Chapter 3

Rumi was in a foul mood. She wasn’t being rude to me or throwing things around, but her theatrical manner of speech was making less of an appearance these days. Furthermore, she usually liked to peruse her collection of cursed artifacts with a grin on her face when she had free time (and here at the Sasaki Agency, we always had free time). However, in the past few days, there had been no sign that she had even opened the box. The cause? (In my opinion, that is.) Thinking about it carefully, her strange behavior hadn’t started in the last two days. Ever since we’d taken on Youta Shimamoto’s case, she had been swamped with work. Most cases had been brought to us by Ms. Izumi, the owner of the multi-tenant building the agency operated from. Rumi had helped Ms. Izumi when she had been haunted by the ghost of a deceased lover who had been unable to move on from his place of death, after which she had become a staunch believer of Rumi Sasaki. Not only was she renting them an entire floor at an absurdly cheap rate, but she also introduced everyone she knew to Rumi. Thanks to her, a good number of women had come calling on their business, but Rumi had driven them away with her sharp tongue. “I am not a fortune teller,” she would say. That was true, but her bad attitude from those meetings generated a slew of negative reviews. Hence the barren state of the Sasaki Agency. However, recently, Rumi had started to voluntarily request work from Ms. Izumi, who was more than happy to send her jobs. Because Ms. Izumi owned several buildings, she was well connected and knew countless cases of that nature, or so she had boasted. Even though Rumi performed the exorcisms, I was the one who did all the administrative work, so I had been drowning in it lately. That may have been why I was slow to realize her unusual behavior. It was ten PM. Rumi returned to the office, yawning. If I remembered correctly, she had gone to see a woman whose room was being visited nightly by someone or something. “Welcome back,” I said. “Sorry to make you wait,” Rumi replied. “You can go home now.” Strange. Usually, whether I asked or not and regardless of the time, she would wax poetic about the case until she was satisfied. I gathered the nerve to talk to her. “Um, isn’t it about time for you to loop me in?” “About what?” she asked lightly. “Did I do something worth you frowning over?” I met her gaze. “Why are you doing so much work?” She seemed ready to play dumb and brush my question off, but seeing the serious expression on my face, she gave up and sighed deeply. “I can’t reach him.” “Who?” “Mr. Ishigami.” Surprised, I checked my phone. Come to think of it, it had been over a month since we had passed off Youta Shimamoto’s case to Ishigami. “It’s already been a month, so we no longer need to compensate him, but this is no time to jump for joy.” “I know, but—” “Yeah, given his personality, it’s weird for him to go off the radar even if he had failed… The last time he contacted me was when he arrived on-site. Since then, I haven’t heard a word.” Rumi sat down on the sofa, twiddling her thumbs restlessly. “That’s why I’ve been taking on commissions left and right.” She fell silent. I pondered what she had said, but I didn’t understand how Ishigami’s probable failure and her large workload were related. “I…still don’t get it. I’m sorry,” I said. Rumi patted the sofa, inviting me to sit. I hesitantly took a seat beside her. She pulled out a tablet from her bag. There was a list of some sort on the screen. “Take a look at this,” she said. XMasayuki Komatsu: A tall high school girl with black hair started visiting him every night right after he went to ■■■. → Resolved. Terminated. XTakashi Wakabayashi: Heard someone crawling on the ceiling and balloons being popped. → Masked palm civet, called animal control services. Saeko Ishida: Friend wouldn’t eat, threw a tantrum when client pointed it out. Attended a strange seminar a few weeks ago. → Client cannot be reached. XNobuyuki Kanazawa: A bloodstain that reappears after washing. Stigmatized property, but no exorcism had been performed. → Contacted Hachiman. XMasako Takamura: Heard the sound of partying every night even though she lives in a corner apartment. → Mental illness suspected. Contacted the nearest mental health clinic. XKyouka Iijima: Someone was putting insects in her food every day. Speculated it was the work of her former best friend, whom she had drifted apart from after marriage. → Archetypal victim of substance abuse. Tsubasa Mizuno: Felt like someone was watching his every move. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but gradually, he started thinking he deserved to be punished. After a series of mistakes at work, he was fired. XRemi Kotani: Pet cat was acting strange. → It was already dead. Contacted the pet cemetery. XKantarou Iwata: His wife often appeared in his dreams. Wanted to know what she was saying. → Not the client’s wife. Resolved. Terminated. XRyouko Ikuta: Strange things started happening around her after her coworker told her an incomprehensible story. Would curse and insult people without realizing it. → Contacted the Pádraig Aoba Church. XHitomi Shiokawa: Was hearing weird noises mixed in with radio broadcasts. They’ve started to sound like voices lately. → Resolved. Terminated. Maimi Murase: Takuma, the client’s son, argued with someone when he was out drunk. The next day, he lost his vision. After consulting the hospital, they were told nothing was abnormal. “Are these…?” I asked. “Yes. I haven’t just been taking any old commissions. They’re all jobs that I hypothesized might be related to our current case—the one about Mr. Shimamoto’s younger sister. There ended up being only a few meaningful ones, though. Those I marked with a circle.” I was speechless. Rumi was thinking and operating two or three steps ahead. She continued. “For the time being, I plan to speak to those clients. I had arranged to meet with one this morning, but I can’t get in contact with her anymore. I even went to her apartment, but her rooms were dark even after night fell. I had no choice but to come back here defeated.” She smiled tiredly. “Why did you…?” My words shook as I wrung them out from my throat. “Why did you do everything alone?” I knew I was taking my frustration out on her, but I couldn’t stop myself. We’d established the agency together. From our student days until now, we had gone out on the field together numerous times. I remembered the first time we solved a case together. My first impression of Rumi had been that she was baffling. Her hair was a crow’s nest, and she was always wearing gray sweats. I didn’t concern myself with appearances, but even I thought she was slovenly. I had talked to her in group settings in the seminar, and it felt like she was the only one from a different dimension. It was only after working with her that I realized her brain worked too quickly for the average person to keep up with. Before that, my friend and I used to refer to her as an alien. In addition, she was a fast talker, and once she started, she wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t just her speech that was fast, either; her movements were, too. Whenever she was done with her work on campus, she would jet off to who knows where as quick as an arrow. I heard from Professor Saitou that she operated a website that examined real incidents through an occult lens, for profit, no less. I looked it up and discovered it was a website so famous that even a layperson like me had heard of it. To me, Rumi was a capable but enigmatic alien, and I stayed away from her. Then one day, I received a private email from her out of the blue. It said, I want to speak with your grandfather. I read through it. The gist was that her friend had been possessed by a demon, and she wanted my help. Most people, particularly in Japan, immediately assume a scam is involved when they see the word demon. My family operated the Pádraig Aoba Church, a Protestant church that performed exorcisms, which was rare for anywhere in the world. People often laughed at me when I brought it up. Nonetheless, demons do exist. They are not merely tales from a fantasy universe. According to the doctrines, simply put, demons are any nonhuman entities that oppose Christ. The Catholic Church even has sanctioned exorcists. My grandfather was not sanctioned by the church, but he was an exorcist. However, he did not merely exorcise every single person who behaved oddly, but instead held proper consultations and referred those who were not possessed to mental health clinics or other experts in the field. He refused all television appearances as well. Rumi was Professor Saitou’s pupil, and Professor Saitou often took TV and magazine jobs. What if, in the worst-case scenario, he used exorcism as material for a summer special, The Souls and Spirits Edition? My grandfather couldn’t stand the idea and initially turned down the request. However, Rumi barged in on him uninvited, swore that she would prove her friend was possessed by a demon, and attempted to call out a demon right in front of his eyes. Naturally, he was outraged and told her to stop. Her mysterious ritual actually invoked a demon (or something like it), and it wrecked the church. I would never forget the disgusting sensation of the demon’s gaze on my back; it felt like worms crawling down my spine. In the end, my grandfather was dragged into the case and cooperated with the exorcism. The rites took time to prepare, so I helped buy time. It put me in quite a bit of danger. Rumi’s possessed friend was a handsome young man with the kind of good looks you rarely even saw on TV anymore. The demon had borrowed his body. Sugared words poured from his lips, tempting me to abandon my faith. I had been a staunch Christian my whole life. But at that moment, I realized how fragile my own faith was. Demons, as per their reputation, were malicious spirits who manipulated the human language and spat atrocities while wearing beautiful faces. Tortured by the demon, I easily discarded my belief in a God who would not come to my aid. I looked into the eyes of the demon. They were as fathomless as space and sucked me in. Before I was devoured completely, Rumi intervened to save my life. I had been completely useless. I was confused and unable to do anything but sob. She embraced me without a word of blame. She’d been my angel ever since. Ironically, my blind devotion to God was slightly diluted by her rescuing me. The demon had not seduced me to throw away my faith entirely. I understood then that a Protestant minister could only do so much to help those in need. Plus, unlike my grandfather, I merely believed in God. I did not have the power to exorcise demons. Though Rumi wasn’t devout, as I watched her, I realized I wanted to help people directly the way she did. Moreover, I discovered that religion could be more than just a place of spiritual support. For the truly faithful, Christianity was an identity. I wanted to be with Rumi more, to get to know her better. I wanted to be strong like she was. She didn’t abandon me. Before I graduated, I asked her, “Will you start a paranormal consulting agency with me?” and she agreed. Together, we solved cases, though they were few in number. Ms. Izumi and Toshihiko, the handsome man from the demon possession incident, provided us with cases once in a while. Thanks to them, we made enough to feed ourselves, if barely. The cursed Okinawan island. The haunted house in Ehime Prefecture. A family that was cursed such that the wife of the eldest son would always die. The cases we handled weren’t always those sorts of supernatural incidents; sometimes they arose from quarrels between humans. In any case, I tried to keep up with Rumi the best I could. She always looked like she was enjoying herself. Five years had passed since we’d met. I thought we’d built an equitable relationship. Ultimately, Rumi decided everything and anything by herself. It was as if she was telling me I was no use at all. “I’m sorry,” Rumi apologized in a meek tone I had never heard from her before. “But I didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.” “I’m not a child.” I gripped her hand. “I may not be as knowledgeable as you, and I’m not strong, either. I’m sure you could find a more proficient candidate for the administrative work as well. Even so, we…we’re partners…,” I said impulsively. My voice shook at the end, pathetically quiet. “You might have become a little too important to me,” she mumbled, as though she needed to hear the words herself. I was elated to hear that from Rumi, whom I respected, but only momentarily. Then I remembered: Her pet theory was that evil spirits liked beautiful things (and considering how handsome the victim of the exorcism incident had been, she wasn’t mistaken, either). Every now and then, she would use me—or a person who was more attractive than me, if one was available—as bait. Since I’d always admired her proactiveness, I never complained. Though if I were to scrutinize things, you could say she didn’t treat others as people. Sure, she would never fail to save me in the end, but this arrangement had put my life at risk many times over. But then, about a year ago, she had stopped using the bait-and-trap tactic. In fact, she stopped bringing me into the field almost entirely. That was why I had been putting all my efforts into promoting the business… I hadn’t realized until she said it herself. I’ve become too important. To Rumi, I wasn’t an office clerk who was of limited use, but someone to protect. Given my own powerlessness, it might have been inevitable. Nevertheless, frustration and shame welled up inside me. “Instead of you treating me as someone in need of protection, I want you to let me help,” I said, before adding quickly, “I want to be important to you, too, though.” Rumi smiled softly and took a deep breath before saying with newfound resolve, “We’re dealing with a hell of a case this time around. You’ve looked out for me and stuck by me all this time, and I didn’t want to involve you. But…you have stuck by me.” She squeezed my hand back. Realizing we had been holding hands the entire time, I quickly withdrew mine. She laughed at seeing me flustered. My skin was pale, so I blushed to the tips of my ears. I was well aware of this, since people teased me about it occasionally. I tried to hide my embarrassment and pull away, but Rumi stopped me. She pointed to the tablet. “Now that we’re in agreement, let’s get straight to business. I’ll need your help tomorrow. I was going to visit Ms. Ishida today, but she was a dead end, so…let’s go see Mr. Mizuno and Mrs. Murase.” “Got it!” I replied with enthusiasm. I renewed my determination to avoid dragging her down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her staring at me. Taxi Driver Tsubasa Mizuno’s Account I work as a taxi driver. That night, I had a pickup request, so I went to the specified location…only for the client to cancel on me. Of course, I would still get compensated by the company for going out there, but the time I spent on the road was wasted, you know? I was a little pissed off. So basically…my driving got reckless. I couldn’t help it. I know. I know, I know… For trash like me to dare get irritated at good folks and to drive poorly because of it… It’s inexcusable. And then…there was another car turning right that forced me to step on the brakes… I hated the idea of letting them cut ahead of me. My behavior was unacceptable, I know. When I stopped, the other car did, too. It didn’t seem like the driver was going to get out. It was late at night, so it was extremely quiet, and there was no one around, you see. That was why I decided to get out, too. The other car was from an expensive-looking foreign manufacturer. I was worried about how things would turn out if they were from the yakuza, but I couldn’t back down. My suspicion was wrong, in any case. Two young people got out of the rear seat. The driver made no move to exit. I’m a coward and a wretched human being, so when I saw the two, I thought, I can take them. I caught up and threatened them. And one of them said back to me, “You pitiful thing.” They were against the light, and I couldn’t see the person’s face, but their calm tone angered me. I grabbed them. What happened next was, let’s see, they held up three fingers, just like this—the index, middle, and ring fingers—or it looked like three. They brought their hand to their lips… “Anatematarubeshi.” That’s what they said. It’s unfamiliar to me, so I could’ve heard wrong. The moment they said that, my vision swam, and my legs gave out. I crouched down and puked right there. The two of them didn’t do anything but watch me, I think. Gender? Hmm…I don’t know. The light was behind them, but I should have been able to tell by their voice… I remember they were beautiful. Completely different from trash like me. After I vomited my guts out…I didn’t have any desire to argue with them anymore. In fact, I wanted to apologize, or…I wanted to die. That’s right. I wanted to die. I still feel that way. But they had disappeared. The car was gone, too. It wasn’t an electric vehicle or anything. No matter how badly I was puking, I should’ve heard the car driving away… I couldn’t stay there forever, and the traffic started to increase. Somehow I managed to drive home… But since that day… …I’ve been hearing a voice in my head. It happens whenever I think about running a red light or driving a little faster. It’s not just at work, either. The other day, I heard it when a convenience store clerk talked to me. What do I hear? I can’t explain it very well, but…basically the voice tells me how insignificant my existence is. Messages to be grateful for. I think those two are probably watching me. Does it bother me? I guess…it did until recently. I nearly got into a few accidents, and my job told me not to come anymore. But what a joyful thing it is to be watching all the time. The only path left to me is to die, after all. I’m worthless. Human scum. My existence itself is a nuisance, you see. The fact that I’m being watched means I am forcing my betters to watch me. Do you think it is permissible for garbage to demand such labor? If I die, my benefactors’ burdens will probably decrease slightly. Probably. Then even a good-for-nothing like me will have done something good. That’s how I feel. Yes. I’m sorry, terribly sorry to have bothered you. Yes, you don’t have to worry about me. I will die. Housewife Maimi Murase’s Account (Lives with Her Son, Takuma) Maybe it’s because his father passed away early… I tried to raise my son with love, but he’s a problem child… That’s an understatement. That’s right. He might be what society would call a “thug.” He does have a criminal record… Bodily injury, theft, then there’s extortion and fraud. That’s right. Maybe I raised him wrong. I’m sorry… Back to what happened that day. I was told he was drinking on the streets with his no-good friends as usual and was quite drunk. My son is particularly violent when he’s drunk… He’ll even raise his hand against me. That’s why I’m positive it was one hundred percent his fault. Someone bumped into him. Really, both parties should have apologized, and that would have been the end of it, but my son is incapable of that. I think he tried to punch the other person, though he insists it was out of legitimate self-defense. He’s physically strong and good at fighting, so normally, the other person ends up in tatters… However, this time, they dodged him somehow and said to him, “You pitiful thing,” in a mocking tone. What did they look like? Hmm, my son isn’t sure, apparently. Initially, he said it was a young woman, but after a while, he started saying it was a man… They were shorter than my son, but that’s all. Most people are, so it isn’t very helpful. Sorry. After that, my son tried to punch them again. The other person mumbled some sort of incantation, and suddenly, my son couldn’t see anymore. At first, he said he thought there had been a power outage. He panicked and lashed out, and someone called the police on him. I’ve been used to it since he was young. Picking him up from the police, that is. But I had never seen my son so frail. He kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and he was shaking. I took him to the hospital, and the doctor patiently calmed him down. Only then did he tell us what happened. In the end, they couldn’t find out why he couldn’t see, but they suspected it was because of drug use, so they had him take a urine test. It makes sense given his prior record. But even after he settled down, his head feels like it’s going to split open every time he thinks about the incantation, he told me. When that happens, he relapses and starts repeating “I’m sorry” and “I’m going to be killed” like a robot. It’s been a month, but his condition is the same. That’s why I’m afraid I couldn’t let you meet him in person. I apologize. Yes, the doctor asked me the same thing. He wanted to know about the person who recited the incantation, since it’s likely they have something to do with my son’s blindness, as nonsensical as it all sounds. The police are also tentatively investigating the incident. But I think things are fine the way they are. I haven’t felt so at ease since Takuma was a baby. He can’t do anything without me. He even needs my help to go to the bathroom, so violence is out of the question. The other day, when we were eating together—or more accurately, when I was feeding him—he started crying and said, “Thank you.” Thank you. He said that. This is the first time I’ve enjoyed spending time with my son. Huh? You want to know why I contacted you? I wanted to thank that person. In the beginning, I wanted Takuma’s eyes to recover, but…but if he can see again, he’ll just end up…you know. Please find the person who recited the incantation. I want to give them my thanks, of course, but I also want to learn the incantation. “What do you think about these two stories?” Rumi asked while scattering sandwich crumbs all over the low table in the coffee shop. Usually, Aoyama would have scolded her for making a mess or talking while eating. However, since they were at her family’s store, he couldn’t say anything. Her mother, who looked exactly like Rumi but dressed in frilly, girlie clothing, was watching them with a smile. “What do I think…? Um, they do seem related,” Aoyama said. He wanted to be useful, since he’d sworn he would help, but he could only agree weakly with Rumi. “They both committed a wrongdoing… In Mr. Mizuno’s case, it was reckless driving. In Mr. Murase’s case, it was violence. And they were punished for their transgressions. Also, for some reason, they were pitied. The other party in both of their stories called them a ‘pitiful thing’… So the other party might be the same person.” “Right, right. And that person chanted some mysterious incantation in both stories. That’s another similarity.” Rumi nodded satisfactorily. She had chosen the commissions based on which ones she thought were related to Youta Shimamoto’s case, but Aoyama didn’t understand her criteria. “But an incantation might be too weak of a link,” Aoyama said. “Of course, that’s not all. Thanks to Mr. Mizuno, we now know that the incantation—or part of it, at least—is the same. That proves that we’re dealing with the same person or that they belong to the same organization, don’t you think?” “The incantation is the same…?” he parroted. Rumi cheerfully continued. “According to Mr. Shimamoto, Jan, the enigmatic young man he met, said something that started with anate. In his case, driven by instinct, he ran away before hearing the whole thing. I’m sure that if he had stayed behind, he would have suffered the same fate as Mr. Mizuno and Mr. Murase.” Anatematarubeshi. She typed the phrase on her tablet. “I’m surprised you remembered…,” Aoyama said. They had listened to the two clients’ accounts just recently, but of Youta’s story, he could remember only broad strokes. The gulf between him and Rumi was depressingly large. He sighed deeply. “The beshi seems to be some kind of imperative form. The phrase sounds Japanese, but anatemataru… I have no idea what it means at this point. It could even be that Mr. Mizuno misheard. But the incantations are the same up through anate. Don’t you think that’s worth investigating?” Unlike Aoyama, Rumi was excited. She loved solving puzzles. Her eyes twinkled. To begin with, was anatematarubeshi supposed to be read as anate mataru beshi or ana tema taru beshi or what? Whatever it was, the phrase must have some connection to Suwa Grand Shrine. Aoyama had majored in theology. Needless to say, he had studied Christianity as a whole and the Bible in detail, but the curriculum had also touched on the English, Latin, and Aramaic languages. It had only been in brief, so he wasn’t an expert by any means. Nonetheless, he might be able to help Rumi from a linguistics standpoint, or so he was thinking. “The other thing that piques my interest is the uncompromising, didactic nature of Mr. Mizuno’s and Mr. Murase’s punishments. The chanter may be a regular Dirty Harry,” Rumi said. “Who’s Dirty Harry?” Aoyama asked, feeling pathetic as he once again parroted her words. “It’s a nickname associated with Harry Callahan, who’s the protagonist of a western film from the seventies called Dirty Harry. Originally, Harry kills villains in the name of justice, but…in time, he becomes convinced he is the enforcer of justice and begins to personally judge who is right and wrong. The archetype describes our perpetrator perfectly.” Aoyama nodded without speaking. It was true that Mr. Mizuno and Mr. Murase both were guilty of wrongdoings, but punishing them with suicidal thoughts and blindness was obviously going too far. “But…is there anyone in the world who can do such things?” he asked. It was a natural question. Among the cases he had accompanied Rumi on, there were examples of humans harming other humans. Ikiryou were the disembodied spirits of the living. They were often stronger than shiryou, the spirits of the dead. The target of an ikiryou’s malice usually grew weak, sometimes to the brink of death (but Rumi did say they were easier to deal with than shiryou). However, he had never seen a flesh-and-blood person do the kind of damage they were seeing in this current case to another human being. They had witnessed incidents where con artists had brainwashed and manipulated their victims using smooth words, but… Observing a target around the clock and speaking to them in their mind to drive them into despair sounded impossible, to say nothing of causing them to go blind. Any person who could do such things was surely— “There are people are capable of that,” Rumi said, before Aoyama could throw out the words not human. “Who?” he asked. “Uncle Ishigami,” she answered promptly. “What? Really?” “Yes. He’s not your average person. Since he operates completely out of goodwill, he wouldn’t resort to violence, though.” “But that means there are others like Mr. Ishigami…that it wouldn’t be impossible for there to be people who can make others do whatever they want using incantations or whatnot.” Rumi nodded. Aoyama asked a question that had been eating at him this whole time. “Um, how did you pick which cases to take? Mr. Mizuno’s and Mr. Murase’s cases certainly resemble each other, but the others seem like they could be loosely related, too.” “Instinct,” she answered, gulping down the rest of her coffee. He wanted to ask what she meant in more detail, but before he could, Rumi’s mother came over with generous slices of cake. “Rumi, Kouki, that’s enough of the serious talk. Take a break and eat some sweets!” Rumi pounced on the cakes gleefully. Aoyama felt like their conversation had been cut short to an extent. Rumi scarfed down the cake, the chocolate smearing around her mouth, as she mumbled quietly, “The best outcome would be if Uncle Ishigami ends up reaching out to me and making my work irrelevant, though.” He smiled and wiped her face with a wet wipe, thinking about how kind she was. A classy Western song was playing in the café. He felt relaxed listening to the high, laid-back voice of the female singer. According to Rumi, the shop had been operating for a long time, but they were diligent about cleaning, and both the floors and the walls seemed spotless. He glanced around to find that there were almost no other customers, even though the shop had been packed a short while ago. Save for a woman sitting on the terrace, Aoyama, Rumi, and her mother, who was in the kitchen, were the only ones around. It happened soon after Rumi went to the bathroom. The black phone in the store rang. He had assumed it was merely decorative, but apparently, it was still operational. The brrriiiinnnggg of the phone in the quiet space was quite grating on the ears, and strangely, there were no signs of Rumi or her mother coming out to get it. “Um. The phone’s ringing,” Aoyama said hesitantly. There was no response. The phone continued to ring. It was extremely loud. Violently so. I might as well answer it. I’ll just pick up and ask why they’re calling. I help out here sometimes, so it’s not as if I’m a complete stranger, Aoyama reasoned as he reached for the receiver. “Don’t pick up.” He instinctively dropped the receiver he had begun to lift. Rumi’s voice was frostier than it had ever been. The call cut off when the phone fell back into its cradle. “Why not?” he asked. The phone rang again, interrupting him. This time, it wasn’t only the black one that was ringing, but the landline in the kitchen and the extension on the counter, too. Even his and Rumi’s cell phones were going off. Rumi picked up her own phone and pressed the call button. “Hello?” said a voice from the other end. She hadn’t switched it to speakerphone, but the voice was perfectly clear. “…Mr. Ishigami,” she said. “It’s been a while since we last spoke. You seem well, Rumi,” Ishigami said in the same gentle tone from when they had met in the family restaurant. Nonetheless, to Aoyama, it felt like someone had pulled his cochlea from his ear and was scraping it roughly. The voice was horribly unpleasant. He felt nauseated. “Mr. Ishigami,” Rumi repeated. “I called because it seemed like you were both together.” “Mr. Ishigami.” “Say. Tell me why. I pulled it off, so why didn’t you contact me?” For a while, Rumi stood stock-still. She was biting on her lips and trembling. Aoyama realized then that as easygoing and levelheaded as Rumi was, there was no way she wouldn’t be afraid in a situation like the one they were in. He steeled himself and said, “M-Mr. Ishigami. You were the one who didn’t pick up.” “Aoyama!” Rumi cried reproachfully, trying to cut him off. However, it was already too late. “If it isn’t Aoyama. You trying to be brave? You are with the person you adore, after all. You wanted to show her your cool side, right? How noble.” Aoyama’s face instantly grew hot. Panic settled in, and his words caught in his throat. As he hesitated over what to say, Ishigami spoke again, the harsh, rough edge in his voice growing even more grating. “It seems like you’ve been sniffing around. I’ve noticed. Why don’t you come out and meet with me directly instead of sneaking about?” Rumi slowly pulled a memo pad from her bag and wrote something on it. She lifted it up and showed it to Aoyama. ask him pulled what off Ask him, “Pulled what off?” His voice shaking, Aoyama asked, “What did you pull off?” Ishigami snickered. Even the sound of his breathing was distressing. “Understanding God. I have been learning. Every day I have been learning. As a result, I have stumbled upon the most marvelous realization. I have come to be acquainted with God.” “God… I thought you worshipped the Ser-Serpent…” “Ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Ishigami howled so piercingly it seemed like his vocal cords had exploded. It was a scornful kind of laughter. “You would exalt a lowly creature like a snake?” From behind Ishigami came the sound of a crowd of men and women laughing. Every one of them was mocking Aoyama. “Snakes may be clever, but that’s all. They do not offer solace, not even in one’s final moments! Pathetic! The idea of worshipping such a pitiful creature—” Before they heard Ishigami to the end, Rumi jammed the hang-up button. Even then, Ishigami continued speaking, and the masses continued laughing. Aoyama didn’t know where it was coming from, but he could hear Ishigami loudly singing off-key. “Hand. In hand. You. And me. That’s. What makes. Us ha. Py.” The fluorescent lights burst in time to the clapping. Glass scattered all over the floor, and fine shards cut Aoyama’s skin. Ishigami kept on singing, repeating like a broken record, “Hand in hand. You and me. That’s what makes us happy.” “Okay,” Rumi said in a firm voice without any trace of fear. “We’ll pay you a visit soon. That will satisfy you, I presume.” “We’ll be waiting.” Then the line finally went dead. No…that wasn’t quite right, since the call had already been dropped. In any case, Ishigami’s unpleasant voice and the raucous laughter coming from all directions was gone. Aoyama collapsed on the sofa. His heart was still racing. It was pathetic to admit, but he didn’t think he would be able to stand. He heard a shnick and looked over to find Rumi lighting a cigarette. She averted her gaze. She filled her lungs with the smoke before breathing it all out. It stung his eyes, and he blinked repeatedly. “Sorry. Just one,” Rumi said. Aoyama teared up and choked on the smoke, but he nodded anyway. Rumi had gone through the same experience as him. He detested cigarettes, but he would make an exception this time. After a while, they heard the sound of footsteps, and Rumi’s mother came out from behind the counter. She looked around in bewilderment at the scattered glass shards and the disastrous state of the shop’s interior. “Huh? This is awful. What happened? Everything is a mess. I’m so sorry about all of this. Are you all right?” she asked. “Yes, Ms. Sasaki…,” Aoyama said. “Did you not…?” She looked at him with worry. The piercing ring of the black phone, Ishigami’s booming voice, and the smashing of the glass from the lights on the floor had been far from quiet. Despite that, Rumi’s mother hadn’t come out at all. It wasn’t because she had been afraid, but rather because she hadn’t noticed. Even at the moment, she was merely surprised at the havoc. That meant she might have been unaffected by Ishigami’s eerie powers. Aoyama felt a touch of relief. “Never mind. Um, it’s nothing. Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get this cleaned up right away,” Rumi’s mother said. “I’ll help,” he offered. Seeming blind to Aoyama and her mom, who were happily cleaning, Rumi puffed on her cigarette with a conflicted look on her face. She didn’t even notice when the ash fell on her knee and singed her clothing. After Aoyama finished sweeping up the scattered glass, he sat back down in front of Rumi. She looked him right in the eye. When he glanced away instinctively, her gaze followed his. “I won’t apologize for getting you involved,” she said. When he heard her say those words, his heart warmed as if a beam of sunlight were falling on him. She was respecting his wishes for her to treat him like an equal. “But I want to make sure of one thing: Will you really come with me to the place where that monster is?” she asked. “Monster…? Sure, he was acting a little strange, but that was still Mr. Ishi—” “Mr. Ishigami no longer exists,” she interjected. “I don’t mean he is dead. However, we will not see him again.” “That can’t be…,” he said hesitantly. She ignored him. “You heard him, too. A lowly creature like the snake, he said. He has already thrown away his faith.” “But even if he has, it’s still him, no? We might still be able to save him,” he insisted, hanging on to hope. “Isn’t it too early to say we won’t see him again…?” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but that was no longer Mr. Ishigami. We might not have even been talking to a person but some other kind of being altogether. For some…throwing away your faith is the same as throwing away your existence as a human being. He’s the same as Mr. Mizuno and Mr. Murase now.” “She’s right. It’s all over. Just give up.” Aoyama saw her the same time he heard the voice. Long hair clinging around her arms. It belonged to the woman who had been sitting on the terrace. Wrong. Not a woman. She had Ishigami’s face. Only the neck had been swapped for the slender neck of a woman. The aberration grinned from ear to ear. “Cock-a-kroh.” That was when Aoyama blacked out. Aoyama opened his eyes to the sensation of something cool against his face. The first thing he saw was Rumi. “You’re awake.” She smiled, relieved. He scrambled to sit up and swiveled to look around him. The sight that met his eyes was the usual shop interior. “It’s okay. That woman is gone,” Rumi said. Aoyama touched his forehead and discovered the source of the cold feeling. It was a cooling gel sheet. “You had a fever, so I put it on you just in case,” she explained. “Thank you,” he said. He shakily rose to his feet, but he immediately felt dizzy and had to sit back down. “You should sleep,” Rumi said. “Are you…?” “You must have taken it hard, since you saw the woman head-on… I’m all right. I didn’t see her face.” “That wasn’t a woman.” Aoyama remembered Ishigami’s smirk, and his headache seemed to worsen. “It had Mr. Ishigami’s face… It was like only its face had been swapped out.” Rumi sank into silence, thinking. After a while, she opened her mouth. “I feel like I’m beginning to understand, but I still don’t completely.” “Amazing. I don’t understand anything at all.” The corners of her mouth lifted into a self-deprecating smile. “You’re too kind… Anyway, there’s no point spinning our wheels about this. We’ve got to get our blood pumping.” “Are we going now?” Aoyama somehow managed to raise his throbbing head and meet her gaze. “Yes. We’ve accepted their declaration of war, so we have no choice. Plus, while you were sleeping, I was sent a further invitation.” Rumi glued herself to his side, supporting him, and showed him her tablet. Subject: Hello. My name is Rumi Sasaki. Dear Ms. Emi Shimamoto, My name is Rumi Sasaki. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was college classmates with your brother, Youta, and I currently work as a consultant. Youta is extremely worried about your physical condition and behavior. He asks for you to contact him. This might be overstepping, but I think there might be matters about which you cannot ask your brother. I may not be much help, but as one woman to another, please let me know if there is anything worrying you. Of course, I will not speak of anything you share with me to anyone else, including Youta. I look forward to your reply at your convenience. Rumi Sasaki Subject: Re: Hello. My name is Rumi Sasaki. Dear Ms. Rumi Sasaki, I’ve received your email. Thank you for your concern. I don’t know what you heard from my brother, but I don’t have anything to say to him. I have no concerns or questions for you, either. However, there is someone I would like to introduce you to. Please come and visit. We’ll be waiting. “I sent an email immediately after we took on Mr. Shimamoto’s request, and the reply only came now,” Rumi said. “We’re being summoned. No doubt about it.” “Then that means Emi is already…,” Aoyama said. “In the thick of it, most likely, though I don’t know if she is completely gone, the way Mr. Ishigami is… But the fact that she replied suggests there’s a possibility we could still talk with her, unlike in Mr. Ishigami’s case. If we can at least do that, we might be able to take her back. However, if it was actually the mastermind who sent the email, not Emi, we’re done for,” she said quickly without pausing for breath. Aoyama was relieved to hear her prattle on. It seemed she had regained her equilibrium. “There’s no use thinking about it now. I agree that we should meet with her, but…if someone as remarkable as Mr. Ishigami failed, will she be all right?” he asked. Rumi didn’t answer his amateurish question. “Our general approach is on the right track, I believe. The animal symbols are from Suwa Grand Shrine’s Ontou Festival, and the frogs are related to the Frog-Hunting Ritual… And the utterance from that woman in the café, cock-a-kroh, is…reminiscent of the Three Cock Crows. The same applies to the mimicry of the frog croak Mr. Shimamoto heard.” “Hold on. That’s an entirely different subject… What’s a ‘cock crow’?” “Simply put, it’s when a Shinto priest imitates a rooster crowing to symbolize the herald of the dawn. Ise Shrine begins its ceremonies with the Three Cock Crows. Suwa Grand Shrine does, too, of course. Cock-a-doodle-doo said three times loud. But I heard cock-a-kroh from the woman. It’s probably the same idea, though, so—” Rumi grew more and more excited as she spoke, her words coming out faster and faster. Aoyama had to interject again. “What are you trying to say?” “We’re on the right track. The person who’s manipulating people with that strange incantation and has even made a play for us is definitely building on top of these rituals—the religious ceremonies from Suwa Grand Shrine. However, I don’t know why Mr. Ishigami failed.” “Doesn’t that just mean our opponents are quite formidable?” Rumi shook her head. “Suwa Grand Shrine and Mr. Ishigami both worship the Serpent. If they follow the same faith, then why did our opponents force Mr. Ishigami to throw away his beliefs and supplant them with new ones? That’s the question. That’s why I think my deduction may be wrong.” At that moment, Aoyama finally saw an opportunity for him to help. Feeling slightly pleased internally, he said, “Within the same religion, there are often different branches. It’s true of Buddhism, and even more so of Christianity.” “Are there cases when the branches worship different gods?” she asked. He could not respond. There were polytheistic religions, to be sure, but the followers of the various branches of Christianity, including Protestantism, all worshipped God the Father. “I am worried. I can’t promise everything will work out. It’s terrifying to not understand the underlying cause, but I’ll do what I can…,” Rumi said. Don’t worry. I’ll be right there with you. Aoyama wished he could reassure her. Afterward, the two packed their belongings without another word. The facility was in the middle of a dense and wild forest, just like Youta Shimamoto had said. There was only a single road leading up the hill to where the building was situated. It was wide enough to accommodate cars, but Rumi and Aoyama had their taxi drop them off at the bottom of the hill and continued up on foot. Tall canes of bamboo loomed over them, blocking out the sun. The road seemed like a tunnel. The building was farther away than it looked because the road twisted and turned. Aoyama felt like they were walking through a never-ending corridor. Rumi normally talked his head off in situations like this one, and her silence was making Aoyama despondent. “If we’d known how long a walk it was, we should’ve had the driver take us up the hill,” he commented in a forced bright tone, but Rumi, who was ahead of him, didn’t respond. It felt like an hour or two had passed, when really it must not have been more than ten minutes. All of a sudden, the bamboo tunnel opened up. In front of them was the modern, raw concrete building. It was sizable up close. It certainly seemed like it could house a crowd. The building made for a bizarre sight in the middle of the woods. The strangeness was amplified by the greenhouse around it, which was filled with a countless number of lilies. “Greetings. Thank you for coming all the way out here,” someone said from behind them. The voice was serene. It was like spring sunshine filtering through the trees. Aoyama turned around to see a pale man who had an air of serenity around him. He was smiling. “Hello,” Aoyama said. “Please come this way,” the man said. “Coffee or black tea. Which would you prefer?” “Thank you for the offer… I’ll have the black tea. What about you, Rumi?” Aoyama asked. “Oh, we can sit down before you decide,” the man said. “I also have donuts the siblings made themselves. I hope they’ll be to your liking.” “I can’t wait.” They followed the man with the pleasant smile through the glass house of lilies and entered the building. Judging from the exterior, Aoyama had imagined the interior would have an open atrium like an art museum, but the inside was more like a school with rooms lined up in a row. It was hard to imagine that it contained communal sleeping and bathing spaces the way Youta had described. The man walked past the classroom-like rooms and proceeded deeper into the building quickly. Aoyama didn’t have time to peek into them as he trotted to keep up with the man. They came to an emergency door at the end of the hall. The man gestured them forward and opened it. On the other side was a gorgeous garden situated on an overlook. It also had a view of the ocean. Because of the dark slope they had walked to get to the facility, Aoyama had completely forgotten that they were by the shore. The ocean wasn’t the only remarkable thing. Flowers of every color, not just the lilies from the greenhouse, were in resplendent but elegant bloom. Situated in the garden were several tables with parasols and chairs. It was the perfect picture of a wealthy family’s teatime that every person must have imagined at least once. Aoyama and Rumi sat down as directed, and a good-looking woman appeared with a cart, on top of which were two pots that must have contained the coffee and black tea, and triangular pastries, which were probably the donuts the man had mentioned earlier. “You have good timing. Today is Marty Crawl,” the man said. “You don’t say,” Aoyama remarked. He felt an inexplicable happiness when he looked at the man, who was smiling next to him. When you see a person who is overflowing with joy, that joy spreads so that you, too, feel your spirits lift. Basking in that contentment, Aoyama thanked his host for the food and reached for a donut. Rumi batted his hand aside. She was staring at the man with eyes frosted over with ice. “Who are you?” she demanded. A chill ran down Aoyama’s spine. He finally became conscious of the presence of the man sitting across from him. Until now, he had forgotten what they had come to achieve. The man had spoken to them with no warning, shown them to the garden, and offered them refreshments. Even though they hadn’t announced when they would be coming, he was treating them as if they knew one another. Now that Aoyama thought about it, nothing about this made sense. But he hadn’t questioned the series of events at all until Rumi had slapped away his hand. “I just want to be friends.” Without dropping his smile, the man gestured at Rumi and said, “You, in particular, seem capable of the remarkable.” “Who are you?” Rumi asked again, her expression still chilly. “I do not want to be friends with you. I have business with her.” She got up and walked in front of the woman who had brought in the cart. The woman ducked to hide in the man’s shadow, a scared expression on her face. “Do not pressure her.” The man stood as if to protect the woman from Rumi. “I am doing no such thing. We only came to bring her back…to bring you back, Ms. Emi Shimamoto.” The woman—Emi Shimamoto—jumped at her name. Rumi said heatedly, “You must have realized something isn’t right.” The man looked at Rumi and sighed deeply. “Why do you assume you are the only one in the right? Why are you incapable of considering others’ feelings? Emi is here of her own volition. Outsiders like you and her family are ignoring what she wants.” “Shut up,” Rumi said, cutting him off. “Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly what your intentions are, but I know they’re nothing good. But that’s not important. I have absolutely no interest in you.” She directed her words behind him. “I understand that religion can be a place of spiritual support. However, you must choose carefully what to believe in. This man is no different from the people who have hurt you in the past.” Aoyama didn’t understand what was happening, stupefied by the tension. He had practically become a statue in his chair. He couldn’t follow the conversation. He had found the man’s smile so pleasant a minute ago, but now he only felt like the man was scheming something. More importantly, there was Emi. What had she been hurt by? From what Rumi was saying and the man’s detached demeanor, Aoyama suspected that the man was Jan, the person who had poisoned Emi and potentially Mr. Ishigami. It was likely he had also caused taxi driver Mr. Mizuno’s suicidal thoughts and Takuma Murase’s blindness. Now that he’d seen Jan in person, Aoyama understood. The man was capable of such feats. And yet. How strange. Why didn’t he hate Jan? The man had slipped up behind them and taken them through the facility without raising any alarms. Despite how eerie he was, Aoyama didn’t feel any hatred for him. That in itself was terrifying. Jan could do anything, and no one would find it strange, Aoyama realized. Moreover, Rumi was facing him, with all his incomprehensible powers, alone. Fortunately, Jan was shorter than Aoyama, who was not particularly tall himself, so it didn’t seem like he would lose a contest of strength. All he could do was become a wall of meat to protect Rumi. “What do you know?” The words were so quiet they seemed to fade into nothing. Emi Shimamoto was trembling, but a strong light shone in her eyes. She was glaring fiercely at Rumi. “I bet y-you…have never wanted to die. Spent day after day hating, hating that you’re alive. You’ve never thought that an ugly liar is better off dead. You grew up loved by friends and a variety of people. It’s the same even now. What do you mean you want to take me back? That’s your job, right? Why bring a cute guy with you on your assignment? You’re flaunting your happiness. That’s what I think. You can tell just by looking. He won’t betray you. He’ll always, always love you. But I—I…I’ve never had anyone. No one believed me. I know, I know. I know it’s because I’m disgusting and I’m a liar. But I hate being alone. I hate it. No more. Never.” “It’s all right,” Jan said, folding Emi up in his arms. “I will pluck out all the thorns that hurt you so.” He stood in front of her like a bird protecting its chick. His gentle smile from earlier was gone. “Emi, are you really okay with the way things are?” Rumi asked Emi, ignoring Jan entirely. Suddenly, Jan stretched his hand toward Rumi and asked, “Are you two the viper’s spawn?” Aoyama quickly slapped Jan’s hand away. He’d used more power than he had intended. The blow was loud, and Jan’s hand jerked through the air. The next words out of his mouth were an apology. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he said immediately. Now that he really thought about it, it occurred to Aoyama that although his opponent was male, Jan was a teenager or possibly even a middle schooler. The tense atmosphere and Jan’s air of danger had stoked Aoyama’s hostility, but if he was hounding a boy who was physically weaker than himself, who was the real villain here? Their assumption that Jan had brainwashed Ishigami and snatched Emi away was just that: an assumption. Jan had spoken to them with composure in a gentle tone, but in return, Aoyama had… I’ve lost perspective. Let’s discuss this calmly, Aoyama thought. “It appears you are a good man,” Jan said, looking straight into Aoyama’s eyes. Aoyama didn’t overlook the softening in Jan’s attitude. “Yes. We have no ill will. We only want to talk to Emi. Her family is worried.” Jan nodded. Talking it out had been the right decision. “That means you must be possessed by an evil spirit,” Jan said. Aoyama was dumbfounded. Jan laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Please do not be concerned. If you work hard, you will be rewarded.” “What do you…?” While Aoyama was racking his brain for a response, an arm shot out from beside him. Rumi had grabbed Emi’s shoulder, perhaps intending to drag the crouching girl away. Just as he processed what he was seeing, he heard a voice. “Venideomine.” All of a sudden, he was struck with a pain like his body had been run through with a skewer. His head spun. Blood seemed to stream from his eyes. At the edge of his flickering vision, he saw Jan. The other man was holding three raised fingers to his lips. That was the only moment he saw Jan clearly. Aoyama’s body rose to stand, disregarding his own volition, and spun to turn away from Jan. The person walking directly beside him was most likely Rumi, though since he couldn’t move even a single finger freely, he couldn’t check. If she was in the same condition— Aoyama resisted desperately, but it was useless. His body moved forward step by step. Ahead of him was the ocean. There was no fence, only a sheer cliff. He wanted to scream. He was afraid to die. If he fell from where they were— “Good-bye! The next time we meet, I hope you shall produce fruits that are worthy!” Fruits that are worthy. The words triggered a faint memory in Aoyama, but… …His body was already airborne. As if the ocean were sucking in him, he fell. “He is beyond my capabilities,” Rumi said without hesitation. Aoyama was shaking. He nodded feebly. He felt the same way. The two of them had plummeted into the sea, though they’d managed to avoid hitting the precipitous rock face, escaping certain doom. However, they did slam against the surface of the water. The physical damage was severe, but the impact brought them back to themselves. They regained control over their bodies again. Otherwise, they would have drowned no matter how much they struggled. They likely wouldn’t have been noticed by the man walking his dog, either. Their rescuer, Mr. Nagata, was a very kind person. He’d brought them back to his home where he lived with his wife, let them borrow their bath, and sat them down for a scolding while their clothes were drying. Before the land had been bought up by Moriya Foods, it had been a desolate patch of woods. In the past, the local youths used to dive off the cliff into the ocean as a test of courage. The tradition continued even after Moriya Foods bought the land. There were accidents on occasion where the divers suffered major injuries, so the area was now strictly off-limits. Influenced by those bitter memories, Mr. Nagata had assumed Rumi and Aoyama were YouTubers and lectured them harshly, saying he hoped they had learned their lesson and wouldn’t try the stunt twice. They could hardly argue back considering that he had just saved them, so the two of them sat quietly wrapped in their towels for nearly an hour, pretending to reflect obediently on their behavior. However, Aoyama’s mind was filled with fear. The fear from not having been able to move a finger. He hadn’t even been able to fill his lungs with air. The memory of the horrible pain that had lanced through his body clung to his brain. Ve ni de o mi ne. That was what he thought he had heard, but he didn’t know if that was right. Jan had been relaxed. His voice had been almost joyful. Ve ni de o mi ne. Aoyama had no desire to hear it a second time. Just remembering it made his insides ache. Once Rumi took on a job, she saw it through to the end, no matter the risk it put her in. This was the first time she was thinking about pulling out, and he didn’t blame her. Evil spirits, demons, even deities—as long as one knew what they were dealing with, there was always a way. But this time—their opponent, the man called Jan, was human. They had, in fact, once taken one other case where a flesh-and-blood human had been behind the paranormal phenomenon they were investigating. It was several years ago and happened in a movie theater; several of the moviegoers had lost consciousness in the middle of a film and woken up to find their belongings gone. The culprit had been a man who possessed a minor psychic ability to make people fall asleep. That being said, his power was very limited. It required him to be extremely close to his target and whisper the command “Sleep,” so he had been easy to deal with. They reported him to the police. Needless to say, the police wouldn’t have believed them if they had claimed that the man had supernatural powers, so they set up a camera and obtained incontrovertible proof. He was convicted of theft and indecent assault and was currently behind bars. In other words, when their adversary was a human, they were obliged to take decisively realistic measures. What could they do about Jan? In the first place, it was dubious whether he had even committed a crime. There hadn’t been any proof in either the taxi driver’s or the hoodlum’s cases. And Emi Shimamoto was with him of her own volition. Now that Aoyama had experienced Jan’s powers firsthand, he knew that Jan was behind everything, but they had no means of proving his guilt. There was no victim who could properly narrate what had happened to them, and they couldn’t rely on the police. What did that leave them? They could contact Youta Shimamoto and connect him with a lawyer. He had seen news stories of people who joined religious movements and started living with the founder and the other worshippers without any word to their families. Then, when the families took drastic action to take back their loved ones, they were harmed by the organization instead. It was a complicated situation in the best of circumstances, let alone when the leader in question possessed an actual power— “We’ll have to ask for help,” Rumi said. “What—?!” Aoyama said, louder than he had meant to. Mrs. Nagata called from another room, “What happened?” to which Rumi replied, “It’s nothing.” She then said to Aoyama, “We have no other choice. This has taken longer than expected. Our expenses are piling up, but there’s still money remaining from my portion of the commission.” Aoyama looked at Rumi with disbelief. “But do we have to go so far…?” “You’re exaggerating. We have placed our lives in much greater danger in the past.” Rumi was talking about the cases they had previously solved together (granted, Aoyama had mostly observed them from the sidelines or acted as bait). They had indeed resorted to much riskier measures. The only difference was that he had never felt such terror before. When he realized that, he felt slightly better. “Jan is merely human. If anything, I’m relieved. There’s a limit to what humans can do… What we’re missing is a specialist.” Rumi gulped down the hot tea Mrs. Nagata had prepared for them. With her glasses fogged up, her expression became unreadable. “Luckily, I have someone in mind,” she said. “Really? Who?” Aoyama asked, relieved to see her strong demeanor, which showed not even a hint of fear. Just as he got ahold of himself and was about to ask more about her proposal, they heard a phone ring. Aoyama had lost his phone when he had fallen into the ocean. Even if he still had it, all the data would most likely have been gone. On the other hand, Rumi had placed her phone in the pocket of a fishing vest, and the model itself was water-resistant and strong against impacts. It was still perfectly functional. He found himself admiring her preparedness once again. Rumi pushed the phone button and answered the call. After a while, she hung up without having said a word. “We have to hurry.” She stood up and took her clothing, which wasn’t yet fully dry, off the hangers. “Mr. Mizuno, the taxi driver, is going to die.” The man stands in a wasteland. He is dressed in rough rags, and he is stick thin. He scoops ash from the ground. One time, then another. His body is filthy with ash. He falls to his knees, turning his face toward the heavens, and prays fervently. “We have sinned,” the man says in a hoarse voice. “We obeyed not your voice. O Lord, righteousness belongeth unto thee, but unto us confusion of faces. To the men that are near, and that are far off. This is the product of our sins.” There is no response. I, too, say nothing. “Therefore, the Lord hath delivered us flames. The Lord our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth: for we obeyed not his voice. We have done wickedly.” Tears flow from the man’s eyes. They are red and bloodshot. He cries without blinking. “O our God, hear the prayer of thy servant. Rid this earth of anger and resentment. Cause thy face—and thy face alone—to shine upon thy sanctuary that is desolate.” The city burns in mockery of the man. The people crawl on hands and knees like filthy beasts, scattering seeds on the razed earth. Men kill women. Women kill children. The rich rob the poor. The poor rob the poorer still. From all around comes the sound of malicious laughter. Shortly, the city burns down. Men and women both turn to ash. The ash-covered man prays again. “Incline thine ear, and hear; open thine eyes, and behold our desolations. This city is yours, and it is for your mercy.” The man says, “O Lord, forgive.” O Lord, forgive. O Lord, forgive. O Lord, forgive. The man chants it over and over. With every repetition, my chest aches as if it had been stabbed. His prayers matter not. His words matter not. The sun sets. The man’s mouth is smeared with ash. My ears burn with the roughened sound of his inhale every time he takes a breath. The man topples at last. Without partaking in a crumb of bread or a drop of water, his ribs standing out in stark relief, the man topples. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. I hear your voice. I leap toward the man. I wipe his ash-covered face and make him sip honey from a petal. He looks at me, enchanted, in a dreamlike stupor. I look back with sympathy. I tell him in a lilting voice, “I am now come forth to give thee skill and understanding.” The man presses his palms together before his chest. But he mustn’t pray to me. I separate his hands tenderly. “At the beginning of thy supplications, ■■■’s words came forth, and I am come to shew thee,” I said. The man nods, displaying a strength that belies his condition on the edge of death. How magnificent. He is one of the righteous. “Thou art greatly beloved by ■■■. Therefore understand the matter. When the determined hour comes to pass, you and your siblings will put an end to sin. You will atone for your unrighteousness and bear worthy fruit, all to anoint the marvelous one to come.” The man smiles with hope-filled eyes. It hurts me to tell him the truth. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. I hear your voice. I open my mouth again. “The end of the world is nigh. The one who shall come shall destroy the city. The end thereof shall be with a flood, and unto the end of the war desolations are determined. However…” The man’s eyes have clouded over with hopelessness. I go on. “The one who is greatly beloved need not despair. He shall bring an end to sacrifice and offering. Do not waver and do what is right.” His eyes seem to burn. He walks forward, taking one step, and then another. I turn back. You are not there. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. It is not yet time. But the time will come. In the end, they were too late to save the taxi driver, Mr. Mizuno. He had parked his car outside his company. That was where he had died. “Jesus Christ. Couldn’t he have died somewhere else? Don’t get me started on the car…,” his boss grumbled. Aoyama was repulsed, but he didn’t say anything. Over the call that Rumi had taken, Mr. Mizuno had said, “Farewell. Thank you for everything,” which was effectively a suicide note. Immediately after, he had in fact died, so the last person in his call history was Rumi. The cause of death was a ballpoint pen that had been stabbed through his head from his chin. Because of the bizarre method, the police concluded it was possible that he had been murdered or forced to kill himself. They had called in Rumi for questioning as a material witness. Night had fallen while Aoyama waited for Rumi. Two whole days had passed since they had gone to the enigmatic building where Emi Shimamoto had been taken. He suggested they go home and rest, but Rumi said repeatedly, “There’s no time.” Why wasn’t there time? Why was she so intent on bringing Emi back? Aoyama gave up asking such questions. All he had to do was follow her. The two were now on a train. They had taken the Kodama express from Tokyo to Shizuoka and transferred to the Sunrise Izumo, a sleeper train, bound for Izumo. They would transfer again in Okayama, but that was a matter for the following morning. They were going to meet a psychic who, according to Ishigami, had genuine psychic powers, and who Rumi dubbed “the ultimate weapon.” They had reserved a single room for the two of them, furnished with a twin-sized bunk bed. Because of their respective physiques, Rumi took the bottom and Aoyama the top. “Are you still awake, Aoyama?” Rumi asked. The last two days had been a doozy. Aoyama’s mind was racing, and he felt restless. Rumi’s voice coming from below him echoed strangely. He couldn’t relax. “There’s no way I could sleep in this situation,” Aoyama replied. “You should while you can. We have a long way to walk. Otherwise, there would have been no point in taking a sleeper train,” Rumi said. “I’ll wake you.” He gave her a vague assent. Whenever he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but remember what had happened at that religious organization. What came to mind was his fear of dying, and the sense that it was all connected to something. I hope you shall produce fruits that are worthy. That was what Jan had said. Aoyama had definitely heard those words before. Had it been in a book, a manga, or movie? No, it hadn’t been a piece of media, Aoyama thought. The words were more intimate. They were ones that had soaked into his consciousness. They were either his father’s words or his mother’s—but neither felt right. While he opened and closed the drawers of his mind, his eyelids drooped closed, and soon, he fell into a deep slumber. Rumi and Aoyama disembarked at Okayama as planned and transferred to the Limited Express Nanpu train. The cars were endearing, decorated as they were with illustrations of Anpanman, a popular cartoon superhero. Aoyama was eating a rice ball that he had bought at Okayama Station, his head still fogged with sleep. However, he watched the beautiful scenery outside the window, his spirits lifted, and he started to feel more awake. “Wow, we’re crossing over the ocean, Rumi!” Aoyama regretted saying that as soon as the words left his mouth. It was embarrassing for an adult of twenty-seven to make a fuss like a child. On top of that, neither he nor Rumi had taken this trip for leisure. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so excited…” “No, that’s all right,” Rumi said, following suit and leaning forward to look out the window. “It’s really beautiful… I have a bad habit of overthinking. I’m at the end of my rope, so this is a welcome respite.” Her expression was gentle. She might have said that Jan was “merely human,” but in her mind, there was no “merely” about it. It was only natural. She, too, had experienced that overwhelming power and that terror. In addition, Ishigami, whom Rumi held in considerable esteem, had been defeated in the face of Jan’s power. If the person they were going to see was a psychic who surpassed Ishigami, then just meeting them would be nerve-racking. In the next two hours to their destination, Aoyama did his best to be cheerful. He rambled on as if they were no more than two friends on vacation, the hours melting away. “This reminds me of the trip we took with Professor Saitou to Kumano Hongu Taisha,” Aoyama said. “This place is far more out of the way… Well, it’s charming.” The two of them had arrived at Tosayamada Station. From there, they walked to the meeting place they had agreed on. In the vicinity of the station, there were shops and school buildings—a typical rural townscape—but once they crossed the red bridge, the scenery changed. Their view was filled with mountains, mountains, and more mountains. Haruhiko Saitou, the professor of the research group Rumi and Aoyama had belonged to, had regularly brought students he chose at random along with him on outings under the guise of “fieldwork.” The field trips were free in nature. There was no need to follow Professor Saitou around. Even if the students had gone sightseeing wherever they wanted, they wouldn’t have heard any complaints from him. On top of that, he paid for all the expenses, including travel, so the students he picked were the targets of envy. That being said, most of the students had joined the group because it aligned with their interests, so there were few people who chose to go off on their own. Even Aoyama, who didn’t listen very attentively during the normal lectures, found that Professor Saitou’s stories were interesting and engaging outside of class. Previously, Aoyama had been lucky enough to be selected for the Kumano Hongu Taisha field trip, during which he listened with interest to Professor Saitou’s anecdotes about the shrine’s large torii gate and conspiracies theories about the yatagarasu, the mythical three-legged crow. Leaving Aoyama to his memories, Rumi walked off briskly. The street was minimally maintained, but Aoyama still had the sense that they were cutting through the mountain. Looking up, he saw villages dotting the mountainside, clinging to the slope. How far were they going? They had only been walking a short while, but he already felt faint. There was no time to enjoy the scenery. Their journey so far had been long, and he was running out of steam. He couldn’t help but think back to the events of three days ago. Rumi hadn’t said a word yet, and Aoyama didn’t try to strike up a conversation this time, either. As they continued walking, buildings came into view in the distance, ramshackle huts with blue roofs of corrugated iron. In the vicinity, there seemed to be several private residences as well. Aoyama felt a slight relief now that they had reached their destination. At ease, he was able to take in his surroundings better, and he immediately spotted a boulder nearby that looked perfect for sitting. “We’ve walked a long way. Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested. At that very moment, he heard a sound. Cock-a-kroh. The voice was faint but real. Cock-a-cock-a-kroh. He turned around. There was nothing there. It must have been his imagination. He faced forward. The wind was blowing, and it rustled the grass. It was a sound that city dwellers weren’t used to. That noise combined with recent events and caused his mind to invent sounds he hadn’t actually heard. Cock-aaah-krooh. Rumi grabbed Aoyama’s hand and started sprinting furiously. He ran, desperate. No matter how far they ran, he heard the voice directly behind them as if it were clinging to their backs. Rumi jerked to a halt. There was something evil, something invisible comprising only a voice. Aoyama’s breathing was ragged. He had no idea what to do. The air was heavy. From that mouth croaks the frog. Grribbit. Grribbit. Emi Shimamoto’s voice echoed in his head. But he couldn’t see her… “Sokumetsu svaha.” There came a sound like a rubber band snapping. Something black went rolling down the hill. Distressed, Aoyama gazed down the slope. The black thing was gone. “Look all you want—you won’t see nothin’.” Aoyama turned around to see who had spoken to him. There was a man in a wheelchair. “Long time no see, Monobe,” Rumi said to the man. Monobe. That was his name, no mistake. Judging by the suppleness of his skin, he seemed to be the same age as them or slightly younger. He was around five and a half feet tall, shorter than Aoyama. However, as Aoyama faced the stranger, he had the sense that he was confronting a force far greater than he. The handsome youth had a slim frame and clear eyes, but—Aoyama found that he couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes. “It’s been a while. Y’all have come far,” Monobe said in the Hakata dialect. He gestured to Aoyama. “Is this your boyfriend?” “No!” Aoyama scrambled to say. Monobe snorted. “I was gonna tell y’all oughta get. We’re out in the boonies. There ain’t a single thing going for this place. If you ain’t dating, though, I might as well save my breath.” He snickered. Aoyama didn’t enjoy the sense that he was being made fun of, but the menacing air around Monobe had softened slightly, which was a relief. Then he had a realization. It must have been thanks to Monobe that the voice had disappeared. “Um, thank you,” Aoyama said. “For what?” Monobe asked. “For your help earlier…” “Whatever,” Monobe spat harshly. His eyes went cold once again. It looked like he was glaring at Aoyama. He grunted and said to Rumi, “I told you over the phone, but there ain’t anything I can teach you. There are plenty of folks who are hitting the books proper. Go ask one of them.” “There’s a fine line between humility and obsequiousness.” Rumi strode up to Monobe. “You’re an excellent shaman. I have heard that you performed your first exorcism when you were five…” “Five?” Aoyama echoed. “He was just a preschooler. He’s been working since he was that young? That’s amazing… He must be remarkable,” he said with genuine amazement. Rumi gave an exaggerated nod and said quickly, “More than remarkable. He’s dealt with it all, from animal spirits to man-eating mermaids, ikiryou, and even forsaken gods—do you understand why he’s so great?” “He’s very experienced… Is that what you mean?” “That’s certainly one part of it, but that alone can’t describe his uniqueness,” Rumi said. Aoyama opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could speak. “We’ve had this discussion before, I believe. Shamans, exorcists, and the like—be they Shinto priests, monks, or ministers like your grandfather—people like that are usually…” “I’ve never done so fancy a thing as exorcism,” Monobe said, wheeling away from Rumi. Upon closer inspection, the hand peeking out from his cuff, which was slightly rolled up, wasn’t the color of skin. It looked like he might have been wearing long gloves. “No, you are remarkable. Even right now, you’re… No, I’ll go back to what I was just saying. In most cases, a purification rite can be held only once the source of the curse or grudge is identified. That is why normally, priests exorcise only demons, Shinto priests exorcise only kegare—impurities—and monks exorcise only evil spirits. They don’t know the other rites. At least, that’s what we’ve talked about before… It’s the accepted assumption in this world. Common sense.” Rumi gestured dramatically toward Monobe. “But he’s different. He doesn’t need any of that process. He can perform exorcisms without knowing the cause. That’s why he’s remarkable!” Monobe’s expression didn’t change at all in response to Rumi’s grandstanding. “Aw shucks. I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again. That’s just ’cause I got no head for books. I do what I gotta do. That’s all.” Aoyama doubted whether books were the solution. Like Rumi had explained, to deal with supernatural phenomena, investigators worked to the bone to root out the cause and determine the appropriate method. That was exactly what Rumi and Aoyama did. Once they figured out the mystery, they contacted specialists to take care of the issue. In many cases, the paranormal activity was a figment of the person’s imagination. Take, for example, the demonic exorcisms performed by the Pádraig Aoba Church, Aoyama’s family church. People came to the church for help with not only demonic but also spiritual possessions. However, most of the incidents could be resolved through counseling with Aoyama’s father, who was the minister, or a referral to a suitable medical specialist. That was to say, the majority of victims were actually suffering from mental illness or were exhausted from dealing with a chronic physical illness, so much so that they were making the worst out of nothing. In reality, the exorcism process entailed taking the time to determine whether the cause of the problem was actually supernatural, like the inquirer suspected. However, among shamans, there were those who boasted they could dispel any and all evil (which, in most cases, meant they wouldn’t be able to do anything at all). In Aoyama’s experience, shamans who were quick to perform so-called exorcisms without following any sort of process or figuring out the cause of paranormal phenomena were nothing more than ignorant quacks. Judging from what Monobe had said, he could be one of those frauds, but the man had a strange persuasiveness about him. He exuded an intimidating air that belied his slight frame. Jan was similarly delicate and possessed a great power, but Monobe was different. The former was, above all else, warm; just being by his side, one couldn’t help but let down one’s guard. In contrast, facing Monobe made one feel a deep anxiety, like their heart was being squeezed. Monobe’s eyes were a deep shade that looked like a mix of many colors. It seemed like they would transport one to another world if one stared at them too long. More than anything, Aoyama didn’t think Rumi would lie. Monobe tilted his head lazily. “So? You came all the way here to compliment me?” “Course not,” Rumi said, mimicking Monobe’s dialect. Monobe furrowed his brows. “Then why are you here?” “To ask you to perform an exorcism. What else?” Rumi closed the distance Monobe had put between them. “We’ll compensate you properly.” “I refuse,” Monobe snapped. He spun his wheelchair around with deft movements. “I told you. I’ve never done an exorcism. I’ve never learned that kind of thing. I don’t know if you’re dealin’ with an o-shikari or suso, but go talk to my ma or grandpa ’bout that. They’ve learned proper. They’re trained for it, so they’ll get it done, unlike me.” “So humble. Didn’t you help us earlier, though?” Rumi insisted, refusing to back down. Monobe sighed deeply, annoyance showing on his face. “We don’t want any weird things running around here. I just got rid of the nuisance.” Monobe wasn’t even trying to hide his reluctance. To ease the tension, Aoyama deliberately cut in to ask, “What are o-shikari and suso? Besides, I still don’t know what you do.” “Simply put, o-shikari refers to the wrath of gods and the Buddha. Suso are curses cast by humans,” Rumi explained. She took out her tablet, typed in something, and showed it to Aoyama. Sokumetsu svaha. Instant destruction, so let it be. “This is the phrase Monobe recited when he helped us earlier. Sokumetsu svaha. It’s a statute…an incantation of sorts that his sect uses. The sect’s beliefs are closely related to mountain worship,” Rumi explained without pausing for breath. “Here, they bury the dead provisionally. Afterward, they’ll call the departed back to our world, purify the soul, and send it to the heavens through a rite they call Tomb Revival. Sokumetsu svaha is the incantation used in the exorcism. Normally, one has to follow the proper steps and perform a ceremony.” “If you know all of that, then why don’t you do it yourself?” Monobe asked, interrupting Rumi. “I only knew half of what you said.” Rumi finally grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. “You didn’t study because you didn’t need to. I know all about it. I did my research. The shamans in your sect must undergo a decade of harsh training before they can become independent. But you didn’t have to. Neither your grandfather nor your mother could complain. Why? Because you have been accomplished at everything since you were born, even if you didn’t train… Am I wrong? The average person can’t dispel evil through an incantation alone. That’s why I don’t care if you’ve studied or trained. I want to hire a person with real strength and power. And you fit the bill.” Monobe heaved another sigh. He shook Rumi’s hands off the handles and spun around to face them again. “Wanna see a magic trick? See this bead?” Aoyama was thrown by the sudden turn of events. Monobe looked at him sidelong, rolling a clear glass bead in his palm. It was about the size of the beads in Ramune soda bottles. What drew Aoyama’s attention more was the fact that the other man was wearing a glove. It was made of a strange vinyl-like material and reflected the sunlight. Combined with the glare from the bead, it was so bright that he couldn’t fully open his eyes. “Watch closely now. It’s gonna disappear,” Monobe said. Suddenly, the bead vanished, as though it had been sucked into his hand. It might have only looked that way, but Aoyama didn’t understand the trick behind it at all. “A-amazing,” Aoyama exclaimed, clapping his hands. Part of his excitement was the novelty; he had never seen a magic trick up close. “Aoyama… You’re adorable,” Monobe said. Aoyama scowled instinctively. He felt like he was being made fun of again, but Monobe was gazing at him with tenderness as one might a young child. He looked down in embarrassment. Monobe continued, his tone still gentle, “That illusion depends on the light that’s reflected, the timing I chose to speak… That’s why it worked. You know that, right?” “Illusion, you say! You call that an illusion?” Rumi cried exaggeratedly. Monobe ignored her. “The point is, anyone who’s lookin’ at me—Aoyama, in this case—I can control a bit… I can pull them into my world. I can’t explain it well, but…that’s the gist.” He rolled the wheelchair and pulled up in front of Aoyama. He reached out, lifted his index finger, and pressed it against Aoyama’s forehead. Aoyama didn’t try to avoid it. If anything, he felt relaxed. He even squatted down to ease the strain on Monobe’s arm. He was now making direct eye contact with Monobe, whom he had found so frightening before. There was a light shining deep in the youth’s dark pupils. He felt embarrassed at himself for thinking that Monobe’s eyes could take someone to a different world. Monobe’s fingertip was stiff and cold, but warmth seemed to flow into Aoyama from the point of contact. “My ‘exorcism’ works similarly. I don’t know nothing ’bout nothing. I just make do by forcin’ my rules on the other guy.” Monobe removed his finger from Aoyama. He then turned to Rumi. “Let me give you a piece of advice as your elder. You better not get involved. Best not to attempt things that are beyond your control,” he said, removing his right glove. Aoyama yelped involuntarily. He quickly clasped his hands over his mouth. Monobe’s forearms and hands were a metallic gray. His fingertips appeared to be made of a strange black material. When he opened and closed his hands, they moved like living creatures with wills of their own. “Know your place. Do not think you can do everything. This is what my conceit got me.” Monobe rolled up his pant legs. Metal rods extended from his shoes to his knees. That meant all four of his limbs were— “I understand. Well then, let’s go home, Aoyama,” Rumi said, putting away her tablet. She started to walk away quickly. Aoyama was about to tell her to wait when Monobe cut in. “What a shame. You’ve come all the way here.” He reached a hand toward Rumi, just like Aoyama had. “I don’t need you. But if you truly think it is a shame, then I’d like you to show us something to make it worth our while.” Monobe stared at Rumi and was quiet for a few moments. Then his expression softened minutely, and he gestured as if to say, Follow me. He started to head toward a building farther down the road. The street was barely maintained, but he moved so smoothly one would not think he was in a wheelchair at all. Aoyama found himself unintentionally mesmerized. In the meantime, the other two pulled farther and farther away from him, and he had to scramble to catch back up. Monobe led them to a wooden room that was spacious but empty and instructed them to lie down on the rough floor. Aoyama closed his eyes, feeling the pleasant coolness of the wood against his back. The air here was pure and sweet even for a mountainous region. Suddenly, he heard a voice from somewhere. Ushering in the new year, blossoms of plum Seven flowers flourishing among the winding mountains and valleys Flowers that bloom not in that world are In this world, valiant Vivify the flowers, Sangosaihei gohei, here the Norikura gohei There is no god who will not bend before them There is no Buddha who will not bend before them Aoyama cracked his eyes open. Monobe was there, wearing a crown decorated with colorful paper. Earlier, he had seemed a modern and beautiful young man. Now the aura around him was mystical. He was singing the melancholy song in a soft whisper. Overwhelmed by the atmosphere, Aoyama closed his eyes again. In February, the camellia In March, blossoms of cherry In April, the deutzia In May, five flowering grains In June, the lily In July, buckwheat blooms Even though Monobe’s song was so faint as to be barely audible, it had a profound resonance that shook Aoyama’s entire body. Seven flowers flourishing among the winding mountains and valleys Flowers that bloom not in that world are In this world, valiant Vivify the flowers, so they be There is no god who will not bend before them There is no Buddha who will not bend before them Aoyama felt his consciousness drift. His limbs separated from his body painlessly, and his body dissolved into the darkness. His mother stroked his head with a warm hand. Inside, deep down inside, there was a brilliant light. He stretched out a hand he no longer had. This was a church. He was standing inside a church. Someone was playing the organ. It was a hymn. “Along the mountain path / alone do I go.” Without realizing it, he started humming along. “In the Lord’s hands / my heart is at ease.” While he sang, he sensed someone coming toward him from afar. It was his grandfather, who had passed away last year. Aoyama knew him instantly, even without seeing his face. He wanted to run up to his grandfather and embrace him. Aoyama could count the number of times he had spoken to his grandfather since he had started college. A significant reason had been out of a desire to distance himself even a little from the family business he would one day inherit. Their lack of communication didn’t change even after Aoyama started working with Rumi. When Rumi had said she wanted his grandfather’s help, he had left all the correspondence to her, speaking to his grandfather only about administrative details. His grandfather had doted on Aoyama since he was young. He was kind and always wore a smile. Everyone respected him. He was the one who had convinced Aoyama that demons and gods existed. Aoyama hadn’t realized until after his grandfather died that he ought to have talked to him more and learned from him. His grandfather had struggled with chronic chest pains, and one day, he went to sleep and never woke up. In his coffin, he had lain with his face peaceful in sleep, surrounded by flowers. Aoyama hadn’t shed a tear. Their family, their neighbors, and the crowd of people who had been saved by his exorcisms and had traveled from afar had all cried, sad to see him go, but Aoyama’s eyes had been dry. It hadn’t felt real. A month, three months, a half year—no matter how much time passed after his grandfather’s death, Aoyama would find himself peeking into the reception room every time he visited his family home. He felt as if his grandfather would still be there, alive and well. Only now did it dawn on him. His grandfather was dead. He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Aoyama would never see him again. That was why his grandfather was in such a place. The moment Aoyama realized all of this, his tears overflowed and wouldn’t stop. He wanted to bawl loudly and throw a tantrum. His grandfather slowly drew closer. His large hand covered Aoyama’s forehead. “Don’t worry. Stand strong. Be brave.” Aoyama leaped to his feet and shouted, “Grandpa!” His grandfather was nowhere to be found. The only trace of him was the warmth from his hand on Aoyama’s forehead. Produce fruits that are worthy. A spark ran through his brain. That was it. More than anything his father or mother had ever said. The unforgettable words that had become second nature to him. Seven flowers flourishing among the winding mountains and valleys Flowers that bloom not in that world are In this world, valiant Vivify the flowers, so they be There is no god who will not bend before them There is no Buddha who will not bend before them Aoyama flew awake. He opened his eyes to see a wooden wall, feeling as if he had been transported back to reality. Monobe stopped singing at the exact same time. Aoyama was lightheaded, maybe because he had sat up so abruptly. Ignoring his dizziness, however, he exclaimed excitedly, “It’s the Bible!” Monobe looked at him dubiously. “What are you talking about?” “I got it. That man. He was quoting the Bible.” “Why don’t you calm down first?” Monobe said. Monobe passed him a cup of tea, which he downed in one go. The tea hadn’t yet cooled, and it burned his throat, but he paid it no attention. “We were wrong. Suwa Grand Shrine, and…ophiolatry have nothing to do with it. Comparing humans to plants, the talk of producing fruits—that is rhetoric characteristic of the Bible! ‘Marty crawl’ is Mardi Gras. It’s the final day of Carnival…” At that point, Aoyama became embarrassed that he had been rambling by himself. He looked at Rumi hesitantly. She was smiling. “That’s what I thought,” she said with a grin. “You knew…?” “It was nothing more than a hypothesis, but thanks to you, now I can be sure. Of course, Monobe was the one who drew it out of you.” “I didn’t do a thing,” Monobe said, shaking his head with a dumbfounded expression. Rumi took his hand and gripped it, her face radiant. “That was ‘The Flower Song.’ I’ve seen it in the literature, but that was the first time I’ve heard it. It calls back the soul of the deceased.” “It was nothing. Aoyama just looked like he was sufferin’.” Monobe readjusted his headpiece and turned away. Aoyama was filled with a renewed admiration for the man. Monobe had noticed Aoyama hadn’t accepted his grandfather’s death, even though he hadn’t said a word about it. And thanks to the song Rumi had called “The Flower Song,” Aoyama had been whisked away to parts unknown to meet his grandfather. Aoyama realizing that Jan had been quoting the Bible was purely a side effect. He felt like Monobe’s ritual had liberated his heart. That was what he was thankful for. Additionally, he was sure that if Monobe agreed to help them, they would be able to resolve everything. Monobe had an aura that was sharp like the naked edge of a blade and a barbed tongue. Nonetheless, he was a good person at his core. He had called what had happened to his body “the result of his conceit,” but to put it another way, he had sacrificed himself to help others. “Um…Monobe,” Aoyama said, looking at the other man straight on. “Won’t you come with us? Please, will you—” Before Aoyama could say the words help us, Rumi brought the conversation to an end. “We’re going back,” she said. “It won’t do for us to impose more on you than we have already.” Aoyama had no time to protest. Rumi quickly gathered her belongings—and his—and rushed to the door. He couldn’t even thank Monobe properly. After they put on their shoes, Rumi shoved a thick envelope at Monobe. “What’s this? I don’t need this.” Monobe pushed it away. Rumi remained insistent and pushed back harder. They repeated this fruitless exchange several more times before Monobe gave in. He opened the envelope, took out half the contents, and returned the rest into Rumi’s bag. “That’s final,” he declared. “Are you satisfied? Hurry up and get home.” Rumi smiled. “To be honest, that’s a big help. Our budget is stretched pretty thin,” she said and finally started back the way they had come. Monobe shouted after them, “If you’re gonna do it, Rumi, then face your adversary seriously.” Rumi didn’t turn around. Aoyama turned back several times, bowing his head. Monobe watched them until he couldn’t see them anymore.