Pathway to Japanese Literature

A Grotesque Amusement Park

In the southern part of M Prefecture lay a city called Y—old-fashioned, gloomy, and seemingly forgotten by time. It was neither a hub of commerce and industry nor a key transportation route; it had simply been a castle town during the Edo period, and its population remained sizable enough to barely maintain the form of a city.

In the outskirts of sleepy Y City, there existed a man who had created an utterly extraordinary amusement park.

In this world, there are times when utterly inexplicable, dream-like, outlandish events occur as if out of nowhere. It may be that the Earth’s fever is erupting there as a crimson boil. The man who created the amusement park was the only son born into Y City’s foremost old family, the Kitagawa family—reputed to be millionaires—and bore the peculiar name Jirouemon.

Unusually for someone of his status, Kitagawa Jirouemon had no family. His parents had died several years prior; he had no siblings, and despite being thirty-three years old, he had not taken a wife—apart from his many servants, he had no dependents at all. He had many relatives, but those strict uncles who could have spoken out against his conduct had long since died out, leaving no worry of any troublesome complaints arising from that quarter.

Such an extraordinary amusement park as that was likely something that could only have been conceived given these assets and this personal circumstance. Not only that, but around him swarmed a crowd of vagabond-like companions of both sexes, who egged him on from all sides. But what was even more troubling was that Jirouemon himself seemed to have been seized by a bizarre fever. If the Earth were indeed suffering from a fever, then the pathogens of that fever could well have been said to be Kitagawa Jirouemon and his nefarious companions.

He invested a million in assets and spent three years to create a massive pustule upon the Earth’s surface. In the outskirts of Y City—a castle town afflicted by sleeping sickness—a gaudy, tumorous flower suddenly burst into bloom like five-colored artificial flowers. The vast thirty-thousand-tsubo grounds contained natural mountains, rivers, and ponds—yet these natural wonders were smothered under a jumble of bizarre structures that seemed to gather all the world’s grotesqueries and spill them forth like an upended toy box of the uncanny. The amusement park’s entrance was a narrow stream flanked on both sides by dense, verdant trees, and above the stream, large camellia trees from both banks stretched toward each other, forming a natural arch.

Amidst the bluish-black camellia leaves, bright red flowers bloomed here and there. Upon closer inspection, they were likely artificial flowers affixed to form connected floral letters. “Jiro Amusement Park” It was undoubtedly named after taking “Jira” from Jirouemon’s name.

The park owner’s invited guests—handpicked gentlemen and ladies with a taste for the grotesque—were first made to board deformed gondolas and, guided by the pole of a boatman dressed as a demon, pass beneath this camellia arch. The stream, bounded by dense verdant foliage that narrowed one’s field of vision, meandered its way toward the park’s center. The demon boatman barely exerted force on his pole; the boat advanced quietly, carried by the current.

Advancing further and further, at the end of the stream lay a pond that spread out in a circular shape like a tadpole’s head. In the pond, nude men and women were playfully swimming about. From the cliff edge came clusters of flesh leaping into the water; mermaid-like figures visible through the pond’s surface from aboard the boat; men and women churning the water into fish-scale patterns as they cried, “Catch the child! Catch the child!”; human waterfalls and the spray from plunging water chutes… The guests already felt as though they had stepped into a dreamlike otherworld. Climbing up the bank and proceeding a while along the narrow path through the valley between mountains, they would find a tunnel leading underground—its old-fashioned red brick frame opening a gaping black maw as though descending into a mine shaft.

If they mustered their courage and descended there, they would find a Hell Tour with ghouls and specters squirming in the subterranean darkness, and an aquarium. If, unnerved by the eeriness, they took a fork in the path and crossed a steep slope over the mountain, from that summit awaited a plunging drop that would make one’s soul flee. Along twisting rails, a box-shaped car rolled over, flipped upside down, and somersaulted. No—if I continued writing in this step-by-step manner, there’d be no end. As for each individual scene—since opportunities to describe them in detail would arise often as the story progressed—I’ll omit all explanations and simply list the main structures within the grounds:

A Ferris wheel revolving through the sky like a giant wheel A large hydrogen balloon ascendable at any time via rope ladder A towering pavilion recreating the now-lost Twelve-Story Tower of Asakusa A Meiji-era Nostalgic Panorama Hall A Whale’s Belly Tour A Heaven and Hell of Automaton Dolls paired with an Underground Aquarium To jaunty musical strains, a merrily spinning Merry-Go-Round—and so on ad infinitum Even enumerating them all would prove no small task, but to put it plainly: it was as though they had taken the sideshow attractions from a grand exposition, magnified their scale, then piled them up amidst natural mountains, valleys and forests in an utterly grotesque fashion. Moreover, each structure stood far from ordinary—through park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon’s uncanny genius, they had been wondrously crafted to resemble nightmare landscapes, strange illustrations from Western fairy tales, or confectionery palaces fashioned from Christmas sweets.

The Great Maze

Among these structures, the one into which Mr. Jiro had poured his greatest effort—and which was undoubtedly the park’s foremost grotesque masterpiece—was a maze: a labyrinth of trees planted so densely that once entered, one would wander in such confusion that an hour or two would never suffice to find the exit.

If it were a drawn maze, one could trace a path with a pencil and effortlessly reach the center or return to the entrance. But with a real maze—even an attraction like *Hachiman’s Unknowable Thicket*—once you wandered in, escape proved far from simple. For he had designed it with deliberate intent to bewilder and confound—constructing pathways through seamless walls of towering trees, compressing over four kilometers of serpentine narrow trails into a mere square-block area. Thus, even a master versed in global maze history would find reaching its center or retracing steps to the entrance a challenge among challenges.

The renowned fan-shaped maze of Hampton Court and the rectangular maze of the Palace of Versailles fell far short of this; if one were to forcibly seek a comparison, would it be the Great Labyrinth of Ancient Egypt—a structure that remains only in historians’ grand fantasies? Though it could not rival the preposterous scale of that labyrinth said to have consisted of three thousand rooms above and below, in terms of the rational complexity of its design, one would have to raise the fan in surrender to Jiro Amusement Park’s maze.

Now, this grotesque tale began with an utterly inexplicable murder that had taken place within the aforementioned labyrinthine maze; however, before proceeding to that murder, it was necessary to first allow the characters to make their appearance.

The season was early summer. In a deep, unfathomably clear azure sky without a wisp of cloud, the sun dyed the amusement park’s mountains and valleys and its myriad bizarre structures in stark black-and-white contrasts, making the entire panorama appear as though it were projected—along with the shimmering heat haze rising—directly onto the mirror-like blue sky. After the bustle of invited guests from its opening era had passed, Jiro Amusement Park had become a carefree playground exclusively for close companions.

The demon-dressed boatman, no longer needed to guide guests, had beached his gondola and was napping in the shade of a shii tree.

Therefore, the park’s entrance and exit were completely closed off, eliminating any need to worry about intruders wandering into the grounds and allowing the grotesque coterie to indulge in their revelries as they pleased. These companions were a group beginning with the park owner, Kitagawa Jirouemon, and consisting of the following band of male and female nefarious friends.

Kishita Ayuko—Jirouemon’s lover, twenty years old, a girl as lively and vivacious as an ayu darting through rapids. Moroguchi Chimako—another lover of Jirouemon, twenty-one years old, a romantic female poet and painter, a talented girl who also assisted in designing the park. Ono Raizou—Jirouemon’s childhood friend from their boyhood days, thirty-five years old, a playwright rejected by society, a grotesque fantasist. Hitomi Orie—Raizou’s lover, nineteen years old, an heiress from a wealthy family as beautiful and innocent as a poppy flower.

○ Yumoto Jouji—a friend of Kitagawa Jirouemon; a convicted kidnapper; a delinquent type possessing all manner of grotesque proclivities; twenty-nine years old. ○ Harada Reiko—Yumoto’s lover; a macabre girl who not only endured his terrifying blows but seemed to delight in them; a large-framed, voluptuous twenty-three-year-old. ○ Mitani Jirou—a sixteen-year-old beautiful boy like a doll; somewhat delinquent; the coterie’s pet.

The remaining over a dozen other nefarious companions of both sexes—since they were minor characters in this tale—would not have their names recorded here; they would be introduced as needed. Additionally, there were several dozen employees—amusement structure operators, cleaners, guides, musicians, and others—who would also be introduced as necessary; however, among them was one who demanded particular attention: the person listed below.

Esashi Sousuke—a hunchbacked dwarf resembling the thumb-sized hero of folktales, with a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old child’s torso and an enormous adult face planted atop it. A monster of indeterminate age—youth or elder?—who served as Jirouemon’s secretary and park supervisor in a vital role, a sage akin to Aesop. Though the scenic description had been interrupted by this list of names, this remained that aforementioned early summer day with a cloudless azure sky.

About an hour before the incident occurred, the aforementioned main characters had gathered at the park’s natural pool (the pond fed by the previously mentioned stream) and were indulging in unrestrained nude games. “Alright, are you ready? I’m jumping in!”

Hitomi Orie’s innocent, high-pitched voice resounded cheerfully into the blue sky from the natural rock diving platform. She stood atop the rock, both hands aligned above her head, now poised to dive into the pool below. On the bluish-black rock surface—a stark white mass of flesh, unbound black hair cascading over her shoulders—it was the famous painting *The Virgin of the Rock*.

“Alright already, hurry up and jump in!” Someone answered from the water. Ayuko, Jirouemon, Chimako, Raizou, Reiko, Jouji, and Jirou floated in that order, each grasping the thigh of the person before them to form a chain. The motley string of robust male musculature and supple female flesh writhed and undulated like some great sea serpent as it drifted. “There!” Leaving her cry hanging in the air, Orie’s pale form spun like a ball through several rotations before striking the water with a splash that sent up a plume of spray.

She dove to the bottom, floated up with a swish, and when her head broke the surface, there she was—right before Ayuko at the serpent’s head. It was a game where she skillfully slipped through Ayuko’s attempts to block her path left and right to catch the beautiful boy Jirou at the tail—the aquatic version of “Tag, you’re it!” The colossal sea serpent, twisting and coiling its entire body to churn the water, now floated, now sank—from surface to pool’s depths and back again—drawing fishtail patterns of supple flesh as it writhed seductively, desperate to keep its tail from being seized.

Miss Orie was the female warrior battling the underwater serpent. Dodging through the enemy’s blockades again and again—treading water, breaststroke, side stroke, single-arm stroke—she employed every beautiful muscular movement in pursuit of the beautiful boy’s tail.

On the shore, men and women spectators—also nude—linked their shoulders, held hands, and watched this spectacle while laughing and amusing themselves.

A scene of outdoor aquatic choreography. Finally, the boy Jirou had his leg seized by Orie and sank into the water with a gurgle of bubbles. Orie, determined not to release the captured limb, vanished beneath the surface along with her adversary. The beautiful boy and girl grappled in a frenzied tussle at the water's depths; their forms grotesquely distorted through the crystal-clear liquid remained visible even to the spectators. "Whoa! Whoa!" came the shouts as the serpentine chain—now deprived of its tail—swam in disarray while observing the underwater struggle alongside them.

The contest was decided. The boy Jirou ran out of breath and finally surrendered. “All right, now it’s your turn to be ‘it,’ Jirou-san!” Orie, who had surfaced on the water, shouted breathlessly.

“No, let’s stop this now. “It’s not that I’m protecting Jirou-kun or anything, but I’m exhausted.” “I think I’ll take a rest in that heavenly bed of mine.” As he spoke, Jirouemon had already come ashore and was briskly walking off toward the mountain’s far side. The term “heavenly bed” referred to the cushions inside one of the Ferris wheel’s cabins suspended in the sky. He had made it a habit to sleep in the sky within this strange bedroom. “I’ll stop too.” “I think I’ll go to my dream palace and see some beautiful dreams.”

And then, Moroguchi Chimako came ashore next. Her “dream palace” referred to the bench placed in the so-called “inner sanctum” at the center of the maze—a spot where she intended to sit alone and quietly lose herself in meditation. “Well then, everyone—let’s go to the Merry-Go-Round. Let’s stir up another commotion there!” When Reiko took the lead, the remaining members all agreed, and still nude, the men and women of red and white formed a group and ran up the hill. Tumbling and somersaulting down the usual sliding path, chirping like swallows, they would be hurrying toward their destination.

The First Murder

About an hour later, at the entrance to the Panorama Hall, Ono Raizou and his lover Hitomi Orie stood with their feet on a line drawn on the ground, their hands planted in front of them and their buttocks thrust out in an utterly bizarre posture, staring fixedly ahead.

“Are you ready? Ready! One, two, three!”

At Raizou’s shout, the two of them started off gallantly. It was an obstacle race where, starting from the two entrances of the maze visible beyond the forest, they would enter separately, and whoever reached the center “inner sanctum” first would win. If it were just a footrace, Orie was no match for Raizou. Indeed, shortly after the start, Raizou was already running several meters ahead. But Orie was confident that in the maze’s battle of wits, she would arrive first. As for the maze, she believed she knew its layout better than some rough-and-ready man.

She was far behind Raizou, but without losing hope, she dashed into the maze from the eastern entrance as agreed.

On both sides of the narrow, winding path—less than a meter wide—towered hedges over three meters tall, blocking out the sunlight. To call them hedges would be off the mark. A row of large trees stood with densely packed branches intertwined and leaves layered so thickly that one couldn’t see through to the other side. Moreover, thorns had spread a thin net while vines entangled themselves, making it impossible—of course—to push through and exit, let alone climb over. If one could escape in such a way, then the maze would lose its purpose.

Once she stepped into the maze—perhaps due to the shadows cast by towering tree hedges—the space grew dim as twilight, chillingly cold, and filled with an indescribable, oppressive silence. In the park’s fireworks area, aside from the occasional **boom** of a firework set off by someone’s mischief, no other sounds reached her ears. Even though she believed she knew the layout, she found herself lost as she walked—a realization that crept over her unnoticed. If one could memorize such a path in one or two attempts, it wouldn’t deserve the name “maze.” It was precisely because one lost their way that it became a maze. When she looked up at the narrow sky partitioned by tall hedges, she could see the sun. Fragments of balloons and the Ferris wheel came into view. She even glimpsed yellow firework smoke unfurling like dragons across the sky before drifting downward. But no matter how many such landmarks existed, they proved utterly useless—this wasn’t a stroll across open ground. Even while gazing skyward and pressing toward the center, she inevitably stumbled into dead ends that left her immobilized.

A winding dream of a narrow path with no end in sight; a maddening path that stretched on endlessly no matter how far she walked—Orie suddenly felt afraid. Once fear took hold, there was no stopping it—the fine hairs at her nape stood on end with a shiver, and through her gaping pores seeped a wind as cold as water. Her footsteps quickened in time with the pounding of her heart. Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat—listening uneasily to her own footsteps, she hurried faster and faster.

And then, another set of footsteps—out of sync with her own—began to mingle and strike her ears. Was it an echo? Or just her imagination? No, that couldn’t be. It was definitely human footsteps—the vigorous footsteps of a man. Ah, I see—it’s Mr. Ono. That person was walking on the other side of a single layer of leafy wall. The two paths had by chance become adjacent. “It’s not Mr. Ono?” When she called out, the other party’s footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

Even if she peered through, she wouldn’t be able to see—but due to the layers of leaves, voices carried through clearly.

“Orie?” It really was Ono Raizou.

“Yes‚ that’s right. “I’ve gotten lost.”

“Yeah, I’ve been going around in circles here for a while now. …Can’t you come over?” “No—if we try moving toward each other, we’ll only drift further apart.” Indeed, even when intending to turn toward the voice, the path would veer off in some maddening, nonsensical direction. “But I’ll try anyway. Can’t you come to me either?” So they set off separately to search for each other’s location—though in reality they stood barely three feet apart through the leafy wall. And just as predicted, the more desperately they tried to close the distance, the farther they wandered until their voices faded beyond hearing.

Orie, driven by frustration and eeriness and drenched in sweat, trudged aimlessly along the same narrow path, step after step. The sound of fireworks still being set off—just when she had forgotten about them—went **boom**, **boom**, making her heart leap into her throat. After a while, she gasped and stopped in her tracks. She had heard a strange sound. It wasn’t tinnitus. It was undoubtedly a human voice—moreover, an indescribably horrifying groan that expressed the agony of death throes.

“Ugh…,” came a heartrending groan. After a second or two followed a low, indescribable noise—like teeth grinding or choked sobs—rhythmically repeating in guttural bursts. Orie shuddered and found herself momentarily speechless, but upon finally regaining control of her throat, she involuntarily— “Mr. Ono!” she cried out in a sudden, frantic shout.

“Hey!”

From very, very far away, a man’s voice responded. Ah—so that groan I’d heard earlier hadn’t been Mr. Ono after all. But then did that mean someone stood between her and Mr. Ono? And that groan was no ordinary matter. Had someone suddenly fallen ill? No—that didn’t seem likely at all. Could that person be meeting some terrible fate? “Miss Orie, where are you?”

This time, Mr. Ono’s voice came from a somewhat closer place. “Over here!”

“Did you hear that just now!” Ah, so it really was true after all. Mr. Ono had also heard it. “Yes.”

“Something’s off here. “That was no ordinary groan!” “That’s right. I think so too.” “Hey! Who’s there?” Mr. Ono called out to the unseen person. Yet there came no reply. “This is strange. “There’s no way whoever made that awful groan could’ve left… Unless they’re dead?” By any measure, that sound could only have been the death rattle of someone’s final moments.

“I’m scared.” Orie turned deathly pale and felt like clinging desperately to the voice of Mr. Ono, whose figure she couldn’t see.

“Wait there—I’ll go check.”

Mr. Ono said that and seemed to be walking around the area for a while—but before long, from an unexpected direction— “Gah!” A terrible scream rang out.

The Demon of the Maze “Mr. Ono! Mr. Ono!” Hitomi Orie let out a scream as if she were being strangled and called out to her unseen lover in the distance.

No wonder. In the dimly lit, zigzagging maze, at the very moment when she had gotten lost and was on the verge of tears, a terrifying incident occurred just two or three layers beyond the impenetrable wall of standing trees. A spine-chilling death groan, followed by Mr. Ono’s panicked shriek of “Gah!” as he went to investigate the scene—this was no ordinary incident. For someone of Mr. Ono’s stature to make such a sound—this was no trivial matter. “Hey! Miss Orie, it’s terrible! Hurry outside and get someone!”

Raizou’s panicked voice could be heard.

Even if she tried to get out, she couldn’t suddenly escape this maze. “Who is it?” “Who’s there?” “And what on earth are you saying happened?” Orie also strained her voice to its limit and, regardless of the circumstances, started running through the narrow maze. It was because she couldn’t stay still.

“It’s Miss Chimako.” Raizou’s voice came rushing into Orie’s ears.

“Huh? What happened to Miss Chimako?” She twisted through the spiraling maze and shouted breathlessly. “What’s wrong?” Even when she asked, there was no response—it might have been too horrifying to put into words. “Ah—is that you running there, Miss Orie?” Raizou’s voice came from just beyond the tree wall. They had drawn startlingly close without realizing it. “That’s right.” “And what happened to Miss Chimako?”

Though she couldn’t see him, realizing her interlocutor was right beside her, Orie lowered her voice and asked again.

Then Raizou too, in an unnatural whisper, told what had happened for the first time. “She’s been killed. With a dagger stabbed into her back, covered in blood…” From the green wall that loomed before her, no figure appeared—only sinister whispers hissed through. Moreover, a whisper so terrifying the world had never known.

“Ah—”

Gulping back her voice and standing frozen, Orie couldn’t utter another word. “You—didn’t sense anyone around here? Didn’t you run into anyone?”

Raizou's voice dropped to an even lower tone.

“No, but why?” “The culprit.” “The one who killed Miss Chimako might still be lurking around in this maze.”

When Orie heard that, she shuddered and felt as if all the blood in her body had turned cold. “I didn’t… anyone…” “And you? Did you see anyone?” she asked in a voice as thin as a mosquito’s whine. “No.” “But I heard footsteps.” “When I rushed here—to where Miss Chimako had collapsed—something like a black wind fled away.” “There was a clattering of footsteps.” The hushed voices felt intensely terrifying, as though listening to a ghost story.

“I’m scared. “I’m so scared.” “What should I do?” “Can’t you find a way to come over here?” “It’s terrifying being all alone.” Orie said in a tearful voice, as if clinging to his unseen form. “Rather than that, we need to inform everyone about this quickly… You must desperately search for the exit.” “I’ll do the same.” “But…” “Huh? What did you say?” “But listen—beware of whoever killed Miss Chimako; even if you can’t see them, if you hear so much as footsteps, shout at the top of your voice.” “You hear me?”

“I’m too scared to walk. Please hurry and come here!” “Yeah. But whether I can manage it…”

And Raizou’s hurried footsteps receded into the distance.

In a dimly lit narrow path, sandwiched between towering dense tree walls, Orie—left utterly alone—felt no will to go on living. She wanted to call Mr. Ono back, but the thought that the terrifying murderer still lurked nearby made her hesitate to utter a sound. When she noticed, her armpits were drenched with cold sweat.

Her legs wouldn’t obey, as if the numbness had worn off.

However, standing perfectly still was terrifying. Even if it was impossible, she wanted to search for an exit and escape the maze as quickly as possible.

She braced her weakened legs and suddenly broke into a run. Walls of murky black trees flew past endlessly on both sides as the maze stretched onward without end. The more desperately she tried to escape, the deeper into its heart she seemed to plunge. Then she noticed it—the clatter-clatter of footsteps echoing from somewhere. _Ah! Thank goodness!_ _Mr. Ono must be running nearby._ The thought instantly hardened her resolve.

“Mr. Ono”

In a low voice, she tried calling.

There was no answer. Clatter, clatter—nothing but footsteps.

“Mr. Ono—” Unable to bear it any longer, she involuntarily let out a loud cry.

However, the other party still did not answer. They continued running in silence.

Huh. Something’s wrong. Ah, perhaps… Her heart lurched up to her throat. Could it be that the owner of those footsteps was none other than the terrifying murderer? That’s it. That’s definitely it. If they wouldn’t answer even after being called this much, that settled it.

Orie quickened her pace even more out of fear. Her throat parched, her heart pounded as if it would burst.

Ahead lay a sharp bend in the path. Orie frantically turned that corner. At the same moment, a figure darted out from a similar sharp bend five or six ken ahead. “Wh-what…?” Without conscious thought, Orie let out a dreadful scream and froze in place.

The other party also seemed startled. In the blink of an eye, they vanished without a trace.

It was definitely not Mr. Ono. There was no reason for Mr. Ono to flee upon seeing Orie. Then who was that just now? Unfortunately, Orie didn’t have time to determine who that was. In that split second, she didn’t even notice the color of their clothing. But it wasn’t a woman. He was wearing pants. And he was a very small-statured man. He was probably shorter than Orie herself.

When she listened closely, there was the clatter, clatter of a suspicious figure’s footsteps fading into the distance. Orie waited for the footsteps to fade, then abruptly started running backward. She ran frantically. She no longer even considered escaping the maze. She couldn’t just stay still. Spinning around and around, her field of vision suddenly opened up, and she emerged into a wide space. But it was not outside the maze. It was the central square of the maze. It was the so-called inner sanctum.

In the center was placed a single bench. At the base of that bench lay a mottled mass of white and red. It was the blood-covered corpse of Moroguchi Chimako. A dagger’s hilt jutted out from the back of her plain white silk garment. The blade was entirely hidden inside Chimako’s body. The silk garment was dyed in vivid blood-stained stripes, her hands grasping at the air and her thrashing legs appearing whitish down to their roots.

Chimako was, of course, completely dead.

Detective Kijima

No matter how complex a maze may be, if you keep wandering through it, you will eventually find an exit.

Needless to say, Ono Raizou and Hitomi Orie soon escaped the murder maze and informed everyone in the park about the incident. Even if this was supposed to be a paradise removed from worldly concerns, they couldn’t simply leave a murder case unattended. Immediately, someone ran to the local police, and soon officials from the court and police station arrived respectively, after which an investigation was conducted as per standard procedure.

The findings from this investigation were as follows: 1. That there was absolutely no trace of the criminal having infiltrated from outside the paradise.

The sole entrance/exit—the aforementioned stream—was quite deep despite being called a stream, requiring a boat for passage; moreover, its surrounding areas had many steep cliffs, and where cliffs were absent, dense, towering hedges encircled the perimeter with watchtowers atop them, making it simply impossible to get through. In that case, the criminal must be among the people within the paradise—either the several individuals on the master’s side previously noted or the ten-odd on the servants’ side.

1. However, among the people within the paradise, there was not a single person who appeared to be the actual culprit. Needless to say, each individual was rigorously interrogated; however, aside from Ono Raizou, Hitomi Orie, and the victim Chimako, not a single person had entered the maze at that time. They each claimed to have been in other locations, and there was no evidence whatsoever to overturn these claims. 1. There were no discernible footprints at the scene, no particular items left behind aside from the dagger, and not even a single fingerprint could be discovered on the dagger’s hilt.

1. The dagger had a round hilt and was double-edged, with no guard, maintaining nearly the same thickness from hilt to blade tip—a peculiar shape. 2. It was undoubtedly a foreign-made product.

With only such facts having been ascertained, even for any renowned detective, finding the true culprit from among the park’s multitude of people was nearly an impossible task. When Hitomi Orie was being interrogated, she started to say that the criminal was a very small-statured man but suddenly clamped her mouth shut.

Within the park, there were two noticeably small-statured individuals. One was Mitani Jirou, a sixteen-year-old boy; the other was Esashi Sousuke, a hunchbacked man. The thought that her words might cast suspicion on either of these two made it impossible for her to speak carelessly.

From that day on, the number of personnel within the park increased by one. This was because, at the request of park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon, a single detective had come to reside there. In the center of the park stood an imposing Western-style dining hall where, while breakfast and lunch were casual affairs, all members were required to gather without exception for dinner each evening—but that night’s meal carried a truly eerie atmosphere. The group sat around two large rectangular tables—one for the master’s side and one for the servants’ side—as usual without exchanging idle chatter, utterly hushed, stealing glances at each other’s faces.

At that dining table sat the one who had killed Chimako just moments before, feigning innocence. The guy licking his fork beside them might be the culprit. The guy across the table moving a gleaming knife as he cut meat might be the killer. Then again, whether imagined or not, those people all appeared strangely pale, and everyone seemed like a terrifying murderer.

At the master’s table, an unfamiliar man beside the master, Jirouemon, was diligently working his fork. Pretending to be engrossed in his meal, he would occasionally steal furtive glances at the expressions of his fellow diners from under his brow. He was a suspicious-looking man. This was none other than Detective Kijima—the region’s famed investigator. Between bites, he kept his head bowed low while whispering something in a hushed voice to Jirouemon beside him. To the others, precisely because they couldn’t catch a single word of it, the exchange felt unnerving.

Detective Kijima was a clean-shaven man of thirty-four or thirty-five, wearing a somewhat grubby suit over his shirt that gave him the appearance of a workman. “You were on the Ferris wheel at that time,” he said. “There are as many as three witnesses to this.”

Detective Kijima said that and bent his fingers under the table.

“Kishita Ayuko and Harada Reiko were riding the merry-go-round at exactly that time.”

Jirouemon continued.

“Mr. Ono Raizou and Miss Hitomi Orie are the discoverers of the crime.” The detective took over and said.

In that way, the names of the people within the park were enumerated one after another. Everyone had an alibi. Each and every one of them had at least one witness. The servants as well had each been at their assigned posts, and there were no suspicious individuals. “Mr. Yumoto Jouji was inside the large whale’s body—it has been established.” “Jirou Mitani-kun was walking in the forest—it has been established.” “Next, Sousuke Esashi-kun, the park supervisor, states that he was wandering around somewhere on the mountain top.” “These three alone are based on their own statements.” “No one saw it.” “In other words, there are no witnesses.”

The detective said significantly. “Oh… So you mean among those three—”

Jirouemon was startled and looked into the other man’s eyes.

“No, that’s not what I mean. “I merely repeated the facts. “I’m not suspecting anyone.” As he spoke, he briefly glanced at the servants’ table. At the end of that gaze was the ugly, dwarfish Sousuke Esashi, hunched over and eating as if licking his plate. “No, that man may have a terrifying appearance, but he’s an utterly honest person. “He is the most trustworthy person.” Though Kitagawa Jirouemon whispered with a mediating expression, the detective could not help but gaze at this monster—unable to tell whether it was a child or an old man—with a kind of suspicion.

He next glanced up briefly from under his brow at Yumoto Jouji, seated at the far end of the same dining table. As if anticipating that look, Yumoto glared back at him with an intense stare. This guy suspects me. His expression seemed to say. “That man has a criminal record, doesn’t he?”

The detective whispered softly to Jirouemon. “No—but he’s not the sort who’d commit murder.” Jirouemon whispered back with a conciliatory look. After all, just because the man had a criminal record didn’t mean Yumoto could possibly be a killer.

In this manner concluded an indescribably strange dinner. In the end, Detective Kijima could detect no suspicious traces from anyone's face. Everyone wore pale solemn expressions. Yet not a single person among them appeared nervous.

No, in truth, there was one man alone who was restless and unsettled. Because he was still a small child, no one—not even the detective—paid him any particular suspicion, but the boy Mitani Jirou’s behavior was undeniably strange.

He seemed to have no appetite, did not even attempt to touch his plate, was pale, stealing nervous glances at the faces of those around him, and appeared unable to remain seated. What in the world could have been the matter with him? It was unthinkable that this boy could be the perpetrator who had stabbed Chimako through the back with a dagger, yet...

Eerie Dagger

Late that night, in the subterranean hell passage previously described, Yumoto Jouji and his lover Harada Reiko had begun their daily bizarre ritual. The park’s guests had each been assigned proper bedrooms, but few among the owner’s associates—being those who lived up to their name as lovers of the grotesque—slept honestly in theirs. From Kitagawa Jirouemon himself, who had made one of the Ferris wheel’s cabins into his “heavenly bed,” to others choosing eccentric spots like the belly of a giant whale, the panorama hall, or the summit of a skyscraper to weave their macabre dreams, they all indulged in such whims. Yet it was Yumoto Jouji and his partner who had designated this subterranean hell passage as their own bizarre nest.

In the gloomy underground passage reinforced with earthen-colored concrete stood a hellish tableau: the Blood Pool, Mountain of Needles, Scorching Hell ablaze, and King Enma presiding over blue and red demon mannequins—all terrifyingly arrayed as if ripped straight from a hell scroll. A pale electric light—its source unseen—cast an eerily faint glow over these artificial creations. Yumoto and his partner’s bed lay beside a pool of dissolved red paint representing the Blood Pool Hell. There, this sadist and masochist indulged in their nightly amorous play.

Nearly completely naked, Harada Reiko was pressed tightly against the wall on the opposite bank of the Blood Pool Hell, her back against a strange plank-like object in a crucified posture. She had now become a single damned soul weeping and wailing under hell's torments. Yet for a damned soul, what an audaciously taut mass of flesh she made. On this side of the pool stood Yumoto Jouji, half-naked like a blue demon from hell, blocking the way. He took out a dagger with a throbbing glint from a small box beside him, raised it in his right hand, and assumed a stance poised to hurl it toward the mass of naked female flesh across the water.

Ah, was another dreadful murder about to be committed? No, no—that was not the case. Yumoto Jouji, the delinquent youth—though no one knew when or where he had learned it—had mastered the dagger-throwing trick. Using his lover as a target to perform that supremely dangerous feat was his nightly greatest pleasure. As for Reiko, baring her entire body before her lover’s white blades, she was intoxicated by the heart-pounding exhilaration of whether they would pierce her flesh at any moment.

The daggers thrown by Jouji, catching the pale electric light, sparkled like uncanny lightning as they soared through the air, piercing one after another into the plank behind Reiko. Piercing deep, they quivered like living things starved for blood, trembling violently again and again. Every dagger struck with machine-like precision at perilously close spots—her cheeks, head, arms, and thighs—a hair’s breadth from vital areas. “Hoh… hoh…”

Each time the dagger struck its mark, Reiko let out an eerie cry of ecstasy with apparent delight.

“This time, under the armpit.” “I’ll just graze your skin a bit.” With a casual shout, Jouji hurled his final dagger with a swish. Ah, what exquisite skill! True to his word, it pinned Reiko’s armpit skin—just barely grazing her, harmlessly yet perilously thin—to the wooden plank behind her. Fresh blood spurted out. Reiko let out an exaggerated “Aieee!” while lowering her eyes, yet with an expression of utter rapture, gazing at the dagger quivering beneath her armpit. The cold steel’s sensation biting into her flesh. The scent of gushing, flowing blood. The deviants’ wretched ecstatic realm.

Jouji, for his part, narrowed his eyes and gazed intently at the beauty of the bright red liquid trickling down the latticework onto his lover’s white flesh.

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, For some reason, Reiko’s eyes remained fixed, staring as if to devour the dagger beneath her armpit without moving. For a masochist’s pleasure, it was an overly long gaze; wasn’t the color of her eyes abnormally sharp?

“Hey.” “What’s wrong with you?” “What’re you staring at so hard?” Jouji asked when he could bear it no longer.

“George! This dagger—hasn’t one gone missing?”

Reiko finally raised her eyes, said in a dry voice, and stared fixedly at the man’s face. It was an expression of terror that sent shivers down the spine.

“What the—” “Missing?” “What’re you talkin’ about?” “There’s thirteen right here!” “Count ’em yourself.”

When she counted them, sure enough, all thirteen daggers were there. “But that’s strange.”

The expression of terror on Reiko’s face had yet to fade. “What’s that huh?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? Aren’t you hiding something from me?” “Now that I think about it, this dagger looks so similar.”

Upon hearing that, Jouji also looked startled, his face paling.

“What do you mean ‘similar’?” “Oh, don’t you notice? “Look—isn’t this exactly like that dagger stuck in Ms. Chimako’s back?”

Reiko said that and, as if struck by a cold wind, shuddered, her entire body erupting in goosebumps.

Jouji made a strange face and fell completely silent. "Jouji, wasn't it you who did it?"

Reiko asked in a small voice after a while.

Even so, Jouji remained sullenly silent.

“I knew it. The fact that you were in love with Ms. Chimako. And that time when you were alone together—when you said something stupid to her and got your cheek slapped by her. I saw it all from the hilltop with my binoculars…… No use hiding it now.” Reiko mumbled as if consoling George the villain. “What’s it to you?” Jouji glared fiercely and shot back.

“So, you killed Ms. Chimako, didn’t you?” “Because you loved her, you killed her, didn’t you?”

Reiko blurted out bluntly, as though relishing it. “There are things you can say and things you can’t, got it?” “Do you really think I killed her?” Veins bulged and throbbed on Jouji’s forehead.

“But Ms. Chimako was killed with a murder weapon exactly like this dagger, wasn’t she? No one but you would have something this dangerous.” “You idiot! Do you want to turn your lover into a murderer and criminal?” “That’s why I’m saying—since we’re lovers, just quietly tell me alone. I won’t tell anyone.” “Still running your mouth?! Damn you!” Jouji began to rage like a wild beast.

“Oh no! Stop!” “I won’t say it anymore.” “I won’t say it anymore.”

Reiko, who was large-framed, voluptuous, and fair-skinned, was a foolish masochist. She realized her thoughtless question had angered him to the core, and suddenly terrified, let out a scream as she fled in confusion along the Blood Pool's edge. In the enraged beast's hand gripped a single dagger. It glittered fiercely in the red light of candles lining the cave walls.

“Hahaha… I won’t do a thing.” “You don’t have to run away.” The wild beast forced a smile and laughed terribly.

“Really? You’re really not angry? What I said just now was a joke.” “It’s fine. I won’t do anything. Come over here—I’ll treat you real nice.”

Reiko timidly made her way back along the edge of the pool.

“Really?” “What do you mean by ‘treat me nice’?” “Like this.”

Reiko felt a sharp pain in her shoulder. When she looked, there was a straight crimson line on her thin silk garment. Blood. “Oh! You cut me?” “But you’re not going to kill me, right?”

She was surprisingly composed. The foolish masochist seemed to quiver with delight rather than distress at being wounded by her lover's blade. "Like this."

But Jouji’s eyes were horribly bloodshot. He seemed not to hear her voice, brandishing the dagger again and again. From Reiko’s rounded shoulder down to her voluptuous breast, crimson lines swiftly multiplied. “Ohh, help me…”

Reiko let out a cry of delight and writhed like a wounded snake. She rolled to Jouji’s feet and clung to his legs. “Damn you! Damn you!”

Jouji kicked his wounded lover and sent her tumbling into the Blood Pool Hell. Splat—a bright red spray flew out, staining Jouji’s shirt like splattered blood. The large-framed Reiko, stained by the Blood Pool’s red ink with her body drenched in blood like a blood-soaked poppy, staggered unsteadily as she tried to crawl up the bank—only to be kicked once more by Jouji, sending her tumbling back with a sickening squelch as bloody mist billowed up and she landed hard on her backside. “You’re so persistent.” “I can’t take this anymore.” “Let’s stop this now.”

Reiko, gulping down the pool’s red ink and gasping for breath, proposed halting the sadistic game.

But Jouji showed no sign of picking up his exhausted lover and caressing her as he usually did.

He stood like a temple guardian on the pool’s bank, brandishing the dagger as he poised himself to deliver a single thrust at Reiko crawling upward. This was no game. He meant it in earnest. Murderous intent radiated from his face and body. So—was he Chimako’s killer? Was he silencing his lover to keep her from exposing it? “Helppp!”

Reiko truly screamed. Along the slimy, slippery edge of the pool, in an awkward crawl on all fours, she frantically tried to flee. But suddenly, Jouji’s left hand grabbed her hair and pulled her back. “Oh! Please, have mercy!” “I won’t tell anyone.” “I’ll never say you’re the killer.” “Have mercy!” “Have mercy!”

Reiko, trembling violently, screamed with desperate intensity.

“Ha ha ha… Surprised?” “It’s a joke.” “That’s enough.” “I’ve never once thought about killing you.”

Jouji bared his white teeth and laughed. “But listen—if you tell anyone about this dagger or that I’m suspicious, I won’t let it slide. Of course, I’m not the slightest bit involved in that murder case. But I don’t want to be under any pointless suspicion, you see. You get it? If you even breathe a word of this nonsense, I won’t let it slide. I’ll kill you.”

“Alright… I-I won’t.” “I w-won’t say… anything…”

Reiko became even more frightened and, still trembling, answered.

Hearing this, Jouji roughly pulled her close and pressed his lips to her round cheek, smeared with the red ink.

Then his lips became terribly stained with blood, like those of a wildcat that had devoured a baby.

Black shadow.

They had been utterly exhausted from their late-night blood-soaked games, so when they awoke the next day, it was already past noon. Consequently, it was nearing evening by the time Reiko washed her blood-stained body, applied her makeup, and appeared before the others. At the dinner table, as usual, Detective Kijima was scrutinizing everyone with suspicious eyes, but he still seemed to have no leads.

The people exchanged doubtful glances and finished their awkward meal.

After dinner, as Reiko was strolling alone through the amusement park, she was approached by the boy Mitani Jirou.

“What’s wrong, Miss Reiko? Something’s off. Did you have a fight with Mr. Yumoto?”

He was an eerily sensitive boy. “Yes, we did have a fight.” “Jirou, do come here now.”

Reiko said nonchalantly as she sat down on a discarded stone before a shrub thicket and invited the boy onto her lap. The delicate pretty boy was accustomed to sitting on adults’ laps. “What was the fight about? Why did you fight?” “It’s nothing.” “It’s not nothing. You and Mr. Yumoto aren’t talking, are you? You’re making such a strange pale face—what’s wrong with you?” The boy fidgeted atop Reiko’s plump knees and spoke in a coaxing tone.

“I’m worried about you—it’s not like I dislike you, Miss Reiko.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jirou.” Reiko, embracing the boy as if to hold him tight, said, “It’s nothing… But maybe…” “Maybe what?” “Maybe I might get killed, you know.” “Huh? Who by?” “I don’t want to tell anyone. Because if you do, something terrible will happen.”

“Yeah, I won’t tell.” “If I die—just in case, I mean if I’m killed—the culprit will be Jouji, so make sure you remember that and tell the detective I said so, okay? I’m asking you now in advance.” “Really? So Mr. Yumoto might kill Miss Reiko? Why is that?”

“And then… If I’m killed, then know that Jouji is undoubtedly the one who murdered Chimako-san. Make sure you remember that too.” “Then why don’t you just tell the detective about that right away? Why are you keeping quiet?” “Because I don’t know the truth. Because if I carelessly say that and Jouji ends up being falsely accused, it would be too pitiful. And listen, you mustn’t tell anyone about this unless—unless I end up getting killed, you hear? Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I get that, but…” Dusk had completely fallen, leaving them in darkness so profound they could no longer make out each other’s faces.

The two of them were so engrossed in their conversation that they noticed nothing, but behind them in the thicket came the low rustle of leaves brushing against each other. There, someone was lurking and listening to their conversation. In the thicket were two eyes glowing phosphorescently. It was impossible to tell whether it was a man or a woman. Beyond the eyes lay nothing but an eerie black shadow, like some monstrous sea apparition. “Oh dear, I’ve carelessly gone and said something pointless.” “I must be out of my mind tonight.” “That was all a lie!” “Don’t tell anyone.” “I mean it!”

“Yeah, I'm okay. “I won't tell!”

“Oh my, it’s gotten so dark.” “Let’s go over there.” As the two stood up from the stepping stones and began walking toward the cafeteria building, the black-robed figure under the trees also ceased eavesdropping and slunk off into the distant twilight.

The Pale Model

It was the next day.

Having yet to grasp any leads, Detective Kijima, guided by park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon, ventured once more into the infamous maze to hypothesize the sequence of the crimes. "This maze was constructed based on my design, yet it's so well-made that even I, its designer, sometimes end up getting lost." Jirouemon boasted while walking along the winding, narrow path. "It's because you create such eccentric contraptions that these troubles arise." "There's nothing more troublesome than a wealthy person with too much time on their hands."

The detective, with feigned nonchalance, jokingly criticized the park owner’s eccentricities. “Oh, when you put it that way, I can hardly bear the shame,” he said. “However, since this incident occurred within my own estate and the victim was my close friend, I intend to investigate thoroughly as if I were a detective myself. I will hand over the culprit without fail.” “If things go that smoothly,” replied the detective.

Detective Kijima contemptuously dismissed Jirouemon’s earnest proposal. “The culprit is undoubtedly someone within the park.” “Everyone is a suspect.” “And all are my close friends.” “This is a truly troublesome position.” “Well, it’s not like I can just slap your friends around and beat a confession out of them.” “But then again, since there’s absolutely no evidence, it’s truly a hassle.” “All of this is thanks to this maze.” “If it weren’t for this, the culprit would have been seen by Mr. Ono.” “Even so, surely you must have someone suspicious in mind…”

“As I’ve maintained since our prior discussions, there remains no clear suspect.” “Chimako was a docile woman—it’s inconceivable she had enemies.” “If pressed to theorize, she was killed precisely because she was loved.” “A grudge born of unrequited affection, one might say.” “Yet if that holds true, we must acknowledge not a single soul in this park was immune to loving her.” “Furthermore, it’s certain she spurned advances from several besides myself.” “Thus every man here becomes a suspect.”

While talking, they backtracked two or three times, but true to their expertise, they did not lose their way and reached the maze's center.

“Oh, there’s someone here.” The detective took a step into that space and halted in shock. “Ah, Mr. Yumoto! What are you doing in a place like this?”

Jirouemon also called out in surprise. It was the sadist Yumoto Jouji. He was doing something peculiar at the center of that maze. Before him stood a canvas propped on a tripod; his left hand held a palette while his right gripped a paintbrush. "What are you painting?"

When questioned, Jouji pointed at the model with his chin as if to say one need only look to understand. The model was a ghastly pale lump of flesh crouched on the ground in a bizarre shape. It had a truly bizarre form. Her face pressed flat against the earth; buttocks raised high; legs folded beneath her abdomen; arms contorted unnaturally and flung before her face. In other words, it was an extraordinarily voluptuous female model - utterly naked without a thread covering her.

But what of that skin’s ghastly pallor? Could a woman with such eerie skin have existed in this paradise? “Oh! Isn’t that Ms. Reiko Harada? What happened? That strange pose. Hasn’t her body been broken? That must be painful.” Kitagawa Jirouemon cried out as he realized the true identity of the model woman. “It doesn’t hurt.” Jouji, briskly moving his paintbrush, answered curtly.

“How could it not hurt?!” “How cruel!” “Stop this!” “What a nuisance this sadist is!” “It can’t hurt.” “Take a good look at Ms. Reiko.” Jouji said in a voice that seemed angry.

When told to look, he found it indeed strange. Reiko Harada’s skin should never have taken on such a ghastly hue. Kitagawa Jirouemon couldn’t suppress a shuddering chill. Detective Kijima, perhaps having grasped the truth too, strode briskly toward the model and abruptly seized her shoulder to yank her up.

“Ah!” A cry of shock erupted simultaneously from both their mouths.

Beneath Reiko’s pulled-up body, a crimson puddle had formed. And in her chest was lodged that familiar dagger, plunged deep into her heart, while her breasts, abdomen, and even her thighs were dyed crimson as if painted with red paint.

“Hey, Mr. Yumoto! Did you know about this? Who did this to her?” “Who’s the culprit?”

Jirouemon stammered and interrogated Jouji. “It’s that guy.” “It’s the guy who killed Ms. Chimako.”

Jouji said emotionlessly. “Hmm, I suppose that’s likely.” “But what have *you* done?” “Were you nonchalantly painting a picture using your lover’s corpse as a model?” “Yeah.” Jouji answered calmly.

“I hadn’t realized until this very moment that Reiko was such a beautiful creature.” “And this bizarrely beautiful pose.” “I thought it’d be a waste to put her in a coffin.”

Had Yumoto Jouji lost his mind? He was obliviously sketching his lover’s blood-soaked corpse as though it were something of unparalleled beauty.

Murder Trio

Detective Kijima was utterly appalled by this lunatic spectacle and found himself speechless, but as he gradually regained his composure, his usual spiteful, cold expression took over his face.

“Mr. Yumoto, sketching your lover’s corpse was quite the brilliant idea.” “Truly a brilliant idea.”

He showed admiration dripping with sarcasm. “Brilliant isn’t it?” “Such a beautiful pose couldn’t possibly be conceived by mortal hands.” “A once-in-a-lifetime model—you’ll never get another one this splendid.” Jouji was innocently boasting.

“Brilliant!” “That innocence of yours—even a great actor couldn’t mimic it.”

The detective said with increasing sarcasm.

“A great actor, you say? Then it sounds like I’m putting on some kind of act, doesn’t it?” Jouji made a strange face and stared at the detective.

“Brilliant! Even more brilliant,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sketching the victim’s corpse to dodge suspicion—now that’s an ingenious new scheme.” “Oh? So you’re saying *I* killed this woman and left her here, then put on this act to avoid suspicion?” Jouji shot back.

Jouji, perhaps finally grasping the detective’s true intent, asked back in surprise. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, no, it’s not necessarily the case. But…” “But what’s the matter? Ah, I see! You’ve concluded that I’m the culprit and intend to arrest me, haven’t you? But Detective, to throw me into jail, you must have solid evidence. Do you have that? Evidence. Show me the evidence!”

“Evidence?” The detective answered slowly, approached Reiko’s corpse, and pulled out the familiar dagger from her chest. “For example, this dagger.” “This rod-like weapon without a guard—its owner should be recognizable at a glance.” “Mr. Kitagawa, isn’t that right?” “Indeed, that is Mr. Yumoto’s dagger for magic tricks. However...” Jirouemon stammered in perplexity. “Nonsense! If I were the real culprit, would I leave behind a weapon in the corpse’s chest that anyone could recognize at a glance?” “That, on the contrary, proves my innocence!” Jouji shouted.

“In any case, I must ask for your cooperation in accompanying me to the police station for now.” “Whether it be the police chief or the examining magistrate, they will want to hear your opinion.” Detective Kijima declared coldly.

“No way.” “I can’t just abandon my lover’s corpse and go to some police station.” “I absolutely will not leave Jiro Amusement Park.”

Just as the dispute was growing increasingly heated, a monster suddenly appeared. It was the hunchbacked Esashi Sousuke. He had beads of sweat forming on his ugly forehead and was panting heavily. He must have finally managed to reach here after running around the maze. “Oh! It’s you, Sousuke.” “What’s wrong?” Kitagawa Jirouemon called out in surprise. “Master, something terrible has happened!” “Hurry up and come!” “When I saw that, I rushed out immediately, but I got held up in the maze for thirty minutes.” “I ain’t got no breath left in me no more!” Mid-sentence, he suddenly noticed Harada Reiko’s corpse. “Whoa, there’s another corpse here, ain’t there?” “Ain’t that Miss Reiko?!” “Who killed her?”

“So here as well, Sousuke—are you saying there’s another victim killed somewhere?”

Jirouemon flusteredly asked back.

“Yes.” “There’s another one killed over there.”

“Who?” Kitagawa Jirouemon and the detective shouted almost simultaneously.

“It’s the boy.” “Poor thing—shot in the chest with a pistol, barely clinging to life.” “Nah, by now he must’ve stopped breathin’ altogether.” “The boy… you mean Mitani Jirou?” “Yep, that’s right.” “Detective Kijima.” “Mr. Yumoto—let’s put aside this argument and go see together.” “Mitani Jirou has been killed.”

While saying this, Kitagawa Jirouemon had already started running. The hunchbacked Sousuke ran after him. Yumoto Jouji, with Detective Kijima gripping his arm, also began to run. “Where? Where’s the boy who was killed?”

“At the Merry-Go-Round.” “He was ridin’ the wooden horse when he got done in.”

Finally escaping the maze and arriving at the Merry-Go-Round, they saw the park’s servants—more than a dozen of them—gathered in a cluster and causing a commotion. “What happened to Mitani?” “Is he still breathing?” “Did someone go to call a doctor?” At Kitagawa Jirouemon’s voice, the servants cleared a path and answered one after another. “He is beyond help. “He stopped breathing just now.”

When they looked, there lay the boy Jirou—still in the position he had fallen from the wooden horse—clawing at the ground with both hands as he died. “Why haven’t you carried him to the bed? Leaving him on this ground—isn’t it pitiful?” Kitagawa Jirouemon looked around at the servants and scolded them.

“Oh, Jirou, this isn’t the time for that! The dead aren’t just Mr. Mitani alone!”

From the midst of the crowd, Kitagawa Jirouemon’s lover Kishita Ayuko rushed out and answered in a tearful voice. “Not just one?” “What on earth is going on?” Kitagawa Jirouemon cried out in surprise.

“Miss Orie! Miss Orie fell from the balloon and died! Mr. Ono has gone over there!”

“M-Miss Orie…?” Everyone, upon hearing this, could not utter another word.

Diary and Telescope In other words, that morning at Jiro Amusement Park, three murders had been committed almost simultaneously. Harada Reiko at the center of the maze, Mitani Jirou at the Merry-Go-Round, and Hitomi Orie at the hot-air balloon.

Among the group of late risers, only Mitani Jirou, the boy, was an exception in rising early. That morning as well, he had slipped out of his bedroom around six a.m. and was racing through the early morning amusement park when, passing by the Merry-Go-Round, he suddenly felt like riding it. Alone, he flipped the switch to set it spinning and leaped onto one of the wooden horses. Over a dozen bizarre wooden-carved bareback horses began to turn, their heads jerking up and down as they rumbled and rumbled.

The boy Mitani gripped the reins, swaying his hips back and forth as he urged, “Hyah! Hyah!” and thudded along, competing with the bareback horses. In the vicinity—of course around the Merry-Go-Round building—as far as the eye could see, there were no human figures. Apart from the swishing sound of the refreshing morning wind grazing his cheeks, even the chirping of birds could not be heard. However, just as the wooden horses had made about ten rotations, suddenly shattering the silence with a fierce whizzing roar, Jirou felt a terrible shock as if a rod had been thrust into his chest.

“Gyah!”

A scream burst out involuntarily. At the same moment, he was flung head over heels from the spinning wooden horse and slammed into the ground. “Who did it?!” Even if he shouted, there was no one to answer. How strange, how strange. Though there was not a soul in sight, a pistol bullet had come flying from nowhere and pierced the boy’s chest. Kishita Ayuko and Esashi Sousuke discovered the barely breathing boy Mitani about an hour after that.

Covered in blood and mud and looking as ghoulish as a monster, the boy was picked up,

“Who shot you? Who shot you?” they asked him about the perpetrator，and the boy barely moved his lips． “I don’t know... The diary... the diary...” he muttered... and then went completely limp． He no longer had the strength to say anything more． Thus，after entrusting the aftermath to Ayuko，Sousuke ran off to report the emergency． “When he said ‘diary，’ wasn’t he referring to the one Jirou always keeps?” “If you read it，you might understand something．” Ayuko cleverly inferred．

“Do you know where that diary is?” Detective Kijima pressed without hesitation. “Yes, I do know. It should be stored in the drawer of Mr. Jirou’s bedroom desk.” “Then could you please show me there immediately? I wish to examine it promptly... Mr. Kitagawa, would you proceed ahead to inspect the other body? I shall join you shortly.” Thus the detective and Ayuko hastened to young Mitani’s bedroom, while Kitagawa Jirouemon hurried toward the hot-air balloon accompanied by two or three servants.

The airship-shaped hot-air balloon had been moored on a certain hill in a corner of the amusement park. As they drew closer, they realized that one of the ropes of the ladder hanging from the balloon to the ground had snapped—causing the ladder to lose its form—and that the balloon was barely held in place by the remaining single rope. “Ah… The rope ladder’s snapped.”

Kitagawa Jirouemon muttered to no one in particular. When they arrived at the scene, a crowd of servants had already gathered there as well.

“Ono! Is Ono here?” At the call, Raizou’s face emerged from the crowd. “Ah, Kitagawa-kun! Look at this.” “What a dreadful mess.” Raizou made a tearful grimace as he spoke. Where he pointed lay Orie’s corpse. It truly was dreadful. Like a bean bun hurled with full force, her body had embedded itself into the ground and been crushed flat with a sickening squelch.

“Oh, this person is holding binoculars.” “Yeah, so she was looking at something. And then, as she was trying to get down from the balloon—just as she was about to step onto the rope ladder or hadn’t yet—she suddenly plummeted like a bullet.”

“So, you saw it?”

“No—if I’d seen it myself, I wouldn’t have left it be till now,” “A kid saw it.” “The kitchen hag’s brat says he saw it.” “This one here.” Raizou pressed down on the head of a six- or seven-year-old boy to present him. “Terribly sorry about this…” “Just a kid’s tale, so I didn’t think nothin’ of it… Then this awful thing happened…” Kitagawa Jirouemon brushed aside the mother’s endless apologies and began questioning while patting the snot-nosed brat’s head.

“Hey there, buddy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Was this young lady up on the balloon looking through binoculars?” “Yeah, that’s right. She was looking real hard.”

The child answered with unexpected clarity. “Which direction were you looking in?” “That way.” In the direction the child pointed, there was nothing but the aforementioned murder maze. “That way, right? No mistake there, right?” “Yeah, she was only lookin’ that way.” “Ono, Miss Orie might have been studying the Labyrinth from up in the balloon.” “If you look down from above, the map of the maze becomes clear, you know.” “But what kind of whimsy would drive someone to do such a thing first thing in the morning?”

“No—perhaps from up in this balloon, she might have seen Reiko-san’s murder scene as clearly as if holding it in her hand. Ma’am, what exactly was the time of that?” “When this child came back saying ‘fell down, fell down,’ that was indeed around six o’clock.”

“Six o’clock... Yes, that might indeed be the case.” “Boy, what happened then? Didn’t this young lady look surprised at all?” “Yeah… She was opening her mouth real wide and chattering away.” “Yeah, and then she hurriedly came down.” “Even if she was chattering away, there was no one outside the balloon, right?”

“Yeah, there wasn’t anyone there.” “Then why was she chattering away?” “Ah, I see.” “Buddy, the young lady opened her mouth wide and screamed, didn’t she?” “Screaming things like ‘Ahhh!’ or ‘Help me!’” But the child remained silent with a troubled look on his face. “Well, there there—it’s a bit too much for you, Buddy.” “But Mr. Ono, it seems my imagination was correct.” “And then, Buddy, what happened?”

Kitagawa Jirouemon continued his questioning.

“And then, the rope broke.” “Why did it break?”

“I don’t know. But it just snapped right off. And then she turned upside down and swooshed straight down. It was so fast! So fast you couldn’t even see it!” The child reported proudly, catching his breath.

Was the rope ladder’s breakage merely accidental? Was there not some terrible meaning hidden within that? Almost simultaneously, three unexplained deaths erupted. For a mere coincidence, it was far too bizarre. This was likely not a series of separate incidents. Behind this series of blood-soaked heinous incidents, might there not lie the same motive... a single culprit hidden in the shadows?

Suspect

That morning, almost simultaneously, Reiko at the center of the maze, the boy Jirou atop a merry-go-round horse, and Orie plummeting from a balloon in the sky—all met tragic deaths. The murder weapon that killed Reiko was the same mysterious dagger as Chimako’s; what killed the boy Jirou was a bullet; and while Orie fell due to the balloon’s rope being severed, it’s possible that someone had cut that rope to kill her. No, it was not a mere "possibility." That this was indeed the case soon became clear.

After the police and officials from the prosecutor’s office arrived, completed the autopsy, and the corpses were carried indoors, the balloon was lowered to the ground at Detective Kijima’s proposal. It was to examine the severed end of the rope ladder. The gigantic silver balloon, its gas released, lay on the ground like a jellyfish.

“Just as I thought,” “Take a look at this severed end.” “It was absolutely not severed naturally.” “This shows it was sliced through by a sharp blade.”

At the detective’s words, everyone gathered around and looked at the severed end of the rope—indeed, it had been cleanly severed with a single swift cut. “However, since Miss Orie would never cut the rope ladder herself, we must conclude there was a culprit aboard the balloon.” “Yet both this child and the elderly kitchen staff member—who rushed out upon hearing his report—insist no one remained on the balloon after Miss Orie fell.” “When I arrived, barely two or three minutes had passed since her fall, yet there was no one near the balloon.” “So when was this rope cut? Who did it? And how?”

Ono Raizou, who had lost his lover, said with a pale face in a thoroughly puzzled manner. “Well，there we have it. “I was just thinking about that myself.” Detective Kijima answered meaningfully. He already seemed to have realized something.

Detective Kijima answered meaningfully. He already seemed to have realized something.

Then, they withdrew to a room in the building and underwent questioning by the prosecutor. However, since writing everything in detail would be tedious, I will extract and note down only the important parts. First and foremost, in accordance with the boy Jirou’s dying words, his diary was examined.

"Tonight I met Miss Reiko with a pale face at the foot of the mountain," "When I asked her what was wrong, she told me not to tell anyone and said something strange—'If I die, Jouji did it—so remember this and tell the detective.'" The diary contained these entries. Appended afterward were young Jirou’s reflections on this crime: "It seems no one noticed—but I knew Mr. Jouji kept many daggers identical to the one stabbed into Ms. Chimako’s chest." "I’d suspected that ex-convict Jouji from the start." "Just as I thought." "Miss Reiko’s words tonight made my suspicions feel truer than ever." "Should I tell everyone?" "But Miss Reiko told me not to tell anyone." "I didn’t want to betray her words." "Ah—what should I do?"

The mere fact that Yumoto Jouji had been sketching Reiko’s corpse at the center of the maze was already sufficient to cast suspicion upon him, and now this new piece of evidence had emerged. He no longer had any means of escape. Everyone believed Jouji was the perpetrator. Though the murder motive remained unclear, and the notion that a single man could commit three murders simultaneously across such wildly disparate locations—one atop a balloon in the sky, another within a complex maze—stretched credulity, setting aside those doubts left no one questioning that Jouji stood as the prime suspect.

The prosecutor summoned Jouji before him and bombarded him with sharp questions, but he persisted in his denials, claiming to know nothing about anything.

The prosecutor further questioned Kitagawa Jirouemon, Kishita Ayuko, Ono Raizou, Esashi Sousuke, and others, but there were no findings of particular note.

At the time of the triple murder that morning, it was revealed that Kitagawa Jirouemon was—as usual—inside a Ferris wheel cabin, while Ayuko and Raizou were still in their respective beds within the building, snoring soundly. Each had witnesses, leaving no room for even a shred of doubt.

The hunchbacked Esashi Sousuke, an early riser, claimed he had gotten up around five o’clock that morning and patrolled the park grounds. However, given that the park—with its hills and rivers—was a vast area, no one had witnessed where he was or what he was doing at the time of the crimes. In other words, he had no witness who could serve as an alibi. In addition to the aforementioned individuals, it should be noted that a man named K, the fireworks technician, underwent questioning by the prosecutor.

“You were launching fireworks around six o’clock this morning, but why on earth were you setting them off so early?”

The prosecutor asked. “Well, that’s my job. Every day, from six in the morning until six in the evening, launching daytime fireworks non-stop—that’s my duty.” K, a forty-year-old man in a black-stained work uniform, replied. “Was that on the park owner’s orders?” “That is something I have ordered.” Kitagawa Jirouemon interjected and answered. “As you are well aware, it is an eccentric amusement park.” “There’s nothing strange about setting off fireworks first thing in the morning.” “We are irresistibly fond of that booming crackle and the rain of paper balloon fragments cascading down from the bursting fireworks.”

The prosecutor continued his questioning with a wry smile, now directing it squarely at K, the fireworks technician.

“Didn’t you notice any suspicious people around six o’clock?” “Your fireworks tubes were positioned right behind the maze, weren’t they?” “No one came to my post.” “Not only suspicious people—I didn’t even see a single human figure all morning.” “Didn’t you hear any screams from inside the maze?” “Huh, I didn’t notice that at all.” “It might have been drowned out by the fireworks and didn’t reach my ears…”

With the fireworks technician being the last, the round of questioning came to an end. In the end, no facts emerged that could negate Yumoto Jouji being the culprit. The over a dozen grotesque daggers that had been hidden near the subterranean Blood Pool Hell were seized as evidence along with the boy Jirou’s diary. And needless to say, Yumoto Jouji himself was taken in as the sole suspect.

The Giant Whale’s Heart

Detective Kijima did not attempt to leave the amusement park along with the prosecutor and police personnel. There was also the police chief’s order, and he himself did not yet believe that the case had been resolved with this.

That afternoon, he was walking around the park grounds alone, idly. When he suddenly noticed, there lay before him a hill-like mass of jet-black lacquered plaster. Amidst the pitch-black surface, there was a single white speck resembling a stain. That was the eye of this monster. The artificial giant whale glared at the detective with its small white eyes.

The black hollow gaping open beneath its eye, near the mouth, was the entrance to the whale’s interior. The detective was well acquainted with the bizarre spectacle of its interior. It was a world of eerie fairy tales that captivated even adults.

He felt compelled to enter its interior. After stepping over the black hollow and crawling into the giant whale’s mouth, he encountered a grotesquely uneven, massive throat, from which a narrow esophagus—barely wide enough for one person—stretched on until it reached the stomach. There were no exposed light fixtures; all light sources were concealed within the organ fibers, filtering through the bluish-black mucous membrane to cast a dim, overcast-day-like glow ahead. The translucent bluish-black mucous membrane was crisscrossed with eerie blood vessels and nerves resembling black rivers.

A portion of the stomach had become red and inflamed, and a hole approximately three feet wide had opened, allowing passage into the body cavity. Detective Kijima crawled out of the stomach through that hole.

Outside was a vast, rust-colored hollow space. Directly overhead dangled a gigantic light source so startling it made one gasp. It was the whale’s heart—a gigantic, bright red, translucent organ suspended on a bare pole like the great lantern of Asakusa’s Nio Gate. From the crimson heart writhed great arteries and veins like ancient tree roots, snaking outward to stretch far into the distance over a hundred fathoms away. There, the giant whale’s large and small intestines, bluish-black and tangled in the shapes of countless serpents both large and small, writhed together.

“Isn’t that you, Detective Kijima?”

From somewhere echoed a voice as bodiless as radio static. Startled, he spun around to find a small black shadow squirming like some aberrant parasite beneath the whale's great lantern-shaped heart. A human. "Who's there?" "It's me—Kitagawa."

The black shadow answered in Jirouemon’s voice. “Oh, it was you? Why are you in a place like this at this hour?”

The detective approached the very underside of the heart. “I had a little something to think about, you see. This crimson heart stimulates my imagination, you see.” As he drew closer, Jirouemon’s face—mottled in red and black—appeared like a terrifying red oni. “Hoh, what are you thinking so deeply about?” Detective Kijima was also a red oni. Beneath the great lantern heart, two red oni were whispering to each other.

“Of course, it’s about this bloody incident.”

Jirouemon answered. Because it was directly beneath the giant heart, along with the adjective “bloody,” the actual stench of bloody gore struck the detective’s nose. “However, hasn’t the case nearly been resolved?” “Are you trying to assert Mr. Yumoto’s innocence?” Even the detective wasn’t entirely convinced the case had been resolved, but upon realizing there was another man here harboring doubts and lost in thought, he couldn’t help but speak in such a manner.

“Well, no—it’s not necessarily so, but… Detective Kijima, do you believe that Yumoto Jouji is the true culprit behind the four murder cases?” “Of course, there’s no other way to think about it, is there?”

Kijima made a show of declaring emphatically. “That guy’s an ex-convict, sure enough. However, he is not a murderer who would take human lives without reason.” “Without reason, you say? There is a reason, isn’t there? Are you saying you don’t understand that?” The detective found the truth unexpected. “So, you’re claiming that Jouji had a motive for murder, then? I would very much like to hear your thoughts.”

Jirouemon stared directly at the detective’s reddened face and spoke. “Mr. Yumoto tried to take Ms. Moroguchi Chimako from you.” “And for Ms. Chimako’s sake, he was harshly rebuffed.” “Wouldn’t this serve as a motive for murder?” “Oh, so you knew that?” “I am a detective.”

Kijima seemed to take offense and retorted irritably. “No, excuse me. You’re absolutely correct on that point. But…” “The fact that Ms. Reiko was killed can also be explained through Jirou-kun’s diary. Ms. Reiko, who acted as though married to Mr. Yumoto, noticing her husband’s crime seems entirely plausible. Moreover, there’s even the fact that Ms. Reiko served as Mr. Yumoto’s dagger-throwing target. She must have realized sooner than anyone that the dagger which struck down Ms. Chimako belonged to Mr. Yumoto. That’s why she left those words for Jirou-kun. As expected, Ms. Reiko was killed with the same dagger.”

“That’s a well-reasoned deduction.” “Then, what was the motive for Mitani Jirou’s murder?”

Kitagawa Jirouemon’s voice carried a hint of a knowing chuckle.

“Jirou-kun is the sole witness who heard Ms. Reiko’s secret.” “The simplest way to silence that witness is to kill him.”

“So does that mean Jouji was eavesdropping on Ms. Reiko and Jirou’s secret conversation?” “Perhaps so. Even if not—given she was his lover—he might have inferred it from Ms. Reiko’s behavior or fragments of her words.”

The reader knows. When Reiko was revealing that secret to young Jirou, a black, sea goblin-like figure was eavesdropping from behind the bushes. And if that figure had been Yumoto Jouji, then Detective Kijima’s deductions would have increasingly hit the mark.

“Then, what about Miss Orie Hitomi? The whim of riding a balloon first thing in the morning wasn’t particularly unusual for a resident of this paradise—but why would someone with no connection to the case be killed? And how did the criminal manage to cut that rope ladder high up in midair? At that time, there was no one else aboard the balloon besides Miss Orie.” “Did you inspect the severed end of the rope ladder closely?”

The detective suddenly asked a strange question.

“I saw it, but…”

“It was a sharp cut—made by a blade, or if not…” “Huh? If not…?” “A bullet.” “If there were an exceptional marksman who could use that thin rope as a target and land a bullet through it, that’s exactly how such a clean cut would form.”

“From where?” Kitagawa Jirouemon asked in surprise. “I want to say the shot came from the center of the maze, but that’s impossible for anyone to consider. If someone fired from a much closer location—say, directly beneath the balloon’s mooring site—and then slipped into the woods without anyone noticing, it wouldn’t be entirely impossible.”

“However, there would be the sound of a gunshot.” “However, the old woman in charge of cooking didn’t mention anything about hearing a gunshot, it seems.”

“It’s the fireworks.” “Couldn’t we consider that those insane early-morning fireworks masked the gunshot?” “The reason I summoned Mr. K, the fireworks technician, this morning was to inform the prosecutor about precisely that point.” “I see, I see. The fireworks theory is ingeniously constructed.” “You’re a terrifying man.” “But the motive?” “Why would Jouji need to kill Miss Orie?” “You recall Miss Orie was clutching binoculars.” “That person had been surveying the park grounds from the balloon’s height.” “And by sheer chance, she glimpsed that uncanny spectacle at the maze’s heart.” “The murder scene itself.”

“I see, I see.” Kitagawa Jirouemon groaned, deeply impressed. “After achieving their objective, the culprit must have looked around in all directions to see if anyone had witnessed them.” “Then, the figure on the balloon—a figure holding binoculars and trembling in terror—caught their eye.” “So then, is it unreasonable to think that the culprit ran out of the maze and went beneath the balloon?” “Miss Orie should have descended from the balloon sooner, but she was utterly terrified and couldn’t bring herself to make that decision.” “And then, when she finally began timidly descending the rope ladder, the bullet was fired.” “Of course, they must have been aiming for Miss Orie, but the bullet missed and by chance struck the thin rope.” “After all, one can hardly imagine Mr. Yumoto being such an expert marksman as to fire at a thin rope swaying in the sky.”

“Indeed, your reasoning seems to follow a logical path.” “So he took out Orie and then used that same firearm to shoot and kill Mitani Jirou on his way back—is that your reasoning?” “Probably so.” “The Merry-Go-Round is located between the balloon and the maze, you see.” “So what about the firearm that Jouji supposedly used?” “Did you discover it?”

“Unfortunately, not yet.” “If only we could discover that, Mr. Yumoto’s guilt would be certain—but no matter where we search, we can’t find where he hid it.” “However, I intend to discover it and present it soon.”

The detective answered with an air of confidence. “However, even after hearing your theory, I still cannot bring myself to believe in Jouji’s guilt.”

Kitagawa Jirouemon still said in a voice tinged with a suppressed laugh. "Oh? Then are you suggesting there's another suspicious person out there?"

The detective asked, slightly flustered.

“There is one fact you still do not know.”

“What is it? “What exactly is that?” “The ones who discovered Moroguchi Chimako’s corpse were Ono Raizou and Hitomi Orie.” “At that time, Miss Orie had seen the culprit.” “Because it would have caused trouble had she carelessly spoken of it, Miss Orie died without telling anyone except Mr. Ono.” “Mr. Ono has in fact kept it secret until today out of consideration for someone’s circumstances.” “She saw the culprit? “Good heavens! What is this? “To think you kept such a crucial clue hidden! “Then who was it?”

“We don’t know who it was.” “In that split second, she could only discern that it was a very short man wearing Western clothes.” “A short man?” The detective held his breath. “Among our group, if we speak of short men, there are only the child Mitani Jirou or the hunchbacked Esashi Sousuke.” “Miss Orie feared that suspicion would fall upon these two.” “However, Jirou was killed.”

Under the eerie reddish-black light emanating from the heart of the giant lantern, the two involuntarily exchanged glances and fell silent.

Esashi Sousuke

“The boy Jirou has been killed.” “Then...” “Then that leaves that short man.”

And then, the two fell silent once more.

At the focal point of Jirouemon’s gaze lay a grotesque stomach resembling a gas balloon—encased in a bluish-black web of veins—that had heavily settled into place. Beyond it, deep within the womb-like darkness, python-like coils of intestines lay twisted in succession. Though it was my own design, seeing how this anatomical model’s obscenity—its cruelty and futility—had been magnified a hundredfold to permeate every inch of the darkness made my heart begin racing of its own accord.

How terrifying it would be if these colossal organs, suddenly imbued with life, began throbbing and squirming with pulsating movement! No sooner had this thought crossed my mind than it became reality—the stomach began to stir. Is this a dream? No, this isn’t a dream. It’s moving. This great whale is indeed alive and breathing. It is digesting what it has eaten. The massive papier-mâché stomach began to undulate and stir! No way. This must be a dream. But…

“Did you notice?”

Kitagawa Jirouemon stealthily prodded the detective’s side and whispered. “Yeah.” Detective Kijima answered with eyes as wary as a wild beast’s. “It moved, didn’t it?” “It moved. Is this your handiwork?” “No, I know nothing about it whatsoever. That stomach is a fixed papier-mâché prop. It can’t possibly move.” “Then perhaps—”

The detective interpreted this bizarre occurrence very realistically. And so, he took the lead and approached the dark stomach. “There’s no way something like this could trigger digestive action.” The detective knocked on the stomach wall, slimy with paint, and said: “There’s someone here. A person’s hiding inside and moving it. Hey! Who’s there? Come out!” The detective intuited something and, with a burst of momentum, charged toward the rear of the stomach.

“Gah!” A scream erupted. And an indescribably grotesque living thing slipped past the detective’s arm and fled into the shadow of the maze formed by the padding of the whale’s belly. “Mr. Kitagawa, please go around to that side. I’ll drive them out from behind.”

Kijima shouted as if chasing a rabbit and plunged into the belly padding. In the darkness came the ripping sound of belly padding tearing, the fleeing mysterious figure’s chaotic footsteps, the pursuing detective’s labored breathing—all tangled together. The great whale with concrete skin, seized by stomach pain, writhed in agony.

“Damn it! Mr. Kijima, he got away! He slipped under my sleeve. That way! That way! Toward the esophagus!”

Jirouemon shouted and suddenly broke into a run. Slipping past the heart’s great lantern, pushing through papier-mâché lungs, toward the esophagus—into a tunnel-like dark narrow path. The monster was as short as a child and as nimble as a monkey. He could run through the low-ceilinged tunnel while standing upright. Bending their bodies, their heads knocking repeatedly as they ran awkwardly, the two large men were no match for him in this race. When Kitagawa Jirouemon and Detective Kijima finally emerged from the whale’s interior and surveyed the grove bathed in evening glow, the mysterious figure had vanished without a trace.

“So it was like that after all.”

Outside the whale’s mouth, Detective Kijima stood dazedly and remarked meaningfully. “I do trust that guy. But it is strange.”

Mr. Kitagawa tilted his head. "You can’t deny that was the hunchback Esashi Sousuke either."

“Yes—there’s no one else outside with that appearance,” conceded Kitagawa Jirouemon. “But it’s truly baffling.” “You might understand if you see this,” countered Detective Kijima, producing a scrap of paper. “I picked it up when that fellow dropped it earlier.” The detective held out the fragment. Clumsy characters sprawled across its surface: *On July 14th approaches—the very night of Jiro Paradise’s Carnival Festival—when the murder game reaches its grand culmination.* *That night shall see the few remaining members massacred.* *How glorious this blood-drenched nocturnal revelry! This murder festival’s clamor!* *Merely imagining it sets my spine aquiver.* *Tell no one.* *Hell’s secret.* *Jiro Paradise’s great secret.*

“Are you familiar with Sousuke’s handwriting?”

The detective asked.

“I know. However, since this is written in a deliberately rough style, I can’t be certain whether it’s truly Sousuke’s.”

Jirouemon answered. "Is this 'Jiro Paradise Carnival Festival' real?"

“It’s true. Before this murder commotion arose, invitations had already been sent to over a hundred like-minded gentlemen and ladies. I had been considering whether we must cancel it due to this disturbance.” “Hmph. Even so, selecting such a bustling night... the culprit’s intentions remain utterly unfathomable.”

The detective, true to form, took a realistic approach. “I feel like I might understand, you know.” For some reason, Kitagawa Jirouemon formed a thin smile, peered into the detective’s face as if scrutinizing him, licked his lips, and said: “As you can see from the methods employed thus far, the culprit is a terrifying murderous maniac.” “You previously constructed a realistic theory positing Yumoto Jouji as the hypothetical culprit, but in this paradise where Yumoto Jouji is absent, a suspicious figure like the one we just saw has appeared.” “Moreover, it’s the guy who dropped this murder schedule.” “With this, you must understand that Yumoto isn’t the culprit.” “This crime is a madman’s dream—one that ordinary villains like Jouji could never conceive.” “To put it oddly, this is a crime befitting this phantom Jiro Paradise.”

“Somehow, you sound like you’re praising this murderous maniac.” In the encroaching twilight, the detective made a strange face.

“Praise? “Well, in a certain sense. “I like red fireworks shot into the pitch-black night. “But please don’t misunderstand me as being comrades with that murderous maniac.” “But would that crippled Sousuke understand such feelings? The kind you’re talking about.” “I’m also surprised. “However, one cannot say deformed children’s hearts aren’t twisted in ways entirely different from our own. “That guy puts on such an innocent face, but who’s to say he isn’t scheming some blood-soaked, beautifully wicked deed in his heart?”

“So, do you believe the message on this strange scrap of paper?”

“I believe it.” “The Jiro Paradise Carnival Festival—what a magnificent stage it will be!” “As for the crimson murder dance…”

Underground Aquarium

From that night into the following day, an exhaustive search was conducted throughout Jiro Paradise. Due to Detective Kijima’s report, over a dozen police officers from the jurisdictional police station had rushed to the scene. Police officers, the park’s servants, and dozens of searchers waved lanterns—one per person—as they combed every corner: atop towers, through the maze’s depths, inside each Ferris wheel gondola, around the merry-go-round, within the underground hell exhibit, across the aquarium’s tanks, over vast fields, and deep into forests. Yet by dawn’s light, the deformed man remained nowhere to be found.

Some suggested he might have fled outside the paradise, but that was unthinkable. How could that instantly recognizable deformed child flee this paradise, find somewhere to hide, and obtain food? This paradise, which itself forms one gigantic maze—wasn’t it an unparalleled hiding place for criminals seeking to evade notice? Moreover, that guy had the grand plan of July 14th looming before him.

By the following day around noon, the people, utterly exhausted, had gathered at the building in the center of Jiro Paradise. “How about canceling this Carnival Festival and having everyone here evacuate to a safer place?” “In other words, we’d be emptying out Jiro Paradise entirely.”

The Police Chief shouted in frustration.

“We have nowhere else to go.” “As I’ve always said—this paradise is our only world.” “I cannot bring myself to abandon it.” “Instead, search again. I already know the culprit’s identity.” “We need only apprehend them.”

Jirouemon pleaded with a face pale from sleeplessness. “You say to search, but where? Haven’t we already searched everywhere?” “I do have a slight inkling. There’s a place I believe might be there.” “Where is it?” “The underground aquarium.” “Ah! We’ve checked that place a dozen times already!” Detective Kijima interjected.

“The way you’re searching is flawed. This is something I just realized myself—there’s an amazing hiding place there that nobody would ever notice. That dreadful cripple might have known about it.” “Then show us the way.”

The Police Chief replied in a reluctant tone.

Detective Kijima and five police officers followed Jirouemon and descended into the underground aquarium.

There stretched a long concrete tunnel that wound and twisted, its walls on both sides pierced by numerous large glass windows. Beyond the thick panes lay directly the scenery of the ocean floor.

Of course, this was not the actual ocean floor; beyond the glass lay yet another concrete tank, its bottom strewn with rocks, pebbles, and soil, planted with various seaweeds, and stocked with all manner of exotic fish. Outside the phosphorescent sea snake tank, bright electric lights were installed above the water, and the aquarium modeled after the seabed allowed every pebble at its bottom to be seen clearly, yet distorted through layers of blue brine.

“Where did you search? Surely you didn’t check beyond these glass panes, did you?”

Standing at the front, Kitagawa Jirouemon turned back to question the six members of his party. “You mean beyond the glass panes? “But that’s underwater, isn’t it? “That’s just impossible…” “No—though it’s underwater, there’s a wide gap above the surface.” “You can breathe the air there and survive.” Upon hearing this, the six people exchanged glances and let out unintelligible murmurs. The criminal’s far too bizarre hiding place seemed utterly terrifying.

“So, are you saying that hunchbacked man submerged himself in the aquarium tank, keeping only his face above the water and staying perfectly still?” “Isn’t that the only place left to search?” The people’s pace suddenly slowed. Because they had begun meticulously peering into each and every glass window. Kitagawa Jirouemon and Detective Kijima stood shoulder to shoulder in front of a large glass panel. Since this was a tank not for fish but filled with grotesque seaweed, the entire glass pane was covered in what looked like a witch’s disheveled hair standing on end, casting swamp-like shadows—so that even with electric lights, visibility was poor, making it the most suspicious place one could suspect.

“Are there any large fish here?”

The detective asked with a puzzled expression. “No, this tank contains nothing but seaweed. There shouldn’t be a single fish here.” This answer startled the detective so much he nearly leapt into the air. “But you—that swaying, the way those kelp leaves are moving—” As they watched, the slimy bluish-black jungle of seaweed swayed and trembled grotesquely, and a white five-petaled flower bloomed abruptly. The five ghostly white petals, like a starfish coveting prey, creakingly grasped the seawater.

“It’s a hand! You—that’s a human hand!” It was unmistakably five human fingers. Moreover, they were fingers writhing in death throes. From behind seaweed parted by fingers, a large mouth jutted out abruptly—a deformed child’s face dominated by that gaping maw. He stared with hollow eyes stretched wide, spewing a torrent of crimson pigment from his mouth as he screamed something underwater. A scream without sound. If only Detective Kijima had known lip-reading, he might have deciphered the hair-raising curses spilling from Esashi Sousuke’s carp-like lips in his final agony. Alas, he remained utterly ignorant of their silent words.

Of course, the two of them immediately took a detour and rushed to the tank, but it was already too late. Sousuke had been stabbed in the chest by someone, thrown into that tank, and now floated lifelessly on the surface. With this installment, we conclude our search for the culprit. This may have turned into an odd tale ill-suited for a culprit hunt, but I believe many readers have already discerned—if not through logic—the true criminal the author has concealed. You need only provide that answer.

Cannon Purchase

The members of Jiro Paradise were now few in number. First came Kitagawa Jirouemon’s second lover Moroguchi Chimako; then Yumoto Jouji’s lover Harada Reiko; next, the beautiful youth Mitani Jirou; followed by Ono Raizou’s lover Hitomi Orie; and finally, the hunchbacked Esashi Sousuke—each slain one after another through bizarre and unfathomable means. Suspicion had once fallen upon Yumoto Jouji, a master dagger-thrower, but he was ultimately proven innocent and returned to the park from his detention cell.

The renowned detective Kijima Keiji had taken up residence in the park and worked diligently day and night, yet no matter how much time passed, he could not find even a single clue. Just as he had picked up something resembling the culprit's murder timetable and was about to apprehend Esashi Sousuke, whom he suspected, Sousuke himself had surfaced as a mutilated corpse inside the aquarium tank.

By now, the culprit was completely unknown. He appeared to be killing the members of Jiro Paradise randomly, haphazardly, as effortlessly as crushing insects. There had been no contact with the victims, and no motive that necessitated their killings could be discovered at all. An indescribable, monstrous, maddening aura came to permeate the entire case.

It was unthinkable that the criminal had invaded from outside. This was because the park’s terrain and structure had been constructed to be so heavily fortified. So was it someone inside then? The remaining members were now reduced to four: the park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon; his lover Kishita Ayuko; Ono Raizou; and Yumoto Jouji. Could the culprit be among these four? Though there were dozens of employees outside, since the park owner had meticulously selected and hired only those who were machine-like in their naivety and dullness, one would hardly think that among them lurked this nimble, monstrous murderous maniac. However, given the large number of people, it couldn’t be said for certain that a single masked fiend hadn’t slipped in among them.

Be that as it may，the day of that absurd event—the Jiro Paradise Carnival Festival—was drawing near. That day was none other than what an unseen murderous maniac had foretold—“the grand finale of the murder game would come; all members of Paradise would be slaughtered”—the very day itself. Even if it were but an empty threat. There’s no need to go to such dangerous lengths to hold something like a Carnival Festival，is there? And you，dear readers，must be thinking the same. The police，thinking likewise，summoned Jirouemon，the park owner，and advised him to cancel the event. But Jirouemon absolutely refused. The remaining three members also shared their master’s opinion.

“This Carnival Festival is none other than the greatest objective we had when we began Jiro Paradise.” “If this is canceled now, the hundreds of thousands of yen invested in the paradise will be completely wasted.” “You practical people likely cannot comprehend this, but we have grown utterly weary of worldly matters and are a breed that yearns only for beautiful dreams, living within them.” “And we are a breed that, even if we were to lose our lives while beholding beautiful dreams, would feel not an ounce of regret.” “Moreover, the notion that a murder would occur on the day of the Carnival is nothing more than an empty threat not even worth considering.” “If someone truly intended to commit murder, who would go around announcing it in advance?”

The opposition arguments from the park owner and the members were generally as described above. “However, I hear hundreds of guests will gather—and you must also consider the servants.” “No matter how amusing you may find this, for the safety of the majority…” the Police Chief reiterated his warning. “Indeed, all the guests are of the same breed as us.” “The servants have been even more eager for the carnival than we are.” “Moreover, all sorts of preparations have already been fully completed.” “In fact, today is the very day the cannon is scheduled to arrive.” “If we were to cancel the carnival now, wouldn’t that cannon—the one that cost a vast amount of money—be rendered completely useless?”

Jirouemon insisted.

“Wh-wh-what did you say?” “Did you say *cannon*?” Upon hearing this, the people inside the police station all widened their eyes in unison. “Now, there’s no need to be alarmed.” “We are not starting a war.” “Come now, surely you remember.” “Sometime ago, there was that ‘human cannon’ attraction, you know.” “It’s what you might call a toy cannon in that style.” “The caliber is twelve inches, mind you, but the projectile is a massive clay ball that only flies about one shot.”

“But what on earth are you going to do with such a thing?”

“It’s an attraction for the Carnival.” “The idea is to create a giant shooting gallery.” “It’s the kind of shooting gallery you often see in bustling city districts.” “You know the ones where they pile up Shikishima cigarettes and bats, and if you shoot them down, you get them as prizes.”

And so, the conversation gradually took on a dreamlike, peaceful tone. In the end, after a verbal tug-of-war, Jirouemon and the others’ arguments prevailed, and the bizarre Carnival Festival was decided to be held regardless of misgivings. After all, their opponent was a wealthy local magnate with influential politician friends, so the police had no choice but to concede. Thus, though it proved a truly troublesome affair, dozens of police officers had to be dispatched within the park for security on the day of the Carnival. Kitagawa Jirouemon ordered his servants and steadily advanced preparations for the grand banquet.

One day, a massive cargo arrived at the aforementioned lock gate—the sole entrance to Jiro Paradise—where the gondolas floated. It was the cannon. It was the cannon for the giant shooting gallery. At a glance, it was no different from an actual cannon used in battlefield combat. Made of bluish-black steel that gleamed ominously with wheels resembling those of an ox-drawn carriage, it was placed on a raft, adorned with artificial flowers, then moved up the river like a portable shrine procession before being transported to the central square of the paradise. Beside the cannon, clay balls the size of footballs were piled up like moon-viewing dumplings from a land of giants.

“This will likely be the Carnival’s crowning attraction.” “On yonder hilltop, life-sized human effigies shall stand arrayed in rows.” “Our esteemed guests shall bombard them from here with these clay projectiles—bang! bang!” “Is it not delightful?” “When a shot strikes true—” “Paltry prizes like bats or Shikishima cigarettes would spoil the effect.” “Instead of trinkets, fireworks shall erupt with thunderous detonations!” “And then—mark this—five-hued petals shall cascade from the heavens like phantom snow.” “We’ve packed those fireworkshells brimful with them, you see.” “The jazz orchestra shall roar through Paradise like tectonic fury, champagne corks shall pop in fusillades, and beneath this petal-blizzard’s veil, a deranged waltz shall consume every inch of our gardens.” “Is it not sublime?”

Kitagawa Jirouemon gathered the other three members and cheerfully explained to them.

But the time soon came when they realized that the giant shooting gallery was but a mere fragment of the entire carnival’s elaborate, madcap riot—a riotous spectacle of unparalleled splendor.

Gondola’s Song

The day of the Carnival arrived. The eccentric gentlemen and ladies gathered from nearly all over Japan, having stayed overnight in the neighboring Y City the previous night, arrived in twos and threes beneath the aforementioned verdant tree arch around the appointed hour of noon.

Beneath the arch, on the blue water surface without a single ripple, floated the aforementioned gondola carrying its bizarre boatmen. There were two boatmen. One was a girl at the bow handling an oar; the other was a boy at the stern cradling a guitar. The girl was clad from head to toe in a pure white feathered garment, while the boy was swathed in crimson feathers. It was almost as though beautiful red-and-white waterfowl—bewildered—had alighted upon the gondola to rest their webbed feet for a moment. When the first three gentlemen and ladies boarded the vessel, the girl’s oar quietly parted the water, and the gondola began gliding slowly along the narrow waterway.

“Young lady, young master, this is truly an ingenious concept.”

An elderly gentleman with a neatly trimmed mustache smiled amiably and spoke to the boatmen. “Young man, is that a musical instrument?” “Play us a tune.” “Young lady, can you sing while rowing the boat?”

The seventeen-year-old young master and eighteen-year-old young lady looked back at the gentleman and gave a quick smile. And without an answer, the boy’s guitar strings began to vibrate, and the girl’s red lips moved. In tune with the quiet rhythm of the oar, the gondola’s song flowed over the water’s surface. “Land of dreams! Oh, we are journeying to the land of dreams! Isn’t this lullaby splendid?”

The gentleman said in a soft bass voice, as if harmonizing with the song. “Truly, how adorable that boy musician is.” The lady in black Western attire harmonized in a beautiful soprano.

On both banks, dusky black leaves piled high, covering the sky in layers, while against that deep green wall, crimson camellia flowers bloomed here and there—each one like a splotch of blood seeping through. The sky hung heavily overcast, appearing like distant frosted glass. A faint breeze crossing the water softly carried the fragrant scent of the girl standing at the bow along with her high-pitched singing voice. Before they knew it, the two gentlemen had taken seats on either side of the boy musician, their hands resting on his still-tender shoulders from both sides. The lady sat before the boy, gazing endlessly at his rosy cheeks.

The girl at the bow sang alone while swaying her body vigorously and quickening her rowing strokes. The boat began to glide vigorously—smoothly and rhythmically like a water strider keeping time. Each time, the wind whirling up at the bow would tear off one, then another of the girl’s pure white feathers, sending them fluttering up into the sky. One by one, two by two—as the boat’s speed increased, the feathers torn away grew ever more numerous, until at last they became an untimely blizzard, scattering backward over the gondola.

Beneath the shed feathers, the girl’s scorched brown skin, drenched in sweat, swelled up in a mound. The gondola’s song swelled ever louder; the undulations of her oar-wielding arms, back, and abdomen grew increasingly violent, scattering the remaining feathers in an instant—behold, against the white sky, stood the figure of a completely naked maiden.

The maiden from a land untouched by shame, brazenly handling her oar all the while, twisted her upper body around and cast a glance back at the boy musician at the stern. “The tempo’s too low. Higher! More wildly!” At the girl’s voice, the boy suddenly stood up from his seat, and he too, baring his white teeth in song while subtly moving his entire body, began to strum the guitar wildly as if seizing the moment. The boy’s crimson feathers also began to flutter down. And beneath them, Michelangelo’s curves were hidden in exquisite beauty. The two completely naked boatmen proceeded with the boat, singing, playing, and dancing. The gondola swayed precariously, drifting right and left as it advanced.

The three gentlemen and ladies clung to the gunwale, yet while intoxicated by a violent dream, were entranced by the twofold curves dancing before them.

And then, the boat arrived at the port. At the port, a grotesque pier formed by the aligned backs of dozens of naked women undulated. The guests stepped onto the pier—softer than a carpet and warm—and disembarked. On shore, several men in mottled red-and-white clown costumes stood waiting, each holding garments in their hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, and thank you for coming.” “The park master has been waiting impatiently over there.” “Now, please proceed to change.” “Huh? What do you mean, change clothes?” The elderly gentleman retorted with a baffled look.

“It is indeed a change of clothes,” “The guests must change into Carnival costumes.” “Ah—so in the land of dreams, we wear dream costumes?” The gentleman finally acquiesced and accepted the garments. When he unfolded it, he saw a coarse silk net adorned with gold and silver Nanjing beads—precisely like a stage costume for a dancing girl. “This one?”

“That is indeed the one, sir.”

“Over my shirt?” “No, sir. We will take custody of everything you are currently wearing—shirts and all.”

“But, you see—” “No, this is by the park master’s decree.” And so emerged three bizarre dancers—a man and two women. Through the glittering coarse mesh of their nets, plump, scrawny, or slippery flesh appeared eerily visible. On their heads sat nightcaps adorned with those same Nanjing beads. Now hand in hand—my, how loudly they hummed that gondola song—the three ascended the designated path toward the hilltop ahead. Swaying their bare buttocks all the while. When they reached the summit and stood atop it, a startling cry burst forth from all three mouths.

“Whoa! Whoa!”

For there, beyond the hill within Jiro Paradise, spread a landscape of a madman’s country—truly astonishing and utterly indescribable. A kaleidoscope lay sprawled across the earth. Viewed from the hill, Jiro Paradise was a madman’s oil painting. Every shape and hue had been cast about in wild profusion, all whirling in dizzying motion. It was a terrifying yet beautiful sight—as though some lunatic’s gargantuan kaleidoscope spun ceaselessly before one’s eyes. Two hot-air balloons hung in the eastern and western skies above the grounds like some deranged sun and moon, from which five-colored ribbons cascaded in a rain of beauty.

The fireworks tubes roared incessantly; paper shells over a foot long exploded midair, and five-colored paper snow showered down in a glittering cascade. Amidst this, a giant Ferris wheel painted in red revolved round and round like a windmill from the land of giants, while from a skyscraper reminiscent of Asakusa’s Twelve-Story Pagoda, flags of all nations were strung across every corner of the grounds, and from each window, crimson flags protruded, swaying gently like flickering flames ablaze.

The panorama dome’s round roof was slathered in primary red and blue like a child’s toy, and beyond the grove of trees, flickering into view, was the enormous purple form of that concrete whale they all knew. Underground, the aquarium’s fish and the living dolls of Hell and Paradise were each dancing wildly in their own lewd contortions. And beyond those dizzying shapes and colors, with the fireworks’ explosions as drums, music that seemed to shake all of Jiro Paradise resounded deafeningly.

At the base of distant hills, in forest shadows, at the windows of nearby buildings, by pond edges—here and there in clusters like poisonous toadstools—red, yellow, blue, and multicolored bands performed in jaunty unison, their nostalgic decadent melodies resounding skyward through the air. The three guests clad in clown costumes studded with Nanjing beads began sliding down the railway that snaked from the hilltop to the distant ground below, riding a boat-like sled at water-slide velocity with cries of “Whee! Whee!”

The aerial boat charged through the cascading five-colored snow, borne by the resounding music—rolling sideways, reversing direction, spinning like a falling leaf—racing, sliding, and somersaulting with breathless momentum. The gold and silver Nanjing bead costumes, then the female guests’ hair, streamed straight backward.

“It’s too much—help us!”

The screams were scattered by the wind, and in a few moments, the boat reached the end of the tracks. And then, when it stopped abruptly, the guests, caught by the momentum, were thrown onto the sandy ground below. Three gold and silver balls were caked in sand.

“Ah, you’ve graced us with your presence.” “We have been awaiting you most eagerly indeed.”

When they suddenly noticed, the one picking up each of the three guests one by one and brushing off the sand was park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon.

“Please look.” “This is Jiro Paradise’s shooting gallery.” “Once all guests have gathered, we’ll have everyone fire these clay projectiles.” “The targets are those dolls on yonder hill, you see.”

There, a large, wheeled yet old-fashioned cannon—painted in five colors and camouflaged—had been set firmly in place. Beside the cannon was a mountain of those dumpling-like clay projectiles. And on the opposite hill, against a white sky, about ten clown dolls stood lined up in spindly rows, swaying unsteadily. "Well now, this is quite the spectacle." "So we're meant to use these monstrous football-shaped clay projectiles to knock down those scarecrow dolls over there?" "And what might the reward be?" "At Asakusa Park's shooting gallery they give out bats, Asahi cigarettes, and Shikishima confections—but here..."

The elderly gentleman inquired with a comical expression. “Reward? “Hahaha, you are quite shrewd, aren’t you? “There is—a splendid reward. “Indeed, a splendid reward.” Strangely enough, Jirouemon wore a police officer’s uniform and sported an imposing fake mustache shaped like the character ‘八.’ That he addressed the guests in a receptionist’s gentle voice lent the scene a deranged quality. Soon the second and third aerial ships slid down the water chute one after another, until ten, then twenty sand-caked guests had gathered.

They had all been made to change into clown costumes, but these were grouped in threes and fives, each set differing in color and shape. Some wore toy armor made of five-colored paper; others were clad in sheer see-through garments so thin their entire bodies showed through; some sported nothing but palm-frond loincloths like Hawaiian natives; others donned boldly stylish modern swimsuits—all enveloped in cheap, gaudy, yet innocent disguises of every variety.

Amidst the semi-nude men and women with their exposed breasts and see-through buttocks, there was but one man, eerie in his disguise, standing out like a heretic. He had covered his face up to his nose with a lightly soiled hand towel, wore a narrow-checkered Japanese kimono with a three-shaku obi tucked up at the hem, and in his breast pocket peeked what appeared to be nine and a half sun—a deliberate contrivance. “Well, you’ve outdone yourself, Mr. Kijima.” “For a police detective to disguise himself as a thief—that’s truly remarkable, isn’t it?”

Jirouemon, wearing a police officer’s uniform, clattered his sword as he tapped Detective Kijima on the shoulder. To an unknowing observer, it would have looked like a real police officer apprehending a real thief. “Hahahahaha! Did this meet your expectations?” “I strained every nerve to make this worthy of the carnival festival... But Mr. Kitagawa—your disguise too shows remarkable audacity.” “You’ve stolen my specialty.”

“Go on—run away.” “I’ll chase you then.” “Let’s play cops and robbers.” “Hahahahaha!”

Jirouemon in police officer attire cracked a joke. In the plaza, over a dozen guests had gathered around the clay-projectile cannon, eyeing it with bemused curiosity. “Would anyone care to try the shooting gallery? Those who topple those clown dolls yonder with these clay projectiles shall receive,” he paused theatrically, “a most splendid reward.”

Jirouemon, dressed as a police officer, urged them with an ingratiating smile. “Please let me take a shot.” “I’m such an expert marksman at Tokyo’s Asakusa Park shooting galleries that even the attendants there grimace at my skill.” A gentleman stepped forward and positioned himself behind the cannon.

“The projectiles are properly loaded.” “Now, take aim and pull that cord.” The gentleman, just as one would with an air rifle at a shooting gallery, pressed his eye to the cannon’s barrel, took aim at the doll on the far right end of the hill, and pulled the firing cord—only to land flat on his backside with a bang. It was because the cannon had suddenly jerked backward from the recoil of firing. The football-shaped clay projectile that flew out of the cannon’s mouth wobbled through the air at a visible speed. And it thudded against the chest of the rightmost doll.

When the projectile struck the doll, it flipped over with its legs kicking skyward and disappeared beyond the hill. But at the same moment, from where the doll had stood, hundreds of five-colored rubber balloons suddenly swarmed up into the vast sky as though they were the soul of the now-slain doll. Then, celebratory fireworks marking the cannon's hit were launched with a boom; crackling sounds echoed through the clouds, and the five-colored snow fell more fiercely than ever.

Hell Valley The clown dolls fell, the ogre dolls fell, the female ghost dolls fell, the three-eyed goblin dolls fell—one after another, the dolls were struck down by the cannon’s clay projectiles and vanished behind the hill.

Each time, fireworks erupted with a thunderous boom at midday, Five-Colored Snow blanketed the sky in a relentless shower, and the jaunty carnival music resounded far and wide.

“Now, I shall take the dolls’ place.” “Someone shoot.” “Shoot this police officer.” Kitagawa Jirouemon, disguised as a police officer, loaded the cannon with a shell, ran up the hill, and stiffened like a doll. “Alright, I’ll shoot.” “Are you certain?” The young gentleman in resplendent scarlet-laced armor, his face flushed from champagne imbibed at the tent bar across the way, bellowed boisterously. “We’re going to play cannonball catch.” “Now, pitch.” “Take aim.”

Jirouemon bellowed back at the top of his voice. The gentleman in armor nevertheless meticulously took aim and pulled the cannon’s cord with a thunderous bang. The clay projectile wobbled unsteadily as it flew out and sailed toward the hilltop.

“Strike!”

Jirouemon, the police officer, bent slightly at the waist and, no sooner than catching the clay projectile before his chest, cheerfully shouted.

Clap clap clap—they burst into applause. Boom, crackle-crackle—the fireworks exploded, and Five-Colored Snow scattered through the air. “Now, this time, all of you here will become the catchers. “Instead of the dolls, line up on that hill. “It’s my turn to be the pitcher.” Having run down the hill, Jirouemon issued another order.

By then, the carnival grounds were already steeped in alcoholic revelry. From the tent bars set up in various places came the popping sounds of champagne corks, and red-faced gentlemen and ladies multiplied by the moment.

The roughly ten men and women gathered around the cannon were also mostly drunks. Even without drinking alcohol, the fireworks and music possessed ample power to intoxicate. “What’s this? He says we’re to replace the dolls and act as targets. Ha ha ha ha ha! This is amusing! Gentlemen, let’s charge up the hill!”

The gentleman in armor, with slurred speech, invited the group while staggering ahead to lead the way. The old man in a clown costume, the near-naked wife clad only in sheer fabric, the young woman in a swimsuit, and the bullfighter in a red cape—all followed behind. The hesitant ones were driven up the hill by the jaunty carnival music and Jirouemon urging them on from behind. Ten human targets lined up neatly in a row directly before the cannon’s muzzle. Though they made for rather unsteady targets.

The gunner was Jirouemon, the police officer. “Now, I’ll fire,” he said. “Starting with the lady on the right end.” “Oh, splendid,” replied the beautiful drunk lady. “I’ll show you how to catch it!” She spread her legs—the sheer fabric revealing her thighs—and stretched her bare hands like crimson maple leaves, answering with both valor and seduction. Then came a sharp *pop*. The diaphanous-clad target flipped backward, pale legs kicking skyward, and disappeared beyond the hill with a resonant *thud*.

“Hey, wasn’t that a blank? I didn’t see the projectile, I tell ya!”

The next gentleman in line, clad in armor, shouted with slurred speech.

“It’s not a blank. That’s why you couldn’t see it—the projectile was too fast, I tell ya!” The moment Jirouemon answered, another cute *pop* rang out, and the gentleman in armor flipped backward with a heavy *thud*. Then, the young woman in a swimsuit, the old man in a clown costume, and the bullfighter in a red cape—as if struck by machine-gun fire—*thud thud*, flipped their legs skyward and vanished beyond the hill. And in the blink of an eye, the ten targets had been completely wiped from the horizon.

When had the gunner loaded the projectile? When had it shot out from the muzzle? It was a feat too swift for the eye to follow.

Rubber balloons soared upward without cease, fireworks were launched in rapid succession, and the cascading Five-Colored Snow clashed wildly with the ascending Five-Colored Balloons as they tangled midair. “Bwahahahaha! Delightful, delightful!” Jirouemon leapt up like a child in delight and ran off toward the distant crowd, leaving the cannon behind. As he ran, something glittering in his right hand shone like a silver rainbow.

×　　　　　×　　　　　×　　　　　×　　　　　×

By the now-deserted cannon stood a man with a peculiar expression frozen on his face. It was Detective Kijima in an eerie thief’s disguise.

This was complete madness. Several friends had been killed, their blood's stench still lingering in the air, yet this raucous commotion defied all sanity. To the detective, the minds of Paradise's inhabitants remained utterly incomprehensible. They might as well have been beings from another world entirely. What kind of fools would volunteer as cannonball targets? Grown adults mimicking clown dolls, tumbling about ridiculously... But what exactly were those idiots doing behind the hill? It seemed strange that none were crawling back up. There was no way they'd all gotten drunk and passed out like that.

Because he felt vaguely uneasy, he trudged up the hill and peered over the crest to the other side.

Oh my, it was just like a toy box had been turned upside down.

He muttered to himself involuntarily. At the base of the low cliff beyond the hill, ten dolls and ten costumed men and women lay scattered in utter disarray—as if a toy box had been overturned—tumbled about in five-colored hues. It was grotesquely beautiful. The sight of real humans and lifelike dolls—their bare hands and legs entangled as they lay scattered like daikon radishes—appeared extremely beautiful. The breasts of eighteen-year-old girls and the brazen buttocks of forty-year-old women remained utterly still in indecent postures, visible through sheer silk gauze.

Above the crimson-laced armored warrior collapsed like a Boys’ Day doll lay a clown’s pointed hat and a deathly pale face stretched out limply. “Why is this so beautiful?” For an instant—unable to grasp the reason—the detective blinked his eyes like someone lost in a maze. But he quickly understood this incomprehensible beauty’s cause. Both the ten humans and ten dolls had been uniformly dyed in vivid torrents of blood. Though dolls shouldn’t bleed, all ten humans were hemorrhaging from chest to abdomen, their blood beautifully staining white flesh, sallow flesh, bizarre costumes, and dollskin alike.

It was as beautiful as a dream, and as unreal as a dream. The detective, doubting his own eyes, deliberately descended to the base of the cliff and touched the fresh torrents of blood. Even after seeing the thickly smeared red sticky substance clinging to his fingers, he still couldn’t quite believe it was real. None of these were bruises from being struck by Kilk rounds. There were traces of a small pistol or some kind of bullet having penetrated deep into their bodies. It stood to reason the cannonball couldn’t be seen. As Kitagawa Jirouemon fled, something silver must have been glinting in his hand.

He had lost the chance to let out a cry of surprise and stood there dumbfounded.

Wait a minute. So the culprit behind these murders was Kitagawa Jirouemon, the park owner—but had that man been killing his accomplices from the very start? And was it also his doing—the announcement that the final massacre would occur during today’s festival commotion? Something was wrong. Something was wrong. But as he pondered, this notion began to feel increasingly plausible. Since Jirouemon was the founder of this Paradise, he could have prepared any manner of hidden mechanisms and freely orchestrated murderous festival spectacles. Hmph. So that was how it was. This finally unraveled all the inexplicable mysteries of this case! It was him. It was him. What a fool I’d been playing the clown all this time!

Mr. Kijima had not yet fully shaken off the nightmare, but he could not help being driven by his professional duty to apprehend the criminal Jirouemon.

He jumped up and started running. He veered around the hill and charged, pale-faced, in the direction Jirouemon had fled.

The Dreadful Marathon

At that moment, in another square of the park, a bizarre footrace involving the guests was underway. This group of ten gentlemen and ladies—dressed in red-and-white striped uniforms and bearing numbered tags from 1 to 10 on their chests—ran panting, panting toward the finish line in the distant forest, their breath ragged.

It was a long-distance race. One thousand meters. They had already run nine hundred meters. Of course, they were also drunk. That’s why it was agonizing.

The gentleman with the pince-nez, while pressing his slipping glasses with one hand, his face bright red, bellowed hoarsely and energetically took the lead. In second place ran a bobbed-hair madame, her beautiful face contorted, bobbed hair streaming behind her, thirty-year-old breasts and buttocks jouncing as she ran. Then came a scrawny youth sick with tuberculosis; then a young lady with a face as red, round, and smooth as a plum; then another, and another—nine runners in uniforms spaced one or two *ken* apart—while bringing up the rear waddled an obese gentleman barrel-like in girth, huffing and puffing though he would have moved faster rolling sideways. Remarkably, there was not a single straggler.

In time with their strides, at three points along the course, "Miyasan Miyasan" jinta bands resounded cheerfully. From the sky, firework shells burst ceaselessly, and five-colored snow descended like a great swarm of beautiful insects. The runners, showered in the five-colored snow and kicking it up as they went, ran and ran like it was a sports day at a madhouse. At the goal line, a white tape had been stretched taut in a straight line between two pillars. Beside one of these pillars stood Kitagawa Jirouemon in police officer disguise, poised with a pistol to signal the first arrival.

“Hoy, hoy! Number Seven, hang in there! Number Nine, keep it up!” Kitagawa Jirouemon stamped his feet while shouting encouragement. The leading pince-nez gentleman finally neared the goal. His legs buckled unsteadily from exhaustion, looking ready to give way at any moment. “Raaah!” He roared like a wild beast and charged toward the white tape. The wide, glittering tape stretched taut like a straight rod lay waiting for the first arrival. One *ken* became one *shaku*, one *shaku* became one *sun*, and the pince-nez gentleman’s protruding abdomen collided with the tape. Under normal circumstances, the tape should have stretched and bent with the runner’s body before snapping cleanly. And with a bang, the starting pistol was supposed to fire.

However, this strange tape neither stretched, bent, nor snapped when pressed against the pince-nez gentleman’s abdomen. On the contrary—what was truly terrifying was that it was the abdomen of the pince-nez gentleman, who charged forward in his sprint, that was severed. The moment the runner collided with the tape, a spray-like substance burst forth from his abdomen, and red liquid streaked across the tape’s surface. Then, precisely as a firework was launched with a bang, a shriek rang out, and the pince-nez gentleman’s hands flailed wildly through the air in a grotesque manner. At the same time, the lower half of his body fell to the ground and rolled two or three times. This meant that the upper part of his body—where his hands were attached—and his lower half now acted independently. In other words, the pince-nez-clad runner had been cleanly bisected.

The cutting edge was magnificent. What appeared to be a tape was a steel sword that had been forged to that exact length. They had painted it with white paint and made it appear as a cloth tape from a distance. The long sword’s blade, keenly sharpened, faced the direction of the runners. The mere touch of it could slice through. Moreover, having slammed into it with the momentum of one thousand meters, it was no wonder he had been cleanly sliced in two, bones and all.

The straight sword had slaughtered a man, savored his blood, and was now buzzing and quivering with ecstatic pleasure.

Second place was the bobbed-hair madame’s fully matured white mass of flesh.

She had no time to comprehend what had happened to the first-place runner. She was drunk on alcohol, and her vision swam from fatigue. The razor-like tape twanged sharply. In an instant, the madame’s torso—leaving everything below her buttocks behind—was tumbling through the air. Crimson blood gushed forth beautifully, and something like a sighing "Hah..." could be heard. The remaining eight runners were caught one after another by this terrifying tape. Three lost their lives, five were injured and collapsed, and only two managed to escape unharmed. They were that drunk and dazed. They were under the influence of the madness-tinged atmosphere within the grounds.

At the goal line lay two who had been cleanly bisected and six half-severed figures—piled atop one another, fallen, rolling, writhing, dancing. Then, as if by prior arrangement, the three jinta bands shifted their tune from “Miyasan Miyasan” to “Neko ja Neko ja.” The half-severed lumps of flesh’s cat dance; their monstrous cat dance. In truth, they—blood gushing from chest to belly—danced their desperate monstrous cat dance, jerking spasmodically in time with the music.

In the blizzard of five-colored snow, white and black lumps of flesh—sinewy ones, flabby ones, men and women of all sorts—streaming blood all the while, danced their mad dance to the end, their death-agony hand-claps and foot-stomps making it both amusingly beautiful and terrifying.

Merry-Go-Round "I see. So this is how it was." Detective Kijima, disguised as a thief, tapped Kitagawa Jirouemon on the shoulder and said. The monstrous cat dance of the bisected marathon runners gradually lost its vigor and eventually ceased moving. In the pool-like torrents of blood, the fluttering paper snow fell and became soaked. “Ah, it was Mr. Kijima, was it?”

Jirouemon, wearing a police uniform, turned around calmly and grinned mockingly. "Is that pistol loaded with live ammunition?"

True to his role as a detective, he braced himself, tensed up, and asked. “It might be loaded,” “but rest assured.” “I won’t resist the esteemed authorities.” “Hmph! Even if you tried to resist, I wouldn’t let you.” “Stay still.” The detective drew handcuffs from the sleeve of his Benkei-striped kimono. “No—wait,” “I haven’t finished my work yet.” “And there are things I must discuss… I won’t flee or hide.”

Even so, Mr. Kijima couldn't bring himself to command the handcuffs' application. Doing so would make him feel mocked by the man, he thought. Somehow it felt shameful—such was the extent of the paradise's mad spectacle surrounding them, with its criminal mastermind Jirouemon maintaining perfect composure. "I built this paradise solely for committing murder," he declared. "Detective." "At first I handled them individually—today's grand finale required mass execution." "You've surely grasped murder's beauty as a game by now." "This stands as history's greatest pageant—conceived by our ancestor Nero himself."

“What’s this thing you wanted to talk about?” The detective shouted with a pale face. “It’s nothing complicated. This is the method I’ve used to kill my comrades one by one since earlier. Do you understand that secret?” “I don’t give a damn about that. Since you’ve been conclusively identified as the culprit.” “Ha ha ha ha ha! It seems you don’t understand. Shall I reveal the secret?”

“I’ll hear all about it later. Now’s not the time for that.” “Now’s not the time to be talking about that.” The detective had to strain himself to muster even a semblance of malice in his tone. “No, there would be complications if I don’t explain now.” “Now, listen.” “You’d understand in a single word.” “The secret of this magic trick lies in that Ferris wheel.”

Jirouemon pointed at the Ferris wheel cabin suspended in the sky. “The fact that I used that high cabin in the sky as my bed.” “By being there, I could establish an alibi while simultaneously having a full view of the entire park grounds through that cabin window. From there, I could take aim with my gun and shoot anyone anywhere.”

Upon hearing this, the detective made a suspicious face. Though infuriating, he couldn’t help but furrow his brows. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! It seems you still don’t understand.” “You would say that the women killed in the maze were stabbed with daggers, wouldn’t you?” “You must be wondering, ‘How can a dagger be fired from a gun?’... But it can indeed be fired.” “I loaded that dagger into a gun and fired it.” “What a brilliant idea, don’t you think?” “If you would but examine the dagger’s shape closely, you would surely nod in understanding.” “It had no handguard, maintained uniform thickness from hilt to tip, and moreover, spiral grooves matching the gun barrel’s rifling were carved into its hilt—you see.” “Ha ha ha ha ha! Firing a dagger—isn’t that a truly splendid idea?”

To put it hyperbolically, Five-Colored Snow fell in such a blinding flurry that one could not discern anything a few feet ahead within the park grounds. All the guests were without exception dead drunk. The sound of fireworks and the jinta band’s blare drowned out all other noises and screams. Thus, this homicidal maniac and the detective were able to continue their bizarre conversation without arousing anyone’s suspicion.

But there was a limit to that. Just as they had reached that point in their conversation, a single drunkard came staggering through the snow. And he stumbled over the countless corpses strewn across the ground.

“Whoaaaaa, what’s this? Such splendid living dolls!” “Oh, there you are, Mr. Kitagawa!” “I must say, your craftsmanship leaves me speechless.” “Long live Jiro Paradise!...” He raised both hands and blessed the killer.

That snapped Detective Kijima back to his senses. And then, like an ordinary detective, he lunged at the criminal with a swift motion. The pistol was knocked from Jirouemon’s hand. The arrest rope came coiling like a snake around him. “Whoa, it’s still too early. Too early for that! Didn’t I tell you I still have work left?”

Jirouemon deflected the arrest rope, shoved the detective aside, and dashed off into the blizzard at full speed. With his sword clattering at his side.

Needless to say, the detective disguised as a thief gave chase. The two of them ran through the park grounds here and there like a whirlwind. Before the fleeing Jirouemon’s eyes was a spinning merry-go-round. There was no one riding; only over a dozen wooden horses kept spinning round and round, their heads jerkily bobbing up and down.

He suddenly jumped onto the spinning merry-go-round. Detective Kijima also jumped on.

And then, both of them began running round and round in the direction of the wooden horses' rotation, at three times their speed. A bizarre game of tag.

The thief was chasing the uniformed policeman. Because they were spinning round and round on the circular platform, it became impossible to tell whether the policeman was being chased or the thief was being chased. Judging by appearances, Detective Kijima—disguised as a thief—appeared to be the one fleeing, while Jirouemon—in police uniform—could only be perceived as the pursuer. “Now, to continue our earlier conversation.” While running dizzily, Jirouemon called out loudly to his pursuer.

“Now, as for the maze murders—well, that explains *that*—but I suppose you must be asking: Who exactly was the small-statured man Hitomi Orie first encountered in the maze?” The detective maintained his silence as if retorting “I’m not listening to that!”, gasping for breath while desperately giving chase. It was clear he was being made a fool of to no small extent. “That was Jirou Mitani, the young boy.” “That child was playing in the maze and was the first to discover Chimako’s corpse.” “And fearing he would be suspected, he went into hiding.” “I was watching that clearly from atop the Ferris Wheel.”

Bellowing, Jirouemon leapt nimbly onto one of the wooden horses. Clip-clop! Gripping the reins, he shouted again. "Then in the second murder, young Jirou Mitani was shot dead with an ordinary bullet while riding a wooden horse just like this." "Naturally, it was from atop the Ferris wheel." "At the same time, I severed the balloon's rope ladder with a bullet and sent Orie plummeting." "I may be an expert marksman, but I certainly didn't aim for the rope ladder from the start." "That was pure happenstance." "Not so fast!" "Careful now!"

Even as he spoke, Jirouemon dodged the detective’s grasping hand, nimbly leapt off the wooden horse, and began running round and round once more. Finally, at that moment, over a dozen uniformed officers who had been stationed around the grounds came rushing in, having realized the commotion. “Catch him! Hurry! Hurry!” Detective Kijima, in the guise of a thief, shouted joyfully as he ran.

“What do you mean, ‘Catch that uniformed officer’?!” The real police officers, unaware of the disguise, were flustered. They hadn’t the chance to recognize Mr. Kijima’s face. “Hey now, gentlemen! Don’t swallow that bait.” “That man’s the criminal!” “Can’t you see it plain as day from his getup?”

Jirouemon seized the initiative and bellowed. It made perfect sense. The criminal had to be that fellow in Japanese clothes. As proof, wasn't he the one being chased? When they looked closer, it did indeed appear that way. The police officers clambered noisily onto the revolving stage and began pursuing the man in traditional attire—that is, Detective Kijima.

A grotesque manhunt began. Fireworks boomed and boomed as they shot into the sky. Each time, the swirling Five-Colored Snow grew denser, veiling the sky and burying the ground. Amidst this, countless rubber balloons went rising upward with whooshing sounds. The band blared and banged out a chaotic jazz tune. The drunken guests ran about the grounds—some singing, others shouting cheers. The thrilling spectacle at the Carousel Hall continued unnoticed amidst the chaos.

Detective Kijima, disguised as a thief, was finally caught atop the revolving wooden horse platform. Over a dozen police officers piled on top of him. “Idiots! Fools! Blockheads!” From beneath the mountain of officers, Mr. Kijima’s enraged voice could be heard. “I’m Kijima! Don’t you recognize my face?! The criminal is that guy! It’s Kitagawa Jirouemon disguised as a police officer!” When the police finally grasped the details of the situation and regained their footing, however, Jirouemon had long since left the Carousel Hall and was already running across a distant hill.

“There! Don’t let him get away!” The entire group leapt down from the revolving stage—some tumbling—and once again the pursuit began. This time the pursuers were many in number. No matter how skilled a magician Jirouemon was, there was no escaping now, I suppose.

The Devil’s Ascension

Fleeing and fleeing, Kitagawa Jirouemon ran up to the mooring station of the large hot-air balloon atop a small hill in one corner of the grounds and stood bolt upright before the mooring post.

“Gentlemen, stay your hands! “I shall bring my unfinished work to completion here.” “I have something to show you all.” Over a dozen police officers surrounded Jirouemon and were poised to crush him should he make a move.

“Behold this!” “What is this?”

What Jirouemon pointed to was a single large switch attached to the mooring post. “What do you think this switch signifies, gentlemen? This very switch hints at the ultimate purpose behind Jiro Paradise’s construction.” “When sparks scatter across this switch’s metal—ah!—what hellish landscape shall manifest in Jiro Paradise!” “The mere thought of it fills me with such joy that my chest might burst!” “I want you gentlemen to witness that spectacle.” “That is precisely why I lured you all here!”

The police officers felt greasy sweat seeping out from some unfathomable anxiety. Their eyes became riveted to the switch. The thought—we can't let him flip that switch—set every heart in the group pounding. "No! Not this one. I'm not telling you to look at the switch itself. Gentlemen! Turn around! From this hilltop—behold Jiro Paradise's full panorama! Now! Now marks Jiro Paradise's final moment!"

Before the scream had ended, sparks crackled and scattered from the switch. The people turned around almost reflexively and gazed at the amusement park's panoramic vista.

An indescribable rumbling occurred. A sound as ominous as the precursor of a great earthquake roared and rumbled. It was not an earthquake. But soon, a hellish landscape surpassing any earthquake unfolded before their eyes.

First, the skyscraper modeled after the Asakusa Twelve-Story Tower snapped off from its midsection and collapsed in slow motion, raising a cloud of dust. There, the costumed guests who had been ascending could be vividly seen tumbling head over heels through the air amidst the dust cloud, plummeting to the earth like hell’s damned souls. A deafening roar that shook heaven and earth and a terrifying subterranean rumble occurred in rapid succession. “Next is the Ferris wheel!”

Jirouemon’s shout was heard, terrifying in its intensity. Suddenly, a catastrophe struck the Ferris wheel in the sky. The great Ferris wheel’s frame clattered apart with a cheerful metallic ring, dismantling itself like a child’s building blocks. And in each of the over a dozen small train-like compartments suspended from it, every single one was packed with passengers. They plummeted toward the earth along with their compartments, thrusting hands out through the windows, mouths gaping wide across their faces, chorusing blood-curdling screams.

Avīci Hell. Screaming Hell.

The dome of the Panorama Hall came loose from its metal band and sank cleanly into the cylindrical walls.

The concrete whale shattered into fragments and scattered with a hundred thunderclaps. The underground aquarium burst forth in floods; the Hell-Heaven Tunnel was engulfed by landslides; ponds and rivers surged back as tsunamis. A turmoil more intense than any great war and a tremendous roar shook Jiro Paradise across dozens of acres. Gunpowder smoke, dust clouds, and sand clouds covered forests, groves, and hills alike, billowing skyward and skyward.

Concrete fragments, severed steel girders, torn-off pillars, human heads, hands, legs—every imaginable kind of debris came raining down upon the police officers’ heads along with the still cascading Five-Colored Snow. The police officers, their eyes blinded, ears deafened, and minds hollow, could barely manage to stand there as they staggered. Any notion of apprehending the criminal had flown away somewhere; they barely even registered Jirouemon’s presence.

When the dust cloud settled, Jiro Paradise lay as a vast, pitiful expanse of ruin. Graveyard stillness, deathly silence. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing moving. “It’s a massacre… All those hundreds of guests—they’ve all been slaughtered.”

One of the police officers said in a dazed voice.

The Jinta band’s music and the drunken cheers all vanished pitifully into the netherworld in an instant.

There was no longer anyone to launch fireworks, and thus the beautiful Five-Colored Snow ceased to fall. “But there remains one who wasn’t killed.”

When they suddenly noticed, Jirouemon, the mass murderer, was standing there with a grin.

The police officers' hatred exploded. They became over a dozen locusts and, without uttering a word, leaped upon the great demon. “Whoa there!”

Kitagawa Jirouemon narrowly dodged their attack and leaped onto the rope ladder of a hot-air balloon descending there. And, while swiftly climbing upward, “The one who wasn’t killed, you know, is my wife Ayuko.” “Kishita Ayuko.” “I just couldn’t bring myself to kill her, you know.” “Look.” “My wife is saying hello.” Looking up, they saw Ayuko’s beautiful face smiling down from the hot-air balloon’s gondola as she tossed five-colored streamers at them.

“Hell no! You’re not getting away!” “You bastards!” “You idiot! This is official business!”

The police officers scrambled up the rope ladder like madmen. At the front was Jirouemon; a short distance behind him, Detective Kijima; and then over a dozen uniformed officers—all forming a vertical string of beads ascending into the sky.

Jirouemon no longer mocked the pursuers beneath his feet, climbing the aerial ladder in silence. He was as swift as a monkey. At last, the over-a-dozen-fathom rope ladder reached its end, and Ayuko’s white hand emerged from the gondola to pull Kitagawa Jirouemon up. However, at the moment he leapt into the gondola, Detective Kijima’s wrist was hooked over its edge. “Hurry! Hurry! Cut the rope!” In response to Jirouemon’s command—perhaps their plan had been meticulously arranged all along—a white blade flashed in Ayuko’s hand, and the two ropes of the aerial ladder snapped cleanly.

Mr. Kijima’s one hand lacked the strength to bear the weight of the over a dozen police officers trailing behind him. Along with the rope, his wrist too separated from the gondola. The rope ladder that stretched vertically into the sky, still carrying the bead-like chain of police officers, began to collapse in an instant, clatter-clatter-clatter, its middle giving way. A rain of police officers. At that very moment, the hot-air balloon—its ropes severed—shook its rear end brrr-brrr and soared high into the vast sky. Kitagawa Jirouemon and Ayuko leaned halfway out of the gondola, threw down every last remaining paper streamer to the ground, and while shouting “Banzai!” in unison, bade eternal farewell to the ruins of their beloved Jiro Paradise.

The hot-air balloon ascended endlessly. Piercing through countless white cumulus clouds, it became like a small fish, the Five-Colored Streamers hanging in tassels appearing as its fins, joyfully, joyfully, growing smaller and smaller, until at last it turned faint as dust and vanished into the boundless depths of the blue sky.