Chapter 2

“Man, we’re not getting any cases at all,” Rumi Sasaki said. “Of course not,” Kouki Aoyama said curtly to his boss, who complained about the same thing every day. “You haven’t advertised at all. Plus, you wanted the website I built for you to be old-fashioned and fishy. How many webpages play background music these days? It’s completely unnecessary!” “I’m so bored,” Rumi grumbled, ignoring Aoyama entirely. Even as Aoyama complained, he was making a special caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream just for her for the umpteenth time that day. In fact, Rumi was most likely tuning out his lecture entirely. She whistled as she flipped open a magazine splashed with the headline ANOTHER VICTIM GONE MISSING! A MYSTERIOUS, LUCRATIVE PART-TIME JOB? THE ORGAN BLACK MARKET EDITION. Aoyama couldn’t believe that a magazine like that even existed in this day and age, let alone had a readership. Sasaki Agency, the castle that Rumi and Aoyama had built, was located on the third floor of a building shared with a Turkish restaurant and a massage parlor, on the outskirts of the Iidabashi business district in Tokyo. The two of them had gone to the same college. Rumi had majored in literature, and Aoyama in theology. Aoyama’s family ran a Protestant church. He was slowly heading down the path to becoming a minister one day, but out of curiosity, he had taken a seminar on folklore, though it had been completely unrelated to him. That was where he’d met Rumi, who had been a graduate student and tutor at the time. As her name suggested, Rumi was a woman. She habitually dressed in gray sweats, kept her hair in a sloppy ponytail, and wore thick glasses. Her figure and features were both androgynous, so nearly everyone mistook her for a man when they met her for the first time. She was in her early thirties, but she could have plausibly passed for a teenager or a fifty-year-old. In contrast, Aoyama’s looks strongly reflected his great-grandfather’s Caucasian genes. He was pale and looked like a high school student even though he was twenty-seven. They made for a conspicuous pair—so conspicuous that someone had once reported them to the police, claiming that a suspicious man was dragging around a boy. The cherry on top was Rumi’s flamboyant way of speaking. She sounded like she was acting all the time. And she was loud, which made her stand out even more. Rumi might have lacked all and any shred of traditional feminine charm, but Aoyama respected her. She had been famous for her intellect in their college, and she truly knew everything. The professor of the folklore seminar, Haruhiko Saitou, was calm and kind, but eccentric. He was also terrible at explaining things. No matter what question a student asked him, his answer would inevitably diverge further and further from the topic, leaving them as good as stranded in outer space. The appropriate evaluation of him was that he was a brilliant academic, but a middling instructor. So when the seminar’s students hit a dead end with their assignments, Rumi Sasaki was the person they could count on. If one overlooked her quirky manner of speech, she was the ideal tutor. Aoyama had assumed that she would become a professor after completing her doctorate, but she decided on a different profession. Sasaki Agency was a consulting business for spiritual affairs. They used to get a lot of inquirers who would come in thinking they were a detective agency. On Aoyama’s suggestion, he and Rumi added a signboard reading SPIRITUAL CONSULTATIONS, after which they stopped receiving customers entirely. In fact, the reason Rumi had specialized in folklore in college wasn’t because she had an interest in local customs, but because she had wanted to study under Professor Saitou. Professor Saitou was far more renowned for his side job—making appearances on television and in magazines—than his academic position. He was featured in most if not all special reports about the supernatural and paranormal phenomena. Rumi’s encounters with his media appearances had sparked in her an interest in talking to him. And as a matter of fact, Rumi got along with Professor Saitou better than anyone else, for they were similar in their approach to the otherworldly. They both tackled occult mysteries from the perspective of folklore. Aoyama had been on the outside of Rumi’s and Professor Saitou’s orbit, but in a strange turn of events, his grandfather got wrapped up in one of her dilemmas. One thing led to another, their relationship deepened, and they’d been together ever since. Objectively, Rumi was crude and uncomely, her every action suspicious. Nonetheless, Aoyama idolized her. During the course of aforementioned dilemma, she had saved his life. However, technically, she had been the one who put him in danger in the first place, and she had just been cleaning up her own mess and turning lemons into lemonade. One could argue he had no reason to thank her, but he fiercely believed she was his savior. When Rumi had told him she was considering going into paranormal consulting full-time, he voluntarily took on all the agency’s administrative tasks. He had seen her work up close only a handful of times, but he was positive that her powers were the real thing. By powers, he didn’t mean psychic abilities. Of course, she was able to sense the paranormal, but what was impressive more than anything else was her ability to accurately identify the source of a curse and deal with it instantly. Sometimes she would handle the case herself; other times she would call in another expert. However, he had never seen her fail once. Every client of theirs went home with a cheery smile. Moreover, Rumi did not accept large sums of money in exchange for her services. She said she took on these cases “as a hobby,” but Aoyama thought that was merely a cover for her embarrassment, and that the real reason was that she was a do-gooder who wanted to help others. He believed, genuinely, that the reason she didn’t get the recognition she deserved was not because of her appearance or conduct, but because they didn’t advertise the agency’s services enough. “I barely have enough to make this month’s rent…,” Aoyama said. “It isn’t ideal, but we may have to search for clients more aggressively.” Rumi closed her magazine. “That won’t be necessary,” she said with a grin. “We received a commission today. The client will be paying us a visit soon.” “You should have told me that earlier. What about my sche—?” “Aren’t we both free every day?” “That’s true, but…” Rumi downed her caramel macchiato. “Aoyama, you can go home if you have plans.” “No, I’ll stay with you. I work here, too.” The building’s owner had rented the office to Rumi at a discount after she had resolved a case. Somehow she was always able to find people who were truly in need of help and swiftly take care of their problems. It was thanks to her clients, who pulled strings for them out of gratitude, that the agency was able to continue operating. In truth, it was difficult to say whether the website Aoyama had made was helpful at all. He was dependent on Rumi and was unsure whether his efforts had any impact on the business. Aoyama sighed deeply. “Anyway, what’s the client like?” Rumi showed him her tablet screen. It showed a picture of a young man with bronze skin and sharp features. “Youta Shimamoto. We were classmates. You wouldn’t have known each other, though.” “No, I know of him. My friend used to gush about how handsome he was… He used to be in the swim team, if I recall correctly. He worked as a model, right? I didn’t realize you were close.” “I wouldn’t say close.” She flicked the screen with a finger. “People afflicted by the supernatural are always desperate to find a middleman. He doesn’t know any monks or priests—neither Shinto nor Catholic—to call on, so he contacted me. That’s all, I’m sure.” “Is that so?” She nodded. “He should be here soon.” Just then, the buzzer rang. I hadn’t heard anything from my little sister, Emi, lately. This was highly unusual. The two of us were raised in a rural town that had hardly any children. We were ten years apart, but I doted on her. Emi was…a bit of a problem child. That was part of why we figured she might be better suited for city life. Tokyoites are detached, in a good way, you know? They leave the oddballs alone. My sister never fit in where we grew up. She’d always been bullied. But she had a good head on her shoulders and moved to Tokyo for college. I’d been working here all this time, too, so it made sense. Actually, I’d wanted to live together with her, but our mom said people would draw the wrong conclusions about a young man and woman of our ages living under the same roof. But, yes, we saw each other almost every day. My sister couldn’t decide anything by herself. She asked me about everything. From college to job hunting, I’d helped her with all of it. Regardless, her search for a job in Tokyo hadn’t gone smoothly. In my opinion, she could have taken her time to think about her future, but…three months back, she suddenly announced that she had been accepted by a company. Not just any company, mind you, but Moriya Foods. It didn’t make sense, no matter how you thought about it. She didn’t have any noteworthy experience. A prestigious company like that wouldn’t hire someone on good grades alone. When I’d asked her about it, she’d said she was moved around to different offices and made to participate in incomprehensible rituals. I told her that this was abnormal, but she insisted it was just an orientation. Sure, I’d heard of companies that force new employees to do bizarre recreational activities for whatever purpose. Polar bear swims, for example, or making newbies shout out their flaws and have the rest of the group refute them—torture, in other words. But this was different. Making bird figurines out of mud, building log towers, harvesting wheat… It might have been nonsense, but it was creepy, right? And it was weird how happy Emi was when she talked about it. She might not have found the job unpleasant, but her enthusiasm was obviously unusual. I couldn’t imagine all of that going on at the famous Moriya Foods, either. Could you blame me for thinking she was being fooled by the company name? When I’d said as much to her, she glared at me with an expression I’d never seen on her face before and told me “Jan is a good person” and “Don’t insult him.” I asked her who Jan was, and she told me he was the president. But Moriya Foods’ president was Hidemitsu Moriya, right? Ah, you don’t know…? Anyway, he was famous. Both his name and his face. Jan wasn’t anywhere in his name, which only reaffirmed my suspicions that Emi was being deceived. But she was too agitated. It didn’t seem like she was going to listen to a word I said, so I did my best to calm her down and sent her home after telling her to contact me if anything happened. That was the last I’d heard from her. Up until then, we would meet almost every day, and we literally never go a day without speaking to each other. But three days passed of radio silence. Of course I was worried. She hadn’t read my messages or returned my calls. I had no choice. I followed her. What was I supposed to do? I staked out her apartment the whole night. Nothing happened, so I decided to leave. But before I did—around eight in the morning, I think—a black sedan stopped in front of her building. A pallid man got out of the car. He shuffled up to Emi’s door and rang her bell. She came out immediately, looking just as pale, and climbed into the back seat. He got in the driver’s seat. I originally thought the man was “Jan,” but I soon changed my mind. When Emi talked about “Jan,” she seemed almost intoxicated. In any case, she sounded happy. When she spoke to the driver, however, she kept her head down, and she seemed sick. They drove off, and I scrambled to follow. The car went farther and farther from downtown, and we ended up in an area surrounded by a forest. The other cars gradually disappeared as well. I planned to turn around and try again another day if I was spotted, but the man showed no interest in me even when I got pretty close. After a while, a building came into view. The outside looked like an event venue, a modern sort of building. It was extremely out of place in the middle of the woods. Obviously, I had no excuses for driving onto private property, so I saved my location in my GPS and went home for the day. Emi didn’t contact me that day, either. I wondered if there wasn’t any way I could tour the inside of the premises without arousing suspicion, so I searched the location without giving it too much thought. The search turned up a job listing for an event-staff position, hiring urgently. The building was an event venue, as I had suspected. They were hiring anyone regardless of age, education, and experience, so I called right away. They told me they needed people immediately, and they welcomed me on board without so much as an interview. Talk about suspicious. They didn’t even explain what the job entailed. I had taken two weeks off to investigate, so I was able to work out the details right away. Just in case, I looked up the owner of the building and discovered that it did indeed belong to Moriya. On the day of, the designated meeting place was Shinjuku. When I arrived, I found the group immediately because of the strange air around them. As for what I mean by strange, this is a bad way to put it, but they seemed devoid of hope, like their heads were full of cotton. A negative aura, in any case. Almost all of them were dressed oddly. There were a few young people, but a lot of them were older than me. Why did the listing attract only odd people? The reason was simple. Age, prior experience, and academic background weren’t factors in the hiring process, and yet the hourly wage was unusually high. Five thousand yen, the most I’d ever seen. Despite that, the company had a shortage of workers. Anyone with common sense would have found it suspicious and wouldn’t have applied. Only people truly in need would jump on such an opportunity. When the time came, a minibus arrived to pick up the whole fishy bunch, myself included. I stayed quiet and watched the passing scenery along with the rest of them. On our way there, we were each given a paper bag. Inside were two large rice balls. They were neat, like they had been shaped by a machine, so I figured they were probably safe to eat. I ate them with the seaweed that came in the package. One was pickled plum, and one was salted kelp. They were good. We took the same road I had driven the day before to get to the building. When we disembarked, there was a group of men who looked as sickly as Emi’s driver had. They were probably employees or part-time workers—people with experience. They instructed us to line up single file, as if we were livestock. They placed a name tag on the front of each of us. Mine said FROG. The person to my right had FROG, too, but the person to my left had RABBIT. Then the man who seemed to be in charge finally gave us a rundown. We were going to be taken to rooms with the animal written on our signs, and there we would live for a week. That’s right. I forgot to mention that the job included accommodations for a week. We were shown to the designated “frog” room, and there were really a lot of frogs inside. They looked like the ones used for dissections in science class in elementary school. They covered the inside of a large glass case. Needless to say, it was a revolting sight. The frogs were packed together, with no space between them. And they weren’t cute little tree frogs, either. We’re talking large, brown, and slimy frogs. But what was worse was the croaking. The noise was unbelievable. I looked around at my roommates, thinking that if someone from the boonies like me felt uncomfortable, then the others must have found it unbearable. There were five other people there, including the person who had been on the right of me in line. Each and every one of them was unpacking their belongings with a glum expression. Apparently, I was the only one disturbed by the frogs. Other than the scheduled meal, bath, and interview times, we were free to do as we pleased. If we continued to spend it in silence, it would only get more awkward, so I had us do a round of introductions. The conspicuously giant man was Wakui. He had been bullied ever since he was a child. His high school days had been miserable, and he’d dropped out halfway. He couldn’t find a full-time job and was making ends meet doing a heavy-lifting gig. On the other side of the spectrum was Tamada, who was terribly thin. He had been arrested previously for drug use and was figuring out his life while going through rehab. Seiichi and Ryuuji, who vaguely resembled each other, turned out to be brothers. I asked why they were participating, but they dodged the question. Surprisingly, however, they kept up their end of the conversation and were easy to get along with. And there was a man named Okada, who had awful body odor and looked like he couldn’t have been under fifty. He had poor communication skills, so I wasn’t able to talk to him at all. The six of us had to make it through the next week together. The mood in the room had softened, so I asked the question that was at the top of my mind: Don’t the frogs gross you out? “But we have no choice,” someone said. I forget who. Exactly. I was talking to the kind of people who would apply to a job that reeked of bad news. Everyone was desperate for cash, no matter what they had to do to get it. That was the end of that. The conversation died. I hadn’t been able to have a heart-to-heart with my fellow part-timers, but I was able to kill time by scrolling on my phone and reading instead. The next thing I knew, it was time for dinner. I made my way slowly to the dining hall to find a long table that had been prepared for us. Including the meals for the people in the other rooms, a dozen or so portions were arranged side by side on the table. It made for a bizarre sight. It was an elaborate traditional Japanese meal. Everything was delicious. However, the croaking of the frogs never stopped, and I was sick of it. A few people ate very little, and I didn’t blame them. We weren’t allowed to talk during meals, so the only sound in the room was the croaking. It made for a horrible soundtrack. We headed for the baths immediately after dinner. There were five individual shower stalls and a large tub, which wasn’t quite as big as a shared public bath. People outside the Frog group were there, too. I assumed there was a separate facility for the women, rather than a separate time slot. Several women had been on the bus. I spotted the Rabbit participant I had met in the morning, and I struck up a conversation. Like the others, he looked cheerless, but he brightened slightly when I spoke to him. Unsurprisingly, like us in the Frog group, the Rabbit group had been told to live a week with a herd of rabbits in cages. “Rabbits are quiet. Must be nice,” I commented. “But they stink,” he told me. True. The rabbit hut in my elementary school had always had a particular animal funk. Living with that stench seemed depressing. When I whispered to him, “There’s an old man who stinks even worse,” he relaxed a little. His name was Yokokawa. He told me there were three people in the Rabbit group, and that he knew there were Fish, Bird, and Deer groups. “You’re observant,” I complimented him. “It’s written over there,” he said bashfully. He was right. Upon closer inspection, I saw signs by the bath entrance. “Apparently, they prepared different outfits for each group,” he continued. After I finished soaking, I checked out the clothing to find that they were indeed separated by group. Above the baskets of clothing were signs reading, DEER, RABBIT, BIRD, FROG, and FISH. Mysteriously, all the clothes were white. I wondered what would happen if we were to wear outfits from the wrong group, but there was a possibility that even if we couldn’t tell them apart, the staff still could. I did as I was told and put on the clothing for the Frog group. I had not come here to work a part-time job. My goal was to investigate that suspicious facility. It was only the first day, but the things we were being made to do were already more bizarre than I could have imagined. I planned to tell Emi everything when I returned and have her quit that fishy workplace as soon as possible. I left the baths after telling Yokokawa I’d talk to him the next day. That aside, the Rabbit, Bird, Fish, and Frog groups were one thing, but what in the world was with the Deer group? Living with deer seemed impossible. They were wild animals, and unlike the other creatures, they were large. I wanted to speak with the Deer group members, but it was difficult because the only opportunity was in the baths. Before we retired for the night, we were interviewed individually. The staff came while we were in our room and escorted us to a separate room one by one. I was third. Disturbingly, I have no memories of the interview—not how many people were in the room and not what we talked about. I hardly remember a thing. When I try to think back on that time, it feels like my head is shrouded in a haze. Maybe they’d mixed something into our food… I do remember them taking my temperature and blood pressure. If it had been, what, a paid clinical trial? If that had been the case, this would be a violation of GCP. Have you heard of it? It stands for “good clinical practices.” It’s a ministerial ordinance that specifies the basic standards for pharmaceutical trials. I’m not an expert, but it includes common sense criteria such as obtaining consent from the participant and disclosing side effects. Holding a clinical study under the pretense of hiring staff for an event is a clear violation of the ordinance. That being said, I felt nothing unusual in my body. If anything, I felt healthier than usual. That night, I fell asleep in an instant and woke up feeling refreshed. Day two. I still wasn’t used to the croaking of the frogs. On top of that, the staff told us to pick out a frog, observe it closely, and draw it. I approached the case with hesitation. The frogs were crammed together, squelching against one another. That alone made me want to throw up. They hadn’t been fed, but they seemed to be doing fine. That was creepy. I avoided looking at them the best I could and grabbed one that happened to jump toward me. I transferred it to the case we were provided for observation and shut the lid. Its slimy skin was disgusting… I washed my hands immediately. I never imagined I would touch a frog with my bare hands at this age. Why hadn’t it bothered me as a kid…? Was it the same for you? I was raised in the middle of nowhere, so I was fine with touching roly-polies and the like. Sorry, I got sidetracked. The frog wouldn’t settle down and struggled in the small case. It was impossible to draw. Since we were told it wouldn’t be a problem if the drawing sucked, I gave in and did my best to put something down on the paper. Once in a while, I peeked at the others, who were all struggling, too. One of us, Okada, kept pacing in front of the giant case packed with frogs. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to catch a frog and was in a bind. His BO grew even more pungent, to the point that I could smell him from where I was sitting. I felt bad for him, but I wasn’t inclined to help, either. I gave up watching him and focused on my own sketch, and gradually, the smell stopped bothering me. I finished in just under an hour. Around then, the staff returned to the room and collected our drawings. They collected Okada’s paper, too. As awful as my sketch was, his was far worse, so perhaps he hadn’t been able to look at one up close. The rest of the day was the same as the first. We bummed around, ate lunch, and bummed around some more. Then came dinner, baths, and the interviews. I spoke to Yokokawa from the Rabbit group again. They had been told to study and draw a rabbit, like we had been asked to do with the frogs. Besides Yokokawa, I talked to two others who were non-Frog participants, but both were Fish members. I didn’t find out anything about the Deer group. The Fish members said they had the same experience; they’d drawn a fish that resembled a crucian carp. My memory of the interview from that day is vague as well. The only thing I remember is being told, “Tomorrow is patrol day.” The next day, I alone was taken from the Frog room and shown to a different room. A man from the Fish group and a woman from Bird were there. The man had no distinguishing features. He said, “I’m glad I got fish. I can’t stand frogs.” His name was Sano, if I recall correctly. The woman introduced herself as Kana. She was cute, but her pink hair was messy and dull, and she had self-harm scars on both wrists. She told me without my asking that she was a sex worker who was living with her boyfriend, a host. Her boyfriend wanted to switch to a normal job, which was why she needed money. I felt sad for her. She reminded me of Emi. My sister might have been smarter than Kana, but their dependency on others and gullibility were extremely similar. But Kana seemed more sociable. The three of us made small talk for a while longer, but eventually, we grew bored and broke off to do our own thing. There was no lunch break, but we were given another paper bag with sandwiches and snacks, so we didn’t go hungry. Around seven o’clock, just when I was thinking that it had gotten dark outside, some of the staff came into the room and announced that it was time for work. As a group of three, we were to make a round through the woods. Apparently, it was for a group having a banquet outside. Throwing a feast in the middle of the forest was far outside the realm of common sense, but none of us said anything. I might be repeating myself, but again, everyone was desperate. We would receive payment for seven days of proper work, and although we were allowed to leave at any time, if we quit, the only compensation we would receive would be for the commute, according to the contract. The three of us entered the forest single file, with me, the oldest, in front and the woman, Kana, in the middle. There was a rough, trampled path, so it was easy to walk. In addition, since there were LED lights marking our way, we didn’t get lost, either. We made our way toward a faint glow, which resolved as we got closer. Gradually, we started hearing voices, too, and, for some reason, the continuous croaking of frogs, just like in the Frog room. We continued forward, putting up with the unpleasant scratching of the tall grass and the croaking that permeated our ears, and arrived at a banquet space. In the forest was a small stage, the kind you find at festivals that are thrown together on the spot. Set apart from it was a long table where a dozen or so people in white clothing of all different ages and genders were sitting. We had been instructed that we could return once we verified that the banquet was proceeding without trouble. When we turned to go back the way we had come, we noticed something unusual. We could hear voices, but no one was speaking. But their mouths were moving, and from their mouths came the grribbit grribbit guttural croaking of frogs. Kana let out an aborted shriek. She covered her mouth in a panic and ducked under the shadow of the grass. No one at the banquet seemed to have noticed. They were still croaking away. “This is insane…,” Kana mumbled quietly. I couldn’t have said it better myself. The sound of talking got louder and louder. We could even hear laughter, but we had no idea where it was coming from. As befitting a banquet, there were several dishes arranged on the table and decorations strung around the area. However, no one was eating or enjoying themselves. They merely continued croaking, their faces devoid of any color. Sano whispered, “Let’s run.” The voices were so close at that point that it was like we were a part of the feast. Dragging along Kana, who was too frightened to stand, we left the woods. Thankfully, the voices didn’t follow us. A staff member was standing at the building entrance. “Good work,” he greeted us. “You may go and wash up.” He showed us to private bathrooms that were different from the bathing facilities we had been using. We rinsed off. I had no chance to talk with the other two before we were directed to the interview rooms. Sano was one thing, but I wondered if Kana would be able to work the next day considering the state she was in. I was worried about her even though it wasn’t any of my business. Of course, I was scared, too, but upon reflection, it had been dark, so we might have seen it wrong. Anyway, the interview. As always, my memories of the session are blurry. However, I was able to give a proper response when they asked how the patrol was. I answered, “I want to do this every day.” Think about it. Rather than spending time with frogs indoors, patrolling outside was a more effective way to uncover the mysteries of the facility, no matter how you sliced it. From that day on, besides when we were sleeping, I started spending my time apart from the other Frog members. In the sliver of time before bed, I asked the brothers Seiichi and Ryuuji what they did that day. Unsurprisingly, they’d spent it observing the frogs. On top of that, though I had been gone for only a day, the relationships between the others had soured. Wakui had ultimately snapped at Okada, the man with the awful body odor. The stench had been too much to bear. The two of them fought. When Okada punched Wakui, the other three, who were also sick of putting up with Okada’s smell, jumped in, and they ganged up on him. I was stunned. They were all grown men, but they couldn’t even have an adult conversation. “We can’t get along without you,” Seiichi said to me. “But I’ll be working outside starting tomorrow,” I said. To which he replied, “We’re screwed.” It dawned on me then that they really were all social outcasts. The next day, I went to the same waiting room, but neither Sano nor Kana was there. Two people who hadn’t come on the bus with me were in the room. When I asked about Sano and Kana, I was told they had been part of the staff from before. One of them explained, “The other two said they didn’t want to continue, so we had them return. From now on, you’ll be patrolling with us.” Return to where? What kinds of jobs did they do there? They ignored me after that no matter what I asked. Then night fell. The three of us cut our way through the grass into the woods, with me in the rear. The atmosphere was far heavier than the previous day. It wasn’t long before the croaking of frogs reached our ears. Though I guess they weren’t really frogs… Just like the day before, we went to the banquet site to check the situation, and once again, we found the croaking people sitting at the table without touching the feast. One difference was that there were more dishes on the table. That and there were more guests, I thought. I saw a young woman near the center of the table who definitely hadn’t been there. I tried to take a closer look, but the two staff warned me not to and led me back the way we had come. The voices were creepy anyway, so I did as I was told. We returned to the facility. I immediately showered and went to the interview. They asked me the same question again, and I gave the same response. “I want to keep patrolling.” When I went back to the Frog room, I found Okada in the corner, naked and trembling. For some reason, he was dripping wet. I asked what the hell happened, and Seiichi said, “The old fart stinks and won’t wash himself, so we did it for him.” I saw that Ryuuji, Wakui, and Tamada all looked smug and self-satisfied. “Don’t you feel bad for him? He must be cold,” I said. I covered Okada with a towel that had been lying around, and he burst out crying. “Y-y-y-y-you! You can’t be! Are you—taking his side?! B-b-b-but he’s the one! B-b-bothering us!” Wakui stuttered, extremely worked up. Once again, I was astonished. It wasn’t just the elementary school bullying that shocked me. When Wakui had introduced himself, he told us that he had always been bullied. I supposed the idea that people who are bullied understand others’ pain and grow to be kind is nothing more than a fantasy. Maybe it’s more accurate to say that people who are bullied for a long time forget how to be kind to others. “It’s not about taking sides,” I said. “We’re all adults. If there’s something you don’t like, you should talk it out and find a solution.” Wakui snorted in annoyance. I helped Okada up. Thanks to the involuntary bath, he stank a little less. “You’re at fault for not bathing, too,” I said. “Bathing is essential for people, especially adults. It’s true. You smell. Telling you to wash up is perfectly reasonable. You fought against a sensible request. That’s why this happened.” He nodded while sobbing. I told them to apologize to each other, and they said “Sorry” reluctantly. Inside, I was fed up, but I said, “There’s only a few days left. Let’s get along,” and we turned in for the night. Though I was exhausted from dealing with the foolish drama, I wasn’t able to sleep well and woke up at an odd hour of the night. I tried to fall asleep again, but I was strangely alert and couldn’t. Then I was struck by a thought. Maybe this was my chance to uncover everything there was to know about the facility. I slipped out of bed, taking care not to wake the others. Wakui was snoring unbelievably loudly. I was impressed at myself for being able to sleep with such noise. That was when I noticed something strange. The croaking that had driven me up the wall was gone. Unlike humans, frogs weren’t guaranteed to sleep during the night. While the croaking might be expected to die down overnight, it was unusual for it to be silent. I looked at the glass case to find that, shockingly, there wasn’t a single frog inside. How had they carried out the mass of frogs without waking anyone…? It was more than odd. It was downright eerie. Anyway, I told myself I had to fulfill my mission—the reconnaissance, in other words—and left the room. There was no one around. There wasn’t a single light. The moonlight reflecting off the concrete floor gave me the creeps. I debated using the flashlight on my phone, but there were sure to be a few people awake. I would be screwed if I was discovered, so I relied on the moonlight and my hand on the wall to guide me. As I went down the stairs, I heard a sound. I was wearing the socks that had been distributed to us, so my footsteps should have been perfectly silent. I hadn’t heard anything on the way to the stairs, either. Just then, I heard the stomping of hard-soled shoes on one of the floors above me. Thinking that it might have been a security patrol, I hunched in on myself to try to make myself inconspicuous and quickly fled down the stairs. However, I heard the pounding footsteps grow closer; it was like they had seen through my plan. I was proud about being pretty athletic, but… When it seemed like they were going to catch up to me, I hid myself in a gap in the wall next to the stairs. But the footsteps stopped on the floor above me, the one I had been on where the Frog room was. I held my breath, and shortly thereafter, I heard the door open and shut. Damn, I thought, they’re going to find out that I’m missing. But it was also too late for me to go back. As I was spinning my wheels, I heard the door opening again. Mixed in with the footsteps was the sound of something heavy being dragged along the floor. Fwssst. Fwssst. Fwssst. It was a very unpleasant sound. I no longer cared about being caught. All I cared about was getting to a place where I couldn’t hear the dull dragging noise any longer. I ran down the stairs all the way to the entrance and went outside. I regretted it immediately. I could hear voices from all over, the same voices from the banquet. I could hear voices, but the people to whom they belonged were nowhere to be found. Even more disturbing was the fact that the conversations were clearly audible, but I couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying. It didn’t sound like a foreign language, either. It sounded like…like nonhuman creatures borrowing the human language and abusing it for their own purposes. I decided to go back inside. But my body wouldn’t move. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t move a muscle. The voices grew closer and closer. From above me. From below. From the front. From behind. Suddenly. Something grabbed my shoulder. And then— —I opened my eyes. I was in bed. I was the one closest to the entrance of the Frog room. I leaped out of bed. The others were already up. “Someone’s a late riser today,” they laughed. The frogs that had been missing in the night were back inside the glass case. I figured everything had been a dream. According to one theory, dreams are images the brain conjures in order to process the information from the day. My brain must have been scrambled from living in this bizarre environment. I took a deep breath. That was when I realized. “Where’s Okada?” I asked. He wasn’t in the room. “Oh. That geezer ran away during the night,” Ryuuji said with a contemptuous smile. “Look. His stuff is gone. We must’ve scared him.” I didn’t respond. My mind had put two and two together to arrive at a horrifying conclusion. The noise had been the sound of Okada’s body being dragged. The moment the thought passed through my head, my vision seemed to flicker, and I unconsciously sat down on the floor. The others were worried for me and suggested that I take the day off. I wanted to rest, too—more than that, I thoroughly wanted to give up on investigating Moriya Foods and go home. Supposing that the sound had actually been Okada’s body, then the disembodied voices I had heard outside had been real, too. So was the fact that someone or something had grabbed my shoulder. Needless to say, it wasn’t that I missed the presence of that smelly middle-aged man. I told you that my bed was closest to the entrance, right? Well, Okada had been sleeping next to me. In other words, I could have been the one who had been discarded. That was what I was thinking. Even so, what stopped me from running was the image of Emi in my mind. For her sake, I had to expose the truth of the facility at any cost. So I gave up on leaving. The day I fortified my resolve was my fifth at the facility. The patrol that day was…disappointingly uneventful. Just like the previous days, the group of people were croaking among the creepy voices. Well, there was both more food and more banqueters, and there was a stench that smelled like dirty rags, but…that was it. The previous day, I had been grabbed by someone, and on top of that, Okada had disappeared. I had imagined more terrifying developments, not such trivial changes. A monster attack, for example. But that was really all for the night. However, during the interview, I was told there would be no more patrolling after that day. I did it, I thought. I was filled with a sense of accomplishment. It was a shame that I couldn’t see the outside area anymore, but I had been able to get the voices at the banquet and the facility on video for the most part. With the proof I had, anyone would understand that the place was abnormal. Just in case, I asked Tamada to switch beds with me. He was fed up with Wakui’s loud snoring, so he readily agreed. We safely turned in for the night. The next morning, I checked the bed beside me. Tamada had not disappeared—there had been nothing out of the ordinary. He had drifted off to sleep with a peaceful expression, so I was relieved. Even if he was a social outcast, I would not have been able to rest easy knowing I had sentenced someone to die in my place. That brings us, as it were, to the morning of the sixth day. Day six. That day, after breakfast, we gathered in a large hall. There had been a dozen or so of us at the start, but about half were gone. Yokokawa from the Rabbit group was gone, too. A peculiar object was stood in the center of the hall. It resembled a tapered tower, but it was sloppily constructed with wood, so it wasn’t so much a “tower” as a wooden structure. I’m five foot ten, so I think it was roughly thirty feet tall. Anyway, we were directed to stand around the mysterious structure with its strange aura and wait. After some time, a few staff members entered the hall. One dumped a grimy bag in front of me. The others had been given similar bags. “Please follow the staff members’ directions and begin the assignment.” The broadcast came out of nowhere. What shocked me was the voice. It belonged to a young man and was slightly high in pitch. Listening to it sent a shudder through my mind and filled me with a strange sensation. That was why, at first, I wasn’t bothered by the contents of the bags or the bizarre instructions. Inside the bags were frog carcasses, a large number of them. All the frogs were dead. They didn’t so much as twitch. “Dissect them,” the man in front of me said. He handed me a sheet of paper, on which was printed a dissection diagram and directions. “You may take your time. Please dissect them all,” he said firmly. The unbelievable thing was, I followed his order without any questions. Weird, right? It’s strange, no matter how you think about it. But at the time, I believed that it was my natural duty to obey that voice. First, I carefully skinned the corpse. I removed its innards to turn it into flesh and bone. Then rinse and repeat. I wasn’t even disgusted. I was simply convinced that it was the proper thing to do. After the fifth frog, when I had five carcasses stripped down to their meat and bones, that changed. I was struck by an awful feeling. It wasn’t revulsion from the dead frogs or the dissection. The night I had slipped outside, when something had grabbed my shoulder—it was the same presence from back then. That was when I snapped out of it. What on earth am I doing? I thought. My hands were covered with slimy frog guts. I raised my head, looked around, and took a breath. I felt like I was going to vomit. The harsh smell of blood and viscera filled the room. The man next to me was cutting open a bunch of rabbits. The one next to him was dissecting some large animal. More than the stench, I felt a presence far more awful and horrifying near me. It spoke with that voice, that beautiful voice. “Move aside.” I looked up to see the owner, who was, as I had imagined, a man whose face still contained traces of youth. He pushed through the staff overseeing us to come stand right in front of me. “I will see to him,” he said with a contrived smile plastered on his face. “You can continue, right?” Sour bile welled up inside my throat. I felt like I was going to throw up at any second, but inexplicably, my hand started to move. My body followed his orders, betraying my own will. And it was then I knew. He was “Jan.” That was the only possibility. I’ve always had good instincts. I’m sure that was why I noticed the vile atmosphere around him and how I was able to stop acting abnormally. When I realized he was Jan, I thought back to Emi. She must have been brainwashed by the man’s voice and been compelled to do bizarre things like we were. A violent rage welled up inside me at the thought. I could move my hands freely again. I stood up and said, “You must be Jan.” He looked at me in confusion. “Huh… Did I give you my name? Indeed. I’m Jan…” After a pause, he smiled. “You may be suited for a more productive conversation. Of course, your current task is wonderful work as well.” I was filled with a burning indignation. Denigrating other people without a care was like second nature to him. He preyed upon the weakhearted like Emi and the part-timers who had come here. Still furious, I said, “Give Emi back.” His expression changed. His lips, which had been drawn in a beautiful arc, started to quiver. His gaze focused on one point. This man knew Emi. He had involved her in something nasty. I was sure of it. “Emi can’t do anything by herself. You’re taking advantage of her. What are you trying to do to her? You pervert. I have proof of everything that’s transpired here. Give her back imme—” That was all I could say. Suddenly, my lungs were crushed by a great pressure. I could barely breathe. “So, it was you,” he said. Slowly. Slowly, Jan leaned in toward me. So slow that I felt my consciousness slipping away. Meanwhile, I was convulsing, searching for air, like a fish thrown out of water. “It’s you.” He raised three fingers and touched them to his lip. He sucked in a deep breath— “Anate.” In the space of that breath, I bolted. My vision flickered. My ears rang; it felt like my eardrums were going to rupture. I threw on a pair of shoes belonging to God knows who and burst outside. I ran with all my might. I remembered the area because I had tailed Emi. A ways down the road were restaurants and a local bus stop. We hadn’t been allowed to bring our wallets and phones to the dissection ritual, but I had anyway. I was glad from the bottom of my heart that I hadn’t left them behind. With my body in turmoil, I fled the place and returned home. …Earlier, I told you I have good instincts. They help me read the room and avoid awkward situations, of course, but they also allow me to perceive supernatural phenomena. I can’t see ghosts, per se, but when a place is filled with malignant energy, I know right away. When I’d met Jan, I was hit by a wave of discomfort; it made me want to puke… I don’t think he’s human. He was moving, walking. Other people could see him, too, so he probably isn’t a ghost. Even so, I’m certain he’s not human. That’s why I came to you. Sharp though my instincts might be, I can only avoid the issue. I can’t resolve it. Please. Save my precious little sister from that devil, I beg of you. “The deposit is two million yen.” That was the first thing Rumi said after listening to Youta Shimamoto’s monologue. Aoyama looked at her, startled. She had never requested such high compensation before, let alone at the outset. Up until then, she wouldn’t broach the subject of money with the client until the case was fully wrapped up. If he weren’t with her, she probably wouldn’t take any money even if she did solve the case, and the agency would have doubtlessly gone bankrupt a long time ago. “Rumi, that’s…,” Aoyama said. “We aren’t a charity, Aoyama,” Rumi said, parroting his usual response. She nailed the delivery. “Mr. Shimamoto, from your account, I have been able to broadly identify the root cause. This case is a nasty one… Your sister’s brainwashing is certainly part of the problem. I’ll have to call in an expert.” “But two million is too… What do you possibly need it for?” Youta asked. “I have no choice. You can pay in installments if you’d like, as long as I have it in writing.” “That’s not the problem. Wait a second. Aren’t you the expert?” he asked dubiously. “My job is to identify the problem. That’s it. It is only sensible to solicit a specialist for the solution. It’s the referral fee. Plus…” She paused, crunching on the candy in her mouth. “Suppose we solve the case. Do you know how to care for a person who’s been brainwashed?” “Emi’s my sister!” Youta shouted, his face flushed. “I’ll provide the evidence. Once your expert deals with that bastard, I’m sure it’ll work out, one way or the other. We’ll talk it out.” “It seems like you’re underestimating brainwashing.” Rumi stood and scoured the bookshelves. She threw a few volumes at Youta. “Children of the Cult explains it well, in my opinion. It’s about children who were raised in a religious cult. Even after they cut off ties with their parents, they continued to believe the abnormal doctrines of the group, despite their hatred of the religion and their parents. “And that’s not all there is,” she said, launching into an explanation of the book. For a while, Youta listened to her with his mouth hanging open in astonishment, but as she gushed on like a broken dam, he grew fed up and held up a hand to stop her. “I get it, I get it. Sorry. I was naive. It seems like it will be too much for me to handle alone,” he said. “Good. The fee includes the aftercare. I wanted to make you aware of that,” Rumi said. “Anyway…Aoyama, give me the contract.” “Right. Okay!” Aoyama said. Rumi quickly drafted the documents and had Youta sign. She smiled in satisfaction. “I’m on the case! Good things come to those who wait, they say. Try to kick back and relax at home.” Then, while Youta was hesitating, she expelled him from the office. “All right. Let’s get going,” Rumi said, hoisting a worn deep-green backpack and making for the door immediately. Aoyama scrambled to get ready. “To where?” “Weren’t you listening?!” she exclaimed with exaggeration, miming falling over in shock. “We’re going to meet the specialist. The person who will solve the case for us.” He nodded once. Then he thought better of it and shook his head instead. “Are we going on a trip? Please give me a little more time to prepare. You should wear something heavier, too.” “It won’t be far. Coincidentally, he’s in Tokyo right now.” “Really? In that case…is he a difficult person to work with?” “No? He’s a pretty friendly old man, though he can be particular.” The mystery deepened. Aoyama asked Rumi point-blank, “Then why the high commission…? Could it be that he’s nice, but he takes offerings for charity…?” “No, he’s genuinely kind. He’s the type of person who would step in even if he wasn’t asked. If he heard someone was in trouble, I bet he would help for free,” Rumi said. “Enough of that. Hurry up. Let’s go.” He felt like she had just dodged his question, but she was already halfway out the door. He rushed to follow her. What surprised Aoyama was that the man was there. After leaving the office, Rumi had wandered this way and that like a fickle-hearted cat with Aoyama somehow managing to keep up with her. She didn’t give him any explanation. What was the solution to the problem? Who was the specialist? He had no choice but to follow her. There was nothing he could do by himself. When she finally stopped at a family restaurant, he figured it was because she wanted to take a break after they had made the rounds to various places. Rumi ordered a large spaghetti napolitan, a Mexican pilaf, a beef curry, a Japanese-style hamburg steak set meal, a corn and bacon pizza, and a seasonal parfait. “Can you eat all of that?” Aoyama asked. “Don’t worry,” she said. It was in the middle of their usual exchange when he thought it happened. The man was there. A scent like the forest. Sitting next to Aoyama was an old man with a smile on his face. “What the—?” Aoyama exclaimed, his reaction delayed. “There’s no need to shout,” the old man said, still grinning. He was wearing work clothes. Aoyama looked at Rumi sitting across from him. She didn’t appear particularly surprised and was mumbling about being hungry. Was it possible he was the only one who could see the man? The thought made him shudder. “I’m human,” the old man said, leaning closer and forcing Aoyama to meet his gaze. Aoyama pulled back instinctively, and the man laughed out loud. His eyes crinkled along the handful of laugh lines carved into his sunbaked skin. “How cute,” he said. “Don’t tease him too much,” Rumi said around the straw in her mouth. “R-Rumi, is he…?” Aoyama asked. “Yes, this is him.” The old man looked between the two of them, still wearing a smile. Rumi’s eyes were fixed on Aoyama’s shoulder, as if the last thing she wanted was to meet the man’s eyes. “Won’t you introduce me?” the man said. “You can do it, can’t you?” Rumi said frostily. Aoyama thought that was peculiar. Rumi’s speech and mannerisms may have been eccentric, but she was not a rude person. Once, they’d had an arrogant client who complained about the payment, yet she had still treated him with a certain level of courtesy. Sure, the old man was a little weird, but he seemed generally affable… Why was she so cold to him? Plus, judging from the course of the conversation, this was the specialist they were planning to commission to solve the case. The man set a piece of paper on the table. “This is who I am and what I do.” It was probably meant to be a business card, but it was no more than a scrap torn from the corner of a notebook page. “‘Ishigami’…er…,” Aoyama read aloud. “Hyakkou,” the old man finished. “You can call me Ishigami, Hyakkou, or Geezer. Whatever pleases you.” All that was written on the paper slip was: Consultations. Anytime. Ishigami Hyakkou. Ishigami snatched the “business card” from Aoyama’s hand and slipped it back into his sleeve. “So, you’re a medium?” Aoyama asked. He regretted asking the question as soon as it left his mouth. It was an idiotic thing to ask even as filler. What else would Ishigami be? “Who knows?” Ishigami mumbled, his eyes focused on something in the distance. “Certainly, I perceive more than most… But the power I wield is that of the Serpent, not my own.” He continued without looking at Aoyama’s expression. “I was young, really young. My mother was not the brightest. She was jilted by a man with a wife and child and had to raise me all alone. She was dealt a rough hand, it seemed, and she threw me away. In the middle of the mountain. I was taken into custody by the warden of the mountain… He said he was lured by a white snake, and it led him to me. Interesting, no?” “That…must have been tough,” Aoyama said, unsure of what to say. “Not at all. Tough is an understatement!” Ishigami adopted a thinking pose. “I lived in the mountains for two weeks. I was a four-year-old child, all alone. Two weeks! Amazing, right? Not me, but the Serpent.” “Y-yeah…” Aoyama tried to keep his emotions from showing on his face, but his voice wavered. Ishigami’s narrative resembled a folktale or fable. Had those events really happened? His story didn’t seem credible. However, his eyes sparkled as he spoke about his past. Aoyama had met several other people who had had this same look in their eyes. They were the eyes of a religious fanatic. Aoyama had been born to a lineage of Protestant ministers. He knew himself to be a devout believer. He would not deny another their faith, no matter the religion they chose. In fact, he believed that all people needed religion—whether it was Christianity or not—as spiritual support. Still, there was a significant difference between piety and obsession. In times of suffering, sorrow, or joy, fanatics do not pray to their god; they entrust their god with their whole life. His family’s church had seen their share of such devotees. A particularly extreme example among them was a housewife named Mrs. Sakurai. Tormented by her husband’s chronic infidelity and unable to turn to family for help, she was able to derive solace only from the counseling of Aoyama’s grandfather, through which she took an interest in Christian teachings. She began to devotedly attend church services and study the Bible in his father’s youth class. So passionate was she that she continued asking Aoyama’s father questions even after the classes were over. Gradually, she grew dissatisfied with merely going to church once a week and started showing up nearly every day. She helped out with yard sales and charity events, too. “Why don’t you take a page from her book?” his sister would say to him. Then, one morning, Aoyama went to the chapel to clean, only to find it in disarray and littered with broken glass. He thought a thief had broken in but quickly realized that wasn’t the case. Mrs. Sakurai was tearing through the hall, brandishing a steel pipe. “What are you doing? Stop it!” he cried. She turned around. She said something, but her voice was strange, and he couldn’t make it out. Aoyama’s father came running in to help, and the two managed to pacify her and coax out an explanation. She said, “No matter how fervently I pray, God hasn’t put an end to my husband’s infidelity, so I wanted to draw God’s attention however I could.” However, the Bible didn’t contain techniques to prevent one’s spouse from cheating, and neither Aoyama’s grandfather nor his father had ever preached on the subject matter. The church only offered aid in maintaining a tranquil heart. That was the original purpose of religion. After that, Mrs. Sakurai said she had no need for a god who wouldn’t listen to her, and she stopped going to church. Since she lived in the neighborhood, Aoyama heard about her life thereafter. Apparently, she became a follower of a new age religion, which solicited a large offering from her, only to quit soon after. Presently, she was enrolled in a behavioral psychology seminar. She had invited Aoyama to enroll as well. At that time, he had been surprised to see the burning in her eyes. Religion or seminar, the function was surely the same: to offer a place of spiritual support. But support was all they were. It was best not to throw your everything into either. Regular people understood that, but fanatics were different. Their identities became defined by the target of their faith. Aoyama sensed that same zeal from Ishigami and was slightly repulsed. Ishigami didn’t notice the change in Aoyama’s expression and continued his spiel. “Back then, I spoke with the Serpent about a variety of subjects. That is why, you see, our hearts are connected. My lord teaches me all.” “That’s enough idle chatter,” Rumi said, her tone still frigid. “You have one month. The fee is a million yen. I will give you five hundred thousand up front. If you cannot complete the assignment within the time frame, I’ll have you return the deposit minus any expenses including transportation fees, so please keep your receipts… In the case of failure, you will still receive compensation equal to Tokyo’s minimum rent level…one hundred forty-three thousand yen plus expenditures. Do we have an agreement?” She rattled out the terms without pause. Unlike the rapid-fire way Rumi talked about her beloved occult stories, her acerbic tone conveyed that she merely wanted to get the conversation over with. “I’ve told you time and time again: I don’t need money,” Ishigami replied leisurely, unconcerned by Rumi’s attitude. His calmness only made the mood more tense. “I will do what I can, no more, no less.” Rumi clicked her teeth. She must have been extremely irritated because she was bouncing her leg. This was the first time Aoyama had seen her so annoyed. The atmosphere was dreadful. Aoyama tried to cut the tension by saying, “Rumi, didn’t you say you’ve already pinpointed the general cause, so we’ll be able to commission the appropriate specialist?” “Yeah, I did. So what?” She had never snapped at him so harshly before. Internally disheartened by her tone, he nonetheless continued. “I don’t know what the cause is or what makes Mr. Ishigami the right person for the job… It would be nice if you could explain…” “I’ve got a large spaghetti napolitan!” the waiter said brightly, bringing their food at the perfect moment. As Rumi watched the stream of dishes, she appeared to soften slightly. “That’s right. I haven’t explained anything yet,” she said in her usual tone. “It may be too early to conclude that we’re dealing with a new religion, but from Mr. Shimamoto’s story, the possibility is extremely high.” Rumi shoveled food into her mouth as she spoke. It made Aoyama feel better to see. “Since we don’t know all the details of the rituals, and it’s all hearsay, I can’t say anything for sure. But…deer, rabbit, bird, frog, fish—these are all animals offered as live sacrifices in Suwa Grand Shrine’s religious festivals… The biggest giveaway is the army of frogs.” “What about the frogs…?” Aoyama asked. “Frogs are the Serpent’s favorite food,” Ishigami interjected. The tension returned to the air, just when it had finally gone back to normal. “It is called the Frog-Hunting Ritual…,” he said. “Frogs are skewered with bamboo arrows and dedicated to the shrine god… Suwa Grand Shrine’s deity, you see, is the Serpent.” “That’s the long and short of it,” Rumi said. “I can’t say with certainty that the Serpent is the shrine’s deity of worship, but that is one hypothesis. Therefore, Mr. Ishigami, who practices ophiolatry, may be able to help.” Her tone was polite, but she was clearly displeased that he had interrupted her. Her large, thick glasses hid her face, making her expression unreadable. Nonetheless, it was plain to see that she was glaring at Ishigami. Aoyama typed Suwa Grand Shrine festival into his phone’s search engine. The Ontou Festival was one of the first results. He had heard the name before. It was infamous for being a wild event. The illustrations he saw actually showed five different animals impaled on skewers and offered as live sacrifices. He was about to search Frog-Hunting Ritual when Ishigami said, “They worship the Serpent. He is my deity, so I’m positive about this. You’re the one requesting my aid. Please have some faith in me.” Rumi clicked her teeth again. “I perceive more than most, so…I have already started my preparations,” he said. Her countenance changed. “What…?” “Your client’s…younger sister, is it? I met her a little while ago. It was really a coincidence. The Serpent sensed something sour in the air, so I boarded the same train as her. She was wearing a suit… She seemed stretched to the breaking point. Carrying so much tension that I felt sorry for her… So that was how we met. Your case concerns her, right? Oh-ho, I knew it.” “You do quick work,” Rumi said dryly. “Your compliment delights me,” Ishigami said. “In any case, I planted a seed. It should have taken effect to an extent.” “Um, what do you mean by seed?” Aoyama interjected quickly, trying not to get left behind. “Simply put, it’s a protective amulet. I designed it to alert me if she is approached by unsavory elements… Ideally, I would have liked to prevent the encounter entirely.” “But in the end, the fact that my client came to me for help must mean it was ineffective,” Rumi said. Ishigami’s expression clouded over. “You are right… However, despite how I look, I have never once failed… Either the opposition is extremely strong, or…this outcome is what the young lady desires.” “It’s pointless to speculate,” Rumi declared flatly. “Heh, my apologies. People’s hearts intrigue me. Call it a bad habit of mine.” His smile didn’t waver, even in the face of the frost in her voice. “Anyway, I will borrow the Serpent’s powers and handle it.” “…Then we have an agreement. I’ll draw up a contract with the terms we discussed.” “I don’t need any money,” Ishigami insisted again. Rumi ignored him. She got up and went to the register. The veritable feast on the table had been picked clean. When Aoyama glanced at the seat next to him, Ishigami was gone. He had vanished without a sound, just like when he had appeared. He sat there in confusion until Rumi called for him, and he scrambled to follow. She was faster than her physique would suggest, but he managed to catch up to her by sprinting. “Wai—… Wait!” he panted. Rumi’s demeanor softened minutely when she saw him out of breath. “What is it, Aoyama?” “I still don’t understand anything about Mr. Ishigami, but more important—” She took out a bottle of tea from her backpack and handed it to him. He gulped it down and took a deep breath. Now that she was being so considerate, her earlier attitude seemed like a dream. But that made his question all the more vital. “Why did you act like that just now? You went a little too far… Did Ishigami upset you somehow?” “He’s altruistic. Everything he does is altruistic.” Aoyama didn’t understand. He stayed silent. Rumi looked at him and smiled. “You’re a good person. A genuinely kind person… I love people like you. They’re a different breed—people driven by altruism, that is.” She was quiet for a moment, walking in step with him. Aoyama’s heart was pounding from being told out of the blue that she loved him, never mind the context of the conversation. Not to mention, she had been speaking uncharacteristically seriously, which made it even harder for him to look her in the face. For a while, he floundered, until Rumi spoke again. “Now then, who is Uncle Ishigami exactly?” She had returned to her usual rapid-fire speech pattern, which made him feel far more at ease. “He is a devotee of the Mishaguji and a medium. He might have denied it, and I’m sure you thought he was fishy, too, right? But his powers are the real deal. “You’ve heard of the Mishaguji, no?” she asked. Aoyama frantically searched through the shelves of his memory and hit upon a hazy recollection from his student days. That was right. He had learned about it from Professor Saitou. “It’s a deity that originates in animism, a belief that already existed in the jomon period…combined with the Sosou deity, which is indigenous to the Suwa area and takes the form of a white snake, if I recall correctly…” “Hah-hah, good job remembering even though I’m sure you had no interest in the subject.” Aoyama certainly couldn’t say that he had listened to Professor Saitou’s lectures diligently or with interest. He tried to protest that Rumi was wrong, but she continued speaking. “I mentioned this earlier, but the group Mr. Shimamoto’s little sister is obsessed with…or rather, the group she’s been dragged into…their ceremonies are based on the practices of Suwa Grand Shrine, I believe. However, this is nothing more than conjecture, since I’m only going off Mr. Shimamoto’s story.” “You said you can’t say for sure, but…we must be dealing with a serpent deity, right?” “No. You said it yourself. It is a combination. Yes, the Mishaguji also manifests as a snake, and there are many tales about dragons and serpents around Suwa, so the serpent is a very strong candidate. However, we must not jump to any conclusions.” Rumi fiddled with the drawstrings on her sweatshirt. “Undoubtedly, identifying the root cause of a problem and countering it with the appropriate method is extremely important, and it’s what I try to do. That was my approach this time as well, but we must not make assumptions. When push comes to shove, we need to use every avenue available to us… That being said, on a fundamental level, monks deal with evil spirits, Shinto priests deal with deities, and the clergy deal with demons. If you don’t follow the rules, there won’t be any effect. That’s common sense.” Rumi stopped there. Then she added, “I’ve said too much. Please forget about it,” and quickened her pace. “Despite the way he acts, that geezer is actually a remarkable person. The way he goes on and on about the Serpent is annoying, but his story might be true. That’s why we should forget all about the case. More importantly, we finally got our hands on a fortune. Let’s go eat yakiniku.” “You want to eat again?” Aoyama asked. Without responding, Rumi ran off toward the station. The earth is falling into desolation. The glittering age of peak prosperity has passed. None are righteous here. Poison pervades every corner. The wealthy become poor. The poor become destitute and are bled dry. Here, there is corruption, degeneration, and depravity. Virtue, effort, and sincerity are not to be found. I ask, “Are there any righteous here?” Everyone gives the same answer. “There are righteous here.” There is none righteous, no, not one. I am holding a flame. There are no righteous among the living and mobile. The unrighteous must be burned. “Wait,” says a man carrying a corpse to me. “There must be righteous here. A hundred, no, fifty, no, ten.” The body in his arms is that of a woman, pale and pure. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. I repeat, “There is none righteous.” Behind the man still clinging to my legs, I can see the masses. They are carrying spears, alcohol, and sheep. They say: Kill. Rape. The man proffers them the body. The crowd cackles. Through their laughter, they drink her blood. They must drink the blood. Once they have drained her, they reach toward me and rip off my clothes. The man breaks down crying. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. “There is none righteous.” And even if there are, I turn around and try to enter the building. “It is not yet time.” I nod. It is not yet time. It had become routine for Emi to jolt awake from these strange dreams. The subject was incomprehensible, as always. The Emi of her dreams certainly had a sense of self. She could think and act according to her will. However, dream Emi felt like a completely different entity from her waking self. “Good morning.” Waking up to see Jan waiting beside the bed was also becoming part of her everyday scenery. “Good morning, Jan,” Emi said, gripping his hand. A clean, spacious room that filled with light during the afternoons. A wide bed that could easily sleep three grown adults. She hadn’t returned to her cheap apartment in over two months. Occasionally, Jan would go out alone, saying, “I have to have a discussion,” which meant he would talk with his “brothers and sisters” and give them “guidance.” Otherwise, they were always together. Emi never found out his occupation, age, or full name. Needless to say, the R&D work she had requested had never materialized, either. But none of that mattered to her now. Jan knelt and turned Emi’s palm to face the ceiling. He kissed her fingertips one by one, over and over again. She smiled, feeling content. Since they started living together, he would do this every morning. “What are today’s plans?” she asked. “Today is the harvest,” he replied, wearing his usual smile. Ah, he had mentioned that before, she recalled. That day, they would be harvesting the crops his siblings had planted a while back. “We’ll only be watching from the usual room, so it will be the two of us again,” he added. “I see,” she said, trying to stay impassive. “Two of us” meant the two of them alone. She was happy, of course. However, she couldn’t say “Hooray” or “I’m glad.” Jan hated it when he did something to change Emi’s mood. No, it wasn’t that he hated it, but rather, when her moods fluctuated based on something he did, he would punish himself, even though she didn’t want that at all. Calmly, but imperiously. That was the goal. Emi conducted herself the way Jan wanted her to. “Incidentally, were you able to enter today?” he asked. He was referring to the building in her dream. He was always interested in it. “I was told, ‘It is not yet time,’” she answered. She chose not to question the things he said or did. At first, she had so much to ask that she couldn’t bear not knowing. Questions like “Why do you know what I dream about?” But she realized it was pointless to ask. He would evade her questions anyway. Jan’s every word and action was correct. It was wrong for her to doubt him. “I see…,” he said, falling silent with a complicated look on his face. Emi panicked internally. It was clear from his expression that he wasn’t satisfied with her answer. The way things were, he would end up disappointed in her. He would end up hating her. He would stop loving her. The way things were, that was. She desperately pieced together a defense. “But today, I spoke of my own volition.” Jan’s expression softened once more. “Your own volition…? What do you mean?” She wanted to grin from relief, but she smothered her excitement before continuing. “Usually…when I’m dreaming, it’s like watching a movie… It’s from my perspective, of course, but my mouth and body move independently of me. But this time, I spoke because I wanted to. ‘There is none righteous.’ I drew the conclusion myself.” Jan immediately praised her. “Wonderful!” He repeated it again and again. Then he said, “It appears we are ready.” “What does that mean…?” “That the preparations for the next stage are complete.” His statements were as impenetrable to her as always. Still, he was finally smiling again, and she didn’t want to jeopardize his good mood. “I see…,” she agreed vaguely, before changing her mind. If she feigned understanding only to disappoint him down the line, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. “But I was told, ‘It is not yet time,’” she said honestly. Fortunately, he stayed smiling. He shook his head, the corners of his mouth still upturned. “That is a different matter. We are not at the end but the beginning.” He handed her some clothing and said, “Please prepare.” He meant for her to change, it seemed. She didn’t ask anything and quietly slipped on the white dress. Jan’s brothers and sisters were, in a word, numerous. Just counting the ones Emi had seen in the last few months, there were no fewer than fifty of them. However, no matter how many times she asked about them, he dodged the question. They were who they were. That was what he always said. In addition, he had told her, “You must not call them brothers and sisters.” It was only the once, but she vividly remembered that his tone had been unusually severe—that, and a feeling of horrible loneliness at being excluded. If she were to tell him that, he might hurt himself again. But even if he didn’t—even then, she didn’t want to displease him at all. Emi walked through the greenhouse full of lilies with Jan leading her by the hand. As always, the intense sweetness of the fragrance seared through her brain. He had said that the greenhouse was for her, that the lilies exemplified her. In the beginning, she hadn’t understood what part of the lusty scent and virile blooms resembled her at all, but lately, she had begun to think that, indeed, the lilies were for her and represented her. She couldn’t explain why herself. She hummed a melody that rose to her mind, and Jan joined in. He seemed to understand everything about her. Emi, too, wished to understand everything about him. Intoxicated by the heat of their joined hands, Emi didn’t notice the journey to the PA room until they had arrived. Every time they came, Jan would have to let go of her hand to set up the equipment, which saddened her greatly. “Now then, my brothers and sisters, you may begin,” Jan said into the microphone. The people in the lecture hall sluggishly began to move. “Cock-a-kroh,” someone crowed thrice. The men and women in white, red, blue, and black knelt on all fours around the towerlike object that had been fabricated so swiftly. The ceremony always began that way. Emi felt slightly nauseated when she looked at his siblings as usual. Nonetheless, it was better than the first day, when she’d been unable to get near them at all. The other day, she had even personally passed tea out to them. His siblings were kind and full of smiles. They were completely different from the people who had bullied and ignored her. So why was she repulsed by them, nice as they were? She felt apologetic. She hoped she would soon stop reacting with disgust. Then she could be friends with them. Jan had told her she would get used to them gradually, but she hated that she was the only one left out. “Watch carefully.” Emi jerked her head up to see Jan sitting next to her. She was about to say sorry, but she remembered he didn’t like it when she apologized. “You were able to find that place even without seeing anything, so perhaps it is fine if you don’t w— No. Fundamentally, everything begins with watching.” Jan looked her straight in the eyes and smiled. “Those who believe without seeing are wonderful.” His voice was sweet. Soft. Hearing it made Emi feel as if she could forget every misfortune that had ever befallen her. She’d met him only a few months ago, and he might have been far younger than she. That she held such a deep love for him anyway could be blamed on his voice. No, she wasn’t sure. Emi found everything about him charming. She would never say as much to Jan, but she wasn’t confident she would be able to answer if he asked her, “What about me do you like?” What about him? Everything. In high school, one of the glitzy girls in the clique had said, “Time has nothing to do with falling in love.” On the inside, Emi had scorned how lovesick the girl was, but she had begun to think there was truth in that statement. Until now, she had never cherished anyone other than her brother— Not good. If she continued daydreaming, Jan would warn her to watch carefully again. Emi pulled herself together and concentrated on the ceremony. It was difficult to wrap her head around. It had nothing to do with “harvesting crops.” But that was no different from usual. Neither the “fishing” nor the “tree killing” had… In any case, none of the ceremonies she had observed had ever been what they were said to be. In every ceremony, the four men and women would get down on their hands and knees by the tower. Among the ever-changing cast of Jan’s brothers and sisters, only they stayed constant. Then the men in white work clothes would bring in some kind of material. After the first ceremony Emi witnessed, they had never again done anything as extravagant as building the tower. Unlike when his siblings were chatting with her, during the ceremony, their expressions were perfectly unreadable. Their eyes focused on a spot in the air, and their movements were stiff. Emi thought it looked like someone was moving them. In the meantime, the work was proceeding apace. Most of the crops had been brought into the room. Bundles of what appeared to be grain from a distance had been stacked in front of the tower. “Good work. You may return,” Jan said. His siblings disbanded and left the hall. “Is it over?” Emi asked, slightly surprised. Jan nodded. “The two of us have a task to do today.” “What kind of task…?” “To proceed to the next stage.” Jan raised three fingers and slowly brought them to his lips. Occasionally, he would make the same gesture when talking to his siblings. She looked around the room, but they were alone. “Thee. Uh. Tow. Kos,” he said, enunciating every syllable. She instantly broke into goose bumps. Her body felt heavy, as if she had been dunked in water. In contrast, it felt like there was an electric current running through her brain. She was strangely awake, and her vision was sharp. It seemed like she could see impossibly far into the distance. She could even make out the layer of skin peeling off Jan’s lips. “Thee. Uh. Tow. Kos.” She heard the sound of a bucket of water being dumped on the floor. She looked down. The liquid had spilled from her own body. She had thrown up from the unbearable discomfort. Filthy, sludge-like puke covered the floor. She had no memories of eating that much food. Normally, a single cough would bring Jan to her side, asking her if she was all right, telling her to rest, and holding her in his arms. At that moment, however, he wasn’t even looking at her. Why? Help me. As much as she wanted to ask, it took everything she had just to breathe through her nose so as not to choke on her vomit. “Thee. Uh. Tow. Kows.” There was nothing left in Emi’s stomach, but she was assaulted by a wave of nausea so vicious it made the first one seem cute. She didn’t know if she was standing or sitting on the floor. Her head was swimming. Sparks went off in her eyes. Her vision was gone, filled with a bright, blinding light that made her head hurt. That thing appeared, blocking her view of Jan. That woman. Enormous eye sockets that took up half her face. A puny nose and mouth that looked like they had been added as an afterthought. Hands and feet that dangled uselessly. The blinding light was definitely coming from it. Emi suddenly had a terrifying realization. The woman was slowly, slowly tottering closer to her. Go away, she wanted to say, but her mouth only opened and shut like a carp, soundlessly. She somehow managed to use her arms to scramble backward and ended up covered in the slimy puke on the floor. I want to die, she thought. I will go anywhere as long as I don’t have to see that thing anymore. I want to die. That was her only wish. “Don’t think like that.” That was Jan’s voice. It was terribly calm and only unsettled her more. “Why are you thinking that way?” he asked, looking like he genuinely didn’t understand her at all. “It is abnormal that the sight of her makes you ill or want to die.” “Ab…nor…mal… What…is?” Perhaps because of the relief she felt when he talked to her, she finally regained the ability to speak, but her voice trembled pathetically. “You’re the one who discovered her,” Jan declared. The woman was standing right in front of Emi’s eyes. “Now say it.” “Say…what…?” “Say it.” It came from behind her. “Say it.” It came from above her. “Say it.” The voice was not Jan’s. “Say it.” The voice was a woman’s. “Say it.” The voice was a man’s. “Say it.” The voice was a child’s. “Say it.” The voice was an old man’s. “Say it.” Everyone. “Say it.” Prayed for. “Say it.” The woman. “Say it.” A■ gra■a ■le■ Her mouth moved on its own. The woman in front of her smiled. Trails of blood dripped from the gigantic eye sockets. A■ gra■a ■le■ The woman’s eyes squirmed. There lay pleated strands of meat the intricate color of intestinal walls—pale peach, then red, and sometimes the bluish hue of mulberries—a rainbow spectacle. There lay for all to see: truth, love, the innate goodness of man. Emi didn’t know what would be ■ , but there was nothing more precious. Do you know what is the most blessed happiness a woman can experience, the foundation of happiness is in essence that our Lord created man and woman there is only one do you know? A■ gra■a ■le■ blessed art thou among women a■ gra■a ■le■ blessed art thou among women. He shall be great and shall be called the ■ of the Highest. And blessed art thou among women a■ gra■a ■le■ Blessed art thou among women.