Zaregoto

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 0

Tomo-chan resided in a students-only apartment complex

near Nishiôji Maruta-machi. Just looking at that steelreinforced,

concrete exterior, I could imagine the difference in

rent from my own place. Five times as much, or even ten

if you got swindled.

Mikoko-chan must have been there before, because she

entered the main lobby with an air of confidence. She pushed

the room number on the intercom and pressed the call button.

“Yellooo! It’s Mikoko-cakes.”

“Yo-yo. C’mon up.”

As the somewhat drowsy voice emerged from the intercom,

the firmly locked glass door slid open. An autolock security

system. Actually, maybe that’s too extravagant a term.

Whether that lock was there or not made little difference to

anyone trying to break in.

“Come on, hurry. Hurry hurry hurry hurry.” Mikoko-chan

passed through the door and beckoned for me to hurry along.

“Sixth floor, sixth floor! We gotta hurry!”

“It’s not like the sixth floor is going to get away.”

“Yeah, but it won’t come down to greet us either.”

“That’s true . . .”

I followed along as told.

“The sixth floor is the very top one. Tomo-chan lives in the

corner apartment, and there’s a pretty nice view, as views go.”

“Mm, nice view, eh?”

That was one thing I never hoped to see where I was living.

If you opened the window in my place, you got trees.

We called down the elevator and got in.

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“I wonder if Akiharu-kun’s here yet. Muimi-chan is pretty

much a given, but . . .”

Mikoko-chan was incredibly excited. Seeing her carefree

expression, even I couldn’t help but think about how nice it

must be to have friends. Whether or not it worked for me, it

must’ve been very nice for her.

We got off at the sixth floor. Mikoko-chan raced down the

hallway and stopped in front of the very last door. “Over here,

over here!” she shouted and beckoned. It made me want to ask

if she was just completely oblivious to the looks people gave

her.

She pushed in the doorbell. Ding-dong. The door opened,

and a girl revealed herself.

“Welcome,” the girl—most likely Tomo-chan—said drowsily,

a cigarette hanging from her lips. She was entirely different

than I had expected.

“So, Mikoko. On time for a change, eh?” She wore her long

brown hair in a sauvage—with her hangs long and the rest cut

at wildly varying lengths—and her fashion sense was impeccable:

Her light jacket and jeans combo was very stylish. She

was probably a little taller than me, and was so sickly thin that

if she said she had only one day to live, I probably would have

believed her. It was the perfect match for her slightly crooked

smile.

“Howdy, Muimi-chan!” Mikoko-chan greeted. “Haro haro!”

It seemed this wasn’t Tomo-chan after all, but Muimichan.

“Oops,” she said, finally noticing my presence. Without

a hint of shyness, she gave me a hard study from top to bottom.

“Maybe this is our first time talking, ‘Ikkun,’ “ she said

with a smirk.

“Yeah,” I said apathetically. “Hey.”

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It seemed my apathy had struck a chord with her. She let

out an exaggerated laugh. It was boisterous, and not very

feminine.

“Well how ‘bout that. You are an interesting guy. I think

we’ll get along.”

“Really.” It was more of a sigh than a response. Not the

kind of thing that warranted such judgment. It was just about

as enthusiastic as my greeting had been. “I don’t think so.”

“Heh, well, we don’t have to get into all that. Just come in.

Stupid Akiharu isn’t here yet. We just called and he was still

at home.”

“Oh my God, he’ll never change. Last time he claimed he

got confused by the time zone difference. That lousy tardyman.”

Mikoko sure was throwing stones at the proverbial glass

house. It was almost impressive. But I wasn’t in the mood to

start teasing her about it, so I stayed silent as I removed my

shoes.

At the end of the short hallway between the kitchen and

bathroom was a single door. It seemed this was one of those

sectioned-off one-rooms. Muimi-chan went ahead of us and

opened the door. The room inside was about eight or nine

mats in size, but the floors were hardwood. By the window

was a bed, and in the middle of the room, a mini-table covered

with cake, snacks, and a row of empty glasses. So this was

more of a drinks thing than a dinner-thing affair after all.

A girl was sitting daintily beside the table. This time it had

to be Tomo-chan. She was even more petite then Mikokochan,

and dressed in a strawberry-patterned one-piece. Her

hair was in pigtails. She gave me a little wave.

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She was just as shy as I’d imagined. And yet something

about her made me think she probably had a bad habit or two.

It was like there was more than meets the eye—as if her simplistic

form prevented you from being able to see through her.

Thinking about it made me feel as though someone had asked

me for the sum of all integers.

“No, wait.”

That’s all nonsense. Everyone feels that way when they

meet someone for the first time. It wasn’t technically my first

meeting with Tomo-chan, but I didn’t really know her, so it

was only natural that I had this impression.

Hmm. Come to think of it, it did seem as though we had

crossed paths a few times in our general education seminar. I

joined her at the table so that I was facing her, and tossed out

a simple greeting. “Yo.” She looked at me a little crookedly,

then gave me a politely deep bow.

“Thanks for going to all this trouble. Sorry to ask such a big

favor.” Her voice was pretty and calm, with a watery quality.

“I’ve always wanted to have a chat with you, so I hope you

have a good time today.”

I was a little moved by her good manners. It was something

I hadn’t seen much lately (especially in the last day or

two).

“Ahahaha, quick to break the ice, eh?” Mikoko-chan said as

she sat down next to me on her knees. Muimi-chan, in turn,

sat down next to her. This allowed enough room for Akiharukun

to eventually come sit between me and Tomo-chan.

“Ahhh.” Muimi-chan put out her cigarette with her own

finger, then deposited it in an ashtray. “So what are we doing?

We’ve got a brand-new guest here. Should we go ahead and

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start? It seems stupid to sit around wasting time just because

of that asshead.”

“Hey, we can’t do that,” Mikoko-chan interjected. “For

something like this we have to all be together! Right, Tomochan?”

“Yup, Mikoko’s right.” Tomo-chan nodded. “You know

he’ll be here soon, so don’t be so impatient. Right?”

“I don’t really care, but...” Muimi-chan gestured towards

me. “What about Ikkun here?”

“I don’t mind. I’m used to waiting.” To be sure, that didn’t

mean I was used to people making me wait. But it would have

been too much of a hassle to start an argument about it, so I

just fed her an easy line.

Muimi shot me an inquisitive look, but “Well, whatever

then,” was all she said. She pulled out a fresh cigarette, then

shot me another look. “Are you an antitobacco kind of guy?”

she asked.

“I don’t smoke myself, but you can smoke all you like.”

“Ah. No, I’m good.” She broke in half the cigarette she

hadn’t even lit yet and deposited it in the ashtray. “I make it a

point not to smoke around nonsmokers.”

“Huh.”

Did that mean Mikoko-chan and Tomo-chan were both

smokers? The fact that she had asked only me seemed to indicate

such. Huh. I was a little surprised.

“Hey! Muimi-chan, you’ll make me sound like a smoker if

you put it like that!” Mikoko-chan objected once again. She

was giving us the puppy-dog eyes. For some reason she

seemed vehemently opposed to me finding out she was a

smoker.

“But you do smoke.”

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“No I don’t! I was just going with the flow that one time!”

“Ah, right. Gotcha. My fault, my fault.” Muimi-chan gave

her a friendly pat as she threw her little tantrum. Meanwhile,

Tomo-chan watched on in delight.

Huh. It didn’t take long to notice the dynamic here. It was

the good girl, the bad girl, and the regular girl. This made me

Wonder what Akiharu’s role was. He finally showed up at

6:30, half an hour late.

“Sorry, sorry. I thought I’d be here on time, but the train

was crowded and stuff,” he said with good humor.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Tomo-chan said as she greeted

him with a smile. The good girl.

“The train doesn’t arrive any later just because it’s crowded!

And you live in a boarding house, so you don’t even take

the train anyway!” Mikoko-chan, the regular girl. She had the

nerve to question his lame excuses.

“You think you can get off with a simple apology? You

gotta chug three beers,” Muimi-chan said, passing a beer bottle

over to him. The bad girl.

“Okay, okay. Don’t rush me so much, Atemiya. This is a

birthday, a birthday. Not a mayday. Goddamn I’m a clever

bastard. What the . . . ?” It seemed he had noticed my presence.

He gave a problem-child sneer. “Heh heh, so you really

brought him, Aoii,” he said.

He sat down next to me and said, “Well, good to meet

you,” with a slight bow.

I did likewise.

He had an easy-breezy air about him, with light brown hair

and a taste for street fashion. Maybe it wasn’t uncommon for a

university student to dress like that, but at Rokumeikan in

particular, it was kind of unusual. Judging from his build, it

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 6

looked like he was involved in some kind of sport, but I

couldn’t tell which one.

“Umm, what do I . . . wha? Are we all supposed to just call

you Ikkun then?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Really, really? Gotcha. You’re a good guy. Don’t you

think so, Aoii?”

He shot Mikoko-chan a meaningful look. She shot back a

flustered one. “Oh, uh, yeah.” Judging from her response, it

didn’t seem like she thought I was a very good guy at all. Of

course, considering how much I made fun of her, that was

probably only natural.

“Well, shall we start?” Muimi-chan said. She seemed to be

the leader of the four. She pointed at me. “Umm, you don’t

drink, right?” she said.

I nodded.

“Oh? What’s this now, Ikkun? You can’t go around being

finicky all the time, you know. Alcohol is a vital component in

man-to-man interactions after all, right? I mean, am I right or

am I right?”

“Akiharu! What did I tell you about pushing your bullshit

opinions on others?! I’ll fucking kill you!” Muimi-chan gave

him the look of death. Her cool, almost dazed demeanor from

a moment ago had sharpened into a knife of fury. “Did you

already forget what I told you last time? Huh?”

Akiharu quivered and tensed with fear. “Uh . . .”

“I’m not lookin’ for an ’uhhh.’ ”

“Sorry.”

“Not lookin’ for a ‘sorry’ either. Why the hell are you

apologizing to me? Huh?”

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Akiharu-kun’s mouth opened and closed like he was a

suffocating fish. Then he looked over at me. “Please forgive

me,” he apologized.

“Okay, then,” Muimi-chan said with a look of satisfaction.

“Sorry there, Ikkun. He didn’t mean anything by it. Forgive

the guy, will ya?” She had completely returned to her origi-nal

self and smiled back at me. “Did he piss you off?”

“Uh, I don’t really care.”

Atemiya Muimi. She was definitely an ex-delinquent. No,

not even an “ex.” I thought that brown sauvage seemed a little

out of date.

Maybe I should call her Boss.

Meanwhile, Mikoko-chan poured some low-malt beer into

each glass and lined them up in front of everyone. She also

placed a single glass of oolong tea in front of me.

“So who’s going to lead the proceedings? Shall it be Tomochan,

our queen for a day?”

“Yeah, I believe it shall,” Muimi-chan said. “Tomo, let’s

have it.”

Tomo-chan raised her glass a bit reluctantly. “Okay then.

To my twentieth birthday and our new friend.”

Cheers.

I lightly tipped my glass.

“So the thing about friends is that they’re like, eh, you know,

like . . . y’know,” Zerozaki said with a cynical smile. The tattoo

scrawled across the right side of his face wrinkled unpleasantly.

“What do you think?”

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“You’re actually asking me? I thought this was going to be

some kind of spiel.”

“Hah, don’t expect me to do everything. They say if you

want to figure out your own opinion, you gotta ask others

theirs, right? So let’s hear it. What do you think? What is a

friend?”

“It’s not such a hard question. It's just someone you hang

out with, have meals with, joke around about stupid things

with. Someone who brings you peace. That kind of thing,

right?” he said.

“You got it. Exactamundo. If you look at it that way,

friends are such a simple thing, man, like pie. You hang out,

you eat together, act stupid and feel peaceful together, and

that makes you friends. If you come to each other’s rescue,

you’re close friends. If you smooch each other sometimes,

you're lovers. Oh, what a treasure of life friendship is!” he said

with a sneer.

“So the question here is, how long do these friendships

last? A year? Five years? Ten years? Forever? Until tomorrow?”

“Is your point that even friendships come to an end?”

“My point is that all things come to an end.”

“Well, sure. But without endings, there could be no beginnings.

That’s the vital subtext. If you’re looking to gain something,

you’ve got to be prepared to sacrifice one-third of it. If

you want a payoff, you've got to take a risk. If you can’t do

that, you’re better off just living with what you’ve got.”

“Gahaha. I guess you must be that type.”

I had no need for things I would just lose in time. If it was

just going to end anyway, it didn’t have to begin. I had no

need for pleasure if it came accompanied by pain.

“Why? Are you any different?” I said.

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If it meant never being sad, I didn’t have to be happy.

If it meant never fading, I didn’t have to succeed.

Evolution loaded with risk was a waste of time.

“Eh, but in reality, that's all true whether you’re after

something or not,” I said.

“No doubt.”

Zerozaki laughed. I didn’t.

Be that as it may.

Three hours had passed since the party began. I won’t get

into what happened during those three hours. Nobody particularly

wants others to see what they’re like when they’re

drunk, and they certainly don’t want to have the details relayed

from person to person.

No matter how people feel while they’re drinking, it’s inevitable

afterward that good old shame comes to pay them a

visit. It's difficult to determine which is real: the person you

are under the influence of alcohol, or the person you are when

you’re sober. But one thing's for sure: A wild night spent in

good fun isn’t something you want to try to recount later on.

It’s one of those “unpaintable scenes” like Urashima Tarô

talked about.

Still, if I were to dare to share a little vignette of the

evening’s festivities just for kicks, it would go something like

this:

“So whaddaya call a rock made of oxygen and nitrogen?”

“Quartz! Gaaahahahaha!”

“That’s like a two-hundred shot barrage from a watercooled

heavy machine gun, only it’s an assassin squad!”

“Shit, that aside, it’s hot today. Why is it so hot in the middle

of May? Is it global warming? Is it the greenhouse effect?”

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“What?! Listen here, chump, if you want to complain

about the summer heat, you answer to me! Bring it!”

“Are you the one they caught in Catcher in the Rye?!”

“It's a tropical night, that's what it is.”

“Then I guess that makes me a tropical fish!”

And so three hours passed.

At present, Mikoko-chan, Akiharu-kun, and Tomo-chan

were playing PS2. It looked like a racing game. Realistically

depicted four-wheeled machines sped around the narrow onscreen

circuit.

Huh. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it tantalizing, but there

was something rather pleasant about watching them all so

fully immersed in their fun. It looked like they were willing to

share some of that happiness with me, and somehow that

made me surprisingly lonely.

“Well, I guess even this is—”

Someone slapped me on the shoulder. It was Muimi-chan.

Apparently a heavy drinker, she didn’t seem any different

from when she was sober, even from a bystander’s point of

view.

She didn’t call herself Boss for nothing. Not that she called

herself Boss at all.

“Wanna go outside for a bit?” she said, pointing toward the

entrance. “Let’s go to the convenience store.”

“What about Mikoko-chan and the others?”

“We can just let ’em be. They don’t know what’s going on

right now anyway.”

She was right about that. I nodded and left the room with

her. We got back into the elevator, traveled down to the first

floor, and exited the building.

“Is the convenience store close by?”

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“Eh, it’s a bit of a walk. But c’mon, let's walk a little bit.

It’ll help me sober up.”

“You don’t really seem drunk though.”

“Maybe not on the surface, but I’m pretty far gone. It feels

like my brain’s flipped upside down so my cerebrum and cerebellum

are switched. Right now I wanna kick the crap outta

that sign.”

“Just don’t kick the crap out of me.”

“I’ll try,” she said with a little laugh. She shook her head

and looked up toward the sky.

“Doesn’t really feel like a birthday party,” I said. “I wonder

if this is really enough to make Tomo-chan happy. She’s still

drunk now, but I wonder if she’ll get depressed about it later.”

“Yeah, I wonder . . . But it’s still better than being depresssed

from the very beginning. Yeah. It’s all good. You

don’t need a good reason to get wild. Ahh . . . I’m groggy.”

“You look pretty exhausted, Muimi-chan.”

“Well, that’s what I get for hanging out with those guys.”

My sentiments exactly. Mikoko-chan was spunky enough

to begin with, but when she was inebriated she was four times

as bad. Then there was Akiharu-kun, and even Tomo-chan

was getting pretty rowdy.

“Man, if you think about it, I guess being able to hold your

liquor so well puts you at kind of a disadvantage. It must be

hard to follow along with the mood.”

“Exactly. I mean, it’s still fun, so it’s no big deal.”

“You think it’s okay to leave those three drunks in a room

unattended?”

“They’re not kids. They’ll be fine. Actually, it's probably

more dangerous to be walking around outside in the middle of

the night,” she said.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 2

A good point. We were in the midst of the Kyoto Slasher

serial murders. So that was why she bothered taking me along

with her. I may look scrawny and unreliable, but I’m still a

guy, in a manner of speaking.

“What a messed-up world, huh? What could be enjoyable

about chopping up a human being?”

“Well, different strokes, I guess.” I tried to brush off the

topic. If I was thrust into a conversation about it, there was a

chance I would let my tongue slip. It wasn’t that Zerozaki had

told me to keep my mouth shut, but it sure wasn’t the kind of

thing I wanted everyone and their mother to know about.

“I can’t understand it at all,” she said. “I mean, I’ve been

around for twenty years now. Even I’ve thought to myself

before, ‘I oughta kill that bastard.’ Actually, it happens a lot.

Even nowadays. Like, ‘this person would be better off dead.

Killing him would serve the greater good.’ ”

“. . . .”

“But what's up with these random killings? I can’t understand

the idea of finding pleasure in the act of killing itself.”

“In general, they say serial killers who choose their targets

at random are fueled by resentment. So it’s just like when you

say to yourself, ‘I oughta kill that bastard,’ ” I said.

“Really? But then the killings aren’t random.”

“It’s a little different, though. In this killer’s case, he resents

the victims simply because they happened to walk by. He resents

the world as a whole. He hates the world that surrounds

him, a world that, for him, is as vague and nebulous as the air.

And so his killings appear to be random.”

“Hmm . . .” She nodded, but to be honest, I was only speculating.

I had no idea why he was committing acts of murder.

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We had only talked about stupid, irrelevant things the previous

night, and never touched upon the topic of his motives.

We were probably saving the best for last, childish as that

may sound.

“It’s just nonsense, though,” I said.

Muimi-chan scratched her head at me.

While we were talking, we eventually reached the convenience

store. She entered ahead of me and quickly made her

way to the liquor section.

“You're buying more alcohol?”

“Nah, there’s already plenty of that. Let’s get some Pocari.

Gotta sober those guys up or they won’t be able to get home.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

We put three two-liter bottles of Pocari sports drinks in a

basket, picked out two or three types of snacks, and proceeded

to settle up at the register. Maybe I should’ve expected this,

but I ended up carrying everything.

As we left the store, Muimi-chan pulled a cigarette from

her pocket, stuck it in her mouth, and lit it with a coollooking

Zippo, all in one fluid motion.

“Ah!” she said and immediately went to extinguish it with

her finger.

“I don’t care if you smoke one. We’re outside, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Well, I guess it’s rude to smoke and walk at the same

time, but since it’s night and nobody’s around, it’s probably

fine as long as you don’t litter ashes everywhere.” And, indeed,

there was no one around who'd object to her blowing smoke

everywhere as she walked.

“Well . . . nah, it’s okay. I’ll stick to my decision.” She went

ahead and snuffed it with her finger. Then she curled up the

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cigarette butt and put it in her pocket. It seemed she wasn’t

the littering type. I was a little impressed: For a college student,

she had above-average morals.

“If you don’t mind my asking, isn’t that hot?” I said.

“Not really. I’m used to it,” she said with a slightly bashful

smile. “There was this Mafia boss bad guy in a movie I used to

like, and he did the same thing with cigars. With the palm of

his hand, like this. It was cool, so I started imitating it.”

“Huh.”

“Looking back, I just thought the actor was hot, but it’s a

habit now. Anyway, that aside . . . Ikkun, let’s talk seriously for

a minute.” Her expression immediately grew serious, changing

as abruptly as a circuit switch. I couldn’t help but be a little

surprised. “It's pretty tough keeping up with Mikoko's hyperness,

huh?”

“Not particularly.’’

“Huh,” she said. Her expression grew all the more serious.

She hesitated for a moment. “What do you think of her?” she

asked me.

“What do I think?”

Judging from her expression, she wasn’t looking for some

halfhearted bullshit answer.

But I couldn’t figure out what that question was supposed

to mean. I didn’t really think much of anything about her.

“Well, I think she's got a little bit of red in her hair. She's

around five feet tall, and may or may not weigh as much as

one hundred ten. From the way she acts, I’d guess she’s a type

B, and her astrological sign is probably one of the beasts. She's

got a kind of koala-ish feel in general.”

“Did you really think I was looking for a half-assed answer

like that?” she asked.

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Whoops. Delinquent mode. Why oh why do I so love stepping

on land mines, I wondered. I broke eye contact with her.

“I dunno. I mean, she’s a nice girl, I guess. Sure she’s a little

overly hyper, which can be exhausting, but I know a girl

who’s even worse than her, so it doesn’t particularly bother

me.”

“Huh. How neutral of you.”

“Well, I don’t like making waves.”

“Is that a fact?”

She paused for a moment, then gave me a sort of sidelong

glance.

“You’re kind of a slimeball, aren’t you, Ikkun?” she said.

“I’m self-aware.”

“Self-aware, huh? I wonder. I wouldn’t know. Anyway, let

me give you a word of advice.” She took a step ahead and

turned to face me directly. I had no choice but to stop. The

apartment building was still about a hundred feet away. Surely

the others were still inside racing. Muimi-chan ran her fingers

through her sauvage hair and shot me a direct glare.

“Mikoko and I have been friends since we were just little

brats.”

“Huh.”

“If you hurt her, I’ll never forgive you.”

I scratched my head a bit. Why was she telling me this?

Could it be that she was mad because of all the times I had

teased Mikoko-chan up to now? It didn’t seem like the kind of

thing to take so seriously, but Muimi-chan sure didn’t seem to

be joking, so I answered with a shrug.

“It’s okay. Despite how it seems, I’m actually nice to my

friends.”

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She blinked her narrowed eyes at me. “Hahahahaha!” she

laughed. A moment later, she spun back around. “I stand corrected.”

She recommenced walking. “You're just clueless.”

It felt like a terrible insult, but at the same time, it was

probably the most accurate description anyone had ever applied

to me in all my nineteen years, so it was hard to get mad.

We returned to the room to find that the others were indeed

still racing. Surprisingly, Tomo-chan was apparently the

most skilled. Mikoko-chan was a lap behind.

“Yo! Guzzle down this Pocari, you goons! You drunken

bitches!”

For some reason Muimi-chan had suddenly gone berserk,

smacking the “drunken bitches” in the heads with Pocari.

Being hit in the head with a full plastic bottle should have

been fairly painful, but they were so thoroughly numb with

drink they didn’t even seem to mind.

I don’t like noisiness. I hate boisterousness. Loud situations

irritate me.

But on occasion, like maybe once a year, maybe these

things are kind of nice. Or so I thought.

I was wrong.

It was past eleven p.m.

“Well, thanks for tonight,” Muimi-chan said as she rose to

her feet. “Akiharu, take me home.”

“Aw, why?” Akiharu whined. He shot her an aggravated

look; he was sprawled out in the comer of the room. “Just go

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yourself. I’m gonna rest a little before I go. Your place is far.

My place is in the opposite direction.”

“Are you a man? Don’t tell me you’re not even worth a

ride home.”

“Tch . . . fine.”

He stood up, still looking aggrieved, as if he knew there

was no point in objecting. His eyes shifted over to Tomo-chan.

“Well, here's your birthday present,” he said, pulling a package

out of his bag.

“Ah . . . Muimi-chan said. “That’s right, you give presents

on birthdays . . .”

“Hm? What’s that you say? What? Come again, Atemiyasan?”

Akiharu-kun said with the glee of someone who had just

defeated an ogre. “Don’t tell me that you forgot to get your

dear friend a birthday present! Oh my goodness, I cannot

believe it! Is this a joke?! Ohh, what to do, what to do?! For

the love of God, tell me, what to do?! Huh? Huh?”

“Cram it, oaf. Isn’t my smile enough?” Muimi-chan said

sulkily and headed toward the entrance.

“Hey, wait up! Don’t get mad so easily! What are you, a

kid?! Ahh, here we go. See ya at school, Emoto! Adieu! Let’s

hang out again soon, Ikkun!” Akiharu-kun gave a light wave

and chased after Muimi-chan.

“Bye-bye. See ya again,” Tomo-chan said as she waved

sluggishly back. As soon as the two had left, her hands went

for the present. She undid the ribbon and neatly opened the

wrapping paper.

“I wonder what it is. Ikkun, what do you think it is?” It

seemed the alcohol was mostly out of her system. Her cheeks

still had a bit of red in them and her voice was a little shrill,

but her personality seemed to have returned to its default

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 8

setting. “I’m a little excited. This kind of thing always makes

me giddy.”

“Well, it’s probably not yatsuhashi, at any rate,” I said. Incidentally,

the yatsuhashi I had brought had already been

evenly divided among the stomachs of all five party members.

“Judging from the size, it's probably an accessory or something.”

“Yeah, maybe. Oh, it’s a neckstrap. Pretty cool, huh?”

It was a capsule-style neckstrap with a liquid center. It

didn’t really look like a girly item, but as Tomo-chan had said,

it was pretty cool.

“Heheheh, it’s just what I was hoping for,” she said gleefully

as she immediately tried it on. “How does it look,

Ikkun?”

“It’s a good match,” I said, but I didn’t really know.

My eyes made their way from the gushing Tomo-chan over

to Mikoko-chan, who was snoozing in the comer. She looked

so peaceful that I couldn’t bear to wake her. Perhaps she was

planning to just spend the night at Tomo-chan's place.

“Hey, Ikkun,” Tomo-chan said, suddenly straightening herself

out. “I want to say thanks again for coming all the way out

here today.”

“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing you have to thank me

for.”

“But you don’t like doing this kind of thing, right?”

Her question was a little awkward, but it also came out as

if it was something totally normal to her. She delicately raised

her face to view my expression.

It was like . . .

She was looking through me.

Like she was looking at my brain from the inside.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 9

“Uh, no, I . . .”

“You don’t like opening up to other people, right?”

“It's all right. I don’t hate it. I actually kind of like goofing

around with everyone like chums.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s a lie.”

“Yes, it is.”

She snickered at me. But her eyes weren’t smiling. They

actually looked rather sad and lonely. The strange combination

of expressions had me puzzled.

What was wrong? What reason could she have for looking

so sad when she had spent her birthday surrounded by

friends?

There shouldn’t have been anything wrong.

Supposing there was . . .

“Mikoko-chan . . .” she said, casting a glance over at the

slumbering Mikoko-chan. “She’s really a great girl.”

“Yeah,” I responded. I was being unusually direct—by my

standards, anyway. “I bet she is.”

“I wanted to be like her.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But I couldn’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

She cast her eyes downward.

“And now here I am, twenty years old, still unable to be

like her. I’m sure it’ll go on like that. No matter how many

years pass, no matter how many decades. I’ll never be like her,

until the day I die.”

“What’s wrong with that? Everyone’s different.”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 0

“Say, Ikkun,” she said, looking up again. “Have you ever

felt like, as a human, you’re damaged goods?”

I had no idea how to respond.

“I have.” She was smiling. It was the saddest smile I had

ever seen.

“Everybody does . . .” The words just came out. Whether

they were really from the heart, I didn’t know. They were just

words of comfort. I was probably just saying words I didn’t

really mean so as to not have to see Tomo-chan look so sad.

What a slimeball.

How comical.

How terribly unseemly.

“Everyone feels like that sometimes, I suppose. Nobody’s

perfect, after all. We’ve all got our strong points and our weak

points. That’s what makes us human.”

“Yeah, I know. Even I know that, but you probably understand

that that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about

something more finite, I guess, or more lethal, like a fatal

wound, I guess.”

Boom.

The words shook me.

“It’s kind of like that.”

“. . . .” So this was the real reason I couldn’t read Emoto

Tomoe very well. Perhaps this was really it.

In other words, a long time ago . . .

“There’s another me right here,” she said, pointing over her

own right shoulder. “When I get all rowdy and have fun with

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 1

Muimi-chan and Akiharu-kun and Mikoko-chan and you like

this, that part of me is just watching on, sighing. It’s looking

down on me with cold disdain as I have my fun, saying ‘What

you’re doing won’t amount to anything.’ ”

“Sighing,” she said. “I know I’ll probably never be like

Mikoko-chan until the day I die, but maybe I’ll be able to

once I really do die. If I’m reincarnated, I want to come back

as Mikoko-chan. I want to be able to laugh with complete innocence

like her, to get mad when I want to be mad, to cry

like crazy when I’m sad. That’s what makes a great life.”

“I . . .” This time I was speaking from the heart. “I don’t

want to be reincarnated. I want to just hurry up and die.”

“I’ll bet,” she said with a gentle smile.

Mikoko-chan woke up around one hour later.

“Uhhh.” She shook the sleep out of her head. She still

looked pretty tired.

“So what’re you going to do?” I said. “I’m going home. Are

you going to stay the night?”

“No, I’ll go . . .” She rose to her feet in a daze. “It's okay,

I've sobered up. Give me ten more seconds.”

“Sure. I’ll take you home, then.” I was at least worth a ride

home, I wanted to emphasize, but she didn’t seem to get it.

She had been deeply immersed in sleep when Muimi-chan

left, so that made sense.

“Well, bye-bye, Tomo-chan.”

“Yep. See ya later.” She gave a little wave.

I took my bag and headed toward the entrance. I sat down

in the doorway and put on my shoes. They had messy laces, so

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 2

putting them on was always much more of a hassle than removing

them. Situations like these were an irritating waste of

time. Meanwhile, Mikoko-chan seemed to be having problems

with her own footwork, and a clumsy clopping noise could be

heard through the door separating us.

It probably wasn’t something to worry about. She appeared

in the hallway outside the entrance shortly after me.

“Ohh,” she moaned, rubbing her head. “My head hurts . . .

It’s spinning. It's like a murder at a convenience store, only the

murderer is wearing Rollerblades.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying. Are you sure you don’t

want to stay here for the night? There’s no need to overexert

yourself.”

“It’s okay, I can go.”

She hobbled down the hall on unsteady feet. I gave a shrug

and followed after her.

“So did you have fun?” she said once we were out of the

building.

“Eh, I guess. But I think I'll pass next time.”

“Don’t say that. Let’s do it again! With everyone! When’s

your birthday?”

“March.”

She looked defeated. “Mine’s in April. Ohh, I guess I

should’ve invited you sooner.”

“So where’s your place? I’ll take you back.”

“Near Horikawa. Horikawa Oike. But we’ve got to go to

your place first.”

“Why?”

“My scoot . . .”

Come to think of it, she had come as far as my place on

her bike.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 3

“Can you drive?”

“Sure . . .”

‘Okay then.” Obviously she was in no condition to drive,

but if she said she could drive, who was I to stop her? When

the time came, she could just call a taxi if she had to.

We took Nishiôji Street up to Nakadachiuri and broke east,

when for some reason, David Bowie music started playing

from somewhere. Thinking it was a nearby guerrilla concert, I

was a bit taken aback, but it turned out to be Mikoko-chan's

ringtone.

“Hm?” She pulled her phone out of her purse. “Hello? This

is Mikoko-chan, the spunky and energetic girl of Lake Ashi!

Hm? What? Tomo-chan?” It seemed it was a call from Tomochan.

“Yeah. Yeah . . . Yeah, he’s here with me right now.

He's walking right in front of me. Sure, I guess. Okay, I'll pass

it over.”

She passed me the phone. “It’s Tomo-chan. She wanted

me to give you the phone.”

“Me? Why?”

“. . . . ?”

I must have forgotten something at her place. I scratched

my head as I took the phone. It was more than a little smaller

than my own phone, so it felt kind of awkward.

“Hello?”

“. . . .”

“Hello?”

“Ikkun.”

A voice.

It was quivering, like she was afraid of something. It

could’ve been partially the phone’s fault, but something in her

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 4

voice was obviously different from when we had spoken moments

earlier at her place.

“Tomo-chan?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong? Did I forget something? I’ve got my bag

here.”

“No, it’s not that. Um . . . I forgot to tell you something

earlier.”

Forget to tell me something?

“Yeah, what?”

“Never mind. See you.”

Click.

Suddenly the call was cut off. Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeep.

Beeeep. After four rings, I took the phone away from my ear. I

scratched my head, stared at it for another three seconds, then

handed it back to Mikoko-chan. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” she said, taking it. “So what’d she say?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what that was about.”

“Huh?”

She gave me a confused expression, but I was the one who

was confused. Tomo-chan wanted to tell me something? Why

would she start and then stop like that?

“What? I wonder what it was. Maybe it was a secret or

something. Did you guys have some kind of secret talk?”

“No, nothing like that, but . . . oh yeah, Mikoko-chan.” I

switched trains of thought. “Is there somebody right here?” I

said, drawing a circle with my finger over her right shoulder.

“Huh?”

She raised a dubious eyebrow at me. Naturally.

“I mean, do you get the feeling someone is right there,

looking down on you?” I asked.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 5

“I don’t think so, but . . . why?”

“Eh, if you don’t feel it then don’t worry about it.”

“If somebody was there, it'd be pretty scary,” she said as

she imagined it. “But as for in here,” she said, pointing to her

own heart, “there is somebody.”

Huh. I nodded. Judging from her bashful smirk, she must

have been talking about her boyfriend.

In about ten more minutes, we had arrived at my apartment.

In the apartment parking lot, there was only a single

bike, so it must have been hers.

“Whoa, it’s a Vespa.” And a white vintage model, no less.

This girl called her Vespa a “scooter”? A Vespa is a Vespa,

and only a Vespa. Calling it a scooter was, to me, an insult.

And not just your everyday insult—it was the ultimate insult,

which threatened to shake my very existence. Everyone has

one thing that they’d sacrifice their own life for, that they'd

trade the world for, and to me, this was that thing. I wanted

to shout at Mikoko-chan. I angrily turned to face her.

“. . . .”

She was sleeping.

“I’m speechless.”

She was sleeping standing up. She had been awfully quiet

for a while. Was it possible that she had been sleepwalking?

She probably had been. This was the power of the human race

pushed to its absolute limit. I gave her a few taps on the

cheek, but she refused to wake up. I had the urge to start

stretching her face, but it seemed that there would be no way

to explain my way out of it if somebody happened to see us,

so I restrained myself.

“I wonder if I could just leave her here . . .”

If not, there were only two options.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 6

“Hup,” I groaned as I lifted her onto my back. She stirred a

little bit on the way, but didn’t wake up. Likely because she

was so short, she was actually quite light. Or maybe all girls

were like this.

With her still on my back, I entered the apartment, then

made my way up the stairs to the second floor. I clomped my

way down the boarded hallway to the room next to my own.

I knocked lightly.

“Yeah, wait one moment,” an answer came from inside.

Miiko-san soon appeared before us. She was dressed in yet a

different set of Japanese summer casual wear, which was red

this time. I was pretty sure this was the outfit with the word

Treachery printed on the back.

“Yes?” she said, eyeing the girl on my back suspiciously.

“You’re still under legal age, right?” she said after a moment's

thought. “Well, of course I'll let you hide out here, but speaking

purely out of kindness, I suggest you just turn yourself in.

Japan has a pretty capable police force. Not likely that you’ll

be able to escape.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that this time. Er, this girl’s a classmate.

Looks like she drank too much and passed out. Would

you be willing to let her spend the night?”

“Huh?” She put her hand to her chin and thought for a

moment. “Why don’t you just put her up yourself?”

“Eh, but I mean, as you can see, she's a girl. And it sounds

like she’s got a boyfriend, so I can’t just have her sleeping over

in my place, right?”

“Huh. Well, if that’s how it is, I guess I don’t mind. But

what is given today I will one day receive. To ignore thanks

where they’re due is a dastardly deed.”

“I gotcha. Want to go antiquing again?”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 7

“Yes. Okay then. So what’s this girl’s name?”

“Mikoko-chan. Er, last name is Aoi, I think.”

“Aoi Mikoko? Heh, strange name,” Miiko-san said, taking

Mikoko-chan from me. Everyone should have a neighbor as

dependable as her.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then.”

“Mm. Get some sleep. You’d best not make yourself out to

be some afternoon-sleeping lollygagger.”

“Huh? I never sleep in the afternoon.”

“Is that so? Well, just forget that then. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I bowed and returned to my room, where I laid down my

futon and curled up on it.

“Time to sleep.”

And so the day ended. Saturday, May fourteenth. No, it

had already passed zero o'clock, so it was Sunday the fifteenth.

So at zero o'clock twenty-four hours later, it would be

the sixteenth. The next zero o’clock would be the seventeenth.

Zero o’clock.

Zerozaki.

Wondering if that human failure was currently killing his

seventh person or had perhaps already dismembered his

eighth, the damaged goods gradually fell into a slumber.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 9

No more.

I don’t want to think anymore.

When I awoke to a knocking at the door, it was already past

eight o’clock.

I brushed the hair out of my face with both hands and rose

to my feet.

“Uhhh.”

I opened the door to find Mikoko-chan. Her usual hyper

greeting had been replaced with a shy look of apologetic embarrassment.

“Did I wake you?” she said meekly.

“Eh. It was time to wake up anyway,” I answered as I

stretched out. “Morning, Mikoko-chan.”

“Good morning, Ikkun. Um . . . I’m sorry about yesterday.

I sort of, er . . . it looks like I fell asleep.”

“Eh, forget about it. Just be sure to thank Miiko-san.”

“Ah, right.” She nodded after a moment of ambiguous

hesitation.

“Isn’t she a good person?”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 0

“Well, yeah, she is, huh? Kind of cool, I guess you could

say. So is she the ‘swordswoman freeloader’ you were talking

about?”

“Does she look like a thirteen-year-old little sister?”

“No, I guess not.” She awkwardly broke eye contact with

me and gave a brief pause. “I don’t know if it’s because she

practices sword fighting, but her clothes were kind of weird.

Sort of Japanesey, but like the kind of thing you’d wear to a

festival.”

“You mean her jinbei?”

“A djembe? What’s that?” Evidently Mikoko-chan had

never heard of it. “Oh, you mean like a jinbei shark?”

“Uhh, well, yeah. Have you ever seen the pattern on the

back of a jinbei shark? It’s just like they’re wearing that same

type of clothing. So we ended up naming that kind of Japanese

clothing jinbei, after the shark.”

“Ahh. You sure know a lot, Ikkun,” she said. “I’ll have to

teach that to Tomo-chan and the others.”

Yep. And if Tomo-chan and the others weren’t as cruel as

me, they would probably teach her the truth. Why did I tell

such meaningless lies? Perhaps it was time I gave that some

serious thought.

“So anyway,” Mikoko-chan said, changing the subject. “Are

you and that girl—Asano-san—are you two close?”

“She’s saved me from starvation a few times. But then I

saved her from being crushed under a pile of antiques, so

we’re even Steven. Those yatsuhashi you had yesterday were

from her too.”

“Huh,” she said with a complicated expression. “You know,

I don’t really like yatsuhashi.”

“Huh? Oh, you don’t say.”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 1

“Too sweet.”

“Huh. Miiko-san likes sweet stuff.”

“Well, I don’t.”

For some reason she was getting a little serious. I scratched

my head at her, not sure where she was going with this.

“Well, that’s fine. So what are you going to do now?” I

said.

“Oh, er, I’ve got this,” she said, pulling a pink, wrapped

present from her purse. “It’s Tomo-chan’s birthday present.

Forgot to give it to her. Big mistake, huh? I should’ve given it

to her before we all got drunk. I got carried away trying to get

things going.”

“Hm. Well, why not go give it to her now? She should be

home.”

“Yup, that’s the plan.” At last, she showed her trademark

smile. “Well, thank you. Let’s get together again.”

“We’ll see.”

“Why do you say stuff like that?! Let’s do something!”

“Just kidding. Fine by me. If I’ve got time, I’ll spend as

much of it with you as you want, so please invite me again,” I

said.

I only said it to be polite, but seeing Mikoko-chan’s face

light up, the guilt kicked in. Thinking she’d probably burst

into tears or rage if I said “just kidding” again, I just said, “See

you next time,” instead.

She gave a big, energetic nod and spun on her heels.

Something came to mind. “Hey, Mikoko-chan. Let me just

say one more thing.”

“Hm? What is it?”

“Call a Vespa a Vespa. Calling it a scoot is just offensive, so

knock it off.”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 2

“Wow, Ikkun giving an order?! It’s like a first-rate school

where you can wear your own clothes, but all the students

show up in uniforms anyway!”

“You got it or not?”

“Wow, you’re as scary as Muimi-chan . . .”

She seemed to seriously be a little scared. But I had to say

it firmly or she wouldn’t get it.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be careful from now on.” She made

her way down the hall. When she reached the comer, she

turned back around. “Hey! I’ve got something I want to say to

you too!”

“Huh? What?”

She took a big breath. “My last name is Aoii! Not Aoi! I

told you not to forget!”

I wanted to tell her I knew that, but then I realized that I

had introduced her to Miiko-san as “Aoi Mikoko.” Miiko-san

was the kind of person who was hard to correct once certain

information had entered her brain (thanks to me, she still believed

Shakespeare was a flavor of a McDonald’s McShake), so

she had probably spent the morning calling her “Aoi” over and

over. Well, maybe not that many times.

To me it didn’t seem like the difference between Aoi and

Aoii was such a big deal, but I decided that was probably fairly

rude. Japanese are as proud of their last names as Italians.

“Okay. I won’t forget again. I promise.”

“Okay then. Also . . .” She turned halfway back around. “I

don’t have a boyfriend,” she said softly, then quickly made her

way down the stairs as if trying to escape.

“Huh?” I probably looked more than a little confused.

Er . . .

What was that about?

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 3

She had probably heard that from Miiko-san as well. I did

seem to remember having that kind of conversation with her.

Something about Mikoko-chan not being able to stay in my

room because she had a boyfriend. But Miiko-san, she . . .

“I don’t go around regurgitating every little detail like that.”

Whoa. At some point she had appeared in front of me.

“Looks like we’ve got a couple people yelling in this dilapidated

apartment. Never mind that everyone can hear you

from their rooms; if you shout like that, the whole building’s

gonna come down.”

“Heh . . .”

“Now then, I have to go to work. Let’s hope that classmate

of yours learns to mind her p’s and q’s,” she said, and shuffled

her way down the hall. There was something frightening

about the fact that Rage was written on the back of her blue

jinbei. Maybe she and Mikoko-chan hadn’t gotten along so

well. Their names were sort of similar and all.

But in that case, the name thing seemed kind of dubious.

“Maybe she was actually awake last night . . .”

Sleeping while standing up is one thing, but walking

around while asleep isn’t all that easy. The power of the

human race pushed to its absolute limit isn’t something you

see every day. Maybe Mikoko-chan had actually been awake,

how lucid she may or may not have been at the time notwithstanding.

Maybe that was why she knew I had mistaken her

name and said she had a boyfriend.

She probably just didn’t want to bother with making the

trip home. But then she could’ve just said so without pretending

she was asleep. Some people sure do strange things, I

thought as I went back inside.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 4

Now then.

It was precisely that evening when the story started getting

altogether tiresome.

As I was alone in my room reading a fat book I had

checked out from the school library, a wild knocking came at

my door. Now, it’s only natural to be irritated when someone

interrupts your valued quiet time like this, but having become

rather accustomed to this kind of thing by now, I wasn’t particularly

angry. Wondering if it was that damned fifteen-yearold

brother coming to ask for money again, I opened the door.

“Oh.”

It was an older guy and a girl I had never seen before.

There was something particularly peculiar about the guy.

He was probably in his mid-to-late thirties, and not so much

tall as long-legged. Moreover, he had his hair slicked back.

Stranger still, even in this heat he was dressed in a black suit

and tie. It was a disturbingly bizarre way to be dressed. He

even had sunglasses on. If he had been a foreigner, I would’ve

been afraid it was the MIB here to erase my memory.

The woman, on the other hand, was dressed in a slightly

more normal suit and tight skirt. She had straight, black hair,

and was relatively pretty. But the look in her eyes was not ordinary.

Without a hint of the reservation normally expected

when meeting someone for the first time, her eyes met mine

with a penetrating, gouging gaze.

She took a step forward. “Have a look,” she said, flashing

me a police badge. “I’m Sasa Sasaki of the Kyoto Police First

Investigative Division.” It was the kind of name that threat-

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 5

ened to make you bite your own tongue. Her parents must

have been awfully whimsical.

“Oh. Hey.”

I gave a little head bob for the time being. The woman—

Sasaki-san—seemed a bit surprised by my reaction. Maybe I

should’ve shown more surprise myself, but it didn’t take more

than a glance to tell that these two were obviously police officers.

The thought of these two stone-faced individuals being

anything other than police officers was, to me, unimaginable.

The male officer chuckled to himself a bit and showed his

own badge, “Ikaruga Kazuhito from the same division. Mind if

we come inside for a bit?” It was essentially coercion in the

form of a question. As a kid, I naturally felt the urge to defy

this coercion, but it didn’t look like this Kazuhito-san would

let it fly.

“Oh, uh, well, sure. It’s small, though.”

I invited them into the room. They seemed surprised to

find that the inside of the room was just as small as I’d said,

but they passed it off with an impressive coolness. If I was

their boss, I would’ve given them a raise. Of course, not

being their boss, I didn’t give them squat.

“Please have a seat over there,” I said. I poured water into

two cups and placed them in front of the pair. Just as Mikokochan

had the day before, they ignored this completely.

“Allow me to be frank,” Sasaki-san said, eyeing me firmly.

“Emoto Tomo-san is dead.”

“Oh.” I prepared myself a glass of water and sat down

across from them. “Is that right?”

“ ‘Is that right?’ Is that all you have to say?” Sasaki broke

her poker face for the first time.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 6

“Oh, well, I’m not much for expressing emotion. I’m totally

shocked on the inside, so don’t pay it any mind.”

That and, by this point, I was becoming kind of used to

this sort of thing.

But I really was shocked. This was half because Tomoechan

had been killed, and half because the instant I had seen

these two outside my door, I had guessed they were here to

talk about Zerozaki.

I was half-relieved, half-stupefied. It was like a contradicttion

of emotions swirling around in my gut.

“Umm, is it safe to assume that since there are detectives

oil the case, she didn’t die under ordinary circumstances? Not

to mention that you’re from the First Investigative Division.”

Considering the kinds of cases First Investigative Divisions

usually handle.

“That’s correct.” Sasaki-san nodded. The seriousness of her

expression was pure and undiluted.

“So was it, by any chance, the ‘prowler’?”

She shook her head at my inquiry. “No.”

“Oh, really.”

It was like something had deflated. Part of me was relieved.

I couldn’t help but wonder why, but I quickly switched trains

of thought.

“What happened, then?”

“Her body was found this morning. She had been strangled

to death.”

“Strangled?”

Strangulation.

Emoto Tomoe.

Murdered . . . ?

I felt my heart going cold.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 7

Just how many people had I seen die? How long had it

been since I stopped counting dead friends? My first encounter

with death was before I could even remember.

“It’s been about a month since the last one, huh? That’s got

to be a new record.”

Sasaki-san gave me a sideways look. It was entirely different

from the kind of sideways looks Mikoko-chan gave me, a

purely intellectual pose completely devoid of any adorable

charm. Then again, in my whole life, I had never seen a pose

that was both intellectual and adorably charming, whether it

be from a male or a female.

“Did you say something?”

“No, just talking to myself. I do that a lot. They say I’m just

a nineteen-year-old soliloquy that can dress itself and walk

around.”

Although Sasaki-san looked satisfied with this answer, she

didn’t crack so much as a smirk.

Suddenly I noticed that Kazuhito-san had been closely

monitoring my expression. I kept quiet.

Interesting.

That explained the need for sunglasses. Sasaki-san was in

charge of doing the talking. Kazuhito-san was the observer. It

was marvelous nonsense. A true masterpiece.

It seemed I was a prime suspect.

“I guess that makes sense. I was with her all night.”

“Did you say something?”

“No, just your plain old, everyday nonsense.” I sat myself

up straight. Not that I was nervous, but maybe it was time to

start getting a little more serious. “So if she was killed, who

killed her?” I asked.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 8

“That’s currently under investigation. To tell you the truth,

that’s the reason we’ve come here today,” Sasaki-san said.

“Then tell me,” I wanted to say, but I refrained from provoking

her.

“You were in Emoto-san’s apartment from about six in the

evening to midnight. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Just to check, would you tell us the names of the other

people present during that period of time?”

“Umm.” Good luck, memory. “Emoto Tomoe-san, Atemiya

Muimi-san, Aoi . . . no, Aoii Mikoko-san, and Usami Akiharukun.

And then me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You arrived with Aoii-san. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Aoii-san first came to my place—here, I mean—

then we went to Emoto-san’s place together. It was around

six p.m.”

“More specifically? Was it before six or after?”

“Before.”

She was barraging me with questions. The limitations of

my mind’s processing speed had been surpassed long ago, and

my head was spinning.

“So all of the guests were there at that time . . ."

“Please wait a minute,” I interrupted. “I can’t settle down

and focus if you keep throwing out questions one after another

like that. I think I mentioned that, but this all has me a

little mixed up.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Sasaki-san said. It was the most

unapologetic apology of all time.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 9

I spent the next hour responding to her assault of

questions, divulging every last detail of the previous night’s

events. The things we talked about during the party. The

atmosphere of the party. My going to the convenience store

with Muimi-chan. Returning. Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan

leaving at around eleven o’clock. Akiharu-kun giving Tomochan

a present just before that. The neckstrap. My talk with

Tomo-chan after that. Leaving the apartment with Mikokochan

in tow. The phone call from Tomo-chan around the time

we reached Nishiôji Nakadachiuri. Leaving Mikoko-chan with

Miiko-san because she appeared to be sleeping (whether it

was the truth or not, I didn’t know). And then, sleeping.

Mikoko-chan’s short visit in the morning. The rest of the day,

which I spent reading.

I didn’t bother mentioning the intense pressure of having

Kazuhito-san peering over Sasaki-san’s shoulder the whole

time when she was already plenty scary on her own. We were

just sitting and talking, but I felt like I had wasted a great deal

of energy. And then there was Sasaki-san’s brilliant last line.

“Okay, so far this pretty much matches what we’ve already

heard.”

Boy, she was super.

The string of questions seemed to have come to an end for

the time being. “Hmm,” Sasaki-san said with a perplexed look.

But something about it seemed like an act. If Mikoko-chan

could be called a person of no façades, this woman, on the

other hand, was a person of nothing but façades, to the point

that they appeared to be her true personality. She certainly

wouldn’t be the easiest person in the world to deal with.

“So how about that phone call?” she said with a finger to

her temple. “She really didn’t say anything? According to