Takenaka seemed to have considered that point as well. He nodded, looking conflicted. “If Yoshikazu Hara and the Twitter poster remain missing, we may need to do that.”
“Can we ask Twitter or something for the user’s information?”
“I consulted with Legal, but they said information disclosure requests usually take a while. The way privacy protections work, even the police have trouble obtaining phone numbers.”
“And if he has no fixed address, we’re gonna have to just track him down ourselves…”
“I know that Chief Kento Sugawara always attends the eviction briefings. He’d know all the administrative officials involved, along with the heads of all the relevant support groups. He knows a lot about our company’s internal workings, too. I’ll contact him to see if he can advise us.”
“Thank you.”
Mitsuhiro wanted to achieve results on his own and get rewarded for his efforts, but getting these higher-ups involved was also a relief.
“So where are you going to look?” Takenaka asked.
Mitsuhiro replied that he’d search online for the locations Okuyama had given him, along with other sites and organizations involved with them, and create a master list.
“That could be dozens of places if you’re not careful. It’s hard if he’s got no fixed address. I want you to be careful with the locations you select. We need to cast a wide net, but I’d advise against handing out cards to everyone you meet.”
Such behavior, Takenaka explained, could spread the impression that there were big problems at the construction site.
Mitsuhiro saw the value in being prudent here as well, so he replied, “Yes, sir,” before asking another question. “Do you think I’d get permission to borrow a company car?”
Takenaka groaned, but his voice and expression told Mitsuhiro that it’d probably be okay.
“Yeah, in this heat, pounding the pavement’s way too inefficient. We’re dealing with a potential Alzheimer’s patient, and we’ll probably have to move him around after we find him… I’ll talk to Finance about this. If you can send me your report at this stage, I’ll decide how much information to share. We have to be supremely cautious with this case. I know I don’t need to remind you, but be very careful not to mention this to anyone in other departments.”
“There’s the arson, too,” Mitsuhiro said softly.
Takenaka tightened his lips and nodded. “I’ll consult with upper management to decide how to respond, including what we’ll do if the police leak anything. Meanwhile, I want you to conduct a thorough investigation. Speed is important, but don’t try to rush it before the shareholders’ meeting rehearsal. We may see more incidents like this in the future, so treat this as an opportunity to polish your investigation and response skills.”
Even Takenaka was keenly aware that this was an era where individuals could attack companies with nothing but a smartphone.
“Right,” Mitsuhiro replied, and then he returned to his desk and quickly prepared a summary report. But he hesitated to include the words Yoshikazu Hara had reportedly said.
“Become a sacrifice for the sake of society and humanity.”
Metaphor or not, it was disturbing. If whoever received this report read that quote after learning about “duties” carried out by Tamai Construction, wouldn’t they get the impression that Shimaoka was ordering Tamai to perform these outdated, inhumane rituals? Certainly, if Mitsuhiro read something like this, he’d be shocked at the absurdity of it. Writing it made Mitsuhiro wonder if it would damage his own reputation.
Still, he decided that he should leave that judgment call to Takenaka, so he wrote down everything he’d experienced and sent it in an internal email. Many of the older employees still liked to be given printed copies; Takenaka, on the other hand, preferred to retain all documents as images or PDFs instead. For an office employee, it went without saying which type of boss was easier to work for.
After finishing the report, he used the map app on his tablet to create a screenshot of the area from Shibuya to Shinagawa. Between this and the cameras on his devices, it was amazing how much more efficient his work had become.
He then used some editing software to add marks to the map image. These were the locations where he might be able to find Yoshikazu Hara and the Twitter poster in the future. He also marked out the approximate route for driving around the area and sent the image to his own cell phone.
After confirming that it had been received on his phone, he checked Twitter again. There was a new post on the account.
No matter where I sleep, I smell fire. I’m completely cursed now. Please don’t let me die in these flames.
The image of his daughter in his dream suddenly came back to mind, and his hair stood on end.
Feeling his heart beating wildly, he told himself to calm down. But suddenly, his throat tightened as he smelled that strange dry odor again. He looked around frantically, wondering if anyone else had noticed, but no one else seemed to notice what was in the air.
Mitsuhiro took several surreptitious deep breaths and waited silently until the fear subsided. Now I’m having episodes, he thought, regaining his composure. It was like accidentally hitting the funny bone on his elbow, the way the fear had overwhelmed him out of nowhere.
This time, the trigger for it was pretty clear, which only strengthened his resentment toward the poster. It was thanks to this guy’s tweets that he’d ended up deep in the bowels of the East Wing in the first place. Here was a guy being paid to do a job, and just because he had some hard luck, he was attacking a project involving thousands of people. It was ridiculous.
The anger pushed his fear further aside as he closed the Twitter app. Then he noticed that he had a message from Takenaka. He’d be allowed to use a company car starting tomorrow. He appreciated that his boss always worked so fast.
Mitsuhiro sent a thankful reply and stated that he’d continue his investigation now that he’d finished his report. Then he made several appointments—with nonprofit groups, volunteer organizations, government-support centers, and Chief Sugawara—packed his belongings, and left his desk.
Outside, the afternoon sun was beating down as intensely as ever. He quickly took off his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, and walked down the hill.
He checked the main homeless gathering places around Shibuya Station. He didn’t see Yoshikazu Hara, nor anyone who appeared to be posting tweets at the moment.
Compared to when he first did these checks, though, he was now able to recognize each person individually by their distinctive features. A slimy-looking man stood alone, holding a Rubik’s Cube in front of him and smiling blankly, as if he had finally managed to solve it after much effort. It wasn’t at all solved, however, with a rainbow of colors on each side. Another man clutched a convenience-store bag, staring intently into the sky. His eyes, which seemed to be in a realm beyond anger and disappointment, were moist with tears.
Several hoodies that probably belonged to young people were hanging on the fence surrounding the columns supporting a pedestrian bridge. Okuyama told him that recently more teens were living on the streets to escape domestic violence. Maybe they were sheltering under the bridge to avoid the wind and rain.
Most of the homeless people he saw on the streets were men. It was more dangerous for women, so they preferred to hide out and sleep on the roofs of buildings at night.
Mitsuhiro also stopped by a location where a camp had been evicted not long ago, but even there, he saw a homeless-looking elderly man standing alone in a daze. He seemed unable to believe the only place he had to live had just vanished without a trace. It occurred to Mitsuhiro that the place might have burned down in a fire, but he quickly dismissed the thought—he didn’t want to trigger that fear again—and walked away.
But something was still pursuing him in his mind. Images of burning houses flashed through his head. His father stood trembling, illuminated by the flames. And they were standing on top of countless victims of fires that had built up over hundreds of years. When would it be their turn?
—This is ridiculous.
He had never experienced a fire. Neither had any of his friends or acquaintances. Mitsuhiro himself was always careful with fire; he’d opted for a condo with all electric appliances and no gas connections at all, because of the fire risk in case of earthquakes or the like. But the strange, unsettling feeling that his own home could end up in ashes followed him all the way to the rail station. Before entering the ticket gate, he took a plastic bottle out of his bag, drank the remaining third of its contents, and threw it away. It calmed him down considerably.
On the packed train ride home, he braced himself for the possibility of another panic attack, but he managed to make it safely back to his condo building. But when he got out of the elevator on the fourth floor and stepped into the corridor, he was startled by an utterly bizarre sight.
The floor of the elevator hall was covered in a massive number of white footprints. They varied in size, as if dozens of adults and children had come up here together, stepped out of the elevator barefoot, and stomped through the hallway, leaving behind traces of chalky white powder.
As he stood there in a daze, the smell gradually wafted toward him. It was a dry sort of smell, reminiscent of a crematorium. Mitsuhiro hugged his bag to his chest, covering his mouth and nose with both hands. He felt like the dry air was burning his throat.
Shaking from the shock, he dragged his feet along, adding his own footprints to the cluster as he staggered out into the hallway. Under the fluorescent lights, they looked like patterns floating on the cream-colored floor. The multitude of footprints overlapped each other, rushing straight toward the entrance of his apartment.
Halfway down the corridor, Mitsuhiro’s body began to shake. He froze, covering his lips with both hands, his wide eyes stinging and watering up from the dryness. He was in such a state of confusion that he didn’t immediately recognize his own terror for what it was.
—What is this? What the hell is happening? Is this some kind of malicious prank? Did someone who knows about the investigation do this to harass me?
He tried desperately to stay calm and consider the situation rationally, but his mind was already on the verge of panic and urging him to scream.
No matter where I sleep, I smell fire. I’m completely cursed now. Please don’t let me die in these flames.
Just as he remembered one of the posts, he suddenly heard screams—Miyoko and Sae.