“That’s pretty cold. It’s a lot... lighter... than what I was looking for. But ‘light’ is what I was seeking, so maybe it’s perfect for the end of this journey.”
“You’re in no hurry, right?” Fujiko said. There was probably still something she hadn’t said.
“Yeah,” I answered.
She was enjoying the memories, I could tell. To me, those days were “heavy”, but to her they were fun. It was late at night by the time I got home. I booted up my computer and the internet dialing software. If I could talk to her, the sooner the better. I called. The answer was immediate.
“I’ve been waiting.”
The voice was calm and cold. There was no video.
“Soga?”
“That name is correct.”
If my memories were right, Keena Soga didn’t talk like this. It was the Law of Identity.
“The letter I got wasn’t from Soga, though.”
I remembered the letter that Fujiko had mentioned. It was the letter that caused me to become an author. A letter from a childhood friend. Of course, now I knew that that memory was a fake. At the time, the letter had been strangely moving. It was a memory that I didn’t want to believe was faked, even if I knew it was.
“I’m sorry to say this, because it feels like I was deceiving you, but I’m the one who wrote that letter.”
“Hearing that makes me feel better. Well, maybe it doesn’t, actually... Do you have records of being alive in this world, too?”
“Yes. As you found out, after that, I got to know everyone, married someone you don’t know, and had a family.”
I felt insulted. Of course, I’d had no memories of meeting my childhood friend after that, but obviously I’d always felt a bit of an attraction to the person who’d told me I had so much talent, and even secretly written me a letter.
“That’s a shitty way to end a story. Especially since I can’t even see you.”
“From your perspective, I’m just a story too, after all,” the Law of Identity said.
She was right. I was just talking to her over the internet. If I wanted to start doubting things, I could do it easily. Fujiko knew Junko, so she might have found out that I’d been asking weird questions. And if she read the book I published, she’d be able to play along with my conversation. It would be simple to pretend to be the Law of Identity.
“Is this your way of telling me that even if you’re a fake, it doesn’t matter?”
“Even if it’s all a lie, what’s important is that the ending satisfies him.”
“By him, you mean the Demon King. I thought the goal was to satisfy you, the Law of Identity. You’re going to save everyone, right?”
“No. Or I guess you could say, it’s both of us. You recorded the story of the Demon King. Which means that you understood the true nature of this world. So if you’re satisfied, that means he’s satisfied. And of course, I have to be satisfied too.”
The Law of Identity’s voice was strangely flat, like it was being altered by a machine.
“So we all need to be satisfied with the ending, is what you’re saying.”
“Yes. So please, show me. Show me the records you wrote.”
I did as I was asked, and sent my final file, that is, the last volume of my novel, over the internet. I heard the sound that indicated it had been received. And for a while, I waited. I couldn’t say a word until she spoke first.
The records were simply that, records. It was impossible to find meaning in them. But the “stories”, got involved whether you wanted them to or not. Right now, “heaviness” was winning.
“Do you think it was the mind that was infected by the virus? Or the body?”
That was the first thing the Law of Identity asked. I thought it was my duty to answer, even if I didn’t understand.
“Both... right? I think it was the body that was infected first, but it’s the mind that’s being controlled.”
There was a silence, and then another question.
“You believed that the truth he needed to know was the end of the story, and that by knowing it, people could be saved. Is that right?”
It was a strange question. What was she trying to learn from that?
“I can’t be sure, but... that’s what I was thinking. He tried to save the world. No, I think I believed that if the afterlife existed, and the Law of Identity existed, then there must be some salvation.”
“Since you know that much, I’ll share with you my last words.”
“Go ahead.”
I waited. But there was a silence like she was hesitating.
“What’s wrong?”
“No, I’ll tell them to you.”
The Law of Identity said.
“You have been made incarnate, and are trapped here. That is the role of the hero. The world will be saved, and those who lived there, and those who were able to entrust themselves to the lightness of stories, will someday come unto me.”
And then there were no more words.
“Hey! Hey!” I shouted. But there was no answer. Instead, her account had been deleted.
Maybe this was all a setup. Or maybe I’d really gone insane.
These words, and the despair they brought with them, echoed in my mind.
Something had ended, probably. No, not probably. Certainly. That much I knew. For sure. But I didn’t know what had ended. It felt like I knew for certain that tomorrow would come. The sun would come up, and before long, it would be deadline time.
But it was over. His story was over. What Akuto Sai wanted, the salvation of the people, was over.
Dawn came without me getting any sleep. I went outside. The town was the same as it ever was. I was able to go to the coffee shop and order a hot dog and coffee. The clerk at the counter was real.
I called Fujiko around noon. She didn’t remember what had happened yesterday, but she seemed very happy. Yes, just like when she’d been talking about her old memories.
Junko contacted me, asking me to join her gaming group. She’d gotten back in the mood to play. I didn’t bother trying to contact Yoshie.
No, all three of them were no longer Fujiko, Junko, or Yoshie. From now on I should call them by their names from this world. I started to walk to work. I felt something clink at my footsteps, and heard a metallic sound.
It was a ball and chain wrapped around my legs.
I could feel the heavy chains around me... at least, that’s how it felt. It was the “heavy” story. We believe these heavy stories that bind us are worthy of our praise, but sometimes, the “light” stories help us forget them, if only for a second. But they lack bodies, and so they “lightly” flew away from us, leaving just a hint as to how to escape from stories.
We, the ones with bodies, are the ones who circle endlessly. We fill this place, simply wandering forever.