She put down a snowman cushion for him, and he sat on it, looking over the instructions. The complete version would be a lodge with a very pointy snow-capped roof. There were people living inside, and a Santa figure, so clearly this was a scene depicting a visit from Santa. It was pretty nifty.
All she had done was the ground and foundations.
“I’ll get to work.”
First, he sorted the blocks by color. Gray chimney bits, brown lodge walls, white and blue for the roof. Once that was done, he started building the walls.
Touko sat across the table, watching him work.
That alone was sort of like a date. If this had been his house and Mai were across the table, he’d have enjoyed it. But this was not his house, and he was not with Mai. It was Santa’s house, and a miniskirt Santa was watching him build. What was the point?
Wondering, he plugged away at the task before him. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he decided to broach the topic at hand—the reason he’d come over when she called.
“Remember that #dreaming thing around Christmas last year?”
“What about it?”
“A lot of young people got presents from you and had dreams of the future.”
“So?”
Touko’s eyes were on his fingers as he rummaged through the blocks.
“There’s a sinister rumor going around.”
“I really don’t care.”
She was brushing him off.
He didn’t let that stop him.
“They say if you didn’t dream on Christmas Eve, it means you have no future to dream about.”
“Meaning…?”
Touko looked up, her eyes shooting him a question.
“Because you’re dead.”
He didn’t mince words.
This was something that needed to be clear.
“……”
“Kirishima, you said you didn’t dream.”
He slotted a window into the wall.
“Like your girlfriend,” Touko said, testing the waters.
“And this isn’t just rumors. Someone actually did die.”
“Someone you know?”
“Someone you know.”
“……”
A momentary silence.
Filled with the sound of blocks clicking into place.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone dead.”
“The boy who transferred from Tokyo in junior high.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Touko’s tone never wavered. She didn’t bat an eye at the news of a dead acquaintance. There was not a shred of surprise, or even a hint of sadness. Given what he’d just said, this was not nearly a strong enough reaction, and it bothered him.
“……”
His doubts about her attitude must have shown on his face. This conversation wasn’t adding up. It was like he was trying to slot a block into the wrong place.
“What’s that look for?”
“Fukuyama was rushing back to Hokkaido to be at that boy’s funeral.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about, Kirishima?”
This was weird. Touko had been acting weird since he got here. There was a disconnect. He was sure of that but not sure where it was.
As he searched for words, Touko spoke first.
“Who the hell is Fukuyama?”
That caught him off guard.
That was more than weird. Way beyond a simple disconnect. Sakuta locked up completely, not believing his ears. She did not just say that.
“Takumi Fukuyama, your boyfriend!”
He got a bit loud, leaning in.
“Never heard of him,” Touko said, leaning back, resting on her hand.
She had a baffled look on her face. She blinked twice.
“You’ve been dating since Hokkaido!”
“News to me!”
This could not be taken as a joke.
“Do you really not know this?!”
He’d completely forgotten about the set he was building.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, looking actively annoyed.
“Fukuyama! The boy Nene Iwamizawa was dating!”
He looked her right in the eyes, pleading, hoping for any sign of recognition.
But got none.
He’d braced himself for another denial.
But Touko blew right past his expectations.
In the worst way.
“That’s another name I don’t know,” she sighed.
“Huh?”
“Who’s this Iwamizawa?”
A very basic query.
She’d drawn a blank.
Asking because she genuinely didn’t know.
That was not a performance.
This was real, and he didn’t know why and could not understand how.
A shiver ran through him. Like his heart had frozen over.
The Christmas and Santa Claus decorations no longer seemed nearly as freakish. Touko herself was far more unsettling.
“Recognize this trophy?” he croaked.
“No. That’s why I threw it out. And then you brought it back.”
“You really don’t recognize it?”
“I do not. That’s what I said.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“……”
Was Sakuta in the wrong? Touko was so consistent it was starting to feel that way.
She didn’t know what she didn’t know.
She was being perfectly clear.
“That’s good enough. Go home,” Touko said, exasperated.
She got to her feet, glaring down at him.
Looking up at her, he asked one last question.
“You don’t even know that you’re Nene Iwamizawa?”
How was that possible?
A few days before, she’d definitely remembered that. She’d talked about her time with Takumi back in Hokkaido, told him how they’d first met.
No way she’d forget that unless she, like, had amnesia.
And yet this was actually happening, right in front of him.
“I don’t know a Nene Iwamizawa. I’ve never heard the name. Satisfied?”
She overenunciated each syllable, pounding her point home. Very certain of her stance, no signs of hesitation—why dither about what you didn’t know?
She genuinely didn’t know she was Nene Iwamizawa.
“Like I keep saying, I’m Touko Kirishima.”
All she had left was this identity.
“……”
Sakuta got to his feet, unable to say another word.
“Throw that away on your way out,” Touko said, glancing at the trophy on the table with complete indifference.
Nothing he could say would get through to her.
So he reached out and grabbed the trophy.
“I’ll be going, then. All you have left is the roof and chimney,” he said, looking at the blocks.
“I can handle that much. Thanks.”
This last word felt entirely hollow.
Had he done anything for her?
Pondering that, he moved to the door. Took off the reindeer slippers on the Christmas doormat. Put on his shoes and went outside without even looking back.
On the way down the stairs, he felt eyes on his back, but he neither paused nor turned around.
Sakuta kept moving until he reached the dumpster.
He looked down at the clear trophy in his hand.
The prize for winning the beauty contest one school year back.
Nene Iwamizawa’s name engraved upon it.
Proof she’d existed.
But if the girl herself was no longer aware of that fact, did this name hold any meaning?
If she’d forgotten, and Takumi—and the rest of the world—could not perceive her, then was Nene Iwamizawa even alive?
“Maybe that’s why she didn’t dream.”
If existence was defined by your own perceptions and those of others, then Nene Iwamizawa might as well be dead.
All that remained was for Sakuta to forget her and Miori to stop perceiving her—and then perhaps she really would die.
He raised the lid and looked down at the two bags she’d asked him to throw out.
“She was throwing away Nene Iwamizawa’s life?”
The trophy in his hand also belonged to Nene Iwamizawa.
Touko Kirishima had no need of it.
“At least throw it out yourself,” he growled, and he let the lid fall.
He shoved the trophy in his pocket.
And turned toward the station.