The atmosphere on campus in September, which was like an extension of summer break, returned to normal once October arrived. The students’ wardrobes were still in summer mode, however. Even though it was autumn, in recent times, the boundary between summer and fall was blurred in Japan, and the lukewarm air—like a watered-down version of summer’s heat—did not inspire people to break out their autumn clothes. In the school courtyard, everyone was wearing short sleeves. It was only when being surprised at how early the sun was setting that one was conscious of autumn already having begun. Time passes without our realizing it, and the seasons change right under our noses. “—So today’s theme is ‘ghost stories with a fixed deadline.’ We’ll be focusing primarily on ‘Purple Mirror’!” Takatsuki stood at the lectern, smiling broadly as he spoke. It was Thursday, fourth period, in Modern Folklore I. “How many of you know this story? If you know it, raise your hand. Ah, that’s most of you. Now raise your hand if you’re already twenty years old or older… Right, I believe we have a lot of second-years in this class, so those who haven’t had their birthdays yet aren’t twenty. Well, I apologize to those of you who are still under twenty, but the story we’re discussing today says that ‘if you still remember it by the time you’re twenty, you die.’” The students burst into laughter at Takatsuki’s delivery. Nanba, sitting next to Naoya, whispered, “Wait, my birthday hasn’t come yet.” When Naoya replied with a quiet, “My condolences,” Nanba glared back at him. “‘Purple Mirror’ or ‘The Purple Mirror,’ as this urban legend is known, follows a simple basic pattern. If you still remember the phrase ‘purple mirror’ or ‘the purple mirror’ by the time you’re twenty, you die or experience misfortune. Other variations include not being able to get married or seeing ghosts. The February eighth, 1996, issue of the Yomiuri Shimbun covered this story and theorized, based on reader submissions and experiences, that it originated ‘about seventeen years ago.’ If this is to be believed, that means ‘Purple Mirror’ must have been around as early as 1979. As the slit-mouthed woman originated around 1978, this story could be said to be a product of the ghost story boom at that time.” As usual, Takatsuki looked like he was having fun. “Various stories that include an origin for the ‘purple mirror’ term have been created using this basic pattern. Examples are included in the handout, but please read them on your own later, as they’re quite long. I’ll sum up a few as an introduction. Example one is about a young woman who died just before the age of twenty. Her favorite mirror was purple, and disaster followed after her death. Example two is about a girl who painted her beloved hand mirror purple on a whim. No matter how much she tried to wipe off the paint, it wouldn’t come clean, and the girl passes away of an illness at twenty years old, regretting her choice. In a nice little ghost story–esque detail, the girl is said to have muttered the words ‘purple mirror, purple mirror…’ until her very last moments. Example three is about a girl who dies in a traffic accident. Her favorite mirror ends up covered in her blood, which stains it purple. Women and girls appear in many of these origin stories, perhaps because we think of mirrors as things that women tend to use. From this, we can also speculate that it’s mainly girls who are the primary storytellers of these urban legends.” When studying ghost stories and urban legends, considering the demographic of those responsible for sharing the story was of utmost importance. In the case of “Purple Mirror,” it was mostly women and children. Such stories were often told in schools, particularly in elementary schools. The first time Naoya had heard it had indeed been when he was in elementary school. He had overheard some girls talking about it during recess. Within two days, the “Purple Mirror” story had swept through the class. “However, it’s probably fair to assume that these origin stories were created after the fact. That’s why there are so many variations, and moreover why so many of them are of a narrative nature. Originally, I doubt there was any meaning behind the ‘purple mirror’ phrase. It began as a phrase of unknown origin, and the legend’s original form likely started with someone asking another person, ‘Have you heard of purple mirror?’ Naturally, the recipient of the question wouldn’t know the phrase and would probably ask, ‘What do you mean?’ Without answering that question, the first person simply says, ‘If you still remember this phrase by the time you’re twenty, you’ll die!’ The second person feels shocked at suddenly being cursed like that. The more they try to get the phrase out of their heads, the more it sticks, tormenting them for days.” Takatsuki smiled and gave a light shrug. It had been the same at Naoya’s elementary school. When the story was popular, everyone tried desperately to forget it. After a few days, when everyone was finally starting to put it out of mind, one of the boys in class purposefully whispered the phrase loud enough for everyone to hear. The class had been in an uproar. The other children shouted at him, asking why he had said it. Some of the girls even started crying. During that time, the curse of “Purple Mirror” was unmistakably real in Naoya’s class. Takatsuki looked around the classroom. “We tend to think that words that appear to be meaningful are, in fact, meaningful. Even if a word or phrase has no meaning whatsoever, we look for meaning in it, imagining its context. The ‘Purple Mirror’ ghost story taps into this psychology. Recently, there’s been an urban legend called the ‘Samejima Incident,’ yes? It’s not one where remembering it curses you, but its psychology is similar to that which forms the basis for ‘Purple Mirror,’ since it involves talking about words that seem meaningful as though they have some dreadful context.” Oh, I get it, Naoya thought as he listened to Takatsuki speak. The “Samejima Incident” was a sort of meme. It had started with a post on an internet message board titled, “Let’s talk about the legendary ‘Samejima Thread.’” It was now customary to talk about it as though it was some incredibly horrifying incident that was covered up for some reason. People would post things like, “That was a terrible incident,” but no one would explain the circumstances, because in reality, there was no “Samejima Incident.” Perhaps because it was fun to discuss fictitious events whose circumstances were unclear, as though one knew the details, the phrase “Samejima Incident” continued to pop up here and there online. Both “purple mirror” and “Samejima Incident” were phrases that came across as having meaning, and that attracted people’s interest and stirred up their imaginations. Those musings turned empty words that actually had no substance whatsoever into a ghost story. Takatsuki went on. “The stipulation in ‘Purple Mirror’ of ‘if you still remember by the time you’re twenty’ also exists in variations where the age is fifteen, twenty-three, twenty-four, and so on. The overwhelming majority of them, however, are set at twenty. It’s likely that the significance behind this is that you must forget by the time you’re grown up or by the time you reach adulthood. It’s said that the story is most feared by children from the middle and upper years of elementary school up to junior high. To kids of that age, turning twenty is something so far in the future that they can’t even imagine it. They can only vaguely picture what it means to become an adult. That is why, conversely, they end up considering the age of twenty as something incredibly significant. But for high school students and new college students, twenty is only a few years away. Many people end up looking at it with an attitude of ‘Okay, I guess I’ll remember it and find out whether it’s true.’ Although I can imagine it might be unnerving for those who learn about it just before their twentieth birthday.” At Naoya’s side, Nanba clutched at his chest, as if in surprise. “When’s your birthday?” Naoya asked, and Nanba replied with, “The day after tomorrow…” Naoya really did feel sorry for him. Then, at the lectern, Takatsuki broke into a bright smile. “Incidentally, I first heard this story when I was in elementary school. I’ve remembered it ever since and even reviewed it when I entered university and started studying folklore. Just like those of you who raised your hands earlier, who know the story and have already had their twentieth birthday, I am living proof that the ‘Purple Mirror’ story is no more than a legend.” Nanba looked relieved. Naoya stared at him, astonished, wondering if he had seriously been worried about it. He had thought Nanba was only pretending. Takatsuki, who seemed to have been watching Nanba’s face, chuckled. “Well, I mean, even if we know the story is fake, it’s still unpleasant to be told you’re going to die. It makes you feel cursed. The children who tell such ghost stories create curses every day. But there’s no malice in them, none of the desire to make someone truly unhappy, such as what curses are meant to be like by nature. To children, ghost stories and curses are just a tool of communication. In the classroom, on the bus to their school camp, in the hotel room on their school field trip, they cast curses upon one another in the same way they tell one another who they have a crush on. In this way, the number of ghost stories increases every day, and new variations are born and expanded upon. Since they’re given the same treatment as romantic gossip, ghost stories must be something that everyone finds exciting! I can really relate to that feeling!” Takatsuki’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. Naoya had a feeling everyone else in the classroom was thinking that whether or not ghost stories were that exciting was dependent on the person in question. After the lecture was over, as Naoya was getting ready to go home, Nanba turned to him. “Fukamachi, since it’s my birthday two days from now, do you think you could show me your notes from second period? As a birthday present?” “…Fine,” Naoya said, pulling out second period’s notes from his folder. “You really should show up to that class at some point.” Stuffing the paper cheerfully into his bag, Nanba replied, “Once you skip once, it becomes a habit, y’know? It’s like my body just won’t do it. Must be because I’m getting old.” “You’re a few months younger than I am. The professor takes attendance in that class sometimes, so be careful.” “Yep, got it. Oh—that’s right. Listen, I finally got my license!” “Huh? Like to drive?” “Yep. Only for automatic transmission, though.” Nanba held up two fingers in a V sign. “Wow, I want to see it. You have it on you, right?” “No way, the picture is weird. Are you not gonna get your license, Fukamachi? It’s cheaper to get while you’re a student.” “Hmmm…I was thinking I should probably have it, but…” With a sour expression, Naoya tilted his head to the side. He definitely thought he’d be better off having a license, considering the future, but Naoya was of two minds after seeing the cost. He’d heard many other students say they got their parents to pay for it, but he felt awkward asking for money from his, when he didn’t usually have contact with them. “I feel like it’s best to get it in your second year. You’ll start having to do a bunch of stuff related to job hunting in your third year, right? You’ll have more mental and emotional bandwidth for it now.” It was unusual for Nanba to say something that serious. He’s more concerned with his future than I expected, Naoya thought, slightly adjusting his opinion of his classmate. Although if that’s the case, he should go to his classes, too. “Have you already decided which industry or company you want to work in, Nanba?” “Not really yet. What about you, Fukamachi? Are you thinking of doing an internship?” “…I was thinking, if I’m going to aim for something, it’ll probably be civil service.” “Oh, solid choice. Why, though?” “Well…I heard there aren’t as many interviews as there are at other companies.” Naoya casually put a hand to his ear. Whenever he heard about the ins and outs of job hunting, it was always the interviews that seemed like his biggest obstacle. It was common to hear about stressful interviews and such wearing people down mentally, but even before that, in Naoya’s case, there was the chance that he would collapse at the venue if he wasn’t careful. There was no guarantee that the interviewer or any other students participating in a joint interview with him would only tell the truth. Naoya was thinking about consulting Tooyama, his life mentor, about the matter. Tooyama had once half jokingly said, “If you’re having trouble finding a job, you can just come work for me.” But Naoya, a liberal arts student through and through, didn’t think he’d be suited for much more than part-time work at an architectural design firm. When he had consulted Takatsuki about the issue, the professor had readily replied, “Why not go to graduate school?” That cost money, however, and Naoya had also heard people say it was difficult to find a job after finishing grad school. “But you know,” Nanba said. “I can’t even imagine job hunting yet. I mean, I still can’t even picture what I’ll be like after college.” “Yeah, true.” No one knew what the future held, it was said. Even though time continued to flow by and the future became the present in the blink of an eye, Naoya still couldn’t even fully imagine what he would be like in a year. And that was to say nothing of what he’d be like in ten or twenty years. Despite being so scared as a child when someone told him, “If you still remember this when you’re twenty, you’ll die,” he felt like if someone said to him now, “If you still remember this when you’re forty, you’ll die,” he would reply, “I don’t even know if I’m going to live that long.” The future remained unclear, but Naoya’s sense of acceptance that things were going to happen as they would was stronger. Perhaps because he didn’t have as many expectations for his future self as he had when he was a child. Then Naoya’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and saw a message from Takatsuki. “Oh, sorry. I have work.” “Okay. Work hard.” “Yep. See you.” Waving to Nanba, Naoya left the classroom. He couldn’t imagine himself in a year, but one thing did feel certain. Naoya was sure that somehow or other, he’d end up working for Takatsuki next year, too. When Naoya arrived at the professor’s office, Takatsuki, in extremely high spirits, handed him his laptop with a smile. “Welcome, Fukamachi! This request overlaps directly with the content of today’s lecture. Or I should say that I decided on the material for today’s lecture because of this request.” “What? You mean the ‘Samejima Incident’?” “No, no, the ‘Purple Mirror.’” As he usually did, Takatsuki stood up and started making drinks. Naoya took a seat in a folding chair and scanned over the e-mail that was on the laptop screen. It appeared that, once again, the request had come in through the contact form on Neighborhood Stories. Hello, sorry for sending this message out of the blue. I found your website through searching for the term “Purple Mirror.” It was very interesting to learn that there are many different kinds of “Purple Mirror” stories. The reason I’m e-mailing you is because there is a Purple Mirror in my house. My family has run an inn in Asakusa for a long time, and we have lots of antiques. One of them is a mirror called the Purple Mirror. Actually, my biological mother disappeared when I was a child because of this mirror. If possible, would you come and check whether or not this is a real Purple Mirror? I’m nineteen years old right now. There are stories on this site that say if you still remember the Purple Mirror by the time you’re twenty, you’ll die. They have me so scared, I can’t sleep at night. Thank you for your time. When Naoya was done reading the e-mail, he looked up, unsure how to describe what he was feeling. What on earth would it mean to have a Purple Mirror in one’s house? According to the lecture he’d just sat through, the phrase “purple mirror” wasn’t supposed to mean anything. “It’s an interesting e-mail, isn’t it?” Takatsuki said, placing a cup of coffee in front of Naoya. “In the typical ‘Purple Mirror’ urban legend, an actual mirror never makes an appearance. It exists only as words, so there’s never any need to identify a real mirror as ‘the Purple Mirror.’ And yet there’s a mirror in her house called the Purple Mirror. It’s quite intriguing!” “I mean, she wrote that her mother disappeared… What’s that about?” “The most common version of ‘Purple Mirror’ is the ‘you’ll die if you remember’ one, but there is a variation where you disappear. Example one from today’s lecture materials is one such story.” Naoya took the materials from the lecture out of his bag. He’d only given them a once-over in class, since Takatsuki had told them to read the stories later. Example one said: “In the postwar period, a woman who was about to turn twenty died before her much anticipated coming-of-age ceremony. The woman had habitually used a purple mirror that she loved, but for some reason, after her death, the mirror was never found. On the day the woman would have turned twenty, an acquaintance of the woman’s went missing, and a purple mirror was left sitting alone on the floor of the acquaintance’s room. It is said that if you still remember the words ‘the purple mirror’ by the time you’re twenty, the woman who owned the mirror will be summoned to you, and you will be taken into her world inside the mirror, like her acquaintance was.” Stories changed as they were told. As long as their core parts were preserved, other elements could be changed. That was why stories were altered to become more frightening or interesting, depending on their narrator. Such was how ghost stories and urban legends spawned so many variations. What would happen to someone if they remembered the phrase “purple mirror” was a part of the story that the narrator could change as they pleased. All that mattered was that it was some kind of misfortune. In the case of this example, the idea of being “taken to a world inside the mirror” was probably inspired by the phrase “the purple mirror” and contrived as its origin story. Since the most common version involved death, this disappearing variation was a minority pattern. The sender of the e-mail, however, had written that her mother had disappeared because of the Purple Mirror. “The part about being taken to a world inside the mirror was probably an image evoked by the ‘mirror’ part of the key phrase. Originally, it was believed that mirrors reflected other realms, things that weren’t of this world.” Takatsuki took a sip from his mug of marshmallow cocoa. “There are all sorts of ‘other realms’ reflected in mirrors. In the Sarashina Diary, written in the Heian period, for example, there’s a story in which a mother worried about her daughter’s future has a small mirror made. Receiving a divine message, the mother looked into the mirror and saw the death of her daughter’s husband. The future, in other words. Stories about mirrors showing the future are common in modern urban legends. There’s ‘if you look into a mirror at midnight, you’ll see your own face as you die’ and ‘if you peer into a basin of water in the middle of the night while holding a razor blade in your mouth, you will see the face of your future spouse.’ The mirror is made of water in the case of the second one, but there are a lot of stories where mirrors show the future. The future is a type of ‘other realm’ in the sense that it’s not a reality happening in front of your eyes in that moment.” “There’s a mirror that reflects the past, too, isn’t there? That one that the King of Hell holds that shows the dead the deeds they committed when they were alive… What’s it called again?” “The Mirror of Judgment. Yes, that’s a mirror that reflects the past. And mirrors can lead to places that are neither the past nor the future. There are many stories in addition to ‘Purple Mirror’ where people are drawn into a mirror. Mirrors serve as both windows and doors to other realms. If you pass through the mirror and go to the other side, the self on this side disappears… I wonder just where this client’s mother ended up?” Takatsuki chuckled softly. His eyes seemed to carry the slightest tinge of blue, and Naoya tensed a little. When Takatsuki blinked, though, his eyes returned to their usual dark brown. With a friendly smile that brought a golden retriever to mind, he spoke in an excited tone. “If it’s okay with you, Fukamachi, let’s go together to hear this girl’s story. And then we can see the Purple Mirror that’s in her house. I mean, opportunities like this don’t come often, do they? A real Purple Mirror! It’s even more exciting than seeing a mummified kappa!” They arranged to meet with the client that Saturday. It was decided that they would talk before heading to the inn, and a coffee shop in front of Asakusa Station was chosen as the rendezvous point. Since the area was a tourist destination, the inside of the shop was crowded. Even so, as soon as Takatsuki and Naoya set foot inside, someone waved at them from a table in the back. They ordered their drinks at the counter. As they approached the table, the client shot to her feet. She had pin-straight hair that was cut at a diagonal over her shoulders, and she wore an oversized shirt and faded jeans on her small frame. “Um, so you’re Professor Akira Takatsuki, right?” “Yes, I’m Takatsuki from Seiwa University. This is my assistant, Fukamachi. And you must be the one who e-mailed me, Miss Shiho Matsui?” “That’s right. Thank you for meeting me today!” Shiho put both hands on her knees and bowed emphatically to Takatsuki. Then, as if concerned about the shop’s raucous atmosphere, she glanced around and gave a knowing smile. “…I’m sorry for asking you to meet at a coffee shop chain, when you took the trouble of coming to Asakusa. There are some nice cafés around, but they always have long lines to get in, and… A lot of the owners are acquainted with my father. If it got around that I was consulting with a strange man about something weird, I’d be in a little bit of a bind.” As the daughter of a well-established innkeeper, Shiho had no choice but to worry about what others thought. And it was true that in the shop they were in, none of the staff would overhear their conversation, so they could talk freely. “I don’t mind. I only came here today to talk to you. I can come back another day to enjoy the lovely shops of Asakusa. Ah, but if there are any you recommend, please tell me about them later.” Takatsuki smiled. Shiho’s shoulders relaxed, as though that smile had calmed her. She must have been a bit nervous after all. “Now then, why don’t you tell me your story?” Takatsuki prompted, and Shiho nodded once before speaking. “Um, so there’s that mirror in my house. But before that, can I tell you about the household rules?” “Hmm? Of course. What are they?” “Well… There’s been a sort of weird rule in my family for a long time. It’s that no one may enter the back storeroom except the head of the household.” “The back storeroom?” “There’s a storeroom at the back of the first floor. Apparently, it’s got things like old tableware that isn’t used very often and antique kimono in it. So it’s pretty much a room no one needs to go into, but… Anyway, no one is allowed in there except the head of the household. Currently, that would be my father, so no one can go in there except him. Not family members, not even people who work at the inn. And the reason no one can go in there—it’s because that’s where that mirror is.” “If you’re not allowed to enter that room, does that mean you haven’t seen the mirror?” “Oh, no, sometimes we leave the door to the room open to air it out and let out moisture, so I’ve seen it from outside of the room.” “So you have seen it! What kind of mirror is it?” Takatsuki leaned forward suddenly. Surprised, Shiho reared back a little. “Um, it’s an old Japanese-style full-length mirror, covered in a purple cloth.” “Full-length? Not a hand mirror?” “Right. It’s a rectangular mirror big enough to see your whole body in. And, um, it’s just a mirror; it doesn’t have drawers or anything like a dresser. There’s a wooden base underneath.” “Huh…I see.” Takatsuki stroked lightly at his chin as he listened to Shiho talk. “What is it, Professor?” Naoya asked. “Ah, well… A full-length mirror is a bit of a surprise,” Takatsuki said. “Generally, the mirrors that come up in ‘Purple Mirror’ stories are hand mirrors. In stories that talk about the origin of the phrase ‘purple mirror,’ it’s common for them to tell of the death of a woman or girl who cherished a mirror, and they almost all explicitly describe the mirror as a hand mirror. Even in versions that don’t use that term and simply refer to it as a mirror, there are descriptions of the mirror being carried close to the owner at all times or of it being put away inside a bureau. In which case, it would definitely be a hand mirror or at least a small one. Of course, such stories were probably thought up after the fact, based on the phrase ‘purple mirror,’ so they don’t really mean much… But still, the mirror in your house, Miss Matsui, doesn’t seem to fit into the typical ‘Purple Mirror’ story.” Then Takatsuki turned to Shiho. “Apologies, I’ve derailed the conversation. The mirror in your house—is it usually referred to as the Purple Mirror?” “Ah, no. It’s usually just called ‘the mirror.’ It’s supposed to be a family heirloom, but it hardly ever gets mentioned in the first place. It’s basically always just, ‘Don’t go into the back storeroom.’” “Then why is it that you think it’s a Purple Mirror?” “…Because my mother said it was.” For a moment, after saying those words, Shiho fell silent. She bit her lip hard, then started to speak once more. “When I was little, my mother pointed to the storeroom door and said, ‘Don’t play in that room.’ When I asked her why, she told me, ‘Because there’s a Purple Mirror in there.’ Then she giggled and said, ‘If you still remember the phrase “purple mirror” by the time you’re twenty, you’ll die, so be careful.’ I remember getting freaked out and scared and starting to cry.” That was a standard telling of the “Purple Mirror” story. Just a pronouncement that the listener would die if they still remembered those words when they were twenty. Lowering her gaze a little, Shiho continued. “…My mother disappeared when I was seven years old.” Shiho said that when she came home from elementary school that day, she noticed that her mother was nowhere to be found. Setting down her schoolbag, she had walked around the house, looking for her mother. Half of the first floor of Shiho’s house was used as the living quarters for her family and the inn employees. In the middle of those living quarters was a courtyard, and the storeroom in question faced the courtyard. After peeking into the kitchen and the living room, she came finally to the courtyard. It was there that, without a doubt, she saw her mother going into the storeroom on the other side. She had thought it was odd, since her mother wasn’t allowed in that room. But it wasn’t as if she could go and peek in. After all, she wasn’t supposed to go in there, either. And so Shiho had decided to play in the courtyard while she waited for her mother. But a long time passed, and her mother still had not come out. “Eventually, my father came home and asked where my mother was. I pointed to the storeroom and said she was in there… His expression changed immediately.” Her father had walked with long strides down the corridor, stopping at the door to the storeroom. From the courtyard, Shiho had watched. Her father slid the door open—but her mother wasn’t inside. Instead, she saw a mirror. “It was usually covered with a cloth, but that day, it wasn’t… It looked like it was glowing red, maybe because the setting sun was hitting it just right, and it kind of scared me… I called out to my father. ‘Where’s Mom?’ I asked. And then…” Shiho’s father had turned and stepped down into the courtyard without stopping to put shoes on and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Forget about this,” he said. Shiho looked toward the storeroom once more. No matter how many times she looked inside, her mother was nowhere to be seen. It was so strange. She had definitely seen her mother enter that room. And she had waited the whole time for her mother to come out, while playing in the courtyard. The storeroom door had remained closed until her father had opened it. And there was no other entrance or exit to that room. Despite all that, Shiho’s mother had vanished from the storeroom like a puff of smoke. A thought had popped into her mind, somewhat subconsciously—it was the mirror’s doing. Her mother shouldn’t have gone into that room after all. Because there was a Purple Mirror in there. “That mirror made my mother disappear. It must be a cursed Purple Mirror after all, and if I don’t forget about those words and what I saw by the time I’m twenty, I’ll disappear like she did… I think that’s why my father told me to forget about it back then. I’m scared.” As if overcome by a sudden chill, Shiho wrapped her arms around herself. She hung her head, her small shoulders trembling. It was then that Takatsuki spoke. “Miss Matsui.” Takatsuki’s soft, clear voice came out just as there was a lull in the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop, and Shiho raised her head, as though drawn to the lovely sound. …Uh-oh, Naoya thought. Takatsuki held his right hand out to Shiho like he was asking for a handshake. An intelligent-looking smile formed on his handsome face. Though she looked confused, Shiho extended her right hand as well. Leaning over the table, Takatsuki took her hand in both of his and began to talk in a tone that sounded just like he was about to confess his love for her. “This is really wonderf— Augh!” “Okay, that’s enough.” Just as Takatsuki had started to say something, Naoya put his palm in the center of the professor’s face and pushed him back forcefully. Hovering half off his seat, Takatsuki’s butt landed back in the chair with a thud. He turned to look at Naoya with teary eyes, rubbing at his nose. Noses were sensitive spots. Getting struck there unexpectedly hurt quite a bit. “F-Fukamachi! What on earth are you doing?!” “How many times do I have to tell you? Handshakes and hugs are not common in Japan! Besides, Miss Matsui might know someone here, so don’t do anything weird!” It would be bad news for Shiho if rumors spread about the daughter of a well-known local innkeeper having her hand held passionately by a handsome stranger. Seeming to have regained his senses, Takatsuki turned to Shiho, who was sitting all the way back in her chair, looking at them as if to say, “What is up with these guys?” Takatsuki was quite flustered. “Ah, I-I’m sorry. It’s just, your story was so wonderful that I almost lost my sense of reason for a bit there!” “Huh? You lose your sense of reason that easily?” “I almost did, but it’s come back already, so I’m fine now! I’m really sorry. Please forgive my behavior.” At Takatsuki’s apology, Shiho looked back and forth between him and Naoya with a bewildered expression. Naoya bowed his head to her as an added apology on his professor’s behalf. Takatsuki cleared his throat. “—Um, Miss Matsui. Let’s start with what I can tell you for now.” His nose was still a little red, but he looked calm. “First of all,” Takatsuki said to Shiho, “it really seems as though the Purple Mirror that’s been passed down in your family is quite unrelated to the typical ‘Purple Mirror’ story. So you don’t have to worry about the whole forgetting before you turn twenty thing.” “What? But—” Shiho looked doubtful. “My mother definitely said, ‘If you still remember it by the time you’re twenty, you’ll die,’ and my father told me to forget about it, remember?” “Do you remember how old your mother was when she disappeared?” “Huh? Probably in her thirties… Oh.” A look of understanding dawned on Shiho’s face. Since the story’s condition was that the listener had to forget by the age of twenty, it meant that the curse of the Purple Mirror would take effect at that age. It made no sense, therefore, to think that the mirror’s curse was the reason Shiho’s mother, who had been in her thirties, disappeared. “Still, we still don’t know at present why your mother disappeared. Or why your father told you to forget it. So—Miss Matsui,” Takatsuki said with a bright grin. “I think the only way to know more is to see the actual mirror in question. Could we go to see the Purple Mirror at your house now? If it’s all right, I’d like to speak to your father and the people at the inn a little bit.” Shiho’s family’s inn was located near Nakamise-dori. Nakamise-dori was a shopping street that led to Sensō-ji Temple. Along both sides of the stone-paved road that stretched straight out from Kaminarimon were rows of shops selling various goods such as sweets, souvenirs, wooden sandals, hairpins, and toys. There seemed to be kimono rental shops, too, as they saw people wearing kimono sort of as though they were cosplaying. Between the people stopping in the middle of the street to take pictures and those who were pausing to eat the sweets they had bought, the street was very crowded. There were lots of foreign tourists as well. They made their way down Nakamise-dori for a while, before turning onto a side road where Shiho’s house was located. The house was a Japanese-style inn with a traditional townhouse exterior, and despite its small size, it had an elegance to it. According to Shiho, her family had been running the inn here since her great-grandfather’s generation. “—Um, before we go inside, there’s something I have to ask of you.” Shiho had turned abruptly to face Takatsuki and Naoya. “The truth is, my father and I haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately. He wants me to take over the inn, but I don’t want to… Or rather, I’d like to leave home someday, if possible.” Faltering somewhat, she went on. “I don’t know what my father would say if he knew I invited a professor from a random university to come look into the Purple Mirror… So could we just say that the reason you came here today is because you’re researching Asakusa?” “Sure, I mean, I don’t mind…” Takatsuki glanced quickly at Naoya, as though checking that he was okay with the decision to lie. Thinking there was no way around it, Naoya nodded. He could imagine it would indeed be hard to tell one’s parents about contacting an associate professor from a different school for advice on something that bordered on occult. Shiho opened the lattice door to the house, revealing the reception area just inside. The interior of the inn was decorated with ukiyo-e prints and paper lanterns, giving it the atmosphere of an Edo era establishment. Next to the front desk were Edo era trinkets for sale that tourists from abroad were likely to enjoy. A kimono-clad woman behind the front desk looked up when they entered. “Welcome back, Shiho. And these gentlemen are?” “I’m home, Mom,” Shiho said, confusing Naoya for a moment. Hadn’t her mother disappeared? In a low voice, Shiho explained, “My father remarried when I was in middle school.” I see, Naoya thought, looking at the woman again. She seemed a tad young to be Shiho’s mother, but she had clearly both donned her kimono and done up her traditional Japanese-style hairdo with great skill. She had the air of an innkeeper. “Mom, this is Professor Takatsuki. He’s researching Asakusa and decided to come to our place while he was in the area. He can come into the back with me, right?” Shiho’s introduction of Takatsuki to the woman was well executed. By Shiho’s simply referring to him as a professor, the woman was likely to assume he worked at Shiho’s university. The woman in the kimono bowed to Takatsuki. “Oh my, hello there. Thank you for looking after my daughter. Please make yourself at home. Shiho, I believe Natsuko is in the kitchen, so have her make some tea.” “Got it. Oh, hey, Mom? Is Dad home right now?” “He’s out for a bit. Did you need him for something?” “Nope, that’s fine. It’s better if he’s not here.” “Shiho. You’ve got to stop talking like that.” The woman in the kimono frowned, and Shiho stuck out her tongue. She had said she didn’t get along with her father, but she seemed close with her stepmother. “Well then, follow me, Professor.” Shiho opened a door next to the front desk and beckoned to them. On the other side of the door, which was labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY, seemed to be the living quarters. Just inside, Shiho took off her shoes and stepped up into a wooden corridor. “Let’s go check out the storeroom while Dad’s not here. It’s this way.” They followed Shiho’s lead down the corridor until they reached the courtyard she had spoken of. It was surrounded by a wall on one side and the house’s corridors on the remaining three sides. Inside the courtyard was an old stone lantern and a small pond full of swimming goldfish surrounded by moss-covered rocks. “That’s the storeroom.” Shiho pointed across the courtyard from where they were standing. Half concealed by the tree growing in the courtyard was a room closed off by an old-looking two-leaved door. Walking down the corridor around the courtyard, they stopped in front of the storeroom. The blackened wooden door was tightly shut, truly giving the impression of one that was forbidden to enter. Probably because of the shade cast on it by the courtyard tree planted right in front of the door, the corridor outside the storeroom seemed a little dim. Naoya moved his gaze along the tree to a corner of the courtyard where there was a small door in a section of the wall that seemed to face the outside. It was bolted shut from the inside, but it looked like a door one could use to leave the property. Suddenly, he heard Shiho call out in alarm. “H-hold on, Professor Takatsuki?!” Bringing his line of sight back from the courtyard, Naoya turned to see Takatsuki with his hand on the sliding door. “Oh, it’s not locked. You can just open it.” “Professor,” Naoya said in a rush. “You can’t just go opening that without permission!” “It’s fine. The rule is that you can’t go inside, right? So I won’t go in. I’ll just look from the outside.” As Naoya wondered whether that sort of logic would stand, Takatsuki threw the door open with a clatter. The effect was immediate. Feeling a strange tightness in his chest, as though the air around him had all at once gotten heavier, Naoya instinctively took a step away from the storeroom. What is this? he wondered. Whatever was happening, he didn’t know, but the sensation was wildly unpleasant. The air felt so bizarrely oppressive that he wondered whether a poisonous gas had been released inside the storeroom. Takatsuki, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by it as he turned to Shiho to ask, “Is that the Purple Mirror?” “Yes, that’s it,” Shiho answered, keeping her eye on the corridor from where they had just come. She was probably worried they would be spotted having opened the storeroom door. Seeing how calm they both seemed, Naoya wondered what was going on. Was he the only one who could feel the odd change in the atmosphere? Not wanting to breathe the air in, he covered his nose and mouth with one hand and looked ever so timidly inside the room. The floor was made of tatami mats—about half a dozen of them—and the room was quite dark, likely because there were no windows. Old-fashioned Japanese chests and wooden shelves, on which a number of paulownia wood boxes were kept, lined the walls. Naoya had been expecting the room to be full of such antique items, but when he looked closer, he noticed that in the corners of the room were carved wooden bears and Hakata dolls that had probably been moved here for lack of a better idea of what to do with them. It was just a regular storage room, he realized. He didn’t see anything in particular that seemed to be the source of the unpleasant atmosphere. The mirror in question was in the center of the room. They had been told it was big enough to reflect a person’s whole body, but it was larger than expected. It possessed quite a sense of presence in the room as a result. A purple floral cloth that seemed to be kimono fabric was draped over the top of the mirror so that its glass face could not be seen. The wooden base had been decorated with intricate fretwork. Curiously, there were small white ceramic jugs and plates sitting in front of the mirror. They looked like the kind often placed on Shinto altars, and unlike the carved bears and Hakata dolls in the corner, they did not seem as though they had been put there simply because their owner didn’t know where else to store them. They clearly appeared to have been placed there like offerings. For a little while, Takatsuki stood in front of the doorway and gazed at the mirror. Then he slid the door closed once more. With the oppressive atmosphere blocked off, Naoya lowered his hand away from his face and let out a sigh of relief. Takatsuki looked at him, puzzled. “Fukamachi, what’s wrong? Do you not like the smell of camphor?” “Camphor?” “It’s an insect repellant,” Takatsuki said. “There might have been some inside the chests or something. It smelled a bit like it.” Had that been the reason for the strange tightness in Naoya’s chest? He was pretty sure he had caught a whiff of something, but… Takatsuki turned to Shiho. “Now then, since we can’t go inside this room, it’s difficult to investigate the mirror directly. Next, I’d like to speak to an inn employee. Is there someone I could talk to? Preferably someone who’s been working here for a long time.” “There are a few people, but…it’s right around the time they clean the guest rooms, so they might be busy. Oh, but Mom said that Natsuko is in the kitchen. Should we go see her?” “Natsuko?” “She’s our most senior employee. She…she even knew my biological mother.” They followed Shiho to the kitchen. It wasn’t particularly big. There was probably a separate kitchen used to prepare meals and such for guests. An older woman wearing a cook’s apron over her kimono stood in front of a double-burner cooktop, stewing something. The scent of soy sauce blanketed the entire room. “Natsuko, do you have a minute?” “Oh, Shiho, you’re home?” “Yep. Are you busy right now, Natsuko?” “I’m just making tsukudani. We ran out. Are these customers?” “He’s a university professor, and this is his assistant. They said they want to talk to you for a bit.” “To me? I wonder what for.” Stepping away from the cooktop, Natsuko approached them. Takatsuki smiled brightly at her. “Hello. Have you been working here for a long time, Ms. Natsuko?” “Yes, over thirty years already,” Natsuko said in a gentle tone, nodding. “I see, thirty years! A lot must have happened in that time!” “Well, it’s like I blinked and thirty years had passed by. All the people who were hired before me, and the ones who were brought on at the same time as me, over time, they all quit. Now they call me the most senior employee. It’s embarrassing, like they’re calling me ‘granny.’” “Oh, that’s not true, it just means you know more about this inn than anyone else. I think it’s a compliment. By the way—have you ever been inside the back storeroom, Ms. Natsuko?” Natsuko shook her head in disbelief at Takatsuki’s question. “Of course not! No one is allowed in there except the head of the household!” “Do you know the reason for that?” “No, I just heard that that’s the rule. Sometimes the employees here joke about it being because there are treasures or something in there.” “Treasures! This is an old inn, so it wouldn’t be surprising if that were true. Incidentally, I heard that Miss Shiho’s biological mother was in that room before she disappeared. Could she have had some business that required her to go inside, despite the fact that only the head of the household can go in?” Gradually, Takatsuki arrived at the real matter at hand. Natsuko had been smiling placidly as they spoke, but at that, her expression stiffened slightly. “Well—even if you ask me, I’m sure I have no idea.” Natsuko’s voice creaked and warped. Naoya put a hand to his ear. She knew. She knew why Shiho’s mother had needed to go into the storeroom. For just a moment, Natsuko’s gaze flicked to Shiho. Was she not answering because she was worried about Shiho? Just then, they heard Shiho’s stepmother call from the front of the inn. “Shiho, sorry, but could you come here for a bit?” “Huh? What is it? You know I have company right now!” Shiho responded loudly, popping her head out of the kitchen. “You see, there’s a customer here who speaks English. He’s lost and wants directions. I can’t help him!” “What? You’re kidding…! Ugh, fine, I guess I have no choice!” Ruffling her bangs, Shiho turned to look at Takatsuki. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I have to go for a little while. I might need to take the customer where he needs to get to, so it could take some time…” “Oh, that’s fine. I’ll take care of things here. If I figure anything out, I’ll let you know later.” “I’m really sorry! See you!” Shiho ran off. Watching her go, Natsuko said, “We get a lot of foreign guests at inns like this. Sometimes even people who aren’t staying here come to ask for directions.” “You go as far as guiding people who aren’t even staying here?” “Yes. After all, they’ve come all the way to Japan from some faraway place. We want them to go home with a good impression, don’t we? Shiho is great at English, so that’s a big help.” Natsuko’s eyes narrowed affectionately. Perhaps she thought of Shiho as a grandchild. “Ms. Natsuko,” Takatsuki said, looking at her. “You know something about Miss Shiho’s mother’s disappearance, don’t you?” “…What are you talking about?” Laughing stiffly, Natsuko pulled at the hem of her apron and returned to the cooktop. “I don’t like that tone, Professor. You sound like a private eye or a police detective. What is it you’re investigating?” “Miss Shiho is concerned about the reason behind her biological mother’s disappearance. She thinks it may be because of the mirror in that storeroom.” “Mirror? Oh, you mean the one with the purple cloth over it?” “Yes. Miss Shiho called it the Purple Mirror.” “What’s with that name? What a strange thing to call it, Shiho…” Natsuko shrugged and looked into the stewing pot. Much of the liquid had already boiled out of it. She poked at the tsukudani with serving chopsticks and shook her head, as if to say it wasn’t quite done yet. Then, glancing in the direction Shiho had run off to, she let out a soft sigh. “…Professor.” “Yes?” “I don’t mind telling you,” she said. “But I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell Shiho.” Takatsuki nodded. “Understood. I won’t tell her, so could you please share what you know with me?” “—Shiho’s mother isn’t the only one who disappeared back then,” Natsuko said in a rushed tone. “Someone else, a young man who worked here at the time, also disappeared… You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” “You mean—they ran away together?” Takatsuki’s eyes narrowed. Picking up some tsukudani in the chopsticks, Natsuko popped it into her mouth. “I always thought those two were up to something. They were often seen holed up in that storeroom together.” “The one that says only the head of the household is allowed to enter?” “It’s not like it’s locked or anything. If they wanted to go in, they could, of course. Some people saw Rika—that’s Shiho’s mother—coming out of that room while adjusting her kimono. And it goes without saying what a man and a woman would be doing behind closed doors together.” At Natsuko’s words, Naoya felt the entire premise of the case turn on its head. A room at the back of the house where no one but the head of the household was allowed to enter— In other words, it was also a room people wouldn’t usually barge into. Had Shiho’s mother used it as a place to meet with the employee she was having an affair with? “Ahh… So that’s why Ms. Rika always told young Miss Shiho not to go into that room?” Natsuko shrugged dramatically. “Well, I suppose she couldn’t let her daughter see her having an affair. So then one day, the two of them vanished. According to Shiho’s father, they took some of the inn’s money, too.” “…But Miss Shiho said she was in the courtyard the whole time,” Naoya interjected, without thinking. “Wouldn’t she have known if the storeroom door had opened?” Natsuko waved his question away. “To think! Shiho was seven at the time. There’s no way she would have been able to keep an eye on the storeroom door that entire time. She might have gotten distracted by the goldfish in the pond or run off to the bathroom at some point.” “But…” Despite Naoya’s misgivings, it was indeed possible that Shiho’s memory was flawed. It was, after all, a memory from her childhood. If she had believed that was how things went when she told them about it, even Naoya’s ears wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Takatsuki sighed. “Now that you mention it, there’s a tree growing right in front of that storeroom. If it was there at the time, it certainly could have served as a screen.” “What, so then Miss Shiho’s mother’s disappearance wasn’t caused by the mirror…?” “Right. She probably eloped, like Ms. Natsuko said. And remember, there was a door leading to the outside near that storeroom. I expect it would have been possible for them to leave the storeroom using the tree as a cover and escape through that door. Although the door was bolted from the inside, so if they really did leave that way, it should have been immediately obvious. I think the mirror in that storeroom simply reminded Ms. Rika of the ‘Purple Mirror’ story, and that’s why she told Miss Shiho about it to discourage her from the room.” That was why no one except Shiho’s mother had referred to the mirror as the Purple Mirror. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to wander into that storeroom. But children were more likely to want to do something they weren’t supposed to do. And so Shiho’s mother had made use of the fear that ghost stories inspired. For young children, scary stories created real terror. If someone told them there was a cursed mirror, they weren’t likely to go anywhere near it. “Hmm, the truth is surprisingly boring… Plus, I definitely can’t tell her about this. What am I to do?” Takatsuki looked at Naoya and smiled. Shiho still hadn’t returned. She was probably kindly guiding the foreign tourist who had lost his way. Takatsuki had said he would contact her if he found anything out, but if he told her what he had just learned, it was sure to hurt her. Leaving things at “her mother disappeared because of the mirror’s curse” might be preferable to telling her the truth—that her mother had run away with a young man she was having an affair with. Suddenly, Takatsuki turned toward the hallway. “Is there someone there?” he called. After a short time, a small middle-aged man in work clothes peered around the kitchen doorway. His hair was graying above his stubbornly set brow. Natsuko turned back around to face the pot with a look of clear worry. She stood with her back fully facing them, as if to say she was uninvolved in the situation, and poked at the tsukudani with her chopsticks. The man glared sourly in their direction, and Takatsuki smiled at him in return. “Are you Miss Shiho’s father, by any chance?” The man nodded wordlessly at Takatsuki’s question. He did bear a vague resemblance to Shiho when one looked closer. They had been told he was out of the house, but he must have come home at some point. Given that he had been outside the kitchen, he had probably overheard their conversation with Natsuko. Shiho’s father jerked his chin toward Takatsuki. “…Who’re you?” “I was asked by Miss Shiho to come investigate the mirror in this house. Miss Shiho believes her biological mother disappeared due to the mirror’s curse and was afraid that the same curse would befall her.” “…That’s ridiculous,” Shiho’s father muttered. “Her mother vanishing was a huge event for Miss Shiho,” Takatsuki said. “She wasn’t satisfied with merely leaving it as a mysterious disappearance. At the time, I hear, you told her to forget about it. But Miss Shiho couldn’t forget. It’s still bothering her.” “She’s better off forgetting it anyway… Rika is never coming back.” Shiho’s father sighed. Looking back up at Takatsuki, he continued, “That’s enough. Please leave. Regardless of what Shiho believes, that mirror isn’t behind her mother’s disappearance.” Naoya startled at the sudden distortion in his voice. Takatsuki’s eyes widened. He put a hand on Naoya’s shoulder, then turned to Shiho’s father and asked, “Do you know the truth about Ms. Rika’s disappearance?” “Of course I do. As you were just talking about—she ran away with a lover, to my embarrassment.” “Isn’t Ms. Rika’s disappearance the fault of that mirror?” “I just told you, the mirror had nothing to do with it. Rika ran off somewhere with a male employee and some of the inn’s money. When she disappeared, the bolt on the corner door of the courtyard was unlatched. There’s no doubt about it.” Lies. Shiho’s father was lying. But what in the world did that mean? With both of his hands covering his ears, Naoya stared at Shiho’s father. He knew the truth of Rika’s disappearance. Shiho’s mother didn’t elope with someone. Did that mean—that the mirror was the reason she disappeared? The next moment, Takatsuki started laughing. Loudly. “Ha-ha-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha. I see, so that’s it! So that’s how it is…!” Naoya looked up at the professor’s face and felt a chill run down his spine. All at once, Takatsuki’s laughter stopped. He looked at Shiho’s father. “Mr. Matsui, I have a favor to ask.” Takatsuki was significantly taller than the other man. As if trying to loom over him, the professor leaned in close to stare into Mr. Matsui’s face. “Could you show me that mirror?” “…Why?” Shiho’s father took a small step backward, as if intimidated by Takatsuki. Takatsuki, however, only moved in closer. “Because I want to know the truth. The truth about that mirror and about this inn.” Suddenly, Takatsuki’s eyes turned blue. Shiho’s father gasped. That deep, dark indigo gaze peered into Mr. Matsui’s eyes. “You know, don’t you? What that mirror really is. I was told it’s a rule that no one can enter that storeroom except for the head of the household. That’s you, at present. That means you’re the one making offerings in front of that mirror.” “Yes, but…” Speaking stiffly, Mr. Matsui stared up into Takatsuki’s eyes, as though he couldn’t look away. He probably had no idea what he was looking up at. The bottomless night sky spread out inside Takatsuki’s gaze. If he looked closely, he would clearly see the twinkling of real stars. Shiho’s father stood there, stock-still, a single tremor shaking his body. Natsuko had turned to look at them, her expression bewildered. But from where she was standing, Takatsuki’s face probably wasn’t visible. She wouldn’t notice those indigo eyes or the genuine night sky they held in their depths. “Please, Mr. Matsui. If you could. No matter what it takes, I want to know the truth. Please let me see it—that mirror.” “…I, understand,” Shiho’s father murmured, still looking into Takatsuki’s eyes. Then Takatsuki blinked. In an instant, the night sky disappeared from his gaze. Startled, Mr. Matsui stumbled back. Takatsuki reached out to grab his arm, holding him upright. “What is it? Are you okay, Mr. Matsui?” “Y-you… What are you?” “—Well then, let’s go to the back storeroom.” A stark smile stood out on Takatsuki’s face. Mr. Matsui looked at him with frightened eyes and shook off the professor’s hand. They started walking, with Takatsuki taking the lead and Shiho’s father following after him. They were headed for the storeroom. Naoya followed behind the two older men, but he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to feel that strange tightness in his chest ever again. Nevertheless, Takatsuki’s long legs made short work of the walk to the storeroom. The moment Takatsuki opened the sliding door, Naoya was hit with that unpleasant sensation once more. As before, the air was heavy. Naoya couldn’t believe how calm Takatsuki was. Shiho’s father didn’t seem to be feeling anything in particular, either. Apparently, it was only Naoya who felt it. But how was that possible? Takatsuki stepped into the storeroom. Shiho’s father did, too. Reluctantly, Naoya followed suit. He had no sooner set foot on the slightly worn tatami floor than he felt his heart tremble. Everything in the room, from the air to the feel of the tatami mats, was unbearable. Naoya was so frightened, all he wanted to do was turn and run, but he had no idea where his fear was coming from. He didn’t think the smell of camphor had anything to do with it. It was just that, somehow, he felt as though he had experienced a similar sensation before. “Mr. Matsui. What exactly is this mirror?” Takatsuki asked, standing in front of the mirror draped in purple cloth. “…It’s an ordinary full-length mirror.” Shiho’s father’s voice warped as he answered. Reflexively, Naoya covered his ears. Looking at Naoya’s expression, Takatsuki furrowed his brow quizzically. He seemed to have noticed that something was off with Naoya, and Naoya tried to tell him: We need to leave this room. This place is bad news. But for some reason, the words were stuck in his throat. Takatsuki returned his gaze to Shiho’s father. “This cover was off when Ms. Rika disappeared, I believe… Can I remove this cloth?” “Don’t!” For the first time, Mr. Matsui raised his voice. “Why? If it’s just a regular full-length mirror, it should be fine.” “…It’s said that if anyone other than the head of the household sees their reflection in that mirror, their image will be taken.” “Their image?” “It means—their life. Or their soul. The mirror sucks them up.” Takatsuki turned to Naoya, who shook his head. Mr. Matsui’s voice hadn’t distorted. For a little while, Takatsuki lowered his eyes, as if in thought. Then suddenly, he reached for the purple cloth. Instinctively, Naoya tried to stop him. “Professor, don’t do that—!” But he was too late. Takatsuki grabbed the mirror’s cover and ripped it off in one motion. The mirror appeared from underneath the cloth. It was large, rectangular, and rimless. The figures of Takatsuki, Naoya, and Shiho’s father were all reflected in its spotless, well-polished surface. It was just a mirror. There was nothing strange about the images reflected there. But the next moment— The surface of the mirror suddenly fogged up as though someone had breathed on it. It was like the whole mirror was covered in a white mist; they couldn’t see anything in it. His eyes widening, Takatsuki tried to lean in closer to the mirror. Without his even thinking about it, Naoya’s hands shot out and stopped him. He mustn’t get any closer to the mirror. This mirror was no good. Naoya could see that clearly, so why couldn’t Takatsuki? And then— As quickly as it had appeared, the mist obscuring the mirror’s surface cleared up. But something was off. Neither Takatsuki, Naoya, nor Shiho’s father were reflected in the mirror. The storeroom itself wasn’t even reflected there. The image in the mirror was a landscape Naoya had never seen before. The ground was a strange reddish brown, with only sparse patches of grass growing here and there. Beyond that was a smooth white wall. The wall had one single large gate with a Chinese-style roof. The roof of the building visible on the other side of the wall was also the kind often seen in Chinese movies. What is this? Naoya thought. They were looking at a mirror, but it was like the mirror was showing them an image of some other place. Naoya remembered Takatsuki saying that mirrors served as both windows and doors to other worlds. Mirrors, it was said, could lead to the past, the future, and even to other places entirely. In that case, where exactly was this world they were seeing now? Before long, the gate inside the mirror began to open. It made no sound. But for some reason, in his head, Naoya clearly felt as though he heard the creaking of hinges. There were a lot of people on the other side of the gate. They were all dressed quite differently. Some of them matched the scenery in Chinese-style dress, while others wore Western or Japanese clothes. There was even an old man in long underwear and haramaki. At his side, Naoya heard Shiho’s father whisper, “Rika.” Confused, Naoya looked closer and noticed that among the people standing in the gate, there was a woman in her thirties, wearing a kimono. Next to her stood a young man in work clothes. Were they really Shiho’s long-lost mother and the male employee? None of the people moved forward through the gate; they merely stood there in a line. Their ashen faces were expressionless, and their eyes, like black holes, stared blankly toward Naoya and the others. The moment his gaze met theirs, Naoya’s entire body went oddly cold, and he startled. An image flashed briefly on the inside of Naoya’s eyelids—blue lanterns. Deep in his ears, he heard the boom, boom, buh-boom of drums, and his knees shook helplessly. It was obvious now why he hated this room. It felt similar, the atmosphere in the storeroom. It felt like—like that midnight festival. The people in the mirror weren’t wearing masks, but Naoya knew. Not a single one of those people was alive. “Pr— …Professor.” Naoya called out to Takatsuki. The sweat pouring out of him from head to toe was cold. We can’t, he thought. We can’t be here. We have to get away from here right now. “Professor, let’s go…” Feeling like he was going to vomit, Naoya pleaded with Takatsuki. But Takatsuki just kept staring into the mirror, as if mesmerized. At that moment, all the people standing inside the gate reached toward them in unison. At the same time, countless hands came bursting out of the mirror. Half transparent, the hands seemed utterly unreal. The hands were also unmistakably trying to grab hold of them. “Professor!” All of a sudden, Takatsuki’s eyes glowed blue. His hands shot out toward the mirror, crossing through the spectral arms. He gripped the edges of the mirror in his long fingers and—with no small amount of force—knocked the mirror backward. The mirror fell. The spectral hands went with it, waving through the air wildly, like a flesh-colored anemone. A huge crash resounded in Naoya’s ears, making him jump. He felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. Looking down, he saw the mirror lying on the tatami floor with huge cracks running through it. Parts of it had shattered completely, scattering tiny shards everywhere. There were no longer any phantom hands to be seen, and all that was reflected in the broken surface of the mirror was the ceiling of the room. Staring down at the sight, Naoya let out a trembling breath. The atmosphere in the storeroom had obviously shifted. Traces of fear lingered in Naoya’s heart, but the strange tightness in his chest had disappeared. With the mirror shattered, the door to the other world had closed. Naoya looked up at Takatsuki standing beside him. Takatsuki was looking down at the mirror, his face blank. His eyes still shone with blue light. Gradually, the blue faded from those intense indigo eyes like receding waves. The moment his eyes returned completely to their original color, Takatsuki’s shoulders twitched. He blinked. Naoya thought he heard a small “huh?” escape through Takatsuki’s lips. Once more looking down at the mirror lying at his feet, Takatsuki took a startled step back. “Huh…? Oh, um! I’m so sorry, Mr. Matsui…!” In a panic, Takatsuki turned to Shiho’s father with pronounced bewilderment in his eyes and started apologizing. “I’m sorry. I think I accidentally bumped into it. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, um, I don’t know whether or not I can pay for it or something. Oh, what do we do…?” “—It’s fine,” Shiho’s father said, trying to stop Takatsuki from repeatedly bowing in apology. “Huh?” Takatsuki said again, looking at Mr. Matsui. “It’s okay… Really, I should have done this a long time ago.” “B-but this is a family heirloom, isn’t it? So…” “It’s not a family heirloom. It’s a curse that was put on my family. We should have destroyed it right away.” Mr. Matsui’s tone was firm. Takatsuki stared at him, confusion still present in his eyes. “This mirror… How did it come to be in your family?” “—I heard it was taken from someone back in my grandfather’s day as payment for a debt. The truth is that many people have disappeared because of this mirror. My grandfather called it the ‘man-eating mirror.’” “Man-eating mirror…?” “I’ve seen it take someone right before my very eyes,” Shiho’s father said. “My grandmother was combing her hair in front of this mirror and suddenly disappeared. When I told my grandfather, he told me to forget about it. He said, ‘You didn’t see anything. It wasn’t your fault. Just forget about it.’” Forget—that was the same thing Shiho’s father had said to her when her mother vanished. But how could someone forget a beloved family member disappearing? “Why keep it if you knew it was man-eating?” Takatsuki asked. “Because business has been good ever since we got it,” Shiho’s father said, practically spitting the words out. “I think my grandfather probably learned what kind of mirror this was when he took it from the debtor. This mirror obeys the head of the household. It doesn’t eat the head of the family. So ‘Put it in a room where no one goes and make offerings to it.’ That’s what my grandfather said when he left it to my father. And after my father, I… Business has indeed been going well for a long time. Even when all the other inns around us were struggling, our family—our family alone—was always fine. But that’s because…this mirror, with its power to eat people, has been protecting us.” Shiho’s father covered his face with both hands. “The people reflected in the mirror earlier… Rika was among them. So was my grandmother and the man who disappeared along with Rika, too. Everyone…they were all eaten by this mirror.” He looked down at the mirror again and continued in a tearful voice. “Breaking the mirror now was the right thing to do. If you hadn’t, I would have forced Shiho to inherit this inn along with its curse… If only I had broken it sooner…Rika wouldn’t have…” Suddenly, they heard the lively sound of someone running down the corridor. “Hold on, oh no, Professor! Why are you in the storeroom?! I told you no one is allowed to go in there…! Wait. Dad? Huh? What’s going on…? What the—? Wait, the mirror broke?!” It was Shiho. She seemed to have just returned from showing the foreign tourist around. Seeing the devastation inside the storeroom, she cried out. “What the heck happened?! Professor, you’re not hurt, right? And Dad, are you crying?! Oh no, no, no, gosh, what’s wrong? You’re a grown man. Don’t tell me you’re crying because a mirror you don’t even use broke…” Surprised at the crying face her father wore when he turned around, Shiho spoke in a flustered voice. Walking over to his side, she patted his back as if to comfort him. She looked at Naoya with an expression that said, “What is going on here?” But Naoya had no idea where to begin explaining it to her. Shiho’s father sniffled loudly. “…Shiho. You don’t want to take over the inn?” “Huh? Um, I mean…I’m not cut out to run an inn. I could help out sometimes, but there’s no way I could run it all by myself.” “I see. Then I guess there’s nothing to be done,” Mr. Matsui said, rubbing at his face with the sleeves of his work clothes. Shiho’s eyes widened. “What?! Dad, what did you just say?! Did you just say it’s okay if I don’t take over the inn?!” “If you really don’t want to, I just thought that might be fine… We can talk about this more later. More importantly, can you bring me a broom and dustpan? I need to clean this up.” “Oh, yeah, got it. But—hey, you better not forget what you just said! Don’t tell me later that you don’t remember, okay?!” Shiho ran back down the corridor. Her father wiped at his face with his sleeves again and muttered, “It might have been impossible for her to take over in the first place, as unsettled as she is.” “Are you sure about this?” Takatsuki asked. “Truly…? Miss Shiho, she’ll be really pleased.” “Yes. I’m sure.” Shiho’s father nodded and knelt on the tatami floor. He reached for the base of the fallen mirror. Naoya had thought only the mirror had broken, but its wooden base, with its intricate fretwork, was also shattered in places. Seeing that made Naoya wonder, had the impact really been strong enough to cause damage to that extent? If it had fallen from a high place or onto a concrete floor, that would have been one thing, but was toppling over onto a tatami mat enough to break it that much? No—something was strange. Looking closely, Naoya saw that the wooden base was blackened, as though it had rotted through. Taken aback, he turned his gaze to the mirror to see that, where only a short while ago it had been sparklingly clear, its surface was now cloudy and riddled with brown spots. It looked like it had aged hundreds of years. The mirror seemed to have completely lost its power. “I always thought that this inn would have to continue on because of this mirror. If someone didn’t become head of the family and inherit this mirror, it would surely eat people indiscriminately—at least, that’s what I thought. And yet.” Mr. Matsui casually tossed aside a fragment of the mirror’s broken base. “If the mirror is gone…if the curse is gone, then there’s no need for that anymore… Although the family business is the family business, so I’ll have to discuss the details a bit more with Shiho.” The look on Shiho’s father’s face was bright. He had probably been bound by the mirror’s curse—his family’s curse that he continued to bear even after the mirror took his grandmother and even his wife—for a long time. It was possible he and Shiho would still have some small disagreement over whether or not she would take over the inn. But that would amount to no more than a conversation between parent and child. Shiho returned shortly after with a broom, dustpan, and gloves. Together, father and daughter began cleaning up the broken mirror. The shattered pieces were gathered and tossed into a garbage bag. Noticing the cracked and dirty fragments, Shiho grimaced. Takatsuki watched the two of them work for a little while before he spoke. “Well then, I think we should be going now.” “Oh, thanks a bunch, Professor…! The mirror broke, but well. It turns out it wasn’t a Purple Mirror after all, huh?” Shiho turned to Takatsuki, still holding the broom. “No, it wasn’t,” Takatsuki replied. “This isn’t a Purple Mirror, and of course you won’t die when you turn twenty. You can rest assured… Well then, take good care of your father, okay?” Shiho called out in the affirmative. Behind her, her father bowed deeply. As they left the inn and started walking, both Naoya and Takatsuki were silent for a while. It was still early for the sun to set, but somehow their surroundings felt gloomy. Perhaps because the alley they were walking down was a narrow one, the nearby buildings may have been blocking out the light. Instead of going back the way they came, Takatsuki just went where his feet took him. From what Naoya could tell, they were headed roughly in the direction of the station, so he merely followed behind the professor. Takatsuki walked a step ahead of him. Staring at his back, Naoya called out. “…Professor?” “What is it, Fukamachi?” Takatsuki responded without turning around. “—Earlier, when you broke the mirror, do you remember it?” Takatsuki was silent. Naoya asked again. “A memory of breaking the mirror. Do you have it?” “…No.” Takatsuki stopped walking and turned slowly toward Naoya. His face was a little pale. “I remember up until the hands came out of the mirror. But…after that, the next thing I knew, the mirror had fallen over and broken.” I knew it, Naoya thought. The way Takatsuki’s eyes had glowed in that moment when he knocked the mirror over. The unfamiliar expressionless look he had worn. That had been the other Takatsuki. “Professor…are you okay?” Naoya asked, wondering how many times those exact words had come out of his mouth. Takatsuki didn’t answer. A faint smile played on his lips—and he turned slowly back around. He started walking again at a slow pace, and Naoya trailed after him. If the other Takatsuki hadn’t appeared, both Takatsuki and Naoya might have been drawn into the mirror. After all, they were told that the mirror would devour anyone reflected in it who wasn’t the head of the Matsui family. Naoya imagined how it happened the day that Shiho’s mother disappeared. She had met with that young man countless times in that storeroom. They brought their lips, their bodies together. They whispered sweet nothings, using that room as their treasured but immoral secret spot. She probably hadn’t known what that mirror really was. Or even if her husband had told her, she probably hadn’t believed him. When she met with the young man, the mirror stayed covered. It remained there, its magical powers hidden, as though it were nothing more than a simple piece of furniture. Why had the cover come off the mirror that day? Had she reached for the cloth unconsciously while entwined with her lover, grasping at its edge and pulling it down? Or perhaps, after the deed was done, she had tried to use the full-length mirror to fix her hair or her kimono. When the purple cloth slid off, the mirror’s surface was revealed. What had Shiho’s mother thought of the scene reflected there? Naoya wondered. And so she was swallowed up by the mirror, along with the man she had been having an affair with. Even though the mirror was broken, the people it had eaten didn’t come back. Whatever the world inside the mirror was, there was no way to save someone from it once they’d been taken. Naoya and Takatsuki had been protected. By the other Takatsuki. “…As if I’d allow it.” Naoya looked up, thinking he’d heard someone say something. Takatsuki was walking a few paces ahead of him. He heard another low mutter. “As if I’d allow anyone to do that to Akira.” Naoya felt all the hair on his body stand on end. That voice was Takatsuki’s; he knew it well. A voice that was strangely clear and resonant. And yet it was also completely unlike Takatsuki’s usual tone. Takatsuki didn’t speak like that, in a voice devoid of even the barest shred of emotion. Without thinking, Naoya reached out and grabbed his arm. Takatsuki turned around. His eyes, so deeply indigo that it seemed like they would draw Naoya in, stared down at him coldly. “Professor.” Looking up into those eyes, Naoya called out. “Professor…Professor Takatsuki!” When Naoya had met this other Takatsuki for the first time, back in Yamanashi, he’d called the professor’s name forcefully like this, and Takatsuki had come back to himself. So, he thought, that was sure to work now. But Takatsuki just tilted his head slightly and continued to stare down at him. His eyes were still the color of the dark night sky, and Naoya shuddered. “Professor…” Suddenly, Takatsuki bent down, bringing his face in close. Looking at his handsome features, which he knew so well and yet which felt like they belonged to a stranger in that moment, Naoya couldn’t help but tense up. He heard Takatsuki inhale softly through his nose. “—As I thought. You still smell like the underworld,” Takatsuki said. No—this wasn’t Takatsuki. This was the other one. “It’s because you got nearer to the underworld than Akira did. That’s why you remember it so well—the air of the land of the dead.” Staring at Naoya from inches away with his faintly glowing night-sky eyes, the other Takatsuki turned up the corners his lips ever so slightly. He was smiling—at least, Naoya thought he was. “I must thank you,” that emotionless voice murmured. “You have my gratitude for bringing Akira back from the underworld back then.” That voice, which belonged to Takatsuki but somehow was not his, sounded somehow dreadfully terrifying. Unable to move, Naoya continued to look up at the other Takatsuki. His instincts were screaming at him that it was dangerous to stare into those eyes any further, but Naoya couldn’t stop looking. That gaze, with the real night sky cradled in its depths, peered at him from a mere breath away. Desperately, Naoya searched those eyes for the regular Takatsuki. He had to be there, somewhere in there. Naoya was sure of it. But before he could find him, the other Takatsuki suddenly pulled away. He dislodged Naoya’s grip on his arm with a small movement and, once again, turned slowly back around. He started walking. Leaving Naoya behind, he set off alone, going who knew where. “P-professor!” Naoya shouted so loudly even he was surprised. From behind, he saw Takatsuki jolt. “—Eh? What’s wrong, Fukamachi?” Takatsuki turned around, his expression full of alarm. Naoya rushed over to him and looked up into his face. His eyes were their usual dark brown, and his features were as kindly as ever. The moment he saw Naoya’s face, however, Takatsuki gasped softly. He’d realized, likely because of the way Naoya was looking at him. “…Fukamachi, was I, just now…?” Naoya clenched his teeth. Right, he thought. Every time the other Takatsuki appeared, there were gaps in the professor’s memory, like a moth-eaten old coat. Naoya wondered if this had happened before and he just hadn’t noticed. Somehow, it felt like the other Takatsuki was coming out more frequently. For him to just smoothly switch places with Takatsuki like that, when he wasn’t even unconscious, was… “—Fukamachi.” Takatsuki grabbed Naoya’s arm. “What did I just do?” The grip on his arm hurt, and Naoya grimaced a little. Takatsuki didn’t seem to notice. Expression unrelenting, he asked again. “Did I say something to you…? Did I…do something to you?” “You thanked me, actually.” “…Thanked you?” “Yes. And that hurts.” He shook Takatsuki’s hand off gently. Takatsuki stared at him in bewilderment. Naoya rubbed his arm, which continued to ache a little. “He said he was grateful that I brought you back from the underworld.” “……Umm, it sounds like the ‘other’ me is surprisingly conscientious.” “I wonder. I think the other you probably likes you quite a bit. Also, he said I smell like the underworld. Apparently, it’s because I got closer to it than you did… He sort of…sniffed me.” “What does the ‘other’ me think it’s doing, using my body like that…?” Takatsuki replied, covering his face with one hand at the other Takatsuki’s shockingly unrestrained behavior. Then roughly shoving his bangs back away from his face, he sighed. “Seriously, I guess I can’t let my guard down. I really wish it wouldn’t just take over my body without permission.” Takatsuki said those words half jokingly, but at the end, just a little, Naoya thought he heard them tremble. …It was scary. Even to Takatsuki. He had no memories of the periods when the other Takatsuki was out. “Professor,” Naoya said. He looked back up at Takatsuki, lifting his head. “—See? It’s fine, right?” “Huh?” Takatsuki looked puzzled. Naoya met his gaze. “I remembered, so it’s fine,” he said, pretty sure that he had managed to put on a smile. “You know.” For a moment, Takatsuki was quiet, staring down at him. Then suddenly, the corners of his mouth turned up, and he put a hand on Naoya’s head. “…That’s right. You promised.” “I’d like a raise for my increased role as your external memory device.” “…You’ve been getting more and more impertinent lately, you know.” “Ah, hey!” As he often did, Takatsuki ruffled Naoya’s hair. Naoya hurried to escape from his hand. Takatsuki turned on his heel, not bothering to pursue as Naoya fled. “Professor? Where are you going?” “Well, I thought I’d do a little shopping on Nakamise-dori before heading home. I want to get souvenirs for my grad students and KenKen. And for you, Fukamachi, as compensation for your work as my external memory device today, I think I’ll buy some sort of toy with a really Showa era vibe. I’m sure I saw a shop selling things like that. You’d better treasure it.” “No, I don’t need something like that!” Naoya chased after Takatsuki, who was laughing as he made his way swiftly toward Nakamise-dori. As they walked, Naoya recalled the words the other Takatsuki had said earlier. —“As if I’d allow it.” Those words spoke of a strong attachment. There was one thing Naoya had learned from this incident. Setting aside the memories issue and such, Naoya didn’t think that the other Takatsuki was actually an enemy to Takatsuki at all. Considering the thanks for bringing the professor back from the underworld and the protection from the mirror at Shiho’s house, in a sense, they could consider the other Takatsuki to be Takatsuki’s guardian. But nevertheless—as long as they didn’t know what the other Takatsuki really was, they couldn’t let their guards down. After all, the other Takatsuki could continue to steal the professor’s memories. …Try it, Naoya thought. Even if Takatsuki’s memories kept being erased, Naoya would continue to relay what was lost. He had promised. Even if Takatsuki forgot what he saw with his own eyes. No matter how many times the other Takatsuki stole his memories away. Naoya had promised that he would remember it all. That meant no matter what happened in the future, Naoya would be at Takatsuki’s side, seeing things through. As he followed in Takatsuki’s wake, Naoya was full of quiet resolve.
Chapter 21
72 min read