Pathway to Japanese Literature

Grotesque Amusement Park

In the southern part of M Prefecture lies Y City—an antiquated, gloomy metropolis that seems utterly forgotten by time. It was neither prosperous in commerce nor industry, nor was it a key transportation hub; it simply had a large population due to having been a castle town during the old shogunate era and thus barely maintained the form of a city.

In the outskirts of that sleeping Y City, there was a man who built a truly extraordinary amusement park. In this world, there are times when utterly inexplicable, dream-like, outlandish events suddenly occur. It might well have been the fever that afflicted the Earth erupting there as a crimson tumor. The man who built the amusement park was the only son born into the Kitagawa family—an old, distinguished household in Y City reputed to be millionaires—and bore the peculiar name Jirouemon.

Unusually for someone of his social standing, Kitagawa Jirouemon had no family. His parents had died several years prior; he had no siblings; and despite already being thirty-three years of age, he remained unmarried—a man with no relatives whatsoever beyond his numerous servants. He had many relatives, but those strict uncles who might have criticized his conduct had long since died out, leaving no concern about troublesome complaints arising from that quarter.

Such an extraordinary amusement park could only have been planned by someone possessing both these vast assets and this peculiar personal circumstance. Moreover, around him swarmed with a throng of unsavory companions—men and women resembling vagrants—incessantly inciting him from all directions. No, what proved even more troubling was that Jirouemon himself appeared to have been seized by some bizarre fever. If the Earth were indeed suffering from a fever, one might say the pathogens of that fever were none other than Kitagawa Jirouemon and his unsavory companions.

He invested a million-dollar fortune and spent three years creating an enormous festering tumor upon the earth's crust. In the outskirts of Y City—a castle town gripped by sleeping sickness—a garish bloated tumor-flower suddenly blossomed like some gaudy artificial bloom dyed in five colors.

On a vast thirty-thousand-tsubo grounds stood natural mountains, rivers, and ponds—their innate beauty smothered by bizarre structures that seemed to gather every grotesquerie from across the world and spill them forth like a toy box of horrors. The entrance to the amusement park was a narrow stream enclosed on both sides by lush trees, above which large camellia trees from each bank stretched toward one another to form a natural arch. Amidst the bluish-black camellia leaves, scattered bright red flowers bloomed; upon closer inspection, they were likely artificial flowers attached to form connected letters.

"Jiro Amusement Park" It was undoubtedly named by taking "Jirou" from Jirouemon's name. The park owner's invited guests—handpicked gentlemen and ladies of grotesque tastes—were placed in misshapen gondolas and, guided by the poles of demon-costumed boatmen, first passed beneath this camellia arch. The stream wound its way through meandering bends toward the park’s center, framed by lush verdure that bounded its banks. The demon-costumed boatmen scarcely exerted force on their poles as they let the boats advance quietly, carried by the current.

Advancing further and further to where the stream ended, there was a pond spread out in a perfect circle like a tadpole's head. In the pond, naked men and women were swimming about, playing joyfully. From the sheer banks came a mass of fleshy bodies plunging in; merfolk in the pond visible through from above the boat; men and women thrashing through watery patterns like fish scales while shouting “Catch it! Catch it!”; human rapids cascading down and waterslide spray... Already, the guests felt themselves transported to a dreamlike otherworld. Climbing the bank and proceeding awhile along the narrow path through the valley between mountains, there was a tunnel leading underground—its old-fashioned red brick framing gaping open like a black maw descending into some mine shaft.

If one mustered courage to descend there, they found in the subterranean darkness a hellish tour where demons and specters writhed, and an aquarium. If, unnerved by the eeriness, one took a fork and ascended the precipitous mountain slope, from its summit there awaited a plunging downhill path that could make one's soul vanish. Along the undulating, twisted rails, a box-like vehicle rolled over, flipped backward, and somersaulted.

No—to continue chronicling every detail in sequence would prove interminable. Since each landscape would later be depicted extensively as events unfolded, all explanations were forgone in favor of simply enumerating principal structures within the grounds: A Ferris wheel resembling a giant wheel revolving through the sky A large hydrogen balloon ascendable via rope ladder at any time A towering replica of Asakusa's vanished Twelve-Story Pavilion A panorama hall nostalgic for Meiji-era aesthetics A journey through whale innards Automaton displays of heaven and hell alongside an underground aquarium

To the lively strains of brass band music spun the merry-go-round—and so on, and so forth. Merely enumerating them would hardly suffice; to put it simply, it was as if they had taken the sideshows of a grand exposition, enlarged them, and piled them up in a most grotesque manner amidst natural mountains, valleys, and forests. Moreover, each structure was far from ordinary—through Kitagawa Jirouemon’s uncanny genius, they had been wondrously crafted to resemble landscapes from nightmares, or bizarre illustrations from Western fairy tales, or palaces fashioned from Christmas confections.

The Great Maze Among these structures, the one into which Mr. Jiro had poured his greatest efforts—and which was undoubtedly the park’s foremost grotesque creation—was a maze constructed by densely planting trees so that once entered, one would wander lost, utterly unable to find an exit within an hour or two. If it were a maze drawn on paper, one could easily reach the center and return to the entrance by tracing it with a pencil. But when faced with a real maze—even an attraction like "Hachiman’s Impenetrable Grove"—once you wandered in, escaping became no simple matter.

Having designed it precisely to bewilder—to utterly confound—they constructed pathways with towering arboreal walls devoid of gaps, compressing over four kilometers of serpentine trails into a mere 120 square yards. Thus, even a master versed in global maze history would find navigating to its heart and returning to the entrance a feat bordering on impossibility. The renowned fan-shaped maze of Hampton Court and the square maze of Versailles Palace fell far short of this one. If one were to forcibly seek a comparison, it would have to be the Great Labyrinth of ancient Egypt—preserved in historians’ grand fantasies. While it could not compare to that absurd scale of three thousand rooms spanning above and below, in terms of rational complexity in design, one must tip one’s hat to the maze of Jiro Amusement Park.

Now then, this grotesque tale began with an utterly baffling murder conducted within the aforementioned labyrinthine maze; however, before advancing to that murder case, it was necessary to first allow the cast of characters to make their entrances.

The season was early summer. Under an unfathomably deep blue sky devoid of even a wisp of cloud, the sun dyed the amusement park’s mountains, valleys, and bizarre structures in stark black-and-white shadows, making the entire panorama appear projected—alongside shimmering heat waves—onto the mirror-like azure sky above.

After the era of its grand opening and bustling crowds of invited guests had passed, Jiro Amusement Park had transformed into a carefree playground exclusively for their inner circle. The demon-costumed boatmen—no longer needed to guide guests—had beached their gondola boats and were napping in the shade of a chinquapin tree. Therefore, with the park’s entrances and exits completely severed from outside traffic and no need to concern themselves with intruders straying inside, the grotesque coterie could indulge in their revelries as they pleased.

This coterie was a group of unsavory companions—men and women listed below—headed by park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon. Kishita Ayuko—Jirouemon’s lover, twenty years old, a vivacious girl as lively as an ayu fish darting through rapids. Moroguchi Chimako—another lover of Jirouemon, twenty-one years old, a romantic poet and painter, a talented girl who assisted in designing the paradise. Ono Raizou—Jirouemon’s childhood friend from their boyhood days, thirty-five years old, a playwright rejected by society, a fantastical visionary of the grotesque.

Hitomi Orie—Raizou’s lover，nineteen years old，a beautiful and innocent heiress from a wealthy family resembling a poppy flower． Yumoto Jouji—Jirouemon’s friend，a convicted kidnapper with every grotesque proclivity imaginable，twenty-nine-year-old delinquent type． Harada Reiko—Yumoto’s lover，a grotesque girl who appeared to not only endure Yumoto’s terrifying beatings but even relish them—a large-framed，voluptuous twenty-three-year-old． Mitani Jirou—a sixteen-year-old，doll-like beautiful boy；slightly delinquent；the coterie’s pet．

The remaining dozen or so male and female companions of ill repute—being minor players in this tale—shall have their names omitted here and will be introduced as necessity dictates. Additionally, there were dozens of employees—operators, cleaners, guides, musicians, and other staff members for the amusement structures—who would also be introduced as needed; however, among them, the person listed below demanded particular attention. Esashi Sousuke—a hunchbacked dwarf-like figure with the torso of a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old child and an oversized adult face planted atop it. A monster of indeterminate age—unable to tell whether youth or elder—who held the crucial post of secretary and park supervisor for Jirouemon, a sage akin to Aesop.

The scenic description had been interrupted by a list of names, but this was that early summer day as mentioned earlier—a day of clear blue skies without a cloud. About an hour before the incident occurred, the aforementioned main characters had gathered at the park’s natural pool (the pond into which the aforementioned stream flowed) and were indulging in wanton, completely naked revelry. “Are you ready? I’m jumping in!”

Hitomi Orie’s innocent soprano voice resounded cheerfully from the natural rock diving platform into the blue sky. She stood on the rock with both hands aligned above her head, poised to dive into the pool—a vision of vivid white flesh against bluish-black stone, unbound black hair cascading over her shoulders like a living embodiment of the famed painting *The Virgin of the Rock*. “C’mon~! Just jump already~!” Someone called from below. Ayuko, Jirouemon, Chimako, Raizou, Reiko, Jouji, and Jirou floated in formation beneath her, each grasping the thighs of the person ahead—a mottled rosary chain of brawny male musculature and supple female flesh undulating like some primordial sea serpent.

“There she goes!” Leaving her voice hanging in the air, Orie’s fleshy mass spun round and round like a ball before hitting the water with a splash that sent up a plume of spray. Diving to the bottom, floating up with a swish, and raising her head brought her right in front of Ayuko, the serpent’s head. It was a game where she, skillfully slipping through Ayuko’s attempts to block her left and right, would catch the beautiful boy Jirou at the tail end. It was the land version of “Catch the Kid.” The colossal sea serpent, twisting and coiling its entire body into waves to avoid having its tail seized, now surfaced, now submerged—from the water’s surface to the pool’s depths and back again—tracing beautiful piscine patterns with its fleshy mass as it undulated seductively, thrashing about.

Miss Orie was the valiant heroine subduing the aquatic serpent. Dodging past the enemy's blockades again and again—treading water, breaststroke, traditional strokes, one-handed pulls—exerting every ounce of her beautiful muscular effort, she chased after the beautiful boy's backside. On the shore, male and female spectators—similarly nude—linked shoulders, clasped hands, and laughed merrily while watching this spectacle. An outdoor aquatic ballet unfolded. Finally, the boy Jirou had his leg seized by Orie and sank beneath the water with a gurgle. Orie clung stubbornly to the captured limb and vanished beneath the surface along with her quarry.

The beautiful boy and girl, locked in frantic grappling at the pool bottom—their contorted forms visible through the clear water—appeared grotesquely distorted to the spectators. Battle cries of “Whoa! Whoa!” rang out as the serpent—robbed of its tail—now swam in disarray, its fragmented members still watching the underwater spectacle unfold.

The match was decided. The boy Jirou ran out of breath and finally surrendered. “Alright, now you’re it, Jirou!” Orie, who had surfaced on the water, shouted while gasping for breath. “No, let’s stop. It’s not that I’m defending Jirou-kun or anything, but I’m exhausted. I’ll take a rest in that celestial bed of mine.” As he declared this, Kitagawa Jirouemon had already come ashore and was briskly walking toward the mountain’s far side. The “celestial bed” referred to the cushion inside a Ferris wheel gondola suspended in the sky. He had made it a habit to sleep in this strange bedroom under the open sky.

“I’ll stop too. I think I’ll go to my Dream Palace and see some beautiful dreams.”

Following suit, Moroguchi Chimako came ashore. Her "Dream Palace" referred to a bench installed in the so-called Inner Sanctuary at the maze's center—the idea being to sit there alone and quietly immerse herself in meditation. "Well then everyone, let's head to the Merry-Go-Round." "Let's stir up some real commotion there!"

When Reiko took the lead, the remaining group all agreed and, still naked, formed a band of red and white men and women who ran up the hill. Sliding and tumbling along the usual path, chirping like swallows, they would hurry 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 stepping on a line drawn on the ground, their hands planted forward and their hips propped up in an utterly bizarre posture, staring fixedly ahead.

“Alright. On your mark! “One, two, three!” At Raizou’s shout, the two started boldly. It was an obstacle race where they would enter separately from the two maze entrances visible beyond the woods—whoever reached the center “Inner Sanctuary” first would win. If it had been a simple footrace, Orie would have been no match for Raizou. Almost immediately after starting, Raizou was already running several meters ahead. But Orie remained confident she would arrive first through the maze’s battle of wits. When it came to navigating labyrinths, she believed she understood their layout better than any careless man.

Though she lagged far behind Raizou, she dashed into the maze from the eastern entrance as agreed, undaunted. On both sides of the narrow, winding path—no more than three feet wide—stood hedges over ten feet tall that blocked the sunlight, forcing one to crane their neck upward. They could hardly be called hedges. A procession of towering trees with densely interwoven branches and layered leaves, impossible to see through to the other side. Moreover, thorns spread out like a fine net, and vines became entangled, making it utterly impossible not only to push through them but even to climb over. If one could escape in such a manner, then the maze would lose its very purpose.

The moment she stepped into the maze—whether due to the shadows cast by arboreal walls—the space turned dim as twilight, chillingly cold, and above all, filled with an indescribable oppressive silence. From the park's fireworks area came occasional booms set off by some prankster; beyond these explosions, no other sounds existed. Though convinced she knew the route, as she walked she unwittingly lost her way. If one could memorize this path in one or two attempts, it wouldn't deserve the name 'maze.' To become lost was its very purpose. When she looked up at the narrow strip of sky framed by tall hedges, she saw the sun. She saw balloons and part of the Ferris wheel. She saw yellow firework smoke unfurling through the air like descending dragons. Yet these landmarks proved utterly useless when navigating uneven ground. Even when keeping her eyes skyward while heading toward the center, she eventually reached a dead end where movement became impossible.

A winding dream-path with no end in sight, an endless maddening trail that stretched on eternally—Orie suddenly grew afraid. Once fear took hold, there was no stopping it—the hairs at her nape stood rigid with an audible shiver, icy wind seeping through every gaping pore like water. Her footsteps quickened in time with her heartbeat. Thud-thud, thud-thud—listening uneasily to her own footsteps, she hurried faster and faster.

Then footsteps out of sync with her own began to mingle and strike her ears. Was that an echo? Or just her imagination? No—that couldn't be. They were undoubtedly human footsteps—the heavy tread of a man. Ah—it must be Mr. Ono. That person was walking just on the other side of a leafy wall. The two paths had by chance become adjacent. "It's not Mr. Ono?"

When she called out, the other party's footsteps stopped abruptly. Even if one peered through, they wouldn’t be able to see, but due to the layered foliage, voices carried clearly.

“Is that you, Orie?” It was Ono Raizou after all.

“Yes, that’s right. “I’ve gotten completely lost.” “Yeah, I’ve been feeling like I’m going around in circles here too for a while now…… Can’t you come over to this side?” “It’s no use—if you try to come here, you’ll only end up moving farther away.” In reality, even if one tried to turn toward the voice, the path would veer off in some mad, unpredictable direction like a lunatic.

“But I’ll try going there. Can’t you come over here either?” Thereupon, the two set out separately to search for each other’s location, though they conversed barely a foot apart. And as expected, the more frantically they tried to approach each other, the farther they drifted until their voices grew inaudible. Orie walked aimlessly along the same narrow path—drenched in sweat from frustration and the eerie atmosphere—trudging step after step. The fireworks still being set off would boom, boom, sending her heart leaping whenever she began to forget them.

After a while, she gasped sharply and stopped in her tracks. She heard a strange sound. It was not tinnitus. It was undoubtedly a human voice. Moreover, it was an indescribably terrifying groan that expressed the agony of death throes. A pained groan: “Ugh…” After a second or two came a low, choking noise—guttural and drawn-out—like teeth grinding or stifled sobs. Orie shuddered and couldn’t speak for a while, but when she finally regained control of her throat, she instinctively—

“Raizou-san!” Orie let out a sudden, incongruous scream.

“Hey!” From far, far away, a man’s voice answered. Ah—so that groan earlier hadn’t been Mr. Ono after all. But then—could there be someone between her and Mr. Ono? Moreover, that moan was by no means ordinary. Had someone suddenly fallen ill? No, no—that didn’t seem to be the case at all. Could it be that person had encountered something horrifying?

“Orie-san, where are you?” This time, Mr. Ono’s voice came from a somewhat closer location.

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

“This is really strange. “That wasn’t just any groan.” “That’s right. I think so too.” “Hey, who’s there?”

Mr. Ono called out to the unseen presence. However, there was no response.

“This is strange. “Whoever made such a terrifying groan couldn’t have just left… Maybe they’re dead?” That sound could only have been the agonized groan of someone in their death throes. “I’m scared.” Orie turned deathly pale and felt desperate to cling to Mr. Ono’s voice—though his figure remained unseen. “Wait there—I’ll go investigate.” Mr. Ono said this and seemed to be walking around the area for some time when, unexpectedly from a direction—

“Gah!” A terrifying scream reached their ears.

Maze Demon “Raizou-saaan! Raizou-saaan!”

Hitomi Orie let out a scream as if being strangled and called out to her unseen lover in the distance.

No wonder. In the dimly lit zigzagging maze, just as she had gotten lost and was on the verge of tears, a terrifying incident occurred mere two or three layers beyond the impenetrable wall of trees—right on the other side where not even a glimpse was possible. A bloodcurdling death groan—then Mr. Ono’s "Gah!" upon reaching the scene—no ordinary matter. For someone of Mr. Ono’s stature to let out such a cry—this was no ordinary matter.

“Hey, Orie-san! It’s terrible! Hurry outside and get someone!”

Raizou's frantic voice could be heard.

Even attempting to go outside, there was no abruptly escaping this maze.

“Who is it? Who’s there? And what on earth happened?”

Orie strained her voice to the utmost and started running through the narrow maze regardless. She couldn’t remain still. “It’s Ms. Chimako.” Raizou’s voice raced into Orie’s ears. “Huh? What happened to Ms. Chimako?” She twisted through the spiral maze and shouted breathlessly. “What happened?” Even when she asked, there was no reply. It might be something too terrifying to put into words. “Ah, is that you running over there, Ms. Orie?”

Raizou's voice came from just the other side of the tree wall. Before they knew it, they had gotten startlingly close. "That's right. And what happened to Ms. Chimako?" Though she couldn't see him with her eyes, realizing he was right beside her, Orie lowered her voice and asked again. Then Raizou too explained what had happened for the first time in an unnatural whisper. "She's been murdered. A dagger stabbed in her back, covered in blood..." From the green wall that loomed before them, no figure appeared—only an eerie whisper hissed through. And what's more, an utterly terrifying whisper.

"Oh..."

Gasping and standing frozen, Orie couldn’t utter another word.

“You—didn’t sense anyone around here?” “Didn’t you meet anyone?”

Raizou's voice was lowered even further.

“No, but why?” “The culprit—you see—the guy who killed Ms. Chimako might still be lurking 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 meet any—” Her voice turned mosquito-like as she said, “What about you? Did you see anyone?”

“I didn’t see.” “But I heard footsteps.” “When I rushed here—to where Ms. Chimako had collapsed—something like a black wind fled away.” “There was a pattering of footsteps.” The hushed whispers felt terrifyingly intense, as though listening to a ghost story.

“I’m scared.” “I’m so scared.” “What should I do?” “Can’t you somehow come over here?” “It’s too scary being all alone!”

Orie said in a tearful voice, as if clinging to an invisible figure. “Rather than that, we must quickly inform everyone about this… You must search diligently for the exit.” “I’ll do the same too.” “But…” “Huh? What did you say?”

“But listen—be on guard against whoever killed Ms. 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 move. “Please come here quickly!”

“Yeah… But whether I can actually make it through…”

And Raizou's anxious footsteps faded into the distance.

In a dimly lit narrow path sandwiched between towering dense tree walls, Orie—now left completely alone—had lost all will to live. She wanted to call Mr. Ono back, but the thought that the terrifying murderer might still be nearby made her hesitate to make a sound. When she noticed, her underarms were soaked with cold sweat. Her legs wouldn’t obey her, as though the numbness had worn off. However, standing still was terrifying too. Even if success seemed impossible, she wanted to search for an exit and escape the maze at the earliest possible moment.

She planted her strength-drained legs firmly and suddenly broke into a run. The pitch-black walls of groves on both sides flew past one after another, yet the maze continued endlessly. The more frantically she tried to escape, the deeper into the maze she might have been plunging instead.

Suddenly noticing, she heard the clatter, clatter of someone’s footsteps approaching from somewhere.

“Ah, thank goodness! Mr. Ono must be running nearby.” The moment she thought this, her resolve surged.

“Mr. Ono.” She tried calling in a low voice. There was no answer. Clatter, clatter—nothing but footsteps. “Mr. Ono—”

Unable to endure it any longer, she involuntarily let out a loud shout. However, the other party still did not answer. They kept running wordlessly. Wait—something’s wrong. Ah... perhaps...

Her heart lurched up to her throat. Could it be that those footsteps belonged to none other than the terrifying murderer? That was it. That had to be it. No response after all this calling—it could only mean one thing.

Orie quickened her pace in fear. Her throat parched, her heart beat as though it might burst. Ahead lay a sharp bend in the path. Orie turned the corner in a frenzied panic.

At the same moment, a figure darted out from a similar bend nine to ten meters ahead. "Huh...?"

Involuntarily letting out a bloodcurdling scream, Orie froze in place. The other party too seemed startled. In the blink of an eye, they had vanished from sight. It was certainly not Mr. Ono. Mr. Ono would have no reason to flee upon seeing Orie. Then who had that been just now? Unfortunately, Orie had possessed no time to ascertain this. In that split second, she hadn't even noticed the color of his clothing. But it wasn't a woman. He had been wearing trousers. And he was an extremely small-statured man. He was likely shorter than Orie herself.

When she listened closely, there came the clatter-clatter of retreating footsteps from the suspicious figure. Orie waited until the footsteps faded before suddenly breaking into a run backward. She ran wildly. Escaping the maze no longer crossed her mind. She simply couldn't stay still.

Revolving round and round, her field of vision abruptly expanded as she emerged into a broad space. Yet this was not beyond the maze. It was the central plaza at its core. This was what they called the inner sanctum.

In the center stood a single bench. At the base of the bench lay a mottled mass of white and red. It was the blood-covered corpse of Moroguchi Chimako.

On the back of the simple white silk garment protruded the full length of a dagger's hilt. The blade lay entirely concealed within Chimako's body. The silk garment had been stained with vivid stripes of blood, while both hands - clawing at empty air - and thrashing legs appeared whitish down to their roots.

Chimako had of course already expired completely.

Detective Kijima

No matter how perplexing the maze might be, if one kept walking through it, they would eventually find an exit. Needless to say, Ono Raizou and Hitomi Orie soon escaped the murderous maze and informed everyone in the park about the incident.

Though it was called a paradise detached from the mundane world, they couldn’t simply leave a murder case unattended. Immediately, people ran to the local police, and soon officials from both the court and police station arrived to conduct a routine investigation. The findings revealed that:

1. That there were absolutely no traces of the culprit having infiltrated from outside the park.

The stream serving as the sole entrance/exit was quite deep for what one might call a stream, making passage impossible without a boat. As for the surrounding areas beyond it—most were steep cliffs, while those that weren't had tall, densely grown hedges planted around them with watchtowers atop, rendering them utterly impassable. In that case, the culprit must be among the people within the park—either the few on the master’s side or the dozen or so servants as previously noted. 1. However, among those within the park’s confines, there was not a single individual who could be conclusively identified as the culprit.

Needless to say, every single person had been thoroughly interrogated, but aside from Ono Raizou, Hitomi Orie, and the victim Chimako, not one individual had entered the maze at that time. Each claimed to have been elsewhere, and there existed no evidence whatsoever to contradict these claims. 1. At the crime scene, there were no discernible footprints, no items left behind apart from the dagger, and not a single fingerprint could be discovered on the dagger hilt.

1. The dagger had a round hilt with double edges, no guard, and maintained nearly the same thickness from hilt to tip—a peculiar shape indeed. It was undoubtedly foreign-made.

With only these facts established, even the greatest detective would have found it nearly impossible to identify the true culprit from among the park’s multitudinous inhabitants. When Hitomi Orie was being interrogated, she started to say that the culprit was a very small-statured man but gasped and clamped her mouth shut. Within the park there existed two conspicuously small-statured individuals. One was sixteen-year-old Mitani Jirou; the other was the hunchbacked man Esashi Sousuke. The thought that her words might cast suspicion upon either of them made it impossible for her to utter anything careless.

From that day onward, the park's personnel increased by one. This was because, at the request of park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon, a detective investigator had come to reside there.

At the center of the park stood a grand Western-style dining hall where, whatever happened mornings and afternoons, everyone was obliged to gather for evening meals without exception. But that night's dinner carried an utterly uncanny atmosphere. Gathered around two rectangular banquet tables—one for the master's side and one for the servants'—the assembled group sat without their usual idle chatter, utterly hushed as they exchanged furtive glances at one another's faces. At that table sat the very person who had recently killed Chimako, mingling among them with an innocent face. The man tasting his fork beside them might be the one. The man across from them working that gleaming knife through his meat might be the one. Yet whether it was their imagination or not, those individuals all appeared strangely pale—until everyone began to seem like terrifying murderers.

At the master's faction's dining table, next to the master Jirouemon, an unfamiliar man was diligently moving his fork. Pretending to be engrossed in his meal, he would occasionally steal upward glances, scrutinizing the expressions of those seated with him. He was a shady man. This was none other than the renowned Detective Kijima of the region. He kept his head down and muttered something in a low voice to the neighboring Jirouemon between bites. To the others, precisely because they couldn't make out a single word of it, it felt eerie.

Detective Kijima was a beardless man of thirty-four or thirty-five years old, wearing a lightly soiled suit over his shirt and presenting a workman-like appearance.

“You were riding the Ferris wheel at that time.” “There are three witnesses.” Detective Kijima said this while bending 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 Ms. Hitomi Orie are the discoverers of the crime.” The detective took over and said.

In that manner, the names of all park personnel were enumerated one after another. Everyone had established alibis. Each and every one of them had at least one witness. The servants too had clearly been stationed at their respective posts, leaving no suspicious individuals.

“Mr. Yumoto Jouji had been inside the Whale’s Interior, it appears.” “Young Mitani Jirou had been walking in the woods, it appears.” “Then, Park Supervisor Mr. Esashi Sousuke claims he was wandering around somewhere up in the mountains.” “These three accounts are based solely on their own claims.” “No one has seen them.” “In other words, there are no witnesses.”

The detective said meaningfully.

“Ah—so you mean among those three—”

Jirouemon was startled and looked into the other's eyes. "No，that’s not what I mean. I was merely restating the facts. I’m not suspecting anyone in particular."

As he spoke, he glanced sidelong at the servants' dining table. At the far end of his gaze sat the ugly dwarf-like Esashi Sousuke, hunched over his plate as if licking it clean while eating. "No, that man may have a fearsome appearance," Jirouemon whispered with a placating expression, "but he's thoroughly honest. The most trustworthy person there is." Though Jirouemon whispered these mediating words, the detective couldn't help regarding this monster—indistinguishable whether child or old man—with a gaze full of suspicion.

He next glanced sidelong at Yumoto Jouji, who was at the far end of the same dining table. Then, as if Yumoto had anticipated that sidelong glance, he fixedly glared back at the detective. This guy suspects me. His face said as much.

“That man has a criminal record, doesn’t he?” The detective whispered softly to Jirouemon. “No, but he is by no means the sort of person who would kill.” Jirouemon whispered back yet again with a mediating expression. After all, just because he was an ex-convict, there was no reason to think Yumoto would commit murder.

In this manner, an indescribably strange dinner came to a close. In the end, Detective Kijima could discern no signs of suspicion on anyone's faces. Everyone wore pale, solemn expressions. Yet not a single soul betrayed nervousness.

No, in truth, there was only one man fidgeting restlessly and appearing unsettled. Because he was still just a small child, no one—not even the detective—cast him any particular suspicious glances, but the boy Mitani Jirou’s demeanor was undeniably strange.

He seemed to have no appetite, not even attempting to touch his plate; pale-faced, he stole furtive glances at the people around him, appearing unable to remain seated.

What in the world was going on? One could hardly think this boy was the perpetrator who had stabbed Chimako in the back with a dagger, yet...

Eerie Dagger

Late that night, in the subterranean hell-touring pit previously described, Yumoto Jouji and his lover Harada Reiko had begun their nightly bizarre game. The park’s residents had each been assigned proper bedrooms, but being renowned grotesque enthusiasts, few among the owner’s inner circle slept conventionally in those quarters—Jirouemon himself went so far as to use the Ferris wheel gondolas as aerial beds—with some choosing the Whale’s Interior, others the Panorama Hall, and still others the summit of the Skyscraper, each selecting capricious locations to weave their bizarre dreams. Yet Yumoto Jouji and his lover had designated this hellish underground passage as their peculiar nesting ground.

In the gloomy underground passage reinforced with earth-toned concrete, lifelike effigies of blue and red demons stood arrayed in terrifying fashion—reproducing a hell scroll exactly—beginning with the Blood Pool, Mountain of Needles, Blazing Inferno, and King Enma. A pale electric light from somewhere cast an eerily faint glow over those artificial creations.

Yumoto and his companions' bed lay at the edge of the Blood Pool—a hellish attraction where red pigment had been dissolved and spread. This sadist and masochist would indulge in their nightly grotesque rituals there.

Almost completely naked, Harada Reiko had plastered herself against the wall on the far shore of the Blood Pool, her back pressed to a strange plank-like object in a crucifixion-like form. She was now a single tormented spirit, crying and wailing under hellish punishment. But for a tormented spirit, what an insolently taut mass of flesh she made. On this side of the pool stood the half-naked Yumoto Jouji, resembling a blue demon of hell. He had taken a throbbing dagger from a small box beside him and now held it aloft in his right hand, poised to hurl it toward the naked woman’s mass of flesh across the water.

Ah, was yet another abhorrent murder about to be committed?

No, no—that wasn't it at all. Yumoto Jouji, that delinquent youth, had somehow mastered the sleight of hand for dagger-throwing tricks—though when or where he'd learned them remained unclear. Using his lover as a target for these perilous feats became his greatest nightly pleasure. As for Reiko standing target-like—she bared her entire body before those gleaming blades her lover hurled, drunk on the heart-pounding thrill of whether they might pierce her flesh at any instant. The daggers Jouji threw caught the pallid electric light, flashing through air like uncanny lightning bolts before piercing one after another into the board behind Reiko. Each impact made them quiver like living things starved for blood.

Every dagger struck with machinelike precision at perilously close points—Reiko’s cheeks, head, arms, thighs—never deviating by even a millimeter.

“Oh! Oh!...” Each time a dagger struck home, Reiko let out an eerie cry of ecstasy with apparent delight. “This time—the armpit.” “I’ll cut the skin a bit.” As Jouji carelessly shouted and threw the last dagger with a swish—ah, what a wondrous technique!—the blade pinned Reiko’s armpit skin to the board exactly as he’d declared, slicing it perilously close yet paper-thin without crossing into danger. Fresh blood spurted forth. Reiko shouted an exaggerated “Oh!” while feigning an utterly delighted expression, lowering her eyes to gaze at the dagger quivering beneath her armpit. The sensation of cold steel biting into flesh. The smell of gushing, flowing blood. The deviants’ wretched ecstasy.

Jouji, for his part, narrowed his eyes and gazed intently at his lover’s white flesh—entranced by the beauty of crimson liquid trickling through its network of rivulets. Ten, twenty seconds— Reiko's eyes remained fixed, staring intently at the dagger beneath her armpit. For a masochist's pleasure, this was too prolonged a gaze—too unnaturally sharp a gleam in her eyes.

“Oi. “What’s wrong?” “What are you staring at so intently?” Unable to bear it any longer, Jouji asked.

“George! This dagger—isn’t one missing?” Reiko finally lifted her eyes, spoke in a dry voice, and stared fixedly at his face. Her expression held bone-chilling terror. “What?” “Missing?” “What’re you yapping about?” “There’s thirteen right here!” “Count ’em.”

Upon counting, sure enough, there were thirteen in total. "But that's weird." Reiko's terror-stricken expression still hadn't faded. "What's that supposed to mean?" "What do you mean? Are you hiding something from me?" "Now that I think about it, this dagger looks way too similar." Hearing this, Jouji looked startled and turned pale. "Similar to what?" "Oh, don't you notice? "Look, isn't this exactly like that dagger stuck in Ms. Chimako's back?"

Reiko shuddered as if struck by an icy gust, gooseflesh rising across her entire body. Jouji made a peculiar face and sank into silence. “Jouji... you did it, didn’t you?”

After a while, Reiko asked in a small voice.

Even so, Jouji remained sullenly silent.

“I knew.” “That you liked Ms. Chimako.” “And that time when you were alone with her—when you said something stupid and got slapped across the cheek.” “I was watching from the hilltop through binoculars… There’s no need to hide it.” Reiko murmured soothingly to villain George. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with that?” Jouji glared fiercely and shot back.

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

Reiko stated bluntly, as if savoring every word. "There are things you can say and things you can't. You honestly believe I'm the one who killed?"

Veins throbbed and bulged on Jouji’s forehead.

“But the murder weapon used on Ms. Chimako was identical to this dagger, wasn’t it? There’s no one besides you who’d have such dangerous things.” “You idiot! Do you want to brand your lover as a murderous criminal?”

“So,” “Since we’re lovers, just tell me quietly.” “I won’t breathe a word to anyone.” “Still yapping?! “Damn you!”

Jouji began raging like a wild beast. “Ah! Stop!” “I won’t say it.” “I won’t say it.” Reiko, with her large build, voluptuous figure, and fair skin, was a foolish masochist. When she realized her utterly heartless question had enraged him to the core, she was suddenly overcome with fear, let out a scream, and fled in confusion along the edge of the Blood Pool. In the hand of the enraged beast was gripped a single dagger. It glinted menacingly in the red light of the candles lining the cave walls.

“Ha ha ha… I won’t do anything. You don’t need to run.” The beast laughed terribly with a forced smile. “Really? You’re really not angry? I was joking about earlier.” “It’s fine. I won’t do anything. Come here—I’ll treat you nice.” Reiko timidly returned along the edge of the Blood Pool. “Really? What d’you mean by ‘treat me nice’?” “Like this.” Reiko felt a sharp sting in her shoulder. When she looked, a beautiful crimson line ran across her thin silk garment. Blood.

“Oh! You cut me?” “But you’re not going to kill me, right?”

She was surprisingly unfazed. The foolish masochist seemed rather thrilled at being wounded by her lover's blade. “Like this.” But Jouji’s eyes were terribly bloodshot. He seemed not to hear her voice and brandished the dagger repeatedly. Crimson lines swiftly multiplied from Reiko’s rounded shoulders down to her voluptuous breasts.

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

Jouji kicked the lover he was wounding and sent her tumbling into the Blood Pool. With a sickening splat, a crimson spray flew out, staining Jouji’s shirt like spattered blood. The large-built Reiko, stained crimson by the Blood Pool’s red ink, staggered toward the bank with her blood-soaked body resembling a red lantern plant—only to meet Jouji’s kicking foot once more. With a splattering sound that sent up a mist of blood, she landed hard on her backside.

“You’re so persistent. “I can’t take this anymore.” “Let’s stop this already.” Reiko gulped down the pool’s red ink and, gasping for breath, proposed halting the cruel game. But Jouji showed no sign of picking up his exhausted lover to caress her as he usually did. He stood like a wrathful guardian statue at the pool’s edge, brandishing the dagger, bracing himself to deliver a single thrust at Reiko as she tried to crawl up. This was no game. After all, he was serious. His face and body were filled with murderous intent. Was he the one who had killed Chimako? Was he trying to kill his lover to prevent that from being revealed?

“Ah! Help me!” Reiko screamed genuinely. She frantically tried to escape, crawling awkwardly on all fours along the slimy pool edge. But Jouji’s left hand immediately grabbed her hair and yanked her back. “Ah! Forgive me! “I won’t tell anyone. “I’ll never say you’re the killer. “Forgive me! “Forgive me!”

Reiko, shuddering violently, screamed with desperate frenzy.

“Ha ha ha... Scared you, didn’t I?” “Just a joke.” “Enough now.” “Wouldn’t dream of killing you.” Jouji grinned, baring white teeth. “But hear this—breathe a word ’bout this dagger or me lookin’ suspicious, and you’re done.” “Got nothin’ to do with that murder case.” “But I ain’t takin’ no stupid suspicions.” “Clear?” “Slip up even once—” “I’ll kill you.”

“Okay, I won’t. I’ll never tell.”

Reiko grew even more terrified and answered while trembling all the same. Hearing this, Jouji roughly pulled her close and pressed his lips to her round cheek, now thickly smeared with red ink.

Then his lips, like those of a lynx that had devoured an infant, became dreadfully stained with blood.

A black shadow.

Exhausted from their bloody midnight games, they didn’t wake until well past noon the next day, so by the time Reiko had washed her bloodstained body and applied her makeup to appear before others, it was nearing evening. At the dinner table, as usual, Detective Kijima was scrutinizing everyone with suspicious eyes but still appeared to have grasped no leads.

The people exchanged doubtful glances with one another and finished their awkward meal.

After dinner, as Reiko strolled alone through the amusement park, she was intercepted by the boy Mitani Jirou. “Ms. Reiko, what’s wrong? Something’s off. Did you have a fight with Mr. Yumoto?”

He was an eerily sensitive boy. “Yes, we had a fight.” “Jirou-san, come here.” Reiko said casually, sat down on a discarded stone in front of a thicket of shrubs, and invited the boy onto her lap. The lovely boy was accustomed to sitting on adults’ laps. “What happened with the fight?” “Why did you fight?” “It’s nothing.” “It’s not nothing.” “Mr. Yumoto and Ms. Reiko aren’t talking, are they?” “You’re making a strange blue face, aren’t you?” “What’s wrong?”

The boy squirmed his bottom on Reiko’s plump lap and spoke in a coaxing manner. “I’m worried about you, Ms. Reiko—it’s not like I dislike you or anything.” “Jirou-san, thanks.” Reiko hugged the boy tightly and said, “It’s nothing... But maybe...” “Maybe what?” “Maybe I might get killed.” “What? By who?” “I don’t want you to tell anyone.” “Because it’ll cause a huge problem.”

“Yeah, I won’t tell.” “If I die—no, if I’m killed—the one who did it will be Jouji. So you remember that well and tell the detective I said so, okay? I’m entrusting this to you.” “Really? So Mr. Yumoto might kill you, Ms. Reiko. Why?” “And another thing... If I’m killed, none other than Jouji must be the one who murdered Ms. Chimako. Make sure to remember this 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 real truth.” “If I carelessly mention that and Jouji were falsely accused, it’d be too pitiful.” “And you—unless, by some million-to-one chance, I end up killed—mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” “Understand?” “Yeah, I know that already.”

Night had fully fallen, and it had grown so dark that they could no longer clearly see each other's faces. The two were so engrossed in their conversation that they noticed nothing, but behind them in the thicket came the low rustle of leaves brushing together.

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 those eyes lay nothing but a sinister black shadow, like some spectral sea monster.

“Oh dear, I’ve carelessly let slip something trivial.” “I must be out of my mind tonight.” “Everything I just said was a lie.” “You mustn’t tell anyone.” “I mean it.” “Yeah, it’s okay.” “I won’t tell.” “Oh dear, it’s gotten so dark.” “Let’s go over there.”

As the two stood up from the discarded stones and began walking toward the main dining hall building, the black-robed figure in the tree shadows also ceased eavesdropping and sneaked off into the dusk.

The Pallid Model

It was the next day.

Detective Kijima, who had yet to grasp any leads, stepped into the maze once again under the guidance of park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon to stand at the crime scene and hypothesize the sequence of the violent act. “This maze was created from my design, but it’s so well-made that even I, its designer, sometimes end up getting lost.”

Kitagawa Jirouemon boasted as he walked along the winding narrow path. “It’s because you create such eccentric contraptions that this trouble arises.” “There’s nothing as troublesome as a bored wealthy person.” The detective nonchalantly criticized the park owner’s eccentricity in a joking manner. “No, when you say that, I can hardly bear the shame. “However, since this incident occurred within my own residence and the victim was my close friend, I will investigate thoroughly as if I were a detective. “I certainly intend to hand over the criminal.”

“If matters were to proceed that smoothly, well...” Detective Kijima scoffed at Jirouemon’s earnest proposal. “The perpetrator unquestionably resides within these grounds.” “All are suspects.” “Yet all are my cherished companions.” “A most vexing predicament indeed.” “Naturally, I can’t resort to thrashing your associates for confessions.” “But with not a shred of evidence, it’s infernally inconvenient.” “All due to this accursed labyrinth.” “Were it not for these walls, Mr. Ono would’ve witnessed the killer red-handed.” “Still—you must harbor private suspicions about someone.”

“As I’ve been saying since the other day, there are strangely none. “Chimako was a gentle woman; it’s unthinkable that she would have enemies. “If I must consider a reason, it’s precisely because she was loved that she was killed. “A grudge born of unrequited love, I suppose. “However, if that were the case, it would be safe to say there was not a single person in the park who did not love Chimako. “Moreover, it is certain that Chimako rejected the love of many others besides myself. “Therefore, every man in the park becomes a suspect.”

As they conversed, they backtracked two or three times, but true to form, they never lost their way and reached the maze's heart. "Oh, someone's here!"

The detective took one step into that space and stopped in surprise. “Ah! Yumoto! What are you doing here?” Jirouemon also called out in astonishment.

It was the sadist Yumoto Jouji.

He was doing something strange at the center of the maze. In front of him stood a canvas propped on a tripod, his left hand holding a palette and his right hand gripping a paintbrush. “What are you painting?” When questioned, Jouji pointed at the model with his chin as if saying it should be obvious. The model was a bluish-white lump of flesh in a strange shape crouched on the ground. It was truly a bizarre shape. The face was pressed against the ground, the buttocks propped up, legs bent beneath the abdomen, hands unnaturally contorted and thrust forward before the face. In other words, it was a model of an extraordinarily voluptuous, completely naked woman.

But what about that skin's unnatural pallor? Could a woman with such eerie skin have existed in this paradise? "Oh my! Isn't that Ms. Harada Reiko? What happened? What's with that bizarre pose? Her body's been bent out of shape, hasn't it? That must hurt." Jirouemon noticed the model woman's true identity and shouted.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Jouji, diligently moving his paintbrush, bluntly replied. "How could it not hurt?" "Isn't that pitiful?" "Cease this at once." "This sadist is truly beyond help." "There's no way it hurts." "Take a good look at Ms. Reiko." Jouji said in an angry-sounding voice. When told to look, it did seem strange indeed. Harada Reiko’s skin should never have been such an unpleasant color. Kitagawa Jirouemon couldn’t help but feel a chilling shudder.

Detective Kijima, perhaps having realized this as well, strode briskly toward the model and suddenly grabbed her shoulder to pull her up. “Ah!” A cry of surprise erupted simultaneously from both men’s mouths. Beneath Reiko’s pulled-up body, a crimson puddle had formed. And in her chest was embedded that familiar dagger, plunged deep into her heart, while her breasts, abdomen, and even thighs were dyed a vivid crimson, as though painted with red.

“Hey, Mr. Yumoto! Did you know about this? Who did it?” “Who’s the perpetrator?”

Jirouemon stammered out his interrogation at Jouji.

“That guy,” Jouji said emotionlessly. “The one who killed Ms. Chimako.” “Hmm, that’s probably right,” Jirouemon replied. “But what about you? Were you calmly painting using your lover’s corpse as a model?” “That’s right.” Jouji answered nonchalantly. “I’d never realized until this very moment that Reiko was such a beautiful creature. And this strangely beautiful pose—it would’ve been a shame to put her in a coffin.”

Had Yumoto Jouji gone mad? He was entrancedly sketching his lover's blood-drenched corpse as though it were something of peerless beauty.

Murderous Trio Detective Kijima stood utterly appalled by this spectacle of madness, rendered speechless. But as he gradually regained his composure, his customary spiteful glare reclaimed dominion over his features. “Mr. Yumoto,” he said, “sketching your lover’s corpse was quite an inspiration.” “A remarkably clever notion indeed.”

He showed admiration dripping with sarcasm. “Skilled, don’t you think? Such a beautiful pose couldn’t possibly be conceived through human means. A once-in-a-lifetime model you’ll never get again.”

Jouji was innocently boasting.

“Brilliant!” “That innocence of yours—not even a master actor could imitate it.”

The detective spoke with even more sarcasm. "A master actor, you say?" "So now it sounds like I'm putting on some kind of act?" Jouji made a strange face and stared at the detective.

“Brilliant! Even more brilliant! Attempting to evade suspicion by sketching your victim’s corpse—now that’s a truly ingenious new strategy.”

“Oh? So you’re saying I killed this woman and left her here, then pulled this stunt to avoid suspicion?”

Jouji, perhaps finally grasping the detective's true intentions, asked back in surprise. "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Well now—it's not necessarily that simple. But..."

“But what’s wrong?” “Ah, I see now!” “You’ve concluded I’m the culprit and plan to arrest me, huh?” “But Detective—to throw me in jail, you’d need solid evidence, wouldn’t you?” “Do you have that?” “Evidence.” “Present the evidence.” “Evidence?” The detective answered slowly, approached Reiko’s corpse, and pulled out that dagger from her chest. “For example, this dagger.” “This guardless rod-like murder weapon should reveal its owner at a glance.” “Mr. Kitagawa, isn’t that right?”

“Indeed, that is Mr. Yumoto’s dagger for magic tricks. However…” Jirouemon faltered in confusion. “Nonsense! If I were the real culprit, would I leave behind such an obviously identifiable murder weapon in the corpse’s chest? That, on the contrary, is proof of my innocence!” Jouji shouted. “In any case, I must ask you to come to the police station for now. The police chief or the examining magistrate will want to hear your opinion.” Detective Kijima coldly declared.

“No way.” “I can’t just abandon my lover’s corpse and go off to the police.” “I absolutely will not leave Jiro Amusement Park.” As the dispute grew increasingly heated, a monster suddenly appeared. It was the hunchbacked Sousuke Esashi. Beads of sweat glistened on his grotesque forehead as he gasped for breath. He must have raced through the maze before finally reaching this place.

“Oh! Sousuke!” “What’s wrong?” Kitagawa Jirouemon called out in surprise.

“Master, something terrible—” “Please come quickly! When I saw that mess over there, I came runnin’ straightaway, but got myself lost in that blasted maze for nigh thirty minutes.” “Can’t catch my breath nohow...” Mid-sentence, he suddenly noticed Harada Reiko’s corpse. “Whoa! Another stiff here too?” “Ain’t this Ms. Reiko?” “Who done ’er in?” “Here as well? Sousuke—are you saying there’s another victim elsewhere?” Jirouemon pressed urgently.

“Yes. Over there—another one’s been killed.”

“Who?” Kitagawa Jirouemon and the detective shouted nearly in unison. “It’s the boy. Poor thing—shot in the chest with a pistol, gasping his last breath. Nah, by now he must’ve breathed his last.” “The boy... you mean Mitani Jirou?” “Yessir, that’s right.” “Detective Kijima! Mr. Yumoto—let’s set aside this quarrel and go see together. The boy Mitani Jirou has been murdered.” Jirouemon had already started running while speaking. The hunchbacked Sousuke ran chasing after him. Yumoto Jouji and Detective Kijima—who still gripped Jouji’s arm—also began running after them.

“Where? Where’s the boy who’s been murdered?” “At the Merry-Go-Round. He was killed while riding the wooden horse.” Finally exiting the maze and arriving at the Merry-Go-Round building, they found over a dozen of the park’s servants clustered together in an uproar. “What happened to Mitani? Is he still breathing? Did someone go call a doctor?” At Jirouemon’s voice, the servants made way and answered one after another.

“He’s beyond help now. He took his last breath just moments ago.” They saw that the boy Jirou had died in the same position he had fallen from the wooden horse，his hands clawing at the ground.

"Why haven't you taken him to bed? How pitiful to leave him lying on this bare ground!" Kitagawa Jirouemon scolded the servants as he looked around them. "Oh Jirou, this isn't about that! Mr. Mitani isn't the only dead person! The dead aren't just him!"

From the crowd emerged Kitagawa Jirouemon’s lover Kishita Ayuko, who answered in a tearful voice. “Not just one?” “What in the world has happened?” Kitagawa Jirouemon exclaimed in shock. “Ms. Orie.” “Ms. Orie fell from the balloon and died!” “Mr. Ono has gone there!”

“Wh-wh-what? Ms. Orie?” The whole group, upon hearing this, found themselves unable to utter another word.

Diary and Telescope

In short, that morning at Jiro Amusement Park, three murders had been committed nearly simultaneously. Harada Reiko at the center of the maze, Mitani Jirou at the Merry-Go-Round, and Hitomi Orie at the balloon.

Among the late-rising members, only the boy Mitani Jirou was an exception—an early riser. That morning too, he had slipped out of his bedroom around six o’clock and was dashing about the early morning park when, passing by the Merry-Go-Round, he suddenly felt like taking a ride. Alone, he flipped the switch to set it spinning and leapt onto one of the wooden horses. Over a dozen bizarre wooden-carved bare horses jerkily shook their heads as they began to rumble and roll around.

Mitani Jirou gripped the reins, rocking his hips back and forth as he raced against the barebacked horses with shouts of “Giddy-up!” and thundering hooves. In the vicinity of the Merry-Go-Round building—and indeed as far as the eye could see—there wasn’t a soul in sight. Except for the swish-swish of the refreshing morning breeze brushing against cheeks, not even the chirping of birds could be heard. However, no sooner had the merry-go-round made about ten rotations than—suddenly shattering the stillness—a fierce whizzing roar erupted, and Jirou felt a terrifying shock as if a rod had been thrust into his chest.

“Agh!” A scream burst forth unbidden. At that same moment, he tumbled headfirst from the spinning wooden horse and crashed against the ground. “Who did this?!” No answer came to his cry. Strange, strange—though not a soul could be seen in any direction, a pistol bullet had come flying from nowhere to pierce through the boy’s chest.

It was a full hour later that Kishita Ayuko and Esashi Sousuke discovered the boy Mitani Jirou, barely breathing. Picking up the boy who was ghostly filthy with blood and mud, “Who did it? Who did it?” they pressed him about the perpetrator. The boy barely moved his lips and, “I don’t know… The diary… the diary…” With that murmur, he went completely limp. He no longer had the strength to say anything more. So, having entrusted the aftermath to Ayuko, Sousuke ran off to report the emergency.

“When he said ‘diary,’ wasn’t he referring to the one Mr. Jirou always kept?” “If we read it, we might figure something out.” Ayuko cleverly deduced. “Do you know where that diary is kept?” Detective Kijima seized upon this without hesitation.

“Yes, I know where it is. It should be stored in the desk drawer of Mr. Jirou’s bedroom.” “Then could you please show me there immediately? I want to investigate it quickly... Mr. Kitagawa, please go ahead and check on the other body. I’ll be there shortly.”

And so，Detective Kijima and Ayuko hurried to Mitani Jirou’s bedroom，while Jirouemon，accompanied by two or three servants，rushed toward the balloon． The airship-shaped balloon was moored on a certain hill in a corner of the park． As they drew closer，they realized that one of the ropes from the balloon’s rope ladder hanging down to the ground had snapped，causing the ladder to lose its form，leaving only a single remaining rope barely tethering the balloon．

“Ah, the rope ladder has snapped.” Jirouemon muttered to no one in particular.

When they arrived at the scene, a crowd of servants had already gathered there as well.

“Mr. Raizō! Is Mr. Raizō here?”

In response to the voice, Raizou's face appeared from within the crowd. “Ah, Kitagawa-kun! Look here—this!” “It’s turned into something dreadful, hasn’t it?” Raizou said with a half-crying grimace. Looking where he pointed, Orie’s corpse lay sprawled out. Indeed, things had taken a dreadful turn. Like a bean paste bun hurled with all one's might, her corpse had sunk into the earth and been crushed flat. “Oh, this person is holding binoculars.”

“Yeah, she was looking at something through them.” “And then, just as she was about to set her foot on the rope ladder to descend from the balloon, she suddenly plummeted like a bullet.” “So you saw it?” “Nah, if I’d seen it myself, I wouldn’t have left it alone this long.” “A child saw it.” “The kitchen granny’s brat saw it, they say.” “This kid here.”

Raizou held down the head of a six- or seven-year-old boy and showed him.

"I do apologize most sincerely. Since it was just a child’s story, I didn’t pay it any mind, but then such a dreadful thing actually happened…" While tuning out the child’s mother as she continued offering profuse apologies, Kitagawa Jirouemon began his questioning, patting the snot-nosed brat’s head all the while.

“There’s a good boy. Was this girl up on the balloon watching 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 lay nothing but the infamous murder maze. “That way? No mistake about it?” “Yeah, she was only lookin’ that way.” “Mr. Ono, Ms. Orie might have been examining the labyrinth from the balloon. You can see the maze’s full layout when peering down from above.” “But why would anyone do such a mad thing first thing in the morning?” “No—perhaps from this balloon’s height, she saw Ms. Reiko’s murder unfolding as clearly as if holding it in her palm.” “Ma’am—what exact time was this?”

“When this child came back crying ‘It fell down! It fell down!’, that was indeed around six o’clock.”

“Six o’clock… That might indeed be the case.” “Boy, what happened then? Did this girl look surprised at all?” “Yeah, she was chattering away with her mouth all wide open like. Then she came hurrying down.” “Even if she was chattering away, there wasn’t anyone outside the balloon, was there?” “Nuh-uh, wasn’t nobody there.”

“Then why was she chattering away?” “Ah, I see.” “Dear, the girl opened her mouth wide and screamed, didn’t she?” “Like ‘Ah!’ or ‘Help me!’ she was saying.”

But the child made a troubled face and remained silent.

“Yeah there there—this is a bit too complicated for you boy.” “But Mr. Raizō—it seems my imagination was spot-on.” “Then Boy—what happened?”

Jirouemon continued his questioning. "And then the rope snapped." "Why?" "I dunno." "But it went *snap* just like that!" "Then the girl flipped upside down and went *whoosh* straight down!" "It was fast." "So fast you couldn't even see it!" The child reported proudly, breathless with excitement.

Was the snapping of the rope ladder's rope mere coincidence? Was some dreadful meaning concealed within it? Almost simultaneously, three mysterious deaths occurred. For a coincidence, it was far too grotesque. These were likely not separate incidents. Behind this chain of bloody events, might there not lie the same motive... a single culprit lurking?

Suspect

That morning, nearly simultaneously, Reiko met her gruesome death at the maze's center; young Jirou on a merry-go-round horse; and Orie fell from an aerial balloon to her death. The weapon that killed Reiko was the same mysterious dagger used on Chimako; what killed young Jirou was a bullet; while Orie fell due to the balloon's severed rope—though this too might mean someone had cut that rope to kill her. No—it was no mere "might be." This soon became clear beyond doubt.

After police and prosecutors' office staff arrived, completed the autopsy, and the corpse was carried into a room, the balloon was lowered to the ground at Detective Kijima's initiative. To examine the severed end of the rope ladder.

The giant silver balloon, having had its gas released, lay on the ground like a jellyfish.

“Just as I thought,” said Detective Kijima. “Take a look at this cut end. This wasn’t severed naturally at all. It’s been cleanly sliced through with some sharp blade.” At the detective’s words, everyone gathered around to examine the rope’s severed end—indeed, it had been cut straight through in one clean stroke. “However,” Raizou interjected, “there’s no conceivable reason Ms. Orie would cut the rope ladder herself. We must assume someone else was aboard the balloon when it happened. Yet according to both this child and the elderly kitchen worker who rushed out upon hearing his cries, there was no one left in the balloon after Ms. Orie fell. When I arrived on the scene merely two or three minutes after her plunge, not a soul remained near the balloon either.” His pale face tightened with bewilderment. “So when exactly was this rope cut? By whom? And how?”

Ono Raizou, having lost his lover, uttered with a pale face in a thoroughly puzzled manner. “Well, that’s it then.” “I was just thinking about that myself.”

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

Afterward, they withdrew to a room in the building and underwent questioning by the prosecutor, but to record every detail would prove tedious, so I shall extract and note down only the crucial portions.

First and foremost, following the dying words of the boy Mitani, his diary was examined.

“Tonight under the mountain, I met Ms. Reiko with a pale face.” “When I asked what was wrong, she told me I mustn’t tell anyone—that if she died, Jouji was the killer, and I should remember this well and inform the detective. She said something strange like that.” Such things were recorded in the diary. Following this, the boy Jirou’s thoughts about the recent crime were appended.

It seems no one has noticed, but I know Mr. Jouji possesses many daggers identical to the one that was lodged in Ms. Chimako’s chest. I had suspected that ex-convict Jouji from the very beginning. I knew it. With Ms. Reiko’s words tonight, my suspicions became even more convincing. Should I tell everyone about this? But Ms. Reiko told me not to tell anyone. I don’t want to disobey Ms. Reiko’s 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 grounds for suspicion, and now this new piece of evidence had emerged. He had no means of escape left.

Everyone believed Jouji was the culprit. The murder motive had not been determined, and the idea that a single man could have committed three murders simultaneously across such wildly disparate locations—one atop an aerial balloon, another deep within a complex maze—seemed somehow implausible; yet setting aside those points, no one doubted that Jouji remained the most likely suspect.

The prosecutor summoned Jouji before him and bombarded him with sharp questions, but he persisted in complete denial, insisting he knew nothing about any of it.

The prosecutor further interrogated Kitagawa Jirouemon, Kishita Ayuko, Ono Raizou, Esashi Sousuke, and others but found nothing of significance. That morning, when the triple murder occurred, it was revealed that Jirouemon was in his usual Ferris wheel gondola while Ayuko and Raizou still lay snoring in their respective beds within the building. Each had witnesses leaving no room for doubt. The hunchbacked Esashi Sousuke claimed he had risen around five that morning to patrol the grounds; however, given the park's vast expanse of mountains and rivers, none could attest to his whereabouts during the crimes. Thus he stood without alibi witnesses.

In addition to the aforementioned individuals, it was noteworthy that a man named K, the fireworks operator, underwent interrogation by the prosecutor. “You claim to have been launching fireworks around six o’clock this morning—but why on earth would you be 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, it's my duty to keep launching daytime fireworks non-stop."

K, a forty-year-old man in black, soiled work clothes, answered. “Was that on orders from the park owner?” “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 from early morning.” “We find that resounding ‘boom,’ the fierce crackle, and the rain of balloons bursting from fireworks shells utterly irresistible.”

The prosecutor continued his questioning, directing it once more at Fireworks Operator K with a wry smile.

“Didn’t you notice any suspicious people around six o’clock? Your fireworks tubes must have been positioned exactly behind the maze, correct?” “No one came to my post. I didn’t see any suspicious people or anything—not even a shadow of a person all morning.” “Didn’t you hear any screams from inside the maze?” “Hmm, I didn’t notice that at all. It might have been drowned out by the fireworks noise and never reached my ears.”

With the fireworks operator being the last, the investigation was thoroughly concluded.

In the end, no facts emerged that could negate Yumoto Jouji being the culprit. The more than a dozen grotesque daggers that had been hidden beside the underground Blood Pool Hell, along with the boy Jirou’s diary, were confiscated as evidence. And needless to say, Yumoto Jouji himself was taken into custody as the sole suspect.

The Whale’s Heart

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

That afternoon, he wandered aimlessly around the park grounds alone. When he suddenly noticed, before him lay something like a small hill of pitch-black plaster. Amidst the pitch-black expanse, there was a single stain-like white spot. That was the eye of this monster. The artificial whale glared at the detective with its small white eye. The gaping black hole near the mouth beneath its eye was the entrance to the whale’s interior. The detective was well acquainted with the strange spectacle of its interior. It was an eerie fairy-tale world that even adults found themselves drawn into.

He decided to enter its interior. Striding over the black maw, he entered the whale’s mouth, where an eerily uneven throat loomed large, followed by a narrow esophageal passage—barely wide enough for one person—that stretched straight to the stomach. There were no exposed light bulbs; all light sources were installed within the fibrous tissues of organs, so through the bluish-black mucous membrane, they cast a dim, overcast-day-like glow ahead. The translucent bluish-black mucous membrane had eerie blood vessels and nerves crisscrossing like black rivers.

A portion of the stomach appeared red and ulcerated, with a hole approximately three shaku (about 90 centimeters) in diameter opened up, allowing egress into the body cavity from there. Detective Kijima crawled out through that hole from the stomach. Outside was a vast rust-hued cavity. Immediately overhead, a startlingly huge light source was dangling. It was the whale’s heart—gigantic on a bare pole, crimson and translucent, like one of Asakusa’s Nio Gate lanterns. From the red heart snaked aorta and vena cava like gnarled tree roots, writhing outward until they vanished into the distance a hundred hiro away. There, the whale’s large and small intestines—bluish-black and tangled in the shapes of countless serpents of varying sizes—lay entwined.

“Is that you, Detective Kijima?”

From somewhere, a voice like from a radio resounded without an owner. Startled, he turned to find a small black shadow squirming like some aberrant parasite beneath the great lantern-like heart. It was a human. "Who's there?" "It's me—Kitagawa."

The black shadow answered in Jirouemon’s voice. “Ah, it’s you.” “What are you doing here at this hour?”

The detective approached directly beneath the heart. "I had some matters to consider," he said. "This red heart stimulates my imagination." As he drew near, Jirouemon's face became mottled with red and black protrusions, appearing like a terrifying red demon. "Oh? What could you be pondering so deeply?" Detective Kijima too had become a red demon. Beneath the great lantern heart, two crimson fiends whispered to each other. "Naturally, it concerns this recent blood-drenched incident."

Jirouemon answered. Because that spot was directly beneath the gigantic heart, along with the adjective "bloody," the actual stench of congealed blood assaulted the detective's nostrils. “However, hasn’t the case been nearly resolved?” “Are you trying to assert Yumoto-kun’s innocence?” Even the detective wasn’t entirely convinced the case had been solved, but realizing there was another man here harboring doubts and brooding over them, he couldn’t help but speak in that manner.

“No, it’s not necessarily so, but... Detective Kijima, do you truly believe Yumoto Jouji is the true culprit behind these four murders?” “Of course there’s no other possibility to consider, is there?”

Kijima made a show of stating this emphatically. “Admittedly, he is an ex-convict. However, he isn’t the type of murderer who would take human lives without reason.” “Without reason? You say that? There is a reason, isn’t there? You mean to say you don’t realize that?” The detective found the truth unexpected. “So, you mean to say that Jouji had a motive for murder? I would very much like to hear your thoughts.”

Jirouemon stared squarely at the detective's red face and said.

“Mr. Yumoto tried to take Ms. Moroguchi Chimako from you. And for Ms. Chimako’s sake, she brutally rejected him. Wouldn’t this serve as a motive for murder?”

“Oh? You knew about that?” “I am a detective.” Kijima seemed to feel insulted and declared angrily. “No, my apologies. “Indeed, you’re absolutely correct on that point.” “However,……”

“Furthermore, Ms. Reiko’s murder can also be explained through Jirou’s diary.” “Ms. Reiko, who carried on like a married couple with Mr. Yumoto, noticing her husband’s crime—that seems entirely plausible.” “There is even the fact that Ms. Reiko had been a target for Mr. Yumoto’s dagger-throwing.” “She must have realized sooner than anyone else that the dagger that struck down Ms. Chimako was in Mr. Yumoto’s possession.” “That’s why she left those words for Jirou-kun, I suppose.” “As expected, Ms. Reiko was killed with the same dagger.”

“I see. That’s quite logically consistent.” “Then what was the motive for Mitani Jirou’s murder?” Jirouemon’s voice carried a suggestive chuckle. “Jirou-kun was the sole witness who heard Ms. Reiko’s secret.” “The simplest way to silence such a witness is to kill him.”

“So, does that mean Jouji had been eavesdropping on Ms. Reiko and Jirou’s secret conversation?” “That may well be possible. Even if that weren’t the case, he might have perceived it through fragments of his lover Ms. Reiko’s behavior or speech.”

The reader knew. When Reiko had been revealing that secret to Jirou-kun, a black figure resembling a sea monk had stood 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 Ms. Hitomi Orie?” “Though her whim of riding the balloon first thing in the morning wasn’t particularly unusual for a resident of this paradise, why would someone completely unrelated to the case be killed?” “And how could the criminal have severed that high aerial rope ladder?” “At that time, there was no one on the balloon besides Ms. Orie.”

“Did you examine the cut on the rope ladder closely?”

The detective suddenly asked a strange question.

“I did, but…” “It was a sharp cut, wasn’t it? Made by a blade—or if not that—” “Huh? If not that…?” “A bullet. If there were an expert marksman who could target that thin rope and land a bullet, then exactly such a clean cut might have been made.” “From where?”

Jirouemon asked in surprise. “I would suggest the center of the maze, but that’s impossible for anyone to conceive.” “If we suppose someone fired from a much closer location—for example, directly beneath the balloon’s mooring site—and then slipped into the forest without anyone noticing, it wouldn’t be entirely impossible.” “However, there would be the sound of a gunshot." “The cooking granny didn’t mention anything about hearing a gunshot, though.”

“Fireworks.” “Couldn’t we consider that those maddening fireworks going off first thing in the morning masked the sound of the gunshot?” “The reason I summoned Mr. K, the fireworks technician, this morning was because I wanted to inform the prosecutor about that point.” “Indeed, indeed. Using fireworks was quite clever, wasn’t it?” “You are a terrifying person.” “But what about the motive?” “Why did Jouji have to kill Ms. Orie?” “You do recall that Ms. Orie was clutching binoculars, I presume?” “That person was observing the park grounds from above the balloon.” “And by chance, she had witnessed the strange spectacle at the maze’s center.” “The scene of the murder.”

“Indeed... Indeed.”

Jirouemon groaned in deep admiration. "After achieving their objective, the culprit must have looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then they noticed a figure on the balloon—a figure trembling with fear while clutching binoculars. Would it be unreasonable to think the culprit then ran from the maze and went beneath the balloon? Ms. Orie should have descended from the balloon sooner, but she must have been too paralyzed by fear to act. When she finally began timidly descending the rope ladder, the bullet was fired. They were undoubtedly aiming for Ms. Orie, but the shot missed and by chance struck the thin rope. After all, one can hardly consider Mr. Yumoto capable of shooting a thin rope swaying in midair like some expert marksman."

“Indeed, your reasoning appears to follow a logical path.” “So—does this mean he shot and killed Mitani Jirō with that same firearm on his way back after disposing of Orie?” “Most likely.” “The Merry-Go-Round is located between the balloon and the maze, you see.” “And the firearm that Jouji supposedly used?” “Did you discover it?” “Unfortunately, I haven’t yet.” “Discovering that alone would confirm Mr. Yumoto’s guilt—yet despite searching everywhere, we can’t find where he hid it.” “However, I intend to discover it and present it shortly.”

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 spoke in a voice that still seemed to contain a knowing laugh.

“Oh? Then are you suggesting there’s another suspicious person outside?” The detective asked, slightly taken aback. “There is just one fact you still don’t know.” “What is it? “What on earth is that?” “The ones who discovered Moroguchi Chimako’s corpse were Ono Raizō and Hitomi Orie, both of them. “At that time, Ms. Orie witnessed the culprit’s figure. “Since carelessly blabbing about it would lead to grave consequences, Ms. Orie died without telling anyone other than Mr. Ono. “In truth, Mr. Raizou has also kept silent about the matter until today out of consideration for someone’s inconvenience.”

“Did she see the culprit?” “Good God!” “To think they kept such a crucial clue secret!” “So who was it?”

“It’s impossible to tell who it was. In that fleeting moment, she could only make out that it was an extremely short man dressed in Western-style clothing.” “A short man?” The detective drew a sharp breath. “Among our associates, when speaking of short men, there exists none besides the boy Mitani Jirō or the hunchbacked Esashi Sousuke. Ms. Orie dreaded casting suspicion upon these two.” “Yet Jirou was killed.”

Under the sinister crimson-black light at the heart of the giant lantern, they inadvertently exchanged glances and fell silent.

Esashi Sousuke "The boy Jirou was killed." "Then—" "Then that leaves the short man." And once again, the two fell silent. Within Kitagawa Jirouemon’s line of sight, a grotesque stomach resembling a blimp—wrapped in a bluish-black web of veins—thudded down heavily. Then deep within the dark womb-like cavity, the large and small intestines of a mythical serpent coiled in serpentine folds. Though his own design, seeing how the obscenity, brutality, and incompleteness of an anatomical diagram had swollen a hundredfold to fill that darkness made his heartbeat quicken involuntarily.

If these gigantic organs were to be imbued with life and suddenly begin throbbing or writhing with pulsating movement, how utterly terrifying that would be. No sooner had this thought crossed his 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 indeed digesting what it has eaten. The great papier-mâché stomach had indeed begun to stir murkily. Impossible. This must be a dream. But…

“Did you notice?” Kitagawa Jirouemon stealthily poked the detective’s waist 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 contraption?” “No, I know nothing about it. That stomach is fixed papier-mâché. It couldn’t possibly move.” “Then perhaps—” The detective interpreted this bizarre phenomenon with stark realism. He then took the lead and advanced toward the stomach in the darkness.

“There’s no way something like this could perform digestion.”

The detective knocked on the slimy stomach wall coated in paint and said.

“There’s someone here! A person’s hiding inside making it move! Hey! Who’re you? Come out!” The detective intuited something and charged headlong toward the stomach structure’s rear.

“Gah!” A scream erupted. And then, an indescribably grotesque creature slipped past the detective’s arm and fled into the shadows of the maze formed by the whale’s stomach padding.

“Kitagawa-san, please go around to that side. I’ll drive them out from behind.” Kijima shouted as if catching a rabbit and plunged into the stomach padding. In the darkness—the ripping of stomach padding, the mysterious figure fleeing, the detective pursuing—their chaotic footsteps and ragged breaths intermingled. The great whale with concrete-like skin writhed in abdominal agony.

“Blast it! Detective Kijima—they’ve gotten away! They slipped under my sleeve. That way! That way! Toward the esophagus!” Kitagawa Jirouemon shouted and suddenly broke into a run—dodging past the giant heart-shaped lantern, pushing through the papier-mâché lungs, heading toward the esophagus into the tunnel-like dark narrow path.

The monster was as short as a child and as agile as a monkey. He could run through the low-ceilinged tunnel while remaining upright. Bending their bodies and repeatedly bumping their heads as they ran awkwardly, the two large men stood no chance against him at all. By the time Jirouemon and Detective Kijima finally emerged from the whale's innards and surveyed the twilight-tinged grove, the mysterious figure had vanished without a trace.

"So it was true after all." The detective said meaningfully while standing dazedly outside the whale's mouth. "I do trust him, but this is strange." Mr. Kitagawa tilted his head. "You can't deny that was Esashi Sousuke the hunchback." "Yeah, there's no one else with that appearance. "But it's truly strange." "If you look at this, you might understand. "I picked up this scrap of paper that guy dropped earlier."

Detective Kijima said while showing a piece of paper. On it, written in clumsy characters, were these words.

On the coming July 14th, on the very night of the Jiro Amusement Park Carnival Festival, the grand finale of the murderous game shall come. That night, the remaining few members shall all be slaughtered. How magnificent will be the blood-soaked grand nocturnal revelry—the festive uproar of a murderous carnival! The very thought sends shivers down one's spine.

Must not be told to anyone. It's hell's secret. It's the grand secret of the otherworldly realm. "Do you know Sousuke's handwriting?"

The detective asked.

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

Jirouemon answered. “Is this ‘Jiro Amusement Park Carnival Festival’ real?”

“It’s true. Before this murderous uproar began, we had already sent invitations to over a hundred like-minded gentlemen and ladies. I thought we might have to cancel it because of this commotion.” “Hmph. Even so, I can’t fathom why the culprit would choose such a lively night.” The detective stuck to practical thinking after all. “I think I can understand it.” For some reason, Jirouemon wore a faint smile as he peered into the detective’s face and said, licking his lips: “As you can see from the methods so far, the culprit is a terrifying homicidal maniac. You previously constructed a practical theory positing Yumoto Jouji as the hypothetical culprit—but in this paradise where Jouji is absent, such a suspicious figure has now appeared. And consider the one who dropped this murder schedule... This proves Yumoto isn’t the culprit. This crime is a madman’s dream beyond ordinary villains like Jouji. To put it strangely—it’s a crime perfectly suited to this phantom Jiro Amusement Park.”

“Somehow you sound like you’re praising this homicidal maniac.” In the approaching twilight with the detective closing in, he made a strange face. “Praise?” “Well, in a certain sense.” “I like red fireworks shot up into the dark night.” “But please don’t misunderstand me as an accomplice of some homicidal maniac.” “But would that cripple Sousuke understand such feelings?” “As you claim.” “I’m also surprised.” “However, one cannot say cripples’ hearts aren’t twisted in ways entirely different from ours.” “That bastard puts on such an honest face—there’s no telling what bloody, beautiful evils he might not be plotting in his heart.”

“Then, do you believe these words on this strange scrap of paper?” “I believe them. “The Jiro Amusement Park Carnival Festival—what a magnificent stage! “For the crimson murder dance...”

Underground Aquarium

From that night through the following day, an exhaustive search of Jiro Amusement Park was conducted. At Detective Kijima’s report, over a dozen officers from the local police station had rushed to the scene. Police officers, the park’s servants, and scores of searchers brandished as many lanterns as there were people—some scaling towers, others scouring the maze, each compartment of the Ferris wheel inspected, the merry-go-round circled, the underground hell exhibit probed, the aquarium combed through, vast fields traversed, deep forests penetrated—but until dawn broke, the hunchback’s figure remained nowhere to be found.

A theory emerged that he might have fled outside the park, but that was an unbelievable notion. How could that unmistakable hunchback have fled this paradise—where would he hide himself, where could he possibly find sustenance? This very paradise, which itself forms a single gigantic maze—is there not an incomparable hiding place for criminals seeking to evade detection? Moreover, that bastard had the grand scheme of July 14th looming before him.

By noon the next day, the people, utterly exhausted, gathered at the central building of the park. "How about canceling that Carnival Festival or whatever and having everyone here evacuate to a safer place?" "So you're saying we should empty out Jiro Amusement Park entirely?" The police chief shouted angrily.

The Police Chief shouted in anger. “We have nowhere to go outside.” “As I always say, this paradise is our only world.” “We cannot bring ourselves to abandon this place.” “Rather than that, please search again. I already know who the culprit is.” “All you need to do is catch them.”

Jirouemon requested with a face pale from sleeplessness. "Search? Where would you have us look?" "Haven't we already searched everywhere?" "I do have a slight notion." "There's a place I believe might be that spot." "Where?" "The underground aquarium." "Ah, that place? Haven't we checked there ten times over?"

Detective Kijima interjected. “It’s your approach that’s flawed. This is something I’ve only just realized myself—there’s a marvelous hiding place there that no one would ever notice. That terrifying hunchback may have known about it.”

“Then please guide us there.” The Police Chief replied in a reluctant tone. Detective Kijima and five officers followed Jirouemon and descended into the underground aquarium.

There was a long concrete tunnel winding and twisting through, with numerous large glass windows lining both walls. Beyond the thick glass lay what seemed like an actual seabed landscape. Of course, it wasn’t a real seabed; beyond the glass lay a concrete tank where rocks, pebbles, and soil had been placed at the bottom, various seaweeds had been planted, and all manner of rare and exotic fish had been released. Outside the phosphorescent sea snake tank, bright electric lights hung above the water's surface, allowing the aquarium modeled after the seabed to be viewed clearly yet distorted through layers of blue saltwater, each and every pebble at the bottom discernible through the warped liquid lens.

“Where have you all been searching? Surely you didn’t think to check beyond these glass panels?” Kitagawa Jirouemon asked as he turned back to face the six following him. “You mean beyond the glass? But that’s underwater,” someone protested weakly. “Even so...” “No—though submerged,” Jirouemon explained calmly, “there exists an air pocket above the waterline where one could breathe freely.” The group exchanged uneasy glances at this revelation. Such an outlandish hiding place seemed too grotesque even for this carnival of horrors.

"So then, are you saying that hunchback man has submerged himself in the aquarium tank, keeping only his face above the water and staying perfectly still?" "There’s nowhere else left to search, is there?" The people’s walking pace suddenly slowed. Because they had begun meticulously peering into each glass window. Kitagawa Jirouemon and Detective Kijima stood shoulder to shoulder before a large glass panel. This section contained no fish—only a tank collecting grotesque seaweeds. Across the glass surface, these resembled witch’s disheveled hair standing on end, creating muddy swamp-like shadows. No matter how many lights illuminated them, visibility remained obstructed—making this the most suspicious location imaginable.

“Are there any large fish here?” The detective asked with a puzzled expression. “No, there’s nothing but seaweed here. There shouldn’t be a single fish present.” This answer startled the detective so intensely he nearly leapt upward. “But you—that swaying motion—the way those kelp fronds are moving—”

As they watched, the slimy bluish-black jungle of seaweed swayed with sinister undulations, and a white five-petaled flower gaped open. The five pallid petals stretched like starfish arms grasping greedily, squeezing and clawing at the seawater. “A hand! You—it’s a human hand!”

That was unmistakably five human fingers. Moreover, those were fingers writhing in their death throes. From behind the seaweed parted by fingers, a large mouth slithered into view. The face of a malformed child composed entirely of mouth. He stared with hollow eyes wide open, spewing a torrent and crimson paint from his mouth as he screamed something underwater. He was screaming a soundless scream. Had Detective Kijima been versed in lip-reading, he might have deciphered hair-raising curses from Esashi Sousuke's carp-like lips now contorted in death throes—alas, he possessed no understanding of the language written on lips.

Of course, the two men 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 the tank, and was already dead when he surfaced.

In this installment we bring our search for the culprit to its conclusion. Though this has become an unusual story ill-suited for criminal investigation narratives, most readers will likely have sensed through intuition rather than logic - if not yet consciously recognized - who among them hides as author-concealed true villain. That answer alone suffices.

Cannon Acquisition

The members of Jiro Amusement Park had now dwindled.

First, Kitagawa Jirouemon's second lover Moroguchi Chimako was killed; next, Yumoto Jouji's lover Harada Reiko; then the beautiful youth Mitani Jirou; followed by Ono Raizou's lover Hitomi Orie; and finally, the hunchbacked man Esashi Sousuke—each meeting their end through bizarre and inexplicable methods one after another. Suspicion had once fallen on Yumoto Jouji, the dagger-throwing virtuoso, but he was ultimately proven innocent and released from the detention cell back to the park. Though the renowned detective Kijima had taken up residence in the park and worked day and night on the investigation, no matter how much time passed, he couldn't grasp even a single clue. Just as they happened upon something resembling the killer's murder schedule and were about to apprehend Esashi Sousuke, whom they deemed suspicious, Sousuke himself surfaced in the aquarium tank as a gruesome corpse.

Now, the culprit was completely unknown. He appeared to be killing the members of the park randomly, haphazardly, as easily as crushing insects. There had been no contact with the victims, and no motive necessitating their murders could be discovered. The entire case took on an unfathomable, monstrous, madman-like aura. It was unthinkable that the culprit had entered from outside. For the terrain and structure of the park had been constructed to be that impregnable. Then, was it someone inside? The remaining members were now reduced to four: the park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon; his lover Kishita Ayuko; Ono Raizou; and Yumoto Jouji. Could the killer possibly be among these four?

Outside there were dozens of employees, but since the park owner had selected them with extreme care—hiring only those as naive and dull as machines—it seemed unthinkable that among them lurked this nimble, monster-like murder maniac. However you considered it, with such a large crowd, there was no guarantee some terrifying masked figure hadn’t slipped in unnoticed. Be that as it may, the day of Jiro Amusement Park’s Carnival Festival—that absurd event—was drawing near. That very day would bring the "murder game’s grand finale." It was the day an unseen murder maniac had foretold would see "the park’s members all slaughtered."

Even if it were but an empty threat. Why take such a risk when there’s no need to hold something like a Carnival Festival? That’s what you, dear readers, must be thinking. The police had thought the same, summoned Kitagawa Jirouemon, the park owner, and advised him to cancel the event. But Kitagawa Jirouemon absolutely would not agree. The remaining three members were also of the same opinion as the park owner. “This Carnival Festival was none other than our greatest objective when we first established Jiro Amusement Park.” “If we cancel this now, the hundreds of thousands of yen invested in Jiro Amusement Park will be completely wasted.” “You practical souls could never comprehend this, but we are a breed weary of worldly matters—creatures who yearn only for beautiful dreams and live by them.” “And we are a breed that, even if we lose our lives while seeing beautiful dreams, will not regret it in the slightest.” “Moreover, the idea that a murder would occur on the day of the Carnival is nothing more than an empty threat not worth taking seriously.” “If someone truly intended to commit murder, who would ever issue a warning?”

The gist of the opposition from the park owner and the members was generally as outlined above. “However, I hear over a hundred guests are expected to gather—isn’t that right? You must also consider your employees’ welfare.” “No matter how entertained you may be, for everyone’s safety—” repeated the police chief, letting his warning hang unfinished. “Our guests all share our sensibilities. “The staff anticipate this Carnival more fervently than we do. “Furthermore, every preparation stands complete. “In fact, today marks the scheduled arrival of our cannon. “Should we cancel now, that cannon—funded at tremendous expense—would be rendered entirely pointless.”

Kitagawa Jirouemon insisted.

“Wh-wh-what did you say?” “Did you say cannon?” Hearing this, everyone inside the police station stared wide-eyed in unison. “Oh, there’s no need to be alarmed. We are not starting a war. Look, you’re aware of this, aren’t you? Once there was a sideshow called ‘Human Cannon’ that came through, you know? It’s what you might call a toy cannon of that sort. The caliber measures twelve inches, but the shells are just enormous rubber balls—they barely fly more than a single shot anyway.”

“But what on earth are you going to do with such a thing?” “It’s for the Carnival sideshow.” “We plan to create a giant shooting gallery.” “It’s the kind of shooting gallery you often see in bustling city centers.” “The one where they stack Shikishima cigarettes and bats—shoot them down and get prizes.” And so their discussion gradually took on a dreamlike calm. After much back-and-forth, Kitagawa Jirouemon and the others’ arguments ultimately prevailed, and the bizarre Carnival Festival was—for better or worse—to be held. After all, their opponent was a local tycoon with friends among influential politicians, leaving the police no choice but to concede. Thus, though it proved truly troublesome, dozens of police officers had to be dispatched into the park for security on Carnival day. Kitagawa Jirouemon ordered his servants and steadily advanced preparations for the grand feast.

One day, a huge package arrived at the sluice gate where the gondolas floated—the sole entrance to Jiro Amusement Park. It was the cannon. The cannon for the Giant Shooting Gallery. At a glance, it differed not at all from a real battlefield cannon. Made of bluish-black steel that gleamed eerily with ox-drawn carriage-style wheels attached, it was placed on a raft, decorated with artificial flowers, then carried upriver like a sacred mikoshi procession to the central plaza of the amusement park. Beside the cannon, football-sized rubber balls were piled up like moon-viewing dumplings from a land of giants.

“This will likely be the Carnival’s premier attraction! Over there on that hill, life-sized human figures will stand lined up in rows! The guests will blast them from here with these rubber balls—bang! bang! Isn’t it delightful? When they score a hit—you see? Prizes like bats and Shikishima cigarettes would be too dull. Instead of rewards, fireworks will boom skyward with a thunderous roar! Then five-colored petals will flutter down like snow—we’ve stuffed them into every firework shell! And then—the park’s jazz band will crash like a cataclysm, champagne corks will pop and fizz, and beneath this petal blizzard, a mad dance will consume the entire garden! Isn’t it delightful?” Kitagawa Jirouemon seized the other three members and merrily expounded his vision.

But the time came when it became clear that even something like the Giant Shooting Gallery was but a mere part of the Carnival’s grand, madcap spectacle—an elaborate, dazzlingly spectacular bacchanalian frenzy.

The Gondola Song

The day of the Carnival arrived.

Gentlemen and ladies with a taste for the grotesque, having gathered from nearly all over Japan and stayed overnight in nearby Y City the previous night, arrived in twos and threes beneath the familiar green arch of trees around the appointed noon hour.

Beneath the arch, on the blue water's surface without a single ripple, floated the familiar gondola bearing its peculiar boatmen. The boatmen were two. One was a girl manipulating an oar at the bow; the other was a boy cradling a guitar at the stern. The girl was clad in pure white feathered garments head to toe; the boy was swathed in crimson feathered attire. They could easily be mistaken for beautiful red-and-white waterfowl hesitatingly alighting on the gondola to rest their webbed feet for a moment. As soon as the first three gentlemen and ladies boarded the boat, the girl’s oar quietly parted the water, and the gondola began to glide slowly along the narrow channel.

“Young lady, young master, this is truly an inspired concept!” A middle-aged gentleman with a neatly trimmed mustache smiled amiably as he addressed the boatmen. "Young master, is that an instrument? Why don’t you play something? And can you sing while rowing the boat, young lady?" The seventeen-year-old young master and eighteen-year-old young lady glanced back at the gentleman and flashed grins. Without answering, the boy’s guitar strings began trembling while the girl’s crimson lips parted. To match the quiet rhythm of the oar, the gondola’s song drifted across 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.

"That boy musician is truly adorable." The lady in black Western attire harmonized in a beautiful soprano. On both banks, jet-black leaves piled high in layers to smother the sky; against those emerald-green walls, crimson camellias bloomed here and there—each flower like a blotch of congealed blood. The sky hung heavily overcast, appearing like distant frosted glass. A faint breeze crossing the water carried the sweet body scent of the girl standing at the bow along with her high-pitched singing voice, wafting them gently along.

Before they knew it, the two gentlemen seated themselves on either side of the young musician, each placing a hand on his still-soft shoulders from both sides. The lady sat before the boy and gazed without tiring at his peach-colored cheeks. The girl at the bow sang alone, swaying her body as she quickened her oar strokes. The boat began gliding smoothly and powerfully, keeping rhythm like a water strider. Each time, the wind whipping up at the bow tore off one by one, two by one, the girl’s pure white feathers, sending them dancing into the sky. One by one, two by one—as the boat’s speed increased, the feathers torn away grew ever more numerous, until at last they became an untimely blizzard scattering backward, backward over the gondola.

Beneath the shed feathers, the girl’s burnt brown skin, drenched in sweat, swelled up in a mound.

The gondola’s song swelled ever more triumphantly; the undulations of her oar-wielding arms, back, and abdomen grew increasingly violent, flinging off the last remaining feathers in an instant—behold—against the white sky—the maiden stood fully nude. The maiden from a land untouched by shame, still bravely manipulating her oar, twisted her upper body around to look back at the boy musician at the stern. “The tempo is 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, moved his entire body with delicate precision, strumming his guitar with all his might now.

The boy’s crimson feathers also began to flutter. And beneath them, Michelangelo’s curves were hidden most beautifully. The two naked boatmen propelled the boat forward, 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 drunk on the intense dream, were entranced by the two distinct curves dancing before them.

And then, the boat had 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 and warmer than any carpet—and disembarked. On shore, several men wearing red-and-white checkered clown costumes were waiting, each holding garments in their hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are honored by your presence. The park owner has been waiting impatiently over there. Now then, please change your clothes.” “Huh? What’s this about changing clothes?” The middle-aged gentleman asked back with a puzzled look.

“Yes, it is a change of attire.” “Dear guests are required to change into carnival costumes.”

“Ah! In the Land of Dreams, we wear dream attire!” The gentleman finally relented and accepted the garments. When he spread it out and looked, it was a coarse silk net with gold and silver Nanjing beads attached—exactly like a stage costume for a dancing girl. “This?” “Yes, that is correct, sir.”

“Over our shirts?” “No, sir. I shall take custody of everything you are currently wearing—shirts and all.” “But, you—” “No, sir. This is by the park owner’s instructions.”

And so, three strange male and female dancers came into being. Through the glinting coarse mesh, plump, scrawny, and slick bodies appeared grotesquely translucent. On their heads were identical nightcaps adorned with Nanjing beads. Now, the three of them joined hands and—oh my—humming the gondola song in loud voices, ascended along the instructed path to the summit of the small hill ahead. Swaying their exposed buttocks.

When they had climbed to the summit and stood there, a cry of shock suddenly exploded from all three mouths. “Ahh! Ahh!” For there beyond the hill within Jiro Amusement Park lay spread a truly astonishing landscape—an indescribable realm of madness.

A Kaleidoscope on Earth

Viewed from the hill, Jiro Amusement Park was a madman's oil painting. Every conceivable shape and color had been scattered about, all churning in frenetic motion. It was a terrifying yet beautiful spectacle—as though some lunatic were endlessly spinning a colossal kaleidoscope. Two blimps hung in the eastern and western skies above the grounds like some deranged sun and moon, raining down five-colored ribbons in a shimmering cascade. The firework tubes roared without pause; paper shells over a foot long exploded midair, sending five-hued paper snow glinting thick through the atmosphere.

Amidst this spectacle, a giant Ferris wheel coated in crimson paint spun ceaselessly like a windmill from the Land of Giants, while from a skyscraper evoking Asakusa's Twelve-Story Tower, international flags stretched across every corner of the grounds, their windows displaying scarlet banners that swayed languidly like flickering flames. The panorama dome's rounded roof had been smeared in primary red and blue like a child's plaything, and the colossal purple shape glimpsed intermittently beyond the tree grove was none other than that infamous concrete whale.

Underground, the aquarium fish and the living dolls of heaven and hell were dancing wildly in their respective grotesque antics. And beyond those dizzying shapes and colors, using fireworks' detonations as drums, music that seemed to shake all of Jiro Amusement Park resounded so loudly it threatened to deafen the ears. At distant hill bases beneath forests' shadows, at nearby buildings' windowsides by pond edges—clusters of several or a dozen members sprouted like poisonous mushrooms—red-, yellow-, blue-, and multicolored bands jauntily played their nostalgic yet decadent melodies in a resounding chorus that reached toward the very skies.

The three guests wearing Nanjing bead clown costumes began sliding down the winding track from the hilltop to the distant ground below, riding a boat-like slide with water chute velocity—off they went, off they went. The aerial boat charged forward through the cascading Five-Colored Snow, riding the reverberating music as it rolled sideways, reversed course, executed spinning leaf turns and breath-stopping backflips—racing, sliding, tumbling in its reckless advance. The gold and silver Nanjing bead costumes streamed straight backward, followed by the female guests’ hair whipping behind them.

“I can’t breathe! Help me!”

The screams were carried away by the wind, and in mere moments, the boat reached the end of the tracks. As it jerked to a halt, the guests were flung out onto the sandy ground below by the force of momentum. Three gold and silver orbs lay buried in sand.

“What an honor that you’ve come.” “We’ve been awaiting your arrival.” When they came to their senses, they found the park owner Kitagawa Jirouemon helping each of the three guests to their feet and brushing sand from their clothes. “Behold. “This is Jiro Amusement Park’s shooting gallery. “Once all our guests have assembled, everyone will fire these Kilk balls. “The targets are those dolls atop yonder hill.”

There, a large but antiquated cannon on wheels was set up solidly, painted in five colors and camouflaged. Beside the cannon was a mountain of those familiar dumpling-like Kilk balls. And on that hill over there, against the white sky, about ten clown dolls stood spindly and uneven in a row. “Well, well, this is quite the design.” “So the idea is to use these monstrous football-shaped Kilk balls to shoot down those scarecrow dolls, eh?” “So, what exactly is the reward?” “At Asakusa Park’s shooting gallery, they give out Bats, Asahi, and Shikishima, but...”

The middle-aged gentleman asked with a comical face. “The reward? “Ha ha ha! You don’t miss a trick. There is—a splendid reward. There is—a truly magnificent reward—” Strangely enough, Jirouemon wore a full police uniform complete with a splendid eight-shaped fake mustache. The combination of this attire and his gentle attendant’s voice created a madman-like impression. Soon the second and third airships slid down the water chute one after another, and sand-covered guests—ten, then twenty—gathered around.

They had all been made to change into clown costumes, which were in groups of three or five each, with different colors and shapes. Some were clad in toy armor made of five-colored paper; others wore thin, translucent gauze garments that revealed their entire bodies; some had only Hawaiian natives’ palm-frond loincloths; others sported dashing modern swimsuits—all enveloped in a motley assortment of cheap, gaudy, yet innocent disguises.

Amidst the semi-naked men and women with exposed breasts and translucent buttocks, there mingled only one man—an eerie figure dressed like a heretic. He had covered his nose and cheeks with a soiled hand towel, wore a narrow-checkered Japanese kimono with a three-shaku obi tucked up at the back, and in his breast pocket, the tip of a nine-sun-five-bu dagger peeked out as part of the ensemble. “Ah, Detective Kijima, you’ve thought this through.” “For a detective constable to go so far as to disguise himself as a thief—that’s truly ingenious!”

Kitagawa Jirouemon, dressed in a police uniform and clattering his sword against its scabbard, tapped Detective Kijima on the shoulder. To any uninformed observer, this would have appeared like an actual officer apprehending a genuine thief. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Did this arrangement meet your approval?” “I strained every neuron crafting disguises befitting our carnival... Yet I must say Mr. Kitagawa—your own costume demonstrates remarkable audacity.” “You’ve quite outmaneuvered me in this game of appearances!”

"Run away now!" "I'll chase you," "Let's play cops and robbers." "Ha ha ha ha ha!" Policeman Jirouemon declared with madcap glee.

In the plaza, over a dozen guests gathered around the cannon loaded with Kilk balls, gazing at it with curiosity. "Would anyone care to try their hand at shooting? To those who knock down the clown dolls over there using these Kilk balls, a splendid reward awaits!"

Policeman Jirouemon urged with a forced smile.

“Please let me shoot. In Asakusa Park in Tokyo, I’m such a crack shot that the young lady at the shooting gallery would grimace.” A gentleman stepped forward and went around behind the cannon. “The Kilk balls are properly loaded. Please take careful aim and pull that rope.” The gentleman pressed his eye to the cannon’s barrel as if aiming an air rifle at a shooting gallery, took aim at the doll on the far right end of the hill, and the moment he pulled the firing rope, fell on his backside with a thud. Because the cannon had forcefully recoiled backward from the firing.

The football-shaped Kilk ball that had shot out of the cannon’s mouth flew off wobbling unsteadily at a visible speed. And then, it collided with a thud against the chest area of the rightmost doll. The doll, struck by the ball, flipped over with its legs kicking skyward and disappeared beyond the hill. At the same moment, from where the doll had stood, hundreds of five-colored rubber balloons burst forth into the open sky as if they were the soul of the now-slain doll, swarming upward in a cluster. And with a thunderous boom, fireworks celebrating the cannon’s direct hit were launched into the sky, crackling through the clouds as Five-Colored Snow fell with even greater intensity.

Hell Valley

The clown doll toppled, the ogre doll toppled, the female ghost doll toppled, the three-eyed goblin doll toppled—one after another, the dolls were struck down by the cannon’s Kilk balls and vanished behind the hill. Each time, with a thunderous boom, daytime fireworks were launched, Five-Colored Snow blanketed the sky in a thick fall, and the lively strains of jazz music reverberated through the air. “Now, I shall serve as a substitute for the doll.” “Someone, please shoot.” “Please shoot this policeman.”

Kitagawa Jirouemon, disguised as a police officer, loaded the cannon with ammunition, ran up the hill, and stiffened like a doll. “Alright, I’ll take the shot. You sure about this?” The young gentleman in crimson-laced armor, his face flushed from the champagne he had downed at the tent bar across the way, bellowed boisterously. “We are going to play a game of catch with cannonballs. Now, pitch the ball. Take careful aim.” Jirouemon bellowed back at the top of his voice.

The gentleman in armor, nevertheless taking careful aim, pulled the cannon’s rope with a thunderous boom. The Kilk ball wobbled out limply and floated up toward the hill. “Strike!” Policeman Jirouemon stooped slightly, caught the Kilk ball in front of his chest, and exclaimed brightly.

Clap clap clap—a round of applause broke out. Boom—the fireworks burst with a crackle, scattering Five-Colored Snow.

“Now then, this time everyone here will be the catchers.” “Instead of the dolls, line up on that hill.” “It’s my turn to serve as pitcher.”

After running down the hill, Jirouemon issued another command.

By then, the park grounds were already steeped in carnival intoxication. From tent bars scattered throughout came the popping of champagne corks, while gentlemen and ladies with crimson-flushed faces multiplied by the minute.

The ten or so men and women gathered around the cannon were mostly drunks. Even without drinking alcohol, the fireworks and music had enough power to intoxicate people. “What’s this? They say we’re to become substitutes for dolls and serve as targets.” “Ha ha ha ha ha ha! This is hilarious!” “Gentlemen—now advance up the hill!” The armored gentleman slurred his words suspiciously as he led the group forward in an unsteady stagger. The old man in clown costume, the near-naked wife clad in a single sheer garment, the young woman in a swimsuit, and the bullfighter in a red cape all bravely followed behind. Those who hesitated were driven up the hill by the jazz music blaring behind them and Jirouemon’s insistent prodding.

Ten human targets lined up in a row directly in front of the cannon’s muzzle. Though they were oddly swaying targets. The gunner was Officer Jirouemon. “Now, I shall fire.” “Beginning with you at far right.”

“Sure, sounds good! I’ll show you I can take it!” The beautiful drunk lady spread her legs—visible through her sheer garment—and extended her mittless hands like autumn leaves as she answered with brave seductiveness. Then came a sudden cute snap—and the sheer-clad target flipped backward, white legs kicking skyward, before disappearing beyond the hill with a heavy thud. “Hey! Was that a blank?!” “I couldn’t see the damn bullet?!”

The next gentleman in line, clad in armor, shouted in a slurred voice. “It’s not a blank! The bullet was too fast to see!”

At the same moment Jirouemon answered, there came another cute pat sound as the gentleman in armor toppled 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 being strafed by machine-gun fire—kicked their legs skyward and vanished beyond the hill with successive thuds. In an instant, all ten targets had been wiped from the horizon. When had the gunner loaded the cannonball? When had it shot from the muzzle? The feat defied human perception.

Rubber balloons soared up ceaselessly, fireworks were launched one after another, and the cascading Five-Colored Snow and ascending Five-Colored Rubber Balloons tangled and battled in midair. “Wahahahaha! Delightful, delightful!” Like a child, Jirouemon leaped up in delight, left the cannon’s side, and ran off toward the distant crowd. As he ran off, something glittering in his right hand shone like a silvery rainbow.

×　　　　　×　　　　　×　　　　　×　　　　　×

Beside the now-deserted cannon, a single man stood rigid with a peculiar expression on his face. It was Detective Kijima in an eerie burglar disguise.

This was utter madness. Even though several friends had been killed and the smell of their blood hadn't faded, this uproar was beyond sanity.

The detective couldn't comprehend the mindset of the people in this paradise at all. They seemed like beings from an entirely different world. What kind of fools would volunteer to be targets for cannonballs? Acting like clown puppets and tumbling over and over at their age... But what were those guys doing behind the hill? It was strange that not a single one was crawling back up. There was no way everyone had gotten drunk and just passed out like that.

Since he felt vaguely concerned, he trudged up the hill and peered over the summit to the other side.

“Well, well, it’s just like someone overturned a toy box.”

He involuntarily muttered to himself. At the base of the low cliff beyond the hill, ten dolls and ten costumed men and women lay scattered in disarray as though a toy box had been overturned, tumbled about in Five-Colored hues.

It was absurdly beautiful. The scene of real humans and lifelike dolls, their bare hands and feet entangled as they lay tumbled like daikon radishes, looked exceedingly beautiful.

The breasts of eighteen-year-old girls and the brazen buttocks of forty-year-old women were visible through sheer silk, frozen in indecent postures without moving. On top of the crimson-laced armored warrior lying collapsed like a ceremonial doll, the clown’s pointed hat and deathly pale face lay stretched out limply. "Why is this so beautiful?" For an instant, the reason eluded him, and the detective blinked in bewilderment. But the cause of this incomprehensible beauty soon became clear. Because both the ten humans and ten dolls were uniformly dyed in vivid pools of blood. Dolls shouldn’t bleed, but all ten humans—every single one—were bleeding from chest to abdomen, and that blood had beautifully stained the white flesh, the yellow flesh, the strange garments, and even the dolls’ skin.

It was as beautiful as a dream and as unreal as a dream. The detective, doubting his own eyes, deliberately went down to the base of the cliff and touched the fresh pool of blood. Even after seeing the thickly smeared, sticky red substance clinging to his finger, he still couldn’t quite believe it was real. None of these were mere bruises from rubber bullet impacts. There were traces of small pistol bullets or similar projectiles embedded deep within their bodies. No wonder the cannonballs hadn’t been visible. Something silver must have glinted in Jirouemon’s hand as he ran off.

He stood dazedly rigid, having missed the chance to utter a cry of surprise.

"Wait a minute. So then—the culprit behind these murders is Kitagawa Jirouemon, the park owner—but has that man been killing his comrades from the very start? And was it also his doing to have announced that the final massacre would be carried out during today’s festival uproar? This feels wrong—this feels wrong." But as he dwelled on it, this notion gradually began to feel plausible. "Since it was Jirouemon—founder of this paradise—he could prepare any manner of mechanisms and freely plan a murderous festival. Hmph—of course. Now all the perplexing mysteries of this case have been completely solved! It’s him. It’s him. What a fool I was!"

Although Detective Kijima had not yet fully shaken off the nightmare, he found himself compelled by his professional duty to apprehend the culprit Jirouemon.

He jumped up and started running. Detouring around the hill, he turned ashen pale and started running toward the direction where Jirouemon had fled moments before.

The Dreadful Running

At that moment, within another square of the park, a bizarre footrace among the guests was taking place. Here too were ten gentlemen and ladies—dressed in red-and-white striped uniforms with numbered tags from 1 through 10 pinned to their chests—who ran gasping toward the finish line in the distant forest, their breath coming in labored bursts.

Long distance. 1,000 meters. They had already run nine hundred meters. Of course, they too were drunk. That’s why they were suffering. The gentleman with pince-nez pressed his slipping eyewear against his face with one hand, his face beet red, shouting encouraging "Hup! Hup!" as he vigorously led the pack. In second place ran the bobbed-hair Madame, her beautiful face contorted, her short hair fluttering behind her, her thirty-year-old breasts and buttocks jiggling as she ran. Then came an emaciated youth with lung disease; then a plum-red, round, and smooth-faced young lady; then and then—nine uniformed runners followed at intervals of one or two ken, while bringing up the rear, a barrel-shaped obese gentleman ran huffing and puffing, though rolling sideways would have been faster than this labored scrambling. Surprisingly, not a single runner had fallen behind.

In time with their footsteps, jinta bands boisterously played the "Miya-san Miya-san" tune at three points along the course. Firework shells burst incessantly from the sky as five-colored snow descended like a beautiful swarm of insects. The runners, bathed in that five-colored snow and kicking it up as they went, raced on like participants at a madhouse's sports day. Between two pillars at the goal line stretched a taut white tape in a straight line. Beside one pillar stood Kitagawa Jirouemon in police uniform, pistol raised to signal the first arrival while blocking the path.

“Hey, hey! Number Seven, hang in there! Number Nine, keep it up!”

Jirouemon stamped his feet and shouted encouragement. The front-running pince-nez finally approached the goal. His legs, exhausted from fatigue buckled unsteadily, looking ready to collapse at any moment. "Grahh!" He roared like a beast and charged toward the white tape. Glistening fiercely, the wide tape stretched taut like an iron rod, poised to meet the first arrival. A ken became a shaku, a shaku became a sun - the pince-nez runner's protruding abdomen collided with the tape. Under normal circumstances, the tape should have stretched and bent with his body before snapping cleanly. Then came the bang of the signal gun that should have fired.

However, this strange tape neither stretched nor bent nor snapped when pressed against the pince-nez runner's abdomen. Far worse—the true horror was that what had been severed was the abdomen of the pince-nez runner who had charged forward with full momentum. The instant the runner collided with the tape, something spray-like gushed swiftly from his abdomen, red liquid streaking across the tape's surface. Then, precisely as a firework exploded with a bang, a shriek tore through the air while the pince-nez man's hands flailed grotesquely through empty space. Simultaneously, everything below his waist crashed to the ground, rolling clumsily two or three times. This meant the upper portion of his body—still bearing both hands—and the lower half with legs now operated independently. In short, the pince-nez runner had been cleanly bisected.

The cutting edge was superb. What had appeared to be tape was in fact a steel sword that had been forged precisely to that length. They had coated it with white paint to make it appear from a distance as cloth tape. The blade of the long sword had been honed to face directly toward the runners. Even a mere touch would slice through. Moreover, having charged into it with the momentum of a thousand-meter dash, it was no wonder he had been cleanly severed in two—bones and all.

The straight sword slaughtered a man, sucked his blood, and was trembling violently in ecstasy. The second to arrive was the bobbed-hair Madame’s fully matured white mass of flesh.

She had no time to comprehend the change that had befallen the first-place runner. She was drunk, and her eyes were blurred from exhaustion. The razor-like tape twanged.

In an instant, the Madame’s torso—leaving everything below her buttocks behind—tumbled through the air. Bright red blood spurted forth beautifully, and a sigh-like "Haa..." 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 escaped unharmed. They were that drunk, their vision that blurred. They were under the influence of the madness-laden air within the grounds.

At the goal line, the two who had been cleanly severed and the six who had been partially torn apart piled atop one another—falling, rolling, writhing, and dancing. Then, as if by prior arrangement, the three jinta bands shifted their tunes from "Miya-san Miya-san" to "Neko ja Neko ja." The half-torn lumps of flesh's cat dance—their monstrous cat dance. In truth, they danced their desperate monstrous cat dance—jerking spasmodically to the music's rhythm—while blood gushed boiling-hot from chests and bellies.

Amid the blizzard of five-colored snow, white and black lumps of flesh—some sinewy, others squelchy, men and women of all sorts—dripping blood all the while, danced their final death throes with clapping hands and stomping feet in a spectacle both fascinatingly beautiful and dreadfully mad.

Merry-Go-Round “I see. So this is how it was done.”

Detective Kijima, disguised as a thief, tapped lightly on Kitagawa Jirouemon’s shoulder and spoke. The monstrous cat dance of the severed marathon runners gradually lost its momentum and eventually came to a complete halt. In the pool of blood, the fluttering paper snow fell and became soaked. “Ah, it was you, Detective Kijima?” Jirouemon, wearing a police officer’s uniform, quietly turned around and grinned slyly.

“Does that pistol contain live ammunition?”

True to his profession, the detective braced himself, tensed up, and asked. "It might be loaded." "But rest assured." "I won't offer any resistance to the authorities." "Hmph! You think you can resist? I won't allow it." "Behave yourself!" The detective took out the arrest rope from the Benkei-striped fold of his kimono.

“No, wait. “I have not yet finished my work. “Moreover, there are a few matters I wish to discuss... I swear I will not attempt to flee or hide.” Even so, Detective Kijima could not bring himself to order the rope’s application. He felt that doing such a thing would only make him a laughingstock in the man’s eyes. Somehow he felt ashamed. So maddening was the spectacle of this paradise—and so composed remained its criminal architect, Jirouemon.

“I built this paradise to commit murder, Detective. At first I handled them individually, but today I’ve rounded them all up. You must have realized by now how beautiful a game murder is. This is the magnificent pageant conceived by our ancestor Nero.” “What did you want to discuss?”

The detective shouted with a pale face.

“It’s nothing complicated. It’s about the methods I used to kill my companions one by one since earlier. Do you understand that secret?” “That doesn’t matter. It’s been conclusively determined that you’re the culprit.” “Ha ha ha ha ha ha, it seems you don’t understand. Well then, shall I reveal the trick?”

“I’ll listen to the details later.” “This isn’t the time for such talk.”

The detective had to strain himself to put on as mean-spirited a tone as he could manage.

“No, there’s a troublesome matter if I don’t explain this now.” “Now do listen.” “You of all people would understand with just one word.” “The secret of this trick lies in that Ferris wheel.”

Jirouemon pointed at the gondola of the Ferris wheel suspended in the sky. "I used that high box up in the sky as my bed." "If I was up there, I could establish an alibi while simultaneously maintaining full visibility over the entire park grounds. Through that gondola's window, I could aim my rifle and shoot anyone regardless of their location."

When he heard that, the detective made a suspicious look. Though vexing, he couldn’t help but furrow his brows. “Hahahahaha, it seems you still don’t comprehend.” “You’re about to say, ‘But the women killed in the maze were stabbed with daggers!’ aren’t you?” “You’re thinking, ‘How could a dagger be fired from a gun?’... Yet it can be fired.” “I loaded that dagger into a gun and fired it, you see.” “What an exquisite idea, don’t you agree?” “If you would but examine the dagger’s shape closely, you’d surely nod in understanding.” “That one lacked a handguard, maintaining uniform thickness from hilt to tip, with spiral grooves carved into the hilt portion to match the rifle barrel’s rifling.” “Hahaha! Isn’t firing a dagger a truly magnificent inspiration?”

To put it exaggeratedly, Five-Colored Snow was falling so thickly within the park that one could not see even a few feet ahead. The guests were without exception dead drunk. The sound of fireworks and the jazz band’s clamor drowned out all other noises and screams. Therefore, this strange murderer and the detective were able to continue their bizarre conversation without being suspected by anyone.

But even that had its limits. Just as they had reached that point in their conversation, a drunkard came staggering through the snow. And then, he tripped over the countless corpses lying on the ground.

“Whoa, what’s this? Such magnificent lifelike dolls!” “Oh, there’s Mr. Kitagawa over there.” “I must say, your scheme leaves me speechless.” “Long live Jiro Amusement Park...”

He raised both hands and blessed the murderer.

Triggered by that, Detective Kijima regained his senses. And then, like an ordinary detective, he lunged at the criminal with swift movements. The pistol was knocked from Jirouemon’s hand. The arrest rope came coiling around like a snake. “Wait. It’s still too early. "It's still too early." “Didn’t I tell you I still have work left to do?” Jirouemon fended off the arrest rope, shoved the detective away, then fled at full speed through the blizzard. With his sword clattering at his side.

The detective in thief’s clothing needless to say gave chase. The two of them ran through the park here and there like a whirlwind. Before fleeing Jirouemon’s eyes appeared a merry-go-round spinning round and round. There was no one riding; only over a dozen wooden horses kept spinning round and round with heads bobbing jerkily.

He suddenly leaped onto the spinning merry-go-round. Detective Kijima also leaped aboard. Then both of them began running round and round in the direction of the wooden horses' rotation, moving at thrice their speed. A bizarre game of tag. A thief was chasing a policeman in uniform. But as they spun endlessly across the circular platform, it grew impossible to discern whether the policeman was being pursued or the thief was. Judging by their appearances alone, it seemed the thief-clad Detective Kijima had become the quarry, while Jirouemon in his police uniform played the hunter.

“Continuing our earlier conversation, you see.” While running dizzily fast, Kitagawa Jirouemon called out loudly to his pursuer.

“Well, that explains the maze murders, but I suppose you’d ask—who exactly was the small-statured man that Hitomi Orie first encountered in the maze?” The detective maintained his silence as if refusing to engage, panting heavily while desperately continuing the chase. He appeared thoroughly mocked through it all. “That was Mitani Jirou, the boy. That child had been playing in the maze and became the first to discover Chimako’s corpse. Then he fled and hid, fearing suspicion might fall upon him. I had been watching it all clearly from the Ferris wheel, you see.”

While shouting, Kitagawa Jirouemon nimbly leapt astride a wooden horse. Clippity-clop! While taking the reins, he shouted again. “Then, in the second murder, the boy Jirou was shot and killed with an ordinary bullet while riding a wooden horse just like this.” “Of course, it was from the top of the Ferris wheel.” “At the same time, I severed the balloon’s rope ladder with a bullet and caused Orie to plummet.” “While I am a master marksman, it’s not as though I aimed for the rope ladder from the very start.” “That was a fluke.” “Whoa there!” “Close call!”

While saying this, Jirouemon dodged the detective's grasping hands, nimbly leaped down from the wooden horse, and started running round and round again.

Finally, at that moment, over a dozen uniformed officers who had been stationed around the grounds realized the commotion and came rushing over.

“Catch him! Hurry, hurry!” “Hurry, hurry!” Detective Kijima, still in his thief’s disguise, shouted triumphantly as he ran. “What do you mean, catch that uniformed officer?” The real police officers, unaware of the disguise, froze in confusion. They had no time to verify Mr. Kijima’s face. “Hey, you lot! Don’t swallow that bait!” “He’s the culprit!” “Can’t you tell just by his appearance?” Jirouemon preemptively bellowed.

That made perfect sense. The culprit was undoubtedly that fellow in traditional clothing. As proof, wasn't he the one being chased? When they considered it, things did appear that way. The officers clambered noisily onto the revolving stage and began pursuing the one in traditional attire—namely, Detective Kijima. A bizarre manhunt commenced.

Fireworks boomed and boomed overhead. Each time they exploded, the cascading Five-Colored Snow grew denser still, veiling the sky and shrouding the ground. Through this swirling haze, countless rubber balloons ascended skyward with squeaking sounds. The band blared and pounded out chaotic jazz music. Drunken guests darted about the grounds—some singing hoarsely, others shouting cheers. All the while, the farce in the carousel hall continued unnoticed by anyone.

Detective Kijima, in his thief’s disguise, was finally caught atop the revolving wooden horse platform. Over a dozen officers piled on top of him. “Idiots! Clumsy oafs! Blockheads!”

From beneath the pile of officers, Mr. Kijima’s enraged voice could be heard. "I'm Kijima!" "Don't you recognize my face?!" "He's the culprit!" "It's Kitagawa Jirouemon disguised as an officer!"

By the time the officers finally understood the full situation and regained their composure, however, Kitagawa Jirouemon had long since left the carousel hall and was already sprinting over the distant hill. "There! Don't let him get away!" The group jumped down from the revolving stage—some tumbling as they landed—and once again the pursuit began. This time the pursuers were numerous. No matter how skilled a magician Jirouemon was, there was no escaping now.

Demonic Ascension

Fleeing, fleeing, Kitagawa Jirouemon ran up to the large blimp mooring area atop a small hill in one corner of the grounds and stood bolt upright before the mooring post.

“Gentlemen, wait!” “I shall complete my unfinished work here.” “I have something to show you all.” Over a dozen officers had surrounded Jirouemon and stood ready to crush him at his slightest movement. “Behold this, gentlemen! What do you suppose this is?” Jirouemon pointed to a single large switch attached to the mooring post. “What meaning do you think this switch holds, gentlemen? This very switch embodies the ultimate purpose behind Jiro Amusement Park’s creation! When sparks fly from its metal—ah! What hellish spectacle shall unfold across this paradise! The mere thought makes my heart swell with rapturous delight! I want you all to witness that vision! That is precisely why I lured you here!”

The officers felt greasy sweat oozing out in prickling waves due to an indescribable anxiety. Their eyes were riveted on the switch. "The thought—'We can’t let that switch be flipped'—sent their hearts racing with dread." “No, not this one. “I’m not asking you to look at the switch itself. “Gentlemen, look behind you! “From this hilltop, you will survey the entirety of Jiro Amusement Park. “Now! The moment is here! “Now is precisely the final moment of Jiro Amusement Park!”

Before the scream could even fade, sparks crackled at the switch. The people turned around almost reflexively and gazed upon the full panorama of Jiro Amusement Park. An indescribable rumbling arose. An eerie and ominous roar, like the precursor to a massive earthquake, thundered through the air.

It was not an earthquake. But a hellish scene surpassing any earthquake soon unfolded before their eyes. First, the skyscraper modeled after Asakusa’s Twelve-Story Tower snapped at its midpoint and collapsed in slow motion, kicking up a cloud of dust. The costumed guests who had been ascending there could be seen clearly through the dust cloud, tumbling through the air like hellish spirits as they plummeted toward the earth. A deafening roar that resounded through heaven and earth and a terrifying rumble occurred in rapid succession.

“Next comes the Ferris wheel!” Jirouemon’s shriek tore through the air with bone-chilling force.

Suddenly, catastrophe struck the Ferris wheel towering in the sky. The Ferris wheel's structure clanged cheerfully as it disassembled like a child's building toy. In the dozen-odd small train-like cars dangling beneath it, every single one was packed with passengers. They plummeted to the ground along with their cars, thrusting hands through carriage windows, mouths stretched grotesquely wide, screaming in unison with blood-curdling cries. Avīci Hell. Kālasūtra Hell.

The domed roof of the Panorama Hall came loose from its fastenings and plunged cleanly into the cylindrical walls.

The giant concrete whale shattered into fragments and scattered in all directions with a deafening roar like a hundred thunderclaps. The underground aquarium flooded, the Heaven-Hell Tunnel was buried beneath a landslide, and ponds and rivers surged back in great tsunami-like waves. A cataclysm more violent than any great war—accompanied by a tremendous roar—convulsed the dozens of hectares that comprised Jiro Amusement Park.

Gunpowder smoke, dust clouds, and sand clouds engulfed every forest, every grove, every hill, billowing endlessly skyward. Concrete fragments, severed steel beams, torn-off columns, human heads, hands, legs, and all other manner of debris rained down upon the police officers' heads. Alongside the still-falling Five-Colored Snow.

The police officers stood reeling in place—eyes blinded, ears deafened, hearts hollow—barely maintaining their footing. Any thought of apprehending the culprit had flown away; they scarcely acknowledged Kitagawa Jirouemon's existence.

When the dust finally settled, Jiro Amusement Park lay as a pitiful expanse of ruins. Graveyard stillness, deathly silence. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing moving.

“It’s a massacre—all those hundreds of guests have been slaughtered!”

A police officer said in a dazed voice.

Both the brass band’s music and the drunkards’ cheers—alas—vanished in an instant into the netherworld. There was no one left to launch fireworks anymore, and thus the beautiful Five-Colored Snow ceased to fall.

"But there is one person who was not killed, you know."

When they suddenly noticed, the mass murderer Kitagawa Jirouemon was standing there, grinning.

The officers’ hatred exploded. They transformed into a dozen or so locusts and, without a word, lunged at the great demon.

“Whoa there!”

Kitagawa Jirouemon narrowly dodged their attack and leaped onto the rope ladder dangling from the descending blimp, climbing swiftly upward. "The one I spared was my wife Ayuko," he declared. "Kishita Ayuko. I just couldn't bring myself to kill her. Behold! My wife bids you farewell!" When they looked up, Ayuko's beautiful face smiled down from the blimp's gondola, tossing five-colored tapes toward the police officers.

“Like hell I’ll let you escape!” “You bastard!” “Idiot! You’re under arrest!” The police officers scrambled up the rope ladder like madmen. At the front was Jirouemon, trailed at some distance by Detective Kijima, with about a dozen uniformed officers strung out behind them in a single line toward the sky.

Jirouemon no longer taunted his pursuers beneath him, climbing the aerial ladder in silence. He moved with simian swiftness. When the dozen-meter rope ladder finally reached its end, a pale hand from within the gondola hauled Jirouemon upward. But as he leapt into the basket, Detective Kijima’s wrist caught on the gondola’s edge. “Quickly! The ropes!” At Jirouemon’s command—as though following a prearranged plan—a white blade flashed in Ayuko’s hand. The two strands of the aerial ladder snapped clean through.

In Mr. Kijima’s one hand, there was no strength left to support the weight of the over a dozen officers trailing behind him. His wrist left the gondola along with the rope. The rope ladder that stretched vertically into the sky, still bearing the chain of police officers, immediately began to collapse section by section with a clatter. A rain of police officers. At the same moment, the blimp—its ropes severed—flapped noisily as it shook its rear and soared high into the vast sky. Kitagawa Jirouemon and Ayuko leaned halfway out of the gondola, threw down every remaining paper tape to the ground, and shouting "Banzai" in unison, bid farewell to the ruins of their beloved Jiro Amusement Park.

The blimp ascended endlessly into the heavens. Piercing through countless white cumulus clouds, it became like a small fish, with the cluster of Five-Colored Tapes streaming downward appearing as its fins. Joyfully, joyfully, smaller and smaller, until eventually growing as faint as dust, it vanished into the boundless depths of the blue sky.