at it mechanically, then walked from Etchujima toward Edogawacho under the blazing sun.

To the left, separated by a dull black drainage ditch, spread the desolate surface of Reclamation Area No. 6 of the Kawaguchi Improvement Project, above which countless seagulls wheeled.

The man stopped before the flour milling company's old rail storage yard and began twitching his nose abruptly while surveying the cluttered rows of low houses flanking both sides. He had sensed some subtle omen. In the center of the vacant lot diagonally opposite stood a two-story shack-like house shaped like a tiered lunchbox, its side nearly engulfed by a large willow tree whose lifeless branches hung languidly...

The man gazed intently at the house. Then, he approached the glass entrance door and bent over the nearly faded painted letters.

〈10 Sen Stand, Naha〉 was written there. After hesitating briefly, the man pushed open the door resolutely and stepped into the bar. The dimly lit bar still had its lights on, and a puddle on the dirt floor glinted. Pungently, it stank. At the counter, a shaven-headed man in a soiled and decayed white jacket—his monastic appearance contrasting with his slovenly air—was rinsing a cup, while two earlier customers sat quietly at the table before him.

One was a man around fifty years old wearing a shrunken cotton serge suit—an extremely small-statured man who looked like a petty official. With no chin to speak of and eyes bloodshot crimson, he looked exactly like a house mouse sitting there. The other was a man around forty years old wearing a black fedora tilted back at a rakish angle; though his appearance was somewhat disheveled, one could tell at a glance he was a man who had received higher education. He appeared to be a drinker, and the tip of his nose was reddening as if ripening.

The man who had just entered sat clutching his summer hat awkwardly on his knees, his visibly restless gaze fixed on the street outside. Indeed, he was a man who seemed utterly out of place in this kind of filthy bar in the backstreets. He was a strikingly handsome young man of thirty-four or thirty-five with sharply refined features, wearing a neat light-gray suit and a yellow necktie tinged with vermilion. He was a beautiful young man of a sort rarely seen even in Ginza.

The young man and the two earlier customers sat back-to-back as if avoiding each other's gazes and did not move an inch from where they had been since earlier... Time passed in this manner. Then, after about twenty minutes, the door suddenly flew open and two men entered one after the other. One of them moved his head restlessly like a bird, glancing around the bar with darting eyes as he hesitated for some time, but eventually fled outside and promptly vanished across the street.

The other was a sturdy man with a ruddy face wearing a workman’s jacket; leaning against the counter, he stared persistently at the three from there, and then— “Hey, Tsuru-san, rice wine.” and jerked his chin toward the sake shelves. This one, it seemed, was a regular here. He was likely a motorboat engineer or a lathe operator at a shipyard. The Chaplin mustache he sported stood out conspicuously.

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

“Hey, Tsuru-san... Didn’t anyone come lookin’ for me this mornin’?”

he asked the man. The man shook his head. (When they heard this exchange, the three customers all seemed to stir slightly.) The man in the workman’s jacket tilted his head several times with a thoughtful “Hmm,” then continued in a low voice:

“Well then, I’m headin’ back to the machine shop for a bit. If anyone comes askin’ for Furuta Shinosuke… tell ’em Shino’ll be right back here. Got it, Tsuru-san?” “…Hey, Tsuru-san. I’m countin’ on ya.” “I’ll be right back, got it?”

After pressing the point emphatically, he lit a cigarette and walked out. Red Nose watched him leave, then pulled out his watch as if suddenly remembering. “Huh… eleven already…” he muttered. Then the House mouse suddenly snapped open his tightly shut eyes, “Excuse me—might I inquire as to the present time? The precise hour would be…”

he asked in a stiffly formal rasp. “Eleven ten.” “To be precise—nine minutes past eleven.” The House mouse lowered his head, then leaned against the wall and closed his eyes again.

Red Nose put away his watch and turned to the young man, "I take it this is your first time here too?" "...I'm waiting for someone here, but this place is quite something..." "It's my first time."

The reply was curt. Red Nose turned toward the man with an annoyed look,

“Hey—what’s with the madam here?”

he called out. The man sneered, “Madam? “As for the boss, he’s still sleeping upstairs.” “…Had a bit too much to drink last night, see.” “A fight?” “Nah… Last night some strange woman came flyin’ in… Seein’ as how the boss is a sucker for that sort, he went and got plastered with her right off the bat.” “Though mind you, I was on day shift yesterday—wasn’t around when it happened. But from what the regulars said, that woman was one hell of a tough customer… Barges in all ‘Let me keep you company,’ and next thing you know, she’s pourin’ drink after drink down his throat.” “Even the boss ended up completely plastered and finally threw in the towel, from what I hear.” “As for me, I only saw her slender back as she left… But accordin’ to the regulars, she was some modern girl—twenty-three, twenty-four—and a real knockout at that. Said she worked at some Suzaki bar… Damned if I know what her game was, though…”

At that moment, the door opened again, and a slender, tall girl of twenty-two or twenty-three entered. She wore a lotus-colored dress and a black felt hat—a bright-faced, truly beautiful girl. When she looked around the bar, she awkwardly sat down on the chair next to the young man and hung her head as if intimidated.

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 somethin’ like a log-splitter… beat ’im half to death, they say… right there in a six-tatami sea o’ blood… Happens all the damn time lately. Just t’other day, some gravel worker from Yosenba got his gut slashed open ’fore Fuji Spinnin’ Mill on Onagigawa… Damn gruesome—guts all spilled out… Must’ve been agony or somethin’, ’cause he died clutchin’ at ’em with both hands like he was tryin’ to stuff ’em back in…” “I’m sick of it, I tell ya.”

Factory sirens began blaring from all directions. Then, as if that had been a signal, the man in the workman’s jacket from earlier returned. He stomped over to the counter and, “What? Didn’t anyone come?” “…That ain’t how it’s supposed to be.” “…Then maybe the old man’d know,” he muttered, tilting his head. “…Hey, Tsuru-san.” “Is the old man still sleepin’?” “…Huh.” “…Well then, sorry ’bout this, but go wake ’im up for me.” “Shinosuke’s got somethin’ he wanna ask ’im, see.” “It’s a goddamn urgent matter, I tell ya!”

“The boss is still dead to the world from last night, Shinosuke. Plus, last night…” He broke off mid-sentence, suddenly cocking his ear toward the second floor. “Hey—someone’s walkin’ around up there…” He gave a crude smirk toward Red Nose before turning back. “Heh heh—the boss ain’t never once woken before noon in his life. So when you think about it… Best not go wakin’ him—downright cruel, ’specially with a lady here.”

With that, he stuck out his little finger. House mouse abruptly stood up. But that—it was not to leave, “I must ask a most presumptuous question—might it be that all of you, like myself, received letters from an unknown man and are… that is… waiting here for someone whose identity remains unclear?” “Forgive my impertinence, but…” When House Mouse said this, the other four’s faces flushed crimson, exchanging panicked glances with one another.

“...The truth is, yesterday I received a letter from an unknown individual wishing to discuss an inheritance claim in strict confidence—hence my presence here.” “...I do have an elderly uncle working in São Paulo, South America, but this whole affair seems most improbable.” “...At first I thought it a jest or swindle. Yet when greed takes hold, how foolishly pliant we become—so despite my doubts, here I stand. ...Now then—surely this wasn’t everyone else’s circumstance too?”

Having said that, he looked around at the four faces and laughed—a laugh that thoroughly mocked them. No one denied it. All their faces bore looks of utter bewilderment. House Mouse “Hah,” he said with a wry smile, “So it was like that after all.” “I have the letter here with me… Perhaps I should read it aloud for confirmation’s sake?” As he spoke, he fumbled through his pockets, pulled out a scrap of paper typed on a Japanese-language typewriter, and began reading in a bombastic recitative style.

First: Due to urgent circumstances, I shall not disclose my identity here; all shall be revealed in full when we meet. Second: I am obligated to urgently notify you regarding the unknown inheritance for which you are qualified to inherit. Third: The aforementioned assets consist of real estate, securities, and bank deposits; the inventory shall be made available for your perusal at our meeting. Fourth: The aforementioned matter concerns qualifications you are on the verge of forfeiting; it is necessary to urgently complete both the eligibility application and all related procedures; furthermore, due to complicated circumstances that preclude public disclosure beyond what has already been stated, it is imperative that we meet in person to thoroughly explain these matters; therefore, we earnestly request your punctual attendance at the below-mentioned location at the designated date and time.

Respectfully yours June 4th

1. June 5th, 10 AM. 1. Fukagawa Ward, Edagawa Town, 225-banchi.

“Naha,” c/o Itoman Nampūtarō. House Mouse sat down on a chair and fell completely silent, his face sullen. The young man blushed slightly, “...How childish of me… I have the letter here as well, but… Well, I too have some inkling about this matter.” “Though… half of it is curiosity... (then, smiling at the girl) Is that your situation as well?”

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’m working at in Shinjuku.” “…Yesterday morning around ten, a woman called my apartment—said the same thing as that letter did—begging me to come no matter what.” “…There was something about it that sounded like a man’s voice though, so I figured it was just a customer from the shop playing a prank. I said ‘No way,’ laughing as I hung up.” (with a slight smile) “But last night… I let my imagination run wild with all sorts of things and couldn’t sleep a wink till morning.” “…My father—the one I was separated from when I was a child—he must still be alive somewhere… This morning, I kept telling myself how foolish that idea was, but…”

The workman’s jacket—unable to contain himself any longer—snatched from the side. “I’m the same way, see. …I was eatin’ wontons at this Chinese joint in Tomioka Town when the call came through.” “Wasn’t some refined woman’s voice… This here’s for real, see.” (glaring at the girl) “Wasn’t no lie or trick—it was a woman’s voice, I tell ya.” “So, seein’ as it was such a sweet deal, I jumped at it—said I’d come for sure. …’Course, at first… even I had my doubts.” “But y’see, in my mind, it didn’t come off as no joke at all.” “’Cause it all adds up proper-like.”

House Mouse gave a bitter chuckle. The workman’s jacket rose with sullen abruptness. “What’s with that damn laugh?” House Mouse shot back. The work-jacketed man bristled. Even the third man joined the fray until nobody could track who was arguing with whom.

The girl inched toward the young man so gradually it was almost imperceptible. The men who had just met were hurling crude insults at each other. In this filthy bar, the young man’s refined handsomeness was indeed a saving grace.

The girl whispered in the young man’s ear. “I couldn’t find this place… I searched all over… It’s so pointless… I really am just a greedy woman, aren’t I?”

Her way of speaking was so childlike that the young man could not help but smile. "But it hasn't been confirmed yet that we've been tricked, so..."

With arms folded, the red-nosed man, who had been aloofly listening to the trio’s argument from the corner, suddenly spoke up.

“I see no need to dismiss this as a joke either. It’s simply that the letter’s sender hasn’t shown up yet. If a whole year had passed, then by all means—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 privately believe this is no joke. I suspect there’s some significant motive behind it. What possible benefit could there be in summoning five of us to this wretched bar? It’s hardly an entertaining spectacle… For all we know, the sender might actually be the old man here—Mr. Itoman Nampūtarō himself. Or perhaps not. But… probably… most likely, he knows something about this. At the very least, he should have enough material to explain things satisfactorily.”

The man in the workman’s jacket growled.

“That’s why I’ve been sayin’ this since earlier, ain’t I? Go ask the old man here—he’ll know what’s up, see? …It’s ’cause this House Mouse here—(pointing blatantly at him)—keeps spoutin’ nonsense like that, see? That’s why I’m gettin’ pissed off.” (Turning to Red Nose) “How ’bout it—’stead o’ this crap, why don’t we wake the old man up an’ ask ’im?” (Then to House Mouse) “You! If ya think this’s a joke, ya got no business loiterin’ here. Get the hell outta here!”

“Indeed.” “I should take my leave.” “…Ah well—I know how this story ends.”

Despite that, he showed no sign of getting up.

The red-nosed man turned to the man.

“Hey, young man—go wake up Hae-tarō-kun and bring him here.” “If the old man knows something, he’s obligated to explain it to us.” “On the other hand, if he doesn’t know a damn thing, we’ll apologize for disturbing his well-deserved rest by drinking heartily here—our entire group will.” “At the very least, I’ll drink heartily… It’s already past noon.” “Hurry up and go wake him up…”

The man scratched his head, “You want me to wake up the boss?… I really don’t wanna… He’ll bite my head off again.” “He’ll bite my head off again.” “So—let’s all go apologize then, right?”

Then, Red Nose shouted in a loud voice.

“I’ve got it!” “Hey, boy!” “Seeing you drag your feet like this—you’re one of them too.” “That letter was just a job to round up folks for this bar…” “Well? Spit it out!”

“Th-that’s not funny! Our boss ain’t like that.……Even if he did round up paupers like you lot, the postage’d cost more’n it’s worth—don’t mock him.……Our boss ain’t some layabout who can’t wake up proper. What I hate is that.……But fine—if y’insist that much, I’ll go wake ’im up.” The man made the floorboards creak as he climbed the narrow staircase at the back of the bar—thud, thud—moving clumsily upward. Soon, the footsteps came directly above the five.

The man knocked gently on the door. Downstairs, the five listened intently toward the source of the sound. The man knocked slightly harder this time, shouting. “Boss… Boss… It’s past noon already.” They all waited for a response. But there was no response. The sound of hammering on the door—as if to splinter it—shook the entire bar. “Boss… Boss—are you feeling unwell?”

There was no response…

The man came tumbling down the stairs. Red Nose caught hold of the boy. “No response… (Frowning, his voice strained) Ah, this is strange.… Never happened before… What’s goin’ on… I can’t take this anymore.”

Red Nose said. “Alright! Let’s go together… We’ve got to check it out no matter what…”

There, with stiffened faces, the two men began climbing the stairs. When they arrived in front of Sōman’s room, Red Nose peered inside through the keyhole. “…The storm shutters are closed. “…It’s pitch black—can’t see a damn thing.”

They pounded on the door with all their strength.……Still, there was no response. Something reeked horribly.

“Hey—can’t you smell that awful stench?…” After a moment’s thought，his face suddenly paled，and he pressed on，“I know this smell… Hey，young man! Go to the police box right now and fetch a constable! Hurry!”

The boy dashed out. Red Nose clumsily descended after the man. In a slightly trembling voice, “I sent for a constable… The door’s shut tight… And there’s this strange smell.” “What kind of smell is it?” House Mouse asked with a stunned face.

“...Go and sniff for yourself. You’ll know right away...”

House Mouse did not move.

“Does he always sleep this soundly?” After pounding on the door with all his might, the constable asked the man. “He doesn’t usually sleep this deeply, does he?… Let’s try forcing it open then… You got an iron lever?” “If not, go find one somewhere.” The man returned shouldering an iron lever. The constable took it, wedged the tool beneath the doorframe, and heaved it upward with a grunt. The hinges popped loose. The lock bar still blocked their way. With a growl, he threw his shoulder against the wood. The door crumpled inward.

A stiflingly heavy smell assaulted their nostrils. He groped along the wall for the light switch and pressed it. ...The lights came on, and there, the stage set of a massacre leapt out, all at once laid bare before their eyes... A pool of blood in the hollow of the bedding; in the metal basin atop the rattan chair, red water brimmed to the very edge. Blood spatter painted vivid floral patterns across the wallpaper and ceiling. From all of it rose the suffocating stench of a slaughterhouse. On the floor between the bed and the wall lay a bare human foot...the dried, shriveled sole of an old man thrust outward.

“Oh! There he was.… They’ve done something horrible.” The constable wiped around his neck with a handkerchief.

Behind the dazed man, the five customers stood under the bright electric light, staring at the thickly glistening pool of blood. The blood that had soaked through the straw mattress dripped onto the floor with a clear plop, plop. House Mouse hunched his back, breathing roughly through his teeth. The high-pitched whistling sound, like a grass flute, intermingled with the gloomy drip of blood, grating on everyone’s nerves.

The girl turned to look 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 gathered her into his arms. The girl pressed her pale forehead and, in a voice like someone not yet awake from a dream, said, "Please... take me downstairs..."

At that voice, the constable turned around. When he saw the five, as if noticing them for the first time, he asked the man.

“What’s with this lot?”

“They’re customers of the shop. “They’re all first-time visitors, so…” “Hmm.” “…Alright, everyone—downstairs, downstairs.” “Stay downstairs and wait. …And don’t you dare come back up here.” After herding everyone downstairs, the constable hurried out into the street.

The car stopped, and the inspector’s group entered and went upstairs.

A constable began shooing away the gawkers in front of the shop, barking, "Hey, hey!"

The investigation took nearly forty minutes. The inspector came down while whispering in a low voice with the two department heads. He sat down at a table in the bar and scrutinized the five faces. Taking out his notebook,

“Now then... (pointing at House Mouse) Let’s begin with... you.” “What’s your situation?” “What exactly brought you here this morning?” “We five were directed by an unidentified party to arrive here by ten o’clock today, hence our presence... However, the designated informant ultimately failed to materialize.... The relevant correspondence is this one.”

House Mouse took out the letter from his pocket, then bowed deeply and handed it to the inspector. “Your name?” “Inui Minehito.… I was a Higher Official, Seventh Rank. Former Ministry of Communications official. I currently live on a pension while operating a Western antique furniture dealership on the side. My residence is 27 Nibanchi, Tsunohazu 2-chome, Yodobashi Ward… Fifty-two years old. Yes—I remain entirely unmarried.” “And next—that lady…”

“A... Amata Aoi... I currently work at the Cineraria in Shinjuku.” “Y... Yotsuya Ward, Ōkido 2-1, Bun’en Apartments.” “Twenty-three years old.” “I am unmarried.”

“That’s fine.” “…Next.” “Nishikai Keizō” (his alcoholic red nose replied offhandedly) “Tōto 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 workman’s jacket. “Furuta Shinosuke.” “Fukagawa Ward, Tomioka-cho 217.” “I work at Tōto Taxi.” “A driver, huh?”

“Well, I do drive, but right now I’m mainly fixin’ old automobiles.” “…As for my residence, I’m stayin’ on the second floor there.” (scratching his head) “Ain’t got a wife yet.” “Yeah, thirty-three.” The inspector said while putting away his notebook, “You’re free to leave now.”

The young man stepped forward before the inspector.

“I have not yet finished.”

The inspector, somewhat awkwardly,

“Ah,… And you are?” “I came up from Taipei four days ago and am currently staying at the Nanping Hotel in Kōjimachi.” "I was formerly employed at a trade company in Qingdao." “I’m currently unemployed… out of work at present. …Kuga Chiaki.” “Born in Meiji 35.”

With that, he made an elegant bow.

The five pushed through the clamoring crowd of onlookers and emerged onto the street.

Kuga raised one hand. Loaded with Kuga and Aoi, the car drove away.

2

In the dark streets behind Gyoen, Cineraria bloomed faintly like a night flower.

The ground floor was a café; through its white gauze curtains, one could glimpse palm fronds and the faces of regulars. However, the second-floor dancing bar was not so open. Flesh-colored curtains concealed its form like thin undergarments.

The people gathered here were what you might call the sophisticates of Greater Tokyo. They formed this metropolis’s most decorative element—accomplished folklorists steeped in the legends and lore of Tokyo’s “pleasure quarters.” To varying degrees, they knew each other’s social standings and felt something akin to familial kinship among themselves. The center of the bar’s hall had been converted into a “dance floor” where these sophisticates engaged in their illicit dancing. This cherished secret was preserved through an elementary method.

"A man who wasn't a 'regular' entered." (This might be a morals police officer.) Then, the signal buzzer hummed low. It was a signal from downstairs. The tango on the second floor had to halt there with one leg still raised. ...This very peril was what gave Cineraria its allure.

Around 10 PM that night, Kuga Chiaki pushed open the door to Cineraria. At the entrance counter sat an old man with a gentle face, who bowed politely upon seeing Kuga. Kuga felt intimidated and hesitated for a moment at the foot of the stairs, but then began climbing the narrow staircase as if resolved.

Kuga stood at the entrance to the hall and quietly surveyed its interior. Along the walls of the somewhat spacious square room, fifteen or sixteen small tables made of tubular steel were placed, and about thirty men and women sat there with drinks before them. As Kuga entered, the people in the hall turned toward him in unison with scrutinizing gazes. What met their eyes was a young man of twenty-five or twenty-six—his slightly too-luxurious clothes worn with smart elegance, possessed of a beauty unlike any they’d seen before.

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 started the gramophone. A whispering rumba melody drifted out 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 pane, and the lighting from below faintly illuminated the hems of the man and woman dancing upon it like footlights.

A seventeen- or eighteen-year-old young woman wearing a salmon-colored soirée dress came and sat beside Kuga, then gazed at his profile with a startled expression that lingered. The signal buzzer atop the liquor shelf began to buzz obligingly—Zii, zii…

The dance abruptly stopped, and the men and women hurried back to their respective small tables, putting on oddly artificial expressions. A woman stopped the gramophone. When the floor lighting was turned off, small tables and chairs were immediately pushed out onto it, and there a man and woman began drinking ginger ale. All these actions were executed with remarkable swiftness in a single instant. It was exactly like a kabuki "quick scene change." The one who entered was a man in his forties who looked like a doctor; upon seeing Kuga sitting near the entrance, he abruptly averted his face and headed toward a secluded table in the back.

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

The girl made a serious face and,

“Oh, that person isn’t here.” (Immediately bursting into laughter herself) “Just kidding.” “…Miss Aoi’s downstairs right now.” “I’ll go call her for you, okay?” “…But in return, you’ll dance with me later, okay?”

She stood up casually and ran down to the ground floor.

Aoi came up. She stood at the hall’s entrance, surveying the depths. Amber light from the bar counter brought her almost childlike profile into relief—a fragile-looking neck, skin thin as white poppy petals. It was the face of a twenty-three-year-old who nonetheless looked like a child—that mysterious, quintessential “Tokyo woman” visage. When she spotted Kuga, Aoi seemed to freeze for an instant; then, as if fearing that any sudden movement might dispel the illusion, she began approaching him with cautious steps.

“Well… but… you really… I…”

Her face lit up, yet she seemed unable to form words, overcome with emotion. Kuga, searching for words, finally—

“Good evening...”

That was all he said. It was indeed an awkward greeting. After seeing Aoi to her apartment, Kuga found his heart racing so intensely that sleep seemed impossible. He stepped out of the car, removed his jacket to drape it over his arm, and 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 loneliness of the city had been utterly unbearable to Kuga, so Aoi’s kindness that night seemed to seep into the very depths of his heart.

......Aoi too had seemed to say she was all alone in Tokyo, he thought. ......Why would such a beautiful girl be all alone? Now that he considered it—didn't she seem rather sickly? ......Could her overly childlike face explain it? Too radiant by half......that sort of countenance always stirs nostalgia in those who behold it. Had this been two years prior—why—he'd have spun verses from such material......but now—at least—he was no poet......ah—but how ungracious!

As Kuga walked along lost in these thoughts, he collided with a man emerging from an alley.

“Oh, pardon me!”

The man also removed his hat and, upon seeing Kuga’s face, suddenly adopted a playful tone. “Well well, what a chance encounter!”

Red Nose… It was Nishikai Keizō.

Kuga too was startled, "Oh, this is unexpected."

“Didn’t expect to bump into you here... How 'bout—if you’re game—we grab a beer somewhere...” “There’s an all-night oden joint right over there where us hungry news hounds gather.” “Plenty of young bucks from the society section show up too—you’ll get the lowdown on this morning’s business.” “...Whaddya say... if you’re interested—”

Kuga let out a high-pitched laugh and, “Of course,” “Very well—I’ll accompany you.” “Right nearby... behind the gunsmith shop in Nichōme 2-chōme. The place is called ‘Yanagi.’ What we’ve dubbed the ‘United Press Agency’.” “By the way—did you see today’s evening edition?”

“Yes. …But it didn’t seem to contain anything beyond what we already knew.” “Right. …Since that guy Nasu’ll be here any minute now, if you ask him, you’ll probably get more details.” “…Well, here we are.” Nishikai took Kuga’s arm and led him into the oden shop with its chic storefront.

Nearly all the tables were occupied, and red faces busily ate and drank amidst the swirling haze of steam and tobacco smoke. A Chinese man with multiple dragonfly-patterned bead necklaces draped around his arms stood blocking the path, persistently peddling to a group of barmaids. Nishikai pushed past him and proceeded toward a recessed table. The jostled Chinese man, upon passing Kuga at the entrance, suddenly pointed at his face and shrieked in a shrill voice,

“Lao-man! Lao-man!” He shouted twice more and left. The customers all looked up at Kuga’s face with suspicion.

When Kuga took his seat at the table, Nishikai inquired. “What the hell did that guy just say?”

“He thought I was the one who pushed him aside and insulted me. Lao-man in Taiwanese means ‘eel,’ but it can also mean ‘villain’ or ‘murderer.’” “Hey, you know Taiwanese, huh?” he said, then raised his voice. “Hey, Nippon Sakari!”

“I was born in Taiwan. ...But my parents are Japanese. After graduating from the Chinese Department at Osaka Foreign Language School, I joined Daitō Trading Company in Qingdao, but being a salaryman just didn’t suit my temperament. After returning to Taiwan again and making some money through coca trade, I decided to quit the salaryman life for good 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 get into some newspaper company?”

Nishikai, vigorously gulping from his glass, replied in a careless tone,

“It’ll be fine—things’ll work out somehow, I’m sure.” “Well, drink up. …” (As he said this, he poured another generous serving into Kuga’s cup.) “So—have you written anything?” “Even someone like me has dabbled in poetry before.” “As a token of our acquaintance, I intend to present you with a volume that’ll give you a good headache.” “Consider yourself warned.”

Nishikai, his face flushed crimson from liquor and summer heat, briskly stroked his cheeks and burst into jovial laughter.

“You’re quite the character.” “As for me—well, I’m a monk’s son, was supposed to become one myself, but a man of my pure, unsullied character isn’t cut out for that line of work.” “So then… after graduating from university, I resolved to become a new theater actor.” “It all started when... (he began, then glanced toward the entrance and suddenly half-rose from his seat) Oh—Nasu’s here!” “…He’s dug up something again, I tell you.” “…When it’s a case that requires some imagination, the police can’t do a damn thing about it, I tell you.” “The young guys at the newspaper companies are far more competent.” (Raising his hand high) “Hey, Nasu…”

he shouted.

Nasu was a tall, lanky young man with hair plastered flat against his skull. Upon seeing Nishikai, he formed a delighted smile and hurried over. No sooner had he sat down than he barked, “Hey, Kikumasa!” Nishikai jerked his chin toward Kuga. “This here’s Kuga-kun.… He’s another one who got a letter from that mysterious man.” “By the way—got any news?” Nasu clutched his head and,

“No good, no good…” He raised his face and shook his body. “I’d been running around between Eitai Bridge and the Arakawa drainage canal since noon. Then I combed through every last one of Naha’s regulars and the local lowlifes around there. There’s something interesting though. In Tomioka-cho’s ‘Kinjo’ bar, there’s this barmaid named Shusha Hana. She’s from Itoman in Ryukyu—same as the murdered Nampūtarō. He was the one who brought her to Tokyo, and they even lived together like husband and wife for a time. She used to be an elementary school teacher back in Ryukyu, but now she’s hit rock bottom. Brazenly takes clients on the bar’s second floor. Somewhat tidy-looking, dresses like a modern girl… I was thrilled when I first heard about her. You remember that modern girl who came to Naha for drinks the night before? I was absolutely certain it was her—a hundred percent sure—so I rushed straight in to confront her. But damn it—” He clutched his head again. “—this is beyond ridiculous. She’d been detained at Suzaki Station for eighteen days over illegal prostitution and only just got out this morning at ten. No way she could’ve been involved. Still, we did uncover Nampūtarō’s background. Turns out Itoman Nampūtarō was quite the character. Made tens of thousands multiple times over, yet lived like a miser clinging to every penny. So this murder was definitely about money. Perpetrator didn’t leave empty-handed either—grabbed a hell of a haul. Nampūtarō kept all that cash stashed in his room. There was this heavy rosewood chest in the corner—Chinese-made—where he apparently kept the money. They tore it apart violently. The rest was hidden in what’s called a Hengu drum used by Taiwanese—literally stuffed inside. They missed that one somehow. Just the drum alone had eight thousand yen in bills. The killer must’ve entered between midnight and three—right before Nampūtarō came up to sleep—climbed the willow tree by the house, slipped through the second-floor window, then hid in the wardrobe waiting.”

“…At two… or closer to three, Nampūtarō came up blind drunk and collapsed onto the bed.” “They pinned him down and—without a word—stabbed something like a meat cleaver into his chest around the heart three times.” “…When he writhed in agony and rolled off the bed, they went for the kill this time, slicing deep into his carotid artery to stop his breath for good—that’s how it went.” “That’s brutal.” With a frown creasing his beautiful brows, Kuga said. Nishikai, pouring sake for Nasu, pressed in an urgent tone,

“So what’s the situation?” “Can’t they trace the culprit’s movements?” “Still no leads at all?”

Nasu drank down the poured drink in one gulp and, in an increasingly loud voice,

“That person has some leads from the police station... At first they were playing dumb, you know.” “But despite that, the Metropolitan Police Headquarters and Suzaki Station are coordinating their efforts like a rotating carriage wheel.” “Last night from ten o’clock, they conducted simultaneous emergency raids at Komatsugawa’s riverside and Suzaki’s bars, cafés, and Enjuku Hotel.” “…They’re hounding that modern girl now.” “Of course they don’t think she’s the direct perpetrator.” “The Met suspects someone from Ryukyu or Korea did it, while Suzaki Station thinks it’s a local ex-con’s work.” “Opinions are split two ways for now, but having a woman mixed up in this makes everything ten times messier.” “Anyway, catching her should clarify things—that’s why even the cops are going all out chasing her down.” “As for Naha’s waiter… well, the guy’s a bit slow.” “Says she was some classy dame—tall and slim—but that description’s worthless… Here’s how it went down: Next morning around nine, heading from his Wakura-machi boardinghouse to work, he runs into this self-proclaimed Yamase-gumi underboss who’d dropped by Naha once or twice… The guy starts bragging about ‘last night’s big show’—that’s how he first heard about the woman.” “But this ‘underboss’—waiter just assumed he was Yamase-gumi. Nobody confirmed if he’s actually crew.” “We’ve been chasing that angle too, but she’s still in the wind… According to the waiter, that modern girl wandered in around ten—but turns out Nampūtarō and the underboss had already started their little party before that…” (He wiped his brow) “Ah… drunk… so damn drunk…” “…Chugging on an empty stomach… My vision’s swimming.”

At the neighboring table, a young man of twenty-four or twenty-five who had been fidgeting in front of empty beer bottles now called out to the three of them. "Hey, Nasu-san... I know that Itoman Nampūtarō guy." (With an ingratiating laugh) "Back when I lived in Hamachō, Fukagawa, I used to go drinking there often." "He used to go every year to Kamchatka and Etorofu for migrant work, you know." "After all, he was originally a fisherman from Itoman. Then while he was at that trade, the massive Rumoi Port construction project began up at Hokkaido's northern tip." "So Nampūtarō deceived over two hundred people from his hometown in Ryukyu and sold them off to the Hokkaido government's contractor Obayashi-gumi for eighty yen a head." "That netted him about twenty thousand yen—but those poor bastards he sold? Between the brutal climate and backbreaking work, only fifty-seven out of two hundred survived by the second phase of the breakwater construction... And I hear he's been disposing of women in Saigon and Singapore too... The man's made plenty of enemies. My guess? This wasn't just about money." "After all—the little cart of karma keeps turning..."

Nasu thumped the table,

“Oh, I like what this brat’s saying.” “…Thanks, thanks!” “…This one’s good ol’ Tsuru…. Grateful… you… you there.” “I’m truly grateful.” (Standing up and lurching over, he threw an arm around the young man’s neck) “Hey… c’mon, have a drink…”

The young man rattled his throat as if he’d been waiting impatiently, “Oh. “Well then… beer and kaimaki rolls.” “Got it.… Oi—beer and kaimaki rolls. “Bring ’em in a bundle!” “This one’s Nihonsakari.” (As Nishikai Keizō—his words now thoroughly slurred—barked hoarsely:) “Hey… Kuga Chiaki… Kuga Sen!” “You’ve been guzzling that sorghum swill brewed from straw—try proper Japanese rice wine!” “Go on—down a glass!” “Hey, Nasu Ichi… Nasu Ichi… This pup here’s all dolled up, but scratch the surface—he’s pure Taiyal stock!” “The Musha chieftain himself!” “Get it?” “Nasu, drink… Hey, hotshot detective…”

Inside the bar raged a deafening clamor. No one listened to what anyone else said. Each acting selfishly, they shouted whatever they pleased at the top of their lungs.

The two men left, leaving the door wide open. From there, the faint white light of dawn and a cool morning breeze streamed in. The three fell silent. A terrible drowsiness assailed them. Nishikai took out his wallet and said, “Let’s go home…” “Let me… let me handle it… whatever the cost…” Lurching unsteadily toward the table, Kuga plunged his hand into his pocket and grabbed a fistful of loose banknotes.

At that very moment, Amata Aoi opened her eyes in her meager bed at Bun'en Apartments.

Aoi was having a painful dream. She couldn’t recall what kind of dream it had been, but it was likely a single acrid day from her own past. ...Let us not touch upon her past here.

Her past was shrouded in gloomy clouds and filled with sighs of lament, but when she first met Kuga Chiaki, she was no different from the girl she had been at twelve or thirteen—a time when, save for one nightmare-like day in Tokyo, she had been somewhat happy (or so it seemed). In her profile, she still retained the trace of the girl she had been then, her heart and body as pure as they were in those days. Aoi’s charming, cheerful countenance was liked by nearly every man. Even after she began working at Cineraria, she had already made five or six male friends. Three of them proposed marriage. (One of them was even a minister.) Yet she loved none of them. (Throughout her twenty-three years, she had never once loved anyone.)

When Aoi first sat next to Kuga at Naha, she couldn't help being flustered by his impeccably handsome features. When he spoke to her next, her overwhelmed ears could barely grasp what was being said. When her senses finally returned, she had turned into something like a fool. To put it precisely—she became timid and crude, a melancholy, clumsy girl who couldn't even manage a single word that might please him.

When Kuga first visited Cineraria, Aoi couldn’t believe it was real at first. It was so utterly unexpected. This joy overwhelmed her to the point of near madness. When Kuga offered to escort Aoi back to her apartment, she shed tears in spite of herself.

Aoi entered her room, hurriedly removed her kimono, and slid down the white slope of her bedding like a skier. And (I’m not alone anymore), she murmured over and over, as if in a trance. Now, through the thin curtain of Aoi’s room, the morning light began to smile quietly.

She had only slept about four hours, but she already felt thoroughly rested. Her body felt invigorated, and it was as though a breeze swept through her mind.

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

Someone knocked on the door. Probably the apartment manager’s daughter. Still, what could they want coming this early...

The one who entered was not the manager’s daughter.

They were two gentlemen in matching gray serge suits. The other one sported a stern mustache.

Courteously and suavely, while trying to speak as casually as possible,

“We won’t take 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 quite a mess—a real shame.” Aoi covered her face with both hands and collapsed limply backward.

3

The long corridor devoid of human figures hung heavy with the sickly-sweet stench of urine peculiar to police stations. Half-eaten bowls and lunchbox remnants lay scattered across the floor, flies swarming over them. From somewhere distant came the violent clatter of bamboo swords striking against each other.

The door marked "Judicial Affairs Chief" opened, and from behind an unarmed patrolman carrying a thick bundle of documents, Aoi shuffled out to sit down on the window-side bench.

Her face was haggard, and she looked like a completely different person. Her clothes were crumpled with sleep wrinkles, and a large sweat stain had formed on her back. Her neck and the backs of her hands were covered in horrifying red spots from bedbug bites. When the patrolman disappeared through the next door, Aoi began absently scratching the back of her hand with a vacant stare out the window. Outside the window lay a vacant lot, where gravel glinted white under the fierce sunlight.

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

On the third day, Aoi was finally released from custody. A paralysis following extreme fatigue and tension had rendered her mind numb, leaving her unable to think of anything. Why she had ended up here—even that wasn’t entirely clear. Only an unbearable itch remained. Aoi underwent a harsh interrogation. She had not been questioned as a witness but interrogated as a murder suspect. The police had already concluded that both the woman who appeared at Naha on the murder’s eve and the one who called Furuta Shinosuke about the inheritance notice were Aoi.

The man from Naha had testified that this woman wasn’t her, and since Aoi had a solid alibi, she managed to evade suspicion on that front—but regarding the phone call, despite Furuta’s clear assertion that “the voice wasn’t this resonant,” they refused to accept it. In the end, they began insisting the two must have conspired together. In this situation, any attempt at defense seemed utterly futile.

For Aoi in particular, there were parts of her past history she wished to keep concealed, so inevitably, her responses had to remain ambiguous. The officer bore down on that point.

Aoi could only insist that she wasn’t the one who had made the call—she didn’t know how else to put it. In the end, she ran out of things to say and fell silent. Then, the judicial affairs chief—who until now had treated her with a gentle demeanor—suddenly glared, contorted his whole face, and bellowed, "Don’t take me for a fool, you bitch!" On the afternoon of the second day, she was forcibly subjected to a venereal disease inspection. If she had contracted a disease, they apparently intended to use that as irrefutable grounds. The police doctor put rubber gloves on his fingers and examined Aoi’s body.

The result was unexpectedly favorable. The police doctor said with a strange smile, “You know, she’s a virgin.” This improved the officer’s impression. If she could have, Aoi would have confessed everything and fled that place. Had her heart remained resigned—had she completely abandoned hope for happiness in this world—the Aoi of before would likely have done so. But now was different. Through Kuga’s gentle gaze, she vaguely discerned her own happy future within its depths. Through twenty-three years of life, Aoi was finally on the verge of attaining happiness now. This one dream—she could not bear to lose it.

When she was laid on the iron bed in the venereal disease inspection room, Aoi felt as though her heart had been pierced through with anger and sorrow. At this moment alone, she truly thought of confessing everything. If she did that, she could avoid this humiliation. But if she were to say that, Aoi would never be able to meet Kuga again. Her fierce love for Kuga made her endure this humiliation. Tears overflowed, and she couldn’t 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. Striding closer with large steps, in a voice that seemed to force its way out, “Hey…” he said. His lips twitched spasmodically. In that instant, he had the air of being unable to say anything. Aoi half-opened her drowsy eyes and looked at Kuga. Her eyes snapped open all at once. “It was awful, wasn’t it?” “It was nothing… They said you can go home today.” Deliberately adopting a dismissive tone, he said. If he hadn’t said it in such a way, he might have burst into tears.

Kuga had been gazing at Aoi with a stroking look when he suddenly pointed at the back of her hand and asked with a surprised expression. “What’s this?” “A whole host of bugs… Fleas, mosquitoes, lice, bedbugs… It’s been rough.”

And she tried to smile. ……She couldn't manage a proper smile. Kuga’s face grew slightly stern,

"That’s terrible... And what explanation does the police have?" "Putting on those innocent faces while committing such outrages..." "You’re being too harsh!" "The wages of greed." Kuga sat down beside Aoi,

“...Though it’s not just you. That morning, everyone who gathered at Naha was summoned—even Mr. Nishikai, the newspaper reporter. ...Over in that other room, the Metropolitan Police officers are persisting—right now, they’re questioning the man from Naha, Inui, and Furuta.”

“You too.” “Yes, of course—me too. …But I’m relieved you’re holding up better than expected.” “…I was worried—truly—afraid they might do something terrible to you.” “…And with this heat…” “At least, thinking you might want something cold, I tried everything I could to arrange it.” “But the police just made these reluctant faces and wouldn’t accept anything I said, no matter what.” “Please understand—it’s not like I’ve been neglecting you.”

Aoi was at her breaking point. Covering her face with her hands, her body quivered as she burst into tears.

Kuga too had moist eyes,

“You’re exhausted. “Go home quickly and get some rest.” “I’d like to walk you home, but I’ll probably be called in soon myself, so…” With that, he handed Aoi a handkerchief. She stopped crying immediately. After wiping her eyes neatly, “I’m sorry… No, it’s all right… More importantly, I’ll wait here until you’re done…” “No, don’t do that—please come along now. “You must be exhausted.” “But if you’d like… tonight… (gaining a bit of momentum) Actually, we just discussed it over there—we’ve decided to hold Sōman Nampūtarō’s Persons of Interest Meeting tonight.” “…The newspaper reporter Mr. Nishikai, old man Inui, Mr. Furuta, and then me….” “Since you must be exhausted, I won’t press you to come…”

Isn’t she going to collapse right here like this? ……Aoi’s consciousness was beginning to fade. However, if I can meet Kuga tonight... Aoi said quietly.

“This… If I sleep for just thirty minutes… I should be fine…” “Tonight… where is it?”

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

Aoi stood up. “I’ll come.” “Well, goodbye.” “Then, seven o’clock.”

At the end of the corridor, she glanced back once, then with unsteady steps—as if still half in a dream—she turned right and disappeared.

Kuga waved his hand in that direction. He took out his watch and looked at it, then began walking down the corridor with restless steps, the sound of his shoes clicking against the floor.

Before long, the lower door opened, and Inui emerged. Inui swiftly tucked up the hem of his gauze haori and blocked Kuga’s path,

“It’s finally over. …What a ridiculous show of diligence—utter nonsense. …That aside, about this special gathering—Furuta won’t be coming, will he? Blood was found on his jacket. …Just as it should be. After all, he’s got the very face of a criminal, that one.”

Having said that, he twisted his lips into a face resembling a malevolent Noh mask. Kuga's spine shuddered. As he remained unable to respond, Inui slowly lit a cigarette and mused airily, “So this case reaches its conclusion here, my, my. …How anticlimactic it turned out to be. …I do love trials—I often attend them—but criminal cases are quite entertaining.” “Well, there are matters I’d like to… involve myself in, you see. …This time, my connection was rather substantial—I was thoroughly enjoying it—but for it to end so abruptly leaves one at a loss. …And speaking of which, really, the Japanese police are utterly inept.” “They’ve got to demand more cooperation from citizens.” “If they were to establish an informant system and vigorously encourage letters of denunciation, efficiency would surely improve beyond current levels…”

(Grinning slyly) “Though they have improved somewhat recently...” (Lowering his voice abruptly) “Actually, I’m the one who reported Furuta Shinosuke.” “Heh, heh… You mustn’t tell anyone, you hear?” “…They’d hold a grudge against me.” “Cooperating with the police is a citizen’s duty. …Acting all high and mighty!” “Because he looks down on people.” “…Serves you right, you murdering bastard.” “Then, tonight at the appointed time…” He flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the corridor, still lit, and walked off with a jaunty stride.

As Kuga stood dumbfounded watching him leave，the door opened again，and this time Nishikai emerged． In a boisterous voice， “You’re next!” he said．

He was breathing heavily.

A policeman 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, the straw hat fell from his knee. It rolled on and on until hitting the distant wall with a dry clatter, where it finally stopped.

Kuga, for some reason terribly flustered, picked up his hat and returned with unsteady steps. “Hey, Mr. Kuga—we’re waiting in the press room.” Kuga glanced back slightly, then nodded with a strangely memorable smile. The door closed. “Oh, how did it go, Mr. Nishikai?”

When Nishikai entered the press room, Nasu suddenly called out from within the thick smoke. Three or so men stood up and clustered noisily around Nishikai.

Nishikai sat down on the table and said in an angry tone.

“Someone like me? Doesn’t matter a damn,” “I make all sorts of useful suggestions, but they don’t listen at all. [...] They let me blather on while they’re completely absorbed in reading Furuta’s interrogation report. [...] You know—that guy with the Chaplin mustache...” “So they’ve found some new evidence again. …Did you hear that, Nasu?” Nasu was stuffing his unfinished manuscript into his bag while,

“Right… When they looked deeper into things, inconsistencies started showing up in his behavior.” “The guy from Naha finally spoke up today.” “Come to think of it—around eight o’clock the night before the murder—Furuta came drinking with some young dame.” “This one’s face stuck with me—I got a good look.” “Early twenties, real looker… When the clerk asked if he recognized her voice, she kept her answers clipped and acted all frosty—says he doesn’t remember her voice too well.” “So then…”

“So, what’s that woman to Furuta?” “The thing is, Furuta’s story doesn’t add up… He says he met that woman at Koyanagi Bridge, called out ‘Miss, let’s grab a drink,’ and she just said ‘Sure’ and followed him.” “But they’ve apparently settled on a general search plan.” “The Metropolitan Police Headquarters’ opinion aligned too.” “The evidence at the scene was scarce, but based on how the room was handled, they concluded it was the work of a first-time offender.” “The culprit’s currently presumed to be a woman, so they’re desperately hunting for her whereabouts… In the end—”

Nishikai cut in. "In the end, you don’t need to chase after that stuff. …Just slap Aoi around more, and that woman’ll come out whether she likes it or not." "...In other words, A equals B." “But there’s no way that man could grasp this kind of methodology.” “Of course, they probably didn’t employ such a childish method of proof that even a shallow fool could see through… but ultimately, that imbecile could only perceive the process of biological change as isolated phenomena.” “Nishikai Keizō would still be Nishikai Keizō even when his hair turned white—they couldn’t grasp the logic of that.” “…When they’re basing their entire investigation on that gibberish testimony, no wonder they’ll never solve this. The same goes for that voice on the phone.” “The tone of voice doesn’t matter a damn.” "The crucial point is that only Furuta and Aoi were notified through a special method." “Just from this alone, can’t you see there must be some shared recessive factor between those two?” “Because they carelessly let something slip, this has now become their weakness.” “……They’re actively collaborating on that very point right now, aren’t they?” "On one hand, they say it wasn’t this voice—then on the other, they claim there’s no one more honest than this. Spouting such nonsense.… Hey, Nasu." “……After all, that woman isn’t a fool.” “Get a grip! Hey, Detective.”

“That’s precisely where amateurs differ from proper detectives.” (Nasu laughed and retorted) “…About Aoi, Mr. Nishikai—at nine sharp she was working at Cineraria.” “And who clung to her all night…” (he pointed at the modern-boy reporter beside him) “…was this very fellow here—makes the account ironclad.” “They call him Dani Tada—once he sticks to a woman, thunder itself couldn’t shake him loose… What’s more, that night he—”

Another one of them picked up where he left off and said. "Escorting her all the way to her apartment, only to be politely refused at her doorstep, then chasing after the red streetcar and taking a tumble... Ugh, how pathetic."

Everyone burst out laughing; Nishikai said.

“The murder was at three o’clock in the morning.”

“But you see, Aoi was in her room until morning. When Aoi returns, the caretaker’s daughter always gets up to lock the front door. That night too—after locking up, they stood talking for about five minutes before both went to bed.”

“There’s an emergency ladder attached to the window.”

Nasu forced a wry smile that seemed to say this was beyond bearing, “That’s preposterous. …A young woman climbs down an emergency ladder in the dead of night, travels from Shinjuku to Fukagawa to kill someone, then slips back into her room—all without a single soul noticing from start to finish." “…Not entirely impossible to execute… but realistically speaking, nearly absolutely unfeasible…” "The realm of impossibility within possibility…." “An imaginary number in daily life… The safety factor’s too negligible to hold practical weight.” “If you doubt it, test it yourself.” “Your window’s got an emergency ladder too, hasn’t it?”

“It’s possible.”

“Around two in the morning…”

“Exactly.” “Well now—I wasn’t aware you’d already conducted tests.” “I never said I did any experiment!” “But I could perform one for you.” “See here—if you split a person into two and use both halves—simple as pie.” “…The possible within the impossible… Take for example…”

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

“Speaking of which, Mr. Nishikai.” “…And you—where were *you* that night?”

He turned sharply toward the voice, his brow furrowing sternly,

“Why’re you asking that?” “There’s no reason really—that night at Yanagi, I ran outta cash and went to rouse you at your place around two.” “…You weren’t there—left me rattled… That neighborhood’s not my usual turf…” “I was in Ginza.” His reply slashed through the air.

The large wall clock struck three.

Nasu stood up and, while yawning, “Shall we go out for tea, Mr. Nishikai? “We can continue our discussion there.”

“Enough—I’m through.” “Go on without me.” “I’ll wait here for Kuga.” Dani Tada cut in.

“Kuga—that young man… Isn’t he from the Second Section of the Special Higher Police? …I’m certain I’ve seen him at headquarters before.” Nishikai said, staring at the other person with a flustered look.

“Second Section?” “Th-that’s absurd… It can’t be true.” They all noisily shuffled out, leaving Nishikai behind.

Kuga arrived first. Before the others came, he had wanted to speak with Aoi alone, if only briefly. He sat at the central table in the hall and received water. The water was tepid.

The hall was packed with people, and everyone was holding back their mugs as if by prior agreement. A large electric fan beat its wings restlessly across the ceiling.

Aoi arrived. She wore a Fuji silk blouse paired with a lightweight wool skirt... Her modest outfit resembled that of a serious department store clerk—plain and unadorned. She hurried over, sat down beside Kuga, and let out a labored breath. “Haa... haa... You’re really out of breath. What happened?” She only chuckled softly and didn’t respond. “You’ve kept your stomach empty, haven’t you?” She nodded repeatedly like a child.

She nodded several times like a child.

At the entrance to the hall, Nishikai and Inui were loitering. Aoi raised both hands toward them and waved them like hand flags.

The two men called out “Hey, hey” from a distance as they approached. Inui wore a black jacket with a stiff white vest tightly buttoned beneath it. While fanning his wrist with a folding fan, “Having escaped the harsh hands of the law, the four of us have safely reunited here. To share a drink like this is indeed a most auspicious occasion.” (After rattling off this speech, he thrust his stubby chin toward Aoi.) “…Well now, Miss Aoi. You must’ve endured quite the ordeal with all that. No no, I can perfectly imagine it. This time around I’m afraid you drew the shortest straw. Pretty faces always pay the steepest tolls, eh…”

Nishikai made a blatantly disgusted face and,

“Let’s drop the police talk.” “Regardless of everything, let’s at least wet our throats for now.” “Tch, no one’s bothering to come over.” (Banging the table violently) “Oi, waiter!” “Have all the waiters dropped dead?”

he shouted. Inui looked around at the three faces, “...Incidentally, who might be responsible for covering this evening’s expenses?” “…No, or perhaps—?” “...These sorts of matters are better settled clearly in advance…” Kuga answered. Smiling, “Pardon my forwardness, but allow me to handle today’s arrangements. …Since I’m still unaccustomed to Tokyo, I chose such a bleak place for this gathering, though…” Inui wore a servile smile, muttering “Oh my, oh my” all the while,

“This has indeed been a most peculiar turn of fate… However, if matters conclude thusly, misfortune may not prove entirely unfortunate.” “I earnestly entreat your continued particular favor henceforth.” “And especially… I would very much like you to host such gatherings frequently in the future…” “Well then, shall we all relax a bit?” When he said that, he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Aoi looked down and let out a stifled laugh. She had an air of laughter that wouldn’t stop.

Inui, seemingly unperturbed, noisily smacked his lips over and over while— “...Whenever I see you all, what comes to mind is the matter of the inheritance claim, you know.” “Lately, I’ve been putting all sorts of things together in my mind—if only Mr. Sōman hadn’t been killed, I would’ve certainly gotten my hands on some of that inheritance. That’s why I loathe the culprit who did him in—loathe them beyond endurance.” “How interesting.” “What do you mean by that?”

Kuga asked seriously. Nishikai and Aoi both paused their forks and looked up. “That inheritance claim notification is neither a joke nor a prank. It was the genuine article. …The notifier was none other than Sōman Nampūtarō himself. …That morning, he intended to invite the five of us to his establishment and distribute portions of his wealth. …I believe he knew—afflicted with cancer or some such—that he had little time left. Moreover, judging from the wording of the letter, his condition must have been extremely critical, I must say.”

Nishikai scoffed.

“...Inui old boy. You’ve read the papers too—Sōman was the most notorious miser this world’s ever seen. …And that man went and left his fortune to some nobody from god knows where...”

Quietly, Inui answered.

“I had anticipated you would say something like that,” Inui said. “...I read the newspapers too. When I learned of Mr. Sōman’s character through those reports, it only confirmed that my assumptions were correct.” He set down his glass after taking a sip. “To be blunt, Mr. Nishikai—you fail to grasp a miser’s psychology precisely because you aren’t one yourself.” His fingers tapped against the table’s edge. “In fact, I too am a miser. That’s why I understand Mr. Sōman’s mindset perfectly.” Leaning forward, his voice grew fervent. “When cornered beyond redemption—when even fate itself becomes insurmountable—a lifetime of suppressed impulses detonates without warning.” The overhead bulb cast sharp shadows across his twitching features. “They leap from their materialistic world into pure nihilism in an instant. The tighter they cling to greed, the more catastrophic their collapse.” A bitter laugh escaped him as he gestured toward Nishikai. “You’ve read how Sōman hosted that stranger on his final night—a lavish gesture unseen in decades! Doesn’t this prove my theory?” Spittle flew from his lips as his tone shifted abruptly. “Damn it all—I don’t know how much he hoarded, but it should’ve been mine!” His palms slammed against the tabletop, making the dishes rattle. “Born in the Year of the Snake—jealousy and tenacity course through my veins! I won’t rest until I drag that thief through hell!” His eyes bulged as he swept a trembling finger across their faces. “Mark my words—you’ll witness their downfall soon enough... You thieving scum!”

Having said that, he suddenly went limp, propped his cheek heavily on the table, and began muttering delirious fragments under his breath. Even by drunken standards, this display struck an uncanny note.

Nishikai whispered to Kuga.

“What a dreadful state of mind.” Kuga whispered back. “Rather, it’s quite eccentric.”

Nishikai said. "...Inui old boy. ...What a difference character makes. ...I may have been born in the Year of the Tiger, but I'd long forgotten about that inheritance nonsense." "Forgetting is your own affair."

Inui growled in retort. “Now, don’t get angry. ...However, if the culprit who killed Sōman saw your furious look, they’d probably cower in fear.” “After all, it was something fierce.” Inui merely scoffed—“Hmph”—and refused to engage. Kuga grinned slyly while— “I couldn’t agree more. …I’ve only just stepped out of the interrogation room myself, but on my way back, the chief investigator said this—” “He was in quite high spirits… You see, the culprit really is one of the five who came to Naha that morning.” “Just wait and see—you’ll find out who it is tomorrow, he said….” (With evident amusement, gazing at the three faces) “…Come to think of it, the culprit might be among this company. …It might even be me.” “No—in particular, it might be Old Man Inui himself…”

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

“What did you say?!” “Say that again, you bastard!” he shouted. His face had taken on that bully’s visage we’d seen in the Suzaki Station corridor.

Nishikai theatrically waved his hands, saying “Now, now,” to Inui, “Keep your voice down. …The whole place can hear you.”

Inui glared at Kuga once more,

“Damn you!” he shouted, then suddenly collapsed into his chair, covered his face with both hands, and began to sob. He wept with hitching sobs.

Nishikai scratched his head in a manner that suggested he was beyond help. “Tch—now you’ve gone and started crying.” “…(reaching over the table and tapping Inui’s shoulder) Old Man Inui…” “Look here, Old Man Inui.” “Your liquor isn’t very good either, huh… There’s no reason to cry—it’s just a joke. …(Then, winking at Kuga) Mr. Kuga, you ought to show a bit more restraint too.” “Teasing the old man isn’t good form, you know.”

Kuga laughed sheepishly and said to Inui,

“Please stop.” “It was only a jest.”

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

“You shouldn’t do that.” “Even as a joke—you shouldn’t say such things.” “You’ve finally gone and 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 said was a joke… but it’s true that the chief investigator said that.” He lowered his face close to the table and whispered, “Miss Aoi—keep your face raised just as it is. Quietly.” Aoi lifted her face with frightened eyes. “There’s nothing to fear… By the third pillar from the back… at the table next to the potted palm—there’s a man sitting alone, yes? Can you see him?” Aoi nodded. “That’s police personnel.”

Aoi furrowed her brows and spoke in a voice so faint it was almost inaudible. “…I’d thought it was already over. “…No…”

Kuga continued.

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

Nishikai boomed.

“Well, probably someone I know. ...I’ll go check his face while taking a leak. If he talks big, I’ll take him down.”

There was also a hint of bravado in his demeanor.

Inui clapped his hands like a child and shouted. “Yes, yes… Go on! Go on!” Nishikai stood up and walked in that direction, stamping his feet with heavy thuds. Inui watched intently in that direction, his eyes glistening. Nishikai approached the man who was bowing his head over a plate. There, he slowed his pace, stared fixedly and persistently at the man’s face, then entered the washroom at the back of the hall.

When the meal ended, Nishikai and Inui suggested leaving a step ahead of the others. They left amicably walking shoulder to shoulder, still in high spirits.

After a while, Aoi spoke timidly.

“Please walk me home… I’m scared to go alone…”

Kuga did not reply to that and, while laughing, “What I said earlier about the judicial chief—that was a lie. Old Man Inui kept droning on with his nonsense, so I thought I’d try shutting him up. …I suppose this shows I have a rather mean streak, doesn’t it? …(adopting a slightly more serious expression) Miss Aoi, you won’t be summoned anymore, so there’s no need to worry.”

As he said this, he took out a police notebook with a golden emblem from his coat's inner pocket and turned to the first page to show her. "Kuga Chiaki"—his name was written there.

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

And then, he gently took Aoi’s hand.

What was wrong?... Aoi suddenly turned pale and lowered her head. In Kuga’s palm, Aoi’s small hand twitched. As if desperate to flee that place.

4

Truth is stranger than fiction—such a thing can indeed occur. However, if that strangeness becomes too extreme and slightly surpasses the bounds of the ordinary, it will cease to be believed by the general public. It is precisely the same with novels.

Sōman Nampūtarō’s murder case, too—what with its “Mysterious Woman” and “Unknown Inheritance Benefactor”—had coincidentally contained such an excess of fictional elements that it was treated with mild derision by the honest, novel-disliking public.

However, there were also people with intensely curious tendencies—and these, surprisingly, formed a considerable number—in whose circles this case had been hotly debated for the past week.

Given that the perpetrator was a young woman and moreover an amateur in her methods, it went without saying—some astute critics opined that this was clearly a crime of passion, and so on. ……Don't jump to conclusions. Then what about the inheritance notifications? The passion theory jammed to a halt right there. Regarding 〈that woman〉, newspapers sensationalized her with all manner of outlandish speculations, but concerning the truth behind what the public most wanted to know—the 〈mysterious inheritance notifications〉—they could offer no satisfactory explanation beyond deeming it likely a criminal's trick to confound police investigative strategies.

On the night before the crime, 〈that woman〉—a twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old with a slender figure and bobbed hair who had appeared at 〈Naha〉—had since vanished without a trace. However, her existence was confirmed. It was not a hallucination of the Naha bar's mentally disabled boy. There was another person who had seen 〈that woman〉....

A police officer saw a woman that night turning right in front of the Imperial University Aviation Testing Grounds in Etchujima and walking toward Furuishibamachi 4-chome. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning. She had been walking very hurriedly. Was she dressed like a barmaid who had just closed up her establishment? No, she wasn’t that sort of woman. Her refined appearance… she had the look of a young lady from some respectable family. Given the lateness of the hour, I intended to question her and called out, “Hey, hey,” but just as I did so, she turned the corner at 4-chome, 1-banchi. At that very moment, I had been patrolling deep within an alley that intersected with that road in a T-shape, so I hurriedly rushed out from there and turned the corner to look, but by then she was no longer in sight. ...As you are well aware, that area is a place where narrow alleys form a complex maze, and though there was truly nothing that could be done about it, I feel profound self-reproach for having failed to fully perform my duties...

When the police officer read about Nampūtarō’s murder in the evening paper and saw that the appearance of 〈that woman〉 reported in the article perfectly matched that of the woman he had seen the previous night, he panicked and immediately reported this to his superior.

The focus of the investigation was immediately shifted to this lead, and the full forces of the Metropolitan Police Department’s First Investigative Division and Suzaki Police Station began tracking her trail across the entire city, starting from Furuishibamachi. 〈That woman〉 had been traced from Botancho 3-chome, where she turned right into Hiraku-cho and proceeded as far as the vicinity of Kyokushin Lumber Yard, but her trail vanished abruptly there. Suddenly, it had melted into the earth. With no leads whatsoever, another week passed.

A certain newspaper this morning ridiculed that the Metropolitan Police Department’s inclination toward gynarchy was unlikely to be particularly beneficial for the investigation.

Aoi was reading it in bed.

As Kuga had predicted, Aoi was no longer summoned thereafter, so every morning she could now immerse herself in reading the newspaper with leisurely ease. Whenever articles about this case caught her eye, Aoi would always recall with quiet pleasure that morning when she first met Kuga. Various fragments of memories... She particularly remembered the intense impression when his identity as a Special Higher Police detective had been revealed. At that time, Aoi had turned pale and hung her head because she grieved her wretched past—a past she had to keep concealed through deception from Kuga, who had shown her such unguarded sincerity.

Aoi had lied to Kuga when she said she first came to Tokyo about a month ago. She was born in Tokyo and raised there.

Aoi was born the eldest daughter of a certain daimyo peerage. In the western provinces, as part of the Izumi Takatora clan, Aoi’s family was its branch lineage. For generations, they held fertile fiefs in Kiga and were a lineage that served in the Phoenix Chamber prior to the abolition of the feudal system. In the old shogunate era, branch families—even if they were relatives—were generally treated as retainers; however, in the Izumi domain, branch families existed in a relationship akin to that of serfs to their lord. In Aoi’s family constitution, there was a chapter that read as follows.

〈...We shall earnestly revere the Honorable Main Family, and regardless of how incompetent their decrees may be, never defy them—this we establish as Article One of our family constitution for generations to come...〉. This family constitution was still strictly adhered to without violation even in modern times. Aoi's father was, by nature, a frail and weak-willed person. Her mother was a beautiful woman, though she suffered from severe depression; by the time Aoi became aware of her surroundings, her mother was already living alone in a tea-ceremony-style annex and would not speak to anyone.

Among the various traditions of the Izumi family, it had been a generational stipulation that the second and third sons of the main family would enter into arranged marriages with daughters of branch families—thus Aoi could not escape this precedent. To reveal the truth, the main family’s lineage was what might be called a hereditarily weak lineage, which necessitated frequent intermarriage with branch families to counteract its afflictions. For this reason, Aoi was fated from birth to have a husband. The one who had been designated as Aoi’s husband was Masaki, the fourth son born to the main family’s legal wife. He suffered from pure dementia—not only that, but also from a condition called nystagmus, an unsettling disease that caused his eyeballs to move incessantly.

When Aoi turned fifteen that spring and her father died of laryngeal cancer, twenty-one-year-old Masaki was abruptly sent to her household under the pretext of establishing a branch family. From that night onward, Aoi was compelled to share living quarters with this imbecile as husband and wife. The elderly maid who had accompanied Masaki from the main family—though she was an inexpressibly foolish woman—managed everything with the knowing air of a brothel madam coaxing a novice prostitute, permitting no one in the branch family to voice any objection.

The next night, Masaki stood fiercely before Aoi. He exhibited an abnormal tendency toward satyriasis, though he didn't truly comprehend its nature. Even when the elderly maid instructed him, he seemed incapable of understanding. When agitation finally overtook him, he would let his nails grow long and scratch the elderly maid without restraint. Driven by single-minded loyalty, the elderly maid seized Aoi with all her strength. Nearby, that imbecilic face—its uncanny eyeballs ceaselessly rolling, nostrils flaring—persisted in frantic yet futile motions; by any measure, it appeared a vision alien to this world.

However, in the end, it was always Aoi who prevailed. With all her strength, she would break free and flee to the tea-ceremony-style annex where her mother was. Then, the elderly maid would rage about how there was not a single person in this house who would lend her a hand—nothing but unspeakably disloyal wretches—before finally bursting into loud sobs. This struggle was invariably repeated five or six times a month. Aoi could think of nothing but escaping this environment. Of course, her mother was mentally ill and could not be relied upon. She realized that to escape from here and survive in the world, she had no choice but to diligently cultivate her own strength. The only one who provided her with strength was the young female tutor who came three times a week. Aoi diligently learned all methods, emotions, handicrafts, and the ways of the world from this woman. Aoi abandoned her home in the autumn when she was eighteen. She went to Fukue Island in the Goto Archipelago and hid in a Catholic fisherman’s household there. (This had been her tutor’s family home.) She lived there until the spring she turned twenty-one, worked in a Kobe dance hall for nearly two years, returned to Tokyo about two months ago, and began frequenting Cineraria.

The reason Aoi hadn't revealed her past to the police was that if she were taken back this time, she would no longer have any means to meet Kuga. (Masaki was sound and eagerly awaiting her return.) In such circumstances, the police had no reason to take her side. By applying the six-year-old investigation request, they would fully fulfill their duty. The reason she was lying to Kuga was solely because she did not want him to know about her hereditarily weak lineage. If Kuga were to imagine even in her blood the presence of unfit traits, he would immediately cover his face and flee. To lose 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 viewed as a lover, his face was so strikingly handsome that she couldn't help feeling uneasy. He carried himself with such elegance that she found it hard to believe a man like him belonged to the Metropolitan Police Department. Even the most aristocratic youths who gathered at Cineraria lacked the refined grace Kuga possessed.

By now, Aoi held not the slightest doubt about Kuga’s truthfulness or his love. He had even gone so far as to 〈release〉 her from the police. What else could this be if not proof that she was loved? There was no doubt she should believe this—no, she must believe it.

Despite his beautiful appearance, Kuga’s temperament was steadfast. Moreover, he was an excellent poet. Five more years... At least by the time he turned forty, he would accomplish something of note. Staying at home and assisting him in that would surely be a joy. I must quit being a dancer as soon as possible. For his sake, doing so was the most appropriate course.—

When speaking to the apartment manager’s daughter or her Cineraria colleagues about Kuga, Aoi referred to him as her “fiancé.” Those who held enough goodwill toward her hoped to see that announcement ceremony as soon as possible. The one who desired that more than anyone was Aoi herself, but…

Aoi had been meeting her (fiancé) nearly every evening. Kuga would come to Cineraria to pick her up, then they would eat supper together in Tsunohazu’s backstreets—whatever they could find. Nishikai sometimes brought companions to join their meals. Since Inui’s antique shop stood nearby, he would rush over whenever summoned without a word of protest. She remained equally cheerful whether alone with Kuga or surrounded by others. During these gatherings, she hovered near him like an earnest new bride, attending to every detail. She never bristled at Nishikai’s drunken vulgarities. When Inui spilled sake down his front—as he often did—she rose each time to dab his chest dry with gentle care. This inevitably prompted tears from the old man. “Miss Aoi,” he’d blubber repeatedly, “it was me—this wretched fool—who first informed on you to the police… No words can ever…”

“……So I’m just being resentful… This must be my wretched affliction.” “……A petty bureaucrat’s warped mentality isn’t something you shed overnight.…… Fifty-two years of widowed solitude piled on top.” “Can you blame me for finding spitefulness enjoyable?” “……But really now, have mercy on me.” “I truly am sorry to you, you know…” They often spent nights this way until two o’clock, finding strange comfort in their shared wretchedness.

Lightning flashed in the dark sky. Kuga had come to walk Aoi back to her apartment as usual. When he called her back with a "Wait—" as she was about to go inside, he stammered out his words with such painful awkwardness it hurt to hear.

“Aoi, please marry me.” (With that, he retreated as if fleeing, stepping back slightly.) “Well, good night… No, don’t answer now—think it over tonight. Come to my place tomorrow at noon, and we’ll have lunch together…” (Then, in a murmur.) “…If you accept… wear gloves when you come. The ones with lace…” “…The ones with lace…”

Kuga and Aoi married.

The murder case of Sōman Nampūtarō had unwittingly ended up creating one happy couple.

As both had lost their parents and had no relatives in Tokyo, those gathered at their wedding celebration could only be—inevitably—the very crowd they’d encountered that morning at Naha. Nishikai Keizō, old man Inui... and young newspaper reporter Nasu joined them as one more addition. It was in a detached room at 〈Tenjaku〉, a small restaurant in Shinjuku. Nishikai and Nasu presented a marble clock and made an ostentatious display of it.

Inui presented a large globe. What was he supposed to do with this?…… As for that investigation… well, it didn’t matter anymore. Nishikai stood up and delivered a congratulatory speech. He used his index finger to pick his nostril, “In short, the utilitarian approach to marriage is to have brats as soon as possible and foist all your responsibilities onto those little bastards.” “Once they turn seven, slap their backsides hard and make them earn petty cash.” “Even the most useless brats can at least be made to sing for their supper.” “……If you occasionally single out a good one, truly, its utility cannot be measured.” “……In the end, they’ll become geisha or courtesans, right? I mean, there’s no need for the old man to slave away earning money—the utilitarian results will all come together to put food on the table.” “Therefore, I humbly pray that you’ll produce countless brats and live out your twilight years in ever-increasing comfort.”

And then he raised 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—seriously!" Old Man Inui waded through and protested.

“Let me ask something—then how exactly do you plan to feed them?” “It’s simple. “Make the brats provide mutual support. “The older brother has the obligation to support the next younger brother immediately below him. “That brother would then support the next younger brother immediately below him… “They’d proceed in this manner down the line… The brat at the very bottom would support the eldest brother… In short, the Kuga couple could just sit back with their hands tied and watch it all play out.”

Inui muttered in a hateful tone.

“Hmph, a newspaper reporter’s brain is such a trivial thing.”

This became the trigger, and the two began to argue. Nasu joined in as well, and things began spiraling beyond anyone’s control.

Aoi seemed almost unaware of the commotion, her eyes languid in a dreamy haze. The afterimages and memories of her shadowed past began wavering like morning mist over Yumeno. As the fog lifted, the morning sun began rising over the fields. In this vibrant new life’s bedchamber, she would likely never dream of bygone days again. Most of all—she was no longer alone. This Adonis bearing a poet’s radiant soul would surely lead her to life’s hidden gardens of delight. Aoi’s fingers brushed tentatively beneath the table. There—Kuga’s hand awaited. It enfolded hers warmly within its grasp. A tremor of bliss coursed down her spine.

Seeming as though the argument had reached a lull, Nishikai approached Aoi, shaking his head like a turtle hatchling. "A murderer and... what a twisted bond we've got here, huh?" "...Delightful, isn't it, Mrs.?"

As he said this, he lewdly slumped against Aoi's shoulder. Aoi nodded with a smile.

Nasu stood up from the far end, calling out, "You, Aoi!"

“Hey, Aoi.… Tonight’s the night you say goodbye to your dancer’s trade.” “Let’s dance a tango to commemorate the occasion.” “…(thrusting his face toward Kuga) Hey, that’s fine, right, Kuga?” “…Don’t make such a weird face.… Who cares what kind of face the husband makes?” “Aoi, come on—let’s dance, let’s dance…” Missing Aoi’s hand, he lurched onto the table and, carried by his momentum, rolled onto Inui’s lap along with the scattered dishes and bowls. And so, another commotion began.

Clinging closely to her husband as they returned to their apartment in Nakano, Aoi was so happy she could have burst into song.

Kuga said.

“...Around the end of this week, I must go to Taiwan on official business.” Kuga drew Aoi closer by the shoulder. “Of course, you’ll come too. We’ll be married among longan trees and flesh-colored orchids, won’t we?”

Instead of replying, Aoi closed her eyes and offered her lips. Standing on the pale road where the grove cast long shadows, the two shared a lingering kiss.

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

The two departed Tokyo in the heavy rain…

Inui, panting, rushed over, added a box of caramels to the Osaka sushi, and pushed them into the couple’s window. “I’ll be right back.”

Aoi said to Inui. And then, she extended her small, childlike, slender hand toward him.

The train departed.

5

Inui returned. His summer haori was drenched at both shoulders and hem, making him look as miserable as a puppy that had fallen into a river. He uneasily pulled the key from his wet inner pocket and was about to insert it into the keyhole when—unexpectedly—the door swished open from within... He suddenly sharpened his gaze and tilted his head. There was no way he could have forgotten to lock it. ......Someone was inside. He pressed his ear to the door's gap and held his breath. Then he took two or three steps back and looked up sharply at the second-floor window.

Behind the sign that presumably meant to read “Western Art Antiques” but was instead labeled 〈FOREIGN ARTOBJECTS〉, the window shutters silently dripped with condensation. It was a strangely closed-off building with neither display windows nor glass doors, like moss had grown over it.

He opened the door and quietly entered the shop, then bent down to peer into the depths of the earthen floor area.

A writing desk missing a leg, lithographs, a Sèvres porcelain clock, an accordion, gilt-branched candlesticks, an old urn... In the thin stripes of light filtering through gaps in the armored shutters, dust-covered antiquities lay jumbled, revealing fragments of themselves through the haze. In the faint darkness beyond, a shadowy figure flickered into motion. After locking the entrance door, Inui strode purposefully in that direction.

“Who’s there?!” The figure in the darkness must have shifted position. A faint creak of a shoe sole sounded. They seemed to be behind the sofa.

“Come out, over here!”

Drawing a three-edged sword from among the antiques and gripping it in his right hand, he twisted the switch. Bracing himself toward the sofa, Inui shouted in a sharp voice. “Come out or I’ll stab you dead with this!”

An eighteen- or nineteen-year-old, petite girl abruptly showed her face. While rolling her eyes about, she said in a playful tone.

“You’re a thief!” She was a girl with sunken eyes and a sharply upturned nose—bearing a faint resemblance to a Filipino—yet adorably healthy-looking. She shook her overgrown bob cut vigorously and wore a chic Scottish plaid dress. In a drained voice, Inui said: “...You... Tsuru...” The girl stepped over the chairback and dropped into the seat with a thud, then sang in an odd melody: “...Heaven-sent Itoman kobito—how many have gathered and fallen!”

And then, with a hoarse voice, she laughed—ha, ha.

Standing rigidly, Inui glared with a fiercely stern expression. "Tsuru! How did you get in here?!" he barked. Tsuru pursed her lips and answered. "It was open." "That's a lie—the lock should've been down." He stomped over and yanked Tsuru's ear. "Hey! I told you never to come here, no matter what!" Tsuru nodded calmly. "Yeah."

“And then, I told you not to use Ryukyuan words.” “...That was our agreement, Tsuru.” Tsuru turned away and shrugged her shoulders sharply, like a Westerner would. Inui stared fixedly at her profile while,

“There there, keep sulking like that forever. “I won’t help you people anymore……”

Spinning around sharply, Tsuru suddenly adopted a mature expression, "It's the usual routine... You don't gotta spell it out every damn time." "I know I shouldn't come 'less told... Came 'cause I got business." "In this rain, standin' at the door like some dumbass—figured I'd look more suspicious that way. So I came in." "My bad if that's wrong." "Answer the question."

“Don’t ask such tactless questions. “...I’ve been telling you, haven’t I? That I fell from the sky...” She turned her face away and began fiddling with her hair. Then, for some reason, Inui suddenly softened, “...If you’re seen coming here, it complicates everything. “All of this—it’s all for your people’s sake...” Tsuru dipped her head. “...My mistake. “...But you started yelling out of nowhere...”

“If that settles it, then consider yourself lucky!” “……So what kind of people were on the street when you came here?” “From the direction of Dai-Go Furitsu… a girls’ school teacher carrying a cloth bundle—a cloth bundle… just one person…” “The clack-clack of a paper theater storyteller’s clappers….” “Three children….” “That’s all.” “And at the alley entrance?” “No one was there.” Inui noisily harrumphed “hmm, hmm” while— “...Well, let’s assume they weren’t there then...”

With that, he walked toward the entrance, poked just his head out through the narrowly opened door to scan the street in both directions, then returned to Tsuru’s side.

“So—what’s the business?”

Tsuru sullenly replied.

“There’s a telegram.”

His eyes glinted sharply, "What does it say?" "Proceed to Shanghai as planned. Kobe, Toa Hotel."

Inui rested his cheek on his hand propped against his knee and remained silent for a moment before asking abruptly. "What time is it now?" Tsuru glanced at her wristwatch and replied. "Seven ten." Inui suddenly stood up. Gripping Tsuru's wrist, he barked: "Listen—you're leaving for Kobe immediately. The seven thirty train. Twenty minutes left. The money?" "About fifty yen." "Good enough." He stared fixedly into Tsuru's eyes. "And then?"

Propping the handbag under her chin,

“It’s inside there.” “Good!”

Having said that, he rushed over to the desk, the pen tip creaking as he hurriedly began writing what appeared to be a letter. Before long, he returned to Tsuru holding two envelopes and, while handing them over, “Take this brown one to Kobe.” “Once you hand it over, come back right away.” “And leave this white one at Nishikai’s apartment on your way.” “Just toss it into the letterbox.”

Without a word, Tsuru stood up, swiftly donned a rubberized mantle, and pulled the hood deep over her face. By doing this, she looked just like a grade schooler. Inui went ahead to the doorway, again scanned the street intently, then placed both hands on Tsuru’s shoulders and pushed her forward. “Go on.”

Without looking back, Tsuru stepped out into the rain. When she turned the alley corner and disappeared from view, Inui closed the door, walked to the foot of the back stairs, and stood there motionless as if deep in thought for some time before finally ascending to the second floor with almost dancing steps. The room spanned about twenty tatami mats, and at its far end—likely another piece of government-surplus furniture from who-knows-where—an imposing canopied bed loomed heavily. By the window stood a mahogany desk and a chair, while the floor was strewn with old newspapers, urine bottles, empty tin cans, a metal basin... and all manner of other clutter, scattered so haphazardly that there was scarcely space to set foot.

Stepping over and kicking aside these obstacles with his feet, he made his way to the desk, then—as if suddenly remembering—pulled out the evening paper from his pocket and began skimming through it. Due to one of the culprits from the bank robbery gang that had struck about five days before the Itoman Incident being arrested in Nagoya that morning, the third pages of all the city’s evening papers were consumed by frenzied reports of this development. Through the culprit’s confession, the full picture of the incident was on the verge of being revealed. As the Metropolitan Police Department’s High Section had predicted, it was indeed the work of ideological elements.

Even the Itoman Incident had been overshadowed by this explosive development, reduced to a mere shadow of its former presence. The evening paper carried only a perfunctory ten-line article stating that Furuta Shinosuke had been released that morning due to insufficient evidence.

Inui furrowed his brows and pondered for a while. Then, clicking his tongue in vexation, he folded the evening paper into a compact size and threw it onto the bed along with his damp haori. The wind grew stronger, and rain began blowing in through the gaps in the armored door. Inui closed the glass window, drew the heavy-looking curtains, then plopped down into the chair and sat cross-legged. He pulled out a large paper folder from the desk drawer. From the voluminous newspaper clippings, he selected four or five photographs, arranged each one meticulously on the desk, then propped his cheek on his hand and began glaring at them with a ruthless gaze. Nishikai, Furuta, Kuga, Aoi, the Naha bar boy…—these were photographs of the witnesses and suspects in the Itoman Incident.

After all, when alone, everyone’s face changes slightly from usual—but Inui’s face now, devoid of his usual squint lines and derisive sneer, looked like that of an entirely different person. He even appeared somewhat noble. He seemed to be grappling with some thought, occasionally emitting something like a groan. After staying that way for a long time,

“……In the end… he might not be among them……” Muttering this, he picked up Furuta’s photograph. Furuta wore a military uniform, standing smug-armed at the center of a twenty-man motor transport corps.

After gazing at it intently, he suddenly frowned, tore it to shreds, and scattered the pieces across the floor. Somewhere downstairs, there was a light creaking sound... Inui didn’t seem to notice. This time, he picked up Kuga’s photograph. After carefully wiping the surface of the photograph with his palm, he read aloud the Western characters written at its edge with a peculiar accent. “With best respect…,” he muttered. “With the utmost respect… huh…” Hmph. Putting on airs while secretly looking down on everyone. Both face and manners too pretty for his own good… An enigma through and through. But that mask’ll slip soon enough. ……Playing the straight arrow with that act, but these eyes don’t lie. Come to think of it, they’ve got that police snitch glint. “But... still...”

The stairs creaked. Inui half-rose from his seat and whirled around sharply toward the sound. A rat ran across the ceiling, making a terrible racket. “Hmph, a rat…” Just as he turned back to the desk with apparent relief, there came another thud. A faint scuffing of shoe soles could be heard. ……Someone was quietly coming up the stairs. He swiftly swept the photographs into the drawer and, turning around as he did so, “Who’s there?”

He shouted...... No response came.

(Oh right—I'd sent someone to fetch Nishikai earlier.) (Damn you—why're you creeping up here without a word?) Rising to his feet, Inui called out. "Is that you, Mr. Nishikai?" The door opened quietly. The one who entered was Furuta Shinosuke. He was deathly pale, his face contorted into something feral. His lips twitched convulsively, white teeth glinting between them. Closing the door behind his back with both hands, he fixed Inui with wide-open eyes and lumbered forward. Removing his hat and shaking off the rain,

“Hey there. Evening,” he said in a low voice. Inui began inching backward toward the bed, so imperceptibly that one could barely see him moving. Furuta pulled a chair closer and sat down, then grinned fiercely. “Today, I’m here to return the favor.” Inui deliberately put on a surprised face. “...A favor?... What’s that about?... I don’t particularly have any from you...” “Shut up!”

His mouth was clamped shut. “Before that, there’s somethin’ I wanna ask.” “Quit standin’ there like a post—sit down.” Inui warily lowered himself onto the bed. Furuta locked his arms across his chest, “So—what’s your racket?” “...As you see before you—I deal in old furnishings...” “That so?... Then you ain’t police after all.” “Preposterous...” “Then why’d you rat me out?” “...Joke’s on me?... Or just your idea of fun?”

Furuta's teeth clattered. Inui darted a glance toward the door. (This is bad—there’s no escaping this now... If I told the truth, there’s no telling what he’d do... Maybe I could somehow bluff my way out...) Furuta barked. “I’ll make you talk!”

Inui was considering how he might extricate himself,

“Sas?... I don’t know what you’re talking about... I’ve never gone around causing trouble for others...” “Bastard! Quit playing dumb!” Furuta stood up. Inui bent down and scrambled toward the door in a panic. He was immediately cornered at the wall. Furuta grabbed Inui by the collar, dragged him roughly over to the bed, pinned him on his back, then clamped his left hand around Inui’s throat while thrusting his right hand into his coat pocket to pull out a dagger. In front of Inui’s nose, it glistened with a throbbing light. The blade looked ready to plunge into his throat at any moment.

“Help me!” “Shut up!”

A chill ran down his neck as something cold touched it. "That’s... impossible... I don’t know anything..."

“I’ll kill you!”

He squeezed the throat with all his strength. "I... can't... breathe..." "There's someone who told me you're the informant....Speak!" *There's no point reasoning with this madman,* he thought. *Well, let him do as he pleases for now. He wouldn't actually go as far as killing me.* *Still,* *which bastard blabbed?*

In a tone feigning anger,

“Who was it? Who’s the bastard that blabbed such unnecessary shit?!” “Kuga.”

Inui ground his teeth. _Damn it!_ Then, in a pitiful tone as if singing a ballad, he launched into his act. “...Ah, now I see… That guy’s been buttering you up… planning to have me killed… Kill me off, then corner you into an inescapable spot—this whole thing’s a two-birds-one-stone scheme…” “Please… take a good look at the logic here.” “...When I think about it, the one who dealt with Tsuru... was Kuga after all... Now that I look back, I too was being flattered by him... Truly, everything I did was at his instigation...”

〈"Even I must admit that was clever," he thought.〉 True enough, his throat felt a bit relieved.

Furuta's face suddenly drew near. "You... Is that true?"

Furuta’s manner suggested he had some inkling of this himself. “I would never tell lies. “To think that at my age, I was manipulated by such a greenhorn... I...” Tears welled up in his eyes unbidden. 〈Alright, time to cry,〉 he thought—and right on cue, tears began streaming down. He broke into convulsive sobs.

Furuta yanked Inui up by the collar, “Whether it’s truth or lies—you’ll know soon enough... If it’s lies—then...”

With that, he shot a piercing glare at him. 〈Eat shit. You’re the one who should watch your back. I’ll make you pay for this…〉

Inui bowed respectfully. "I beg you, please forgive me utterly."

Furuta sheathed the dagger with a click and jostled Inui around, “Hey! “Thanks to you, I’m out of a job.” “...My sister got divorced, my ma’s drinking denatured alcohol... It’s hell, I tell ya. All of this—every damn bit—is your doing! C’mon, apologize!” “Get on your knees and say you’re sorry!” Inui, with his clothes still disheveled, sat wretchedly on the floor and bowed his head repeatedly.

“I... I don’t know how to apologize enough...”

The moment 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 over backwards. As he crawled toward the door trying to escape, another dazzling blow came to his flank. He involuntarily let out a groan: “Ugh.” Furuta twisted Inui down onto the floor, then mounted his chest and, with all his strength, continued beating him without cease...

Nishikai's figure appeared in the doorway.

He stood rooted to the spot, dumbfounded, gazing blankly at this scene. After landing one last ferocious blow to the side of his face and standing up, Furuta roughly shoved Nishikai aside and left, shrugging his shoulders.

Approaching Inui, who lay stretched out at length, Nishikai squatted over his face and said in a mocking tone, “Hey, what’s the matter?” A copious nosebleed flowed from his upper lip down to his chin, and in the dim light, it suddenly looked as though he had grown a beard. His face was swollen as if bloated, glistening with feverish heat.

Hearing Nishikai's voice, Inui pressed his swollen eyelids and,

"I've been done in." (he said in an unexpectedly robust voice while pointing to a metal basin lying nearby) "My apologies—would you go downstairs and fetch water in that? ...There's a hand towel in the kitchen..."

When Nishikai drew water and went up to the second floor, Inui was sitting on the bed, tearing newspaper and constantly stuffing it into his nostrils.

“Hey, Old Man Inui… What the hell happened?” Inui wrung out the hand towel and pressed it against the bridge of his nose, “...He came after hearing I was the one who informed.” “He really put me through hell.”

Then, Nishikai sneered, “...Hmph. So that’s how it is. “Well then, guess there’s no helpin’ it.… You were bound to get yours sooner or later.” “Just resign yourself to thinking it’s karmic retribution and be done with it.” “...But damn, your face has gone all weird—it’s twisted up.” Inui pressed a hand to his forehead with exaggerated drama, “…The very core of my head won’t stop throbbing.” “My face is one thing, but it got pretty dicey there for a while.” “He didn’t even brandish some damn dagger.” (he muttered, as if talking to himself) “Heh, heh... Seeing him fly into a rage like that—maybe he wasn’t the one who did the killing after all.”

Nishikai thudded both feet onto the desk and, “With that kinda fury, he might’ve offed even Tsuru, eh?” “But y’know—maybe the bastard’s actually straight-laced... Nah, can’t be right.” “He’s been thick with lowlifes like Tsuru these past few years—who knows what shit he’s into.” “And outta us five, when you get down to it, he’s the only one who knew Tsuru’s turf inside out... So maybe today he came to shut your big mouth, huh?”

Inui nodded vigorously and, “Yes, yes—I think so too. But you see, even if they try to scare me into keeping my mouth shut, it won’t work out so neatly. ...When you think about it, he must have some weakness hidden away. ...Just you wait. I’ll give them a vicious taste of their own medicine... And besides, that guy…”

Interrupting him, Nishikai said.

“By the way—did the newlywed Kuga couple depart safely last night?” “Hmph. They boarded first class with such lively vigor.” (Suddenly lowering his voice) “About that... I’ve had a thought about it.” “How did you feel? ...Or did you get jealous or something?”

Glancing up sharply through swollen eyelids，Inui said，"...Hey，Mr．Nishikai．You don't suppose Kuga has fled，do you？...If that were true——" "Are you suggesting Kuga did the killing？" Feigning nonchalance，Inui answered，"You already know．"

Nishikai retorted.

“How the hell should I know? Heh heh—ain’t satisfied with snitching on Furuta and Aoi, now you’re plannin’ to rat out Kuga too? Just like one of those festival shogi puzzles—if that move don’t work, try this one? …Hey now, when the snitchin’ starts again, make sure you leave me out of it, got it?” Inui smirked and said, “...Told you before—I won’t rest till I make the bastard who snatched that inheritance pay with these hands. Not even death’ll stop me... Better watch your back—your turn might come sooner’n you think... Ah, just jokin’.” His voice slid into its usual wheedling tone. “But seriously, Mr. Nishikai—what d’you really think? I reckon Kuga ain’t comin’ back... Probably fled to Shanghai or such. Cocky pup actin’ all stage-slick—knew he was rotten from the start. And get this—that bastard Kuga’s the one who ratted me out to Furuta! That’s why they’re lookin’ at me sideways now. Furuta just clapped the prop fan—but Kuga’s the one who scripted today’s bloodbath, ain’t he? Flatterin’ Furuta to get me killed...”

Nishikai clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Wouldn’t it be better if you just got yourself killed already?” he said, standing up pointedly. “So you dragged me here with that letter for such a trivial matter? If that’s all, I’m outta here.”

Inui panicked, flailing his hands as if swimming,

“No, that’s not it. The other day, I thought I’d arrange what you mentioned, so I prepared it today... I’ll get it now, so just stay seated a bit longer.” “Oh? Well, thank you for that. I’ll draft the promissory note—but you’re not planning to charge interest now, are you?” “No need to worry about that. After all, given our relationship...” (He leaned forward.) “Now, Mr. Nishaki—what exactly is Kuga’s true identity? Just because he was in Qingdao for years doesn’t mean I know a thing about him...”

Nishikai, with an air of utter exasperation, stared fixedly at Inui's face while—

“...You really are a persistent bastard.” “Gotta hand it to ya.” “That’s what I keep tellin’ you—I don’t know a damn thing!” “That’s a lie. ...You’re sittin’ on something and hidin’ it from me.” (Suddenly whining) “C’mon now—don’t be like that. Just spill it.” “Even as Akanishi, I’ve got my pure side too, y’know.” “If he stole for a good reason, he wouldn’t be beggin’ the snitch to take it back now.” “But I can’t stand watchin’ you play dumb like this.” “Look—I’m offerin’ interest-free loans with no collateral. ...Hearin’ somethin’ won’t bite you. ...(with a sly grin) Well now—wasn’t it Kuga who did the killin’?”

“If that’s how it is, then just go ahead and decide that on your own.” “There’s no need to press me so hard. …(in a loud voice) You’re being too persistent.” “Well now, don’t get so angry—just tell me.” (glaring menacingly) “Or else...” He tensed up,

“Or else what?” “Heh heh—I can’t lift a finger about it... But speaking of which, Mr. Nishikai. There’s talk about Kuga being a detective—you know anything?” “Someone mentioned seeing him at the Metropolitan Police Department’s Special Higher Section...” “So you did know!... You’re a real piece of work... But is that true?” “They say he’s in Osaka Prefectural Police’s thought section, but damned if I know.”

Inui tilted his head exaggeratedly and, “So... did he go to Taiwan to investigate Shiman’s background? ...Or maybe he’s chasing after some criminal...” “Don’t be ridiculous—I told you he’s with the thought section. If that’s the case, there’s something that comes to mind. That morning at Naha, he carelessly let slip that he’d come to Tokyo four days prior. The Osaka bank attack happened exactly five days before the Shiman Incident... He came straight to Tokyo tracing the trail as soon as it occurred. This time it wasn’t Taiwan or anything—he flew straight to Kansai. One was caught this morning, but the accomplice Nakamura’s still on the run around Kansai, they say...”

“Hmm… That does sound plausible when you put it that way, but… Taking your wife along on an arrest operation? That’s unprecedented in all of history.” “The police have gotten civilized these days, haven’t they?” “Why don’t you just assume such things happen now?” “But listen here, Old Inui… Never mind Kuga—that Aoi’s the real shady one. …I only told Nasu this, but she slipped out around 1 a.m. the night Shiman was killed, climbing down the emergency ladder. …Turns out my college buddy was in the room right below hers.” “That guy noticed it and told me how strange it was.” “…Heh—the detective’s wife being a murderer? I don’t think that’s stretching it at all…”

Inui went “Huh,” tilting his chin back. “Th-that… W-was it really Aoi?” “It’s the goddamn truth. If a woman came out of a room where only Aoi was supposed to be alone, then it’s gotta be Aoi, right?” “Did you report that to the police as well?” “Who the hell would do such meddling? That ain’t any of my goddamn business. Even if I don’t say it, time will tell… As they say… ‘The net of heaven may be vast, but none escape its grasp.’”

Inui remained deep in thought for some time before rallying himself. "But there's another way to look at it... That night, there was a woman in Aoi's room too—and the one who left wasn't Aoi, but her..."

Nishikai burst out laughing. “Hey, Old Inui... True to your reputation, you’re smitten with Aoi, aren’t you.” “...I see—so Aoi’s name has vanished from your blacklist. …Which means who’s left then? Let’s see...” (with a strangely probing gaze) “Kuga... Furuta...”

Inui interjected quietly.

“And then there’s you.” Nishikai’s knee twitched. His face abruptly changed color, and he barked. “Me?” “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Inui remained perfectly calm,

“No, there’s an excellent reason for that.” (staring into Nishikai’s eyes) “Mr. Nishikai—where were you around two a.m. that night?”

…There was no response. “Around two in the morning at Naha—no, wait—at Echujima, there’s someone who says they saw you. …What business could you’ve had around there?”

6

Aoi sat by the hotel window, gazing at the sky with an unsettled heart.

Six days since arriving in Kobe, the sky had been shrouded in gray clouds, and every evening without fail, it let fall a drizzle. In the rain, a steam whistle occasionally sounded lazily. That drew Aoi’s heart into a desolate sadness.

The slightly too spacious room was deathly quiet and dim even at midday; the large double bed, the sofa, the table, the flowers in the vase—everything had dried out, bleached white and desiccated.

For the past two or three days, Aoi had been wrapped in some indescribable feeling, growing restless or sinking into melancholy for no reason. At times, tears would flow unbidden. What exactly this was, even Aoi herself couldn't clearly explain, but if she had to put it into words, it felt like an ominous premonition.

Aoi was happy. She unexpectedly found someone to love, and this was their honeymoon. Kuga was always gentle and seemed to spare no effort in bringing her joy.

Kuga chose a spacious room with a balcony and bathroom for Aoi, arranged for an abundance of flowers to be delivered every morning, and filled every nook with blossoms. Each dawn Aoi awoke surrounded by flowers - this joy defied all comparison.

The two spent the entire day inside the room without going out. They had their meals delivered to the room and ate them over long， enjoyable hours. Aoi chattered eagerly about trivial matters， and Kuga read novels and poetry aloud for her. Aoi had seen the title of such a novel before. …“Life Among Flowers”. And she thought. 〈In that novel must live a girl as happy as she was…〉

However, onto this happy life, as if carried by an indifferent wind, a shadow gradually began to creep in.

On the morning of the third day after their arrival, a bellboy brought a letter to Kuga. It was a white, extravagant 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 a quick glance, hastily stuffed it into his pocket. She felt something odd. When Aoi asked what the letter was about, Kuga's face flushed slightly, "It's official business."

With that single remark, he abruptly stood and retreated to the balcony. It seemed he had fled in a panic. 〈Official business with a scent of heliotrope〉... Such a thing couldn’t possibly exist. However, Kuga’s panic had been so conspicuous that even when she tried to confront him, she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Maybe... That’s fine, isn’t it? What woman could look upon this beautiful young man and not love him? Even if countless women lay behind him, that had nothing to do with me. As long as he loved me in this present truth, his past meant nothing. Moreover, I was the one falsifying my own past. I had no right to blame Kuga. It was disheartening he wouldn’t reveal the letter’s sender, but if that’s how it must be... then so be it.

However, the anxiety that had been clinging to Aoi these past two or three days was no such trivial matter. It was somewhat strange—something even more elusive. Kuga was inexplicably kind—not only that, but at times his kindness even verged on excess. For Aoi, this couldn’t help but be a source of joy. But at the same time, it also evoked a peculiar sensation within her. This kindness did not seem to Aoi like that of a husband toward his wife, but rather something closer to compassion for an unfortunate soul. When she thought about it, various such points came to her attention.

Since arriving at this hotel, Kuga had seemed to go to great lengths to comfort and console Aoi. At times, he would even forget his usual reserve and put on an overly lighthearted, playful tone. It was vividly transparent that his efforts to behave this way did not come naturally. Not only did he never once address Aoi’s past—which he should have broached—but he even seemed to be deliberately avoiding it. And he repeated many times that all we needed in our grammar were the present and future tenses. The first time, Aoi too thought it reasonable, and the second time she also agreed. But when it happened three or four times, she began to feel something strange.

Why Kuga would say such things and behave this way—Aoi simply couldn't understand. At first, she thought he acted this way because he knew she came from an inferior lineage and was trying to discreetly comfort her over it. However, in all of Tokyo, only two people knew this girl using the pseudonym Aoi was truly the eldest daughter of the Izumi family—a daimyo peerage house: herself and her former tutor Shiki Yoshie. Yoshie wasn't in Tokyo. Yoshie had gone missing.

〈……Then—could it be that Kuga believes I killed Shiman?〉 she wondered. 〈...Kuga believed that and, trying to make me forget unpleasant memories, was comforting me in various ways...〉 When Aoi’s imagination reached that point, she would—for some reason—grow intensely sentimental and shed tears that were neither quite sorrow nor gratitude. 〈……By taking me away from Tokyo and keeping me hidden away here like this—then, it’s to help me evade arrest.〉 When he said we were going to Taiwan, that too wasn't official business—it was meant to get me all the way there to escape. To do this, he might even be willing to abandon his position. If that were true... I had to put a stop to these futile sacrifices and efforts...

However, as she thought a bit further, there were aspects that did not seem to be done solely for Aoi’s sake.

As for Kuga’s past, Aoi knew nothing about that either. Apart from being told he was a senior detective who had previously been a poet, almost nothing else had been revealed to her. Moreover, if he were truly a police officer, his actions made no sense whatsoever. First he claimed official business required going to Taiwan when they left Tokyo, then said they’d been diverted to Shanghai en route, and upon reaching Kobe insisted some serious incident necessitated staying to carry out work. Yet despite this mission, he did little beyond sending telegrams and making calls—idling extravagantly with Aoi at their luxury hotel while avoiding all outside contact. He even registered under the pseudonym Yamada. His spending since Tokyo—especially here—had grown alarmingly excessive. 〈Where could such vast sums come from?... Might his police identity be false?... And perhaps... Shiman’s...〉

As she followed this train of thought, a shudder akin to a chill raced down Aoi's spine. ……Once one suspicion was raised, new ones surged forth one after another, tormenting her heart.

Probably," Aoi thought. "...The abrupt physiological changes brought on by married life must be making me this oversensitive. ...When I look back later, it might all turn out to have been nothing but trivial worries..." Aoi felt slightly breathless and, catching rain in her palm, pressed it to her forehead.

In the next room came the violent rush of flowing water, and soon Kuga emerged from the bath, his cheeks flushed a vivid crimson. With a playful expression, “...What are you thinking about over there? ...Nostalgia?” he said. Aoi replied in a voice she forced to sound cheerful, “The opposite—... When I listen to the steam whistle, I find myself wanting to go somewhere far away.”

Kuga pulled a chair over beside Aoi and sat down, “...(The scent of longan in the wind, Petaco’s calls from the clouds, the strange delight of sweltering heat)... I want to live in the subtropics once more. When my emotions come into contact with that air—somehow—they become invigorated and uplifted. It even makes one healthy. …Shanghai may be dull, but I wish we’d at least made it that far. …I’ve done you a disservice. I only got your hopes up...”

Aoi said in a conciliatory tone. "I hate Shanghai and Taiwan both... Staying still among these flowers makes me happier."

Kuga gazed at Aoi’s face while, “That can’t be true.” “You’ve become quite the smooth talker lately… I wonder why.” Involuntarily averting her eyes, “…But this is my natural self.”

“No, that’s not it. You’ve started showing changes these past two or three days… And Aoi, why do you keep averting 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 rough idea of what you’ve been thinking about…” He gazed at the ceiling. “For instance, you think like this: ‘My actions aren’t suitable for a police officer,’ or something like that.”

Flustered, Aoi faltered.

“That’s not…” “It’s not a lie. It’s only natural for you to think that way. Otherwise you’d be heartless. Staying silent while you’re tormented by doubts isn’t commendable conduct either as a friend or husband. But our profession has its ethical code—to guard what must stay secret. Not through abstract notions like duty or responsibility, but something higher… conscience perhaps. Violating this pains me deeply. You might call it old-fashioned, but since I’ve sworn allegiance to this code, you must accept it too. Even without disclosing every action of mine, surely you wouldn’t question my affections over such things…”

“I understand perfectly well. ……I don’t recall ever having asked about your work before now.” Kuga smiled as he— “That’s right. “You don’t ask questions. “……But your eyes are always wanting to ask.” Aoi flushed slightly, “Bad eyes, aren’t they? ……I’ll be more careful from now on.” “Be that as it may”—he looked at Aoi’s face—“I should explain a bit…… Do you know about the bank robbery incident that occurred in Osaka on June 1st?”

“Huh? That?” “That was the Anarchist Communist Party’s work.” “(Then, closing his eyes) That—one of the accomplices is right nearby.” “Yes, and then?” “I can’t say more, so don’t ask. …In short, that’s how it is—use your imagination.” A bellboy came in holding a business card. Aoi stood up almost instinctively, received the business card, and cast a quick glance at the name on it. In stern Number 4 type,

〈Hyogo Prefectural Police Department Special Higher Section - Yamase Juntarō〉 It was printed. When Kuga saw the business card, he suddenly tightened his expression; after telling the bellboy to have that person wait a while in the downstairs waiting room, he began swiftly changing his clothes.

A bright ray of sunlight poured into Aoi's heart. The bleak atmosphere of the room and the gloomy hue of the sky no longer felt quite as desolate as before. It wasn't that Kuga believed Aoi to be the perpetrator from Shiman, nor was it that he had falsified his identity. He was merely one of those slightly overly strict police officers. To Aoi, who had perceived him as somewhat dissolute, he had in fact been quietly continuing his covert efforts to apprehend the perpetrators of the bank gang incident.

Could a heart unburdened by doubt truly be this buoyant? ……Aoi pushed open the sheer curtain to its fullest and burst into song in a buoyant voice.

The rain clouds parted, revealing a yellow crescent moon shining through the gap. Kuga hailed a taxi on Sakae-machi Avenue and instructed the driver, "Just keep driving wherever—I feel like taking a short drive." The car accelerated briskly toward the Hanshin National Highway. As it started moving, Yamase—his sunburned face with its military sternness softening into a smile—spoke: "Congratulations... "I hear you married. ......So what sort of woman is your wife?"

“She’s beautiful… But there’s an inner darkness about her.” “Something in her past must have shaped her that way… In short, she has an ill-fated nature.” “Somehow, she gives off that impression.”

“I see… But you were quite sharp.” “Heard you got married just twenty days after meeting her—isn’t that right?”

“No, fifteen days.”

“That was quite swift work. What tactics did you use?” “Counterattack.”

“Then I’ll always approve… It’s our side’s tactic, after all.” “So what’s the current state of the investigation area?”

“In short…it’s within the triangle with Tsuruga at its vertex.” “And the traffic checkpoints?” “We’ve deployed them at all points.” “What about the route to Shanghai?” “First—absolutely impossible.” “Qingdao?”

“That’s also impossible. All passages are blocked. No matter what they do, they won’t get away. So how about your side?” “Field duty… I’ve been at Shirahama Onsen until today.”

“So, what’s the operation from here on out?”

“If we establish positions in Kansai like this, Tokyo will become understaffed... Perhaps we should withdraw to Tokyo.”

“That’s a good plan. …Then I’ll return tonight as well. …And what’s our course of action once we’re in Tokyo?”

“Independent operations.”

“What about the portable rations?” “For now, we’re fine.” He lit a cigarette. “By the way, I hear you were involved in an interesting case. The Shiman Incident? It has some rather intriguing embellishments, doesn’t it?” “That decorative aspect isn’t interesting—it’s actually the most dangerous part. Among the four inheritance claimants, there’s an old man named Inui. From what I can see, he’s the most nefarious one.” An indescribable smile surfaced. “And then… that Aoi—my… Well, I’ll explain this properly another time, but I’ve already taken some steps. But you know, detective novels still aren’t my forte. In the end, I gained nothing at all. So, I’ll be leaving right away… at 10:20. What about you?”

“I’m taking tomorrow’s 11:18.”

Extending his hand toward Yamase, Kuga said. “Well then, I’ll get off here. “Because there’s no time left, I intend to call the hotel from around here and have them make preparations.” It was right near Amagasaki.

Yamase gripped Kuga’s hand in return while,

“See you in Tokyo.”

“Please take care of yourself.” Yamase replied in a calm tone. “It’s under control. I’ll do whatever it takes. We just have to wait until the operation’s lifted… Then…” Kuga raised one hand in greeting toward Yamase’s tuxedo and entered the bright café before the tram stop. As they passed each other, a young girl emerged from inside. Sunken eyes, a high nose... This typical southern islander’s face—he had definitely seen it somewhere before.

He finally remembered - it was the girl in the salmon-colored evening dress who had approached him when he first visited Aoi at Cineraria, saying "Dance with me." Even so, had she already drifted this far? Kuga ordered coffee and immediately stood up to enter the phone booth.

When the phone rang, Aoi had just stepped out of the bath. The matter was settled in nearly 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 claim. Once again, cloud-like doubts welled up in Aoi's heart. But...

But... such a thing couldn’t possibly be—she told herself. …There was no way she could remember the voice of that woman she’d only heard once. Yet why did it make her think of Kuga’s voice? This had to be neurasthenia. Even so, it defied logic. Kuga’s voice was that woman’s voice…… Aoi stood up and began folding Kuga’s clothes into the suitcase. When she absently shook out a shirt, a white envelope fluttered to the floor—no sender’s name. Her hands trembled. The letter read:

〈There exists a fact that Ms. Amata Aoi secretly slipped outside via the emergency ladder around 1 a.m. on the night of Shiman’s murder. I do not know what this signifies, but considering it convenient that you remain aware of such matters, I mention this merely for your attention. 〈From a friend〉 Aoi sat down on the floor and covered her face with both hands. The one who had gone out via the emergency ladder that night was not Aoi. It was Shiki Yoshie—Aoi’s former tutor, someone who could be called either a mother or sister to her. She had fled to Tokyo fearing repercussions from the June 1st bank heist and hidden in Aoi’s room for three days.〉

Aoi had neither sympathy nor interest in such ideological movements. It was something she had done out of love for Yoshie—but even if she confessed this to Kuga now, would he believe her? No matter how Kuga might judge her actions afterward—no—she couldn't bring herself to tell him yet. She didn't want to betray Yoshie's trust—that alone.

Even so, who would do such an underhanded act?... It suddenly occurred to her. Nishikai. Now that she thought about it, Nishikai’s subtly disrespectful attitude toward Aoi during the announcement ceremony that night—those insinuations practically calling her a murderer—made sense now in retrospect.

Aoi lay down at length on the floor 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 water purification plant through an introduction by newspaper reporter Nasu. Having felt uneasy about Kuga’s overly extravagant ways, Aoi was rather in favor of living with appropriate restraint—but even so, this apartment was a bit too dreadful.

At the end of a dimly lit alley, adorned with garishly colored electric eaves lights, stood a house that looked exactly like a cheap eatery. The walls were crisscrossed with cracks, and every piece of furniture bore disgusting stains. One side of the alley was a corrugated iron fence, from which an intense glare came all day long. This apartment was one of those so-called assignation houses, which naturally skillfully retained department store clerks, dancers, and barmaids; yet beyond that, it also housed honest, low-paid white-collar workers at astonishingly low rents. This was to divert police scrutiny and neighborhood gossip, and while those earnest tenants vaguely understood the circumstances, the nearly free rent made it difficult for them to muster the resolve to leave.

The landlady of the apartment, Shusha Hana, was born in Itoman, Ryukyu, and until just recently had been working as a barmaid at a bar in Susaki. She boasted of having once been an elementary school teacher—a claim that didn’t seem entirely false—and indeed carried herself with shrewd efficiency. She had a swarthy, sinister-looking face with a high forehead, and in the evenings would play the organ in the back office with an impudent air. Her business connections seemed to extend in all directions; even when sitting quietly there appeared to be a considerable number of phone inquiries every day. She would respond briskly in a high-pitched voice tinged with a Ryukyu accent, and once arrangements were made immediately head up to the woman’s room. If the woman wasn’t there she would call the café to inform them of her whereabouts.

She specialized solely in mediation and strictly forbade bringing men into the apartment, but for some reason turned a blind eye to the gymnastics school students. A seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl with a cat-like face, kept through the pooled funds of five middle school students. The young masters would gather here every morning to eat the breakfast the girl had prepared and then head off to school together in high spirits. It seemed the rotation came around every five days, and each evening, a different person would come alone to the girl’s room. Since their room was right next door, the lewd, unrestrained noises came through the thin walls as clearly as if held in one’s hand.

Aoi understood exactly why Kuga had moved them to this apartment. He maintained an air of nonchalance, but Kuga had no money. He appeared to have taken an advance on his salary for their honeymoon, having brought home a mere five yen at last month's end. With no savings of her own, Aoi had no choice but to strip herself bare to survive. She would wrap garments in newspaper and pass through pawnshop curtains. They never lent her much. Determined to spare Kuga any experience of shabbiness, she maintained a lifestyle of near-extravagant comfort until their situation rapidly deteriorated. All that remained of Aoi's possessions was the old afternoon dress she now wore.

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 the murder case of Shiman Nampūtarō had entered what might be called a labyrinth. The third pages of newspapers had since forgotten about this case, but starting with yesterday’s evening edition, they began actively reporting again in line with new developments. The Metropolitan Police Department’s First Investigative Division finally cornered the true culprit in a dead end, it seemed. An unexpected clue was discovered in the drainage ditch in front of 〈Naha〉. It was a deposit receipt from Matsumura, a rental clothing shop in Asakusa Umamichi, which read: “Twenty yen deposit – light gray crepe de chine afternoon dress (one item)” – with a round, brownish stain the size of a thumbprint on its back, likely blood residue. Someone must have picked up a button covered in crepe de chine or chirimen silk from the pool of blood and wrapped it in this paper. In its perfect roundness, the fabric’s weave was clearly imprinted. When they took it to the forensics division and examined it, it was indeed confirmed to be Nampūtarō’s blood.

The detectives immediately rushed off to Umamichi. Matsumura was a rental clothing store specializing in outfits for hostesses and dancers, quite renowned in that particular trade. According to the clerk, she had been a walk-in customer—a square-shouldered woman of about eighteen or nineteen with a freckled, unsightly face. When she requested an afternoon dress measuring roughly four sun, they showed her two or three dresses of that size, but she took them without even properly holding them against her body. Indeed, she appeared large-framed enough to wear that size. It was a one-piece dress with a belt, featuring three buttons made of matching fabric on the back. The dress was ultimately never returned, but since we had received a deposit, our shop hadn't suffered any particular losses, so...

The end was in sight. It stated that the true culprit behind the Shiman case, which had stirred up society, would surely be arrested within the next few days.

“They’re finally going to catch her, aren’t they?” “……What kind of woman is she, I wonder.” “She’s really gone and caused me trouble.”

Kuga closed his book and lumbered up from the desk, then pulled his bowl closer as he— “Just because someone came to borrow clothes doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the culprit.” “……There’s also the possibility that someone was asked to run an errand.”

Having said 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 quivered.

“But it would be obvious soon enough. There aren’t exactly many women who wear four-sun sizes, and then there’s the matter of the buttons…”

Kuga, with an utterly impassive expression, “There are plenty of women of that size. “First off, you wear four-sun sizes too. ……And one of the buttons on the back of your afternoon dress is missing.”

Aoi’s throat made a gulping sound. "I lost this long ago in Cineraria’s hall. How could this happen?" "I never asked what happened. This too must be considered mere coincidence."

Blood rushed to her head, and her vision darkened. Disjointed thoughts flitted through her mind one after another.

〈……Kuga had never loved me. ……He had married me solely to secure this evidence.〉 〈...despicable cop mentality...〉

The tea 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, frozen in an expression of detached resignation. Aoi glared piercingly at that face while, “Do you want to make me out to be a murderer so badly?” “……Are you planning to set some kind of trap and make that your big achievement?” “……That’s cowardly.” “If you say so…”

〈I have things I want to say too. I’m the one who thinks you might be the culprit. But have I ever once put that into words? And yet, you…〉

An unbearable loneliness tightened its grip around Aoi's heart. She collapsed onto the table and cried out loud. Kuga stood up and placed his hand on Aoi’s shoulder. “...Aoi, you’re exhausted. That’s why trivial things get on your nerves. You need to get some rest... Come to think of it, I’ve grown thoroughly sick of this line of work. Lately, I’ve been thinking of nothing but quitting. ...(Then peering into Aoi’s face) How about it, Aoi—what do you say the two of us go deep into the mountains?... A friend of mine keeps a great many cattle up in Kamikōchi, high in the highlands. He’s been sending word over and over since the other day, saying ‘Come on up, come on up.’ It’s in the mountains that one finds nature in its purest form. Why don’t we 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 seemingly gentle words struck her chest like a vise. She raised her tear-streaked face and resolutely brushed away Kuga’s hand. "If it’s for my sake, please just leave me be. ……If you want to come, you can come by yourself."

With this, she thought she had said what she needed to say.

Kuga, with a dark look in his eyes, pulled his body away from Aoi's side and,

“...I won’t say anything more for now. ...I’m going to headquarters.” “...I want you to think it over carefully by yourself.” Then he stood up irritably and snapped, “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 anytime—just watch.” “If you’re determined to confess my past, there’s no need for me to cower.” “...Once that’s done, then with you too...”

Kuga, without responding, slowly closed the door and left.

When she pushed open the curtain and entered the office, Inui and Shusha Hana were sitting side by side on a dimly lit corner bench, whispering furtively about something.

When he saw Aoi, Inui sprang to his feet with a calculatingly ingratiating smile plastered across his face, "Oh, Miss Aoi. ...I was just about to come to your room." "Since then, matters have taken on an increasingly intense character—truly a development worthy of the utmost celebration, I must say."

Hana also half-rose from the bench,

“...Why don’t you sit and chat for a bit? “...Or did you have some business?” she said. Her demeanor practically screamed, “If you’ve got no business here, get out already.” Aoi was in no state for that. Impatiently flipping through the pages, she finally found the number for the Special Higher Police Section and asked to be connected to Kuga Chiaki. In that case, we have no such person here—isn’t this a mistake with another section? The reply was that she should try calling the General Affairs Section. When she called the General Affairs Section, there was no one by that name at headquarters. They told her to try asking other stations and hung up.

Aoi stood blankly leaning against the telephone room wall. She didn't need to check with other police stations. Kuga would leave every morning saying he was going to the Metropolitan Police Department. Kuga was not a police officer... He had been deceiving me all this time. But for what purpose on earth? Her head felt paralyzed, unable to grasp a single satisfactory answer.

Pulling back the telephone room’s curtain, Inui stuck his head in. “...Miss Aoi, what are you doing there?” “My, you’re looking terribly pale—are you feeling unwell?” “...Well now, over here, over here.”

As he spoke, he took Aoi's hand and made her sit on the bench.

Hana stood up abruptly and left without a word. Inui glanced after her momentarily before sidling up to Aoi, “Even if he’s away briefly, no need to look so wretched.” “Such extravagant devotion—positively cloying.” “Bad for your health, y’know. Worrying that doting wife of yours—not like Mr. Kuga at all. Where’d he scamper off to anyway?” He chuckled—three sharp “heh” sounds—like a predator savoring prey. Every syllable dripped with smug comprehension.

“...Everyone’s got their own hidden struggles, you see? When this place first opened, I brokered piles of antique furniture for them, but they simply wouldn’t hand over the money.” “Deal with this sort... and you’re utterly powerless.” “...It truly makes one weep, I tell you.”

Whether he meant to console her or not, he kept rattling on without pause, tapping his forehead all the while.

The telephone room bell rang. Aoi instinctively stood up and took the receiver. Sure enough, it was Kuga. It was a call saying he would be meeting 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 she could manage, “Oh, I know. “Is that all you needed? “So where are you now?” she asked. Her voice trembled involuntarily. Kuga answered that he was now at the headquarters’ Special Higher Section. Aoi, fighting back tears and holding her breath, spoke in broken spurts. “...And...I’m sorry about earlier. “I was out of my mind. “Please forgive me. “Please...please don’t grow to hate me. And...let’s go to Kamikōchi. “As soon as possible. “...If I’m this neurotic, I’ll only cause you trouble...Yes, that’s right. “Tomorrow is fine. “I have so much I want to talk about—please come home as soon as you can.”

Kuga decided that if matters were settled, they should depart as early as tomorrow. As for travel expenses - unpleasant though it was - he could borrow from Inui. ......With that, he hung up.

This voice—she had heard it somewhere before. Aoi thought... That's right—it was the voice of "that woman" who had notified her about the inheritance claim. She had thought the same thing at the Toa Hotel in Kobe. Back then she'd dismissed it as imagination, but now there could be no mistake. This hoarse voice that seemed forcibly thrust out, that slightly nasal 'zu' sound, this rapid speech that tangled the tongue... It was "that woman's" voice. Then Kuga had indeed killed Tsuru. At the very least, he was involved. ...Kuga was the murderer...

As she thought this, strangely enough, Aoi felt neither sadness nor fear. On the contrary, she felt herself being drawn into a kind of tranquil emotion. 〈...O beloved one, if only you had confided in me, how happy I would have been. Do you think I would have run away if you had? ...I can only think in terms of ordinary ethics, but you alone are an exception. Now, you are my ethics. Even were you a hundred times more wicked than you are, my love would only deepen—never fade. No matter what comes, I am already your kin by blood—I cannot leave your side. ...The one wretched truth is that we're bound by falsified pasts. We've both lost forever the chance for mutual confession. Holding secrets in our hearts, we must live through years—decades—to come. Sad though it is, we've no choice but to endure... Perhaps this is our shared fate...〉

But if that’s the case, I can’t afford to sit here sniveling. I mustn’t let Kuga get away. ……Since Inui overheard us, Kamikōchi is out of the question. ……Fukue Island in the Goto Archipelago where I once stayed…… that place would work. Aoi left the telephone room, strode briskly to Inui’s side, and blurted out abruptly. “Could you lend me some money? Just a small amount would suffice…”

“Huh?” he said, suddenly adopting a guarded expression as he pursed his lips. “Money? I don’t have any money at all—though it’s kind of you to ask…” He offered no foothold.

“Just a tiny bit would be enough… Please… Fifty yen would do…”

She had unconsciously clasped her hands over her chest. She noticed and blushed.

Inui suddenly assumed an arrogant demeanor, “I know it’s intrusive to ask, but… what are you planning to do with that money?” “From what I’ve just overheard, you’re talking about going to Kamikōchi—is that money meant for your travel expenses?” She was beyond shame now. “...No, that’s not all there is to it.” “It’s an embarrassing thing to say, but I’ve reached a point where I have nothing left to sell.” "...I have nothing but the clothes on my back, you know." “If I take these off, then it’s all over. …It’s all my fault.” “Because I was foolishly helping Kuga with his reckless spending…”

Inui shook his head ostentatiously, “Huh, I hadn’t realized things were that dire. “Just being shackled to that reckless husband of yours has put you through the wringer, eh?” (With that, he glared at his forehead as if deep in thought before abruptly declaring,) “Very well, I’ll take care of it.” “But let me be clear—this isn’t a loan to Mr. Kuga.” “I’m lending it to you.” “Can’t stand seeing you in such a pitiful state...” “In return—not that I should put it this way—truth is, I’ve got a little favor to ask myself.” “See, there’s this Yamase Juntarō fellow—built like a military man—who’ll be paying Mr. Kuga a visit soon.” “...Hulking brute nearly six feet tall with a face burnt black by the sun.” “You’d recognize him instantly—I lent the bastard two hundred yen last autumn. Word is he’s come into his old man’s inheritance lately and been living it up like there’s no tomorrow.” “Proper form would’ve had him bowing at my door with a ceremonial sake cask by now, but since that thick-skinned rat’s been dodging me, I aim to corner him and squeeze out what’s owed. ...So here’s the deal—if that wretch shows up at Mr. Kuga’s place, you slip over and tip me off.” “...Now Miss Aoi—sharp practice though it may seem—you give me that tip-off, and consider the money yours.” “...What do you say?”

Yamase Juntarō... That name sounded familiar. But try as she might, Aoi couldn't recall where she had encountered him. Moreover, she felt a twinge of guilt. She couldn't respond right away. However, in this situation, Aoi lacked the courage to outright refuse. Inui rubbed his hands together with satisfaction,

“No, that’s how it oughta be. This world runs on give-and-take, see? But keep this quiet from Mr. Kuga—that stubborn bastard can’t know. If some busybody butts in from the side, that’d be trouble. And though I hate to say it…sure he’s a looker, but who knows what kinda freak he really is?” Edging closer, he gripped Aoi’s shoulder. “Now listen—that reporter Nasu dug through every police registry from Kyoto to Hokkaido. No Special Higher dick named Kuga Chiaki exists. Falsifying official titles means he’s hiding something big.” His breath hit her ear. “Cool that panic, Missy—time to think straight. Slip up now and tears won’t save you. Why cling to some shady stranger?” Squeezing her hand: “Course I’ll help when shit hits the fan. Truth is—I want you. I’d burn cities for you.” His thumb traced her knuckles. “But why wait for disaster? Dump him now—best move. Ain’t lyin’ to ya.” Fingernails bit flesh. “Break it off today. C’mon Miss Aoi—cut him loose clean...”

Through a gap in the curtains, Hana peered in. Suddenly assuming a stern expression, she flipped her hem up and stomped in, then blocked Aoi’s path with hands still tucked in her sleeves and barked.

“Oi, quit fuckin’ around!”

Aoi was dumbfounded and looked up at her face. “What’s with that face? Play dumb and I’ll slug you.” “Even if you’ve figured it out, this is Genji Inn.” “If you’re gonna peddle your skirts here, fork over your cut.” “You think I’ll let you get laid for free?!” “You goddamn…”

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 twisted her body and gasped out, "Please let go." Inui slowly stood up and seized Hana's hand in a reverse grip,

“Don’t be absurd.” “We were just discussing household matters.” “Well… show some leniency.” (He suddenly turned his face away) “Pfft… You’ve been drinking. What a nuisance.”

Indeed, staring intently, cold sweat streamed from his receding bluish-black forehead.

Hana struggled to free her hand, “Yeah, I’ve been drinking. …Couldn’t fucking stand watching, so I was holed up at the corner Masuya till now." “Shit!... You were gropin’ each other’s tits right in front o’ me, then grab my hand... Damn it, let go!... Hey, I said let go!... You perv!... If that’s how it is, spit it out!... I’ll have Tsuru do ya anytime... What’s with all this sneakin’ around?!”

Then, Inui suddenly assumed a terrifying expression, “Madwoman! Do as you damn well please!”

As he said this, he shoved Hana toward the long chair with all his strength. Hana struck her head hard against the backrest—for an instant her eyes went wide like a suffocating animal’s—then surged up violently to clamp her hands around Inui’s throat. “Damn you… damn you…” Her face had shed every trace of humanity.

8

A clump of sesame bamboo in the garden rustled each time the national railway line train passed by. Near Shinjuku Theater stood a cheap detached annex belonging to a small eatery called Isonare.

Across the large imitation rosewood dining table, Nasu and Furuta sat with their arms folded. A little distance away, Nishikai lay using the alcove as a pillow, staring intently at the ceiling. The atmosphere was unnervingly pallid. After some time had passed, Furuta unfolded his arms and impatiently lit a cigarette while— “That bastard... Did he catch on and give us the slip? ...Should’ve grabbed him while he was sleeping after all.” (As he said this, he pulled a large pocket watch from his belly band) “It’s already 1:30 AM. …Hey, Mr. Nasu—he ain’t comin’.”

Nasu raised his face and said in a calm tone,

“No, he’ll definitely come. “But listen, Furuta—it’s fine to say your piece, but I can’t have you interfering.” “Because I’ll be the one inconvenienced. …Listen, I’m making this clear.” Furuta, in the smoke, nodded reluctantly, “Well, fine then. …I got it.”

With that, he turned away. Nishikai spoke in an egging-on tone, “I won’t stop you from landing three or four punches—that much’d be needed to settle things, eh Mr. Furuta…”

Nasu frowned. “Cut it out. As I said earlier, today isn’t about that sort of thing.… And—” he glared at Furuta with ironic eyes “—do something reckless, and I’ll put a fucking hole right through your chest. Blam!” Furuta’s eyes bulged. “So… he’s got a pistol? That bastard…” Nasu nodded. Nishikai scoffed, “You for real—hey, Nasu? …Ain’t you just drummin’ up another tall tale?”

Nasu snapped back— “As you know, Anasheviki’s faction generally all carry them.” “So, I think that guy’s probably carrying one too.” Nishikai, going “Huh? He…,” jumped up. Furuta made a knowing face and shook his head. “Ana-she… Hmm, I see. …No wonder I thought he was shady.”

he said. Then Nasu remarked in an ironic tone, "Hmph. Shady characters are everywhere."

As he said this, he shot a sharp glance at Nishikai with an air of nonchalance. For some reason, Nishikai’s expression abruptly darkened, and he turned toward the garden.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Kuga entered following the maid. As usual, he greeted them with a somewhat prim demeanor, courteously. "I do apologize for keeping you waiting..."

A strikingly tense and handsome face damp with sweat, he stood there with eyes cast down demurely, his gaze softened in a refined manner. It was a beauty that slightly transcended the human.

The three of them croaked out a “Oh…” and then fell completely silent. When he took his seat, Kuga looked around at their faces while— “What’s wrong? You all seem unusually formal…” After sitting up straight, Nasu lifted his mallet-shaped head with its plastered-down hair and stated bluntly: “Mr. Kuga, this is sudden and rude of me, but please allow me to have an interview for about twenty minutes. ...If this location isn’t suitable, we could go to another room just the two of us…”

“No, that won’t be necessary. So… what is it you wish to ask…?” “As you know, I have been handling this Itoman Incident from the very beginning, but in fact, I have recently reached a certain theoretical conclusion regarding its interpretation. Since this matter also concerns you to some extent, I wish to verify whether my deductions are correct by directly questioning the person in question. …I should clarify one thing—I have no petty intention of exploiting this professionally. It’s purely out of experimental interest. 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 face. “Please go ahead and ask. I don’t know if I can provide an answer that will satisfy you.”

Nasu spoke defiantly.

“Well then, let’s begin immediately. …Mr. Kuga, you are Iwafune Jūkichi—dispatched to the Pan-Pacific Labor Conference held in Hankou in the spring of 1927 and missing ever since—correct?” His eyes glinted,

“That’s right. …You’ve figured it out well.” His voice held no hesitation. Nasu looked thunderstruck. Kuga appeared amused,

“I’m 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 there matches Kuga Chiaki’s exactly. Therefore, Kuga Chiaki is none other than Iwafune Jūkichi.” Kuga gave a faint, bitter smile.

“Mr. Kuga, when did you return to Japan? Until then, what were you doing in China? Are you connected to the National Self-Government League?” “It was the end of May this year—I returned after exactly ten years’ absence. In China, I drifted from place to place—Hong Kong, Hankou, Beijing. For the past two years, I was in Shanghai; there, I worked as something like a floor manager in a gambling den. I have no connection to the National Self-Government League.” After finishing, he stared at Nasu. “But is this what you wished to inquire about? Earlier, you seemed to mention the Itoman Incident, but…”

Nasu made a slightly embarrassed face,

“No, that’s not it. “…Your answers were simply too polished—I let myself get carried away.” “My apologies… Now then… Let me ask you this.” “As you’re aware, the crime scene was completely ransacked—clearly a rookie’s handiwork at first glance.” “Yet this was an extraordinarily meticulous individual who left behind nothing we could properly call evidence.” “Every surface they touched had been wiped down one by one with a handkerchief.” “Not a single spot forgotten.” “Truly remarkable… What remained were scrapes on the willow tree’s trunk and a bit of dried mud inside the wardrobe.” “Then there’s this button’s blood emblem from our current case… That’s all… We’ll assume this button was retrieved from the blood pool at the scene.” “Naturally, this leads us to conclude the perpetrator wore women’s clothing… Now then, four female archetypes have taken the stage in this criminal drama.” “…First: the twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old slender modern girl spotted by the bellboy—the one who burst into Naha around eleven that night drinking with Itoman.” “Second: the petite eighteen- or nineteen-year-old beauty Mr. Furuta met at Hamaguri Bridge around eight that evening—drank with her at Naha until just before ten… Third: the refined twenty-two- or twenty-three-year-old woman of good breeding—spotted near Hamaencho around three AM by a patrol officer.” “…Fourth: the tall woman with square shoulders and slightly awkward build who appeared at Matsumura Costume Rentals on June fourth… Now then, compiling these traits reveals these four women fall into three categories.” “Needless to belabor—the second woman’s petite stature places her squarely in independent Group A.” “The fourth woman’s unsightly appearance relegates her to separate Group B.” “Given both first and third women share twenty-two years of age, refinement, and slender beauty—we’ll assume they’re identical and classify them as Group C… Examining these groups: Group A—encountered by Mr. Furuta—wore a kimono and left Naha with him just before ten, accompanying him as far as Monzennakacho before parting ways.” “Since we know the perpetrator wore crepe de chine garments—we can eliminate Group A from suspicion.” “As for Group B… Based on statements from our two witnesses—the officer and bellboy—no such grotesque figure appeared in Fukagawa or Naha that night.” “Thus we inevitably arrive at Group C as our perpetrator… If we tentatively exclude Group A from involvement—wouldn’t B and C’s relationship look something like this?”

“…In other words, Group B went to borrow costumes for Group C.” “…The fact they brought them back without even trying them on for fit proves this.” “If they’d been choosing clothes for themselves, they’d never have made such selections.” “Moreover, Group B kept the deposit receipt.” “Had they known these garments would be used for murderous disguise, they’d have torn up that receipt and discarded it somewhere.” “This doubly confirms Group B had no knowledge of the killing—they were merely errand-runners.” …(Slurping the dregs of his tea noisily) “Now then, arranging these clues in order brings us here:” “A refined, slender beauty of twenty-two or twenty-three had some woman borrow clothes for her. She wore them to arrive at Naha around 10:10—the boy only glimpsed her back.” “…Then the boy left.” “They drank heavily with Itoman and three customers from Furi until about one o’clock—or rather, made them drink heavily. When Itoman lay insensate, they feigned departure, circled around to the side, scaled the willow tree, entered the bedroom through the second-floor window, and hid waiting in the clothes cupboard.” “Itoman stumbled upstairs dead drunk.” “When he collapsed onto the bed and fell unconscious, someone straddled him—three stabs to the heart, one to the carotid artery.” “They poured water from the pitcher into a metal basin to wash their hands, then hunted down and found the money.” “Meticulously wiped every surface in the room.” “Retrieved the button and wrapped it in the receipt.” “Nothing overlooked.” “Then shut the door, locked it, and exited calmly through the downstairs entrance.” “By then it was nearly three.” “Attempting to cross Hamaguri Bridge toward Hamaencho, they encountered an approaching officer.” “Panicking, they turned right at First Street’s corner and bolted straight for Fukagawa Garbage Disposal Plant.”

They went as far as the Kyokushin Lumber Yard located nearby and there suddenly melted into the earth. “(Staring at Kuga) How about up to this point?” Kuga smiled and said.

“How intriguing.” “I understand perfectly.” “And then?”

Nasu grew increasingly eloquent,

“...Now then, within the immediate radius of this crime, there are two women holding suspect status. “One is Tsurumaru’s former mistress… now running ‘Friend-sō’: Shusha Hana. “The other is Mrs. Kuga—that is, Miss Aoi. …However, Shusha Hana had been arrested before the 18th—the incident date—on charges of clandestine prostitution and was detained in Suzaki Station’s holding cell that night. …You won’t find a more airtight alibi. “Now regarding Mrs. Kuga—she’s twenty-two or twenty-three, refined, a slender beauty. “Under normal circumstances, this would’ve been inescapable. “Precisely because she’s beautiful, she incurred this misfortune. “Makes one reconsider being comely. “But fortunately, she too had a near-perfect alibi. “That night, she worked at ‘Cineraria’ from eight until midnight, then stayed properly at her apartment from half past twelve till morning. “Moreover, the Naha waiter asserted she wasn’t the woman. “He made that determination based solely on her retreating figure. …Quite the sharp lad, this one. “Jests aside, these circumstances leave woman C’s value still at X. “Not only that—they say she vanished from a Fukagawa corner like mist… a human dissolving away. “Such things can’t happen. “There must be a proper vent somewhere. …Thus we must test this magic stage practically.” …(Withdrawing a notebook from his pocket, he displayed a meticulously drawn map) “As you see, Edogawa 1-chōme—the murder site—is a quadrilateral island encircled by sea and canals. “To exit this island for Fukagawa’s tram lines, you must cross Hamaguri Bridge to Hamaencho or Shirasagi Bridge to Shiozakicho—no alternatives exist. …Fukagawa resembles Venice—isolated islands linked solely by bridges—but few places match its inconvenience.” “…Then a patrolman approached from Hamaguri Bridge.” When they tried hastily crossing Shirasagi Bridge, a police box stood at its approach. “…This × mark indicates that spot.”

When trying to leave the island, no matter what they did, they had to pass through that point. They had no choice but to step back and temporarily retreat deeper into the island. Eventually, they soon returned, passed in front of the police box, and headed toward the city tram’s wooden bridge… That’s the only possible conclusion. “After all, a single person can’t just vanish into thin air.” “Not only that, but if a young woman were loitering in such a place… the danger would increase with every passing moment.” “…Since that area gets cool with sea breezes, the police officers patrol around there under the pretense of cooling off.” “This area is, after all, an open expanse visible at a glance—no matter how they hid, they’d be spotted immediately. There was simply no choice but to conclude they had passed in front of the police box. However, that night at Shirasagi Bridge’s police box, there were two officers on duty. Since it was an exceptionally hot night, they had brought chairs outside and were cooling off from midnight until four in the morning.” “However, during that time, not a single woman passed by… Of course, people passed through, but no women—or so they say… I came to an abrupt standstill.” “In desperation, I tried what might be called an acquired method.” “I tried placing myself in the very heart of the crime scene.” “…Yesterday, sitting on a log at Kyokushin Lumber Yard—if I were the culprit, under these conditions and geography, what action would I take next?… Yesterday, sitting on a log at Kyokushin Lumber Yard, I pondered it deeply… (grinning triumphantly)… I reached my conclusion before long.” “It was nothing, really.” “…In other words, it’s like this.” “First, they take off their bloodstained clothes and strip down to just a fundoshi.” “They attach weights to the clothes and sink them into Kiba’s settling pond.” “Then, they slightly wet their head and body, tucked the shirt under their arm, and walked briskly past the police box.” “…The residents around here are terribly nonchalant—when it’s too hot to sleep, they’ll go out for a swim in the sea whether it’s evening or the dead of night.” “Of course, they go about completely naked.” “The police officers were accustomed to this, so they didn’t say a thing… And that’s how the culprit passed through the checkpoint without any trouble.”

Nishikai began chuckling—kuh-kuh— “You think a woman could stroll past a police box wearing nothing but a fundoshi and get away with it?” Nasu didn’t crack a smile. “Precisely. Since no woman could manage such a feat, we deduced the culprit must be male.” “This deduction admits no error.” “If you doubt me, dredge Kyokushin’s settling pond—you’ll retrieve those clothes without fail. …(Turning to Kuga) Your thoughts…?”

Having said this, Kuga met Nasu’s gaze,

“Appropriate, I must say. I’m impressed.”

He said.

Nasu suddenly tightened his expression and said in a low voice,

“Mr. Kuga, you’re the one who killed him, aren’t you?”

The room suddenly fell deathly silent. Furuta audibly swallowed.

Kuga quietly began to speak. “That is something I cannot answer.” He placed both hands on his knees, his expression composed. Nasu nodded, “Of course.” “If you had no such intention, there would be no need for you to answer.” “…Then, one last thing…” “Would you say my deduction has been generally successful?” “To speak my honest impression—first and foremost, what you’ve presented isn’t deduction but an unorthodox theory. …Even if I had been cross-dressing at Naha that night, that alone would not prove I committed the murder.” “Here, cross-dressing and murder remain two disconnected states placed side by side.” “To bind these two nouns into a meaningful sentence requires a copula—yet nowhere can such a link be found.” “You claim I’m the killer.” “But this assertion utterly lacks logical substantiation. …The police may not care whether it’s baseless conjecture or mere assumption.” “All that remains would be to trap them through interrogation and extract a confession—but since you purport to pursue logical conclusions, such methods must be beneath your standards.” “…And regarding this cross-dressing matter—by what reasoning was it determined to be me?”

"Among the five inheritance claimants, you are the only one who meets the qualifications." "What is your basis for asserting that the culprit must necessarily be among the five?"

“...Needless to say, that ‘inheritance claim notice’ was a trick planned to confound investigative strategy. That notice lured several people to the murder scene and dragged them into its vortex whether they liked it or not. A trick meant to complicate circumstances, obscure the perpetrator’s traces, and—if successful—shift culpability onto an unknown party. …Needless to say, the one who issued that ‘notice’ was none other than Tsurumaru’s killer. In such cases, that individual would inevitably have come to the scene. It was absolutely necessary to gauge its effectiveness. …Therefore, we can conclude the culprit is among the five who gathered at Naha that morning.”

“The culprit must have gathered there… That is a moral imperative.” “That is how it must necessarily be.” “However, that aside—while it was argued that the purpose was to complicate the case and confuse investigative strategy—if you ask me, this trick seems useful only for achieving the opposite effect.” “Far from causing confusion, the culprit is practically announcing their presence here. …After all, in such cases, anyone would immediately realize that the culprit would gather there.” “…The more intelligent a first-time offender is, the more elaborate methods they devise. However, no matter the case, premeditated methods seem unable to escape one of two flaws: either lacking flexibility or containing some excess element.” “…It’s much like how an overly crafted cup becomes fragile. …Moreover, it wasn’t devised by a particularly sharp mind. …Nasu-san, I assure you I’m not so childish as to conceive such a method.” “Not only that—even without relying on such methods, I possess favorable conditions that would allow me to carry it out more casually.” “I have only just returned to Japan after a ten-year absence.” “In Tokyo, there is not a single person who knows me.” “No matter how boldly or casually, I can carry it out.” “…Given that I possess such advantages, there is no reason I would choose such a cumbersome method—one that would announce my amateur status and drive me into a corner.” “I too agree with the direct proof method that whoever issued the 〈notices〉 must be the culprit.” “Given that, for the reasons I have just stated, I am not the culprit.”

Furuta readjusted his cross-legged position and turned to Nasu,

“Alright, looks like it’s finally my turn.” “Got that?” (After driving home his point, he wheeled on Kuga and barked) “Shut your trap! Enough already!” “Try all ya want to weasel out with fancy logic—we’ve got evidence that won’t budge.” “Hey, Kuga!” “When them cops were chasin’ ya down from the second floor—you ducked quick and scooped up somethin’ round from that blood puddle, didn’tcha?” “Definitely looked like a button… Hey!” “What’cha gotta say ’bout this one?”

……This time, no matter how long they waited, there was no response. A look of anguish appeared in Kuga’s eyes, his forehead taking on a faint shadow.

Nishikai rested his cheek on his hand at the dining table and said in a boisterous voice, “Well, looks like we’ve reached the grand finale.” “Hey, Bazarov, give it up and confess already.” “Or perhaps your precious maxims forbid you from recognizing something as crude as a confession?”

Furuta glared, “You bastard, spit it out!” “Hey! You locked up an innocent guy like me, and now you’ve got the nerve to act all shameless!” “…Just you wait!” “This time, I’ll haul you in myself!”

When he looked up, Kuga spoke. “I did indeed pick up a button. Whether you take me for a murderer or whatever else—that’s your prerogative. …At any rate, it seems our discussion has concluded, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

He took his coat and stood up, slid open the fusuma door, and left. "Bastard! Running away?!"

Furuta stood up while shouting at the top of his voice. Nasu yelled "Wait! Wait! Hey, wait!" as he lunged at Furuta's shoulders.

Through gaps in the mackerel sky, the setting sun stretched into thin stripes as it cast its light over water that resembled rotting liquid.

In the storage pond, several rafts of assembled timber had been floated. Three vagrants were aboard them, dredging the bottom of the moat with what looked like makeshift wire nets.

On the bank, large square timbers were piled mountainously, and atop that high peak sat Inui and Nishikai. Nishikai lit another cigarette and, with a sulky air, blew smoke into the air while— “...Money rules everything in this world, I tell ya.” “What do duty and compassion matter? Sticking to money’s the way of the world now.” “Right? Isn’t that so, Old Man Inui...”

He seemed slightly drunk. Inui gazed intently at the moat with keenly glinting eyes while replying irritably.

“Suppose so.”

Nishikai licked his lips, “Don’t give me that half-assed answer. …Say, Old Man Inui—if Kuga’s dummy gets dredged up from this moat, how much’ll you pay?” “Even if it took twenty days or a month—you’d sell out a friend you’ve shared drinks with.” “I ain’t doin’ it for free.”

Inui sullenly replied.

“If it comes up, I’ll give you ten ryō.”

Nishikai slapped his hands together in a vulgar gesture, "You win. ...Was gonna demand thirty ryō, but it's all bluff anyway." "Take your victory like a man." "Selling lives for ten ryō might haunt your sleep—but hey, 'destroying great foes justifies all,' right?" "When you shack up with loan sharks after swearing oaths, this much resolve comes standard." (Turning toward Inui) "Quit gawking at the moat." "Face me proper." "...(scanning surroundings) Feels like some cheap domestic play." "...Stage right's tailor-made reed field, stage left connects embankment to lumberyard—perfect set." "Toss in a Buddhist wooden fish drum, make the musicians chant sutras—now that's authentic theater!" "Bloody rags snagged in dredging nets..." "Speaking of—getting dark already." "...Quit glaring like that, Inui." "Quit sulking—spit it out." "...Your precious ambition's finally within reach." "Lighten up already!"

Inui hunched his back and sucked hard on his cigarette, "I can't tell if this is a grand ambition or prayers for the dead." "If something like that surfaces, it'll be small comfort." "If you know it won't surface, there's no trick in wasting your effort." "If you know it won't surface..." "This was a fool's job from the start... This here's what they call an obsession." "If this doesn't get resolved, I'll never find peace." "...(Glaring at Nishikai) You've got some of that resentment sticking to you too, y'know."

"...", he said. Nishikai's cheek twitched spasmodically as he hung his head. After some time passed, he raised his face - "Old Man Inui... I'll confess."

With that, he bowed his head. Inui shot a sharp glance at Nishikai for an instant, then— “What’s this sudden…” “What’s wrong, Mr. Nishikai…” Despite his tone, he showed no sign of surprise. “Around one o’clock on the night Tsurumaru was killed, I did go to Naha… But I swear to heaven and earth—I’m not the one who killed him.” “Just believe this one thing.”

Inui did not respond. Nishikai pressed on urgently,

“...That night, I left the dance hall at nearly eleven o’clock.” After bar-hopping between two or three places and starting to drink again at Shinbashi’s Takoda, I remembered that inheritance claim notification letter I’d received that morning. "...The drink probably played its part—but once I started thinking about it, there was no stopping.” “…Ridiculous as it sounds, right then it felt like… tens of thousands… were about to come tumbling into my pockets…” “I got excited.” “In that state, waiting till morning was impossible… All right—I’d go settle it right then and there…” In a panic, I took a taxi straight to Edakawacho. …By the time I arrived, it was exactly 1:10 a.m. The storm shutters on the second floor stood open, a dim electric light leaking through. …I charged up to the entrance—(eyes wide with terror) made it to the door—but couldn’t bring myself to touch the handle… Somehow it felt too dreadful, too frightening; I just couldn’t go in… Before long, even my stubbornness gave out. I ran all the way back to Hirakuchō, and only when I saw Suzaki’s lights from there did I finally come back to my senses. …Looking back now, the murder must’ve been happening inside right then… To put it plainly—that’s how it was.” “No lies… no deceptions.” “…Please… clear this obsession… just save me…”

Whether this was sincere or a joke, he clasped his hands. Inui smirked slyly and, “I know. …It may seem underhanded of me, but I had mostly figured it out.” “But well… unless I hear it from your own mouth…” As he said this, he shifted his gaze toward the moat. The moment he saw something, he gasped sharply.

From the mesh of the dredged-up net, drops dripped down. Inside the net was something like a bundle of rags rolled up into a round shape. “Hey, mister! Somethin’ came up!”

A white-haired vagrant wearing a shirt that looked rotten ran toward the shore, carrying it in both hands. He untangled the tightly wound wire and spread it out on the ground. The base color was no longer discernible, but it was a woman’s Chinese crepe garment. Within it were white Fuji silk undergarments. When he spread it out with the stick’s tip, bloodstains clung thickly like a drawn map. After scrutinizing it thoroughly, Inui assumed an oddly composed demeanor and said,

“Hey, old man. Bundle this back up like before and sink it where you found it.” “Huh? Sink it again?” “Just shut up and do what you’re told. …This isn’t what I’m looking for. …You’ll get yourself involved.” “Right… makes perfect sense…”

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

9

The autumn wind blows.

Through Shinjuku’s overly narrow streets, the flow of people—now grown markedly darker—moved sluggishly onward. One stream descended Tsunohazu’s sidewalk while another veered from Mitsukoshi toward Yoshimoto Show before ultimately flowing into the station. Shinjuku is no homeland for those bearing sorrow. Here one can neither conceal oneself nor forget grief. Shinjuku does not embrace people as Asakusa does. Once your business concludes, you must depart without delay. Shinjuku remains nothing but a modern transit point.

Kuga emerged from Shokushō Shinmichi next to Niko. While pushing against the crowd, he came before Takano, then suddenly stopped and peered into its display window. In the bright lighting, various foods were lined up in maddeningly vivid colors.

Kuga had not eaten anything since noon yesterday. Stomach acid had begun eating away at his stomach walls. That area burned like fire. He now clutched a single 50-sen silver coin in his palm. Unconsciously, he moved to enter. But Aoi too had eaten nothing since yesterday. Peeling himself from the window, he began trudging toward the third block. He had gone to Inui's place to borrow travel funds for Hotaka and been flatly refused. How could anyone extend credit to a man cohabiting with such a shady woman? Once he leaves her, I'll handle things properly. "For your immediate needs," Inui said, producing a single 50-sen coin.

Because Inui had been his only hope, he felt as if his vision were swimming.

Since returning from Kobe, Kuga left home every morning claiming he was going to the Metropolitan Police Department, walked to Yotsuya Mitsuke, and spent his days sleeping on the embankment there while killing time until evening. He was acutely aware of how Aoi was working herself to the bone, but even if he tried to find work, being new to Tokyo without a single acquaintance meant he couldn't even get a foot in the door. After wracking his brain over it, he ultimately ended up falling asleep.

Ten years ago, he had been actively involved with the Tom-Tom group as a member. After going to China and beginning a wandering life, he gradually lost interest in everything; before he knew it, he had left the movement and lived without doing any proper work. The only thing he had gained in those ten years was the aphorism that idleness alone frees the human spirit. He had returned to Japan not from any homesickness, but simply because he thought to go see a different place.

When he arrived in Osaka, that very night—as if bound by fate—he became entangled in karmic threads from his past. His former comrades Ishihara and Nakamura had been planning to raid a bank to secure post-merger party funds. Being familiar with Osaka's underworld, Kuga naturally became involved in the scheme—though not out of any clear conviction. Rather, it was pure indolence. The plan failed, and Kuga fled to Tokyo. The forged police notebook he'd bought in Shanghai proved invaluable during his escape. In Tokyo, two unforeseen events awaited him: murder and romance... And then he married.

Don't work—that kills the freedom of the spirit. For Kuga, idleness was the very object of his intense will to live. While alone, this had indeed liberated his spirit, letting him wander freely through gardens of unfettered beauty; but after marriage, even his cherished aphorism now served only to torment his wife. Indeed through his selfish convictions, she now gasped beneath a burden meant for two.

At times, this awareness would stir his soul, comatose in its depths. Then Kuga would bolt upright each time, mutter "I can't go on like this," and wander the town aimlessly and restlessly. But their troubles weren’t limited to mere survival. What circumstances had led to this? Aoi had killed Tsuru. He had to find a way to let her escape. The reason he had taken Aoi to Kobe two months prior was to meet up with Ishihara and the others there and escape together to Shanghai. However, five hours before Kuga arrived in Kobe, Ishihara was arrested in Nagoya and confessed their plan to flee to Shanghai with his comrades, resulting in all routes to China being sealed off. Before long, staying in Kobe had also become dangerous, so he 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 Tsurumaru case would be permanently buried in obscurity; however, recently, the situation had suddenly taken a dangerous turn. The hand of arrest was already at Aoi’s throat. The time had come when not a moment longer could be wasted on hesitation. To let Aoi escape, he needed money; however, he had absolutely no means of obtaining it.

Kuga grew increasingly agitated; he looked up at the evening sky and let out an involuntary groan. To get money, he had come to feel there was nothing he wouldn’t do.

Someone softly placed a hand on Kuga’s shoulder.

Reflexively reaching for the pistol in his coat pocket, he whirled sharply toward the presence.

A girl of eighteen or nineteen with sunken eyes—strikingly non-Japanese in features—stood on one leg like a crane, her raglan-sleeved blouse billowing in the autumn wind. When she saw Kuga's face, she squinted one eye mockingly, "I've been tailing you every day... Did you know?"

Kuga frowned severely while staring at the girl’s face. On the evening he first went to visit Aoi at Cineraria, a salmon-colored evening dress had persistently clung to him. Then, he had seen her once in Amagasaki. …That was definitely the girl called Tsuru or something like that.

Tsuru burst into laughter in a manner that seemed utterly unable to contain her joy,

“See? You didn’t know, did you.” “I’m happy.” “Hmm, but let’s not just stand here—let’s walk. …I’ve got something to tell you.” (With that, she took Kuga’s hand and marched off wherever she pleased.) “I know everything you’ve done.” “Why are you following me?”

Tsuru lowered her eyes slightly, “I can’t tell you that.” “So you were following me in Kobe too?” “That’s right. …But that doesn’t matter now, does it? …You’ve peered into food shop windows three times since earlier.” “You’re particular about food, aren’t you?”

The assumption was so wildly off the mark that he couldn't help but laugh. "I don't have any money—I haven't eaten anything since yesterday."

Tsuru stopped and widened her eyes. She pulled Kuga’s arm so abruptly that he nearly staggered, “Let’s eat. …I’ve got money.” “I appreciate it, but… there’s no reason for me to let you feed me.” “No, I owe you. “…Back when you were at Cineraria, you gave me tips. “The next time you came, you gave me more. …I’m paying you back now. …Come on, walk! If I say walk, you walk! …Or I’ll kick you!”

She pulled him along recklessly and took him into a Chinese restaurant called Beijing.

Because there was a lull during dinner time, the restaurant stood empty of people, white chrysanthemums quietly emitting their fragrance atop rosewood dining tables. Tsuru busied herself with various food-related tasks and repeated over and over again—as if in prayer—"Eat lots and lots, please." When Kuga began eating, she now supported her chin with both hands and stared at his face as if boring holes through it. Eventually she blurted out abruptly.

“Please leave Tokyo and go somewhere else. Just go anywhere, but please escape quickly. Please.” Setting down his chopsticks, he composed his expression slightly,

“Why do I have to run away?” “You’ll understand later… Hotaka is no good.” “Shanghai or Qingdao—somewhere as far away as possible…” “Hotaka?” “Why would you say such a thing…”

“That’s why I told you I’ve been tailing you every day. …(Pulling out a thick white envelope from her handbag and thrusting it toward him) There’s three hundred yen in here.” “So take this…”

He pushed it back, “There’s no reason for me to accept your help.” “But you don’t have anywhere else to borrow from, do you?” “It’s fine… I’ll get some soon.” “Then, will you escape?”

“I won’t run away. I just felt like taking a little trip.” “When?” “Tomorrow… or if sooner, tonight.” Tsuru let out a long sigh, “I’m relieved… (Then, pressing Kuga’s hand against her chest) Now, please—stay safe and well forever and ever.” Her lips quivered faintly at the corners as she made a strange face, but suddenly biting down hard on Kuga’s finger, she snapped, “Hey! You idiot!”

Her eyes were glistening.

“Hey!”

When Kuga called out in a low voice, Yamase heaved himself up from the grass. It was the vacant lot north of Meiji Seika—what people around here called the shooting range. Kuga spread out a paper bundle on the grass. Inside were five grape breads. Yamase picked one up and frantically shoved it into his mouth. The setting sun struck his hollow cheeks, and each time they moved, the hollows glinted leaden.

“Delicious…” He looked up at Kuga’s face and smiled, then, his shoulders twitching, bowed his head again and continued eating intently. Every now and then, he would choke up and shed tears in apparent anguish. He looked like a stray dog devouring its meal. There was an ephemeral fragility to the sight of this imposing large man in such a state.

Kuga said, "...I've talked quite a bit. Well then, shall we part ways here? There's something I'd like you to hear, but we don't have time for that." Yamase kept munching as he replied, "Don't mind it. Since we might not see each other for a while, let's say what we want to say. Let's leave nothing unsaid... What is it?"

Kuga gave a wry smile,

“You’ll probably think this is nonsense, but the truth is, that night I went to Naha cross-dressed.” “So it was Ōka... Hmm, quite fitting indeed.”

“Now, don’t say that. It’s not like I did it with that intention from the beginning. That night there was a dance at the hotel, and since they asked us to come in costume as much as possible, I had the hotel maid borrow some women’s clothes for me and wore them to the event.” Around midnight, when I thought to return to my room and asked at the front desk for the key to Kuga’s room, the clerk said, “If it’s Mr. Kuga, he’s been in his room since evening.” He said he could check on your availability if you needed something. Ah, I saw—I had the key. A strange sensation came over me. A surge of recklessness welled up within me. As I mentioned earlier, in just two more hours, a crime would occur in 〈Naha〉. The only ones who foresaw this were the notifier from the notice and me. The alibi had naturally established itself in this manner. The event should be going on until around three, so I just needed to return by then… All right, I’d go. If I waited in front of that house, I would probably find out what was going to happen. If by chance someone came out carrying money, I’d let my police credentials do the talking and snatch it from them right then and there. No—they were probably asleep by now, I told myself I’d come back tomorrow and rushed out of the hotel. I drank at an oden shop in Suzaki until past two, then headed out to 〈Naha〉. I hid in the shadow of the old rail yard across the way and waited, but no matter how long I stayed, nothing began to happen; losing patience, I quietly slipped into 〈Naha〉. There was a room on the second floor. As I groped my way forward, I suddenly tripped over something and fell. When I pressed the switch, a man in his fifties was lying there dead… In an instant, my situation had become extremely dangerous.

……I was cross-dressed. I was covered in blood from my chest to my hands. Dawn would break soon……And given the geographical conditions of that area, they were nearly fatal for a deserter like me. It was a perfect 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 approach to the other Shiragisubashi Bridge was a police box. ……I slipped into the shadows and plopped down cross-legged. To let my thoughts leap ahead a little……What exactly were the conditions endangering me right now? One was that I was wearing bloodstained women’s clothing, and the other was that I had to cross a bridge with a police box at its approach……At first glance, these conditions seemed absolutely unavoidable. However, when I turned my thoughts around a bit, I realized the danger lay not in those conditions themselves, but in my inability to break free from the notion that I absolutely had to cross the bridge. I took off my clothes and sank them into the stagnant pond there. Slowly and carefully swimming across the moat, I came ashore near Bentencho's boat rental shop. There hung a decayed-looking work coat drying outside. There was also a hemp lining. After hooking that on and standing there awhile, a taxi pulled up. "When I returned to the hotel, as I had expected, everyone was still making a commotion…"

Yamase sullenly interjected. "But there's no point in me hearing this." "...What exactly do you want to say?"

After a brief pause,

“Actually, the one who killed Tsurumaru was my wife.” Yamase gazed coldly at the sky as though he hadn’t heard a word. Kuga began speaking a bit faster, “The next morning, I went up to the second floor with a police officer. When I suddenly noticed, a button from a woman’s clothing was lying in the pool of blood.” Damn it, I thought. Seizing the moment, I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. However, upon checking, it was different from the base color of my clothes… Aoi’s clothes had one in a very similar color. When I carefully held it against the garment, I realized unmistakably that it had fallen from that garment. “Moreover, Aoi sneaked out of her apartment around 1 AM that night using the emergency ladder… From an evidentiary standpoint, I can only conclude that she did it.”

“Yeah, I get it.” “So what’re you trying to say?”

“...The woman who went to borrow clothes from the costume shop is now being intensely pursued.” “The hotel maid hasn’t said anything yet, but she’ll likely turn herself in once she can’t take it anymore. …My arrest is only a matter of time now.” “I didn’t kill him.” “That’s precisely why—for Aoi’s sake—I must not be caught.” “Whatever happens, we intend to escape together. …I have a friend in Hotaka.” “If we get that far, we can get our hands on a decent sum of money.” “From there, we go to Otaru.” “There should be a regular cargo ship route from Otaru to Qingdao—we’ll take that to Qingdao.” “After that… we’ll manage somehow.”

Yamase rose up and sat cross-legged on the grass, a smile playing across his face as

“I’ve grasped exactly what you’re trying to say. …If you ask me, the danger lies not in your situation—it’s that you’ve truly begun to love your wife.” “If you intended to escape alone, that would be a simple matter indeed. …We once had that juvenile debate about what lies beyond nihilism, didn’t we.” “...You said beyond nihilism lies only nihilism’s abyss.” “I seem to recall claiming that beyond nihilism lies love.” “…Do you remember?”

Kuga stared at Yamase’s face and said in a heated voice, “I remember it well. “Nakamura，I initially…”

Yamase raised his hand to cut him off, “There’s no point in me listening to your love confession.” “Enough of that.” “……So, how do you plan to get to Hotaka?” “Do you really think you can slip out of Tokyo when things are this urgent?” Kuga declared loftily, “There is… Not confidence.” “Will. …And I’ve now attained sudden enlightenment.” “It’s because I’m obsessing over travel funds that I can’t act.” “If one intends to walk, there are no constraints.” “I will walk on. …Walk on endlessly.”

Yamase glanced back at Kuga's face with pitying eyes, then looked down and smoked in silence. The fog rolled in.

Aoi returned to her room looking haggard. She lay down on the bedding without even removing her kimono. On the wall, the evening glow was gradually fading…

When Aoi went to Inui’s house, Inui was on the second floor meticulously using a small knife to repair a flower stand’s legs. There had been a promise—if she informed him about a military-looking man named Yamase meeting Kuga, he would lend her fifty yen for travel expenses—so she had rushed to deliver the news. When she reported that the two had gone toward the Ōkubo shooting range, Inui furrowed his brow as usual and appeared to ponder something, but soon smirked and began approaching Aoi. There was something eerily repulsive about that smile. It felt slightly different from usual.

Aoi resisted with all her strength. But she was suddenly thrown violently onto the bed, and before she could recover from the dizziness, she found herself unable to move. She struggled to push Inui's body away, but her hands had gone limp, and no strength would enter them at all. She continued gasping out deliriously, "Please forgive me, just this one thing—please forgive me," like someone caught in fevered ramblings. Dinner preparations had probably begun. From various rooms came the incessant sound of running water. Aoi closed her eyes.

Even if I used all the water in the world, I could no longer cleanse my defilement…

But what exactly was this thing called defilement? She wanted to think it through properly, but her mind had gone blank, leaving her unable to form any coherent thoughts. The slight pain lingering in her body felt somehow more acute.

It was a quiet evening.

There was a presence in the room. When she started and opened her eyes, Shusha Hana was standing at the doorway. She wore a deep indigo gauze kimono with a white Hakata obi—an ensemble of striking chic. She had been standing in the doorway gazing toward Aoi, but now she smoothly approached, "Oh my, what's happened to you? Are you feeling unwell?" She said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice while scrutinizing Aoi's body. Aoi felt as though everything about her was being laid bare and involuntarily sat up.

“It’s nothing… I’m just a little tired.” “Right… But you look dreadful.” “Let me get you some cold water.”

With that, she stood up and left, peered meticulously into the sink area, then filled a glass with water and returned. She sat down close to Aoi and said in a heartfelt tone, “Hey, 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 such a thing? Aoi looked up in surprise. Hana let out an exaggerated sigh, "Suffering's all well and good, but this is a bit melodramatic, don't you think? What you do is your own business, but trying to live on emotions alone seems a bit too extravagant, don't you think? If it were just you alone, you could indulge yourself however you like—and if you've no will to live, that's fine too. But if you're determined to go on living, you need to adopt a more desperate way of thinking. Emotions, morals, habits... Such sweet notions won't do. If you're going to wallow in tragedy, then wallow properly—why not see it through more thoroughly?" (Peering into Aoi's face) "Hey Aoi-san, why don't you try taking clients? ...Yes, of course they're beasts. No—they're not even beasts. Merely phenomena. Just as getting caught in a sudden downpour isn't our fault, the more inhuman they are, the less any contact becomes sin or defilement. The effects we suffer are ultimately just matters of perception... I may be in this trade, but I don't recall ever aiding vanity or greed. For women of talent who fall behind life's demands—those of our sex—I mean to open a rational path. They shouldn't waste time scrambling for food or breaking their backs. You should take just one client a day and use all your remaining time for study... I won't force you, but do consider how hypocrisy won't help survival."

It was a room like a windowless photo studio darkroom. The peach-shaded bedside lamp cast a seductive glow that made the bed loom prominently. Aoi stood at the room's center. She no longer felt sadness or fear. A bit of bodily defilement meant nothing if it meant survival. Moreover, whether they had even a little money would decide Kuga's fate. To obtain it, I couldn't let myself fear anything. What meaning could preserving chastity possibly hold in such circumstances...

The door opened with affected nonchalance, and in came a pimply young punk wearing knickers. Taking out a lighter and lighting the metal mouthpiece, “Hey, what’ll it be?” 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 do not know.” The man looked displeased, “What’s this—‘don’t know,’ ‘don’t know.’ If you clumsily try to cover for him... I’m afraid I’ll have to drag you in too. ……Tell me—where in Shinshu?” Inui had been sitting with his hands on his knees and his head bowed, but eventually, when he looked up,

“I shall tell you,” “But first, there is one matter I must inquire about.” “Is it certain that Kuga killed him?” “What would you do if you knew?” “Unless I hear confirmation of that first, I cannot sleep soundly.” “Though our acquaintance spanned merely a month or two—a friend remains a friend.” “If conclusive evidence exists, then I must yield—but lacking such proof, even should you detain me indefinitely, I would find myself unable to divulge anything.” “However… should Kuga indeed be the killer, I shall lay bare all I know. As you’re aware, those Tsurumaru assets—their exact value unknown—would have rightfully fallen into my hands had this tragedy not occurred.” “To think they were brazenly snatched away by interlopers—the regret and bitterness have left me unable to sit still from that day until this very hour.” “…The police prove unreliable.” “Resolved to settle matters myself, I expended funds freely, strained my limited wits, and scurried about on multiple occasions.” “Therefore—to resolve this conclusively—I must request you clarify this one certainty.” “In exchange…”

The man looked slightly troubled,

“Alright, alright, I get it. Everything’s been established already.” “Turns out the ‘woman’ who went to borrow clothes was actually a bellboy from Nampū Hotel. When we interrogated him, he said he’d borrowed them for some bastard. …The bastard had the gall to disguise himself as a woman.” “He’s pulled off quite the little act.” “With that face of his trying robbery—nobody would’ve noticed a thing. …What a cocky bastard.” “So he’s been brazenly living in Tokyo all this time…”

Inui made a bitterly frustrated face. “Damn it… So it was him after all.” “I’d sensed something off but kept convincing myself it couldn’t be… Making a fool of me…” “If he’s the killer, there’s no one more brazen.” “Flashing that forged police notebook to twist things around and threaten me…” “So where’s he headed?”

“He said something about a friend in Hotaka raising cattle—that if they could get there, they’d manage somehow. Just now, his wife came to borrow money.”

“Did you lend it to them?” “Do you think I have money to lend to people? They know full well that if I refuse them, they’re left with no options—but I simply don’t have anything to give. So unless those bastards steal their way through, they’ll have no choice but to walk there.”

“Thanks. That’s all I needed to know.”

With that, the man took his hat from atop the junk. 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 gaze. “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 brief pause,

“That kimono—if they dredge the drainage ditch in Edagawa Town, it’ll come up.” “Wh-which drainage ditch…? How do you know that?” “Across from the city’s garbage incinerator, there’s Kyokushin’s lumberyard… It’s the drainage ditch there.” “Of course, I only heard this through hearsay myself, so for the details, you should ask that newspaper reporter Nasu.” “Nasu?” “I know him well.” “…So… this was unexpected.” “Ah, well…” He began to stand up hurriedly.

“Oh my, leaving already?”

The man half-rose again. "Somethin’ else?" He looked up sharply. "You see, Kuga here was an accomplice in that Osaka bank gang job the other day, you know. His true identity is Iwafune Jūkichi—a big name in those circles, I hear. Weren’t you aware?" His knee twitched. While feigning nonchalance, "Oh? Is that so?" "That one failed spectacularly. So this Itoman incident too—what’s it called—the usual... They say they did it to acquire funds. After pulling off such a big job, them acting all innocent actually makes perfect sense now. ...But I don’t know the details. This is just hearsay too... Apparently Nasu cornered them and got only the gang to confess, but... Then again, Kuga and Nakamura are at the Okubo shooting range right now, you know. I saw them with these very eyes."

The man looked as if he could neither sit still nor stand still anymore. He gripped his hat as if to crush it,

“When I heard that, I couldn’t just sit still… Eventually…”

Inui remained composed. "What will you do? Are you launching the arrest immediately? Be cautious. They both carry pistols. If you recklessly try taking them alive, you'll face disaster. After all... they say he's a true master..." The man forced a bitter smile. "No thanks. I know how it goes. Anyway, I'm in a hurry—proper gratitude later..." He left in frantic haste, kicking over nearby antique pots. Inui watched him go briefly before taking up a bamboo spatula to slowly knead the zokuhan.

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 kind of conversation did you have?”

“It’s nothing important. Just some talk about my identity being…”

She furrowed her brows, "You didn't say anything about Kuga, did you?"

“He said he came to borrow money.” “That’s all.”

Tsuru grabbed Inui's sleeve and shook it while, "You really didn't say anything, did you? Honestly?" "Careless talk gets you implicated." "Who in their right mind would do something so absurd?" (Glancing up briefly at Tsuru's face) "But why do you ask that?"

Tsuru’s eyes suddenly welled up with tears. "No matter what anyone claims, Kuga didn’t actually kill him, did he?" "So please—just stop tormenting him with your informing... That’s why I came to beg you." Inui kept rice grains clinging to his bamboo spatula’s tip as he stared at Tsuru with undisguised revulsion. "Truth be told, you’re so hellbent on getting Kuga arrested because you want to take Aoi for yourself too, don’t you?" "Then there must be countless other ways!" "At least spare him your informing—I’m begging you."

“What’s gotten into you, coming out of nowhere like this? Tsuru!” “Tsuru!” “Why? The reason’s simple… I’ve fallen for Kuga.” As she said this, she leaned her head back against the chair. “It’s completely beyond my control now.” “These days I feel like crying ten times a day.” “Well, I’m surprised.” With that, he snorted derisively. Tsuru’s shoulder twitched. “I was surprised too… When I really thought about it, I’d been in love since the first time we met… I even sent that emergency stairwell letter trying to drive them apart—guess I’m so weak.” “To think I’d become such a fool… What surprised me was this… I’m completely head over heels now.” “Even my very life.” “…These days I’ve been following him around from morning till night, you know.”

“Oh? For what purpose?”

Tsuru glared sharply back into Inui’s eyes, “I can’t leave him.” “No doubt about that.” “But frankly speaking, I’m actually trying to protect him.” “If an emergency arises, I intend to find a way to help him escape… Things have already become quite dangerous, as you well know.”

Inui’s eyes glinted sharply,

“Oi—you planning to let him escape?” Suddenly pursing her lips into a frown, 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 without you.” “I know full well that resisting you is pointless.” “…So isn’t that why I’m surrendering like this?” “...I’m begging you to help him.” “...If you must inform on him, then do it—just wait one more day. ...I’m begging you, I’m begging you.” “In return… I’ll do anything you say…”

Inui shook his head irritably in a manner that showed he had fully grasped the situation, and said—

“I see. I understand perfectly.” “I can’t manage deft feats like sparing lives or rescuing people. But if you insist that much, I’ll delay informing—only that.” (Roughly pulling Tsuru closer) “If I wait, will you truly obey what I say?”

When he closed his eyes, Tsuru nodded faintly.

A thick fog had descended.

It was nearly midnight. Both the houses and the street trees sank into an indistinct milky whiteness, swaying like seaweed with every gust of wind. Through the backstreets of Shinjuku, an extra edition deliveryman swam about, ringing his bell.

From within the fog, Kuga and Aoi appeared. When Kuga saw the extra edition fluttering on the lamppost in front of the gas company, he moved toward it. The damp surface of the extra edition bore the following text.

Nakamura Ryōichi (36), the principal culprit behind the Osaka Eighth Bank robbery case and a fugitive member of the Black Gang, was discovered loitering in Shinjuku 3-chome at 10:30 PM tonight and was shot dead in self-defense. Kuga bowed his head, closed his eyes briefly, then quietly left that spot and walked side by side with Aoi into Koshu Kaido. When they neared the Sasazuka garage, 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 needn’t worry. “They’re just drunkards.” The two came from Daitabashi through Shichikencho to the vicinity of Shimotakaido. It was nearly three o'clock. When they stopped at the street corner, Aoi said in a weak voice, “I’m tired.” Kuga stood on the road and listened intently in the direction they had come. Apart from the sound of insects, there seemed to be no trace of human presence. “Then let’s rest in the shadow of that house.”

The two turned right off the road, passed before Moriyama Pasture's barn, and entered a narrow grassy area resembling a courtyard. A crape myrtle tree bearing white flowers stood there, its fragrance permeating the mist.

The two sat down beneath it. “The dew is dreadful.” “But it’s a nice spot. 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. I’ve finally run away. I’ve been saved. With this, everything will be all right…

Kuga put his arm around Aoi’s shoulder, “Did you sigh?” “Are you tired?” “But you only need to endure a little longer.” “When morning comes, 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. When morning comes, let’s take the train. And then we would go to the mountains, living among cattle and mountain air, spending simple days without worries. This was happiness—what else could it be? If she stayed perfectly still like this, she felt she might dissolve into the very air itself... After shaking her head two or three times, she soon began breathing softly in sleep. Kuga smiled and peered at her face. His heart was profoundly moved, filled with an inexpressible joy. Here was someone who lived solely to love him. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed quietly in sleep.

Kuga had not loved Aoi at first. He had sought her as a diversion from his lonely life in Tokyo. And he married without love. He had believed that love was unnecessary for marriage. But now it was different. He was now prepared to discard both the self-assertive spirit and freedom he had painstakingly honed over many years, resigning himself to becoming an ordinary family man. For her sake, he was bracing himself to accomplish anything. Is this what they call love? For Kuga, it was truly an astonishing thing. He had never once imagined that such a transformation could occur within himself.

Kuga took Aoi’s hand and gently touched it with his lips. Aoi opened her eyes wide. “I fell asleep, didn’t I? …Do we have to leave now? …I’d like to stay like this just a little longer…”

“Of course. “…I’ll wake you at the proper time.” “…Aoi, do you know what I was thinking just now?” Aoi closed her eyes faintly and answered in a voice like someone not yet fully roused from a dream.

“About me...” Kuga laughed out loud.

Right nearby, a sharp whistle sounded.

Five hulking men emerged one after another from the fog, forming a semicircle as they pressed closer inch by inch toward the two.

A flash of fire burst forth from Kuga’s coat pocket. The smell of scorching iron filled the air, and a sharp explosion reverberated through the woods. The echoes returned again and again.

One of the men let out a groan and dropped to his knees on the grass. The four men backpedaled while shouting in unison. "You bastard! Resisting, are you?" "You're under arrest, Iwafune Jūkichi!" Kuga's pistol roared and blazed again. The four men plunged behind the shed like locusts. "Come on! Hurry!" Kuga took Aoi’s hand and tried to dash behind the cow shed to their right... At that moment, something like searing lead pierced through his body with terrible force. He staggered and tried to reach for that stake… The stake rapidly vanished from before his eyes…

Overhead, he heard someone shouting in incomprehensible words. He couldn't lie there any longer... He tried to rise, clawing at the dirt two or three times with his nails... Aoi... Aoi... His strengthless gaze drifted, then he slumped facedown and moved no more.

In the shop's plank-floored earthen entryway lit by a dim twenty-candlepower electric lamp, Inui and Shusha Hana sat cross-legged drinking sake. It was the evening of the next day.

Both of them already seemed quite drunk, thrusting their cups at each other while urging, "Drink! Drink!" Most of it ended up spilling onto the floor.

A kick struck the entrance; when the door was violently shoved open, Tsuru stumbled inside. Without removing her shoes, she stomped up into the plank-floored entryway and sat down on the ceramic bench. She too appeared drunk, her face pallid as she stared fixedly.

Hana lurched her head forward and stared up intently at Tsuru’s face from below. “Well, aren’t you a sly little thing—this brat’s been drinking. …Hey, where’d you get liquored up?” Inui, in high spirits, kept rapping his forehead while saying, “A crane in a trash heap, eh? …Nah, I’ve been waiting, waiting. …Bottoms up!” He thrust the cup high against Tsuru’s chest. Tsuru violently swatted it away. The cup flew from Inui’s hand and shattered with a sharp crack in the distance. Inui grinned slyly as sake dripped down his forehead.

“Well, this brat’s liquor isn’t any good either.”

“Shut up!”

Tsuru shouted in a shrill voice. Glaring at Inui with bloodshot eyes, she spoke in a voice laden with an odd weight, “Hey, you really did it… What sick taste—making me happy just to trap me like that. …I never took you for such a stingy miser of a bastard.” “That was my mistake.” “If I’d known that’s how it’d be, I wouldn’t have bothered with honor—should’ve just let you run off quick.” “…Did I let the love of my life—a lover more precious than life itself—die right before my eyes, all because I let my guard down for just a moment?” “…Will I never meet him again in this world?” “…How hateful! How cruel!” (As if unable to contain herself any longer, she burst into tears.) (After abruptly stopping her tears and wiping her eyes) “Hey, I know I’m harping on this, but you really pulled it off… Why nine ryō, three bu, and two shu?” “I’ll curse you good and proper!” “Maybe you think you can use my life as collateral since there’s no way this’ll get exposed—that you can just write it off as trivial—but right here, right now, I don’t give a damn about my life anymore.” “I’ll rush to the main police station right now, lay bare the whole truth, and make that thin rope bite into your necks—you better believe it!” “What’s with that stupid face? You thought this ditzy girl knew nothing, so you sucked me dry like dregs—but I know every last detail of how this whole thing went down!” “Hey—how about I walk you through it again right here?” “…In June of Taisho 7, at the northern tip of Hokkaido, the notorious large-scale construction project of Wakkanai Port began.” “Then Sōman Nampūtarō deceived over two hundred people from his hometown of Itoman and brought them here, selling them off to the Hokkaido Government Office’s contractor Ōbayashi-gumi for eighty yen per person.” “The ones who were sold couldn’t endure it.” “After all, it was a notorious prison cell.” “The climate was terrible, the work brutal—when that project was finished, only eighteen out of two hundred people survived.”

“…My father was one of those deceived and sold off—one who lost his life there… But the money they saved up this way came to about thirty thousand yen.” “Because they were terrified, they didn’t deposit it in any bank but instead installed a Chinese cabinet resembling a safe in their room and hid it there, thinking, ‘If anyone sees this, I’ll turn into a frog!’” “The only ones who knew about this were Sōman and his mistress at the time—Hanako-san over there. Just the two of them.” “Hanako-san had also been after it for years but couldn’t make a move because he was too guarded.” “Not only that, but he didn’t even give her proper spending money, so they finally had a falling-out. While she was floundering around working at the Kaneshiro bar in Susaki, she met this Mr. Inui here through ‘like attracting like.’ …Then after all sorts of scheming, he summoned me—who’d been dancing in Amagasaki—and said: ‘Your father’s enemy is Sōman. Don’t you want to avenge him?’” “Don’t you want to take revenge?” “If you were serious about it, he’d definitely help you out—he incited me so aggressively it was like lighting a fire from the hem of my clothes.” “Because my mother had relentlessly told me about my father’s brutal death until it burned into my very bones with resentment—the more I thought about it, the more I felt I couldn’t let him live. So then I asked you to back me up.” “Because I said that—even this fool of me had to crawl through Han Xin’s crotch in fear.” “…Knowing full well that Hana would be the first arrested due to their past history, they deliberately had the detective intervene and made sure she was carefully detained at Susaki Police Station.” “…Since the 4th and 7th were days when the Naha bar’s attendant worked the day shift, they finally settled on June 4th to carry it out and sent out those cunning ‘inheritance claim notification’ letters far and wide.” “Right around that time—they intended to use this new woman named Aoi who’d appeared at the shop as their scapegoat no matter what—double-checked even the notification calls, and planning to leave evidence at the scene, snatched one of her buttons.” “So then—around eight that night, when I put on a peach-split wig, disguised myself as a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl, and started prowling around Hamaguri Bridge—just as planned, that idiot Furuta took the bait.” Taking that in stride, we headed to Naha. After confirming that the attendant had begun preparing to leave, we exited Naha. After parting with Furuta at Monzennakacho and rushing up to the second floor of Kaneshiro, Mr. Inui was waiting and this time fashioned me into a twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old modern girl with a bob cut and gaudy makeup. I was made to resemble Aoi as much as possible—wearing platform shoes and a long evening gown, putting on a demure face—and sent back to Naha once more. Upon seeing that the attendant was still there, I thought this was a failure and kept my face hidden as best I could; before long, the attendant left. Sōman came down from the second floor and sat at the counter. When I flirtatiously entangled with him, the drug immediately took effect, turning him into a slack-jawed mess of a man.

“Holding him down, I forced him to drink,” she said. “While I was doing that, some laborer—I don’t know where he was from—with a rough-looking face came in. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity, I left the rest to him, pretended to leave, circled around to the side, climbed through the window using the willow trunk, hid inside the cupboard, and waited.” Her voice sharpened. “Soon, Sōman came up, collapsed onto the bed, and immediately lost consciousness.” A tremor entered her speech. “…Papa, Papa, please watch over me.” She inhaled sharply. “Now, fulfill your obsession.” Her fingers dug into her palms. “Please… accept this.” She jabbed wildly at the air between them. “…Do you get it now?” When I went downstairs,” she continued, her Osaka cadence thickening, “there you were waiting, saying it was all good.” Her laugh cracked like dry wood. “‘What a splendid filial daughter—truly admirable,’ you said.” Tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked. “…After making me cry, you went up to the second floor.” Her gaze turned distant. “After quite some time had passed, he came back down holding a square-edged package.” She mimed clutching an invisible bundle. “When I asked what it was—” her voice dropped to a venomous whisper “—he replied, ‘It’s the kimono you took off.’” A bitter smile twisted her lips. “I didn’t pay it much mind at the time, but needless to say, that was the thirty thousand ryō we were after.” She leaned forward, eyes blazing. “The next morning, Mr. Inui went out sightseeing as if nothing were amiss.” Her nails scored the tabletop. “Contrary to expectations that Aoi would be dragged away from the scene—” she spat the name like poison “—heaven’s will proved inscrutable—the button was found by Kuga, and the carefully orchestrated scheme ended up laying all its cards on the table.” She slammed her fist down. “All because you had to go sending those unnecessary letters—” her breath came in short bursts “—they’ve ended up becoming a hindrance—now we’re the ones in danger.” Spittle flew from her lips. “In your panic—” each word a dagger thrust “—you scribbled down every accusation you could think of—true or false—on a postcard and informed on Furuta.” Her laughter held no mirth. “Because it doesn’t hold up logically—” she drew a finger across her throat “—this won’t do either.” Leaning across the table until their faces nearly touched, she hissed: “In your frantic desperation—” her breath fogged his spectacles “—you somehow got it into your head that Kuga had some shady dealings and even sent Ms. Hana all the way to Kobe to tail him and dig up dirt.”

“When you found out he was part of a bank gang, you were delighted, weren’t you!” “With this as the trigger, everything else fell right into place.” “Clothes surfaced from the drainage ditch.” “Detectives came rushing.” “Everything went exactly according to the script.” “Kuga was shot dead.” “……You think your precious country’s secure now, blessed with wealth and longevity… but things won’t go as smoothly as you’ve planned.” “I’m going to expose everything now. …Hey, using a kid like me to pull off a robbery makes you an indirect principal—even if I get off scot-free, you’ll never escape punishment. …If you’d just listened when I clasped my hands and begged you, things wouldn’t have come to this.” “Good deeds bear good fruit, evil deeds bear evil fruit—hurry up and get yourself hauled to the gallows to die with snot dripping from your nose!” “……Well then, shall we get going?” “Since I blurted out everything I wanted to say, it must’ve been hard for you to swallow.” “Please forgive me. …Well then, you two—I’ll see you in court…”

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

Inui shot a glance at Hana, whereupon she quietly stood up and circled around to Tsuru's side. Tsuru warily backed toward the door while sneering.

“What’re you gonna do? Are you planning to kill me? Don’t you dare miss this, you hags!”

Inui ignored Tsuru entirely, went to the radio on the back shelf, and opened it fully. Tōya Sanraku’s naniwa-bushi narrative blared so loudly their ears went numb.

Having done that, Inui lumbered toward Tsuru. The two of them spread their arms wide as if herding chickens, steadily cornering Tsuru toward the wall from both sides.

Somewhere, insects were chirping.

It seemed quite late, and the surroundings were utterly still. Under the dim electric light, Inui and Hana were diligently scrubbing the floor. They continued silently scrubbing the vast bloodstains—like scattered dark crimson dye—with ash-coated scrubbing brushes…

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

Aoi had just been returned from the interrogation room. Kuga was already dead. There was no longer anything to hide or fear. In response to their questioning, she confessed: "It was Kuga's voice that had notified me about the inheritance claim." She had also voluntarily declared herself to be the eldest daughter of the Izumi family of daimyo peerage.

Kuga had already ascended to the sky and was surely watching over me. Kuga was not in some distant place at all. In the form of eternity, he still embraces me now.

When she thought back, it had been a fleeting bond. Not even four months had passed since she first met Kuga, yet one had already returned to the heavens, and the other was left behind in the mire of corruption and decay. All emotions and karmic ties binding one to this mortal world are as fleeting and fruitless as this—but should one return to the heavens, a crystalline eternal life surely awaits there. In a world without Kuga, there should be no reason for attachment to exist.

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

“...Wait for me... Right now...”

The next morning, when the prison guard went to make his rounds, the woman in East Cell 8 had hanged herself with a thin cord tightly around her neck. He briefly touched her chest, confirmed she was already dead, then hurried off down the concrete corridor, his shoes clattering loudly.

Can there truly exist such a blissful face in death? With the corners of her lips slightly curved, she wore an innocent expression as though holding back a laugh. The rising morning sun dyed her profile pink…