Chapter 9

It was April. Naoya Fukamachi had become a second-year student in Seiwa University’s History Department. In their first year, students were all lumped together under the umbrella of “liberal arts,” but from their second year onward, they were divided into three departments: literature, history, and psychology. Although they wouldn’t choose their majors until they were in third year, Naoya had heard that second year was when courses started getting more specialized and students were assigned more reports than in first year. In the Campus Life Guide, which was prepared by the student council and distributed upon matriculation, students were advised to “try earning as many general education credits as possible in the first year, because specialized courses can be rough.” This same time last year, everything had been new to Naoya, and he had found it difficult to relax. But now, embarking on his second year at the university, he was already familiar with college life. He had a thorough knowledge of not only the layout of campus buildings but also the product shelves at the student co-op. He no longer bore the same confused expression as the fresh, innocent first-years who wandered around with maps in hand, wondering things like “Which one is Building 1?” and “Where is the registrar’s office?” At least—that’s what he had thought. “Are you a first-year?! I’m part of the tennis club, BLUE STARS! Nice to meet ya!” “Brain Thieves, the drama club, will be performing its new sci-fi historical drama, Until Next Time, Hell’s Paradise, today in club hall 2A at six PM! We have priority seating for first-years, so please take advantage of it!” “I’m from the divination club! We’re having a mixer today! Using Four Pillar astrology, Western astrology, tarot readings, numerology, and divining rods, our upper-class students can predict anything and everything about you! Please join us!” Club recruiters swarmed Naoya like a school of hungry piranhas, trying to lead him to their clubrooms at the slightest opportunity. He managed to evade them somehow, scrambling inside one of the school buildings, only to find fellow second-year Youichi Nanba there, pointing and laughing at him. “Ha-ha-ha-ha! You got mistaken for a first-year?! That’s so lame, Fukamachi! Seriously!” “…Shut up,” Naoya replied, straightening his dislodged glasses. As he was fixing the shoulders of his shirt, which had been tugged out of place, he noticed something flutter to the ground at his feet. It was a flyer that one of the recruiters had shoved into his bag of their own volition. Sighing, Naoya picked it up and threw it away in a nearby garbage can. April was when all the student clubs worked frantically to gain new members. Just like the year before, the school’s main thoroughfare was lined with club recruitment booths, making it look just like a festival. Upperclassmen carrying stacks of flyers called out fervently to any new students who walked by. But unlike in high school, they couldn’t use the color of people’s indoor shoes or their badges to discern what year those people were in. They appeared to be guessing based on facial expressions and general vibes, but sometimes, like in Naoya’s case, they were mistaken. Naoya had absolutely no idea which aspects of him were causing these mix-ups, though. “Listen, Fukamachi. How do I put this? It’s like, your style isn’t very sophisticated. It’s kind of giving the same vibe as a high schooler’s.” “That’s because I wear pretty much the same clothes I wore in high school.” “Go buy some new ones. At least some black skinny jeans or something. Also, now that I think of it, why not lose the glasses and switch to contacts? Ah, but then again, being a ‘four-eyes’ is a pretty major part of your image, so if you stopped wearing them at this point… Oh, why not try dyeing your hair instead?” “Yikes, no. What a hassle… Speaking of, you had black hair in high school, too, didn’t you, Nanba? And a uniform.” “I told you to forget about that!” Nanba wailed, covering his hair—which was even lighter in color than it had been the year before—with both hands. In the student ID photo Naoya had just happened to get a glimpse of previously, Nanba had sported black hair and a rather serious look. “Fukamachi, do you have Professor Takatsuki’s class next?” “Yeah. You too?” “Yep. Last year’s class was really interesting. Plus, the exam was just a report.” Since Nanba had also chosen the History Department from his second year onward, the number of classes they had in common had increased. Perhaps because of the issue he had helped Nanba resolve at the end of last year, Naoya felt like they were maybe a little closer than before. Nanba also came to sit next to him more often when they were in the same class. They were headed to the first session of Modern Folklore I. The course was a specialized one in the History Department that met on Thursdays during fourth period, in room 302 of Building 2. It was taught by Associate Professor of Folklore and Antiquities, Akira Takatsuki. His general education course, Folklore Studies II, had been rather popular, and it seemed like this one had a high registration rate as well. It wasn’t being held in a tiered lecture hall, but it did require a rather large classroom, in which more than half the seats were already occupied. Classes without assigned seats tended to fill in from the back row, but one unique feature of Takatsuki’s courses was the tendency of their front rows to fill up first. That day, the front row was taken up entirely by female students. Finding open spots near the center of the room, Naoya and Nanba sat side by side. Almost immediately, Naoya was distracted by the voice of the male student sitting right behind them. “…Yes, I’m sorry, but about today’s shift… I’m feeling really ill all of a sudden. I’m going to the doctor in a minute, so could I have the day off…? Yes, I think it’s a cold.” The student’s voice, interrupted by affected coughs, started distorting wildly partway through his words. Reflexively, Naoya covered his ears and glanced over his shoulder. A boy who looked to be the very picture of health was repeating the words “I’m so sorry, really” into his cell phone. Even his apologies sounded viciously warped. Naoya wondered if the female student stifling a laugh in the seat next to him was his friend or girlfriend. As the boy continued, saying how badly his head hurt and that he couldn’t stop coughing or feeling nauseated, the metallic screech of his voice hit Naoya’s eardrums like a knife, making him wince involuntarily. “—Fukamachi?” Nanba’s puzzled tone pulled Naoya’s attention back. Naoya whipped his hands away from his ears in a hurry. “Oh… Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” Focusing his attention on Nanba’s voice instead of the other student’s, Naoya was somehow able to regain his composure. Still looking a little perplexed, Nanba replied, “I said, what are you going to major in? Have you decided already? Is it folklore?” “No,” Naoya said, shaking his head. “I’m still thinking about it. We have another year to decide, so.” The History Department comprised four major subjects of study: Japanese history, Western history, Asian history, and folklore and antiquities… The last option really did feel like it was tugging Naoya toward it with all its might, but at the moment, he planned on taking the year to carefully consider his choice. “What about you, Nanba? Are you going with folklore, since you’re taking Professor Takatsuki’s class?” “Hmmm, I haven’t really decided yet, either. Western history seems good, too. But Professor Takatsuki’s seminar also seems fun… And, I mean, his graduate students are really pretty, y’know? That pretty girl with glasses you talk to sometimes, she’s one of Takatsuki’s students, right? It would be nice to have pretty older girls around me.” “If you mean Miss Ubukata, she’s a second-year doctoral student right now, so by the time we’re in a seminar she won’t be at the university much… Anyway, Nanba, don’t you have a girlfriend?” “Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate seeing a pretty face. Or talking to one. It’s no different from the girls who always fight for front-row seats in Professor Takatsuki’s lectures because they just like to look at him. It’s called ‘eye candy.’” Nanba’s girlfriend was in the tennis club with him, but since she had chosen a different department, they had no classes in common. While Naoya was talking to Nanba, the student behind them seemed to have finished up his phone call. He was chatting with the girl next to him—his voice clear and undistorted—about a date that evening. But there were still plenty of warped voices audible in the din of the classroom. Pretending to rest his chin on his hands, Naoya covered his ears again. Just then, the bell rang. At almost the exact same time, Takatsuki walked into the classroom. “—Yes, hello. Let’s start the lecture.” Takatsuki stood at the lectern with a microphone in hand, addressing the class, and all the commotion subsided like a receding tide. Letting out a small, relieved breath, Naoya put his hands back down. With a wide smile, Takatsuki looked around the room. “Today is the first meeting of this class. I’m Takatsuki, the one who will be teaching Modern Folklore I. Pleased to meet you all… Though since everyone here took Folklore Studies II last year, I suppose there’s no need to introduce myself now.” Laughter rippled across the room. Everyone there knew Takatsuki really did remember his students’ faces. His unusually powerful memory and eyesight had both become common knowledge in last year’s course. This man—wearing a well-tailored three-piece suit on his tall, slender frame and a friendly smile on his movie-star-handsome face—was Seiwa University’s much adored associate professor. His good looks alone drew plenty of attention, but even more than that, the content of his lectures was quite unusual. “Now then, in Folklore Studies II, we covered a wide range of ghost stories and urban legends that are told in modern times. We’ll cover basically the same topics in this class. Scary stories, strange tales, urban legends that pretty much everyone has heard somewhere. We’ll take a closer look at these stories, which have been divided up into several themes, while considering the state of Japanese consciousness as it links past and present. Our first theme is…the spirit realm.” Takatsuki picked up a piece of chalk and wrote “Spirit Realm” on the blackboard in his tidy hand. Then, still holding the chalk, he looked back at the students for a moment. “Today I’ll be giving you a rough outline of the theme… I spent a lot of time yesterday thinking about what story to use as an introduction, and in the end felt this one would work well.” As he spoke, Takatsuki wrote something on the board alongside the words “Spirit Realm.” Immediately, some of the class burst into snorts and giggles. For a moment Naoya thought he might even join them. After all, the words Takatsuki had written were “Kisaragi Station.” “Do you all know this story?” the professor said, pointing to the title on the blackboard and turning to face the students. “If you know it, raise your hand.” A majority of the room did so. Many of them were still snickering. That was to be expected. “Kisaragi Station” was a famous urban legend. Looking around and smiling some more, Takatsuki continued, “Ah yes, it seems many of you are familiar with the story after all. But since some of you aren’t, I’ll give a brief explanation. It first appeared in 2004 on the occult board of the internet forum 2channel in the form of someone asking for advice regarding a situation she was actively experiencing, taking place over multiple posts for a number of hours. The person, who identifies herself as ‘Hasumi,’ starts off by writing, ‘I’ve been taking a certain private railway for a while now, but things seem strange. This is the train I always commute on, but it hasn’t stopped at a station for about twenty minutes.’ The train would normally stop every five—or perhaps seven or eight—minutes, but this one hasn’t reached the next station. It’s late at night, and there are other passengers on board, but everyone except for the post’s author is asleep. Essentially, Hasumi is asking if anyone knows what’s going on. Since she’s doing so via a forum, other users post in response to her with suggestions like ‘Perhaps you got on the wrong train’ and ‘Go talk to the conductor.’ Soon, Hasumi informs the forum that the train has stopped at an unmanned station called ‘Kisaragi Station.’ Hasumi gets off at the stop, and the train goes on without her. Forum users realize there is no stop by that name on the line Hasumi was taking. So where in the world is Hasumi? Users go on to share various theories.” Resonating through the sound system, Takatsuki’s voice was slightly high in register for a man’s, miraculously clear, and soft. And yet, the story that soothing voice was telling was an internet ghost story that could have been covered on some bizarre TV special. Naoya always thought the school must have a rather open-minded definition of “scholarship,” since this was one of its official for-credit courses. “The area around Kisaragi Station is all grasslands and mountains, and it doesn’t seem as though she can call a taxi, so Hasumi sets off into the dark, walking along the train tracks, where she has several frightening experiences. She hears the sounds of drums and bells in the distance and encounters an old man with one leg. Forum users begin to wonder at this point if Hasumi might already be dead. Hasumi then reports that she has passed through a tunnel called ‘Isanuki’ and met a person at the end of it who is giving her a ride in his car back to the station. She seems to be under the impression that she’s safe, but the other users urge her to be careful. They fear things are going to get strange again. And as expected, in Hasumi’s next post, she shares the disturbing information that the car is heading not toward the station, but into the mountains, and that the driver has started muttering incomprehensibly to himself. Her posts stop there, perhaps because her phone battery has died, and the story ends without giving us a clear idea of what Hasumi’s ultimate fate is.” Naoya had read about the “Kisaragi Station” story in some online article before. The article had contained screenshots of the actual posts exchanged on the message board at the time. A number of people had replied to the user known as “Hasumi,” offering her advice half in jest, their posts riddled with internet slang, while everyone on the message board had followed the story with rapt attention. “Rather than being a story narrated by one person, the ‘Kisaragi Station’ story is made up of exchanges between one inquirer and multiple advisers. Such interactions are common on the internet forum in question. Another fairly famous one in the occult genre is the so-called ‘Cover Thread.’ There’s also the ‘Train Man’ story, as a non-occult example, which was made into a movie and a TV drama. There’s a sense of gamelike fun that comes from responding to the inquiries of others in real-time situations. Whether or not the incidents are actually happening is moot at that point. What’s important is the shared sense among participants that the stories are indeed real. Indeed, like many other internet posts, the ‘Kisaragi Station’ story is largely considered to be a work of fiction. It’s the sort of story sometimes known as neta—internet slang for what is essentially the base idea, root concept, or seed of something later expanded upon.” Takatsuki grinned, and many of the students nodded along with him in apparent agreement. Naoya had had the same thought when he’d read the posts from the forum. Many of the forum users, too, while they seemed to be going along for the ride quite willingly, had posted things like “this is neta” and “ur trolling.” “Nonetheless, if you follow the posts from that time, there is an undeniable tinge of eeriness throughout them, particularly because this happened in an online forum. Just as there’s no way to prove that what someone has posted there is true, it’s also impossible to determine that it was all a fabrication. On the one hand, you may believe such a story is impossible. On the other, you may want to believe, deep in your heart, in the existence of this Hasumi character who disappeared without a trace from a mysterious train station. That sort of feeling is behind the formation of this story and its being told even now. The ‘Kisaragi Station’ story remains extremely popular despite how much time has passed since its appearance. Seven years after the original post, a person calling themself ‘Hasumi’ posted again on a different site, and many similar ghost stories have since been created. On Twitter, people regularly post tweets that say, ‘I fell asleep on the train, and when I woke up I was at Kisaragi Station.’ There are also a lot of investigative articles and such about it online. I recommend reading some of them if you have the time. They’re very interesting!” Takatsuki delivered that suggestion with an innocent, childlike smile on his face. Between the gleam in his big, round eyes and the liveliness in his voice, he seemed to be really enjoying himself. There probably weren’t many associate professors who lectured with such naked enthusiasm. “So why does the ‘Kisaragi Station’ story leave such a strong impression on people? In short, it’s the story of someone who got lost in the realm of spirits. Narratives about exploring the spirit realm have proliferated since long ago. For example, we have Izanagi’s visit to the spirit realm as seen in the Kojiki; Urashima Taro’s journey to the Dragon Palace; and the story I introduced to you in last year’s class from ‘Heiji Daito’ and ‘Senkyo Ibun,’ of the boy named Torakichi who went to the realm of the tengu.” Takatsuki’s eyes narrowed slightly as he said those words. Knuckles bent, he rapped twice on the words “Spirit Realm” he had written on the blackboard. “Yes, people have harbored a strong interest in the spirit realm for a very long time. We believe there is another world, separate from the one we are currently living in. Why is that? Well, to begin with, we have a tendency to perceive the world as being divided into two opposing sides. Within and without. This world and that world. Ordinary and extraordinary. Us and them. We split the world into separate pieces in our minds. To do that—we draw countless lines around ourselves.” For a moment, Naoya felt like Takatsuki’s gaze had flickered to him, and his shoulders nearly twitched in surprise. Once more, Takatsuki gave them a wide smile. “The world inside the lines we draw is a calm, safe one. It’s the one we’re familiar with, the everyday routine that we know and love. Nothing terrible happens in this world. Strange things only occur in the spirit realm, or on the borders between our world and the next. This is because the spirit realm is extraordinary. It may be governed by rules we don’t know. A place without the sort of order we’re used to could be very dangerous. I think people who have traveled abroad can understand this feeling pretty easily. On your first time in a new country, it’s common to feel anxious because you don’t understand the language, and the customs are different. The scenery is unfamiliar, and there are even differences in public law and order.” Naoya had yet to travel abroad, but he still more or less understood what Takatsuki was describing. Even just visiting a new city could be nerve-racking, let alone another country. He had felt that way right after entering college, too. Everywhere he looked were unfamiliar faces, and neither the methods of study nor the way he spent his time within the college were the same as they had been in high school. Back then, Seiwa’s campus had been a world that Naoya was unacquainted with. Even the classmate sitting at his side, Nanba, and Takatsuki, speaking from the lectern, had been total strangers. Now, after a year, the college had become a thoroughly ordinary place for him. “In ancient times,” Takatsuki went on, “anywhere outside the village you lived in was considered another world. The boundaries of the village were no different from the boundaries of the world. The mountains, forests, rivers, oceans, and so on that stretched far and wide outside the village were beyond human will, and as a result humans saw gods and apparitions in those places. Tengu, kappa, demons, Orochi, trickster creatures like foxes and tanuki. These beings were representations of the wilderness that we could neither comprehend nor control. However—before long, our concern with nature began to subside. With the development of commerce and culture, our surroundings overflowed with all sorts of new things, and our attention shifted from the far-off mountains and plains to what existed in our vicinity. What do you think resulted from this?” Takatsuki glanced around at the class briefly, but perhaps because no one seemed likely to respond, he merely went on to answer his own question instead of posing it to a student. “Doors to the spirit realm open where people direct their attention. Which is to say—the other world that used to exist outside human settlements has now found its way inside the towns and villages.” Disquieting sentiments fell casually from Takatsuki’s lips without his smile so much as budging. “In the latter period of the Japanese Middle Ages, demons called tsukumogami were depicted quite often in picture scrolls and the like. Tsukumogami are very old tools and implements which have acquired a spirit. You’ve probably heard of the ‘Tsukumogami Emaki’ and the ‘Hyakki Yakou Emaki,’ which are said to have been created in the Muromachi period. Teacups and lutes that have sprouted arms and legs may be fairly adorable, but their existence meant the appearance of monsters in the immediate surroundings of human lives. The border of the spirit realm no longer began at the boundaries of the town. This trend became even more pronounced in the Edo period. As settlement populations increased, interest in the mysteries of the mountains and the plains waned further, and interest in the creatures we call ‘humans’ grew stronger. Consequently, stories about strange things happening within towns and villages—ghost stories, in particular—exploded in popularity. Humans and ghosts, which are just the shadows of former humans, became more frightening to us than demons and monsters. The borders of the spirit realm had encroached so far into our daily lives that the mysterious became something that could occur anywhere. Even the family members people shared a home with could be possessed by ghosts and turn into unfamiliar beings. That made it quite difficult for people to feel safe. However—around that time, ghost stories started being associated with entertainment. This is when we began to see Buddhist tales, which were supposed to contain some sort of moral, being divorced from religion and treated as mere scary stories. The Edo period saw the publication of a large number of ghost story compilations, the appearance of ghosts and demons in plays and paintings, and the flourishing of rituals where participants gather to share ghost stories. The concept of ghost stories as recreation continues into the present day.” A story could be scary but entertaining. Or it could be the scariness itself that one enjoyed. Even in modern times, people enjoyed scary stories. Horror movies, books, manga. Crowds flocked to haunted houses and other spooky events. Those things allowed modern humans to play in the spirit realm and toy with monsters. Children summoned Kokkuri-san in classrooms after school hours and hid letters bearing misfortune among others’ belongings. It was only when they found themselves embroiled in strange circumstances and losing sight of the boundary between normal life and the spirit realm that people realized just how dangerous such things were. “To us—people living in the present day—it’s no longer unusual that gates to the spirit realm can appear anywhere. Nevertheless, we still notice the same old traditional boundary lines. Even now, we share the sense that strange things happen more frequently at night, rather than during the day, or at twilight, which is the midway point between the two. There’s also the idea that the possibility of encountering something terrifying is overwhelmingly higher in areas with fewer people as opposed to crowded places. A school at nighttime, for example. A late-night train that’s mostly empty. The slit-mouthed woman and Hikiko-san always wait for us on deserted streets. The ghost stories we tell today are still steeped in the fear of the spirit realm that has been rooted in human consciousness since ancient times. And—there’s one more thing. A factor that cannot be disregarded when we discuss modern ghost stories. What do you think it is? Yes, you there.” Takatsuki pointed to one of the female students sitting in the front row. The girl looked panicked at having been suddenly singled out, but Takatsuki addressed her again. “You never missed a lecture last year. So, any ideas?” “Uh… U-um, uhhhh…?” Takatsuki threw the faltering girl a lifeline. “It’s something you’re extremely familiar with. You probably use it every day.” “Huh? Wha—? Oh—cell phones?!” The girl grabbed her own phone, which had been resting on top of her desk, and held it up as she answered. Smiling, Takatsuki nodded. “Yes, that’s it. Smartphones and computers, and the online world they connect to. The ‘Kisaragi Station’ story I mentioned earlier is an urban legend that was born in an online forum. The internet, which a huge number of people use in modern society, has become a place to tell all sorts of stories. This fact can’t be ignored. Furthermore, the internet makes it easy to find information which shares a common thread, which means you can gather different information and verify it. It also means that you can add more fake stories to the mix. You could take a picture of some otherworldly character from a minor foreign television program, add a completely untrue caption to it, and give rise to a whole new ghost story. In this way, stories grow, spreading so far they can even cross oceans. Then, before long, people lose interest and the stories disappear, before eventually making a comeback. Regarding the spirit realm in the present era, you could say that the doors which lead to them can be found online. We all carry around tools that connect us to the spirit realm every single day.” While the students listened attentively to Takatsuki’s flowing tone, for some reason or another they found their gazes drifting toward their own phones on their desks or in their bags. Their thoughts turned to the intangible but unmistakably real place those phones led to—“online.” And just then— As if on cue, someone’s cell phone started ringing. Many of the people in the room jumped involuntarily at the sound, their heads whipping around to face the source. The ringing phone—was Nanba’s. “Wh—! Ah! I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Pouncing on his phone, Nanba hurried to stop the noise. Takatsuki looked at him with a wry smile. “Ah, it’s you, Nanba. Your phone has great timing, but please make sure to silence it during class, okay? It’s not like you’re getting a call from some otherworldly being, right?” “No, I’m sorry! It was my girlfriend!” “That’s all? How boring. I would have had you call them back right away if it had been from something like in One Missed Call or ‘Mary-san’s Phone Call.’” “No thank you! There’s no way I would return a freaky call like that!” Nanba shook his head vigorously at the titles of the Japanese horror movie and the urban legend that Takatsuki had mentioned. Other students burst into laughter; one small chuckle even escaped Naoya. If the phone call had really come from a ghost or monster, there would have been no use arguing with the professor over calling it back. If he needed to, Takatsuki would probably just have snatched Nanba’s phone away and dialed the number himself. It seemed that Modern Folklore I was bound to be another popular course that year. After the lecture ended, Nanba looked down at his phone with a frazzled expression. “Damn, that scared the crap outta me… I even told Narumi I had classes until fourth period, ugh…” “You should put it on vibrate during class,” Naoya said, putting away his writing materials. “Was it something urgent?” Nanba shook his head. “No, our club is doing recruitment and a mixer after this, so it was something to do with that. She could have just messaged me on LINE! Geez, did she really wanna hear my voice that bad?” His girlfriend had apparently contacted him through LINE after calling, because Nanba started tapping out a reply. Despite his grumbling, a slight grin found its way onto his face, so apparently his relationship was going well. “You’re handing out flyers, too, Nanba? Make sure you don’t accidentally give them to anyone in second year or above.” “We don’t just welcome first-years with open arms, y’know. Speaking of, aren’t you going to join a club, Fukamachi?” “Nope, I wasn’t planning to.” “If you give one a try, you may find yourself enjoying it! Though…I guess I can’t really imagine you spending an afternoon playing an invigorating round of tennis or anything like that. Anyway—I should get going. You heading home?” “Yeah, I’m done with classes for the day…” Just as Naoya started to answer, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and saw a message from Takatsuki. “An interesting request came in, so please stop by my office if you have time.” Immediately replying with an “I’ll head that way now,” Naoya picked up his bag. “It’s work. I’ve gotta head out, too.” “No worries. Professor Takatsuki again?” “Yep. See you later.” With a wave good-bye, Naoya left the classroom. When he set foot in the hallway, he grimaced. The campus was crawling with people this time of year. Clusters of students were everywhere, even in the halls and the stairways. Their laughter and voices echoed off the ceilings and the walls, sounding like they were doomed to ricochet around inside the buildings forever. If any of the voices among them were distorted, their echoes seemed to make the very air quiver without end, until Naoya felt like he was suffocating. He took his MP3 player out of his bag and hastily jammed the earbuds into his ears. He left via the back door to avoid becoming prey for the club recruiters out front and headed toward the faculty offices, sticking to the path that hugged the rear of the school building for as long as possible. As he had expected, there were no students canvassing outside the faculty offices. Naoya took the stairs to the third floor, stopped in front of door 304, and removed his headphones. He knocked lightly, and heard a soft voice reply from within: “Come in, come in.” When Naoya opened the door, Takatsuki stood up from the large central table where he was working on his laptop with a bright smile. “Welcome, Fukamachi. I look forward to working with you again this year!” They had met up several times over spring break, but this was their first interaction since the start of the new school year. Naoya gave a small nod and replied, “Thanks… I’m guessing that means you want me to be your assistant this year as well, huh?” “Is that even a question? Of course I do!” “…I mean, even if you give me the puppy-dog eyes…” When Naoya had first accepted Takatsuki’s casual offer of a part-time job, he had thought it was a one-time deal. However, from the start, the professor had apparently considered it an arrangement without an end date. “Would you like some coffee? The request e-mail is open on that laptop. Feel free to have a look.” As he spoke, Takatsuki walked over to the small table at the back of the office where the coffee maker and kettle were set up. Naoya sat in a folding chair at the table. Every time he was in this room, he felt a sense of relief. It had been this way ever since his first visit. Takatsuki’s office was quiet, unlike the rest of the school. The smell of old books permeated the air, mingling pleasantly with the scents of coffee and hot cocoa, blanketing Naoya with a deep feeling of calm. He pulled the laptop on the table toward himself and peered at the screen, where the e-mail was open, just as Takatsuki had said. It had come through the professor’s website, Neighborhood Stories. The message read: I found your website extremely interesting, Professor Takatsuki. I’m writing to you because there is something I hope to discuss with you. It’s about the Mystery of 4:44 story which you have many examples of on your site. My colleagues and I were joking around at work the other day, playing a game that was popular when I was a kid—the Curse of 4:44. Several strange incidents have occurred since that day. I may be misguided in bringing this issue to you, Professor, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I would be very grateful to receive a reply if you are able. The requests that came to Takatsuki were similar in content to horror manga and TV specials, just like the topics he covered in his lectures. Some people probably thought believing in such “childish stories” was stupid. But the majority of Takatsuki’s clients were adults. They all came to him, faces writ with anxiety, asking earnest questions about things like curses and ghosts. The sender of this e-mail had mentioned “colleagues,” so they were probably a working adult with a corporate job. Naoya didn’t think the people who contacted Takatsuki spent their daily lives believing in the occult. But when they found themselves in situations they could only think of as supernatural, they had no choice but to believe in it. How old they were didn’t matter. As soon as the thought of ghosts or curses popped into their heads in relation to events happening before their eyes, that was that. The fears and anxieties that welled up from the depths of their hearts couldn’t be quelled through self-assurance. That was why they turned to an expert. But it was difficult to jump straight to seeking advice from a psychic or a spiritualist. Most people hesitated to do so, worrying they might fall victim to a scammer or be asked to pay exorbitant fees for such services. By comparison, Takatsuki’s “associate college professor” title made people feel much more at ease. That was probably the reason his site received a never-ending stream of such requests, even though it didn’t explicitly say anywhere that he was available for consultation. Any request involving the supernatural was one he received with great enthusiasm, though, which made the consultations mutually beneficial for both Takatsuki and his clients. “Professor, what’s the Mystery of 4:44?” Naoya asked as Takatsuki returned to the table with a tray in hand. He had an inkling he might have read about it while browsing Takatsuki’s website before, but he didn’t quite remember. Placing Naoya’s mug of coffee down in front of him, Takatsuki tilted his head to the side. “Ah, maybe it wasn’t popular when you were a child? Have you heard of the ‘four o’clock hag’?” “Ohhh, that does kind of ring a bell… Wasn’t it something like, if you do some specific thing at 4:44, a ghost will appear?” “Yes, that’s the one.” Takatsuki nodded and sat down in the seat next to Naoya. As usual, his mug was filled to the brim with cocoa—this time with big, pink, heart-shaped marshmallows floating on top. Apparently, every time one of Takatsuki’s graduate students happened across marshmallows with unique, adorable shapes, they bought them for him. It might have seemed like something too cutesy for a thirty-five-year-old man to enjoy, but with Takatsuki’s youthful features, the drink suited him perfectly. Bringing the cup to his face to savor the sweet aroma wafting up from it, Takatsuki said, “The ‘four o’clock hag’ is one of the ghost stories that commonly makes the rounds in schools. The standard version goes: On the fourth day of the fourth month, at forty-four minutes and forty-four seconds past four, if you knock on the bathroom door four times, the four o’clock hag will appear and steal you away to some desolate place. There are many variations, including some which don’t go so far as to specify minutes and seconds in the time, and some where the hag doesn’t take you to the spirit realm—she just appears. In some versions, the hag kills you, and in others, there’s no bathroom involved.” “I think the one I heard said she appears in the bathroom of the school gym. I didn’t know there were versions without a bathroom.” “Oh? The story is set in quite a few places, actually. Libraries and classrooms and such. My favorite variation says if you draw a circle on a school chalkboard and press your hand into it at 4:44 PM, the four o’clock hag will appear and drag you into the board. It’s pretty scary!” Takatsuki laughed with genuine delight. Naoya wondered to himself what kind of person smiled that brightly while telling a horror story. If Sasakura were there, he would have scowled in disgust for sure. “Why does the four o’clock hag show up all over the place like that?” “Probably because the location in which one encounters her is not a part of the four o’clock hag’s identity.” Takatsuki lifted his mug to his mouth and gulped down a half-melted marshmallow, his eyes closing halfway in satisfaction. “Take ‘Toilet-Bound Hanako-san’ as an example. The bathroom setting is a central part of the character’s identity, so it would be odd for her to appear anywhere other than a bathroom. But the four o’clock hag’s identity is only based around the number four and being an old woman. Therefore, the limits placed on where she can appear and what she can do are rather lax. I think that’s made it easier to blend it with other ghost stories. The fact that she might appear in the toilet in the first place is probably a result of her tale being combined with another bathroom ghost story. Knocking is also the method of summoning Toilet-Bound Hanako-san, for one thing, and some versions even involve the hag asking a question like ‘Red or blue?’ Similar to ‘Red Hanten.’” “Seems like pretty much anything goes with this story.” “Yep. In fact, some variations even omit the ‘hag’ part of the equation.” “Huh? It’s really okay to leave that part out?” Naoya froze unintentionally with his mug halfway to his mouth. It was said that stories changed in the telling. A tale’s core elements would remain, but anything else could be pruned away or exchanged for something entirely different. But the four o’clock hag’s story was, in short, one in which the scary ghost of an old woman appeared. How could it still be viable without the old woman? After another sip of cocoa, Takatsuki answered. “It doesn’t really make a difference, because the most essential component of the story is the number four. I believe it actually originated from the idea that ‘if you perform a specific action at 4:44 and 44 seconds, something bad will happen.’ That bad thing being the summoning of a terrifying crone was likely a later addition.” “What happens in the versions where the hag doesn’t appear?” “Many of them fall into the ‘getting spirited away’ category. Being transported to a totally different room, falling through a time warp, or getting sucked into another dimension. That sort of thing. Even in the version with the hag, she’s often stealing people away.” “Even though it’s a ghost story, it doesn’t seem like death or curses are involved.” “Those variations do exist, but they’re rare. There are also ones with writing appearing on the ceiling in blood, and ones that involve other specters. It has sort of a ‘grab bag of scary story elements’ feel to it.” “…Then I wonder which version it is in this client’s case?” Naoya turned his attention back to the laptop. The e-mail only mentioned a “Curse of 4:44.” There were no details regarding how the curse was invoked, and as for consequences, these had been summed up as “strange incidents.” He didn’t expect that some ghostly hag had appeared or anything, but what had happened? Then, getting the feeling that someone was staring at him, Naoya looked at Takatsuki again. The professor was gazing at Naoya with his chin resting in his hand. He looked strangely pleased. At moments like this, Takatsuki really did remind Naoya of a big dog. He could almost imagine a large golden retriever sitting there, happily wagging its tail with a whap-whap sound. Takatsuki’s light-brown hair only strengthened the image. “Wh-what is it?” “I was just thinking that, regardless of what you say, you’re fairly interested in this job, Fukamachi. I’m glad. That’s very gratifying to me as your employer.” Takatsuki gave him a wide smile. The man always stated clearly that he was happy whenever he felt that way. The open, straightforward expression of his emotions still threw Naoya for a loop. It was so starkly different from Naoya’s own nature that he never knew how to respond. Dropping his gaze to the dog pictured on his mug, Naoya muttered, “Well, I mean…it’s like a continuation of the lecture. Hearing about the stories is interesting… Besides, doesn’t it make you wonder what is happening to this person? Once you’ve heard this much.” “Yep, you’re right, it does make me wonder! So let’s go hear them out, okay? Oh—and by the way, when you choose to major in folklore and antiquities next year and join my seminar, you can write about something like this for your graduate thesis! I’m sure the research would be fun!” “I told you before that I haven’t decided on a major yet! I really wish people would stop trying to recruit me. I’m getting tired of it.” The conversation taking a turn into Takatsuki trying to persuade Naoya to join his seminar made Naoya turn away with a huff. Takatsuki’s voice was alarmed when he replied. “Huh? What do you mean, you wish people would stop trying to recruit you? Does another professor have their eye on you, Fukamachi?” “No, that’s not it. There are no other professors who go around pushily inviting people to their seminar like you do. I was talking about club recruit—” Naoya snapped his mouth shut before finishing his sentence… …but it was far too late. Takatsuki had turned to the side with a hand slapped over his mouth. Despite his efforts, though, he ended up bent over the table in laughter, unable to hold it back. “O-oh, I see. You got…mistaken for a first-year…and scouted for clubs…? That must have been irritating…” “Well, excuse me for looking like a kid, I guess!” Takatsuki’s shoulders shook. He had yet to sit back up. It’s not that funny, Naoya thought. Between Nanba earlier and Takatsuki now, being laughed at was starting to sting a little. That settled it. Indignant, Naoya decided he would go shopping for new clothes after he got paid for this case. He’d buy some “sophisticated” outfits, or whatever it was Nanba had said. But then a pang of worry flashed through his mind—what if nothing changed even after he started dressing differently? What if that kind of clothing just didn’t look good on him? And what kind of stuff was he supposed to buy to begin with…? “Whew, sorry, Fukamachi! I apologize for laughing! That was wrong of me, so don’t look so upset, okay?!” “No, you’re fine. Don’t worry about it…” His suddenly dejected demeanor made Takatsuki call out to him in concern. Naoya brought his mug to his mouth, his gaze distant. Perhaps he could wash down the gloom with the bitter taste of black coffee. Starting the next day, at least for the time being, he thought, he would try to stick to the less frequented routes around campus. They scheduled a meeting with the client for the following evening. The client asked them to come to a café in Ota City called Un Pommier. But when Takatsuki and Naoya arrived at the café, the sign on the door said CLOSED. “Huh? This is the right place, isn’t it?” Naoya compared the store to the map on his phone, cocking his head in confusion. The café, situated on the first floor of a multipurpose building, had a cozy feel to it. The front door consisted of a wooden frame with a sizable pane of glass fitted inside, the latter of which had a large image of an apple tree engraved into its surface. It was difficult to see past the engraving into the store, but the lights were on, and he thought he heard the sound of people inside. When Naoya tried giving the door a push, it opened without issue. He exchanged glances with Takatsuki. The professor raised one hand a little as if to say, I’ll take it from here, before poking his head in through the half-opened door. “Excuse me! I believe I’m supposed to be meeting someone here?” “Ah yes! Please, come right on in!” Right after a male voice had answered them from inside, the door swung the rest of the way open. A man in an apron was standing next to the entrance. “Welcome. The other party is waiting for you.” “Thank you very much.” Smiling, Takatsuki nodded at the man in appreciation. Naoya followed suit with a small bob of his head. The man, who was likely the café’s owner, looked like a pleasant, agreeable person in his forties. The store was filled with wooden furnishings, and the atmosphere inside was warm and homey. The client—a woman—was seated at the rearmost table in the café. When she noticed Takatsuki, she jumped to her feet and bowed emphatically. She appeared to be in her twenties and had chestnut-colored hair that was short and tidy. On the taller side for a woman, she was dressed in a tailored jacket and trousers. “Hello, I’m Yukari Sawaki. I recently contacted you via e-mail. Thank you so much for meeting with me!” “Pleased to meet you. I’m Akira Takatsuki, associate professor at Seiwa University. This is my assistant, Fukamachi.” Takatsuki held out his business card as he spoke, and Yukari hastily grabbed her bag to retrieve her own card, which had the words “Tooyama Architectural Firm” printed on it. “Um, I work at an architectural design company near here. Strange things keep happening at the office… Professor, I was…hoping…I could talk to you about it…?” Still standing, Yukari spoke as if each word took monumental effort to squeak out. Just then, the store owner approached. He handed Takatsuki a menu, then looked at Yukari. “Now, now, there’s no need to be so tense. Why not sit first and then explain?” “Oh yes… Good idea.” Yukari plopped down into her chair without pretense. Takatsuki and Naoya sat opposite her. While the owner set out glasses of water for the table, Takatsuki looked up at him and asked, “Are we still okay to order? There was a ‘closed’ sign on the front door.” “Ahh, yes, please do,” he replied. “The lady here has reserved the café for tonight, so the sign is there to prevent other customers from coming in.” The owner shrugged lightly. “She said she needed to reserve a place to have a somewhat complicated conversation. She’s a loyal customer and seemed to be in a tight spot, so I agreed. There’s no one else here but me, but please pay me no mind while you talk. Café proprietors are best considered just another part of the decor.” “He’s always saying things like that,” Yukari interjected with a wry smile. “Don’t think too much of it.” The two of them seemed rather comfortable around each other, so the owner’s statement about Yukari being a loyal customer must have been true. There was no cocoa on the menu, but there was hot chocolate, which Takatsuki ordered. Naoya asked for coffee. Though he looked a little taken aback by the professor’s choice, the owner smiled and nodded at them before disappearing behind the counter. “Um…” Yukari looked at Takatsuki, straightening her posture and opening her mouth as if to speak. But in the next instant, she snapped it shut again and averted her gaze, her expression drawn. “…Ah. Is it difficult to talk about, perhaps?” Takatsuki asked, head tilted slightly to the side. The eyes that shot up to meet his own showed anxiety, confusion—and one more emotion. Takatsuki offered her a gentle smile. “Miss Sawaki, I’m not sure what you’ve been through, but the fact that you contacted me after looking at my website means you’ve experienced something frightening, right? I’m sure some people are reluctant to discuss these sorts of things in earnest with others. I’ve even had clients preface their stories with ‘you might think I’m crazy when you hear this.’” Yukari’s face had gone light pink. Takatsuki must have hit the mark. There were clients like her, sometimes—clients who had encountered some inexplicable phenomenon and believed it might be supernatural somehow, but when it came time to tell someone else the story, they started to doubt themselves. Or maybe sometimes they were struck by the sudden sense that it wasn’t something to be shared with others. No one wanted to be called crazy, and it would be humiliating to be ridiculed over such a thing. Leaning forward over the table just a little, Takatsuki peered straight into Yukari’s face. “Please don’t be afraid to tell me what happened. Many people have come to me with requests like yours before. I assure you, I won’t laugh at you. Although—my standard facial expression is a smile, so please overlook that.” Takatsuki pointed to his own grinning mouth as he spoke. Yukari chuckled. The tension melted visibly from her shoulders. “Thank you, Professor… I’m usually the type of person who can watch horror movies without being bothered at all. But those kinds of things happening around me have scared me so much it’s silly… I don’t know what to do.” She pushed her hair out of her face, and the somewhat large wristwatch she was wearing peeked out from beneath the cuff of her jacket. It looked like one designed for men, but it suited her style. The café owner returned then with their orders. He placed a mug of hot chocolate down in front of Takatsuki, then set another smaller vessel next to it, saying, “To add to your drink, if you’d like.” The contents looked and smelled like rum. A pleasing aroma wafted from the coffee he served to Naoya, too. Without hesitation, Takatsuki poured all the rum into his mug, took a sip, and smiled. “Ahh, it’s delicious. The flavor is superb.” “Thank you very much. I’ll leave you to it now, please take all the time you need.” With a bow, the café owner retreated once more to the counter, where he picked up a hardcover book and appeared to start reading. It seemed he really was just loaning out the café for that night. “Now then, please. Tell me your story.” At Takatsuki’s gentle nudge, Yukari took a drink of water to calm her nerves, and finally started to speak. “It started—on April fourth.” They had just gotten out of a rather long meeting at the architectural firm where she worked. Feeling a bit fried after having seen their client off, Yukari and some other staff members returned to their desks, having decided to have some tea and take a break. In addition to Yukari, there were three other employees present at the time: Hayashi, her senior male colleague; Murata, a woman who had joined the company at the same time as Yukari; and the office administrator, a woman named Oono. Tea and snacks in hand, the four of them got to chatting. Then, somehow or other, the conversation turned to repeating numbers. “As I recall, someone said, ‘Don’t you love it when you glance at the clock and the time just happens to have repeating digits?’ Like 7:07 or 15:15. Then someone else said, ‘Speaking of which, today is April fourth. That’s double fours.’ Murata looked at the time, saw it was four thirty, laughed, and said, ‘Four o’clock on April fourth, that’s another four. Isn’t that wild?’ Then…Oono added, ‘Not to mention, this building’s address is 4-4.’ And Hayashi chimed in with something like, ‘Plus, there are exactly four of us in this room right now.’ It was just…silly small talk. But—” At that moment, Yukari had remembered something. Something about a scary story she had heard as a child. “I said to everyone, ‘Do you guys know about the Curse of 4:44?’” Murata and Oono had both nodded, but Hayashi hadn’t heard of it and shook his head. So Yukari had explained exactly what kind of story it was. Sitting across from Takatsuki and Naoya, she dropped her gaze to the tabletop. “If four people gather on April fourth at 4:44, draw a circle on the classroom blackboard and all put their left hands inside it, the circle will transform into a door to another dimension and drag you inside. Even if you escape, you’ll carry the other dimension’s curse, so the only way to be safe is to never do it… It was one of the scary stories that was popular when I was in elementary school. It may have been one of our Seven School Mysteries.” “Ooh, that’s similar to my favorite version of the 4:44 story!” Takatsuki interjected with a grin. Yukari returned his smile a little before continuing her story. “Murata and Oono knew slightly different variations, so we spent a while just swapping stories and laughing about them. Until eventually…” Eventually, Hayashi had looked at the clock and said, “Why don’t we try it?” By that point, it was already four forty. Hayashi drew a large circle on the office whiteboard and beckoned everyone else over. “He said, ‘It’s like fate that this topic came up today, since the date only happens once a year.’ Neither Murata nor Oono would do it at first, but then it was like they got into the spirit of the moment, or…maybe it was just because Hayashi kept trying to convince us. We all ended up standing in front of the whiteboard, staring at the clock… And then—” Following Hayashi’s countdown, they all put their left hands in the circle just when the clock hit 4:44. The feeling in the room at that moment was, somehow, peculiar. Even though they knew nothing was going to come from the little game, their hearts pounded away in their chests. Almost as if they were waiting for something to happen. But of course, nothing did. How could it have? It was just a scary story for children. “We all looked at each other and laughed, like, ‘What on earth are we doing?’ We took our hands off the board—all of us except Hayashi. He was still standing there with his left hand up for some reason.” Giggling, Oono had slapped Hayashi lightly on the back, asking him how long he planned on staying that way. But Hayashi had looked tense. Curious, Yukari had asked him what was wrong, and Hayashi, his face stiff, had replied, “I can’t move my hand.” “Oono looked shocked and tugged at his arm, but it didn’t budge. Murata and I tried, too. We were panicking a little. And then—” And then, abruptly, Hayashi’s hand had come away from the whiteboard. Yukari and the other women had stared, mouths agape, as Hayashi looked around at them with a smug expression. He had lifted his left hand as if to show his fingers fluttering, and asked with a smirk, “Did I getcha?” He had fooled them, in other words. A little miffed, Oono had dealt him another light slap and an admonishment—“What are you, a first grader?”—but Yukari and Murata were just relieved. They couldn’t help but find it funny at the time. Just then, the company president, Tooyama, returned from another meeting with the rest of the staff. He had overheard their conversation. A bit exasperated, he had asked them what they thought they were doing during work hours, but ultimately had just laughed and let it slide. Then everyone went back to work, assuming the incident was over. Except it wasn’t. “Shortly after that, a strange message appeared on my phone from a number I didn’t recognize. The subject line was blank, and the only thing in the body was the number 4444. Murata was at her desk next to mine, and I heard her say, ‘I just got a weird message.’ She was looking at her phone and her expression was off. I asked her about it, and she had received the exact same message as me. Not just her, either. Hayashi and Oono had received it, too.” The four of them had looked at one another, commenting that the situation was a little creepy. Her tone accusatory, Oono had turned to Hayashi and asked, “You did this, didn’t you?” But Hayashi had shaken his head and replied, “No, I didn’t.” Their boss, Tooyama, was looking with suspicion in their direction, so they all busied themselves with work once more. Then, the next evening— Another message came. “The sender was different from the first one, but the contents were the same. Just ‘4444.’ Except…Murata’s was different. One of the digits was dropped, just from hers, so it said ‘444.’ And when Hayashi mentioned it, I realized the messages had been sent…at 4:44.” The second message brought more unease. But it was only an e-mail. Everyone agreed it didn’t warrant such concern. They noticed Tooyama scowling at them, probably because he thought they were slacking off, and returned to their various tasks in a hurry. However, four days later— Murata didn’t come to work. She said she had been injured. “She did end up coming in later, in the afternoon, but apparently she had twisted her ankle. It’s just that, the way it happened, it was odd.” According to Murata, she had woken up at dawn unexpectedly and decided to make a quick trip to the convenience store by herself. On her way home, she’d fallen down some stairs close to her house. “She said someone yanked on her leg…from below.” Out of nowhere, Murata had said, she felt someone wrap a hand around her ankle and pull down hard. The problem was, someone would have to have been lying belly down on the staircase to grab and tug on her leg from that angle—but there was no one else there. She was sure of that. Checking her phone after having tumbled down the steps, Murata noted the time. It was exactly 4:44 in the morning. “When we heard that, we couldn’t help but think about the game we had played on April fourth. And the messages… But while we were talking about it, our boss came in suddenly, threw a file down on the desk, and said, ‘Stop wasting time with this nonsense and get back to work.’ He was really annoyed, so we let it go. Until three days after that, when another e-mail arrived, again at 4:44. Myself, Hayashi, and Oono got it; Murata didn’t. That time, mine and Oono’s said ‘444,’ but Hayashi’s was just ‘44.’” Tooyama would have seen them if they’d discussed it in the office, so the four coworkers went to a nearby sit-down restaurant after work to talk. During that conversation, Hayashi had said something like: “These weird e-mails started coming after we fooled around on April fourth. I don’t know if there really is a curse or not, but let’s just assume right now, for argument’s sake, that this is all happening because of that game. If we accept that the inexplicable circumstances of Murata’s injury are the fault of the Curse of 4:44, the time at which she was injured is significant. The message that’s missing a digit indicates the next target of the curse, and whatever unlucky thing they experience is obviously going to happen at 4:44. Right? Doesn’t it seem like those are the rules of the curse?” “I laughed and told him that kind of stuff only happens in horror movies, but…everyone except me looked really serious.” Hayashi had taken out his cell phone and showed them the ‘44’ message. Face grim, he had said, “You might think it’s stupid, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Anyway, it looks like I’m next in line.” The curse would strike at 4:44. As long as they were careful at that time, they should be okay. Having come to that conclusion, the four of them parted ways for the day. The next three days passed without incident. In the afternoon on the fourth day, Murata had glanced around the office and said, “Huh? Where’s Hayashi?” At some point without their having noticed, he had left the room. A bad feeling rising in her throat, Yukari had looked at her watch. It was 4:44. “A second later we heard a really loud noise from the stack room… We all rushed to see what it was and found one of the shelves our files are stored on had fallen over… And Hayashi was on the floor, leaning back on his hands like he had fallen onto his rear.” All the shelves were secured to the walls, but they had noted recently that the anchor on the shelf that had fallen was starting to come loose. Not loose enough to have caused the shelf to topple so quickly, though. Hayashi wasn’t injured. By chance, he had glanced at the clock in the stack room, realized what time it was, and made to return to the other room with everyone else. The shelf had tipped over not a second later onto the exact spot Hayashi would have been standing had he not moved, undoubtedly with enough force to crush a person underneath it. Hayashi had evaded the Curse of 4:44. But then— Ordering the rest of the staff to tidy up the mess, Tooyama had taken Hayashi into another room. When he returned a while later, Hayashi was stewing. He said he had been removed from the project he had been managing alongside Yukari and Murata because, on top of that, his employment contract was being terminated. “Hayashi was a contract employee, and his contract was set to expire at the end of June. But usually, he should have been able to renew it, or had the possibility of being promoted to a full-time position if his performance was satisfactory. And yet…he was told, flat out, his contract would not be renewed in July.” “Did Mr. Tooyama give any reason for that decision? Had Mr. Hayashi made some sort of major mistake in his work?” Yukari shook her head at Takatsuki’s question. “I know that Hayashi has been having some trouble with his designs lately, but I don’t think he did anything worth being dismissed over. But all our boss said was, ‘Your contract will not be renewed in July. You’re no longer needed in this office.’” “That’s quite a harsh way of putting it.” “Things like that have happened before, though. Our boss is usually nice, but every once in a while he gets so strict he’s like an entirely different person… He’s fired employees and ended negotiations with clients totally without warning before.” “I see,” Takatsuki said, stroking his chin lightly with one hand. “But it seems like even though Mr. Hayashi avoided the misfortune of being trapped under a bookshelf, he was beset by some other unlucky incident entirely.” Yukari’s already cloudy expression grew bleaker. “Actually—that wasn’t the only bad thing that happened to him.” “What do you mean?” “That same night, he was hurt… Someone attacked him.” “What?” Having been informed he would be losing his job—even though his last day was still a ways off—Hayashi had stayed out late drinking that evening. On his way home by himself, suddenly, he’d been struck from behind with something that felt like a metal pipe. Thankfully, he’d sustained no serious injuries. But given the lack of surveillance cameras in the vicinity and that the attacker had worn a full-face helmet, the police didn’t expect to identify a suspect anytime soon. Evidently, Hayashi could think of no reason why the assault had happened, and the chances were high that it was just a random incident. When she’d heard about this, Yukari had grown frightened. She thought perhaps the curse was behind things after all. And then, again, the following day— At 4:44, she received another e-mail. It said “44.” Considering the pattern the curse had followed until that point, its next target would probably receive a message with just a single “4” in it, so it wasn’t Yukari. But that meant the next target would be— “I just happened to be in the bathroom at the time. I was hurrying back to the office, and I could hear Oono shouting something from inside. I opened the office door, and Oono came out and just…walked right past me. She practically ran down the stairs, as if something was chasing her… And then, all of a sudden, there was this screeching noise from outside…” Alarmed by the sound of a vehicle slamming on its brakes, Yukari rushed outside. Oono was lying in the street, a pool of red seeping out from under her body. Right next to Oono was a car, its front windshield shattered, that had screeched to a halt. The man who staggered from the driver’s seat said, “She just came out of nowhere…” Oono’s cell phone had fallen to the ground near her. It was broken. The cracked screen was completely blacked out, but Yukari was sure that Oono must have received the e-mail with the lone “4.” This was the curse’s punishment for Oono. The accident had taken place two days ago. After it happened, Yukari had searched frantically for something, anything that could be helpful, then found Takatsuki’s information on a website dedicated to urban legends, and contacted him. “…I should never have brought it up that day,” Yukari said, hanging her head. “I should never have mentioned the Curse of 4:44. None of this would have happened. It’s my fault… Because of me, this…” Tears fell to the table like little drops of rain. Yukari wiped at them with her hand, but that didn’t stop the tears from coming. She kept rubbing them away anyhow, as though she didn’t know what else to do. “—Ms. Sawaki. Please take this.” Takatsuki held his handkerchief out across the table to Yukari, who accepted it with a quiet word of thanks. She dabbed at her tears for a little while, sniffling, then set the handkerchief down. “Ms. Sawaki.” Takatsuki held his hand out toward her again. Yukari looked up at him, probably thinking he meant to take the handkerchief back. “U-um, I’ll return this to you after I wash it. It’s got makeup on it now…” “Please don’t worry about that. You can keep it, if you’d like. Your hand, please.” “My hand…?” Eyes still full of tears, she regarded Takatsuki’s outstretched right hand with confusion. Then, hesitantly, she reached out with her own. Ah, Naoya thought as he looked on, steeling himself. I guess it is about time. Takatsuki gripped Yukari’s hand tightly in his own over the table, as if they had just struck a deal. Then, rather than letting go, he clasped his left over both of their right hands, tugging Yukari a little closer in his direction. “Please don’t cry anymore, Ms. Sawaki. Tears don’t suit a wonderful woman like you.” “Huh…?” Bemused, Yukari blinked several times at the professor’s soft, sweet delivery. Takatsuki leaned across the table to bring his face closer to hers. His big, dark-brown eyes, framed by his long lashes, peered into Yukari’s tearful gaze. “I’m so, so glad I met you. Truly, from the bottom of my heart.” “Um—” His face was so close to hers that all Yukari could do was stare at it. Naoya saw her face turn bright red in real time. This was around the point where most female clients noticed how handsome Takatsuki was. Prior to this, they were probably too preoccupied with whatever was troubling them to pay much attention to their consultant’s face. “Excuse me, sir?” The café owner, who had seemed absorbed in his book, called over to them in an alarmed tone. Naoya put a hand on Takatsuki’s shoulder, figuring he had better put an end to the situation. “Professor. That’s enough. Let go of her hand.” But Takatsuki only tugged Yukari closer with more passion than before, like not a single word Naoya had said had registered. “What you’ve experienced is incredible! It’s evolved from the standard Mystery of 4:44 and is on the verge of becoming a whole new ghost story! The part about ominous messages being delivered via cell phone is excellent. After all, ghost stories smoothly incorporate elements of our daily lives to suit the times! And trying to avoid disaster by figuring out the rules of the curse? It’s just like Final Destination! Oh, do you know that movie? It’s a really fun one about the inevitable machinations of Death itself!” His well-bred manners abandoned, Takatsuki rattled on and on in excitement. It seemed that a new school year had not been enough to stop him from losing all common sense when he heard a mysterious story that struck his fancy. I really should get him a leash, Naoya thought, even though he knew there was no way he could use something like that on Mr. Associate Professor here. At that point, Takatsuki pulled a wide-eyed Yukari into a hug from across the table. Yukari looked like she had no clue how she had ended up in this situation, which just made sense. Confusion was a normal reaction to having a hot guy stare at you from mere inches away while he gushed about the “machinations of Death” or whatever. “Professor Takatsuki! Knock it off, you can’t just do that! Let her go!” “Sir, please! What do you think you’re doing?! Stop that!” The café owner had rushed over and, along with Naoya, pulled Takatsuki away from Yukari. Once she was freed, Yukari slumped into the backrest of her chair. She still looked dazed, but meekly accepted the glass of water that the owner handed her. The drink seemed to snap her out of her fog, because she looked up at the owner and mumbled something like, “He just, without asking…” On the inside, Naoya was apologizing to her on his hands and knees for how his professor had just behaved. In standard Takatsuki fashion, the moment he was dragged away from Yukari, he appeared to regain his sanity, shrinking back into his own chair out of shame. “Professor.” “…Yes.” Takatsuki looked at Naoya like a chastised elementary school student. Good grief. Naoya heaved a sigh. “How many times have I told you that it’s still not customary in Japan to hug someone you’ve just met?” “I know. I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize to me. Say that to Ms. Sawaki.” “I am so, so sorry, Ms. Sawaki. I lose all sense of reason when I hear a good ghost story.” Takatsuki’s apology was honest and straightforward. Yukari and the café owner both looked at him with utterly guarded expressions. Then the owner cleared his throat. “Ahem. Well. That kind of behavior is troublesome in the café, so please refrain from repeating it.” “Yes, it won’t happen again.” “So, ah, you’re still talking, right? I’ll just be over there.” “—Oh, manager? Please wait a moment.” Takatsuki called out to the owner as he made to return to his post behind the counter. Reaching down with one of his long arms, the professor picked something up off the floor and held it out to the other man. “I believe you dropped this just now.” “Huh? Oh—” The owner took the item from him a little hurriedly. Naoya didn’t have a good view of it, but it looked like a wristwatch. “I apologize. It must have fallen when you were stopping me a short while ago. It’s not broken, is it?” “No, it seems fine. I do a lot of washing and scrubbing dishes here, so I usually put it in my pocket for safekeeping. Thank you for pointing it out to me.” The owner met Takatsuki’s regretful concern with polite thanks before leaving the table again. Takatsuki turned to Yukari, who still seemed wary of him, with a look that suggested he was ready to get back to business. But before that, he apologized again. “I deeply apologize for my behavior just now; it was inexcusable. I simply found your story so fascinating that my inner researcher took control and went on a joyride before I realized what was happening. I’ll be more attentive to that from now on, so please forgive me.” “R-riiight…” “And now, regarding the matter at hand,” Takatsuki said, his gentlemanly demeanor falling right back into place. “The kind of misfortunes that keep occurring around you, Ms. Sawaki, are much clearer to me now. As is the fact that this all appears to have started because the Curse of 4:44 was invoked. Incidentally, if you don’t mind my asking, when you first heard this story as a child, did you ever actually try it then?” “Gosh, no. I mean, it was the kind of story that always ended with ‘you must never do this, or else.’ I—I was scared.” “I see. And what about your friends?” “I don’t think any of them ever did it, either.” “Naturally. That makes sense. School ghost stories are always based around some condition like that—‘if you do this, something scary will happen, so you’d better not.’ Most children believe it and won’t go out of their way to break the taboo. That’s how those ghost stories persevere.” “What do you mean?” Yukari cocked her head to the side, and Takatsuki smiled. “Well, if they did try it and nothing happened, that would make the story totally fake, right? Once a ghost story has its veil of mystery torn away, it dies out in no time.” Naoya thought about out-of-the-way bathrooms in the corners of school buildings that often ended up rumored to be haunted. Kids were not likely to use a toilet they had been told had a ghost inside it. And the more they believed the story, the more that bathroom would be avoided. The ghost haunting that bathroom would exist as long as that was the case. All it took was someone who truly believed in the ghost for its story to essentially become reality. “The Curse of 4:44 has lived on inside you this whole time, Ms. Sawaki. That’s why it just came out that day, on April fourth, when the opportunity unexpectedly arose. It wasn’t your fault. Ghost stories lurk in one’s subconscious, until one day they simply burst to the fore. Besides, wasn’t it Mr. Hayashi who suggested actually testing out the story? You’re not to blame here.” Takatsuki’s smile was gentle. Yukari looked back at him with slightly widened eyes, but the gloominess returned to her face the next moment. “But…the Curse of 4:44 isn’t just a ghost story, is it? I mean, so many things have actually happened.” Takatsuki nodded. “Indeed. The incidents that have occurred around you are very real.” In an effort to disguise how they trembled, Yukari clasped her hands together on the table. “…What scares me is that each misfortune is more serious than the last.” Listening to her story, Naoya had had the same thought. The first target, Murata, had gotten no more than a sprained ankle. Next, Hayashi might have avoided serious injury when he’d managed to not be crushed under the shelf, but he’d ended up losing his job and then getting hurt anyway. Then there was Oono, who had been hit by a car. That was a far cry from what Murata had suffered. “Um, I can’t help but ask,” Naoya said. “What happened to Ms. Oono after the accident?” “She was taken to the hospital. Her injuries are serious but not life-threatening, it seems.” That answer put Naoya ever so slightly at ease. At least it wasn’t a story with a body count. Yukari, however, clasped her hands together more tightly. “…But I’m next, in terms of order. If something worse than what happened to Oono happens to me, that means…” She bit her lip. Without a doubt, the thought that the next incident could be the first fatality was running through her head. And Yukari herself was on the chopping block. She turned her panicked gaze on Takatsuki. “Professor, what do I do? What can I do in this situation? Do I get an exorcism done? Do you know anyone who can do that sort of thing?” “Erm, well—before we get to that, let’s talk a bit more, Ms. Sawaki.” Takatsuki held his hand up just a little, as if to calm her. “For starters, what do you think is the reason the Curse of 4:44 relies so heavily on the number four?” “Huh? Isn’t it…because four is bad luck? Since it’s pronounced the same as the kanji for ‘death’?” “Yes, that’s exactly right,” Takatsuki said with a refined nod before continuing. “Numbers we try to avoid because they’re considered ominous are called ‘unlucky numbers.’ Here in Japan, we also avoid the number nine because it’s pronounced the same as the kanji for ‘suffering.’ Nowadays they aren’t as widely feared, but both hospitals and hotels tend to avoid using four and nine when numbering rooms. How do you think other countries feel about them?” “Other countries? You mean…ones that also use kanji? Like China?” “Yes. Naturally, China also uses the same character for the number four. In Chinese, however, ‘four’ and ‘death’ don’t sound as similar, so they don’t find it as unlucky as we do here. But in South Korea and Taiwan, they are pronounced the same, so those countries also avoid it. So how long has this mindset been around in Japan? Going back through the literature, we can see that the custom of avoiding the number four already existed by the Heian period. For example, in the Shoyuki—the diary of a statesman named Fujiwara no Sanesuke—there’s an account of groups of five people being formed deliberately to avoid gathering in groups of four. In Kujo Kanezane’s diary, Gyokuyo, he wrote that since offering prayers at four locations was unacceptable, an effort was made to differentiate the first three locations from the fourth. In the Shasekishu, which was written in the Middle Ages, it is plainly stated that the number four was avoided because it sounded the same as the word for ‘death.’ As for other unlucky numbers, there’s thirteen, but the fear of thirteen originated in Western cultures before spreading to Japan, so we don’t quite think of it in the same way as four and nine. Whereas it’s their pronunciation that makes four and nine feel ominous, the number thirteen itself possesses a significance that people dislike.” Takatsuki spoke in a fluid tone, exactly like when he was lecturing. Blinking a few times as if she wasn’t entirely following, Yukari asked, “Umm… So if it’s been avoided for that long, does that mean four really is an unlucky number?” “Rather than that, I think this is an example of the belief in the power of spoken language. The characters for ‘four’ and ‘death’ look nothing alike, but people associate the former with the latter based solely on how they sound. Japanese people have believed for ages that words which are said aloud contain power. That’s why it became necessary to choose our spoken words carefully. They hesitated to even say ‘death,’ as it was so inauspicious. And so, since it sounds the same, they began treating ‘four’ with caution, too. Japanese people love wordplay to this day because of our long culture of linking different words by sound. It’s said that few people will use a phone number that contains the sequence ‘4989’ because it sounds like the phrase ‘extreme distress.’ The kanji for ‘37564’ can be pronounced just like ‘massacre,’ so as you’d expect, that particular string of numbers isn’t used much. Conversely, you get auspicious combinations like the word for ‘fate’ sounding the same as ‘five yen,’ which is why we like to use 5-yen coins when making monetary offerings.” Takatsuki was positively beaming. As she listened to him speak, Yukari seemed to regain some of her composure. Her shoulders relaxed, and a slight smile appeared on her face. “…I give twenty-five yen a lot of the time, since it almost sounds like making a prayer for twice as much luck. But you’re not supposed to give ten yen when you make an offering, right? Because it’s associated with ‘distant relationships’?” “Yes, that’s another common one,” Takatsuki replied, nodding. “Monetary offerings are supposed to be supplications to the divine, so by all rights that kind of wordplay shouldn’t matter one bit. And yet, most people use 5-yen coins for them. We go about our lives constantly sorting the things around us into the categories of ‘lucky’ and ‘unlucky.’” “Why is there so much emphasis placed on luck?” “Above all, it’s because we are powerless.” Takatsuki’s eyes narrowed a little as he said those words. “Natural disasters, disease, man-made catastrophes, and so on. Our lives are full of misfortunes, and humans are relatively powerless to stop them. I believe we use this mindset as a charm to protect us from bad luck. We eliminate things that remind us of death and suffering from our rituals and our daily lives as a preventative measure, and in opposition to the negative, we introduce positive elements. We’re trying to preserve our sense of security. But eventually, if we start to feel like we have bad luck or we’re cursed, those feelings gain enough of a foothold to make us retroactively assign them the blame for unfortunate incidents that have already happened. People say things like ‘Patients often die in that hospital room. Doesn’t the room number have a four in it?’ When something upsetting happens and we can’t explain why, we tend to crave answers.” People fear what they don’t understand. Takatsuki said it all the time. Situations that had no rhyme or reason were frightening. Consequently, in wishing for some sort of answer, people would come up with their own. If something bad happened and there was no readily available explanation for it, and someone involved just happened to notice the number four at the time, they would associate the number’s unlucky reputation with the real-life misfortune they had experienced. In turn, the number four itself would become the scapegoat for the unfortunate incident. No matter how nonsensical the superstition, if it could be used to explain even one thing, people believed it easily. Even if that belief led to a new matter of concern, it might be outweighed by the relief offered by its accompanying coping mechanism: As long as you avoided unlucky numbers, you’d be fine. “However, the more we blame the number four for our misfortunes, the more mystical and malevolent it becomes. Its popularity in the world of ghost stories is equivalent to how much we fear it in our daily lives. That’s how we get ghost stories about ‘4:44.’ The version you did with your colleagues, Ms. Sawaki, is just one derivative of that. Its foundation is rooted in the beliefs of people from many, many years ago, who considered four an unlucky number.” Pausing to finish his hot chocolate, Takatsuki drained the last of the mug’s contents before returning it to its saucer. He smiled at Yukari. “The Curse of 4:44 story you told earlier, Ms. Sawaki, involved other dimensions, didn’t it? Either ‘being dragged into another dimension’ or ‘carrying the other dimension’s curse.’ But don’t you think that’s strange? If the misfortune originally associated with ‘four’ is ‘death,’ how do other dimensions come into it?” “Huh…?” The look Yukari gave the professor said she hadn’t actually considered that question before. Naoya looked at him, too, with a similar feeling. Come to think of it, when they had discussed stories related to “4:44” in Takatsuki’s office, most of them had involved someone being taken somewhere. The version Yukari knew was one of those. But other dimensions weren’t an intrinsic part of the connection between “four” and “death,” so how did ghost stories about “4:44” end up incorporating them as elements so often? “The concept of other dimensions didn’t even exist that long ago, did it?” Naoya said, and Takatsuki nodded happily. “Yep, that’s correct. Interest in other dimensions grew as works of science fiction became popular. There’s a theory that the spread of the term ‘fourth dimension’ in particular influenced the 4:44 story. ‘Four o’clock’ and ‘fourth dimension’ are also associated with one another based on the way they sound. It’s to the point that there’s even a subspecies of the ghost that gets summoned in the bathroom at 4:44, also known as the ‘four o’clock hag.’ It’s called the ‘fourth dimension hag.’ On top of that, 4:44 ghost stories are popular in schools, which means they’re frequently told by children. And I mean, it’s only natural that children are familiar with the term ‘fourth dimension,’ isn’t it? Given the massively popular series they would know it from?” “Huh?” “‘4D Pocket’!” “Oh… Doraemon.” Naoya nodded in understanding. Yukari burst into a small fit of giggles at Takatsuki’s earnest impression of the character—he had even imitated the voice. Then the professor continued with his explanation, his soft voice alive with amusement. “Even if they have no understanding of physics or other sciences, works of entertainment like that gently instill in children the existence of this mysterious world known as the ‘fourth dimension.’ As we discussed in our lecture the other day, people are naturally fascinated by the thought of ‘the spirit realm’—a place altogether different from the world we live in. The traditional concept of ‘the spirit realm’ became associated with the science fiction term ‘fourth dimension,’ and a new ghost story element was born. When you look at it from that angle, I think the 4:44 story is really interesting. Scary stories with older components like ‘unlucky number four’ and ‘the existence of the spirit realm’ get combined with stories that use newer elements like ‘other dimensions’ and ‘the fourth dimension.’ Then add in a dash of stories where scary old women appear, and it’s like you’ve got a breeding ground for new urban legends.” “Um…does that mean the Curse of 4:44 is just complete fiction? So there’s no reason to worry?” Yukari asked. She was still smiling a little. But Takatsuki, his own grin also very much present, shook his head. “No. As I said earlier, the incidents occurring around you are real, Ms. Sawaki. Besides, I would never say that ghost stories are entirely meaningless fabrications.” “Huh?” “If anyone knows that we cannot conclusively state ‘real monsters don’t exist,’ it’s us… After all, there are people who have gazed upon the otherworldly with their own eyes.” The otherworldly. Those words brought Naoya flashing back to a time and place he had once been. Rows of blue paper lanterns glowing like will-o’-the-wisps under the endless indigo night sky. A crowd of masked revenants performing a swaying, shambling dance. Naoya felt the boom, boom, buh-boom of the drums as if it were actually there ringing in his ears. A chill ran down his spine. He had only seen it once, when he was very young—that midnight festival of the dead. What better example of the “spirit realm” could there be? A place outside the realm of the living, from which Naoya had only somehow managed to escape by paying a price. Suddenly, a hand clapped him on the shoulder, and Naoya started. His consciousness resurfaced from the depths of his memory. He wasn’t at a festival, he recalled. He was sitting in a café. Takatsuki was looking at him apologetically, as if to say he was sorry for making Naoya remember. Naoya shook his head minutely and brushed the professor’s hand off. Takatsuki’s smile felt forced. Turning to face Yukari again, Takatsuki folded his hands together on top of the table. “What I mean to say is, I’m still extremely interested in your story, Ms. Sawaki. Would you allow me to conduct a full investigation? If possible, I’d like to speak with the other persons involved. And if you could show me the room where you actually invoked the Curse of 4:44, I would be much obliged.” On Saturday morning, the very next day, they heard from Yukari again. She had somehow managed to get permission from her boss, Tooyama, to show them the location of the curse ritual—the office where she worked, in other words. The only other person from the original group of four that would be joining them, however, was Murata. Oono was still in the hospital, so there was nothing to be done about her absence, but apparently Yukari hadn’t been able to get ahold of Hayashi, either. Yukari wanted to show them the office sooner rather than later, and Takatsuki agreed. He made plans to visit the building that same afternoon at four PM. When they arrived there at the appointed time, they found Yukari standing at the entrance with another young woman and a tall man. Yukari made introductions. “This is the company president, Mr. Tooyama, and this is my coworker, Murata… I tried calling Hayashi a few more times after we spoke last, but he never picked up.” “I see. We’ll have to make do without him, then. Hello—I’m Takatsuki, an associate professor at Seiwa University. Thank you very much for today.” Takatsuki turned to Tooyama to greet him, and the two men exchanged business cards. “Hello. I’m Tooyama. Since you’ll be taking a look around the office, I would like to be present.” Tooyama spoke in a deep, calm voice and bowed to Takatsuki. His neatly designed business card read “Hirotaka Tooyama.” Dressed a bit on the business-casual side in a thin sweater and blazer, he looked like he was in his midforties or so. The eyes behind his silver-rimmed glasses were wide from corner to corner and half-lidded. But his overall atmosphere was gentle rather than severe. He didn’t seem like the type to just suddenly fire an employee, at least. Murata held out her business card to Takatsuki next. “I’m Murata… Nice to meet you.” She looked slightly unwell as she nodded in Takatsuki’s direction. Murata, whose business card indicated that her given name was Mai, had long hair and was dressed in a light-colored cardigan and long skirt. She was favoring her left ankle, which was bandaged, just a little. Naoya recalled that it was Murata who had gotten hurt first by falling down some stairs. Tooyama’s company was on the second floor of the building. No one else was there since it was a weekend, but the office had a bright, modern sort of feel. In addition to work desks, there were colorful sofas placed at the entrance and near the windows that were probably used for taking breaks or holding meetings. Here and there, the room was decorated with photographs of buildings the company had designed and paper architectural models. According to Tooyama, there were seven employees, including the office administrator. “This one is my desk. Next to me is Murata, Hayashi sits across from me, and Oono is next to him.” Each of the desks Yukari pointed out gave a clear impression of the person who sat at it. Yukari’s was relatively tidy, whereas Murata’s was covered with cute little trinkets. There was a humidifier and a thick lap blanket at Oono’s desk, while Hayashi’s was buried beneath stacks of files. At the window alongside the desks, there was a whiteboard. Takatsuki walked over to it and pointed at its currently blank surface. “Is this the one you used for the curse?” “Yes,” Yukari said, nodding. The whiteboard was utterly ordinary. Takatsuki stared at it for a short time before seeming to lose interest. “Well, then,” he said, smiling wide. “Let’s talk, shall we?” As they settled in at some of the sofas, Takatsuki began by asking Murata about the story. Murata was quite visibly tense. She sat stiffly on the sofa, barely making eye contact with Takatsuki. “Ms. Murata, I’d like to ask about the circumstances of your injury. I heard you woke up at dawn unexpectedly and went to the convenience store. Is that something that happens often?” “Um… Uh, no, I just happened to wake up then on that day.” Startled by the sudden distortion in Murata’s voice, Naoya pressed a hand to his ear. Takatsuki glanced at him briefly before looking back at Murata. “That happens to me, too, sometimes—waking up at odd hours. You worry you’ll oversleep if you try going back to bed, so you might as well just get up, right?” “Y-yes… So then I decided to go to the convenience store and left my house.” Again, her voice warped. Covering his ear again, Naoya frowned. What was going on? The story they had heard was that Murata had woken up early, gone to the convenience store, then fallen down some stairs. But if this part was a lie, then she hadn’t actually gone to the store at all. There was a bad feeling rising in Naoya’s chest. But, he thought, that would mean… Naoya kept his hand pressed to his ear as, at his side, Takatsuki continued to ask Murata questions. “You fell down some stairs on your way home from the store, yes? Someone grabbed your leg?” “Yes. I felt someone grab my ankle out of nowhere…and pull down hard on it.” “That’s what caused your fall?” “Yes.” Murata answered Takatsuki without looking up at him, her gaze on the floor. Naoya glared at her. You dirty liar. After having heard about the incidents from Yukari, he had never expected this would be the outcome. He was appalled; every single thing about Murata’s story was made up. Her ankle probably wasn’t even sprained—the bandages were just for show. It was no wonder she had been acting strange this whole time. The claim of having been injured by the Curse of 4:44 was—in Murata’s case, at least—a lie of her own making. Takatsuki went on. “As for the message you received on your phone, do you have any idea who sent it?” “…no.” More distortion. Naoya was fed up. Murata knew who the e-mail had come from. The whole thing was a lie. There was no question. The reason behind it was still a mystery, though. Naoya could tell when someone was lying, but he didn’t have the power to discern why. He did know, however, that Yukari had probably been set up. By Murata—no, by the three other people involved, most likely. Naoya remembered Yukari telling them that when Hayashi had talked about the rules of the curse at a restaurant, everyone except for her had looked very serious. It was probably a safe bet to assume they were in on it together. Under the pretext of the Curse of 4:44, the three of them had concocted some nonsense so they could enjoy seeing Yukari tremble in fear. Naoya was itching to get up and tell Takatsuki everything that instant, but in front of other people he couldn’t give away the fact that he could hear lies. All he could do was be patient for a little while longer. What a joke, Naoya thought. As he was letting out a short sigh, he was struck by the feeling that someone was looking at him. It was Tooyama, for some reason. He was staring at Naoya over his glasses with a slight frown. He probably thought it was strange that Naoya had been covering one ear for most of the conversation. Naoya wasn’t sure what to do. His covering his ear was a signal used to tell Takatsuki that someone was lying, so he couldn’t just stop. If Tooyama asked him about it, he would simply have to make some excuse about his ears ringing or something. “Now,” Takatsuki said, launching into another question, “I’d like to ask you about Mr. Hayashi. He was almost crushed under a bookcase in your stack room, and later on someone attacked him in the street. Do you have any idea who his assailant might be?” “Not at all.” Murata’s voice came out clear as a bell. Taken aback, Naoya dropped his hand from his ear. What did that mean? Had Hayashi not made up that incident himself? One hand on his chin, Takatsuki looked down a little in thought. “As for Ms. Oono…she was in a traffic accident, I believe? I was told she ran out into the road on her own. It’s assumed that she received an e-mail just prior to that which contained only the number four. Ms. Sawaki said she just happened to be in the bathroom at the time. What about you, Ms. Murata?” “I was…in the office.” “You sit across from Ms. Oono. Could you tell me how she was acting at the time she received the message?” “She…” Frowning, Murata fell silent. Her face was clouded over with emotion—and not just guilt. There was confusion. And fear. Her arms, which she had wrapped around herself, were shaking a little. Something frightened her. But if Murata was one of the instigators behind the whole debacle, what in the world did she have to be so scared of? With Murata no longer speaking, Tooyama stepped in. “—I was also in the office at that time. Oono made a phone call immediately after receiving the message.” “Do you know who she called?” “Hayashi, probably. He wasn’t at work since he had gotten injured, and I heard her yell his first name into the phone.” “His given name?” “Yes. The two of them have been dating for a while.” Tooyama presented that fact casually. Yukari looked shocked, but Murata merely looked down, as though she already knew. “During that phone call, I heard Oono say, ‘What the hell is this?’ And, ‘I thought I wasn’t going to have to do anything.’” “Huh…? What did she mean by that?” Yukari asked, her tone bewildered. Maybe it was finally starting to occur to her that her three colleagues had pulled the wool over her eyes. Tooyama continued his matter-of-fact account of the incident without answering Yukari. “Next, she said, ‘What do you mean you don’t know? It wasn’t you?’ Then…after listening to the person on the other end of the line for a while, she suddenly became very distraught and ran out of the office still clutching her phone. Soon after, we heard the sound of an accident. Everyone went outside to see what had happened, and there was Oono, lying on the ground.” Tooyama’s voice didn’t distort at all while he spoke. Naoya frowned. None of it made sense to him anymore. Murata’s injury was an act. That was certain. But had the attack on Hayashi and Oono’s accident both been unplanned events? While on the phone with Hayashi, Oono had asked, “What the hell is this?” Most likely, by “this” she was referring to the “4” e-mail. Her statement about not having to do anything probably meant she hadn’t been tasked with faking an injury of her own. Despite that, Oono had received a message targeting her, and had probably complained about it to Hayashi. She might have dialed him up the moment Yukari had stepped away from her desk. And yet, it sounded like Hayashi had told Oono he didn’t know who had sent the message. That it hadn’t come from him. So who had sent it? “Ms. Murata,” Takatsuki said, settling his gaze on her, “you said you don’t know who’s responsible for the e-mail you received. What about the one Ms. Oono got? Any ideas there?” “No.” Murata’s voice didn’t distort. She knew who had sent the first message, but not the last one. The whole situation was becoming murkier by the minute. Murata, Hayashi, and Oono seemed to have been working together at the start of things, but somewhere along the way, the course of events had taken an unintended turn. It was as though, partway through, the curse had become real—a dangerous wild animal with its fangs bared at the people who were supposed to have tamed it. “I’ll be straightforward, Ms. Murata. Do you believe that the Curse of 4:44 is real?” At Takatsuki’s question, Murata’s shoulders gave an almighty jolt. She looked up. Yukari was watching her. Murata stared back at her, at a loss, then spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice. “…I’m starting to think it might be.” Yukari’s face stiffened. Trembling, Murata hugged herself tighter. “Um…I really don’t know how things ended up like this. I mean…the Curse of 4:44—how could something like that exist? But then, why did those things happen to Hayashi and Oono…? You’re a college professor, aren’t you?! Scary stories are your specialty, right?! Then please, do something! I-I’m so scared I can’t stand it! If this continues, I’m worried something awful really will happen to Yukari… If it does, I…” Murata sounded like she was on the verge of tears, but nothing she said bore the slightest hint of distortion. She was genuinely very afraid for Yukari in that moment. “What are your thoughts regarding this chain of events, Mr. Tooyama?” Takatsuki turned his questioning upon the other man. “…I’m annoyed, to be frank. Childish games like this will only cause delays in our work.” Yukari and Murata looked at him in surprise, but Tooyama merely shrugged. “I’m right, aren’t I? Why would I care about 4:44 or curses? I’m not an elementary schooler… Ah, my apologies. I shouldn’t talk like that in front of someone who studies them.” “Oh, no, I don’t mind. So that means you don’t believe the curse is real?” “Why would I? Murata’s injury is minor, Hayashi was probably just the victim of a random attack, and Oono ran into the street of her own volition. Isn’t it more trouble to go out of your way to blame it all on a curse?” “That’s a very pragmatic answer. So I’m going to respond with a pragmatic question… Could you tell me why Mr. Hayashi’s contract was terminated?” Takatsuki smiled brightly at Tooyama. “I heard his contract lasts until the end of June. And yet you informed him quite early that it wouldn’t be renewed. Why is that?” “…The sooner he knew, the better,” Tooyama replied, lightly adjusting his glasses. “The project he was on is going to continue into and beyond July. I concluded the project would carry on fine without him, and decided to terminate his contract… The reason he was let go is, I’m embarrassed to say, an administrative one. I needed to make personnel cuts.” Tooyama’s voice distorted intensely. Naoya covered one ear. Administrative issues had nothing to do with Hayashi being let go. “Nevertheless,” Tooyama continued, “it’s only natural that having fewer people makes for more work. That’s why I’d really like for all this nonsense to be over with quickly so my staff can focus on their jobs. Sawaki, in particular, is supposed to participate in a bid for a building design next month, but she hasn’t been able to concentrate on it because of this incident.” “I’m sorry…,” Yukari said, hanging her head. “It’s not your fault,” Tooyama told her. He turned back to Takatsuki and went on. “I allowed Sawaki to invite you to the office for the same reason. I thought it might help settle things down. So how about it, Professor Takatsuki? Have you begun to unravel this mystery?” “Indeed, more or less.” Naoya looked at Takatsuki’s smiling face in surprise. Had he already figured out what the hell was happening here? Just then… The sound of a single low-pitched vibration reverberated through the office. Yukari froze in her seat. Then, every movement stilted, she reached into her jacket pocket to pull out her phone. One glance at the screen made all the color drain from her face. She turned to Takatsuki, while Murata, who had leaned over to see from beside Yukari, let out a small cry. “May I?” Takatsuki reached out, taking the phone from Yukari. He and Naoya both peered down at the device. An open e-mail took up the screen. The sender’s address was a meaningless string of letters and numbers. The subject was blank. The body of the e-mail was empty, too—there was nothing in it, not even a single “4.” But even Naoya could tell this message was part of the series of curse e-mails. Each time the next target had received their warning message, a digit had been dropped from the “4444” in the initial e-mail. Murata had gotten “444.” Hayashi, “44.” And Oono, just “4.” This e-mail was blank because all the fours had been used up. It meant Yukari was the last one standing—but not for long. At the top of the phone screen, the time displayed was 4:44. “I knew it… Something is going to happen to me, too, isn’t it…?” Yukari murmured, her voice shaking with fear. Murata rubbed Yukari’s back with one hand, as if to calm her, but she herself was as white as a ghost. Tooyama looked between the two of them with a troubled frown. It seemed like he wanted to say something but was at a complete loss as to what would be appropriate. Suddenly, Takatsuki spoke. “—When you think about it, isn’t e-mail kind of scary?” Yukari, Murata, and Tooyama all looked at him. Handing the phone back to its owner, Takatsuki continued talking, his voice jarringly carefree considering the situation. “Unlike a paper letter, e-mail has no physical form, and the characters lack the individuality of handwriting. Many people probably only have a vague idea of how e-mail is delivered. We regularly use terms like ‘online’ and ‘over the internet’ with such familiarity, and yet these spaces do not physically exist. They’re practically the same as the world inside Doraemon’s 4D Pocket. When you receive an unmarked message from a world like that—one you don’t really understand—it’s only natural to be frightened. Though, if it were me, I might enjoy it.” “Professor Takatsuki… Um, wh-what do I do…?” “There’s no doubt you just received a warning of some impending disaster.” At those words, Yukari sucked in a breath. Takatsuki, on the other hand, sounded as calm as ever. “If we apply the rules of the curse Mr. Hayashi mentioned, you only need to worry about the time 4:44. Moreover, considering the incidents before this, bad things only happened when the target was alone. So, as long as you’re careful twice a day—when the clock strikes 4:44—you should be fine. On weekdays at that time in the afternoon, you’ll be at the office, correct? Please make sure you’re not by yourself then. As for the morning…do you live alone, Ms. Sawaki? No? Ah, you must live with your family, right? In that case, I don’t think there will be a problem.” Takatsuki grinned at Yukari. Starting to get worried, Naoya interjected, “But Professor, one person did experience something bad at a time that wasn’t 4:44. It was nowhere near that time when Mr. Hayashi was attacked, I’m pretty sure.” “Yes,” Takatsuki replied. “But that was unrelated, so it’s of no concern.” Naoya didn’t quite know what he meant. Yukari was probably even less convinced. She was shaking like a leaf. “B-but, am I…going to have to w-worry about 4:44 every day from n-now on…? There’s no way… At some point, s-surely…” “Goodness, no. I don’t mean that you’ll need to stay vigilant forever. I’ll come up with a countermeasure and contact you again soon.” “A countermeasure? Like an exorcism?” “Something like that, though probably not quite what you’re imagining. I’ll consult with an expert and pass their advice on to you. However—since I’m sure you’re feeling highly anxious about the circumstances, Ms. Sawaki, I’ll give you a protective charm.” “A protective charm…?” “Yes, one that’s very effective in times like this. Pardon me, but could I have a piece of paper?” At his request, Yukari retrieved a sheet of copy paper. After thanking her, Takatsuki took the paper, folded it into quarters, and then ever so carefully tore out one of the four sections along the fold lines by hand. He took the fountain pen from his breast pocket and scrawled a few kanji characters on the torn-out piece. If what he had written was a word, it wasn’t one Naoya had seen before. Takatsuki handed the note to Yukari. “See this? It’s pronounced ‘i-na-ji-n-shi.’ Whenever you’re scared, chant this in your head four times. It’s a mantra to keep you safe. Oh, and please fold the paper it’s written on in four and carry it with you at all times. Keeping protective charms close to your person is key. You may want to stow it inside your phone case, since that’s the number one thing most people take with them everywhere these days.” Yukari accepted the charm from Takatsuki like she was being handed a lifeline. As instructed, she folded the paper and placed it in the pocket of her wallet-style phone case with excessive care. Once he was sure his advice had been followed, Takatsuki stood up. “Now then, I think that’s about as much as I can do for you today. I’ll be in touch again soon, so please take very good care of yourself until then. It’s going to be okay, Ms. Sawaki. That charm will absolutely protect you.” Leaving Yukari, who was still dazed from shock, in Murata’s hands, Tooyama saw Takatsuki and Naoya out of the building. “You’re sure she’ll be all right with just that?” “Yes, for now. I think the charm will work well.” Tooyama sounded worried when he glanced back toward the office, but Takatsuki was smiling as he replied. There was some doubt in the expression that Tooyama answered Takatsuki’s words with, and Naoya understood that to a degree. He wondered how much of an effect the protective charm could actually have. Then Tooyama’s gaze shifted in Naoya’s direction. “You…um, Fukamachi, was it? Is your ear okay?” “Huh?” The unexpected question made Naoya tense up reflexively. Gesturing to Naoya’s ears, Tooyama smiled, the outer corners of his eyes pulling back slightly with the motion. “You kept covering your ear back in the office… People have said several times before that the air pressure in there is a little high, maybe because it’s a bit too airtight. I was a little worried that might have been bothering you.” “Oh… No, I’m okay. It’s just, um, my ears have been ringing a little. Since this morning.” “I see. If that keeps up for much longer, you should go see a doctor. Ear problems can be bad news.” “Yes, I will. Thank you for your concern.” Hoping to bring the conversation to a quick end, Naoya bowed his head. But Tooyama did not seem to be done talking. “By the way, you’re a college student, aren’t you? What department and year are you in? And where are you from?” “Eh…? Um…I’m a second-year student, in the History Department… I’m from Yokohama…” “Do you live there now?” “No, I’m in the city proper… I have my own place close to the college.” “Oh? Say—by any chance, would you like to work part-time for me?” “Huh?!” Where the hell is this coming from? Naoya thought, taken aback by the sudden offer. His smile widening, Tooyama waved his hand lightly. “Ah, sorry for asking out of nowhere like that. It’s just that with Oono, our office administrator, in the hospital, we’re in a bit of a bind. The job is simple, just desk work. You wouldn’t need to have any interest in architecture or design, though it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you did.” “Um, I mean,” Naoya mumbled, perplexed, “I would need time to think about it…” Then, without warning, Takatsuki reached out and tugged Naoya back. Moving to stand between Naoya and Tooyama, he said, “I have to object, Mr. Tooyama. Fukamachi works part-time for me. Please don’t try to snatch him away.” “My apologies. I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to have an earnest, serious college student around the office.” “Fukamachi isn’t available. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else.” Takatsuki’s smile was as bright as ever, but his tone clearly brooked no argument. What is with these guys? thought Naoya. Way too many people have been trying to recruit me lately. Three days passed. Yukari was walking alone along the road outside the train station. She had taken the train to deliver documents to a client a few stops away and was in the process of returning to her office. Bag slung over her shoulder, phone clutched in one hand, she moved at a brisk pace. Occasionally she glanced at her wristwatch, her already stiff expression hardening more and more each time. It was almost 4:44. Her lips moved minutely, perhaps because she was reciting the word on the protective charm to herself over and over. Even though it wasn’t yet 4:44, Yukari was constantly on high alert. She made sure not to stand close to the edge of the train platform. Before going down any set of stairs, she was careful to check her surroundings and watch her every step. That vigilance was probably why she looked so exhausted. Kept under that amount of stress, anyone would have been mentally fatigued. Before long, she came to a crosswalk. The walk signal was flashing, about to turn red. Normally, Yukari would have dashed across the street to beat the light. Instead, she stopped, cautious, and decided to wait for the next signal. Taking care to stand so as not to be too close to the road, she stared blankly ahead. The street outside the train station was crowded at this time of day. Businessmen, stay-at-home spouses with their daily shopping, students. All sorts of people started filling in the space behind and to either side of Yukari. Most of them were fiddling with their phones, their attention only marginally on their surroundings. Suddenly, someone shoved Yukari hard toward the road. Before she could so much as scream, the force of the push sent her staggering forward, off-balance, several steps into the street—and into the path of an oncoming vehicle. On the other side of the small box truck’s windshield, the driver’s mouth fell open in shock. But just as Yukari was about to topple onto the street, a pair of long arms caught her from the side. “Fukamachi! Follow him!” The force with which he’d pulled Yukari to safety made Takatsuki fall to the sidewalk. He landed on the ground, Yukari still in his arms, then called out to Naoya. At once, Naoya took off after the man, who had shoved through the crowd of people waiting to cross the street. The man was heading for the train station, knocking pedestrians out of his way as he ran. He was fast. But Naoya couldn’t let him get away. Then someone stepped right into the man’s path, blocking it. The man made to bolt, but the figure obstructing his escape grabbed him by the arms. Struggling hard, the man tried to break free. Naoya caught up as the two grappled with each other, and jumped in to further restrain the man. “—Good, you got him. I’m very grateful for your help, Mr. Tooyama.” Having arrived shortly after with Yukari in tow, Takatsuki thanked Tooyama, who had a firm grip on the man. Takatsuki stepped in to take Naoya’s place, grabbing hold of the still-struggling suspect by the arm. Twisting the limb behind the man’s back, Takatsuki aimed a light kick to the back of the man’s knees. The man went down with a yelp. Stopping him in the first place had taken the combined efforts of Tooyama and Naoya, but Takatsuki had subdued the man with ease by himself. Naoya and Tooyama both stared at him, wide-eyed, with something almost like fear. Was this another move Sasakura had included in the professor’s self-defense lessons? What on earth was that out-of-control officer teaching ordinary people? “Hayashi… Why…?” Yukari whispered. She was looking down at the captured man’s—at Hayashi’s—face. Clicking his tongue, Hayashi looked away from her. But the next moment, Takatsuki twisted his arm even harder, and he let out another low cry. “Mr. Hayashi. I teach folklore studies at a university. Generally speaking, I’m not really interested in cases that aren’t paranormal.” Takatsuki’s smile was wide. “However, what you’ve done is a crime disguised as a paranormal phenomenon. No matter how little interest I have, I can’t just ignore someone committing a crime. Thank you very much indeed for playing your part so readily.” “What…?” Frantically trying to whip his head around to see Takatsuki behind him, Hayashi’s face twisted. Meanwhile, Takatsuki never once slackened his grip on Hayashi’s arm, though he seemed to be maintaining the hold at the point just before it could cause actual injury. It was true that Takatsuki wasn’t interested in anything outside the occult. Once he figured out something wasn’t supernatural, he tended to get bored with it. But at the same time, he absolutely never forgave anyone for trying to pass off a crime as something otherworldly. He unraveled counterfeit mysteries and ruthlessly exposed the sins hidden within. Perhaps this was because he himself was the victim of a criminal act that had been dressed up to appear supernatural. “Considering events thus far, I figured something would happen within a few days of the message arriving. I’m glad—you have some sense, at least. I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t do something that might drag other people into this, like setting Ms. Sawaki’s residence on fire at the crack of dawn or releasing toxic gas into the office at night. So, just in case, I asked a detective I know to coordinate with the local police station to patrol the area. But then again, from what I’d heard about your actions up to this point, I got the feeling you wouldn’t resort to something so drastic. Plus, you were the one who first brought up the ‘rules’ of the curse, so I was fairly confident you wouldn’t stray from the 4:44 timing. That made it very easy to predict your behavior.” Takatsuki had laid a trap for Hayashi. After being injured in a random attack, Hayashi had been taking time away from work. He hadn’t been expected at the office this week, either. Ostensibly, he was using the break to search for a new job, but Takatsuki thought it more likely that he was just waiting for Yukari to go somewhere alone in the afternoon so he could make his move. And so, Takatsuki had contacted Tooyama and Yukari to ask that Yukari be purposely sent out by herself—naturally, with Takatsuki and Naoya as her undercover guards. Since Hayashi would recognize Tooyama, he had been asked to watch over Yukari from a distance without getting too close. Falling for this hook, line, and sinker, Hayashi had pushed Yukari into the road. And having done so in front of so many witnesses, he would be hard-pressed to talk his way out of it. Peering down at Hayashi, Tooyama asked, “Why? Why did you do this?” Hayashi tried to turn away from the question again, but all he got for his trouble was another twist of the arm. In a strained voice, he answered, “I-it was just a little prank at first! Because Sawaki told us about the Curse of 4:44 or whatever… It made me think I could scare her if I made it look like the curse was real. So…” Her brow knit in anguish, Yukari clenched both of her hands tightly. “So everyone was in on it except for me after all. Oono too… Even Murata. But why? Why would you all do this? Did I do something to you?” “Ask the boss,” Hayashi spat. Tooyama frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?” “You’re always paying Sawaki more attention, aren’t you?! I’ve been here two years longer than she has! So why did you pick her to lead the project?! And why did you decide to feature her design in the next bid…? I bet everyone else feels the same way! Why is it all about Sawaki?!” Hayashi yelled and raved, and Yukari’s eyes grew wide with surprise. Shaking his head, Tooyama sighed. “That’s your reason? Isn’t it obvious…? It’s because she’s brilliant. Do you not even understand that much? Then I was right after all—our office doesn’t need you.” Hayashi glared at Tooyama, scowling fiercely. It had been jealousy the entire time. Hayashi hated that his junior coworker received more recognition than he did, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to show it in a normal fashion. Outwardly, he had probably pretended to get along well with Yukari. At the very least, she didn’t seem to have had any idea that Hayashi had felt that way. “Mr. Hayashi,” Takatsuki said, “before we go to the police station, why don’t we talk a bit more? About what you did, and what you were thinking.” Likely realizing he had long since lost his chance to escape, Hayashi started to speak in a faltering manner. “I really…only meant to play a little prank, at first…” That day—after they had invoked the Curse of 4:44—Hayashi had sent the “4444” e-mail on a whim. It was just supposed to be a joke. But when everyone had seemed more creeped out by the message than he’d expected, he had decided to use it as an excuse to mess with Yukari. First, he’d decided on the rules of the curse, because he figured it would be scarier that way. Next, he’d come up with the order in which they would be “cursed.” First was his other junior coworker, Murata. Next, himself. His girlfriend, Oono, had told him disdainfully that she thought such things were stupid, so Hayashi had decided to put Yukari third and end the charade after some light terrorizing. Of course, Murata had been reluctant. She and Yukari were friends, but she couldn’t oppose a senior colleague. And in the end, Murata had done just as she’d been told, and pretended to fall victim to the curse using the scenario Hayashi had come up with. Then it was Hayashi’s turn. It was already a known fact that one of the shelves in the stack room was a bit wobbly, so he had pushed it over, acting as though he had experienced a very close call. He’d made it seem like he had been able to avoid getting hurt because of his understanding of the curse’s rules. But then—things had started to go awry. That night, Hayashi was randomly attacked in the street. It wasn’t like he thought that had happened because of anything other than plain bad luck, but nothing remotely similar had ever happened to Hayashi in his whole life. Plus, the fact that it had taken place the very same day as his staged curse-evasion incident had made him feel a bit uneasy. So Hayashi had decided then and there to call the whole thing off. At that point, it was supposed to be Yukari’s turn to get an e-mail, but Hayashi hadn’t sent one. He’d figured everyone would just forget about the curse sooner or later if nothing else happened. And yet—the next day, when he was absent from work because of his injuries, Oono had called him. “Hey, what the hell is this?” she had said. When Hayashi asked what she meant, Oono had shot back accusatorily, “I thought I wasn’t going to have to do anything. So why did I get this ‘4’ message?!” Oono had received an e-mail, despite the fact that Hayashi had not sent one. He told her he didn’t know, and that it wasn’t him. Hayashi informed Oono honestly that he had decided to give up on the curse after being randomly assaulted. But when he’d said that, on the other end of the line, Oono had started to freak out. She had cried into the phone, “So you’re telling me someone else sent it? Are you saying the curse is actually real?!” Hayashi tried to calm her down, but the call disconnected. Later, Murata called him to let him know Oono had been in an accident. Afraid that there truly was a curse, Oono had run into the road in a fit of panic. “I didn’t send that message. Murata said she didn’t, either… So it could only have been Sawaki. She must have realized what we were doing at some point and wanted to get back at us.” “No, you’re wrong. I didn’t send it…” Yukari shook her head, but Hayashi only glared at her and continued talking. “I thought I had to just end this whole thing quickly before anything else happened. It all started with the Curse of 4:44, so it would be over if something happened to the last person involved: Sawaki. So I sent her an e-mail… I pushed her because I wanted her to get hurt. Because if I didn’t, the curse wouldn’t end! If I didn’t make it stop soon, something else would have happened! Wouldn’t that have been worse?! In order to end this curse, I had no choice but to do it!” Spittle flew from Hayashi’s mouth as he shouted, and Yukari stared down at him in horror. Naoya, who was also observing the state Hayashi was in, felt the whole tale was a bit…uncanny. There was something off about his story, like it had suffered a collapse in logic. Somewhere along the way, it seemed like Hayashi himself had started to believe the curse was real. He said he suspected Yukari of turning things around on them, and that he had acted to prevent that, but it sounded like, rather than getting payback against her, his goal was to end the curse. What was more, Hayashi did not appear to realize how nonsensical that was. “…The thing about curses, you know, is that once you believe in them, it’s too late for you.” Takatsuki spoke in a low murmur. “No matter how many other possibilities you try to find, in the end, you will always return to one thought: The curse did this.” From Hayashi’s point of view, everything should have gone according to the script he had written. But then events that weren’t a part of his plan had happened. Losing his job. Being attacked. Oono receiving an e-mail he hadn’t sent. To Hayashi, those incidents were inexplicable. Or perhaps, to some extent, his confusion stemmed from the guilt he felt over his own misdeeds. Not in a “what goes around comes around” sort of way, but maybe Hayashi was in a state of hyperawareness regarding curses, since he had blithely used one as a cover to bully someone else. As a result, the Curse of 4:44 had taken up residence in his mind. “The Curse of 4:44 is supposed to open up a door to the spirit realm… In a sense, it seems that’s true.” “Huh?” Naoya frowned at Takatsuki’s statement, looking between him and Hayashi. Still restraining Hayashi, Takatsuki answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “Do you remember the definition of ‘the spirit realm’ I spoke about in class? The spirit realm is a place outside of the ordinary, where the systems we know don’t apply. Doors to the spirit realm can appear anywhere. If such a door opens inside someone’s heart, that person might do something they would never even have dreamed of doing ordinarily. Hayashi played with the occult as if it were a toy, and this resulted in his mind being sucked into another world. I guess he really shouldn’t have invoked the Curse of 4:44… Or something like that.” Takatsuki let out a small snicker, then brought his mouth close to Hayashi’s ear from behind. “Congratulations,” he whispered. “By some measures, you could be considered an example of someone who was genuinely met with misfortune because of the Curse of 4:44. This has been a very interesting case for me after all.” Hayashi’s bloodshot eyes were wide open. His pale face twitched and contorted out of shape. He looked as though he had been well and truly cursed. In the afternoon three days later, Takatsuki and Naoya paid another visit to the café where they had first heard everything from Yukari: Un Pommier. This time, the person waiting for them inside the shop was Tooyama. “Professor Takatsuki, thank you so much for the other day.” “Not at all, I should be thanking you. My apologies for asking you to meet during work hours today.” Tooyama and Takatsuki exchanged slight bows and sat down at the same table Yukari had occupied before. Naoya took a seat next to Takatsuki. There were no other customers. After delivering the drinks Naoya and Takatsuki had ordered, the owner went back behind the counter to become “just another part of the decor.” Jazz could be heard playing softly throughout the quiet café. They were meeting with Tooyama to hear about how things had gone following the incident. Takatsuki was of the opinion that it would be better to speak with Tooyama than Yukari, and Naoya had agreed. Yukari had been dealt quite the shock. Asking her to rehash the awful affair would have been cruel. Takatsuki smiled contentedly into his mug of hot chocolate—the same thing he had ordered last time—and said, “Mr. Tooyama, how has Ms. Sawaki been holding up?” “Well, I get the impression she’s still feeling a bit shaken up but is trying to distract herself through work. She seems motivated and is really putting in the hours. At this rate, I think she’ll be fine at next month’s bid as well. I intend to support her as much as possible, too.” Tooyama’s voice was calm. He paused to take a sip of his coffee. After everything had happened the other day, Tooyama had escorted Hayashi to the police station. Hayashi’s pushing Yukari into the road was indisputable, so they would have to press charges for that offense at least. Relations between Yukari and Murata had, as one would expect, been a bit strained since then. Even though she had only been following Hayashi’s orders, Murata had lied and even faked an injury. Still, even Yukari seemed to understand that Murata had been seriously worried for her safety the day that they’d spoken to Takatsuki in the office. There wasn’t much anyone could do except hope time healed the rift between them. It was expected that Oono would be released from the hospital soon, but whether she would be returning to her job at the architectural firm was unclear. “In any case, things seem to have calmed down for now. It’s all thanks to you, Professor. I’m very grateful. Though it does seem like we have an immediate opening for an office administrator at work. Are you sure you aren’t interested, Fukamachi?” “I mean, I don’t even have any experience with office work…” “We’d train you properly, of course. Getting some experience now will be an advantage when you enter the job market.” “Um…” “Mr. Tooyama. I believe I said as much before: Please don’t try to poach my assistant.” A smiling Takatsuki intercepted Tooyama, who had apparently not given up on recruiting Naoya. Tooyama replied with a grin that he was “only joking,” but the slight distortion in his voice made Naoya sneak a look at the expression behind his silver-rimmed glasses. He seemed like he was at least half-serious. “By the way, Professor Takatsuki, though the incident has largely been resolved, there is still something I don’t understand. May I ask you about it?” “Of course, what is it?” “Who sent that e-mail to Oono if it wasn’t Hayashi?” That was the very issue weighing on Naoya’s mind as well. The first three messages, as well as the very last one which Yukari had received, were Hayashi’s doing. But the identity of the sender of the fourth e-mail—the one Oono and Yukari had both gotten a version of—was as yet unidentified. It wasn’t Hayashi, and it certainly hadn’t been Yukari, either. Takatsuki took another long sip of his hot chocolate. “Actually,” he said, “I invited you to this café today because I wanted to discuss that. You weren’t directly involved, Mr. Tooyama, but it’s not as though you were totally removed from the situation, either… And I didn’t want Ms. Sawaki here for this…” “What do you mean?” “The person who sent that e-mail,” Takatsuki replied, the words flowing casually from his mouth, “is the owner of this shop. And I believe he’s also Ms. Sawaki’s boyfriend.” There was a thud from somewhere behind them. The café owner, who had presumably been aiming to blend in unobtrusively with his surroundings, had dropped the book he was reading. Turning to look at the counter, Takatsuki called out to the man. “Manager? You were listening, yes? Please join us, there’s no need to be all the way over there. We have to discuss what you did now.” The owner stood up. He walked unhurriedly to their table and lowered himself into the seat next to Tooyama. The expression on his face was not unlike resignation. “Manager, may I ask your name?” “It’s Ishida.” “Then I’ll call you Mr. Ishida, shall I? Mr. Ishida—was anything I said just now incorrect?” “…No.” Ishida shook his head. Tooyama’s eyes widened in surprise. He must have been taken aback to hear that Ishida had sent the e-mail, but some of his shock might also have been because there was a considerable age difference between Yukari and this man. With a small sigh, Ishida asked, “…How long have you known?” “Regarding your relationship, I had an inkling from the beginning. There was an atmosphere of intimacy around you. But there were two factors that led me to believe I was right. The first was that Ms. Sawaki chose this shop as the location for our consultation.” Takatsuki held his index finger up in the air. “At the start of that meeting, she seemed embarrassed to be consulting me on such a topic. As if she thought it wasn’t something she should talk about in public. And yet she decided to talk to me here, despite the fact that you—someone she sees regularly—might overhear. In other words, as far as Ms. Sawaki was concerned, you were not an outsider to this matter. She probably told you the whole story even before she met with me, didn’t she, Mr. Ishida?” “…Yes,” Ishida said with a nod. “Actually, I’m the one who suggested she consult you. She had been searching online for someone, and I thought a university professor was probably a safe choice.” Grinning brightly, Takatsuki gave him a slight bow. “Thank you for the recommendation. Now—the second reason was simple. You both wear the same wristwatch.” “Ah… You picked my watch up for me that day when I dropped it.” Ishida’s smile was wry. “She asked for them as a birthday gift. She doesn’t really wear jewelry, so she said it would be nice to have matching wristwatches. I asked what we would do if her coworkers found out, since people from her office come into the café, but…since I never have mine on while I work, we concluded that it wouldn’t be an issue.” Once it had been mentioned, Naoya clearly recalled that, when he had stopped Takatsuki from hugging Yukari, Ishida had dropped his wristwatch. And afterward, Takatsuki had noticed and handed it back to him. Thinking back on it, Ishida’s eagerness to pull the professor off Yukari had probably come from his not wanting to sit back and watch somebody else put their hands all over his girlfriend. “If my theory that you and Ms. Sawaki were dating held water, the rest followed quite easily. It was highly likely that Ms. Sawaki would discuss the situation she was presently wrapped up in with a romantic partner. You would also have access to Ms. Oono’s e-mail address via Ms. Sawaki’s phone. There was no one other than you, Mr. Ishida, who could have sent that ‘4’ message.” “…It’s just as you say.” Ishida nodded again. “But why?” Tooyama asked. “How did it benefit you or Sawaki to send that e-mail to Oono?” Though he seemed about to reply, Ishida faltered. Takatsuki stepped in to answer in his place. “Naturally, he did it to protect Ms. Sawaki… This is more a guess than a theory, but was it not also you who attacked Mr. Hayashi, Mr. Ishida?” “…Yes,” Ishida admitted, his voice low. “That’s right.” Naoya looked at him in slight astonishment. It was hard to see Ishida, who appeared to be so gentle, as someone who would attack another person with a metal pipe. Ishida sighed again. His head drooped forward as the air left him. Or perhaps he was simply hanging it in regret. Then he began to speak—about how events had unfolded and culminated in his assaulting Hayashi and sending the message to Oono. “That night…Hayashi and Oono came to the café.” It was the day Tooyama had told Hayashi his contract wasn’t going to be renewed. They’d come in late, near closing time, when there were no other customers. They had probably decided to stop in after having a meal somewhere nearby. Hayashi had seemed a little drunk, and a lot unruly. “As I said before, to most customers, the owner of a café might as well be another piece of furniture. So they’ll all sit in here preparing for business meetings and discussing their divorces and complaining about their jobs without batting an eye. Of course, it’s not as though I give any indication I can hear what they’re saying… That day, Hayashi said, ‘Why the hell did I get fired? Boss must be shackin’ up with Sawaki after all, just like I thought. He’s just playin’ favorites.’ He probably never would have dreamed that the person secretly listening in on his conversation was dating Yukari. He was talking so loudly. Saying things like, ‘I’m so pissed off. I’m seriously gonna push that goddamn Sawaki down the stairs or something.’ And Oono—it was like she was enjoying herself, fanning the flames. She said, ‘You could blame it on the curse now, so why not?’ Then the two of them started talking about how they could make Yukari falling down the stairs look like an accident, like they were trying to polish a soap opera script. The way they were talking about it was so detailed… I thought, ‘These two might actually try to do it.’” Ishida had kept his “part of the decor” mask on through a truly Herculean effort, but on the inside, he had no intention of letting them get away with it. He wouldn’t stand by and allow Yukari to suffer harm because of their petty jealousy. “I had no presence of mind at the time. I flew into such a rage that when I think back on it, I have to wonder why… Truly, I don’t know. Maybe I should have just come out and let them know, ‘I’m Yukari’s boyfriend, and I just heard every single thing you guys said.’ Maybe if I had, their plan could have been snuffed out in a second… But I couldn’t say it. Even though Yukari had said there was no need for us to hide our relationship from her coworkers… It was me. I felt inferior. She’s young and beautiful and has a promising career…and I’m the uninspiring middle-aged owner of a small café that doesn’t get many customers.” Before leaving the café, Hayashi had mentioned not being drunk enough yet. After the pair walked out, Ishida had locked the door without cleaning up and followed them. Hayashi had said good night to Oono and gone into a bar that was open late. Once he was sure of the situation, Ishida had returned briefly to the café to retrieve the motorcycle helmet he used on a regular basis. Then he’d waited for Hayashi to exit the bar and start walking off before coming in swinging with a steel pipe he had borrowed from a nearby construction site. Hayashi had been incredibly drunk, and Ishida’s face had been hidden by the helmet, so Hayashi didn’t seem to recognize his attacker. Nevertheless, once he had fled the scene, Ishida had felt like his days were numbered. At first, thinking the police would be coming for him at any second, he had been terrified. But there was still one more thing he had to do. He needed to send a “4” e-mail to Oono before Hayashi could send one to Yukari. “I figured if they were planning to do something awful to her using the curse as pretense, all I had to do was mark Oono as the next target first. Then they wouldn’t be able to do anything to Yukari. And I certainly never intended to cause Oono any harm. When I heard that she ran out into the road in a panic, I wished I had never sent the message. I am truly so, so sorry…” Ishida stopped talking, his head hanging even lower. Both Takatsuki and Tooyama stared fixedly at him in silence. Speechless, all Naoya could do was stare at him, too. He certainly should never have attacked Hayashi, but from the story Ishida had told, it wasn’t hard to feel sympathy for him… And more than anything, when he thought about Yukari, Naoya’s chest ached. It might have been appropriate to say Ishida was yet another person who had been swallowed up by the Curse of 4:44. The forbidden game that Yukari had mentioned and Hayashi had insisted they play had ended up claiming more victims than expected. Ishida hadn’t been a part of the game, but even his mind had become host to thoughts and feelings he had never had before. Ishida himself said he would go to the police regarding his attack on Hayashi. But first, he wanted Yukari to hear everything from him… Takatsuki and Tooyama both agreed, thinking that was for the best. As they walked away from the café, Tooyama heaved a deep sigh. “I can’t believe it… I really do feel awful for Sawaki. She’s already in shock, and now she’s going to find out her boyfriend is turning himself in to the police?” “I’m sorry. I also didn’t want Ms. Sawaki to come to any more harm, but I couldn’t pretend not to know about this, either. Please, look out for her, even just as her boss. From this point on we’re out of the realm of my usefulness.” Tooyama grumbled something like “Well, I suppose that’s true” at Takatsuki’s statement. It seemed as though his company was about to be in a very tough position for some time. His brilliant staff, who had just worked so hard to regain their motivation, might once more become too overwhelmed by sorrow to focus on their jobs. Even if that didn’t happen, Tooyama had probably lost two employees anyway. It wasn’t likely that Hayashi would be clocking in anytime soon, and it was unclear if Oono would resume her post either. Just as Naoya was thinking, Maybe I should work there part-time until things calm down, Takatsuki spoke again. “Mr. Tooyama, there is one thing I’d like to confirm, by the way.” “Yes, what is it?” Tooyama looked at Takatsuki—and suddenly, Takatsuki leaned in close to the other man. He paid no mind to Tooyama jerking back in alarm and only crowded even closer, staring through Tooyama’s glasses into his eyes. “I’ve wanted to ask for a while now… You knew from the beginning, didn’t you? That Mr. Hayashi, Ms. Murata, and Ms. Oono were lying to trick Ms. Sawaki?” Tooyama was tall, but Takatsuki was taller. Naoya could see Tooyama tense up, as though the gaze peering down at him had pinned him to the spot. In the space of a second, the professor’s eyes took on a bluish tinge. Tooyama, only inches away from them, sucked in a weak breath when he noticed their color—the indigo of the bottomless darkness of night. “Professor Takatsuki… What the hell are you…?” “Who cares about me? I want to know about you, Mr. Tooyama.” His indigo gaze unblinking, Takatsuki said, “You knew from the beginning. That’s why you decided to fire Mr. Hayashi—because you knew he was lying.” Naoya’s eyes opened wide at Takatsuki’s words. “What…? Professor? What did you…just say…?” But Takatsuki didn’t answer Naoya’s question. He merely continued staring down at Tooyama. “When Ms. Sawaki recounted the series of events for me, I thought a few of your actions were strange. When you heard they had done the Curse of 4:44 in the office, you laughed and let it slide. That’s a rather generous attitude to take. But when Ms. Murata was talking about spraining her ankle, you threw a file down on a desk to interrupt the conversation. That was quite a harsh reaction. And it was the same when Mr. Hayashi was nearly crushed by the shelf. Ordinarily, one would have expected you to show some concern first, but you called Mr. Hayashi into another room—not just without concern but in a foul mood, no less—and told him you were breaking off his contract. At that point, I think it would be fair to say your demeanor was a bit cruel rather than just harsh. Ah yes, Sawaki also said you’re usually a kind person, but that you had abruptly severed ties with people before. That makes you sound like an inconsistent and outrageously moody person. However—if we look at things from a different perspective, there is a clear thread of consistency.” Takatsuki’s eyes shone an even deeper shade of indigo. The night sky in them was real. A dark abyss so tranquil that staring into it too long seemed liable to slow one’s breathing to a stop, and so deep that it felt like it would swallow up a person’s soul entirely. “You hate them, right? Liars. That’s why you get upset when someone lies.” “Th-that’s…” Stilted, Tooyama tried to speak. He seemed desperately to be trying to look away from Takatsuki, but behind his glasses, his eyes didn’t budge. Naoya knew just how Tooyama felt. Takatsuki’s night-sky gaze possessed a power that made it difficult to resist. Every time Naoya looked into those eyes, he felt compelled to say things he would rather have kept hidden. A faint smile appeared on Takatsuki’s lips. “Please, Mr. Tooyama. Tell me, won’t you? The reason you took an interest in Fukamachi is that you realized he’s just like you—that his ears can hear lies as well.” Tooyama’s eyes had opened so wide he looked shell-shocked. Then—Takatsuki blinked. The night sky vanished from his gaze in that instant. As if awaking suddenly from a daze, Tooyama scrambled away from Takatsuki. He took a few steps back, inhaling large gulps of air and letting them out hard like he was trying to regulate his breathing. “…Seriously… What the hell are you, really…?” “Well, I don’t much know the answer to that myself,” Takatsuki said, smiling. Taking another deep breath, Tooyama looked at Naoya. “Fukamachi. You said you were from Yokohama, but do you have any relatives in Nagano?” “Oh… My’s mother’s family is in Nagano… I used to go there often when I was little.” “I see. It’s the same for me. I’m not from Nagano, but I have kin there. I visited several times when I was young… And just one time, I had a very strange experience there.” “You mean…?” “A festival. In the middle of the night. People dancing under blue lanterns with all sorts of masks on their faces.” The memory hit Naoya with a wave of vertigo. The sight of that festival roared back to life inside his head. The crowd dancing to the drums. His grandfather, who was supposed to be dead, taking him to a food stall. A man wearing a black demon mask, and three sweets sitting on the counter. A candied apple, a candied plum, and an amber-colored lollipop. Choose just one— “Fukamachi, are you okay?” Takatsuki was propping Naoya up by the shoulders. Voice hoarse, Naoya told the professor he was fine. “I see,” Tooyama said, touching one of his own ears. “…So you are like me after all.” The reason Tooyama had shown concern for his ears and peppered him with questions was because he had realized from observing Naoya’s behavior that the two of them were alike. Naoya stared at Tooyama like he was seeing him for the first time. Until that moment, he had never imagined there might be other people like himself. “Um…have you ever met anyone else like this…?” “No. You’re the first. Do you also hear people’s voices distort when they lie?” “…Yes.” “I see. It’s…difficult, isn’t it? I know that very well.” There was no trace of a lie in those words. Tooyama spoke them with the bitterness of experience. “What do you usually do about it? I’m guessing it’s tough for you to be in crowds.” “…I put on headphones and listen to music.” “Ah, I used to do that, too. It’s easier when you fill your ears with sound beforehand, right?” Behind his glasses, Tooyama’s eyes narrowed with concern. “It’s better to practice ignoring sounds you don’t want to hear. Try to make it so unpleasant sounds don’t even register. It may be hard at first, but you’ll get better at it over time… Though, even so, you are going to hear them sometimes.” “Th…Thank you! I’ll try that!” In that moment, a peculiar feeling welled up in Naoya’s chest. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. This man knew the same pain he had suffered for so long, of people’s horrible, warped voices. Naoya had never been able to commiserate with another person about it before. No matter how much he tried to describe it, no one would ever really understand unless they had heard that sound, too. He never expected to feel such joy at finding out it wasn’t just him. All these years, Naoya had believed he was the only one with ears like his. “I’m so…relieved, somehow. Even with a power like this, to think I could get by normally in society like you do, Mr. Tooyama… To be honest, I wasn’t sure if it was possible for me to have much of a future.” “This ability, it’s really not that bad, you know?” Tooyama gave a wry smile. “After all, you can tell when someone is lying. You notice when someone is trying to rip you off right away; you can remove untrustworthy people from around you. I know immediately when another company submits false reports or estimates to me, and I can easily identify which members of my staff I don’t want to keep around.” Tooyama was putting his ability to practical use. It was his weapon. Naoya was genuinely in awe. So it was possible to live that way? He wanted to be like Tooyama. So badly. To interact with people properly, instead of drawing a line between himself and the world and hiding behind it. Even if it was too late to get rid of his power now, he could use it as a tool to function in society. And if he did that, then maybe someday, just like a normal person, he could even get married and have a family— Just then, Naoya felt something in his chest run cold. He’d just happened to catch sight of Tooyama’s left hand. “…Mr. Tooyama?” “Yes?” “Um…” He hesitated once, with the question on the tip of his tongue. But Naoya couldn’t bear the thought of not asking. “Mr. Tooyama—your family?” Tooyama’s face shifted ever so slightly into a grimace. Oh, Naoya thought. “I’m not married,” Tooyama said. “My parents and younger sister are…well, I believe they’re still alive, somewhere. I haven’t heard anything about them dying.” The cold feeling flowing through Naoya hardened into a solid block of ice. His heart plummeted in his chest like a stone. Takatsuki, seeing Naoya sink into silence, opened his mouth to speak instead. “Mr. Tooyama, someday, I would like to investigate the festival that caused Fukamachi’s ears to become like this. Have you ever been back to the village where you saw that festival as a child, since becoming an adult? Do you happen to know what it’s like now?” “—You shouldn’t go there.” Tooyama cut across Takatsuki’s words in an unexpectedly harsh tone of voice. The professor stopped talking. Once again, Naoya looked at Tooyama in surprise. Staring hard at Takatsuki, Tooyama continued, “It’s practically a ghost town there now. Even if you did go, an investigation would be a waste of time. You’re better off just giving up on the idea.” “…I…see.” Takatsuki’s gaze narrowed. Tooyama looked away from him and back to Naoya. He took out one of his business cards, wrote something on the back, and handed it to Naoya. “You can contact me at any time, for whatever reason. I’ve been getting by with this ability a lot longer than you have. I believe I might be able to give you some advice when you need it.” “…Thank you.” Naoya accepted the business card. It was the same one Tooyama had given to Takatsuki, except he had written what appeared to be his personal phone number and e-mail address on the reverse. They watched Tooyama, who said he needed to return to work, walk away. Naoya looked down at the business card in his hands. Director of an architectural firm—that was Tooyama’s title. It wasn’t a solitary position. His office also seemed to be decorated with awards he had received for his design work. He employed people and did business with other traders and clients. He led a properly successful life. Nonetheless, whether Tooyama was actually happy at present, Naoya wasn’t sure. He knew that it wasn’t for him to judge. But the expression Tooyama had worn when asked about his family looked a lot like the one Naoya saw every day in the mirror. If you choose that one, you will be lonely. It seemed that curse was one he would bear his whole life. Takatsuki’s hand came down on top of Naoya’s head, patting him lightly. “…Listen, Fukamachi.” Naoya couldn’t summon the will to shake the professor’s hand off or even look up at him. He just kept staring at Tooyama’s business card. “Everyone has their own way of living… Just because you have the same power does not mean you’re bound to walk the same path.” Those words were probably meant to be comforting. Still unable to lift his gaze, Naoya replied, “…That’s true. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to get by in society like Mr. Tooyama anyway.” “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. You’re doing surprisingly well already.” “Am I?” “Yep. Whenever I see you around campus, it looks like you’re playing the part of a moderately social person rather deftly… Though if you ask me, it would be nice if you had a few more close friends.” “I don’t really care to.” “Oh? But you do get along well with Nanba, don’t you?” “…He’s always the one initiating.” “You truly are a bullheaded little guy, aren’t you, Fukamachi?” “—H-hey! What are you doing?!” Naoya ducked away, flustered, as Takatsuki started mussing his hair vigorously. Smiling like a mischievous child, the professor made grabby hands in Naoya’s direction. “Your head is at the perfect height, Fukamachi. KenKen is taller than me, so it’s hard to do things like this to him.” “What could be so fun about messing up Mr. Sasakura’s hair?” “You won’t know unless you try it… He’ll definitely get mad, though.” “I figured. Anyway, why are we talking about this?” “To cheer you up,” Takatsuki replied, tilting his head slightly to the side with a bright smile. “Wha…? I-it’s not like I’m depressed or anything!” “Really? You looked disheartened. Well, then—I suppose we should leave. Are you hungry, Fukamachi? Let’s get dinner and head home.” “…Fine, if you’re paying.” “Of course.” Takatsuki turned and promptly started walking toward the train station. Once he had taken a particular route, he could follow that same route without getting lost, even if he was alone. Naoya shoved Tooyama’s business card into his pocket and chased after Takatsuki. “By the way, Professor, there’s something I wanted to ask you.” “Oh, what is it?” “That protective charm you gave to Ms. Sawaki. What does ‘i-na-ji-n-shi’ mean? Is it some kind of regional incantation or something? From the kanji I would guess maybe somewhere that cultivates rice crops?” “Ohh, that?” Takatsuki grinned over his shoulder at Naoya. “Try reading that word in reverse, Fukamachi.” “Huh? Backward?” “Just humor me.” Naoya tried to picture the syllables in reverse, as he was told. “Umm, okay, so if it’s ‘i-na-ji-n-shi,’ then you would get…shi-n-ji-na-i…?” As soon as he sounded it out, the realization hit him. Shinjinai—“Don’t believe it.” “Wait, are you kidding me?! It was just a nonsense word?! You said it would keep her safe!” “A protective charm is a protective charm. Even if it’s one that I invented.” “‘Invented’?! That’s just lying, isn’t it?! I can’t believe you had the nerve to give that to Ms. Sawaki!” “I’m telling you, it was a legitimate charm. Has no one ever told you about ‘soubunze’ or ‘soushinahanoko’ or ‘Yodasou’?” “Wh-what in the world are those?” “The first two incantations are used to break out of a nightmare or avoid it altogether. If you reverse them, you get ‘zenbu uso’ and ‘kono hanashi uso’—‘none of this is true’ and ‘this story isn’t real.’ ‘Yodasou’ is a monster that attacks children and yells something like, ‘I am Yodasou! Turned around!’ If they can’t solve that riddle, the monster kills them. Again, if you read it backwards, you get ‘uso da yo.’ ‘It’s a lie.’ There are tons of ghost stories with this kind of wordplay. Like I said, Japanese people love puns and palindromes. But until someone catches on, both ‘soubunze’ and ‘soushinahanoko’ act as comforting mantras to keep them safe from ghosts and such. I’m sure many children memorized these words frantically when such stories were popular. That was all they had to do to avoid having bad dreams. And even if they did have one, they could escape from it. As long as they believed that, the incantation would work. The same goes for the one I came up with, ‘inajinshi.’ Ms. Sawaki was reciting it for all she was worth, wasn’t she?” “…Are you saying it’s a ‘those who believe shall be saved’ sort of thing?” “More like ‘any port in a storm,’ I think,” Takatsuki replied with a laugh. I can’t believe this guy, Naoya thought. Somehow it felt like he had been monumentally duped. “…It’s scary how you can say things like that without your voice warping even a little.” “It’s because I’m not actually lying. I really do think that.” Liar. It was true that, at that moment, Takatsuki was only saying things he really believed. But when he had given Yukari the charm, he had probably chosen every word very deliberately. He had likely spoken so that nothing he said could be untrue in order to keep Naoya, who had been sitting right next to him, from realizing what was happening. As intelligent as Takatsuki was, it would have been easy enough for him to accomplish. “You really are a bit sly, Professor.” “I prefer ‘clever.’” Naoya scowled at him reflexively, but Takatsuki stooped over a little to peer at him. “I told you, Fukamachi. Once you believe in a curse, it’s too late. The best way to avoid it? ‘Don’t believe it.’” “You might have a point, but…” “That’s why I’m saying,” Takatsuki went on, “don’t believe that you’re going to be lonely, either.” Naoya’s mouth snapped shut automatically. The eyes staring down at him weren’t indigo. They were their usual dark brown… Takatsuki’s own eyes. They shone with a gentle light and narrowed slightly as Takatsuki smiled. “You mustn’t believe it. A curse like that, it might be nothing more than a lie.” Oh, Naoya thought. He’s still trying to cheer me up. Wondering if he really looked that sad, Naoya turned his gaze away. Takatsuki’s dark-brown eyes didn’t have the power to trap him in their hold forever. “…But, Professor, if it’s too late once you believe in a curse, I think it’s probably already over for me.” “Th-then I’ll just knock you over the head to make you forget it all! Or something!” “Did you seriously just casually offer to give me amnesia?! For a smart person, you sure do say the wildest things sometimes.” “…Fukamachi, I’m feeling really dejected right now. Would you cheer me up?” “No way.” Casting this reply coldly over his shoulder, Naoya walked on ahead of Takatsuki. That night at the festival, his grandfather had told him: “You will be lonely.” And just as he had said, Naoya had been living a solitary life ever since. …Or so he had thought. Naoya looked back at Takatsuki. As he followed in Naoya’s wake, the professor was sulking like a child. When he noticed Naoya’s gaze, however, his expression turned quizzical. “What is it, Fukamachi?” “…It’s nothing.” Naoya faced forward again. As he did, on the inside, he addressed a message to his grandfather. Grandpa, it said, I wonder if I actually am lonely now.