Pathway to Japanese Literature

Cliff

In spring, one ri up the mountain path from K Hot Springs, on a cliff overlooking a distant mountain stream far below, a man and woman sat shoulder to shoulder on a natural stone bench talking.
The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, the woman two or three years older; both wore yukata from the hot spring inn layered with tanzen coats.

“Constantly remembering yet unable to speak of it—it’s suffocating, isn’t it?”
“Even though so much time has passed since then, we’ve never once discussed that incident, have we?”
“I want to slowly piece together my memories—arrange them properly—and go through it all again.”
“You’re not unwilling, are you?”

“It’s not that I’m unwilling.”
“We can review it again.”
“The parts you’ve forgotten—I’ll help remember them.”

“Then let’s begin… The first time I noticed was one night in bed—embracing Saito, cheeks pressed together—when he cried in his usual way.”
“Between our pressed cheeks, tears overflowed, and salty liquid came gushing into my mouth.”

“I don’t want to hear about that.”
“I don’t want those details.”
“I won’t indulge your exhibitionism.”
“Especially not bedroom secrets with your would-be replacement.”

“But this is the critical juncture.”
“Consider it the first clue.”
“Though if you insist—I’ll abbreviate.... There we lay, Saito clutching me, cheeks welded together through his tears—when abruptly I thought: How odd.”
“His weeping felt more violent than usual—charged with some alien significance.”
“I recoiled instinctively, wrenching back to stare into those bloated eyes—distended from crying.”

“A thrill, huh?
Honeyed words of the bedchamber turn to terror in an instant.
At that moment, you read deep pity in that man’s eyes—didn’t you?”

“That’s right.
“Oh, poor thing, poor thing—he was crying for me with genuine pity… Human eyes hold the story of their entire lives, don’t they?
“And one’s present state of mind might as well be printed in boldface.
“I’m rather skilled at reading that, you know.
“So I understood everything in an instant.”

“That he meant to kill you?”

“Yes—but of course, as a game of thrill.
“Even in such a world, we still grew bored, didn’t we?
“When punished and shut in closets, children still find something to play with in the dark.
“Adults are no different.
“Even while gasping in anguish, they play games within that pain—they can’t help but play.
“An instinct beyond our control.”

“If you keep spouting nonsense, the sun will set.”
“This story still has a long way to go.”

“He did have a cruel streak, don’t you think?”
“I’m the opposite, aren’t I?”
“And we both felt that marital weariness, didn’t we?”
“Of course I loved him.”
“Even when you love someone, weariness comes.”
“You understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand only too well.”
“What a feast.”

“So you see, we wanted some spine-tingling stimulus.”
“I was always seeking that.”
“Saito, for his part, had fully understood those feelings of mine.”
“And though I had sensed he was plotting something, until that night when I peered into his eyes, I couldn’t discern what it was.”
“But... he really went to great lengths with his scheme, didn’t he?”
“I was startled.”
“I never imagined he would devise such an elaborate scheme.”
“But it was also spine-tinglingly fun.”

“You read deep pity in that man’s eyes.”
“That too was part of that man’s performance, wasn’t it?”
“Through that performance, he gave you the first hint.”
“So—what’s the second hint?”

“The navy blue overcoat man.”

“Wearing the same navy blue soft hat, black glasses, and sporting a thick mustache.”

“So you were the first to spot that man.”

“Yeah, well, after all I was a live-in dependent at your house, your couple’s household jester, and thirdly an unsuccessful painter.”
“Having free time, I often wandered around town.”
“Not only was I first to notice that navy blue overcoat man prowling around your house, but I also extracted every detail from the café madam about how he’d been grilling her—your family members, house layout—and laid it all out for you.”

“I encountered that man too.”
“Once outside the servants’ entrance gate, twice beside the main gate.”
“He stood like a shadow, both hands shoved deep into the sagging navy overcoat’s pockets.”
“There he loomed like some ill-omened specter.”

“I thought he might be a thief at first.”
“The maids from the neighborhood also spotted that guy and warned us.”

“But that turned out to be something far more terrifying than a thief.”
“When I saw Saito’s compassionate tears, that navy blue overcoat man suddenly flashed before my eyes.”
“This is the second hint.”

“And the third hint would be detective novels, I suppose?”

“That’s right. You’re the one who cultivated this detective mania between us. It’s not that Saito and I lacked such interests entirely. But becoming so obsessively analytical about crafting those convoluted tricks – that was your doing. It had waned somewhat by then, but six months prior, our obsession had peaked. We spent every night discussing nothing but criminal schemes. Saito in particular became utterly consumed.”

“Around that time, that man’s supreme trick was—”

"That's right—one person playing two roles."
"In our research back then, there were quite various types of one-person-two-roles tricks, weren't there?"
"You made a chart of them, didn't you?"
"You still have it, don't you?"

"That thing doesn't exist anymore."
"But I remember."
"The classification of one-person-two-roles has thirty-three types."
"There are thirty-three different models."

"Saito's theory held that among those thirty-three types, creating fictional characters was the foremost trick, didn't it?"

“For instance, suppose someone plans a murder.”
“If possible, more than a year before carrying it out, the culprit creates another version of themselves.”
“Through an extremely simple yet ingenious disguise using fake beards, glasses, and clothing, they would live as a different person in a distant house, thoroughly establishing this fictional persona in society—in other words, maintaining a double life.”
“When the real person goes out under the pretext of work, the fictional persona remains at home.”
“The fictional persona pretends to have some nighttime occupation, and during those supposed work hours, the real person stays at home.”
“If they occasionally send either persona on trips, maintaining this deception becomes much simpler.”
“Then, choosing the optimal moment, the fictional persona commits the murder—and immediately before and after, they show themselves to two or three people to make everyone believe the culprit must be this fictional persona.”
“Once they’ve finally achieved their purpose, they eliminate the fictional persona altogether.”
“They either burn all disguise materials or sink them to the river bottom with weights attached.”
“The master of the fictional persona’s residence never returns.”
“Thus vanishing without a trace.”
“And the real person continues living their usual life with an innocent face.”
“Since it’s a crime committed by someone who never truly existed in this world, there’s no way to track down the perpetrator.”
“What you’d call a perfect crime.”

“He spoke with terrifying enthusiasm about this being the supreme trick among all criminal methods.”
“We were completely persuaded too, weren’t we?”
“So I never forgot about that fictional criminal’s trick, you see.”
“And there was another thing—the diary.”
“He had anticipated that I would search for it and hidden his diary.”
“He hid it in an extremely difficult place indeed.”
“But since it was originally a diary meant for me to see, the deepest truths remained unwritten.”
“Not a single line about that woman we later found out about was written there either.”

“That’s what’s called misekeshi.”
“The term 'misekeshi' is used by textual critics—in old documents, you’ll find characters erased with mere lines so the original text remains legible.”
“You could still read it if you tried.”
“We often see this in our letters too.”
“He’d conspicuously erase something while actually writing precisely what he wanted you to read there.”
“That man’s diary used this misekeshi technique.”
“Or perhaps misekakushi.”

“So I read that diary.”
“Inside was a lengthy treatise.”
“A paper on the fictional criminal trick.”
“It was masterfully composed.”
“The thrill of creating humans who don’t truly exist.”
“He did have a way with words.”

“I get it.”
“Enough nostalgia—keep going.”

“Hm, so the three hints had fallen into place.”
“Tears of pity, the mysterious navy blue overcoat man, and praise for the fictional murder trick.”
“But without one more—the fourth hint—it wouldn’t be complete.”
“That’s the motive.”
“The motive was that woman.”
“He didn’t even write that in his diary.”
“If he’d written that far, it would’ve become pure theater—the thrill would’ve evaporated. What detestable caution… …It was you who told me about that woman.”
“But I had an inkling.”
“In the depths of his eyes, a young woman kept flickering.”
“And then, when we embraced in bed, a faint scent of another woman—not me—would drift from his body…”

“Enough… So combining those four hints forms the plot of that man’s little drama.”
“Through misekeshi—as it’s called—he made you aware of that woman’s existence while shedding pitiful tears. However regrettable, you became an obstacle to his union with her.”
“But for Saito—incapable of supporting himself—leaving you meant immediate destitution. Impossible.”
“That man claimed he assisted a friend’s business daily, though his salary proved meager.”
“A mere diversion from boredom—you formally married Saito yet retained the assets.”
“The fortune inherited from your postwar nouveau riche father remained stubbornly guarded as yours alone.”
“Never converted to shared marital property.”
“Though extracting lavish allowances from you, he couldn’t touch the principal.”
“Thus to squander these assets with another woman against your will required your murder.”
“Formal marriage vows and your lack of kin would funnel everything to him.”
“There lies the motive.”

“Of course, you’re talking about the motive for this thrill game.”

“That’s right. However, even as a real crime, it’s a flawless motive. And as for the murder method—the creation of that fictional criminal he so admired…… First, he’d thoroughly establish the navy blue overcoat man’s presence, then sneak into your bedroom in that guise. After killing you, he’d make that fabricated perpetrator vanish from this world forever. And then, switching back, he would return as the original Saito. Upon seeing your corpse, he would make a great commotion. That’s the sequence then.”

“Yes, that’s how he made me believe it all, frightened me, and tried to have us both relish the thrill together.”
“It was merely a slightly more sophisticated version of children’s pretend detective games.”
“But had I not believed in his playful intentions and sensed genuine murderous intent instead, this would have been a horrifying thrill.”
“That’s precisely what he aimed for.”
“He was targeting something far more dreadful than children’s detective games.”

“Children’s detective games aren’t something to laugh at either.”
“When I was twelve or thirteen playing detective games, I once hid in a dark barn with an older girl who challenged me.”
“That cute girl did something unspeakably bizarre there—I’ve never been more terrified.”
“Pure life-or-death terror.”

“Let’s not go down side paths.”
“That night, when I peered into Saito’s eyes swollen with tears, I properly pieced together everything we’d discussed up until then—all in about one second.”
“I recalled all those events and logically combined them.”
“I could do that in one second.”
“The human mind’s workings are truly mysterious.”
“What sort of mechanism could it be?”
“What takes thirty minutes to explain verbally can be thought through in one second.”

“But what would that lead to?”
“If he truly intended to kill you, there would’ve been a proper finale—but if it was all just an act, then it would never be resolved, would it?”
“Just scaring you with the navy blue overcoat man and that’s it?”

“That’s not how it was.”
“This is merely my imagination, but it would come to an end.”
“The navy blue overcoat man would sneak in through a window or something and enter my bedroom.”
“And then he’d make me scream and watch just what kind of intense thrill I’d experience.”
“After that, still as the fictional character, he would get into my bed.”
“Disguising himself as another man and slipping into his own wife’s bed…”

“That’s macabre.”

“That’s right.”
“He was exactly that sort of macabre person.”
“Otherwise he would never have dreamed up such an outlandish thrill game.”

“But… the outcome turned out completely different.”

“That’s right… What comes after this is no longer a joke… I was scared.”
“I’m still scared.”

“I don’t feel particularly good about what comes next either.”
“But let’s get through with it.”
“On this desolate cliff, let’s go over everything just once.”
“Then maybe even you’d feel somewhat unburdened.”

“Yes, I think so too… Three times after that night, the same kind of thing happened.”
“And his way of crying—pressing his cheek against mine as tears streamed down—only grew increasingly intense.”
“…There were many times when I thought—Huh? Something’s off here.”
“Each time that happened, I would hurriedly pull my face away and peer into the depths of his eyes—but I could no longer tell.”
“It was just a baseless suspicion.”
“I made a terrible assumption.”

“So you thought that man truly meant to kill you.”

“Suddenly, his eyes seemed to be saying this: ‘I’m scheming to create a fictional character to give you a thrill.’ He had intended that at first. But now, even I could no longer tell whether this would end as an act. Even if I truly killed you, it would be completely safe. And then your assets would become mine. I might succumb to that allure. To tell the truth, I love that woman many times more than you. You’re pitiful. So unbearably pitiful.” I even felt as though he was crying out in that manner, straining his voice. Tears overflowed ceaselessly from that person’s eyes. They gurgled down into my throat. “That person’s and my utter delusions became entangled and jumbled together in that pitch-black space, until I no longer had any idea what to do.”

“That’s when you came to confide in me, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.
I shared with you the anxiety I just described.
Then you laughed at me—‘Your paranoid delusions! Such nonsense couldn’t possibly be real!’
But in the depths of your laughing eyes, there flickered a shadow of doubt.
Yet I could plainly see you too harbored that sliver of unease—that ‘what if?’”

“But I wasn’t conscious of such anxiety at that time.”
“I can’t handle someone with clairvoyance like yours.”
“You even probe into people’s unconscious depths.”

“I grew afraid to look into that person’s eyes.”
“What terrified me more was that he might realize my fear.”
“Then finally I began fixating on the pistol.”
“…One evening outside the gate, I met the navy blue overcoat man again.”
“That man only appeared during evenings or nights.”
“He feared being seen through his disguise.”
“Though dimly lit and unclear, I felt him grin slyly at me.”
“Even knowing it was Saito’s disguise sent chills through me.”
“In that instant—why then?—the pistol flashed through my mind.”
“The pistol hidden in his study desk drawer.”

“I knew about the pistol too. That man violated the prohibition and secretly obtained one. He always kept it loaded with live ammunition at the bottom of the drawer. He didn’t particularly intend to use it for anything—just said he was keeping it because he’d gotten it.”

“I was startled thinking that navy blue overcoat man might always be carrying that pistol. So I rushed into the study and opened the drawer—it was still safely in its usual place. I felt relieved for a moment, but soon realized he’d never do something so idiotic as letting his fictional culprit carry this pistol, Saito’s own possession. The navy blue overcoat man might’ve obtained another one. He may have prepared some other lethal weapon. Just because the pistol remained didn’t mean I could afford complacency. Thinking that way made me increasingly anxious.”

“So you decided to keep that pistol for yourself after all.”

“Yes, I thought that would make me feel somewhat more secure.”
“So I moved the pistol to my room and decided to keep it in my bed at night, you know.”

“There was that cursed thing, wasn’t there.”
“If only that hadn’t existed……”

“I asked you something, didn’t I?”
“If the navy blue overcoat man were to enter my bedroom, and if I were to shoot that man with a pistol at that moment, what kind of crime would that be?”

“That’s how it was.”
“At that time, I told you that even if an unknown man were to violently break into the house and force his way into the bedroom, self-defense would still apply even if he had no intent to harm.”
“I answered that even if you were to kill him, it wouldn’t constitute a crime.”
“That was indeed the fact, but looking back now, I realize I gave terrible advice.”

“And finally, that man came.”
“Is he coming? Is he coming?”—on nights when Saito was away, I would do nothing but wait in that very anticipation.
“Past midnight, that man climbed over the wall, slipped through the corridor window without making a sound, and opened my bedroom door.”
Clad in the navy blue overcoat and soft hat, with black glasses and a thick mustache—it was unmistakably that man I’d encountered so many times before.
While feigning sleep with closed eyes, I watched him intently through the gaps between my eyelashes.
“I kept the pistol clutched tightly within the futon so I could fire at any moment.”

“...”

“My heart felt like it would burst.”
“I wanted to fire the pistol right away.”
“But I kept still and watched through my eyelashes... That man stood motionless with both hands thrust into his overcoat pockets.”
“It seemed he had completely seen through my act of pretending to be asleep.”
“That standoff felt like it lasted a full hour.”
“I suddenly wanted to leap from the bed, screaming ‘Gyaaah!’ as I desperately clenched my teeth to suppress the urge to flee.”

“...”

“Finally, that man strode up to the bed. Though his face was in the shadow of the lampshade, it appeared large and clearly visible. Even through his skillful disguise, I recognized him as Saito... That man seemed to be smiling behind his black glasses. Then he suddenly bent his upper body over the bed and lunged. At that moment, though the dagger remained hidden by the futon’s collar, I was already acting on pure instinct. I stealthily slid the pistol’s muzzle out from beneath the futon and abruptly pulled the trigger toward his chest... I had no composure left for pointing guns while exchanging words. I wanted—needed—to shoot so desperately I thought I’d go mad... By the time you and the maid came running at the gunshot’s report, that man lay breathless with a chest wound, while I had collapsed unconscious atop the bed.”

“At first, I didn’t understand what was happening.”
“But after a moment’s pause, I realized that must have been exactly how it was.”
“Beside that man’s corpse lay a drawn dagger.”

“The police officers came.”
“After that, I was summoned to the prosecutor’s office.”
“You were summoned too, weren’t you.”
“I told the complete truth without hiding anything.”
“The prosecutor criticized our hedonistic lifestyle and delivered a lengthy lecture.”
“And then, I was not prosecuted.”
“Because there was a dagger, that man’s murderous intent could not be doubted.”
“…After that, I didn’t fall ill or anything, held that person’s funeral without incident, and stayed shut in at home for about a month.”
“You comforted me every day, didn’t you.”
“I had no family or close friends—you were my sole support.”
“……And then, you properly settled the matter with Saito’s woman too.”

“It’ll soon be a year since then.”
“Five months since we formally completed our marriage procedures… Well then, shall we get going?”

"I still have more to tell you."

"Still? Haven't we completely finished reviewing everything already?"

"But what I've told you so far is just the surface layer."

"Huh? The surface layer?"
"And you still call that superficial after all that soul-probing analysis?"

"The real truth always lies in the deepest recesses."
"We still haven't talked about what lies in those depths."

"I don't know what you're thinking, but aren't you being a bit neurotic?"

“Are you frightened?”

The man's eyes seemed to clear abruptly.
However, his expression hardly changed.
He didn’t move a muscle.
The woman was flushed a faint red from the excitement of talking.
Her eyes glinted fiercely, the corners of her lips curled sharply upward, and a malicious smile surfaced.

“If one could manipulate others’ hearts at will and make them commit a grave crime, I think that would bring true delight for that person.”
“For those whose hearts have been manipulated this way—since they remain utterly unaware of becoming that person’s puppets—there’s no safer crime.”
“Isn’t this precisely the genuine perfect crime?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that you’re that puppeteer magician.”
“But I don’t mean to expose you.”
“Like two devils pressing foreheads together, grinning slyly while admiring the depth of each other’s wicked schemes—that’s what this is, you know?”
“In that sense, I want us to lay bare even more of our inner selves.”
“It’s what you’d call exhibitionism, right?”

“Hey, let’s drop this.”
“I have no interest in exhibitionists or the like.”

“So you really are frightened after all.”
"But if we stop this conversation now that I've started it, it would leave an even worse aftertaste, don't you think?"
“I’ll tell you.”
“……It was you who instilled that detective novel obsession in the late Saito.”
"Saito had that inherent predisposition from the beginning."
“Therefore, he became the perfect puppet for you.”
“And you drove him to immerse himself in researching criminal methods and become infatuated with fictional perpetrator tricks.”
“Of course Saito was the one who grew obsessed, but you employed truly subtle techniques to steer his thinking in that direction.”
“Was it rhetoric?”
“No—something deeper than rhetoric.”
“You used that to manipulate Saito with complete control. …His taking a mistress wasn’t your doing.”
“Saito created that situation himself, but given his hedonistic nature, it was always bound to happen eventually.”
“You simply exploited it skillfully.”

“…………”

“Linking the fictional criminal trick to that woman—even conceiving that thrill-seeking game between us as spouses—was undoubtedly your doing.”
“Since Saito was precisely the type to delight in executing such outlandish schemes, all you needed was to drop a word or two of subtle suggestion.”
“Using phrases Saito never noticed at all, yet words that carried terrifying power as suggestions—”

“You can imagine anything you want. Such imaginings only serve to prove that you yourself are an outrageous villain.”

“That’s right. Because I’m a villain, I understand a villain’s heart. You fell right into Saito’s trap—when you disguised yourself as the navy blue overcoat man and started prowling around our house, you were the first to notice it, weren’t you? And then you informed me, didn’t you? At the time, I hadn’t noticed, but when I later recalled it, I realized you couldn’t conceal your delight. The meaning in those eyes wasn’t merely about having spotted a suspicious man. The triumph of ‘I did it, it worked’—when I think back now—was laid bare in your eyes as if naked. What I could only determine by analyzing Saito’s tears and recalling the fictional criminal’s trick was something you, the planner, understood perfectly from the very beginning.”

“Let’s stop this. Right, let’s stop this.”

“Just a little more.”
“I have more to say……The act gradually became real, and I came to think Saito might actually kill me.”
“Then I obtained a pistol and consulted you about it.”
“Then you dismissed it as if genuinely incredulous—‘How could such foolishness exist?’—while letting unease drift in your eyes.”
“Moreover, you made me fully accept that even if I killed someone with the pistol, it wouldn’t constitute a crime under self-defense……With this settled, all you needed to do was watch events unfold.”
“Murder might occur.”
“It might not occur.”
“But even if it didn’t occur, you wouldn’t suffer any loss.”
“If I fired the pistol and Saito died, it would fall right into your hands. What a brilliant scheme.”
“Back when we often discussed criminal tricks, this concept called Probability Crime came to be debated.”
“There’s ample possibility, but whether the objective will definitely be achieved remains uncertain.”
“That method of entrusting everything to fate—the most cowardly and safest approach there is.”
“Even if they fail, the criminal doesn’t have to worry about being suspected in the slightest, so they can repeat different schemes any number of times.”
“While continuing like that, eventually the time will come when the objective is achieved.”
“And even when the objective is achieved, the criminal will never be suspected.”
“……Your probability crime was one or two steps ahead of Saito’s fictional criminal idea.”

“I’m getting angry.”
“You’re possessed by delusions.”
“You’re losing your mind... I’m going back alone.”

“Your forehead is drenched in sweat.”
“Not feeling well?”
“At that moment—when I pulled the pistol’s trigger—I didn’t know Saito had a dagger.”
“In that instant, I thought he might try to strangle me... or perhaps simply embrace me instead.”
“I didn’t know the truth.”
“Even so, I pulled the trigger.”
“The truth is... I’ve loved you from the very depths of my heart all along.”
“You should have known that too... Then I lost consciousness with my finger still on the trigger.”
“The dagger—I only saw it when I came to.”
“Therefore, that dagger could have been in Saito’s overcoat pocket... or perhaps you brought in Saito’s own dagger—prepared beforehand—imprinted his fingerprints postmortem, then tossed it there.”
“After all, you were first to rush in when the shot rang out... And if Saito had held a dagger, it would have perfected the self-defense pretext.”
“You wanted Saito dead... but couldn’t risk me facing charges.”
“To save me... you had to do whatever necessary.”

“I’m surprised,” he said, his laughter brittle as autumn leaves. “You’ve really spun your delusions that far?”

“It’s no use forcing that laugh,” I observed, tilting my head as one might study flawed porcelain. “Your voice—doesn’t it sound utterly unlike itself? Almost... tearful.”

The cliff wind carried my whisper as I stepped closer. “What could possibly frighten you so? This confession stays entombed between us.” My gloved hand brushed his damp cheek. “Even this probability crime of yours—this exquisite terror you engineered to claim me—I’ll cradle its darkness forever.”

Lips parting near his ear, I breathed the words like sacrament: “My love runs deeper than blood.” The sunset painted his trembling face carmine as I withdrew. “Let’s seal this truth in amber—our eternal secret.” A spider’s smile played at my mouth. “I simply wanted... just once... to speak without masks.”

The man wordlessly stood up from the natural stone bench, as if declaring he wanted no part in humoring a delusional woman’s fantasies.
As he did so, the woman also stood and began walking slowly toward the cliff edge, away from their return path.
The man followed a few steps behind the woman, hesitating uncertainly.

The woman moved to a spot about two feet from the cliff edge and came to a stop.

Far below, the faint sound of a mountain stream could be heard.
However, the stream itself remained unseen.
At the valley's bottom, a darkish haze had filled in, and its depth was unknowable—dozens of fathoms or more.

The woman, still facing the valley, spoke to the man behind her.

“We’ve spoken nothing but truths today, haven’t we?”
“Such truths are rarely things one can speak of.”
“I feel... somehow unburdened.”
“But... one thing I haven’t told you yet remains.”
“Shall I tell you that final truth? …I’ll say it without looking at your face. …I loved the naked you, yet you loved me and my money, didn’t you?”
“And now you don’t love me—you only love the money I possess, don’t you?”
“That’s something I understand all too well.”
“I can read your eyes.”
“And you also know that I’ve realized that.”
“That’s why you lured me out to this lonely cliff today.……Even though you’ve stopped loving me, you can’t bring yourself to leave me.”
“Just like Saito, you’re a man who can’t support himself.”
“Then, only one thing remains for you to do.”
“…Following Saito’s old trick, you’ll make me disappear.”
“Then all of my property would belong to you as my husband.……I’ve known all along that you’ve taken another lover, and that now you’ve come to hate me.”

From behind came the sound of the man's ragged, panting breaths.
She felt the man's body slowly pressing closer to her.
The woman knew the moment had finally arrived.

The man's hands touched her back.
Those hands trembled violently in small, rapid spasms.
Then he pushed against the woman's back with terrible force.

The woman did not resist; bending her body softly at the waist, she swiftly drew aside.

The man, overbalanced by his own excessive force, staggered forward.
Beneath his final desperate step to hold his ground, there was no longer any earth.
The man’s entire body fell sideways like a log and slipped smoothly downward.

The birdsong that had gone completely unnoticed until now came clamoring into the woman’s ears.
The setting sun dyed crimson the wide, open sky below the mountain stream and the clouds massing there.
It was a breathtakingly majestic, beautiful sunset.

The woman stood motionless on the rocky outcrop in a daze, but eventually began to mutter something.

“It was self-defense again.”
“But what does this mean?”
“A year ago, it was Saito who tried to kill me.”
“Yet it wasn’t me who was killed—it was Saito.”
This time too, he was the one who tried to push me off.
Yet, the one who fell from the cliff wasn’t me—it was him.
Self-defense is such a strange thing.
Even though in both cases the real criminal was me, the law doesn’t punish me.
Society doesn’t suspect me either.
To think up such an underhanded method—I truly am a villainess.
...I don’t know how many more acts of self-defense I’ll commit from here on.
“I might kill who knows how many people without ever being charged...”

The setting sun burned across the vast sky, stained the cliff's rocky face blood-red, and set the dense forest behind it ablaze with flame.
The woman's figure stood solitary upon the rocky outcrop, diminutive and doll-like in her loveliness, her beautiful face flushed peach-pink, her large round eyes reflecting the vast sky with uncanny brilliance.

The woman remained in that posture, like a subtle and intricate ornament of nature, utterly motionless for what seemed an eternity.