Zaregoto

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“Ah, crap, that was the bell.”

“Even if we go now, we’ll be marked as absent. Or rather,

he won’t even let us into the classroom,” I said.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Hate to

miss out on Akiharu’s studly performance, but let’s cut class.”

She was quick to make a decision. I hesitated to make a

decision for just a moment longer. But no amount of mental

effort would turn back the hands of the clock, so I just gave

up. “Fine.”

“So, what now? Wanna go eat?”

“The dining hall’s probably still crowded at this time,

right?

“Oh, right. Well, wanna stay here and chat a little more?”

“Well, then can I ask you something?” I said, thinking this

would make a good opportunity. “Was there anyone who

might’ve had something against Tomo-chan?”

Muimi-chan’s face immediately grew serious. It was like

she was deliberating over something. Or, more likely, she was

just mentally confirming something she’d already thought of.

“Nope, no one,” she said decisively, after a long pause and a

perplexed expression. “Logically speaking, nobody could have

had something against her.”

“ ‘Nobody could have had something against her’ . . . heh,

kind of a weird phrase. Sounds like a crappy translation or

something.”

“But I think it’s an accurate one. I mean, I think. I’ve

known her only since high school, though.”

“Speaking of which, how do you all know each other, anyway?

You said you’ve been friends with Mikoko-chan since

you were little kids, right?”

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“Mikoko and I were childhood friends, and then I met

Akiharu and Tomoe in high school.”

“Hey, wait. Isn’t that a little strange?”

“What?”

“Mikoko-chan is nineteen, and her birthday is in April.

Tomo-chan just turned twenty. . . .”

“Oh, no. Tomoe repeated a grade in junior high.”

“Ah.” So she hadn’t entered college late or returned from

abroad after all. She had just been held back a year. I hadn’t

even considered that option.

“The thing is, she was in the hospital for a long time. She

had to take about half a year off, and even after that she

tended to be absent a lot. She just didn’t have the attendance

record in order to pass. Apparently she was pretty sick. They

said she was near death.”

Near death.

Death.

Awareness of death.

“Hahhh . . .” I tried my best to be coolheaded about it, but

I wasn’t sure how well I managed to pull it off. “I see, so that’s

what it was.”

So that was Emoto Tomoe’s story. I nodded a few times so

that Muimi-chan wouldn’t notice my surprise.

“So anyway, it’s been the four of us ever since high school.

Apparently that was when Akiharu and Tomoe first met too.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Oh, right. So in other words, Tomoe was really good at

adapting. Or wait . . . maybe that’s not it. Maybe she was a

little bit like you, if you don’t mind my saying,” she said,

pointing at me twice. “You’ve heard of the ‘personal space

bubble,’ right? Well, she was extremely good at defining

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them. She could get close to people as far as a certain point,

but she would never step over that line. She would never

come into intimate contact with anybody, and on top of that

she never let anybody come into intimate contact with her.

She always stayed at a cautious distance, never too near or too

far. Kind of like a master sword fighter.”

“. . .”

The term sword fighter made Miiko-san spring to mind for a

second.

“Tomoe was my friend, but . . . I don’t think she ever

opened up to me. I also don’t think I was ever any help to

her.”

“I doubt that,” I said, but my words probably didn’t mean

anything to her. They didn’t mean much to me either.

Whether her hunch about Tomo-chan was right or not, it

probably wasn’t very far from the truth.

But Muimi-chan, you mustn’t mix things up. It’s incredibly

rude to Tomo-chan. If you’re really her friend, you shouldn’t

be saying such things.

Tomo-chan and I weren’t alike. We were simply on similar

tracks. In essence, however, we were different.

The only ones who are really similar to me are the murderers,

Muimi-chan.

“Anyway, she was that kind of chick so by nature she

couldn’t have done anything to incite a grudge. I think you

can say that for certain.”

“Then who the hell killed her?”

“Like I know. Probably that serial killer.”

“The serial killer uses knives, I think.”

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“Well, whatever. Somebody killed her. Those cops looked

pretty sharp, so I’m sure they’ll find who did it if we just let it

be. There’s nothing we can do right now anyway.”

She wore a stern face that didn’t match her passive comment.

Surely she was speaking these words against her own

will. Her beloved friend had been murdered, and there was

nothing she could do. She must have felt helpless.

But it really was beyond her control. It was probably true

that she had no idea who the killer could have been. She had

nobody at whom to direct her anger.

Hmm.

“What the hell is everyone doing?” she said, looking at all

the students walking by outside the lounge. “Seriously, what

the hell are they doing?”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone. Everyone here. It’s so stupid. They’re just

living. They’re just not dead, that’s all. They’re just fucking

living.”

They’re just fucking living.

She repeated the phrase one more time. “Ah, I’m groggy,”

she said, straightening up again. “I wonder if any of these

people really have a purpose. A purpose for living, or a future

goal or something. I wonder if they actually have those

things.”

“They must. I mean, I’m sure it varies from person to person.

But it doesn’t really matter either way.”

“That’s not really what I’m trying to say. I don’t know. It’s

not that complicated. Like, take those chicks over there,” she

said, pointing to a group of girls on the opposite side of the

lounge. They had a sophisticated air about them, suggesting

they were probably sophomores or juniors. I couldn’t make

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out what they were saying, but even if I could hear them, they

were most likely chattering about something I wouldn’t have

understood anyway. They were laughing and slapping one

another on the back with giddy enjoyment.

“Now let’s say I had an assault carbine in my hands. An

M4A1. Then I aim at them, and . . . ratatatatata! What would

happen?”

I looked over at them once again. Their laughter was just as

giddy as before, but in my head, I saw them drenched in

blood, their bodies torn apart, pieces blown all the way out

the window.

“Well, I suppose they’d probably die.”

“Yeah, they’d probably die. But in that moment, what

would they be thinking? Would they have regrets? . . . I don’t

think they would.”

She glared at them with contempt, but none of them noticed.

They were fully absorbed in their own chatter, so much

that they didn’t even glance in our direction.

“They probably wouldn’t have a shred of remorse. Nothing

left undone. After all, they’re just living their lives without

any goals or aspirations. What could they possibly leave

behind?”

“. . . .”

“Of course, I’m not saying life is dull. It’s got its moments.

But all these people are desperate. They’re all desperately

looking for a way to kill tomorrow’s time. Suddenly they’re all

just thinking about ways to kill time. ‘How will I spend tomorrow?

And the next day? How can I kill twenty-four

hours?’ Like idiots, they desperately scramble for ways to fill

their schedules. But what is that? What’s the point in that?

Tomorrow might as well not come at all, if they’re just living

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to kill time. If you’re just living, you might as well die. . . .

That’s what I think, anyway. . . . Ah, sorry, I guess that was all

kind of weird.”

“No, it was really interesting.”

And I really meant it.

Muimi-chan was probably thinking this, as well: In the

end, what about Tomo-chan? What was she thinking in that

moment when she was killed? For Muimi-chan, who had

never been able to step over that line into Tomo-chan’s heart,

this would remain an eternal mystery. But if I were simply to

speculate, if I were to speak from what I had seen as a passive

observer, I would bet that she was no different from the giddy

girls we were observing: Tomo-chan died with no regrets.

“The dining hall’s probably cleared out a bit by now.”

Muimi-chan checked the time on her watch and stood to her

feet. “Let’s get some food. If we go to Ryôyû Hall we can

probably get a seat.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, but would you mind just going alone? I’m

not really hungry.”

“Oh,” she said, tilting her head at me a bit. She started to

take off, but then came to a halt and looked back at me.

“By the way, how do you know Mikoko’s birthday is in

April and that she’s nineteen?”

“I heard it from her.”

“Let me rephrase that: Why did you remember something

like that? Your memory is totally crap. There’s no way you

would remember details like that, normally.”

It was a rude question, but she was probably justified in

doubting me, considering I had completely forgotten Akiharukun’s

face.

“Eh, well, I have my reasons. I won’t get into it.”

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“Hmm?” she said with a puzzled look, but didn’t pry any

further.

“Let me ask one last question too,” I said. “Muimi-chan, do

you know what x over y is?”

“Hm? Probably means x divided by y, right?”

“Yeah, right.”

“I don’t know of any other explanation.”

“Okay, don’t worry about it. Thanks.”

“What’s this about?”

“It was Tomo-chan’s dying message. I don’t know what it

means.”

She looked a bit puzzled by the phrase dying message, but

again, she didn’t pry.

“Mmm . . . Well, see ya later,” she said after a moment’s

thought. “Don’t forget about Mikoko.” She waved a hand at

me and left the lounge.

I waved good-bye to her. From there, I stayed in the

lounge for a while, not thinking anything in particular, just

sitting in a daze. Soon enough my throat started to hurt from

all the cigarette smoke, so I made my way outside. I put my

hand into my pocket, where it touched a piece of paper. I

pulled it out to see that it was the memo Muimi-chan had just

given me with Mikoko-chan’s address written down.

“Guess I don’t have a choice. . . .”

Maybe I should have viewed this as another good opportunity.

Fortunately, the class after general education was a

lecture in which the professor never took attendance. I considered

my options for approximately three seconds before

settling on a self-declared holiday.

At the same time, I thought about the fact that when I

died, not only would I not have regrets—I would be relieved.

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And, walking by all those people who were just living utterly

without purpose, I left the lounge behind.

Mikoko-chan’s apartment in Horikawa Oike was even more

lavish and splendid than Tomo-chan’s. It was far too ritzy for a

mere college student; it had an almost sublime air about it.

“Now then . . .”

The bus deposited me in front of her apartment building at

just around two o’clock. The time right now, however, was

3:30. So, looking at the facts objectively and rationally, this

meant I’d spent an awkward hour and half just standing at the

building’s entrance.

“What was he doing all that time? Why, he was shaking in

his boots at the very idea of visiting a girl of his age in her

apartment where she lived alone.” I said aloud.

I tried to reaffirm the current state of affairs and apply a

personal interpretation, but there was hardly a point. It made

me feel kind of stupid. But if I thought about it, this was

possibly the first time I had ever made a decision to take an

action, and then still hesitated to the point that I wasn’t

moving at all. If it had been a close friend, I wouldn’t have

gone to such lengths to consider each and every little possibility

and detail, but I had only known Mikoko-chan for a few

days (or actually since last month). That didn’t bother me,

personally, but I didn’t want to accidentally put Mikoko-chan

in a bad mood.

That is to say, as an innately passive human being, I suck at

taking the initiative.

“Man, this is so lame. . . .”

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Still, an hour and a half was a bit much, even for me. The

longer I stood there, the stupider I felt, but I at last made up

my mind and stepped inside the building.

Unlike Tomo-chan’s building, there was no autolock here

and thus no need for a card key, but there was a security

camera watching over the lobby. Much more effective than an

autolock, which is pretty easy to get past. Of course, the most

effective method was what they had in Kunagisa’s monster of

an apartment: a real live security guard.

I looked at the memo I had received from Muimi-chan.

Fourth floor, room three.

I boarded the elevator and pressed four. I arrived at the

fourth floor a moment later and began my way down the

narrow hallway. Then I spotted surveillance cameras in front

of the elevator and on both sides of the hallway. Wasn’t security

a bit too tight here? Even convenience stores didn’t have

this many cameras. Maybe a big celebrity was living here in

secret. Even though it was Kyoto. Or wait, maybe it was

because it was Kyoto.

My head full of these meaningless ponderings, I arrived at

the door of room three. Deciding that since I’d made it this

far, there was no point in hesitating anymore, I went ahead

and pushed the button for the intercom.

Inside, I heard a relatively normal-sounding bell ring, and

then the sound of someone moving around. Figuring that, as a

girl, she would probably take some time getting ready before

coming to the door, I prepared myself for the long haul and

leaned up against the wall behind me.

“Okay, I’m opening up now!”

Wha?

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Wow. That was freaking fast. I guess I should’ve been glad,

but something about it gave me a bad feeling. And as a passive

observer, my unpleasant premonitions boasted a 100 percent

accuracy rate. Crap. Something big was coming.

“This is pretty late for you, Muimi-chan. . . . Did something

happen?”

K-chunk.

The lock slid open with a satisfying sound and the door

opened.

I failed to respond, and Mikoko-chan couldn’t respond.

It was a dead freeze, and ctrl + alt + del wouldn’t fix it.

“Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . .” She turned bright red, then pale

blue. Then back to bright red.

“Ciao,” I greeted, for lack of a better idea.

“Eeeeeyaaaaahhhh!!!!” She let out an ear-piercing scream as

the door slammed shut with such an incredible noise and force

that I thought the entire frame might break. The whole world

distorted for a moment, and then came a silence, as if the

whole thing had never happened.

Well, if worse came to worst, at least the security cameras

could vouch for my innocence in regards to her scream.

“Well . . . then again . . .”

She was still wearing her morning face. Her hair was all

messy, and her bunny-print pajamas were partially unbuttoned.

So Mikoko-chan’s reaction to suddenly being confronted

by a member of the opposite sex wasn’t all that weird

after all.

“Why?!” came a voice from the other side of the door. She

sounded like she was just barely holding back tears. Or maybe

she wasn’t holding them back at all. “Why-why-why-why?

What are you doing there? Wasn’t Muimi-chan supposed to

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be coming over? It’s like, gumshoe Asagi Semimaru solves the

case of the sealed room decapitation murders right away, but

the culprit was caught red-handed! Oh, my head! I don’t get

this! Why?! Nowaynowaynoway! You’re a ghost! This is a lie!

A dream! A nightmare!”

Aw, crap, she was panicking.

I wasn’t doing such a great job keeping my cool either, but

with her getting this flustered, I might just be able to keep my

wits about me. Interesting. So Muimi-chan was originally

planning to come visit her. Then that lazy punk passed the

role over to me, and she hadn’t even told Mikoko-chan about

it.

Okay, conditions confirmed. Proceed with maneuver authorization.

“This is creepy! You shouldn’t even know where I live!

You’re an illusion! This is all some vicious prank!”

“Well, I’ll explain everything later, so just let me in. No

point in standing her talking like this.”

“Go away! Hurry up and go! No wait, I’m sorry, don’t go!

I’ll go clean up and get ready, so wait a minute! Please! And

forget what you just saw!”

“I’ve already seen you once, so what’s the big deal? Just let

me in.”

“No!”

With that final, sharp rejection, I heard her stomp back

into the depths of her room. This was followed by what

sounded like full-on battle. She was probably cleaning up. She

really didn’t have to go to the trouble, I thought as I leaned

back against the wall again. I waited half an hour before she

finally let me in. It was past four o’clock.

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The structure of the apartment itself wasn’t so different

from Tomo-chan’s, but there was a ridiculous amount of furniture

and other furnishings. It seemed Mikoko-chan was a

woman who liked her material possessions. It wasn’t a messy

place, but you couldn’t deny there was a little clutter.

“Wait a sec, okay? I’ll pour some tea.”

She wore a pink camisole and shorts. The outfit exposed

far more skin than her pajamas from before, but I wasn’t

about to say anything. Her hair was also very nicely styled. It

was like she had become a completely different person.

She placed a cup on the low table. Of course it wasn’t

filled with tap water, but with delicious-looking barley tea. It

had three ice cubes in it and looked nice and cold.

She plopped down across from me. “Um-um-um . . . So

what’s going on, Ikkun?”

Perhaps still shaken up, she was acting a bit strange. If she

had been walking around Shinkyôgoku, the mobile police

would have stopped her for sure.

“Um, so yeah, Muimi-chan should be here any minute! It’s

already past the time we were supposed to meet, oh my God,

where is that silly girl?”

“Uh, I’m her substitute,” I said, waving for her to calm

down.

“Wha!” she cried in surprise, and then flashed an ambiguous

smile that seemed to express anger, embarrassment, joy,

and some other stuff I couldn’t put my finger on all at the

same time.

“Freaking Muimi-chan . . .”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not planning to be here long, so just

relax. I heard you were feeling pretty lousy, but I’m glad to

see you seem pretty alive.”

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“Oh . . .”

“The word lousy seemed to spur a reaction out of her, and

she hung her head down. Perhaps I hadn’t been careful

enough with my wording, I thought, but that was the only

way I knew how to phrase it.

Yes. Not only had Mikoko-chan’s friend been killed;

Mikoko-chan was also the first one to see her friend’s corpse.

She was the first person to have the image of that still, lifeless

body burned onto her retinas. And that burned image probably

still remained, even now. It wasn’t something she could

just bounce back from.

“So you came here because I haven’t been going to school

and you were worried about me?”

“Yeah. Well, something like that.”

The reality of it was a little different, but I supposed the

difference was negligible.

This time she flashed a straightforward, happy smile.

“Thank you!” she spouted. “I’m so happy you came!”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I didn’t even bring anything.”

I realized this as I said it. Showing up to another person’s

house without bringing anything was probably pretty thoughtless

of me. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t feeling

well. But since I had come directly from school, I didn’t

reckon there was anything I could’ve done.

“Oh, no problem,” Mikoko-chan said. “It’s not like I’m

incapacitated or something. It’s just that . . . if I go to school, I

know I’ll start thinking about Tomo-chan.”

“But it’s not like you don’t think about her when you stay

home, right?”

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“Well, that’s true, but . . .” She laughed weakly. “But seeing

you has cheered me up. I’m okay. I’ll be going to school again

starting tomorrow.”

“I don’t really think the school thing matters one way or

the other. Have the police been visiting you?”

“Yeah, a few times. A big guy and kind of a scary lady. But

I was the one who found her body, after all, and this is a

murder case.”

“Who could’ve killed her?” I said, not so much asking as

talking to myself, but still loud enough so that Mikoko-chan

could hear.

“I don’t know.” Her weak response was no surprise.

“Tomo-chan wasn’t the type of girl to make enemies. That’s

for sure.”

“Yeah, that’s what Muimi-chan said, too. But I wonder . . .

realistically speaking, is it actually possible to live without ever

being resented or disliked by anybody? I have my doubts

about that.”

“Huh?”

“I think it’s worth considering the possibility that you only

feel that way about Tomo-chan because you two were such

good friends, at that in reality, someone out there did resent

her. Even if that resentment was unmerited.”

She grew unbearably silent. She wore such an expression

of pain that I blurted out an apology. “Sorry.” She may have

been acting strong, but she was still in no state to be discussing

things like this yet.

“I shouldn’t have come here after all, huh?”

“Huh? Why?”

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I really hadn’t meant for her to hear me. But her face

swung back up at me. She’d heard. “Ikkun, that isn’t true. I’m

glad you came.”

“Come on . . . you’re just trying to look cheerful because

I’m here, right?”

A close friend, one who could speak frankly to her, like

Muimi-chan, would have been much better in this situation.

“But that isn’t true,” she persisted. “Even if I am just acting,

the more I do it, the truer it’ll become, right? I’m fine. I’m

really glad you came. Even if you were just doing what

Muimi-chan said and you really hate being here.”

“I don’t hate being here. . . . If I hate something, I say so.”

“Really?”

“Nah, I just thought I’d try saying it. I’m actually pretty

easy to push around.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she agreed.

I let out something like a sigh and stretched my arms. “All

joking aside, how are you really feeling? Are you finally starting

to get over the shock?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just . . .” Her eyes shifted to my right.

I followed her gaze to see that there were scattered piles of

newspapers and magazines lying around. “Umm, do you mind

if I talk about when I was in elementary school and stuff?”

“Go for it. I’ll listen.”

“It was when I was in the third grade. The building my

class was in was undergoing construction, so trucks and bulldozers

were constantly coming and going. But then one day,

there was sort of a near miss, and a truck carrying a big load of

sand crashed into the first-grade building.”

“Gee, I wouldn’t call something that big a ‘near miss.’ ”

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“Well, maybe not. The wall was smashed in, and sand

spilled into the classroom, burying some of the first graders. It

was a mess. But you know, we were still kids, so to us it was

almost like a fun event. Muimi-chan was going wild, surfing

on the sand mound and stuff.”

“Heh.” She really did seem like she would’ve been that

kind of kid.

“So, then, the next day. I woke up early and went to read

the newspaper. Anybody would be proud to have their school

mentioned in the newspaper, right? I mean, it was just because

the accident had happened there, so it wasn’t really anything

to be proud of, but just the idea that my school was ‘in

the papers’ was enough to make me happy.”

“Well, you were just a kid.”

“But you know what? It wasn’t in the paper,” she said with

an uncharacteristically glum sigh. “To me, it was such a big

incident, but on a national level, it wasn’t a big deal at all. I

don’t remember what the headline article was that day, but in

that moment, it felt like someone was telling me, ‘Your

existence isn’t worth squat.’ Something so amazing to me

didn’t mean a damn thing to everyone else. It was the saddest

feeling.”

“. . .”

“I feel kind of the same way now,” she said, pointing to the

stacks of newspapers and magazines. I could see where she

was coming from. Sensational murder stories like this Kyoto

prowler were one thing, but the papers weren’t likely to dwell

for very long on something as ordinary (sorry to say) as the

murder of a single college student in her apartment. It would

be in the news the next day, and then maybe the next at best.

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But even then, it would be a brief article that didn’t take up

too many column inches.

I grew silent. Mikoko-chan did likewise. We remained in

complete silence like this for a while, but she was the first one

to break it, with a question that took things in a confusing

new direction.

“Ikkun, have you gone antiquing or anything with Asanosan

since the other day?”

“Huh?” I blinked at her. “What? What do you mean?”

“I . . . oh, I’m sorry! I don’t know where that came from! I

didn’t mean to ask that!”

“It’s okay. . . .”

Now how did she know that I went antiquing with Miikosan

sometimes? There was no way Miiko-san would’ve told

her something that personal. Come to think of it, I seemed to

remember that I might have promised to go with her again . . .

oh, yeah, that’s right. Was Mikoko-chan awake that time?

“Does it bother you, by any chance?” I asked.

“What what what? Does what bother me?”

I had asked because I thought she might be feeling bad that

I had to promise to go antiquing with Miiko-san just to thank

her for putting Mikoko-chan up for the night, but this nervous

reaction was not what I was expecting. There was just no

reading this girl.

“Anyway, don’t let it bother you. We do that a lot.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. She likes antiquing quite a bit. Did she show you

inside her closet? As small as that room is, she won’t stop

buying antiques. I guess she sells them after she’s enjoyed

them for a while, though. She says art isn’t something one

person should monopolize.” At the same time, however, she

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was no saint herself. “Basically I’m there to carry her stuff.

Even a guy like me has some basic strength, and they say you

should always lend what you have to others. I’m not particularly

interested in antiques, but that doesn’t mean I hate

them or anything, so if she asks me, I go.”

“Huh. I see. So you and Asano-san go out . . . a lot . . . and

stuff.” For some reason her voice was trailing off.

“Not a lot, really. But you see, she’s been in Kyoto for a

long time. She said she’s been living here alone ever since she

dropped out of high school. I got her to show me around to all

the Buddhist temples and shrines once while we were

antiquing, like Seimei Shrine and the Philosopher’s Walk. Do

you know ’em?”

“Yeah. Well, I know the names, anyway. I’m not really interested

in that stuff.”

“Huh? Didn’t you say you knew Kyoto pretty well?”

How could she know Kyoto well if she wasn’t even interested

in the temples and shrines?

“Oh, uh, well, you know, yadda yadda yadda,” she said,

blatantly dodging the question. “How come you only remember

that kind of stuff? . . . Er, I mean, you and Asano-san must

be pretty close then, huh?”

This conversation was starting to sound familiar. She was

awfully hung up on the whole Miiko-san subject. Had something

happened between them? I couldn’t imagine what might

have taken place in just a single night. Why was she trying so

hard to bring me and Miiko-san together? It didn’t make

much sense to me.

“Yeah, well, she’s a pretty interesting person and all,” I

said. “But we’re not ‘close,’ per se; she kind of takes care of

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 8

me. Like sometimes she lends me her car. It’s a Fiat 500. You

know, the Fiat 500.”

“Huh . . . well, maybe it’s all okay then.”

Apparently having no interest in cars whatsoever (she

drove a ‘scoot,’ after all), she let my words pass right through

her and started babbling about something I didn’t understand.

“I wonder if she minds you coming to another girl’s house

like this.”

“Huh? Oh. Uhh, are you telling me to leave?”

“No, that’s not what I mean! I mean, you go out with her

and stuff, right? So, I mean . . . dammit, Ikkun, you pinhead!”

she shrieked, slamming her hands on the table, her face bright

red. Why she was getting so emotional over this, I had absolutely

no idea. All I could do was be confused. It all seemed

awfully unreasonable to me, but it was obvious that my presence

was only making her angry.

“I don’t really get it, but I’m sorry,” I said.

“Ahhh,” she moaned. “Fine, let me put it another way. You

and Asano-san go shopping and stuff together, right?”

“Well, yeah. Not to run the point into the ground or anything.”

“So would you go shopping and stuff with me too, then?”

Her logic here was beyond my comprehension, but her

face was written with such a sincere look of what could only

be described as “last-ditch desperation” that I just couldn’t

bear to point that out.

“Yeah, I guess I would. No reason not to.”

“Really? For sure? You’re not just saying that because

you’re on the spot?”

Her whole body leaned forward like her life depended on

the answer to this question. She chewed on her lip. She

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 9

looked for all the world like a little kid who was about to start

bawling. Her emotions were exposed so plainly that there was

no way you would guess she was a university student about to

turn nineteen.

“You sure are hung up on this. Did something happen, by

any chance?”

“Answer the question!”

“I mean . . . probably. I can promise, if you’d like.”

“Really? You really mean it?”

“I don’t lie. As a general rule.”

“You absolutely mean it?”

“If there’s something you want to buy, sure.”

“This is a promise! If you forget, I’ll be pissed!”

“Okay.”

Overwhelmed by Mikoko-chan, I had gone and let her pull

a promise out of me. But it wasn’t such a terrible thing, so I

decided to let it slide. This, at last, seemed to calm her down,

and she proceeded to drink down the tea in her cup in a single

gulp.

“Ahh,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry. Occasionally I get a little

emotional and I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“Occasionally? Did you just say occasionally?”

“Er, well, all the time,” she nodded, sheepishly.

Huh.

The shock of Tomo-chan’s death. Certainly Mikoko-chan

wasn’t completely over it, but at least she wasn’t so down that

she was thinking about following after her by committing

suicide or anything. Somehow she was keeping herself together.

Some of the stuff she was saying didn’t make a lot of

sense, but that was forgivable. It seemed she was okay for the

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 0

time being. She would probably be mostly recovered by

Saturday.

“Well, that’s it for me today,” I said, starting to get up. “I’m

afraid I’ve got to go.”

“What-what-what? You’re going already? Oh, I’m sorry, I

did put you in a bad mood, didn’t I?”

“I said I didn’t plan on staying long when I got here, right?

Well, let’s get together again soon.”

“Ah, um!” she said, stopping me as I tried to leave. “Um . . .

um, Ikkun.”

“What?”

“Um . . .” She hesitated a bit, a lot, rather, and thought for

a while before she spoke. “What do you think Tomo-chan

wanted to say that last time you talked to her?” she said.

The final phone call.

Tomo-chan had tried to tell me something.

“I have no idea, really. That day was the first time I ever

even talked to her, so how could I possibly know something

like that? I don’t even know why she was talking to me. But,

Mikoko-chan, you must have some idea, right?”

“I . . .” she dropped her head down. “I don’t know. I don’t

even have a clue.”

“. . .”

“Because Tomo-chan never talked to anyone.”

She never talked.

She never opened up to anybody. She kept her cautious

distance.

“It was like our friendship took place through an unbreakable

sheet of glass. She never told me anything deep about

herself, about what she felt in her heart.”

“. . .”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 1

Then why had such a person made an attempt to talk to

me? “Nonsense,” I muttered aloud.

“Huh? What?”

“I doubt I’ll get much of an answer out of you with the

current state you’re in, so I won’t ask a lot, but Mikoko-chan,

will you answer just this one question for me?”

“Wh . . .” She wore a puzzled expression. “What?”

“What do you think x over y means?”

She thought it over for a moment. “I don’t know,” she answered.

Oh, I see. How about that.

I nodded and said, “Well, see you at school. Sorry I bothered

you.” With that, I left her apartment. I proceeded out of

the building and began contemplating what to do next.

Horikawa Oike.

There was quite a distance between here and my apartment,

but even still, I could probably make it home in around

thirty minutes on foot. It seemed like a waste of money to

bother getting on a bus, so I decided to just walk.

It never crossed my mind that the world’s greatest entrepreneur

might be waiting in my room.

Near my apartment, by Senbon-demizu, I ran into Miiko-san,

who was out for a stroll, aloof from the world. When she

noticed me, she sped up to a pace unusually fast for her and

came over to greet me.

“Yo.”

“Hello. On your way to work?”

“Nope. Today I’m going to Mount Hiei.”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 2

“Ahh, with Suzunashi-san?”

She nodded. Suzunashi-san, full name Suzunashi Neon,

was Miiko-san’s close friend. She worked part-time at Enryaku

Temple on Mt. Hiei in Shiga Prefecture. Some called her

“Violence Neon.” Others, “Blackout Suzunashi.” She was sort

of a cool lady, but prone to flipping out randomly. I occasionally

saw her myself, but she would lecture me about

something every time. For someone so young, she was

strangely fond of lecturing others. It was hardly her only major

personality issue, but I liked her more or less as much as I

liked Miiko-san.

“It sounds like she wants some advice on something, so I’m

going out there. I’ll be back by tomorrow, so watch over

things back here in the meantime. If someone comes to see

me, just get their name and tell them whatever you want. If

it’s someone freaky-looking, don’t worry about it.”

“Uhh, sure, no problem, I guess.”

“Also, you have a visitor.”

“A visitor? For me?”

“. . .”

“Yup,” she nodded.

“When I noticed her, she was breaking into your place. She

had a little pizzazz about her. Or rather, a ton of pizzazz. I

don’t know who it was, but her gender appeared to be female.

She didn’t seem to be up to anything in particular, so I just let

it be.”

A female? What woman was likely to come visit my place?

I didn’t have many friends to begin with, so it seemed like I

should’ve been able to narrow it down pretty easily. But the

way things had been going lately . . .

“Was she about this tall? If so, it was that detective.”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 3

“No. That was no detective. Detectives don’t look like

that,” she affirmed with confidence. “Besides, I’ve met that

detective you’re talking about. I never forget a vibe I get from

someone. Oh yeah, and there was a car parked by the apartment

that looked like it was probably hers. Maybe it’ll give

you a clue. Well, see ya,” she said, and made her way towards

the parking lot. Today’s jinbei had the word Tranquility printed

on the back. Yep, she was in a good mood today, possibly

because she was going to see Suzunashi-san.

But what did Suzunashi-san want with her anyway? She

was the type of person who rarely called on others, so I

couldn’t get it out of my head. And just what kind of “advice”

was she seeking? She may have liked sticking her nose in other

people’s problems, but when it came to sharing her own problems

with others, Suzunashi-san was wholly passive.

“Something’s odd here.”

But the more pressing issue for me right now was: Who

was this “visitor” currently waiting inside my apartment? If it

wasn’t Sasaki-san, who was it? There was always Muimi-chan

and Mikoko-chan, but it was unlikely to be either of them.

And Kunagisa was an all-out shut-in, so it was highly improbable

that it could’ve been her.

I turned onto Nakadachiuri.

“Gah . . .”

Suddenly, everything was clear. Parked on the shoulder of

the road, as if to say that it was above all traffic laws, was a

spectacular bright red Cobra. Completely out of place in a city

like Kyoto, it was a monstrous, incredible specimen of machinery.

“Oh my God . . . I don’t want to go home.”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 4

I seriously considered the idea of running straight to Kunagisa’s

place, but based on personal experience, I could

imagine the cruel fate that would be in store for me if it were

ever revealed that I’d attempted escape. Giving up, I went

back to the apartment, dragging my feet all the way.

I climbed up the stairs and headed for my room. The fact

that my locked door was no longer locked didn’t surprise me.

This was a woman who could mimic voices, pick locks, and

read minds: The most difficult task was for her as easy as

breathing. I opened the door to see the private contractor,

adorned in a wine-red suit as dark as blood, sitting on the windowsill

with legs crossed, as if her presence were the most

natural thing in the world.

Uncompromising.

Aloof.

“Hey, Aikawa-san.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me by my last name?”

“Hey, Jun.”

She gave me a slightly cynical grin.

Aikawa Jun.

Mankind’s greatest private contractor. I had met her a

month ago through the great fiasco that had occurred on that

island. She left me that day with the cool line, “If our fates are

linked, we shall meet again,” only to show up to hang out at

my university the next day. She was kind of weird like that.

And what’s more, she spent the following week making me do

her bidding, not even allowing time for sleep, until finally

having to leave Kyoto for a job. Speaking from that experience,

she was a woman with whom I didn’t particularly want

to get involved. She was perhaps the most unnerving person I

had ever met.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 5

Looking at her with all the objectivity I could summon, she

was extremely wild—and she was a beauty of such wicked

allure it was hard to resist her. She had any number of

eccentric mannerisms. And she was completely unapproachable.

She looked at me, searching my expression. “You don’t

seem at all surprised to see me.”

“Oh, no, I am. So you’re back in Kyoto, huh?”

“Yeah, well, y’know, duty calls. We can talk about that

later, though. . . . Ahh, I get it. You saw the flashing car outside

and it tipped you off, huh?”

“No, actually the girl next door told me.”

“Aw, and I was being extra careful not to be noticed. That

makes me extremely . . .” Aikawa-san’s expression grew sharp

as a knife for a moment, but it was only for a moment before

she reverted back to her normal sardonic smirk. “Eh, whatever,”

she said.

I removed my shoes and stepped into the room, then made

my way straight to the sink. I poured a cup of tap water and

served it to her. “Enjoy,” I said.

“Muchas gracias,” she replied, and drank about half of it

before placing it on the windowsill.

Geez, she took it as if there was nothing unusual about it.

Just once I wanted to see Aikawa-san get surprised about

something.

“So what’s going on? Why are you back in Kyoto?”

“I said I’ll tell you later. More important, allow me to

apologize for the period of neglect. But hey, you’ve got a nice

place here. It’s the perfect environment.”

“Exactly where do you see that?”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 6

“That’s not what I mean. Come on, you know what I

mean, don’t you? Well, whatever. So what’ve you been up to

lately, anyway?”

“Nothing, really. I’m just your average university student.

I’m not living some yakuza lifestyle like you.”

“Just a regular old student, huh?” she said, chuckling.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Oh, except for the fact that you apparently define

‘average’ as someone who starts nosing around when one

of his classmates is murdered, and maintains friendly relations

with serial killers.”

“. . .”

“Ooh, there’s that surprised look. You’ve made me happy.”

She jumped down from the windowsill and plopped herself

down cross-legged on the tatami floor. Whether this was

something she felt compelled to do because she was wearing

such a short skirt, I wasn’t sure, but either way, I kind of

wished she hadn’t.

“How do you know about that stuff?”

“How do you think I know?” She grinned with unbridled

elation. But I had no idea what lurked behind this unbridled

elation. I was expending copious amounts of energy just standing

here talking to her like this. What’s more, she was a mind

reader of the highest order, so my emotions were all leaking

out of the pipes. It felt like we were playing poker, but with

my hand faceup on the table. She sure didn’t make such

things easy. She was like a piece of food that you couldn’t eat

no matter how long you boiled and grilled it.

But as long as she didn’t want something out of you, she

was a nice person, I guess. She was my type and all.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 7

“I have no idea,” I said. “Not even a clue. It’s not like I can

ever tell what you’re thinking.”

“Think. And then face it, man. I’m a lone wolf, but I’ve got

a quite a number of friends, in Kyoto and out.”

“Hey, that’s really something. It’s great to have a lot of

friends. Even I can acknowledge that. I’ll acknowledge it right

now. So what friends would you be referring to in this case?”

“For example, Sasa Sasaki.”

“. . .”

“Ikaruga Kazuhito.”

“. . .”

“Kunagisa Tomo.”

She pulled a single envelope from her black bag.

“Here you go, it’s from your sweet, sweet Kunagisa.”

“For me?”

“Yep. She said it’s the ‘thingy’ she promised.”

I accepted the envelope. Well, how about that. She must

have paid a visit to Shirosaki before coming to my apartment.

While I was just your everyday, boringly average university

student, Kunagisa Tomo was, with all her eccentricities, an

expert computer specialist. She and Aikawa-san knew each

other fairly well.

As ordered by Aikawa-san, I thought for a moment. It

looked like she had come back to Kyoto for a job. Then she

had gone to Kunagisa for help with said job, just as I had gone

to her for help investigating Tomoe’s death. Then when

Aikawa-san went to visit Kunagisa, Kunagisa had decided to

use her as a messenger. Was that what happened? But . . .

something was missing. There was no reason Kunagisa should

have to ask Aikawa-san to do such a thing, and there was no

reason Aikawa-san should agree to do it.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 8

This brought a much uglier scenario to mind, and it wasn’t

purely theoretical. To be more specific, Aikawa-san was . . .

“Well, now there’s just the simple matter of collecting your

fee. Tell me what you know about your pal, the Kyoto

prowler.”

Aikawa wasn’t a messenger—she was the collector.

“Jun-san, you mean you came to Kyoto . . .”

“Yup. To have a little chat about morals with that psychotic

nutjob.”

Aikawa-san made her living as a “private contractor.” This

involved anything and everything. Simply put, she was a jackof-all-trades,

a multitalented freelancer who didn’t limit herself

by specializing in any one particular field. Whether it was

walking dogs, solving locked-room murder mysteries, or

catching mass murderers who had already cut up ten people

into little pieces, as long as there was money involved, she

would take it on. Granted, there probably weren’t too many

nuts out there offering a big stack of cash just or walking their

dog. At any rate, she lived out each day “accomplishing the

impossible”—never bothering to make the distinction between

legal and illegal.

Be that as it may.

“The Kyoto slasher claimed a twelfth victim yesterday.

Seeing as you lived in another country for so long, maybe you

don’t realize this, but that number is unprecedented in Japan.

This kind of incident simply doesn’t happen in Japan, much

less in a provincial city. What’s more, the identity of the killer

is a complete mystery. At this point, it’s going to require government

intervention.”

“And so you’ve been called upon?”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 9

She nodded. “It sounds like there are other people at

work on the case as well—Public Welfare, Walker, Texas

Ranger—frankly, I don’t really know who. Unfortunately, I

don’t have a lot of horizontal ties. At any rate, my job right

now is just to stop that maniac from claiming more victims.”

“Did Sasaki-san hire you?”

“Can’t tell you that. What do you call it again? The code of

confidentiality? Business ethics? Trade secrets?” She gave a

comical little shrug and laughed. “Anyway, it seems a lot more

worthy of my time than that crazy fiasco on Wet Crow’s

Feather Island ever was. That’s for sure.”

Worthy of her time. That’s all she had to say in regard to

the grisly murderer who had already chopped up twelve

people. The idea of taking on this anonymous monster didn’t

frighten her in the least. On the contrary, she was so laid-back

about the whole affair you’d think she was sashaying on her

way to a picnic.

Suddenly, I realized all over again just how dangerous this

crimson woman was.

And I also realized that I was currently face-to-face with

said danger.

“Now then. I heard from Kunagisa-chan that you know a

thing or two about all this. I don’t suppose you’d mind filling

in your favorite big sister—I am like a sister to you, aren’t

I—on the details now, would you?” she said in a soft, coaxing

voice, like one might use to address their pet cat, as her fingers

crept up my face. It wasn’t that I particularly minded that

voice, but the speaker herself was either a tiger or a panther,

and it was more than a mere tabby like me could resist.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 0

Damn that Kunagisa. What ever happened to helping each

other out? Without the slightest hesitation, she had sold me

out.

“What’s your problem? Why are you clamming up and

looking away? You’re being awfully uncooperative. Don’t tell

me you’re not going to tell me. Are you breaking your

contract? You promised this in exchange for what’s in that

envelope, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I said I’d tell Kunagisa, not just anybody. If

I went and told you, it would be . . . what’s the word? A betrayal?

Immoral? Divisive? Rebellious? Whatever. The bottom

line is that it feels like backstabbing, and that’s just not my

thing.”

“Excuse me?!” she said, her voice suddenly much more

stern. If looks could kill, I would already be dead. Which

sounded a lot better than what was really in store for me.

“Are you saying you can tell Kunagisa but you can’t tell

me? Well goddamn. I had no idea you were such a cold son of

a bitch. I see, I see. Gee, you make me sad. So you’ll listen to

Kunagisa, but you won’t listen to me? I had no idea you were

such a tough guy.”

“It’s not like that. It’s just that with Kunagisa, no matter

what you tell her, she’s harmless. But you’re planning on

taking some kind of action, right? Getting myself directly

involved with something like that, well . . . it’s just not in my

nature.”

“Excuse me, did you just call me harmful?”

“Well . . . aren’t you?”

As if she herself were aware of this, she refrained from objecting

to my remark, instead murmuring to herself thoughtfully.

She was, to a certain degree, someone who might listen

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 1

to reason. Once you had surpassed that degree, however, well,

you can imagine what happened then—that is to say, it would

backfire.

“Kunagisa will probably just tell me anyway. That girl has a

big mouth. I figured I might as well just cut out the middleman

and come straight to the source.”

“Er, yeah, I know, but . . . I just have my own reasons, or

rather, uh . . .”

“Hm? Ahhh, ah-ah-ah, I get it! Well, why didn’t you say

so?!” she said with a wickedly and ghastly grin. She beckoned

to me. Each stroke of her hand was so alluring, so graceful,

that it was mesmerizing.

“Uhh, you get what, exactly?”

“Just come to me. I’ll tease you to your heart’s delight.”

Seeing that I still wouldn’t budge, Aikawa-san instead

crawled over to me on all fours. She stared up at me with a

challenging, provocative gaze. She nestled her body into mine

and wrapped her arms around my back, forcing all of her

weight upon me. She applied some pressure, digging her nails

into my back.

“Now. What were you saying?”

“Um, I’m terrified of you.”

“By the by, did you know that my index finger is perilously

close to jabbing through your ribs into your liver?”

“. . .”

“Don’t tense up so much. It’s bad for you. It’ll make your

flesh all stringy. So just out of curiosity, who do you think is

scarier—me, or the serial killer?” As she said this, she ran her

tongue down the carotid artery on the right side of my neck.

The pleasure I felt from this delicate sensation, along with the

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 2

more pressing sense of fear that she might actually take a

gigantic bite out of my neck, bored their way into my brain.

Dammit.

Indeed, the serial killer did make for better company than

this.

“Jun-san . . . I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to say no.”

“Oh, go right on ahead. But if you do that I won’t tease

you like this anymore.”

“. . .”

“Either way is fine by me. It doesn’t change the fact that

you’re going to talk. I’ve already decided that I’m going to

have you tell me about this killer. That’s a fact. But since

you’re a friend, I just thought I’d ask first. Now do you want

me to be nice? Or do you want me to make this painful?”

“Uhh . . . what’s the difference?”

The fact that we were in this embracing position was my

one saving grace; I didn’t have to see her face, and she

couldn’t see mine. But even still, my cold sweat and pounding

heart probably betrayed my terror.

“What do you think is the difference?”

Chomp. She bit down on my neck. She literally had my

life in her clutches. Softly, teasingly, she dug her canines into

my skin, but at the same time worked a healthy amount of

saliva onto her tongue, licking my flesh between her lips,

rubbing her body against mine, running her fingers down my

back.

“Okay!” I said, using every ounce of strength to pull myself

away from her. “I won’t disobey you anymore! Please forgive

me!” Sitting a little apart from me, Aikawa-san responded

with a sly yet somehow innocent smile.

“Don’t get so serious. It was just a little joke,” she said.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 3

“Yeah, a bad joke. Bad for the heart, anyway . . .”

“Hahaha. Actually, I’m relieved. You’re a healthy young

man after all.”

“Come on, give me a break.”

I had to calm down. So I chugged down a cup of water. It

didn’t take long for my heartbeat to slow down, but the cold

sweating was out of my control.

I am no good at dealing with this woman after all. I should

have just run straight to Kunagisa’s place without worrying

what might happen later.

“Really now, this is nonsense.”

After that, Aikawa-san managed to fish out of me every

last detail about Zerozaki Hitoshiki, no stone left unturned. I

tried my best to weasel out of revealing the key facts, but with

her ability to read my mind, I wasn’t especially successful.

Every time I tried to hide something, she would see right

through me and threaten me, and then either through coercion

or trickery would pry the answer out of me. It served to

remind me that I was basically her prisoner.

The person known as Zerozaki. His appearance, build, and

clothes at the time we met. The way he spoke. The circumstances

surrounding our first meeting. What we talked about.

Even the details of our secret infiltration of Tomo-chan’s

apartment. Aikawa-san drew all of it out of me. At least, as

much as I could remember.

It wasn’t like Zerozaki and I were friends. We were just of

the same breed, and we were like mirror reflections of one

another. We hadn’t exchanged any sort of promise, and he

wasn’t preventing me from talking.

Nevertheless, I felt so spineless it was a wonder I didn’t

collapse.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 4

“Hmm . . .” After all that, Aikawa’s smile disappeared and

her expression grew more serious. She thought to herself in

silence for a few minutes. “So this guy . . . Zerozaki, was it?

Like zero and zaki put together?”

“Yeah. At least, that’s what he calls himself.”

“Zerozaki Hitoshi . . . ahhh, that’s a nasty name.”

Aikawa-san looked truly irritated, like the whole thing was

just a big hassle. It was the first time I had ever seen her wear

such an expression. It was almost refreshing.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”

“No, no no no . . . On second thought, maybe a ‘nasty

name’ isn’t the right expression. But ‘Zerozaki’? Sure is an unusual

name.”

“Oh, but you know, it might not be his real name. That

guy’s no fool. I doubt he would give someone his real name on

a first encounter.”

“That’s beside the point. Even if it’s an alias, the fact that

he would choose an alias like ‘Zerozaki’ is proof that he’s a

nut. And if it is his real name, well . . .”

She began thinking in silence again. Once this lady started

thinking about something, she sank into her own world, and if

you were there beside her, it felt like you had become

invisible. But then again, even an invisible man still exists. In

this case it was more like you had become empty space.

“Even as a joke, there isn’t an idiot on this earth who

would announce himself with a ‘killer’s name’ like that.

‘Zerozaki,’ huh? Damn, that’s right above ‘Susukino’ in rank,

isn’t it? I guess it’s still better than ‘Niounomiya’ and

‘Yamiguchi,’ but you know, I actually hope it is just an alias.

Or better yet, just a case of two people having the same last

name by coincidence. But there’s no way that’s it. There’s no

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 5

way something that convenient would ever happen to me.

Wow . . . so even Kunagisa, even an ex-member of the ‘team’

was of no use.”

“Uh . . . is there something wrong with the name ‘Zerozaki’?”

“Yeah, there is. It’s about as terrible as names come. It’s so

bad that to us, the worst possible insult you could call someone

was a ‘Zerozaki.’ That’s how bad it is. I don’t really want

to bother explaining any deeper than that. To be perfectly

honest, I don’t want to have the slightest thing to do with the

‘Zerozaki Ichizoku,’ and that includes giving explanations. Eh,

but actually it’s the name itself that I don’t like. In this case,

the individual is essentially irrelevant. He’s probably just some

irregularity . . . probably. But is this guy really the Kyoto

Prowler?”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“So you didn’t actually witness him in the act? You’re just

taking his word for it?”

“Well, you could say that,” I said, nodding.

“Hmm. So then there’s a chance that he might be some

delusional, lying bastard who’s just saying this stuff.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely that chance. I mean, I didn’t get

that impression, though.”

“Really? Come on, he’s got a big tattoo on his face, right?

And it covers the entire right side. Even in Chicago he’d be a

freak. He’s been standing out like that and he’s still able to

escape the cops without leaving a single clue behind?”

“Yeah, well . . .”

Naturally, I had considered this possibility myself as well.

But having heard what he had to say, there was no basis on

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 6

which to call him a fake, and frankly, I didn’t care all that

much to begin with.

Whether it was him or not, it didn’t make much of a

difference to me. Maybe he wasn’t the prowler.

“That guy is a murderer without a doubt,” I said to

Aikawa-san. “Aikawa-san, you must know that I haven’t lived

the most decent life, right? In Kobe, Houston, even here. Hell,

even on that island I was almost killed. I may still not hold a

candle to you, but I’ve seen my fair share of Hell in my time.”

And Heaven was still a long way from here.

“I never actually saw him kill somebody, but he did almost

kill me. He was just using a plain old short knife, and yet the

terror I felt was that of someone facing an opponent with a

naginata . . . no, with a machine gun.”

“Hmm . . .” Apparently convinced, she nodded several

times. “At any rate, I suppose the bottom line is that this expert

of dissection who calls himself the ‘prowler’ is somewhere

in Kyoto. Yeah. As long as I have that straight, that’s

enough.”

“It is?”

“Sure it is. Combined with the other information I’ve

gathered, it’ll give me a place to start. For now, anyway. I

think for the time being it’ll be faster for me to proceed on my

own two feet, if you know what I mean. If I don’t have a bit of

a challenge, things get boring and I can’t function anymore.

Know what I mean? Anyway, more importantly,” she said,

bringing the conversation back to me, “putting my stuff aside,

what’s going on with you? I heard from both Kunagisa and

Sasaki that you’ve been sticking your nose in some boring,

everyday kind of case.”

“I got caught up in it.”

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 7

“You got caught up and then you kept sticking your nose

back in, didn’t you? I mean, sneaking into the victim’s apartment?

Quit pretending you’re just some passive observer.”

Touché.

“Now what is it, exactly?” she pondered, looking at me

with a touch of awe. “You’re a hard guy to understand,

y’know? It’s like you have no conviction, or no style. What

you say and what you do are completely different things.”

“It’s that clash that gives me my flavor.”

“What flavor? Can’t you view yourself objectively?”

“Sure I can . . .”

“You’re more like the comic relief than a passive observer.

Eh, but whatever. Do whatever you like. It’s your life, I guess.

Not my place to butt in. Not my problem.”

“You’re a cold woman.”

“Not really. Keep studying, young’un. You do your own

dirty work. And if you set out to do something, do it to the

end. I told you before, didn’t I? Quitting midway through is

the worst thing a person can do. Oh yeah, and also,” she said

as if she had just remembered, even though that obviously

wasn’t the case, “a message from Kunagisa.” She pointed to

the envelope under my arm.

“What is it?”

“Don’t go having an affair now, Ii-chan. I’ll forgive a

smooch on the cheek and nothing above that. ‘I love youuu,

kiss kiss,’ ” Aikawa-san said, mimicking Kunagisa’s voice and

intonation and grinning. “She said.”

“Roger that,” I said, throwing my hands up.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 8

It had gotten to the time where it was technically okay to be

eating dinner, so I invited Aikawa-san to join me. But because

she was eager to proceed with her pursuit of Zerozaki as

quickly as possible, she refused and soon left.

In the very end, I asked her one final question. “What do

you think x over y means?”

“Don’t look to others to confirm what you already know,”

she said flatly. Touché, I thought.

I let out a sigh as I watched her disappear.

Zerozaki Hitoshiki.

Aikawa Jun.

She would probably find him in a matter of two days. I

hadn’t exactly provided a cornucopia of information, but it

was more than enough to serve Aikawa-san’s purpose. She

was in a state of mind beyond my wildest imagination, and

even that was something she was free to break away from

whenever she desired. The superiority of Aikawa Jun’s

cognitive faculties defied the imagination.

And the two would likely collide. Mankind’s Greatest and

the Human Failure would meet head-on. And if it came to

that, the outcome was obvious. If Zerozaki Hitoshiki was a

homicidal monster, then Aikawa Jun was the ultimate monster

hunter. Having a bit of a penchant for taking lives was

great for drawing attention, but it wouldn’t be enough to stop

her from sniffing him out. The nature of this scarlet woman

was one so transcendental, so elevated, that if there was one

thing you didn’t want to do, it was make an enemy of her.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 9

And making friends with her didn’t serve as a very good plan

B. If there was any one saving grace, it was that she had a

sense of the whimsical. But it was hardly something that could

be exploited.

“I wonder if he’ll get away . . .”

I was just a little worried. Not to mention incredibly sympathetic.

But I didn’t give it too much thought.

I had little interest in something that was to take place a

world away from here. Even if it was happening to my own

mirror image.

Now was the time to think about my own world.

I took the envelope from Kunagisa in my hand.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 1

Ilikeyoulikeyouloveyoulots.

On Saturday, May twenty-first, I woke up early in the

morning.

“Time to get up.”

I had had some kind of nasty dream. It seemed like I was

about to be killed, and like I was also trying to kill someone.

My entire body was being controlled by the sheer will to commit

harm, and at the same time, I was being harmed. I ran and

I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran, but sooner or later the

figure chasing after me turned out to be myself, and I was

gripped with terror. Certain death was just behind me, and

yet it was strangely exhilarating. It was that kind of awful

dream.

The sheer fact that I couldn’t remember it made it a nightmare,

and the fact that it was a nightmare made this a rude

awakening.

I rose up from my futon and checked the time. Five fifty in

the morning. My plans with Mikoko-chan weren’t until ten

o’clock, so I still had roughly four hours to kill. With nothing

in particular to do, I folded up my futon and pushed it into

the closet.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 2

I went outside, thinking it might be nice to go for a run for

the first time in awhile. I locked up just to be safe, but with a

lock of this quality, Aikawa-san wasn’t the only one who

could easily break in if so inclined. Not that there was anything

in that place I’d mind having stolen.

I ran east down Imadegawa Street and turned back once

Dôshisha University had come into view. I went directly back

to my apartment and changed out of my sweaty clothes. Why,

oh why had I thought it would be a good idea to run in this

heat? I wondered with the usual remorse.

I picked up the book I had borrowed from the school

library and reread the part I had previously stopped in the

middle of. That alone ate through a good chunk of time, so

from there I picked up the envelope from Kunagisa, the contents

of which I had already glanced over a few times.

The envelope contained police documents. Through what

means Kunagisa had obtained such a thing, I didn’t know, but

we had sort of a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. What I did know,

however, was that Kunagisa could access pretty much any

place with electricity running through it, and that within her

circle of friends were criminals who knew just about everything

in the entire Milky Way galaxy. Of course, normally I

had little interest in criminal investigation. But these were

documents on the murder of Emoto Tomoe.

“But come on . . .”

I flipped through the paper-clipped sheets of A4 paper.

There wasn’t really any new information. The documents

elaborated on some of the more minor details, but most of

them seemed irrelevant, and it was all more or less what

Sasaki-san had told me. I was a little bit shattered to realize

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 3

that this was what I had endured Aikawa-san’s interrogation

for.

Still, it wasn’t a complete waste. There was some information

I hadn’t been aware of, and it was worth knowing.

“So here we have alibi relations.”

As logic may have dictated, the four classmates who had

been with Emoto Tomoe the night she died (us, that is) were

the prime suspects. Nevertheless, all four of us had alibis, at

least for the time being. Miiko-san next door had graciously

vouched for Mikoko-chan and me, while Muimi-chan and

Akiharu-kun were vouching for each other. The possibility

that they had committed the crime in cahoots was present,

but based on the police’s observations, that didn’t seem to be

the case. Sasaki-san had made it sound like Muimi-chan and

Akiharu-kun went to karaoke, just the two of them, but apparently

other people from school had been present as well. In

other words, Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan had a sound alibi,

just like Mikoko-chan and I. If anyone had a weak alibi, it was

me. After all, Miiko-san could only vouch for what she heard

(or didn’t hear) through the apartment walls.

But of course, I knew I wasn’t the killer.

“Okay then, that’s all clear . . .”

Next was the list of items in the apartment. When I snuck

in with Zerozaki, I didn’t think anything was missing, but apparently

I was wrong. The police documents gave a complete

list of everything inside Tomo-chan’s apartment, from the

largest piece of furniture to the smallest accessory. It was like

the concept of privacy no longer even existed, but at the same

time, it gave you a good idea of who this Emoto Tomo character

was.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 4

It was just that on this list, one thing was missing—the

liquid-filled capsule neckstrap Akiharu-kun had given Tomoechan

as a birthday present.

I had seen him give it to her with my own eyes, so it was

strange that it wasn’t on the list. The most logical explanation

to come to mind was that the killer had taken it, but that just

raised the question of why the killer would want such a thing.

“It wasn’t exactly worth a lot. . . .”

Meanwhile, the cell phone she had used to call me had

apparently been found in her pocket. The documents included

corroboration of the call based on the call history in her

phone’s memory.

No foreign objects had appeared in her apartment either.

Evidently the killer had left with the think cloth allegedly used

to strangle her.

“Cloth . . . cloth . . . cloth, eh?”

Next was a thoroughly documented account of Mikoko’s

discovery of the body, which was information I hadn’t been

able to draw out of her. She had visited Tomo-chan’s apartment

in the morning and called her room on the intercom.

But there was no answer. She wouldn’t pick up her phone

either. Thinking this was strange, Mikoko made her way

through the autolocked door as one of the other residents was

leaving and headed to Tomo-chan’s room. The door to the

entrance wasn’t locked. I had feared we might have another

damned sealed room on our hands, but apparently that wasn’t

the case.

“And finally.”

That x over y writing.

The police had deemed this the “work of the perpetrator,”

which made sense. Sasaki-san said herself that Emoto Tomoe

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 5

had died instantly, so it didn’t make sense that she could’ve

written a dying message. This was something I had realized in

time as well. Once again, this raised the question of why the

killer would do such a thing. Leaving a sign at the crime

scene—this was no Jack the Ripper after all.

“And that’s the end of that.”

Those were the facts I had deemed useful. But overall, my

ideas on the case remained largely unchanged.

And that was fine, I thought.

Based on this information, a number of minute possibilities

had been crossed out. From here I would gradually narrow

down the remaining possibilities. But for the time being, it

was safe to say that a basic process of reasoning was starting to

take form.

“But still . . .”

What the hell was I doing? Why did I have to do all this

stuff?

Was it for Tomo-chan?

Or for Mikoko-chan?

Going as far as obtaining these documents, dedicating copious

amounts of time—what the hell was I doing?

“I ought to talk to Sasaki-san again, huh . . .”

There were some things I wanted to ask. Some possibilities

left to be narrowed down. I wouldn’t use the word solution

until I had something 100 percent watertight.

I slid the papers back into the envelope, tore the envelope

to pieces, and threw it all into the garbage. In the unlikely

event that somebody caught a look at these documents, there

would be trouble. Besides, having perused them pretty thoroughly,

most of the information had been committed to memory

already.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 6

Now then.

There was still a little over an hour until Mikoko-chan

would be here. Two hours, if you factored in her lack of punctuality.

I lay down on the floor and thought a bit more.

About the murder?

No.

About my own ridiculousness.

Luckily, there was still plenty of time.

Life had only just begun.

Mikoko-chan showed up on time.

“I’m not late today!” she said, giving a gleeful German

salute with both hands. Though it was probably a given at this

point, she was so hyper that you might think she had blown a

circuit. She was dressed in a tight tank top and large, loose

overalls. She also had her head deeply inserted into a yellow

hat that looked like it belonged on a kindergartener (not to be

mean or anything). There was something adorable about her

reddish hair peeking out from under the brim. The tank top

was just a bit too small, making it look like she was wearing

overalls directly over nothing, which was, well, how do you

say . . . actually, I guess I didn’t mind.

“Well, shall we go?”

I started to leave, but she immediately stopped me. “Oh,

wait-wait-wait,” she said, pushing me back into the room and

entering herself without being invited. She had done this last

time too. Maybe invading houses was one of her hobbies. Not

a very sociable one, if you asked me.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 7

“I brought you a little something today. To say thanks for

spending the day with me.”

No sooner had she said it than she opened her bag—a

Boston bag different from her usual purse—and pulled out a

lunch-box-like item wrapped in a bandana. She unwrapped it

to reveal that it was actually Tupperware.

“Wow, what is it?”

“Treats,” she said boastfully, and opened it up. Inside were

six pieces of sweet potato shaped like Mont Blanc. I could tell

by the slight indents that these were handmade.

“Wow, so you do baking and stuff.”

“Yup. But don’t expect it to taste too good or anything.”

“Can I eat ’em?”

“Of course. Oh, right.” She pulled a thermos out of her

bag, handed me a cup, and poured the contents of it. It was

black tea, and Marco Polo, no less. So she had even come prepared

to compensate for the fact that I didn’t have anything

besides water here. This girl didn’t let anything get by her.

She prepared herself a cup of tea as well, and flashed a nice

smile. “Well, cheers.”

I clinked glasses with her and popped a piece of sweet

potato. Unfathomable sweetness immediately spread throughout

the inside of my mouth. Of course they weren’t called

sweet potatoes for nothing, but this didn’t seem like an ordinary

amount of sugar to me.

“Pretty sweet, huh?” I said, letting my true impressions

show.

“Yep. I looove sweet stuff.”

“You don’t say.” I nodded and popped the next one in my

mouth. Yup. Sweet. Come to think of it, I hadn’t had any

breakfast that morning, so this was quite the convenient little

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 8

surprise. But hey, hadn’t Mikoko-chan said she didn’t like

sweet stuff before? It seemed to me like she may or may not

have said that at one point. I couldn’t seem to remember.

Well, whatever.

She was a girl, after all. You know how fickle they can be.

Within five minutes, the sweet potatoes had been completely

consumed.

“Mikoko-chan, you’re pretty good at cooking and stuff,

huh?”

“Yep. It’s because I was a latchkey kid.”

“What’s a . . . latchkey kid?”

“Uhh, it means a kid who’s home alone a lot. Kids whose

parents both work have to bring a house key with them to

school, right?”

“Why?”

“Um, because if nobody’s home, the door is going to be

locked, right?” she continued, looking rather perplexed. “So

that’s why they call them latchkey kids.”

“Oh . . . I get it.”

I broke my eye contact with Mikoko-chan and stared up at

the ceiling to hide my facial expression.

Well how about that, I thought. So households like that

exist.

“Ikkun, did I say something wrong?”

“Huh? Why?”

“You’re making a really weird face right now.”

She didn’t sound so much worried as nervous, almost

frightened, even. I shook my head and said, “No, it’s nothing.”

Yup, nothing at all. Why should something like that bother

me?

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 9

“So should we really go now? Where do you want to go?”

“Huh?”

“You wanted to go shopping, right? I think that’s what you

said. Shinkyôgoku? Kyoto Station? Or do you want to go all

the way to Osaka?”

“Oh. Umm. Umm.”

She started to get flustered, as if she hadn’t even thought

about it. Her eyes darted around looking for something or

someone to save her, but ultimately looked back at me and

said, “Uh, a-anywhere is fine.”

What did that mean?

“You can’t mean that. You’re the one doing the shopping.”

“There isn’t any place in particular you want to go with

me?”

“There isn’t really anything I need. Living in a room like

this, I only have space to buy things you can throw out quick.

It wouldn’t make any sense to go shopping. Not that I’m

against nonsense. There just really isn’t anything I need to

buy. What is it you wanted to buy?”

“Uh, well, you know, clothes and stuff.”

“Huh.”

“And I want to eat somewhere.”

“Well, then I guess Kawara-machi’s the way to go.”

“Okay,” she said.

I may not be the assertive type, but Mikoko-chan might

have been even worse. Why did I have to decide where she

would go shopping? Of course, such questions were pointless.

“Okay, let’s go,” I said, and we left the room together. We

walked for a bit until arriving at the Senbon Nakadachiuri bus

stop, where we stood and waited for the Shijôkawara-machi

bus. Within five minutes, the 46 line bus had arrived. We got

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 0

on and found a lucky pair of empty seats. We sat down with

me on the inside and her beside me.

“By the way, you came on your Vespa, right?”

“Yeah, my Vespa. My Vespa,” she said, looking a bit nervous.

It seemed my previous anger had left a strong impression

on her. I wondered if I might have gone too far last time, but

there are times when even I can’t hold back my emotions.

In fact, it happens a lot.

“So you’ll have to come back to get it . . .”

“It’s okay. As long as I take the bus, the price is the same!

It’s a flat fare within city limits!”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“So you’re not planning to buy a car or scooter or anything?”

“Nah. Things aren’t particularly inconvenient without

one.”

“Hmm . . .” She nodded ambiguously. “Tomo-chan was the

same way. She had a license, but she didn’t have any wheels.

She said she just wanted to use it as a proof of identification.”

“Yeah, that’s basically what I’m doing.”

“I see. Maybe everyone’s like that. But I want to start driving

once I get my license.”

Come to think of it, I did seem to remember her saying

something about going to driving school and getting her dad to

buy her a car once she had a license.

“I drive on occasion too,” I said. “Sometimes I borrow

Miiko-san’s car.”

“Mm-hm.”

The instant I brought up Miiko-san, Mikoko-chan’s

expression grew terribly bored. By this point, even I had come