Take, for example, my household. We always pray before we eat. In Kouhei’s, they won’t say a single word from the start of a meal to the end. Keiji was the second son of a family of local celebrities, and in his house, they mustn’t drink even a single cup of water until his father finishes eating. That day, the three of us were chatting about our families’ unique traditions—every family has them. The traditions of others are sometimes peculiar and incomprehensible, but one shouldn’t refute them or be overly shocked. They are them; we are us. That being said, I think my family was the most normal. Kouhei’s kin ran a large shrine, and enough was said about Keiji’s. Looking at our households, mine was perfectly average compared with theirs. We did the same unspectacular and ordinary things any family did. Apparently, Kouhei and Keiji each thought the same about their own families. They were bantering with each other, saying things like “Your family dinners sound boring as hell” and “Your father’s terrifying.” However, they purposefully avoided asking about my family’s traditions. When we went to the bathroom, we announced it to the entire household. If we entered through the front door, we had to leave through the back. We used soy sauce–pickled vegetables as the garnish for our curry. I had endless stories to tell. We were all fired up and ended up on the topic of Christmas. “We don’t celebrate Christmas, of course,” Kouhei said. “At least that’s what I want to say. The truth is, we eat cake, and I’ve gotten presents since I was a kid.” A contented smile rose on his plump face. Maybe he was remembering the taste of a fancy cake. I might be prejudiced, but it seemed to me that no one neglected traditions more than proprietors of wealthy temples and shrines. Can a Shinto priest be called “worldly,” too? I suppose it would do. “We call up everyone we know and have a party,” Keiji said. “But it’s not the kind of Christmas party kids would like. It’s all about going around shaking hands and greeting people… I can stomach it now, but when I was younger, it was hell.” “Ugh,” Kouhei and I both groaned. There were downsides to being too rich, too. “By the way,” I said. There was one question I was dying to ask. “How do you pay respect to the Ascetic of Holy Ablution?” “The asc…what?” Kouhei was looking at me with wide eyes. He was like a Buddhist statue whose sculptor had put effort only into carving the eyes. “I’m talking about paying your respects,” I said. “In my house, my little brother strips down to his underwear. The Ascetic’s legs are—” “Wait, wait, wait. Hold on,” Keiji said, shaking his head. “What ascetic? What ablution? None of that makes sense.” I burst out laughing. “Come on. Even I won’t fall for that one.” They did this all the time. Keiji always got Kouhei to play pranks on gullible me. But not even I would get tricked by such an obvious ploy. The Ascetic of Holy Ablution came on Christmas. If we didn’t pay our respects, our bad luck from the year would accumulate and bring a Catastrophe the following year. Even a preschooler would know that. “Uh…why are you laughing? You’re scaring me, dude.” Keiji’s voice shook. He was a good actor. It appeared he was still planning on going through with his plan. “Okay, okay. I’ll play along. You’ve never heard of the Ascetic of Holy Ablution. Sure. There’s no way, but that’s the story, right?” I said. “Fine, I’ll explain. Iēsoûs was born from the Hollow-Eyed Woman and raised by a hound. That’s why my brother takes off his clothes—” “That’s enough. Seriously, stop it. That’s gross,” Keiji said. Both he and Kouhei had stopped eating and were staring at me. Gross was going too far. Even for a prank, they were being rude. “Don’t you think you’re being disrespectful? I’m talking about Iēsoûs, you know?” I said. “Well, I guess you practice a heretical religion, so maybe you don’t care, Kouhei, but Keiji, you have no excuse. You shouldn’t joke around about an event related to Iēsoûs. You’ll cause a Catastrophe…” Kouhei jumped to his feet, kicking his chair. “Who’s the one joking around?” he spat. The glass cup in his chubby fingers creaked. It seemed like it would crack at any second. “What do you mean, ‘heretical’? I’m not laughing. Are you trying to pick a fight?” “Oh, my bad, my bad. Practicing heretical religions is a constitutional right,” I said. “Seriously. I’m sorry. That was inconsiderate of me. “But aren’t you two the ones at fault? Pretending you don’t understand the origin of Christmas? I don’t want you playing these crass pranks in the future.” I took the high route and compromised, but Kouhei’s eyes were bloodshot and red. They were twitching. I had heard from Mater that heretics were ignorant, bound by false traditions, and had not the capacity to accept the truth faith, but I hadn’t believed it. Kouhei might believe in a heretical religion, but his family was well off (it was worth repeating that no one neglected traditions more than proprietors of wealthy temples and shrines), so I had let down my guard. What a failure. “Calm down, Kouhei,” Keiji said. Kouhei sat down again, looking tense. Keiji must have inherited his gravitas, or should I say his skill in controlling people, from his father. Filled with admiration, I waited for what he was going to say next. “Let’s hear him out until the end,” he continued. “Tell us. Who’s this Iēsoûs…?” “You don’t even know that? In some countries, he’s called Jesus, but his proper name is Iēsoûs, in my opinion,” I said. “…Got it. Iēsoûs is… Actually, tell us what you think Christmas celebrates and what your family does. We don’t know a thing. Go slowly.” I was surprised. Keiji’s expression showed no signs of lying. Next to him, Kouhei’s face was also solemn, though it seemed like he was still angry. They both seriously had no idea. At their age. We were talking about basics that even my twenty-sixth younger brother knew. It was what it was. They didn’t have a loving mater and a wise pater. Not everyone was raised in fortuitous circumstances. Innocence was a wondrous thing, but they could not bear worthy fruit in their ignorance. I was used to educating the ignorant. I suppressed my disappointment toward them and explained everything from the beginning. As foretold by the red eight-pointed star, the Hollow-Eyed Woman ensconced Iēsoûs, the All-Knowing, in her huge eye sockets. The Hollow-Eyed Woman fled persecution to the ranch, gave birth to Iēsoûs in a sheepdog’s hut, and expired. That was on Christmas. Iēsoûs was raised by a sheepdog that had licked a drop of the Hollow-Eyed Woman’s blood. Eventually, he was found by Ioan, the Ascetic of Holy Ablution. Ioan brushed off from the All-Knowing Iēsoûs’s feet the dirt from the hut, and Iēsoûs licked the filth from Ioan’s feet as thanks. Obviously, their tale of the Salvation and Atonement of all people continues from there, but Christmas is the day Iēsoûs was birthed from the Hollow-Eye Woman’s eye sockets. The Ascetic of Holy Ablution is Ioan’s present form. He is a god incarnate, to put it in layman’s terms. He visits on Christmas, of course, and we must pay our respects. “It seems like both of you had the wrong idea, but… You get a lot of visitors to your house, Keiji, so even if you don’t know about Ioan, you must at least know about the Ascetic of Holy Ablution. I’m pretty sure all families, no matter who they are, show their gratitude for the Ascetic, unless they are heretics.” I forced a smile and looked at Keiji. He resembled his mother, who was formerly Miss Japan, but his handsome face was covered in sweat. He must have felt shameful and panicked now that he knew how ignorant and inconsiderate he had been. “I’ll ask you again,” I said to Keiji. “How do you pay your respects to the Ascetic?” Keiji looked at me wordlessly for a while. Then he shook his head. “Let’s go, Kouhei. He’s bad news. He’s in a cult. Sorry, man, for inviting him.” Kouhei slowly got to his feet and put on his coat. Forget answering my question—they ignored me when I tried to talk to them. I was so angry my blood could boil. What did they mean by cult? They closed their eyes to their own cluelessness. They were going to cause a huge Catastrophe by throwing around slander like that. Suddenly, I arrived at the truth. It was simple. They were diabolos. Who would have imagined there would be two so close to me? I fell to my knees right then and there. I wanted to cry. However, I mustered my courage and stood up. I was the son of the woman who was baptized as Sabahka, the Sheepdog. I had no justification for not noticing the diabolos. In the name of my mother, it will all be fine, I reassured myself. Neither Ioan nor Iēsoûs would ever throw away sinners who had diabolos by their side. I steeled myself and rang the handbell. Brothers and sisters crawled to me as if pulled in by the strange ting-ting sound. Fearing the holy, the diabolos ran for the door they had just come in from, their faces messy with sweat and tears, seeking at exit. Unfortunately, they could not open it. The door was an entrance. You could not leave through it. I smiled lovingly at my two friends who had become diabolos. “Keiji, Kouhei, let us study together until the Ascetic of Holy Ablution comes. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it soon. I won’t force you to think or do anything. You’ll think for yourself and act according to your own will. Let us bear worthy fruit.” Their trip home was faster than the trip there. Aoyama and Rumi took the Nozomi Shinkansen instead of the sleeper train. They were no closer to solving Youta Shimamoto’s case, but Aoyama’s heart was light. Jan was quoting the Bible. The moment Aoyama had realized that, he felt like there was something they could do. The Bible had been at his side ever since he had been born. He was still studying it himself, so he couldn’t say he was an expert, but he understood more about it than about Japan’s religions and folk customs. The expression “to bear worthy fruit” was used in both the New and Old Testaments. It likened humans to plants. Plants raised in a good environment would grow bountiful fruits. Similarly, humans raised with good words and the proper teachings would be virtuous. Plus, Jan had used the phrase “brothers and sisters,” which was very Christian. To be exact, Catholics would refer to fellow church members as brothers and sisters. That being said, it was mostly used during Mass and sermons. There was hardly anyone who used it in everyday conversation. Everything was starting to come together. Aoyama related what he was thinking to Rumi, and apparently, she had been thinking the same thing. They went over Rumi’s notes on her tablet and organized the information. 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. The seminar had been held at a rental office owned by Moriya Foods. They had been unable to contact Ms. Ishida, so they had questioned her family and coworkers. Both she and her friend had behaved oddly and had gone missing. The day before she disappeared, she’d recommended the seminar to her family. 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. A core belief of Christianity is the concept of original sin. Humans are born into a state of sin. Protestants, in particular, believe in total depravity, the idea that humans are corrupted by their sins. Rumi thought that calling oneself a sinner was “Christian-like.” Aoyama had his own feelings on that. 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. In the New Testament, nonbelievers of God the Father and Jesus were often referred to as being blind. Rumi had made the connection between the verses and Mr. Murase’s case, and she had turned out to be right. “Anyway, if we put together all of this information, nothing is certain, but…it appears that Jan believes himself to be God’s representative—Jesus Christ, most likely,” Rumi concluded. Aoyama nodded. “I think so, too. Given that, anatematarubeshi starts to make sense, too.” Rumi looked delighted. “Please enlighten me.” Aoyama felt bashful at being prompted by Rumi, whose intellect and acumen he was no match for. He cleared his throat, hoping to hide the grin that threatened to break out. “He’s saying ‘Anathema beest you.’ Anathema originally meant an offering to God, but in the Bible, it takes on the connotation of ruination. “I get venideomine now as well… It’s veni de homine… It’s another biblical reference. Jesus says that when he heals a man who is possessed by evil spirits. It means ‘Come out of the man’ in Latin. It’s not much, but it feels like a relief just to understand something.” “Why?” Rumi asked, running her hand along the window. “That makes me uneasy. If Jan is merely a malicious person with strange powers, I’m sure we’ll still be able to do something, but…if he thinks of himself as Christ, then he has no malice, and human tactics likely won’t work.” Rumi exhaled, fogging up the window. There she drew a cross. “Jan has many worshippers who believe him to be God. He performs what can only be called miracles. What if he’s the real Jesus Christ?” Aoyama pictured Jan in his mind. The man’s face had no distinctive features, but he had warm eyes. Though Jan had put Aoyama through the terror of death, he didn’t hate Jan, though it was likely the man had made him feel that way by using another one of his powers. “Do you think we can fight and win against Christ?” Rumi asked. “No, of course not,” Aoyama answered immediately. “I wouldn’t dare think such a thing.” She laughed out loud. “Only joking. Besides, winning isn’t our goal,” she said gently, changing her demeanor in apology for saying something so rude despite knowing that Aoyama was a devout believer of Christ. Aoyama let it go. “Um, why did you give up and decide to go back?” On the Nozomi train back, Rumi had slept like a log, so he hadn’t had the chance to ask. “I understand that we were imposing, but Monobe would surely have helped us if we had asked, and he seems like a truly remarkable person.” “He already helped us,” she said with her mouth full of meat from her sukiyaki lunch box. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have compensated him.” “It’s true that he saved me, but…” Aoyama had come to grips with his grandfather’s death and realized that Jan had been quoting from the Bible. Those might have been major developments, but he didn’t think they would help him and Rumi solve the case. The key to the solution was Rumi. There was little he could do. “The situation with your grandfather was a bonus.” Just when Aoyama was about to ask what else it could be, he felt a discomfort in his throat. It felt like a burning hot lump was lodged there. He tried to breathe, but it was choking him so severely that he couldn’t. Rumi hit him on the back repeatedly. After several strikes, it came flying out of his mouth. He scrambled to pick it up. It was a clear glass bead—the one that had vanished, sucked into Monobe’s hand. Aoyama stiffened, gripping the bead tightly. “Monobe really is amazing.” For some reason, Rumi’s voice was full of pride. “Face your adversary seriously.” So had said the man with the beautiful face. I agreed. No more playing around. Remembering my childhood is extremely painful. I don’t mean to pitybrag, but that’s what it’ll sound like if I tell the story as it is. That’s why I’ve never told anyone. My dad was garbage. He had all the qualities of the scumbags depicted in fiction. In other words, he didn’t work or care about his family. He was loose with women, thoroughly addicted to alcohol and gambling, and swamped in debt. Needless to say, he was violent, too. He hit my mom every day. A woman who makes a family with trash is trash herself. My mom hit me as much as my dad had hit her. My dad hit me, too, so my entire body was battered by their fits of brutality. When I was first becoming aware of the world, my home was already a place of violence. I didn’t understand why this subhuman man and woman had bothered to start a family. But a family we were, by the loosest definition, until the time my molars started growing in. The scumbags had sex in front of me without a care. After doing the deed, the repulsive duo’s mood would improve ever so slightly. They would cook a curry with dirty vegetables left half-raw and say to me with infuriating smiles, “Let’s eat together.” I don’t understand how garbage thinks, but maybe they had wanted to play house. When even that semblance of normal was gone, my dad stopped coming home. Before then, he had wandered off to God knows where several times in the past. His absences gradually grew longer, and by the end, he was at home only once a month, if that. At first, my mom would throw fits. She must have been furious at being tossed aside, of course, but the root of her anger was from financial unease. I realized that only after becoming an adult. My dad had a mountain of debt, but he was likely a day laborer, and he’d apparently contributed a bare minimum amount of cash to the household. Without his money, we were looking at certain death. My mom started selling her body. She had probably planned to peddle me to people with those sorts of hobbies, but I was ugly. Neither of my parents was bad-looking, but I had a hideous face cobbled together from the worst features of both of them. I didn’t care what I looked like, but I remember thinking it was a shame I couldn’t help my mom. My mom was still young, and her figure wasn’t bad, either. She seemed to have no problems finding a partner. She conducted her business in the house. Men paraded through our home. Of course, I was a nuisance. Among her customers, there was trash like my mom and dad who liked to have sex while I was watching. Other than those times, my mom would throw me into the closet with all the other junk. In the dark and dusty space, I was forced to listen to my mom’s moans. The door was taped shut with duct tape, so there wasn’t a single mote of light. The darkness seemed to expand infinitely despite the tight quarters. Naturally, in the beginning, I was afraid. I feared being treated like I didn’t exist more than being kicked, punched, or screamed at. I prayed over and over for my mom to help me, though it made me sick. Of course, she never did. It was after a time when the winds of change visited me. That day, my mom had shoved me into the closet as usual. The man exchanged a few words with her, and then the entirety of our shabby apartment started to shake. That was also nothing out of the ordinary. The difference was that along with the squeaking and grating sounds of the room, I heard whispering. “Mom?” I called in a barely audible voice, but from outside, I heard only a vulgar panting. All the while, the whispering continued, but it wasn’t my mom. When I realized that, I was instantly terrified. My parents had shown me a horror movie out of a sadistic urge. Looking back on it now, the story was childish, but the woman with long black hair and a bloodless face who followed you to the ends of the earth was enough to plant fear into my young heart. She was the one whispering. No matter how hard I tried to shake the image from my head, her grinning face would not leave my mind. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to distract myself. “Open your eyes,” the voice said. It was a woman. Even though it was useless, I made myself smaller and desperately covered my mouth with my hand, trying to breathe silently. “Open your eyes,” she whispered again in a singsong voice. No, no, no. Hurry up and go away. “Why would you say that?” Her tone was laced with sorrow. “I’m your friend!” I felt someone’s breath on my ear. Friend. I opened my eyes unwittingly when I heard that. A small face and cute, round eyes. Shapely lips drawn in a pretty curve. The lower half of her slender body was mantled in what looked like scales. She was a mermaid. There in front of me, straight from the cover of the anime picture book my mom had bought for me on a whim, was a beautiful princess. “Talk with me.” Her expression was so gentle I wanted to cry. I don’t remember what we talked about. The mermaid princess knew what I was thinking even if I didn’t say it out loud. I felt like I was tasting “happiness” for the first time since I was born. I woke up. My mom was there. She said something like “Look at you, sleeping without a care. How nice for you.” Then she hit me. They say that knowing what joy feels like makes any subsequent sorrow more painful, but it wasn’t like that. Rather, if anything, I felt like I could live solely for that tiny bit of happiness. Up until that point, I’d thought of myself as my parents’ accessory, neither living nor dead. When I was with the mermaid princess, that was the only precious time I didn’t exist for my parents but for myself. From that day on, I started to clean the closet for the mermaid princess. When my mom was out, I wiped the dust and dirt with a rag and decorated the space with scrap metal that had fallen on the floor, eggshells, banana peels, and posters of gems. The mermaid princess was delighted with the crude palace I had built. She laughed with her bell-like voice, and when she laughed, the fish around her danced. “How about we make more friends?” she said out of the blue. “We can do that?” I asked. “Let’s make more.” She sang cheerfully the answer that wasn’t an answer. As she had suggested, our friends increased more and more. That being said, none of them were human. Most were floating something or others, be they dogs or cats, or circles or triangles, or entirely shapeless. I sang and danced with them (I didn’t move a muscle, but that was what it had felt like). It was fun. In those times, I, too, became the character of a charming story who existed for the mermaid princess. However, as they say, happiness is fleeting, and the end soon came. One day, my dad came home for the first time in a long time. As soon as he came back, he said, “It stinks in here.” Then the arguing began. My mom accused my dad of being absent, and my dad accused my mom of cheating. He hit her, but she fought back with objects. She wasn’t by any means a simple victim. I felt slightly relieved. Everything had returned to normal. That was why I sang. The beautiful song that the mermaid princess had taught me. In that instant, the two of them stopped fighting. I was happy. It was just like I had thought. The princess’s song had an amazing power, and it made all pain, resentment, and sadness disappear like fog. That was what I stupidly believed. Of course, it wasn’t true. Well, maybe technically it was. My parents stopped their fighting and started tormenting me instead. They punched me, kicked me, tried to drown me, and then punched me again without waiting for me to recover. My teeth broke. I spat out the pieces with my blood. That is all I can remember. Humans are weak to pain, so I imagine I was sobbing. When dusk fell, they stopped torturing me. They must have gotten tired. I couldn’t move a single finger. It was early spring, so it shouldn’t have been cold, but my entire body was shaking. That was how I knew I was still alive. My mom watched me trembling and said in a scared voice, “She isn’t going to die, is she?” In the news, killers often say, “I didn’t mean to kill them.” Most people will think it’s an excuse, but when I recall my mom’s words, I think that might not always be the case. I’m sure the perpetrators are actually just dumb as a rock. Catastrophically stupid people don’t even understand the simple fact that humans are living beings that can die. “Of course she’s not going to die,” my dad said, but his words lacked conviction. Afterward, they discussed my condition among themselves. My ears were ringing, and my vision became bright and dark in turns, so I didn’t hear what they said. As a result of their debate, they decided to throw me in the closet. My dad yanked on my arm, which was bent at a strange angle. He dragged me in front of the closet doors, my body scraping against the tatami mats. He pulled open the door with his meaty hand. “Ugh! It stinks!” He recoiled dramatically. I had built my palace with food scraps, essentially, so that was why it smelled the way it did. “The least you could do is clean, you cow!” my dad yelled at my mom. “Whatever! She did this!” My mom pointed at me. “Shit! It’s filthy,” he cursed, and he kicked my head toward the closet to throw me away. My mom was still yelling, but my head had become hazy, and I didn’t understand a single word. “You don’t need them, no?” The voice rang like a bell. Glittering gemlike pupils shone from half-slitted eyes. “Come on. You don’t need them, right?” The mermaid princess was watching me, her expression as kind as always. “I don’t,” I said, my voice stuffy because my nose was bleeding. “Don’t need either. Go die.” I heard a thundering sound that shook the floor. Something warm soaked my feet. My body stopped shaking. The freezing cold was replaced with terror. Something had been done that couldn’t be taken back. And the person who had done it was… The sound of clapping echoed in my ears that were supposed to be deaf. A grand applause. The mermaid princess and the rabble of shapeless servants were clapping, singing, and dancing with abandon. She was laughing loudly. Sharklike teeth were packed inside her cavernous mouth, glowing like pearls. As I watched the maniacal banquet, I fell into a deep sleep. It’s cliché, but the first thing I saw when I woke up was a white ceiling. I breathed in deeply, and the scent of disinfectant filled my nostrils. I was in a hospital. At the time, I hadn’t even known what a hospital was, so I thought I had been shut inside a tight white box as a result of the irreversible thing I had done. In any case, my body was in shambles, so several days passed before I spoke with the adults—the police and my primary doctor, to be specific. I didn’t even know how old I was. They must have had their work cut out for them. I learned this a little before I became a middle school student, but the neighbors had heard an explosion and reported it to the police. The police’s hypothesis had been that an explosion had occurred, and my parents had been pierced by knives that were flung in the resulting shock wave. However, there had been no damage to the room itself, and I had no injuries other than the ones caused by my parents. Anyhow, I, the product of Garbage One and Garbage Two, failed to die. After that, I was sent to an orphanage, the same as any other pitiful child who was the victim of abuse. The staff were all extremely kind. Though I was at an age when I should have started elementary school long ago, I didn’t even know how to conduct myself as a person. Nevertheless, they taught me patiently. If it hadn’t been for their help, I’m sure I wouldn’t even be able to sit still in a chair. Thanks to my time there, I was finally qualified to exist in this world. With no name nor household, I had to go to domestic court and obtain the right to register myself in the family registry. Normally, there was no need to go through such proceedings, even if you weren’t registered because your parents failed to file your birth certificate, but the scumbags who had birthed me had died, so I had no choice. Armed with a makeshift name and superficial social skills, I entered elementary school. Unlike the hospital and the orphanage, school was a place with few kind people, the reason being that most were children, and children are stupid. Stupid people, like my parents, don’t understand that humans are living beings who can die. I was ugly. I was withdrawn and ruined the mood. I lived in an orphanage. For these three things, I was bullied. Before I knew it, all my classmates had united against me, but the one who was particularly vicious was the queen bee, a girl named Hashiguchi. She wasn’t a star student, and her looks were average, too, but she was terrifyingly skilled at manipulating and egging on other people. Not even the homeroom teacher of our fourth-grade class was immune. Looking back on it, he had been fresh out of college and naively passionate, laboring under the delusion that children were pure and innocent. When he saw the kids shoving a mop dripping with dirty water in my face under Hashiguchi’s orders, he said, “Nice, Rumi! You’re getting along with the class! It makes me so happy you’re all friends.” I was shocked. Hashiguchi continued to torment me cunningly. I reached my limit soon after we became fifth graders. That day, I was in charge of looking after the school rabbits. The students on duty had to go to school early to clean their hut and feed them vegetables. Nobody liked doing it, but I didn’t mind. I liked animals. At the very least, animals were less malicious than people, I thought. I had gotten a basket of vegetable scraps from the custodian and was on my way to the hut when I passed the boy who was on duty with me. For some reason, he was making an awkward expression. He looked away when I met his eyes and ran off. Having all the work forced on me by my chore partner was nothing new, but this was different from usual. The atmosphere was strange, and I had a bad premonition. I hastened to the huts. When I got there, a repulsive odor assaulted my nose. It reeked of iron. Of violence. Of blood. I didn’t want to look at the scene in front of me. In the middle of the hut was a dirty white lump. That was where the smell was coming from. I realized what had happened, but my legs froze and wouldn’t move. I heard a high-pitched voice from behind me. “Good morning, piggy.” I knew who it was without having to turn. It was Hashiguchi. She circled to stand in front of me, chuckling eerily. Then she tossed something at my feet. There were two small chunks of spiky fur. They were filthy with blood and red in places. “You must be hungry, right?” she said, laughing. “Orphanages don’t feed you, right? I felt sorry for you, so I got you breakfast.” A group of girls gathered around her from who knows where. “Wow, you’re so kind, Kanae,” they said, backing her up. “Go on. Hurry up and eat.” She picked up the hunks of fur again and shoved them in my face. “Here, eat it. Hurry up,” she said, irritated. The other girls covered my nose and pried open my mouth. Then Hashiguchi promptly stuffed the lumps in my mouth. Stiff fur, mud, dust, and blood—the jumble of horrible things surged into my mouth. I wanted to spit it back out, but the girls didn’t seem to have any intention of letting go of my nose. I was running out of air, and my consciousness was starting to fade. The memory of the day I was on the border between life and death rose up in my mind. The dusty, cramped closet that let in no light. My throat spasmed, seeking air. I remembered the inside of the disgusting closet. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.” Someone was laughing loudly. It wasn’t Hashiguchi. It wasn’t any of her flunkies, either. A rotten taste permeated my mouth. Vomit rose from my stomach. The one laughing, her mouth yawning open, was the mermaid princess. “You don’t need her, right?” she asked, her cavernous mouth ringed with pointed, gleaming teeth. “You don’t, right?” I didn’t answer. Instead, I thought viciously, I don’t. Just disappear. Kanae Hashiguchi died. A flying signboard stabbed her through her torso. That day, there wasn’t any wind. No one had any idea where the signboard had come from. Nonetheless, after she suffered for a while, bleeding from her wound, Hashiguchi died. Her followers suffered terrible psychological damage from seeing her entrails crushed and spilling out of her body. After that day, I never saw them happy again. It was like my bullying and the rabbits’ deaths had never happened. From then on, the stupid kids at my school stopped treating me horribly. In addition to Kanae Hashiguchi’s life and the bullying, one more thing had disappeared. The mermaid princess. The mermaid princess was gone. I had erased her. I had wished for her to disappear. The realization struck me out of nowhere. The mermaid princess hadn’t eliminated my parents. It wasn’t that she had killed them out of kindness because I had said I didn’t need them. It was me. I had made up everything. In retrospect, the mermaid princess had only talked about things that I knew. Her followers were misshapen animals from my indistinct memories. Her song was a jingle from a home electronics store. The mermaid princess was me. She was a perfect version of myself I had created. I must have been born with the power to make my fervent thoughts into reality. In that apartment where I lived with my scum parents, in that clumsy palace inside the closet, I could do anything. I used my powers frequently after that. Whenever I disliked something, I imagined my palace and made a wish. That was all it took. I became arrogant after discovering my ability. I reverted to the wild animal I had been before I entered the orphanage and didn’t listen to what anyone said. It would have been fitting to say I was a garbage girl born from garbage parents. I eventually learned to conduct myself as a person again thanks to the woman I call my mom, but that’s not something I should think about right now. I have no hesitation about using my powers. The puppylike guy I work with probably hasn’t noticed, but taking on paranormal cases is the perfect outlet for my powers and violent tendencies. Unlike with people, no matter how brutally you kill a spirit, no one will complain. Besides, most people are different from me; they aren’t fully aware of spirits. Once in a while, there is a person with real ability, like the man with the beautiful face. He’s an outlier among outliers, as I am. He saw me deal with a case once. He’s been preaching to me ever since. He’s a strange one. Even though he is as powerful as—if not more than—me, he uses his ability only for other people, so he doesn’t like people like me. From his perspective, I must be the strange one. Anyway, in contrast to him, I live for myself. Not only do I think it’s natural to use my powers for money, but I’m a sadist like my garbage parents, so my methods of “exorcism” are fairly crude. The problem is that my opponent this time around is human. The young man who calls himself Jan is most likely another outlier among outliers. He’s the real deal. He suppressed my consciousness and moved me as he wished. I wasn’t able to resist at all. Even though I have to face him and his dreadful powers, I’m unable to harm other people at present. It was over twenty years ago. I broke my “mom’s” arm. That’s my last memory of hurting someone with my unique powers. I’ve spent the last two decades keeping myself from attacking other people with this ability. My wishes become reality. That’s why I mustn’t use it. But that will mean I won’t be able to take Emi Shimamoto back from Jan. Emi is the first person I’ve truly wanted to save from the bottom of my heart. That’s not only because of her brother. She resembles me. Left the way she is, she’ll become garbage, and garbage must not be allowed to multiply. And to rescue her, I have to deal with Jan. I’ve already tried nonviolence. The only option left is— Assuming I can kill him. If I can kill a human. Right now, I’m weak. I have people who are important to me. I’m not confident I’ll be able to return to my primal self—the spawn of garbage and garbage, a beast who isn’t fully human. I don’t have the strength to confront myself. “Face your adversary seriously.” Yes. Everything Monobe says is always right. I must face him properly. I visualize the profane and ramshackle closet palace that reeked of decay. In the palace, I am omnipotent, like the god Jan believes in. Only in the palace. I am the queen of the closet. The week after Aoyama and Rumi returned to Tokyo was hectic. The instant they got back, Rumi ran off, saying she had research to do. Aoyama had barely had an opportunity to speak to her since. On his part, Aoyama was swamped with work for his family. He wasn’t yet an associate pastor, but no qualifications were necessary to help prepare for the kids’ events for Advent. He set aside the matter of Jan and Emi for the time being and threw everything he had into doing chores at home. At the moment, he was pausing to take a break, with his sister scolding him, “This amount of work is nothing. You’re only exhausted because you don’t do anything normally.” He found himself walking to the reception room, but this time, he understood. His grandfather wouldn’t be there. He was going only to bask in the memories. The reception room was warm as usual. It possessed a mysterious air that made its audience feel solemn. A simple chair was set up facing a wooden lattice. Usually, it’s Catholic priests who receive confessions, but Aoyama’s grandfather used to sit on the other side of the lattice and listen to the sufferers’ woes. When he stepped closer, he saw that dust had accumulated on the frame of the lattice. Even though it wasn’t as often as his grandfather had, his father now used this room. Its current state was unhygienic. Just as Aoyama was about to remove the lattice to clean the whole thing, he heard a man’s voice from the other side. “Father, hear my prayer.” Callers were normally supposed to make an appointment before they visited. At the very least, they would have rung the bell. Aoyama’s family couldn’t receive guests at all times of day. That being said, the front door of the church was indeed open. The man’s voice was tense. He seemed to be at a breaking point. Whatever he needed was most likely urgent, and he had gone into the first place he had seen. “I’m not a priest. There aren’t any priests here…,” Aoyama said. “But you seem to be in trouble. I’ll call the minister. Please wait.” He stepped toward the door. “Wait.” Thin white fingers protruded from the lattice. “Kouki, hear my prayer.” A chill spread from his back to his whole body. Clunk! The lattice shook. Three fingers were shaking it. Aoyama had to run. He had to, but his legs seemed rooted to the ground. He could neither advance nor retreat. “Kouki, why won’t you come here?” A mournful voice. Shaking was too simple a word. Two hands grabbed the corners of the lattice, throwing it back and forth. “Kouki, stop right now. Do what’s right. The path you are walking is the Serpent’s path.” It was his grandfather’s voice. The bony fingers violently rocking the lattice were unmistakably his grandfather’s as well. Tears streamed uncontrollably down Aoyama’s face. “Why are you crying? Do you still believe you’re the only one who’s right?” The hands extended from the lattice and toppled the chair. “Proffer the deer’s head. Lick clean the water in the pot. Mana wells. Thus, he makes his preparations. Who are you to interfere?” His grandfather’s voice gradually became inflamed, until at last he was shouting, “Disobeying the son of man may be pardonable, but disobeying the Holy Spirit is not. “You will be punished,” the voice intoned. Aoyama cracked up. He laughed louder than he ever had before, louder than he had thought he was capable of. “Jan,” Aoyama said. The hands that were even then trying to pull down the lattice froze in place. “Jan, why do you think I cried?” Aoyama reached out with his right hand and grabbed the bony fingers. “It’s because my grandfather would never have said those things. He wouldn’t judge others to be wrong or righteous.” The fingers squirmed frantically. Now it seemed like they were trying to escape. They dug their nails into Aoyama’s palms, and pain shot through him. Even so, he was determined to hold on, and he brought his left hand to grip the fingers, too. “I’ll tell you why I cried. You’re convinced that you’re the son of God. To flaunt your knowledge, you quote the words of God without permission. And you take it upon yourself to exact punishment. These are proof that you understand neither God nor the Bible at all. It’s infantile… It’s laughable.” Aoyama squeezed the hands. “The only one who may punish and pardon is God. What you’re doing is nothing more than mere violence. You’re no different from a toddler throwing a tantrum over something you dislike. You couldn’t possibly be the son of God!” Squelch. He felt a horrid sensation in his hands, like he was holding on to raw pork. When he opened them instinctively, he found that nothing was there. For a while, he stood in a daze. His heart pounded with his every breath. That had been terrifying. The voice…those hands… Jan had sent them. There was no mistake. It meant he could appear at any time, in any form he liked. Given that he had been able to mimic the appearance and voice of Aoyama’s grandfather, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that he could read all of Aoyama’s thoughts. He could have been doing so at this very moment. Driven by fury over the insult to his grandfather, Aoyama had managed to drive away Jan, but…had the other man felt like it, he could have easily killed Aoyama. The thought chilled him to the bone. One more thing had caught his attention: Jan’s words from earlier. Proffer the head of a deer—a sacrifice, in other words—lick clean the water in the pot. Jan had been alluding to the exchange between the prophet Elijah and God in the Book of Kings, a book in the Old Testament that recounts the history of Israel and Judah. Elijah was a prophet from before the birth of Jesus Christ whose renown is on par with Moses. The name Elijah in Hebrew means “Yahweh is my God.” Elijah spent nearly his entire life fighting the believers of Hadad, the god of the region, and protecting Yahwism. It would stand to reason that he wouldn’t appear in the New Testament after Jesus’s birth, but time and again, he shows up in the New Testament’s major stories. In Christianity, not Yahwism (the precursor to Judaism), Elijah’s most important role is to herald the coming of the Messiah. Up until that point, Jan had quoted only from the New Testament, which was primarily focused on Jesus and his disciples. Like Rumi had said, it seemed Jan believed himself to be Jesus Christ, and his actions were driven by that conviction. But this time, he had used Elijah’s words. Aoyama felt like he was on the verge of an important realization. Was Jan really convinced he was Jesus Christ? Moriya Foods. Anathema. The bizarre ritual Youta Shimamoto had participated in that resembled Suwa Grand Shrine’s religious festivals. Jan showed a particular interest in Emi Shimamoto. What was he planning to do with her—no, what was he using her for? “Hey, how long are you going to rest for? Knock it off and get back to work already.” His sister’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Right. First, he had to complete the tasks in front of him. Aoyama followed his sister out of the room. Three men look up at the sky. The youngest calls himself Kagpha. He has a fistful of gold. The middle-aged man calls himself Badadakharida. He carries an urn of frankincense. The air around him is fragrant. The elderly man calls himself Badadilma. He is counting grains of sand, one by one, and he reeks of death. The three peer up at the sky as one. They point and tell the others to look. No one looks. A large red eight-pointed star floats in the sky. No one looks up. They are afraid. The three men part through the ignorant and insolent and enter the building. After a while, they return with arms full of blessings. They are wearing identical smiles of delight. “He is our light,” they intone and leave. I return my eyes to the building. Standing there is an old couple, each considerate of the other. The two are terribly familiar. They look at me. Tears spring to their eyes, and they smile. Then they enter the building as well and return shortly, their arms overflowing with blessings. I look up at the sky. It will not be long before the star is directly over the building. I leap. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. That’s right. The door is open. The woman with the giant head drags herself out on her thin arms. She looks up at the sky. The star shines, lighting up her cavernous eye sockets. Layer upon layer of tender flesh is squirming. Wonderful. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. Now. Now is the time. I proclaim loudly, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.” The people finally look up. They raise their voices in exaltation, each in their own way. I hear them, and I sing. Born from the woman’s eyes is a ball of wiggling flesh. She expires, and the dogs swarm Him instead. This is the way her life ends, but nevertheless, she is blessed. He is the light that illuminates all. He is blessed by all. Memoriam. Eternal slumber. Thermal insulation. He is our glory. The man was recognizable even from afar. A toned physique complemented by bronzed skin. A small face. Looks that could put a model to shame. It made perfect sense why he had been popular in college with the entire female student body, crossing year and major lines, Aoyama thought. Youta Shimamoto seemed to notice Aoyama walking with Rumi and approached them. He had been lying in wait for them in front of the office. “Mr. Shimamoto,” Rumi started to say. Youta cut her off, saying loudly, “How long are you going to make me wait?” Aoyama froze. Since the office was on a backstreet, there was little pedestrian traffic, but the few people around were all glancing their way. “Calm down, Mr. Shimamoto,” Rumi said. “How could I possibly calm down?” he retorted. They managed to rein him in and lead him up to the office. Youta dropped onto the sofa with a thump and reclined with his legs outstretched. “Well? How long do I have to wait?” “I told you the case was tricky. It’s written in the contract that it may take time. I warned you verbally about this as well.” Youta slammed his fist loudly on the coffee table, overturning the teacup. “I don’t believe you at all. I said it might have to do with the paranormal, but you were the one who spouted nonsense about spirits or whatever, no?” Rumi gazed at him, saying nothing. Her attitude must have hit a nerve. He grew even more agitated and said insistently, “I dished out a ton of money. Maybe I should sue you for fraud.” She wasn’t the least bit intimidated. “Why don’t you try?” She looked directly at him and said, “According to you, we’re spiritual quacks, right? Go ahead and sue. If you can, that is.” Youta furrowed his brows; a slight wrinkle appeared on his handsome face, and then he relented. He changed his tune and said, as if he were soothing a baby, “There’s no need to take me so seriously. I’m not threatening you. I’m just worried about Emi. Worried sick. How do I take her back from that abnormal organization?” “Abnormal?” Rumi cracked up. She laughed like there was a joke so funny she couldn’t help herself. “Who’s the abnormal one here?” she asked. Youta’s large eyes opened wider. A smile was pasted on his face, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. “Come on. Tell me. Who’s abnormal? Is it not abnormal for a brother to keep round-the-clock surveillance on his sister in both their hometown and Tokyo?” “Where’s your proof?” “The glass rabbits,” Rumi said coldly. Aoyama sifted through his memories of Emi’s apartment, which he had visited with Rumi. The guard had been careless. When Rumi had told him, “Her brother asked us to come,” he gave them a spare key without even having them show written proof. When they opened the door, they saw Emi’s belongings strewn about the room like someone had demolished it. Glittering shards covered the floor. Rumi picked one up and sighed. “This is something else.” Aoyama nodded without saying anything. They quickly figured out that the glass shards were fragments of a broken rabbit figurine. That was because the same figurines—glass with black eyes—were by the bed, on the kitchen shelves, and in a bunch of other places in the room “Emi seems like…a bit of a hoarder,” Aoyama said. “That probably isn’t true.” Rumi picked up a rabbit on the desk and pried at the eye with a hairpin. She broke the thin glass around the eye, and a small black object fell out. Aoyama was stunned. “What the…?” Rumi merely gave him a sidelong glance and put the object into her fanny pack. Back in the present, she dumped all the pieces of the figurines she had collected in front of Shimamoto. “These are surveillance cameras, right? I’m impressed you managed to procure so many.” A wheeze escaped Youta’s lips. He was sweating profusely. “Shall I call you Abraham?” “I’m only worried for my sister… Isn’t it normal to worry?” “They were in the bathroom and by the bath, too, the rabbits.” The coffee table toppled over with a bang. Youta had leaped to his feet, knocking the table over in the process. “You don’t have proof it was me.” Youta could no longer maintain his smile. He looked down at Rumi with a warped expression on his face. This is what it means to show your true colors, Aoyama thought. Rumi’s comparison of Youta to Abraham was, in a sense, appropriate. Abraham appears in the Old Testament and is known as the patriarch of the Abrahamic religions. Some interpretations claim that his wife Sarah was actually his younger half-sister. Of course, the moral standards from the time of the Old Testament differ greatly from that of modern-day Japan. Aoyama felt a deep contempt for Youta, so no matter how furious the other man was, he felt no fear. There was only revulsion. However, in case Youta resorted to violence, Aoyama picked up a metal tray so he could be prepared to defend Rumi at any time. “Yes, this isn’t concrete proof,” Rumi said. “Not by itself, at least.” She smiled wickedly. “But combined with your texts and call records? I wonder.” On Rumi’s cue, Aoyama passed her the documents. She flipped through the pages and showed them to Youta. “Have you no respect for privacy?” Youta demanded. “Who are you to talk about privacy?” Rumi righted the coffee table. “Now then, shall we talk about Yamaike?” “Who the hell is that?” he yelled without pause. “Ryuusei Yamaike. Your friend. He looked after Emi, it seems. Tragically, he died in a car accident right before she graduated… My condolences. You were also injured in the accident, and you were the one who reported it, yes?” Youta laughed, loud enough to hurt one’s ears. He was no longer trying to hide his vulgarity. “I see. You really did your research. About me, that is. But unfortunately, you’re wrong. He was certainly my friend, but he was run over by a truck in front of me. That’s all that happened.” He sat down and moved forward until he was knee to knee with Rumi. “Sasaki, you’re the lowest of the low. To hide the fact that you’re a fraud, you would exploit even the story of my deceased friend. It’s like you think I killed him.” “Yes, that’s right. You didn’t kill him. It was the truck driver. However, you turned on the high beams and signaled Yamaike to get into your car.” Light diffraction. It refers to when a pedestrian appears to vanish between the headlights of one’s vehicle and an oncoming car. It happens particularly often on rainy nights and is difficult for drivers to prevent. At least, not by design. “It was raining that day,” Rumi said. “That means nothing!” Youta grabbed Rumi’s collar. Aoyama rushed in to help, but Rumi waved him off. “Yes, it is just a supposition. I have no evidence. But do you have any proof that I’m a fraud? Do you want to fight? Speculation versus speculation, until one side falls apart.” She slapped away Youta’s hand. “I’ll say it again. If you can sue, then sue. But no matter what happens, I’ll do my job. I’ll bring Emi back to this world, as you requested. Surely, we can agree on that.” Shimamoto held his fist up awkwardly for a moment longer and then dropped it on his knee. “Don’t mess with me, hag,” he spat in a low voice, but his air of superiority from earlier was gone. “Mr. Shimamoto.” Aoyama stepped between him and Rumi. “Apologize to Rumi. You threatened and insulted her… I can’t let that slide. Is it because she’s a woman, because she seems weaker than you?” Youta clicked his teeth and glared at Aoyama. The next instant, he rose to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but women are terrifying. They’re sly and annoying and lie at the drop of a hat. But the moment they’re in danger, they hide behind a man and play the victim. They’re incorrigible. Hopelessly weak.” “If you won’t apologize, then get out of here,” Aoyama said, meeting the other man’s eyes. He was no longer disgusted, just astounded. He had never met anyone, man or woman, who would boldly proclaim such childish and embarrassing things. Youta glared at Aoyama, but after seeing the look of utter resignation on Aoyama’s face, he violently shoved his way past him, kicked open the door, and left. From the large window in the office, Aoyama watched until Youta disappeared into the crowd. He heaved a sigh. “Sorry. This kind of situation is tough for you, right?” Rumi said. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Aoyama said. “In fact, I should thank you.” Confronted by Youta, who was solidly built, Rumi hadn’t backed down an inch. She had kept her cool and forced him to retreat using only her words. Aoyama’s only regret was that he hadn’t been able to make Youta apologize and reflect. He turned over what Youta had said in his mind, growing upset as he did. “How do I put this? He’s good-looking, but he’s rotten on the inside. The fact that he…has incestuous feelings toward Emi… That shocked me.” “Thank goodness he was even more of an idiot than I thought. My supposition was nothing more than a bluff.” They didn’t have Youta’s call records or texts. All they had found were the surveillance cameras. Yet even without the records, Rumi had figured out what was going on right away. “What did you think about Emi?” She paused, then said, “…Ah, you’re not the type to comment on women’s appearances. I won’t beat around the bush, then. What did you think of her appearance?” “I mean…I thought she was gorgeous.” Emi Shimamoto was undoubtedly a beauty. Unlike her brother, she didn’t draw attention to herself, but she stood out all the same. Huddled next to Jan in her pure-white clothing, she looked like an angel. “Despite her looks, her self-esteem is at rock bottom… At first, I suspected abuse,” Rumi said. “However, according to the locals, her parents seemed to adore her.” She looked at the ceiling. “She was well-known for her ability to see spirits, too. And her parents poured both money and time into finding mediums who could rid her of her power. Not that they found any worth their salt. Anyone who would take on an impossible request like erasing someone’s spiritual powers is bound to be a phony. She used to be teased in elementary school, but she had good friends, too, and her school life was normal.” “Then why…?” “I talked to her close friend about this. Well, they were only close until third grade, to be precise.” Rumi took out a voice recorder and hit the play button. Emi was really nice. Do you know the Pretty Cure series? Yeah, there’s a lot of different iterations, but the one that was playing then was PreCure 5. I was Cure Rouge, and Emi was Cure Dream. Our parents wouldn’t buy us the toys, so we made them ourselves to play with. Let me think… She said she could see…ghosts. A woman covered in blood, a man with a crushed head, things that I couldn’t see. It was scary. But I cried once and told her I was scared. After that, she never said anything again. She used to stare at places where there wasn’t anything. She was clearly terrified, but…even when I asked, she’d say it was nothing. She really was a nice girl. I wanted to stay friends with her, too, but it didn’t work out. Her brother is bad news. You’re not going to tell anyone, right? It’s okay, right? I…I was coming home from the pool one day. Emi and I were hanging out like usual. When we split up, we said “Bye” and “See you tomorrow”… Then on my way home, I saw Emi’s brother walking toward me. I had gone to her house before, so I knew who he was. He was kind and handsome. I remember saying I wanted an older brother, too… Looking back on it, he was only kind to Emi… Anyway, I thought it would be weird to ignore him, so I said hi. But even though he had noticed me, he didn’t respond. I called out to him again, but he only smiled. That smile was…horrifying. I have to run, I thought, so I ran away as fast as I could, even though it was away from my house. But he quickly caught me and dragged me to a rest stop along the road. We were in the boonies… There was no one around to see. He took off my clothes, one by one, and took a bunch of photos. He told me not to worry, that he didn’t have any perverse intentions. I was just a kid, but I knew he was telling the truth. I still think so. You know how little boys rip the legs off bugs for fun? It was the same for him. To him, I was just a bug. “Don’t talk to Emi anymore,” he warned me. “If you break your promise, I’ll spread these photos.” All I could do was nod. I went home. Even when I closed my eyes, I could still see his face. I was so scared. So scared… The next day, Emi came to pick me up before school like always… But I ignored her. Her brother was standing behind her, grinning. He was making the same frightening face as before. I felt like a bug. He could squash me in an instant. That’s what I thought. After that, whenever Emi talked to me, I ignored her. She was cute, so she made new friends right away, but…before long, she ended up alone again. Those friends probably went through the same thing I did. Even after we started middle school, I couldn’t help her when she was picked on. I felt bad for her, but whenever I imagined her brother’s face, I lost all will to talk to her, I’m sorry to say. I didn’t feel like I was living until he graduated high school and went to Tokyo. Our town was tiny, so Emi and I would pass each other all the time. When our eyes met, she would always wave at me. Emi’s mom and dad are good people, so it hurt to ignore her. How could they give birth to someone like him…? I think his world consisted of Emi and himself alone. Everyone else was a bug. Emi lives in Tokyo, right? He…isn’t doing anything weird to her, is he? I’m worried. I want to apologize. Emi— Rumi hit the pause button. “There’s no point listening any further.” Aoyama figured the rest was just the “close friend” making excuses. “Anyway, that’s the way it was,” Rumi said. “Youta might have gone to university in Tokyo because he was an excellent student, but I bet it was also so that he could control Emi somewhere away from their parents.” Aoyama nodded. “But it’s still astonishing. What he did to Yamaike…” “That was all a bluff. I saw a post by one of Youta’s former classmates that was about the anniversary of Yamaike’s death, and Youta had commented on it. I looked into it… That was all. All I found out for sure was Yamaike’s full name and that it had been raining the day he died. I didn’t want to be right, but my guess was spot-on.” Rumi stretched her arms out long. “We lost time because of him. We have to finish our original objective.” She jumped to her feet and grinned. “Let’s go check our answers.” ■■■■■■ was born into an organization called the Church of the Octagram, which espoused the resurrection of Iēsoûs Khrīstós and the redemption of mankind’s sins. ■■■■■■’s father was the head and was already sixty when ■■■■■■ was born. His mother represented the women’s group and was in her forties. The Church of the Octagram was small but rigorously coordinated. Everyone lived together and shared clothing and daily necessities. Anything they wanted was discussed as a group before purchase. There were members with medical licenses as well, so illness was seldom a cause for concern. Their holy text comprised the Old and New Testaments translated by ■■■■■■’s father, who was a priest. The children who belonged to the church, including ■■■■■■, were only allowed to read the Bible before elementary school. TV, books, manga, video games, and the internet were forbidden as a rule, but other forms of entertainment were allowed. ■■■■■■ studied hard so as not to embarrass his parents. Every day, he would make clay figures of God and the personages who appeared in the Bible. His parents were delighted when he showed the figures to them, so he continued to make them day after day, until the halls were overflowing with them. There was no doubt that ■■■■■■ grew up loved by his parents. He entered elementary school. Some of the church’s children struggled with their alienation from society’s norms. Among them were children who didn’t go to school but instead chose to be taught by the adult members. (Some were teachers at cram schools. Upon reflection, it was an unusually educated group.) Others were exposed to the outside world’s knowledge and became diabolos. It was difficult to rehabilitate the diabolos. As a child, ■■■■■■ never saw what happened directly, but judging from the state of the brothers and sisters after they received rehabilitation, he could tell it was a sublime process. Compared with the others, ■■■■■■ was more adaptable. In addition, he had a stronger conviction in the Lord than anyone. Those with a strong faith would not be misled by the mistaken knowledge of the outside. ■■■■■■ had friends, if only a few, and he was on good terms with his teachers. Only one thing had shocked him at school. The adults didn’t have sexual intercourse. In the Church of the Octagram, they followed the teachings of the Lord: Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth. The adults (and in some cases, the children as well) proactively had sex whenever they could. ■■■■■■ asked his third-grade homeroom teacher, Ms. Ishikawa, “Why don’t you or the other teachers have sex?” He would never forget her expression. She was momentarily speechless, but then she took ■■■■■■ to an empty classroom. She gave him several romance novels and said, her eyes damp, “These are written for adults, but I know you’re a smart kid. It would make me happy if you could read them and come to understand them in your own time.” Once the children of the church entered elementary school, they were permitted to read books from the outside (after mandatory inspection by the adults). There were limitations, but the books his teacher lent him were lauded works of high literature, so he was able to get permission. He read three in one day. Consequently, he came to understand what she had been trying to tell him. In the outside world, men and women built a relationship over a long period of time and had sex only after they came to a mutual understanding. The brothers and sisters of the church lived together, so everyone knew everyone inside and out. Even if the depth of the relationship wasn’t a problem, apparently, in the outside world, it was considered barbaric to have sex without considering the time or place. It was a value from the outside world, but ■■■■■■ agreed with it. He thought his brothers and sisters were like dogs when they were in the middle of intercourse, even though he knew they were only following the Lord’s teachings and sex was a perfectly rational action. Of course, his faith in the Lord never wavered, nor did he doubt his brothers and sisters who adhered to the Lord’s words. The following day, he returned the books to Ms. Ishikawa. “I get it now. You only do things like that when you’re alone with the person you love,” he said. She seemed satisfied with his answer. She was kind as well as clever, so she neither contacted his parents nor made the incident a big deal. She merely told him, “Talk to me if you need anything.” Later, ■■■■■■ wondered how she was doing. In sixth grade, she had died during ■■■■■■’s Inquisition, unable to withstand it. Since then, she had always been on his mind. She’d refused to accept the Lord’s existence until the bitter end. She was a heretic, so she wouldn’t have been able to go to heaven immediately, but those of sound heart and mind would end up in the right place. At least, that was what he hoped for. The values from the outside world that she had introduced to him had sparked new insight. He was grateful to her. He was able to realize why those who received the right teachings could sin. His parents, brothers, and sisters—except for the ones who had become diabolos—were righteous. They read the Bible, eschewed the ego, helped one another, and believed in the Lord. Yet righteous though they might be, many among his sisters suffered, including his mother, who represented the women’s group. His father was kind and righteous, but outside of services, ceremonies, and meals, his parents didn’t have sex insofar as he could remember. One of his sisters, who was around thirty and beautiful, declared one day that she had “seen the light,” after which the children in the church took to calling her Mater. That was the reason behind his mother’s incredible sadness. Mater was always spirited and conducted herself like a queen. However, as light made darker the shadow, the number of his sisters with miserable expressions increased. The followers had no rights to property (everyone on the earth was created by the Lord) and had to renounce their ego. Thus, the jealousy his mother felt toward Mater must not have been righteous, but besides that, it was an error for the sisters to be unhappy as well. Additionally, some of the brothers would have intercourse with sisters who had just become adults, damaging the sisters’ mental conditions. They weren’t punished for their transgressions and would quickly repeat the same act with different sisters. Such behavior was, without a doubt, a sin. The Lord taught love for man, and love was connected to happiness. For the sisters to be unhappy meant they were going against the word of the Lord. The solution to the dilemma lay in the inspiration he had gotten from Ms. Ishikawa, which was that to have sex without the consent of both parties was barbaric. This was not a mistaken belief of outsiders but the truth. In reality, when ■■■■■■ had been younger, his parents had been overflowing with love and affection, and all his brothers and sisters had worn joyous expressions. However, now the stench of misery and violence was always present. To nurture the seed of inspiration, ■■■■■■ poured even more effort into his studies. In addition to the Church of the Octagram’s holy text, he also read the scriptures of religions who worshipped the same god and even academic texts that were critical of such faiths. He gained a reputation in the organization for his brilliance, which belied his age, and was permitted to read almost any book for the sake of “future reference.” Because he was still a child, there was much he didn’t understand, but in those cases, he used the laptop in the library room to research further. Consequently, he became aware of numerous demons far more terrifying than those depicted in the Bible. That made him realize why the adults had restricted the use of the internet. And even in the Old Testament, there were numerous examples of improper behavior from people who had received the Lord’s teachings. They doubted and betrayed the Lord and sinned repeatedly. The son of the Lord, Iēsoûs, took away those wrongs. He was the savior the Lord sent to man. Iēsoûs was crucified and died, taking on all of mankind’s sins. The story was written in every text. However, even now, neither the Church of the Octagram’s members nor anyone else seemed to have become righteous. ■■■■■■ didn’t understand why. ■■■■■■ studied harder. He read the Bible over and over again. In the midst of his readings, he discovered the difference between the church’s holy text and the Bible. The realization changed his life. It was the tale of Ioan, the Ascetic of Holy Ablution, he who baptized Iēsoûs. In the European texts said to have been passed down from the Lord, Ioan is called John, and he, like the Ioan whom ■■■■■■ knew, baptized Iēsoûs. But that was where the texts diverged. In the common Bible, John parts with Iēsoûs. While preaching the word of the Lord, he falls victim to the scheme of a woman named Herodias and is beheaded. His head is brought out on a platter. However, in the text of the Church of the Octagram, Ioan evangelizes with Iēsoûs and supports him as a servant. It was difficult to imagine that Ioan, who respected Iēsoûs from the bottom of his heart, would choose of his own accord a different path, so ■■■■■■ intuited that their parting must have been made up after the fact. What interested ■■■■■■ was Ioan’s—or John’s—origin. John was born to a Jewish priest named Zacharias and his wife, Elisabeth. They followed the teachings of the Lord, but they were old and childless. One day, Zacharias burned incense at the temple altar, and the angel Gabriel appeared. The angel faced the terrified Zacharias and said, “Fear not, Zacharias. Elisabeth shall bear thee a son, and thou shalt call his name John. Many shall rejoice at his birth. Many shall have joy and gladness, and he shall be great in the sight of the Lord.” To which Zacharias answered, “Whereby shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife well stricken in years. We do not wish for a child.” Gabriel said, “I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and am sent to speak unto thee, and to shew thee these glad tidings. Thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak, until the day that these things shall be performed, because thou believest not my words.” Just like Gabriel proclaimed, Zacharias became mute and Elisabeth pregnant. Elisabeth was related to Mary—Theotokos, or the Mother of God. When Elisabeth’s belly had swelled to the point that anyone could tell, Mary paid her a visit. The moment Mary spoke, the baby in her stomach kicked. The night of the full moon, Elisabeth gave birth to a son, as Gabriel had said. The people around them wanted to name the boy Zacharias after his father, but Elizabeth said, “Not so; but he shall be called John.” “There is none of thy kindred that is called by this name,” the others said. “Zacharias, what sayst you?” However, Zacharias could not speak. He wrote on a tablet in a clear hand, His name is John. Suddenly, he could speak again, and he praised the Lord. Everyone watching was filled with awe, and the story spread around the mountain region of Judaea. “What manner of child shall this be?” they wondered. “What must the future hold for him?” The people acknowledged John. It was clear to all that he was filled with the power of the Lord. Zacharias was filled with the Holy Spirit and declared to John, “Thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways. To give knowledge of salvation unto his people by the remission of their sins.” Upon reading the verse, ■■■■■■ was struck by a thought that made his knees weak. The meaning of his own birth became instantly clear. ■■■■■■ was Ioan. He was John. He understood why he had been born to an elderly father and mother. He understood why the lives of the Church of the Octagram’s members had fallen into disarray. It wasn’t limited to the church, either. The smallest thing sparked man’s hatred. People robbed, wronged, and killed one another. There was no peace on earth. The perception that the teachings of the Bible were based on historical truths was, in and of itself, mistaken. Presently, the world was devastated and crime ridden. It was an unpardonable, hopeless place that had not yet seen the birth of Iēsoûs. Paradoxically, if Iēsoûs were never born, this sorrowful world would continue forever. ■■■■■■ had been born to bring the advent of Iēsoûs. His mission was to bless Iēsoûs and prepare his ways. By doing so, ■■■■■■ was to save the world. Thus, ■■■■■■ named himself Jan, after John. I had to wait until my bar mitzvah. Only after turning thirteen could one take on responsibilities in the eyes of the Church of the Octagram. During the bar mitzvah, the child who is to join the ranks of the adults gets the opportunity to make a speech. I poured everything I had into my studies, and on the day of the ceremony, I enlightened my brothers and sisters to my learnings. At first, they were surprised, but understanding quickly came. Mater, the embodiment of debauchery, also came to understand God’s words, and she stopped behaving like a queen. As per my suggestion, the church established service once a week, and Mater was given a job. When she gave comfort to the brothers, she was like a saint. My mother and father regained their smiles. My happiest discovery was the identity of the woman with the immense eye sockets. If I showed any signs that I had noticed her, she would come close and grab me tight enough to crush my head, wailing unintelligibly all the while. If I didn’t react and ignored her, she would go back to hovering in the air, but since she was always by my side, she was extremely troublesome. However, after my bar mitzvah, everything changed. That woman was Theotokos. Her vast eye sockets were vessels for the conception of Iēsoûs. She was only visible to those with a mission. No one else could see her but me—not my parents, not Mater, and not my brothers and sisters. I needed to get her to conceive Iēsoûs as quickly as possible. “Theotokos,” I called out to her. She jerked and drew nearer, swinging her head violently left and right, up and down. She was howling with laughter. It was vulgar. It was impossible to see her as the Mother of God. But just as I was an incomplete Ioan, she was incomplete as well. Reflecting on this, I knelt before her and taught her how to behave as the Mother of God. She grasped my teachings right away. Since only those with missions could sense her presence, I used her as a litmus test to gather companions. Among them, Hidemitsu Moriya—I met him by chance when I was almost struck by his car—was a wonderful comrade. It pleased me that his name resembled the holy land of Moriah, but beyond that, he zealously helped me in my evangelical work. He represented a major food company. With his assistance, I was able to enlighten many more people. Companions they were not, but they became righteous and suitable for the peaceful world that Iēsoûs’s birth would bring about. There were several others who could see Theotokos the way Moriya did, but I met no one who could hear her voice. Besides, though she was visible to them, they didn’t perceive her as keenly as I did. Some described her as a black clump, some a sludge-like liquid, and some a swarm of insects. Only three people felt her presence as strongly as I. It was then I realized they had been born with the mission of the three wise men, who, in the Bible, observed the star that heralded Iēsoûs’s birth before anyone else. Like the biblical figures, they were able to identify the worthy fruit from those who came to Moriya Foods. Of course, Moriya perceived Theotokos the most clearly—he even knew where her head was—but he already had the critical task of administration. As Iēsoûs himself said, “One thing is needful.” In any case, the only ones who knew that Mary was the Mother of God were Elisabeth’s son, John (or Ioan), and the angel Gabriel, who came to deliver the word of God. In other words, if there was anyone else who could truly see her appearance and hear her voice, as I could, they wouldn’t be a companion but an angel, a being who was far beyond the likes of me. After that, in addition to preparing for Iēsoûs’s birth, I began to search for Gabriel, too. Unless Gabriel announced to the Mother of God that she would have a son, Iēsoûs could never be born. I was ashamed to not have realized such a simple thing. I told the Mother of God how to respond to Gabriel when she met him. Thus it was written in the Bible: Sit mihi. Be it unto me according to thy word. Unfortunately, she was an incomplete version of the Holy Mother, and she quoted the phrase to everyone. Since no one could hear her anyway, it was pardonable. In the end, it took me five years to find Gabriel. When I first laid eyes on Emi Shimamoto, Gabriel incarnate, she seemed to glow with a divine light. Many lost lambs of light—though they could not compare to the Holy Mother—trailed in her wake until she reached the entrance of the Moriya building. Sadly, the moment she set foot inside, they were dispelled by the Holy Mother. My premonition had been correct. There was no doubt she could see the Holy Mother. She could even hear the Mother’s voice, a feat no one else had managed. Though she was bewildered and shaking with fright, that was only because she had yet to realize her mission. Despite her beauty and noble bearing, she lacked confidence. I came to understand that she had been cursed, dirtied by a diabolo. My heart ached to see her behave so. I hadn’t thought the world had become so filthy. There was no time. I had to bring about Iēsoûs as soon as possible. I had rid Emi of her unease so that she may become the true Gabriel. To welcome the salvation that was to come. To rectify the world. I devoted my entire self to the cause. It worked. She saw the dreams of prophecy, divined her mission, and announced, if fearfully, to the Holy Mother her conception. A little more. Only a little more till thou wilt be born. “Έγώ είμι . Ego emi ho on.” While listening to Christmas carols written by sinners, I whisper the words of God.
Chapter 4
70 min read