Chapter 10

Miri hadn’t died in a plane crash—she’d been killed by a knife to the stomach. And I was there. Had Miri and I met in the past? No, that couldn’t be. I had no memory of it. That past didn’t exist. Which left only one possibility: I had seen the future. That was it! That was the future! My heart screamed in my chest. “You haven’t ‘really met’ her”—Kashimo’s words echoed in the back of my mind. She was right. I haven’t met Miri yet, but I will meet her in the future. Because—Miri was still alive. The dream I’d had last night suddenly came to mind. The mummy man—his eyes were the same hazel as Miri’s. Could that have been a remnant of a memory? Maybe Miri had miraculously survived the crash, horribly injured, wrapped in bandages, but still alive. And that image had appeared in my dream. Miri had lied. She had faked her own death. But why? Until I figured that out, I decided it was best to hide what I knew about the accident. I would pretend not to know, working secretly to uncover the truth. Onstage, I’d play the detective Miri expected me to be, but behind the scenes, I would find the real playwright. Miri and I kept looking at each other with perfect smiles. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. 7 After that, my entire life became a performance. I repeated my everyday routine as if nothing had happened. I’d sleep, wake up, rehearse The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms, and feed Saburou. Miri could see the future—which meant, to some extent, she could choose her future. But “that death” still lay at the end of her path. If I wanted to help, my first step had to be interrupting her choices. But was that even possible, against someone who could see the future? I recalled what Miri said. The future is constantly in flux. Some things will definitely happen, while others occur at random. It branches out indefinitely… Even I can’t grasp all of its ins and outs. In other words, she can know the near future to some extent, but the branches grow exponentially in the distant future, making it incredibly difficult to predict the future. Like the butterfly effect—could a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil cause a tornado in Texas? Small changes in initial conditions could lead to tremendously different outcomes. If that’s true, then maybe there are futures that Miri can’t see at all. Also, I can see the future by looking into Miri’s eyes. So, in a way, I should be able to choose the future, too. Miri once said: Matters of life and death can’t be reversed except in extreme circumstances. But could “extreme circumstances” be created to stop her from dying? My theory boiled down to this: Choosing a future that Miri doesn’t foresee might be the key to preventing her death. “Hey, Saburou, come here,” I called, petting him. I snickered. I might be able to save Miri—just the faintest glimmer of hope, but I couldn’t suppress a grin. Then my phone chimed. It was a text from Chitose. She wanted to talk about the shooting with the mummy. She added that this was our second date, so I couldn’t say no. But right now, I wanted to focus on saving Miri. I considered refusing and had just typed the S in Sorry—when it hit me. Wouldn’t refusing seem suspicious? It might signal that something more important had come up, which could lead to Miri figuring out what I was planning. Plus, wouldn’t spending time with another girl make Miri let down her guard? I was too afraid to erase the S, so I hurriedly typed. Skytree sound good? Why Tokyo Skytree? I wanted to bury my head in my hands, but I forced myself to relax and waited for her reply. 8 We both ordered lattes and sat together, gazing out the window. Under the blue sky, cars the size of raindrops moved between the buildings of a miniature cityscape. We’d ended up at a café on the three hundred and fortieth floor of Tokyo Skytree, after all. “It looked like something out of a horror story. A mummy murdering someone,” Chitose said. “Seriously. It was hideous. Why would the killer dress up like that?” “Maybe they wanted someone to see it?” A charming smile appeared on her face as she spoke. She wrapped both hands around her cup, sipping carefully so as not to disturb her lipstick. The red color stood out against her monotone outfit—a plain cut-and-sew shirt, black cami dress, and high heels. Gold hoops hung from her ears. Feeling a bit out of sync, I replied. “But why kill Kuroyama in the first place? What’s the motive? And what’s the connection with Amagasaki?” “I don’t know. All I do know is that both of them had COVID.” “Let’s start by going over what we know.” Rehearsal started at nine thirty that morning, and the mummy appeared at ten fifteen, right before the climax of the prologue. We heard a bell, and Kuroyama was shot at ten eighteen. It happened in a stand-alone house in Nakameguro. The house belonged to his uncle, but Kuroyama was living there while his uncle was working in another city. “The neighbors reported hearing what sounded like a gunshot at ten eighteen,” I said. “Wait, wasn’t the room soundproofed?” “It should have been. Kuroyama said it used to be a theater room, so it kept sound in really well. That’s why he used it for Drama Club stuff. But if the door wasn’t closed, the soundproofing wouldn’t work perfectly, and sound could escape.” “That makes sense. The door was open, so the neighbors hearing the gunshot checks out.” “Speaking of hearing things, why didn’t Kuroyama hear the bell?” “I think it’s because he was wearing noise-canceling headphones. He once didn’t even notice his phone ringing right next to him until someone pointed it out.” “I see. You really can’t hear anything with quality headphones.” I nodded. “What about the mummy’s clothes? Were they from the Drama Club?” “Yes. The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms was based on an earlier play, so we already had the mummy’s robe. Umeko made the mask.” “I see. So Amou finished the script quickly because it was based on something else. Which means the killer had access to the Drama Club room. Who has keys?” “There’s a key hidden in the geranium pot near the door, so anyone could have used it.” “Okay. Third question: How did the mummy get into the house?” “Apparently, the window in the first-floor bathroom was smashed.” “So the killer entered through the window, put on the mummy costume, then attacked Kuroyama.” I replayed the scene in my mind, and chills ran down my spine. “If that’s the case, anyone could have done it. Anyone except the people in the Drama Club, since they all have alibis.” “That’s the thing,” I said. “I can’t help but think the killer chose to do it during rehearsal on purpose. That way, no one in the Drama Club would become a suspect.” Chitose looked stunned. “Youichi, are you saying you think the killer is someone in the Drama Club?” “It makes sense. They could’ve used some trick to make everyone think they were at rehearsal, then secretly killed Kuroyama.” “Is that even possible?” “There are lots of ways they could have pulled it off. For example, they could’ve rented a room near his house, joined rehearsal from there, then slipped away to kill him. Or maybe they broke into his house, signed into rehearsal from the first floor, and dressed as the mummy. Everyone would’ve been focused on the costume, not noticing someone had slipped away. Like misdirection in magic.” “That’s a lot of possibilities. I’m impressed. But I checked everyone’s screen when it happened. No one was gone. You know, if we check the access log, we can see if anyone logged in from a different location.” She grabbed her phone and checked the log. Everyone had signed in from their home networks. “Actually, there’s one more simple explanation. They could’ve prerecorded themselves and played the video.” Her mouth dropped, then she laughed. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. Is that even possible?” “The app we use has that function. I’ve done it before to skip classes where your face has to be visible the entire time. It’s impossible to tell if it’s a recording or a live feed.” “Wow,” she said, looking impressed. “But you shouldn’t be skipping class.” “Yeah, I know… Anyway, we should review the video to see if anyone was acting strange. I’m sure the police have thought of this, too, though.” “You never know. Let’s give it a shot.” She smiled at me. 9 We took a moment to admire Mt. Fuji and the Sumida River before leaving Tokyo Skytree, strolling around the station. Moving beyond our grim conversation, we chatted casually while checking out the nearby shops. We ducked into a store selling retro-looking antiques, browsing through beautifully decorated clocks, stained glass lamps, and Western-style dolls with their blue eyes. Chitose suddenly stopped in front of a painting. It was bizarre: A single left eye filled the canvas, the iris covered with white clouds floating in a blue sky, while the pupil, dark as a black moon, seemed lifeless. It unsettled me. I couldn’t look away. “The False Mirror by René Magritte,” Chitose said, moving to admire another piece next to it. This one was equally disturbing—a man and a woman, their heads wrapped in white cloth, kissing through the fabric. “This is Magritte, too. The Lovers.” “Something about these makes me uncomfortable. What bizarre paintings…” “That’s surrealism,” she said. I didn’t really get it, but I nodded anyway. She continued, “It feels more real than reality.” “These paintings are more real than reality?” “Fiction reflects reality better than truth sometimes. Who knows? Maybe this is what love really is.” Her voice carried a hint of sadness. I didn’t fully understand what she meant, but asking might seem insensitive, so I kept quiet. “Oh, it’s a replica, but they’re asking for thirty-thousand yen,” she said, looking at the price tag. Wanting to make her happy, I offered, “If you want, I can get it for you as a birthday present.” “Really?” Her eyes lit up. “It’s in November. Don’t forget.” She walked off with a skip in her step, smiling. I smiled, too, but then froze. Hanging on the wall was something disturbingly familiar. A knife with a golden handle, red jewels embedded in the hand guard… It was the knife. The same one I’d seen in Miri’s vision—the one that had stabbed her in the stomach, ending her life. The sound of my pulse roared in my ears. “What’s wrong?” I jumped at her question. “Oh, no… It’s just so pretty.” “Isn’t it? Both the blade and the handle are decorated. It’s not too expensive—how about we use this as the knife in The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms? I think we already have one in the clubroom, but this one’s better.” My blood ran cold. I tactfully hid my face, pretending to debate it. “Isn’t it kind of dangerous to use a real knife?” She laughed. “There’s no way this is real. It’s a replica.” A nearby sign confirmed the blade wasn’t real. Confused, I then remembered that even replicas could be deadly with the right material. People had died from accidents with prop weapons before. This was bad. If I acted too concerned about the knife, Miri might figure out that I’d seen her future. I panicked. “It’s so well-made it looks real. It might even violate the Firearms and Swords Control Law.” I smiled to sell the idea. “That settles it, then. I’m getting it—” Chitose reached for the knife, but I grabbed it first. “It’s okay, I’ll buy it. I’ll submit the receipt for club funds later.” My mind scrambled as I paid. I had to find a way to destroy the knife. Not just destroy it, but do so in a way that wouldn’t raise Miri’s suspicions. We left the store and, at Chitose’s suggestion, headed toward the Sumida River. We sat on a bench in Sumida Park, chatting, but my mind was still consumed by the knife. Maybe I could “accidentally” throw it away with the trash—no, that wouldn’t work. Wild ideas filled my head. We decided to walk toward Sensoji Temple, crossing the Kototoi Bridge. As we crossed, Chitose spotted three blue-and-white flycatchers on the railing and said, “If your name fits you, there’s something I would ask, O, Capital bird: Is the lady in my thoughts still quite safe?” “What’s that?” “It’s a poem by Ariwara no Narihira. He’s leaving the city when he sees a group of Eurasian oystercatchers, which are also called capital birds. Since their name includes ‘capital,’ he assumes that they would know what’s happening in the city and asks them if his love is safe— That’s why it’s called the Kototoi Bridge—the Asking Bridge.” “Wow, you sure know a lot about this.” “We had an assignment in elementary school where we researched the origin of our names. That’s how I found out about it, since my name uses the kanji for capital. It’s always felt a little bittersweet to me.” She adjusted an earring in her left ear as it swayed in the wind. I felt a similar bittersweetness, like it spread to me, too. I wanted to ask the birds myself—ask if Miri was safe. Suddenly, the birds took flight, startling Chitose. She lost her balance, and I reflexively reached out to steady her when a good idea struck me. Pretending it was an accident, I dropped the bag with the knife into the Sumida River. “Oh no!” I shouted, leaning over the railing to watch the bag disappear beneath the water—a few ripples formed before vanishing. “I’m so sorry, that was all my fault…” “No, it was mine. I panicked and slipped. What’s done is done. We’ll just buy something else.” I couldn’t help but smile under my mask. 10 I returned to my apartment and immediately looked into Saburou’s eyes. As always, Miri appeared. “I saw Chitose today.” “For your second date?” I hesitated for a moment before nodding. “…I see. I’m glad you’re having fun, Yochi,” she said, though her expression showed distress. Seeing her like that made my chest tighten. I changed the subject, telling her about my conversation with Chitose regarding the mummy murder. Miri nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a simple trick, but I think it’s entirely possible. I’ll search for a future where the two of you investigate that angle. It should save you a lot of trouble.” I thanked her and then asked if she’d help me practice. She agreed. We worked on the climax of the prologue from The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms, where Sunada Tetsu and Suzume cut their stomachs open with a knife and threw themselves into the Seiryu River. Miri played Suzume, and I was Tetsu. As usual, Miri guided me through the scene, acting as my instructor while performing with restrained emotion. I stopped mid-scene, looking at her seriously. “Miri, please don’t hold back this time. I want to see you give it everything you’ve got.” If she went all out, she would surely cry. And if she cried, I could look into her eyes again. She looked up from the script, her gaze meeting mine. Her expression didn’t change, but something fragile flickered in her jewellike eyes. She nodded, understanding what I asked of her. Miri took a deep breath, her shoulders sinking in a gesture of deep sorrow. She cradled the air in her hands as if holding something delicate, like a baby bird. The soul of a quiet night seemed to reflect in her eyes, and I held my breath. All sounds faded into silence. Miri spoke, her voice trembling like a solitary snowflake, fragile and fleeting. “Then let us die together.” That single moment mesmerized me. “We’ll be reunited in the next world,” Sunada Tetsu answered softly. The two lovers strolled along the banks of the Seiryu River, the fractured moon twinkling on the water’s gently rippling surface. The cold swell of the dark river seemed to resonate deep within their empty stomachs, and both shivered. With every pause from Tetsu, Suzume glanced back, patiently waiting for him. She appeared otherworldly—her beautiful profile hovering serenely as she passed through the darkness in a graceful, regal arc, like a phantom flame. Watching her gentle, fluid, ethereal smile, Tetsu stood transfixed. “The true terror of a woman…may just be her kindness.” Tetsu hesitated; Suzume waited. The sequence repeated three times before they finally stopped. They embraced tightly, confessing their love in a moment that felt eternal. Tetsu buried his face in Suzume’s pale neck as though it were a warm, comforting lake. Suzume removed a knife from her bosom. And she plunged it into Tetsu’s stomach. I came back to myself with a start. Miri’s extraordinary acting engulfed me completely in the world she portrayed, so much so that I practically felt the knife wound in my stomach. Having immersed herself completely in her role, Miri’s eyes shone with tears. Remembering my original intention, I looked into those eyes, and— Time seems to stretch as I pass through the tempest of her memories. I smell fire and rain and finally arrive at that night. Looking up at the shadowy moon engulfed in flames… “God…” A voice speaks, filled with sorrow—Miri’s voice. Things are different than last time. This time, she is standing, and her stomach is intact. I had altered the future by destroying the knife! Miri won’t die! My soul rejoices. But a darkness engulfs Miri’s mind, as hopeless as a black hole. One that could consume the shadowy moon, the flames, even the darkness of the night. With rough, panicky breaths, I look down, and— I can’t believe it. I, Youichi, am lying collapsed on the ground. A silver-handled knife is thrust into his stomach, and blackish blood pours from him. The lips on his pale face tremble. He reaches upward, desperately repeating “Miri… Miri…” He can’t see anything, simply reaching out into the darkness. I fall to my knees, grasping his hand. Then I burst into sobs. “I failed…! I failed! I failed!” I scream over and over. Some highly elaborate building crumbles like a five-tiered pagoda. “What was it for?! What was it all for…?!” I see him—me—die before my very eyes. My mind—Miri’s soul—shatters, after which I simply scream wildly. And then a gunshot. Returning to reality, my heart raced. Sweat dripped from every pore, and after a moment of dizziness, I felt on the verge of fainting. I managed to hold on, though, and gathered myself. Luckily, my movements didn’t seem unnatural for someone who was supposed to have just been stabbed. Miri didn’t suspect a thing and continued the scene. Sunada Tetsu pulled the knife from his stomach and stabbed Suzume in return. Miri’s face twisted in pain—so convincing, so real, that it almost brought me to tears. My mind spiraled in a sea of emotions. Why was I the one dying in the future? Why had Miri been so distraught? What did she mean when she said she had failed? And that gunshot…? I looked into Miri’s eyes once again to find answers— The shadowy moon engulfed in flames. The rain running down my face. My life spilling from my stomach. What? A whirlpool of confusion overtook me once more. It wasn’t me dying. It had shifted back to Miri. And then the gunshot— 11 In my dream, it was still that night. I lay dead before me, with Miri screaming wildly. I jolted awake, drenched in sweat. I processed everything in the shower. First, I had been dying, but then the future reverted to Miri’s death. What could that mean? I remembered what Miri had said: The future is constantly in flux. An idea struck me. A hypothesis. If I was right, it meant I couldn’t trust Miri. Every hypothesis needs testing. I had temporarily altered the future by destroying the knife that would have killed Miri. I needed to try the same again—find the silver knife I’d seen in her eyes and get rid of it. Chitose had mentioned a knife in the Drama Club room. It was possible it was that very knife. I turned off the water and rushed out of the shower. 12 The yellow flowers of a geranium bloomed near the Drama Club’s hall window. I searched the pot, but the key wasn’t there. I tilted my head, puzzled. I sensed movement on the other side of the door. Turning the knob, I realized it was unlocked. Filled with a sense of foreboding, my sweaty hand slowly pushed it open. Someone was rummaging through the props piled on the right side of the room. Their back was turned to me—it looked like a man. What was he doing? As I leaned forward, I accidentally bumped the door, causing the hinge to squeak. I startled. The man turned. It was Amou. Relief washed over me for only a moment before I noticed what he was holding. My heart sank. It was the same silver knife that had stabbed Miri. My eyes widened in shock. Amou’s gruff voice broke the silence. “You scared me. What are you doing here on your day off?” I swallowed, trying to moisten my bone-dry throat. “I… I came to practice my projection. I can’t be too loud in my apartment.” Amou nodded. “Ah, so the bug’s finally bitten you.” “The bug?” Kafka’s The Metamorphosis briefly came to mind. “The acting bug.” I nodded in understanding. That was cryptic. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I was hoping to find something we could use for The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms. Infections are rising again, and Kandagawa might back out someday. We need to be ready to handle this on our own.” “I don’t think someone that passionate would back out.” Amou gave a faint smile. “Adults are constrained by many things. Sometimes, they have to admit defeat and walk away from what they’ve spent their lives building. But still, ‘Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose that you resolved to effect.’” “Shakespeare?” “Shakespeare.” He smiled—a perfectly warm, wonderful smile. His new Guri and Gura T-shirt was equally perfect. “Come help me.” I approached cautiously. From this distance, he could stab me to death if he wanted to. “What do you think about this knife? It’s perfect for killing, don’t you think?” I was terrified. But the next moment, he tossed the knife at me, saying, “For Suzume.” Another cryptic sentence. I caught it, exhaled, and examined the blade. Its edge had been dulled. “I don’t like it.” I sheathed the knife and tossed it back. He glanced at me suspiciously before shrugging in resignation. Together, we started sifting through the props. I kept looking for the right moment to dispose of the knife. As we dug through layers of items left behind by the Drama Club over the years, nostalgia began to set in. I found a picture of a Butoh performance and chuckled. Amou, with a serious expression, said, “That’s art.” “Why did you decide to start acting? Was it because of your grandfather?” I asked, growing tired of the search. Amou paused, hoisting a large cardboard box. “Let’s see… I’ve been acting for as long as I can remember. Ever read The Flowering Spirit?” “What’s that?” “It’s a treatise on Noh theater written by Zeami. Looking back, I realize my grandfather raised me by its principles. It says to start children in acting at age seven and not tell them if they’re good or bad—let them figure it out themselves. I naturally fell in love with the stage.” He stopped, his gaze distant. “My grandfather fell in love with my grandmother’s acting. After she died suddenly, he never acted again. He always said, ‘You practice for a lifetime; you shine for a moment.’ Life’s the same way—there’s a moment of true meaning, and once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. My grandfather realized that when he lost her.” I paused, feeling a pang in my chest. Once it passes, it’s gone forever, and you never get it back. “I was still a child then and didn’t understand. I was just having fun, running around the troupe my grandfather sponsored. No inspiring performances like The Maiden of Kissho, but the thrill of the stage, the joy of acting—it was exhilarating. It was really fun. It really was—” Amou smiled, and I smiled back before going back to digging. “Kamisuki, do you believe in fate?” I looked up, surprised. He seemed serious. “I do. I’ve felt it. When I first stepped onstage when I was nine, I knew this was the path I was meant to follow. I couldn’t separate myself from the stage like I couldn’t separate my body from my shadow. It wasn’t a thought or belief. I just knew.” I met his gaze. His eyes held the certainty of a martyr, not someone detached from reality. They reminded me of Miri’s eyes—someone who understood their destiny. “I believe in fate, too,” I said. He nodded. “Kamisuki, you’re part of my fate. That’s why I gave you the lead.” A long silence fell between us. Then I suddenly sensed someone behind the door. It wasn’t the sound of it opening, but a soft fidgeting noise. Amou’s eyes flared with anger. In a whisper, he muttered, “It’s him. I’m going to get him!” Grabbing the knife, he rushed to the door, flinging it open. “You bastard! What are you doing?!” A man’s baritone scream echoed, followed by the sound of someone running. Amou bolted after him. A piece of paper was taped to the door. It read: One more rope binds the neck of the sinner. What in the world was going on?! I followed in a daze. 13 I dashed into the hallway and flew down the stairs. Amou’s back turned down the hallway. I followed. A large, fat man wrestled with a door at a dead end. Unfortunately for him, it was locked. He turned toward us, then screamed and charged like a cornered animal. “Wraaagh—!” Amou yelled as he met the attack like a sumo wrestler at the edge of the ring. The muscles in his arms and calves bulged as if sculpted. I stood there, dumbstruck. Puffed up like a wild boar, the man buried his face in Amou’s Guri and Gura shirt and then immediately tore Amou’s T-shirt from his chest. What a pity, Guri and Gura were torn apart again. “AAAaaaaaah!” Amou’s face distorted as he screamed, his hairy chest exposed. Then he tore the man’s T-shirt in half. “AAAaaaaaah!” the man yelled. I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but an evenly matched battle was unfolding. They fell to the floor. The silver knife skidded to a halt at my feet. Two half naked men wrestled wildly, sweat flying. The man tried to get up as Amou strangled him from behind. He flailed wildly as his face, the color of boiled octopus, slowly turned purple. —He eventually tapped Amou’s arm in surrender. To drive the point home, I removed the knife from its sheath and held it to his throat, pretending like I had done something, too. —We interrogated him once he had calmed down. When Amou had said “It’s him,” he apparently had been talking about the person who had been putting up the pieces of paper. This was who had been taping up all those signs like The Devil’s Troupe and God Sees All Ye Sinners! “Why in the world were you doing that…?” Amou looked down as he asked, confused. It was hard to tell how old the man was, but he looked about twice our age. It felt kind of strange interrogating someone older than me. But he started scolding us. “This is all your fault! You idiots! I was taking justice into my own hands as a private citizen! You even assaulted me! Just wait until you hear from my lawyer!” He grimaced like a bulldog. He seemed really pissed off. Amou and I exchanged glances. A summary of his nonsensical story went like this. Some heir to a well-known local company in Ibaraki Prefecture contracted COVID. And that sparked the righteous indignation of this local resident. As a respected business, the company had certain responsibilities to fulfill, and the infection meant that they had neglected those responsibilities. Night after night, he stuck protest flyers on this heir’s front door, but the heir recovered and went back to school like he bore no responsibility to society at all. This man couldn’t stand that and followed the heir, taking the limited express Hitachi train to Tokyo. He went to check out the school, and wouldn’t you know, the heir was part of a Drama Club, of all things! Something like a Drama Club in times like these, it was inexcusable! Hysterical! The height of impudence! He knew it was up to him to exact social justice, and even though he could barely afford to, he kept making the trip to Tokyo to put up these flyers. “…I can’t believe someone would do something like that in this century. Go back to your own time, you moron!” “Amou, that’s disrespectful to an entire generation. Go easy…” “Moron?! MORON?! If anyone’s a moron, it’s you! COVID is bringing about the end of the world! And you’re sitting here messing around on stage; it’s absolutely useless!” “Messing around on stage…” Amou was stunned. “You idiot!” The man pointed a finger at Amou. “You idiot!” The man pointed at me. “The world is filled with idiots! And I’m showing those idiots justice!” “You’re just doing that to feel better about yourself!” I was getting angry, too. “No, it’s all of you! Are you enjoying yourselves, prancing about and dancing onstage? Why don’t you grow up and stop playing pretend? Society doesn’t need people like you. Those two dying was the wrath of God!” “You bastard.” Amou had turned red. “You bastard, what do you know—?!” Crap—! I grabbed Amou to restrain him. But he was too strong and we lost our balance. In that instant, the man screamed and rushed us, knocking us both to the floor. He grabbed the knife and thrust it at Amou and me before turning and running away as fast as he could. I didn’t have the energy to chase after him. I was more disappointed than angry. You feel that way when you meet someone who hasn’t learned anything important during their life. But at least I was able to get rid of the knife, however unintentionally. Turning toward a completely exhausted Amou, I said: “Forget about him. His anger was rooted in baseless fears and an inferiority complex. People like that can’t differentiate between delusions and reality, and they justify attacking people in the name of righteousness simply to satisfy their own selfish desires, all the while oblivious to their base impulses… Amou?” He was crying, his shoulders shaking. I couldn’t speak. “I… I…,” he muttered through sobs. “I just love acting. That’s it. I really love it. It’s all I have…!” The innocence of those words struck me. Tears swelled in my eyes. Looking at the torn Guri and Gura T-shirt on the floor, I reflected on something. In the way that shadows and bodies should be together, so it was with Amou and acting. He was born like that. “Amou—,” I said, scooping up the shirt. “Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose that you resolved to effect. No matter what anyone says, we don’t have to stop the play. Look at Guri and Gura; it might seem like they’ve been ripped apart from each other—” I spread out the shirt pieces side by side, with Guri and Gura together under one sky. They were separated now, but they would surely meet again someday. Upon doing so, tears welled up in Amou’s eyes like in a Ghibli movie, and he wailed, “Kamisukiiiii—!” and hugged me. I had no other option, so I hugged him back, hairy chest and all. 14 “So while I was working hard on the investigation, you were cuddling with Amou, huh?” “Don’t make it sound weird.” I had called Chitose while hurrying home. I needed to check how disposing of the blade had affected things as soon as possible, but I also wanted to make progress on the murder investigation. Panting between breaths, I said, “When Amagasaki was absent for two weeks, she had COVID. Kuroyama had it at the same time. Both victims had COVID. And I’ve confirmed a third member of the Drama Club had it, too.” “COVID is definitely important to solving this case. Okay, I’ll find out who this heir is. I have a hunch, though.” “Thank you,” I ended the call and walked into my apartment. Rushing too much might raise suspicion, so I took a moment to wash my hands and rinse my mouth before calling Saburou over. Then I looked into his eyes, and— There stood Miri. Unable to hide my excitement, I spoke rapidly. “There’s been some developments. We just caught the person who’s been pinning those papers on the door—” I followed Miri’s gaze as she nodded along, listening intently. I wanted to dig deeper into her thoughts as soon as possible. “COVID is the missing link connecting the victims… I’m so glad you found a clue. I also traced the branches of time and checked the results of your investigation.” “And what about the people who can prove they weren’t using recordings during the incident?” Miri hesitated for a moment before responding, “There’s nothing. Everyone either had someone nearby—family or otherwise—or could prove they weren’t using a recording.” “What—?” That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I stared blankly. “So none of them could have done it?” “That’s right.” “Oh, this makes my head hurt.” I scratched my head. “I need some time to think.” I did have something to think about. How could I get Miri to cry again? Asking her to go through The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms one more time would seem too contrived, and she’d probably suspect I was up to something. I needed another way. If I were to cry myself, Miri would probably cry out of sympathy. Not a fake cry, but real tears from the bottom of my heart. I needed to open up to her. I kept the conversation going, thinking of a way to steer it toward a moment where I could say, “Miri, there’s something I’d like to tell you… Something I’ve never told anyone before.” Then I began to explain why I started writing “letters from the deceased.” “I was only eight when it happened. It was June. We had the day off to make up for a school event, and I was wandering around town. It was raining, but not enough to bother me. I was a carefree kid. Then I noticed a girl from another elementary school walking before me. She looked like she was on her way home with her red backpack, yellow raincoat, and red umbrella. A keychain on her backpack fell off. I rushed to pick it up, and that’s when—” My hands began to tremble. Tears blurred the edges of my vision. The scene that had haunted my dreams… The dark hole that had trapped me in an endless curse. I knew that if I stared into it, I wouldn’t escape unscathed. “You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to…” Miri’s voice was gentle, concerned. “No, I need to tell you. I called out to her, but as I went to return the keychain, a car came speeding out of nowhere. The driver had died suddenly behind the wheel. The car sent her flying before it crashed into the wall of a house. I was fine. She had pushed me out of the way. When I reached her, she was barely breathing. I couldn’t do anything. I thought I could at least save her memories, so I looked into her eyes. And then—I saw my own face. My helpless face, frozen in fear, unable to move as the car sped toward us… I broke the connection immediately. The intense shame and the sight of that car terrified me. Adults arrived, pushed me aside, and started CPR. I was useless. I just stood there… “That evening, fragments of her memories appeared in my dreams. I experienced her life—she had a best friend who must have been devastated by her death. Out of guilt, I wrote my first letter from the deceased for her friend. I’ve been doing it ever since. I read countless books and practiced writing to help others heal… All because I couldn’t do anything that day. I’ve been trying to atone ever since.” I sobbed, feeling like that eight-year-old kid again. Miri cried, too, moved by my story and the pain I carried. Her empathy touched me deeply. But the guilt of making her cry caused me to cry even harder. Still, I looked into her eyes, and— Emerging from the tempest of emotions, I descend on the night of the fiery black moon. I see his body lying prone, a knife sticking out of his stomach. The copper handle of a knife protrudes from his abdomen. “Miri… Miri… Miri…” “What was it for?! What was it all for…?!” Then he dies. A gun fires. I mulled this over, my expression unchanged. The future was fluctuating. With the loss of the weapon, the future had changed. So if my theory was correct, then— Miri spoke kindly. “You’ve had it so hard for so long. But I think you can be forgiven.” “Do you think that girl has forgiven me?” She shook her head. “The dead can’t forgive or hold grudges. Yochi, you’re the one who has to forgive yourself.” That hit me harder than I expected. Miri always said precisely what I needed to hear. “You’re right. At some point, I have to forgive myself…” I looked into Miri’s eyes again, and— —I knew it. I wasn’t dying; Miri was. 15 Immediately after talking with Miri, I undressed and dashed into the shower. I ran cold water over my head. Miri could see the future, but knowing her, I was sure she wouldn’t invade someone’s privacy, not even in the shower. I cleared my mind and began to think. It turns out my theory was right. Miri or I—one of us has to die. It was fate. Matters of life and death can’t be reversed except in extreme circumstances. But what exactly did “extreme circumstances” mean? Could it be that someone else had to die in our place? This was it. Miri and I were trapped in a future where one of us would die. The odds were fifty-fifty, and the person who dies changes with something as small as destroying the murder weapon. But since Miri could see the future, she must be modifying it, choosing a branch where she dies. Suddenly, everything fell into place—Miri must be doing this because she feels responsible for dragging me into these murders. The more I uncovered, the more mysterious she became. Why did she stage her death in a plane crash? Why try so hard to keep it a secret? I thought long and hard about it, but I couldn’t figure it out. And yet, despite everything, I still had feelings for her. I wanted her to live. I wanted her to laugh. The memory of the girl who saved me from that accident flashed through my mind… Ever since that day, I had been consumed by regret. She saved my life, but I could have saved hers—and I didn’t. How many times had I wished it had been me who died? I wouldn’t let that happen again. To be or not to be—that is the question. If one of us has to die, then I would rather it be me. …But could I really die? I closed my eyes and recalled the touch of death I’d felt when I looked into Karin’s and Miri’s eyes. That sensation—the bone-chilling horror that made this cold shower feel lukewarm—was like a pillar of ice piercing my spine from head to tailbone. I shuddered at the memory. But more than anything, I didn’t want that horrifying experience to touch her. Still, Miri could see the future—how could I possibly outsmart her? Maybe I could read her past through her eyes, use that knowledge to help myself? No, that wouldn’t work. When I look into someone’s eyes from inside another’s, I can’t control it well enough. And the memories of death are so overwhelming that they’d draw me in, whether I wanted it or not. The most reliable solution would be to find Miri and restrain her until I die. If I could do that, then even she wouldn’t be able to stop me. I turned off the shower. 16 I got dressed, dried my hair, and looked into Saburou’s eyes. Miri appeared, as beautiful as ever. “Are you okay? You look sad.” “Oh—,” I answered weakly. “I’m exhausted. Everyone’s emotions, the past, the future… All of it has just made me really tired.” She already seemed on the verge of tears and nodded sympathetically. “I know exactly what you mean. And you see the past in people’s eyes, so it’s even harder for you. Seeing more brings both joy and sorrow. I think it’s the same for most people. When they think about the future, they get anxious about what will happen, and they feel sad about the futures that could have been. Thinking about the past makes the present hard, and they regret the pasts that never were. That’s just human nature. Among the infinite possible time lines, there’s no way the current you is the version you imagine as best.” I thought about a time line where Miri and I had never met. It might have been easier, without worrying about my death or these murders. COVID might never have happened, either. That world would certainly be better for countless people, including me. But just the thought of not meeting Miri made me feel sad. “…Miri, you’re going to die in a plane crash, right? Have you always known that? That must be so hard. I don’t think I could handle it.” “Oh, you could. Anyone could. I mean, we all die sometime—” Miri smiled sweetly, as if this world contained nothing to fear. “The most important thing is to not lose the present by getting stuck in the past or the future. Take a deep breath, then let it out. Then listen to the voice deep in your heart. We might say ‘no’ to life, but life never says that to itself.” I sighed in wonderment. Her words felt so true, especially coming from someone who had suffered so much. I walked out onto the balcony, lifted Saburou high into the air, and faced the deep blue sky. A refreshing breeze blew by, and Saburou flicked his tail in happiness. “What are you doing?” Miri asked. “Experiencing the present.” Miri giggled. “That’s good. Keep it up.” “Is the sun shining over there?” I asked. She picked up Saburou, opened the curtains and sliding door, and stepped outside. Just like I had done, she lifted Saburou high into the air. “It’s sunny here, too. The weather is perfect.” It struck me then—like Guri and Gura, Miri and I were under the same sky. “Miri—,” I said, meaning every word, “I’m really glad I met you.” “Me too. I’m really glad I met you, Yochi.” We gazed at each other for a moment before cutting the connection. I was relieved that my true intentions hadn’t shown. Just as I had planned, Miri had unknowingly let me see the view from her room. I saw Tokyo Skytree and the Sumida River! If I wanted to, I could now figure out where she lived. The challenge would be keeping Miri from realizing… Just then I received a message from Chitose. “I knew it! The heir from Ibaraki is Isemi! Let’s go right now. Meet me at—” I couldn’t believe it. The address was in Sumida City—right near Tokyo Skytree and the Sumida River. It felt like fate. 17 We gazed up at the building. It was an expensive high-rise, surrounded by elegant hedges and beautifully manicured landscaping. Looking behind me, I saw Tokyo Skytree and the Sumida River in the distance. Miri’s apartment had to be somewhere nearby. “It’s an impressive building, but I don’t like it! People should live with their feet on the ground!” Amou muttered, hands on his hips. We didn’t ask why. I leaned over and whispered to Chitose, “And why is Amou here?” “Because as head of the club, he has everyone’s contact information…” Great. I could just imagine him inviting himself. “Come on, let’s hurry up!” Amou called, waving at us from the front door. We sighed and followed him inside. We pressed the doorbell to an apartment on the fourteenth floor. “…Hello?” came an irritated voice through the speaker. “It’s me! Amou!” he announced. “I can see you on the camera… Why are you here all of a sudden?” “There’s something we need to talk about. Will you let us in?!” Amou’s insistence made me feel a little sorry for Isemi. A moment later, the door clicked open, and Isemi peeked out from the crack. I was shocked—he looked completely drained. His eyes floated under deep bags, and his skin was pale. “It’s kind of a mess…” He didn’t say anything more and disappeared back inside. We exchanged glances and followed him into the apartment. The room was indeed a mess. Garbage was scattered everywhere, forming piles that resembled landmarks. Here was Uluru, and there the Matterhorn. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me, reminding me of my own room during lockdown. Amou sneezed, either from the dust or the icy air blasting from the air conditioner. I tossed aside some garbage bags lounging on a white leather sofa and sat down. The couch was too nice for the mess surrounding it. Isemi curled up across from us, shivering under a blanket. “If you’re cold, maybe you should turn off the AC,” Chitose suggested. Isemi didn’t respond. On the TV, Pretty Cure was playing. Amou spoke up. “You’ve locked yourself at home to watch a girl’s anime?” “No, it’s more like…background noise. Pretty Cure just calms me down the most.” Amou tilted his head in confusion. I nodded and chimed in. “I get it. When you’ve been alone for so long, those kinds of things can be comforting.” I had tried to offer something relatable, but the lack of response was disheartening. “I had Sazae-san on during lockdown,” I added, hoping to help, but again, silence. Chitose cut to the chase. “Isemi, you had COVID, right? Did you know Amagasaki and Kuroyama—” She trailed off as Isemi started sobbing. “Ahhhh… Ooooh… I’m going to die… I’m next…next… Me!” We exchanged worried glances. Here’s what had happened: Amagasaki and Isemi had been dating, but she had been seeing multiple guys. He knew and chose not to break up with her—he loved her. When COVID hit, he found out that Kuroyama was one of the other men. “When I found out, I was so upset. I wanted to kill both of them…” “What, you’re the killer?!” Amou exclaimed. “N-no, but I understand the feeling!” “So what you’re saying,” I clarified, “is that the killer was one of the other guys Amagasaki was dating, and he wanted to kill both her and her other lovers?” Isemi nodded through his sobs. I sighed and sank into the sofa. “I can’t believe it,” Amou groaned. “If you have time for this soap opera drama, can you focus on rehearsing?” “Have you never been in love, Amou?” Chitose asked. “I’m in love with the stage,” he answered sincerely. “A goddess controls all theater. If I cheat on her, she’ll leave me. No, I’m serious! Why are you looking at me like that?” “But a jealous lover getting hold of a gun. That’s pretty likely,” Chitose said. “Next, we should look into those two blank weeks.” My throat was dry. I got up, went into the kitchen, took a cup from the shelf, and filled it with tap water. That’s when I noticed something off about a section of the floor. The color was slightly different, and there were trace amounts of putty filling a large scratch, as if someone had tried to repair it. It looked like a knife had been stabbed into the floor. Suddenly, a flashback hit me. I remembered Miri burning her lunch and rushing to turn off the heat, accidentally knocking over a knife that stuck into the floor. That was it! I began wheezing violently. My vision blurred with tears as I rasped, “…How about we get some fresh air?” I hurried across the living room and opened the sliding glass door. My heart pounded like a drum. The view I’d seen recently through Saburou’s eyes came into focus before me. There was no doubt about it. This was Miri’s apartment! I hadn’t realized it because of the different furniture and the mess, but the déjà vu I felt walking in was because I’d seen it before—through Saburou’s eyes! I looked around the room, imagining Miri talking to Saburou. Tears stung my eyes. What I had thought was fate, was wrong. This was calculated. Like the Monkey King trapped in Buddha’s palm in Journey to the West, I felt like I had been dancing in the palm of Miri’s hand all along. 18 My heart continued its loud ringing. Despite the heat, cold sweat kept pouring out of me. I walked back to my apartment with uncertain steps, like walking in a dream. Saburou slid up to my feet. Gazing at him with an expression bordering on fear, I stared down at his back for a while. Then I steeled myself, picked him up, and looked him in the eye— My breath froze. Miri wasn’t at home. For the first time, we were outside. We stood before a familiar door—painted in a shade I called veggie juice green. The door to my apartment. I spun around and opened it. Miri stood there, right before my eyes, our hands almost touching. I could imagine the warmth of her hands, but Miri wasn’t really there. The warmth of her body didn’t exist. The wall of time stood hopelessly between us. My heart ached. I could hardly breathe, feeling as though I might collapse at any moment. “Miri…” She was bathed in the soft light of dusk, an ethereal being cloaked in mystery. “Yochi.” She smiled gently. “Let’s take a walk.” We strolled together through the dimly lit town. The emptiness was eerie. Not a single soul passed by, as if we were the only two people left in the world. I understood then—Miri had chosen this particular future for our walk.