Chapter 12

“I want to touch you, Miri. So badly,” I confessed. “Pervert,” she replied, her exposed cheek turning even redder as she narrowed her eyes in a playful smile. “But okay.” She took Saburou’s tiny paw in her hand, running a finger along the pads. “Can you feel this?” “Yeah, it feels kind of strange since it’s a cat’s paw.” “How does it feel?” “I don’t think I could throw scissors if we played rock-paper-scissors.” Miri giggled. She stroked Saburou’s neck, and it tickled. Then she hugged him close, and through him, I felt the warmth of her soft body. “I can hear your heart beating,” she whispered. “How does it sound?” “It’s really fast.” “Well, that’s embarrassing…” Her voice echoed in my chest as she gently stroked Saburou’s head. The moment she did, a wave of drowsiness washed over me—a deep, comforting sleepiness, like being submerged in warm, soothing mud. It was a sense of security I had never felt before in my entire life. She kissed Saburou on the head and whispered, “Good night, Yochi.” “Miri…,” I mumbled, drifting into a haze. “Don’t leave me.” Miri sighed softly, a sad breath escaping her lips. “I’m sorry.” And as I drifted off, I swore I heard her voice one last time. “Good-bye, Yochi.” 20 After that, whenever I looked into Saburou’s eyes, I couldn’t connect with Miri. I cried silently, all alone. 21 I paced my room for hours, thinking. How could I save Miri? No matter what she said, I wasn’t going to give up. My resolve was firm. I would fight to the very end. Either Miri or I was going to die. That much was certain in the process of finding the killer. Solving the case would guide me to the next step. Which meant I had to figure out how the killer had done it. Standing in the bathroom, I faced the mirror and glared into my own eyes. A core tenet of detective work is revisiting the crime scene multiple times. I would replay the memories of those events as many times as necessary to figure out how the killer had pulled it off. I stared into the mirror, locking eyes with my reflection— I fell, slamming my back into the wall. A strange sensation overtook me, and when I rubbed my nose with the palm of my hand, I found dark-red blood. My breathing was strained, and my mind was hazy. I had overdone it. What time was it…? I removed my blood-and-sweat-soaked T-shirt and tossed it into the washing machine. I walked into the living room and checked the time. Three o’clock. Three in the morning. I had been staring into my own eyes for over twelve hours. The image of me gripping the sink, drenched in sweat and blood streaming from my nose, made me laugh bitterly in the darkness. I was a fool—a complete idiot. Miri must already know that I wouldn’t give up on her. Even if I pretended otherwise, she knew everything. Somehow, I had to devise an unexpected way to outsmart her. Something that would make even a changeling laugh. The third tale of The Elves and the Shoemaker came to mind. In the story, elves replaced a baby with a changeling. The distraught mother asked her neighbor for advice, and she was told to set the changeling on the hearth and boil water in two eggshells. That would make the changeling laugh, and when it laughed, the elves would return the real baby. The mother followed the advice, the changeling laughed, and the elves appeared, taking the changeling and returning her baby. Two of the three strawberry milks Isemi had given me were still in the fridge, well before their expiration date. After drinking one, my dizziness subsided, and my mind became clearer. In the back of my mind, I replayed the images I had seen in my own eyes— There were subtle differences in the scene before and after the moment when everything went black. The shadow of the decorative monstera plant—it was different. Slightly, but enough to be important. I needed to verify some things. I texted Amou. The day Kuroyama was shot, was the day special for any reason? He hadn’t read the message yet, which made sense given the time. I took a shower, got into bed, and fell asleep, almost as though I was fainting. I woke up around noon with an immense headache. I went to the sink, spat up some blood, and drank water to calm down. After plugging in my phone, I saw that I had one missed call and two messages. The first message was from Amou. It was my birthday. I grinned. The second message was from Chitose, sent after I didn’t answer her call. It contained a list of Drama Club members who definitely hadn’t had COVID during the critical two weeks. I called the families of everyone not on the list. By two in the afternoon, under the bright sun, I took a deep breath. I knew how the killer had pulled it off. And with that, I knew who the killer was. But it was all still just speculation. There was no proof—only what I had seen in my own eyes. A reminder from Amou about Hell Camp pulled me out of my thoughts. The text explained how he had gone back and forth about whether to hold the camp, but despite the difficult times, he wanted to complete The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms for Amagasaki and Kuroyama. His earnestness reminded me of Amou sobbing over his love for the stage. His words were so heartfelt they brought tears to my eyes. The text continued: The participants would be me, Amou, Chitose, Isemi, Umeko, Hirutani, Sugai, and Samura—eight people in total. Three days from now, we will take a ferry from Ariake to Tokushima, then board a bus to Tokushima Station, and then take a ride on the JR Mugi Line to Mugi Station. From there, we would drive to Amou’s parents’ house. All that would take most of the day. Then we would take a motorboat from Mugi Port to the deserted island where the Goddess House stood and begin our intense rehearsals. Just reading the itinerary made me feel exhausted. Amou had also attached images of the Goddess House and a floor plan. It was a circular, mazelike building with a theater in the middle. A “bridge” connected a circular stage to a regular stage, with the circular stage jutting into the audience. The surrounding area housed lodging and other amenities. Amou was eager to go, but Miri’s vision predicted that a typhoon would cancel the trip. At first, I was relieved, but now I felt a little sad. I had changed so much in just one summer, and reflecting on it made me emotional. Suddenly, a jolt ran through me. Somewhere, a changeling was laughing. An idea began to take shape in my mind, sending chills down my spine. The Goddess House would be the scene of the final showdown! I quickly dialed my phone— 22 “It’s starting to rain a little. Do you think we’ll be okay in this typhoon?” Hirutani asked, hunched over with a pale expression, as we stood at the port of Tokushima after getting off the ferry. “I didn’t think it would suddenly turn toward Japan. But we should be okay… Though, I don’t have any basis for saying that!” Amou laughed heartily, looking ready for vacation in his Hawaiian shirt. Sugai winced and muttered to Samura, “What’s up with the sunglasses…?” “Pretty cool, huh? I’m like the Terminator.” “What do you think, Umeko?” Sugai asked her. She narrowed her eyes and replied, “Yeah, they’re pretty neat. I give them a five.” “All right! Full marks!” Samura grinned, showing off his bleached white teeth. “You idiot, it’s Umeko. You know she meant five out of a hundred,” Sugai muttered in bewilderment. As the meaningless conversation went back and forth, Isemi sat looking dejected. “Are you okay?” I asked as I put a hand on his back. “I get seasick…” “That’s right; you mentioned almost anything gives you motion sickness.” “Even the kiddie rides at amusement parks make me throw up. The only thing that doesn’t is women…” “I wouldn’t be surprised if you got sick riding that wild ego of yours, too,” Chitose said scathingly. That must have been the final blow because he let everything out into a plastic bag. I backed away in resignation and whispered to Chitose as I walked alongside her, “All eight people originally scheduled to come are here.” “That’s right. Now, off to lose ourselves in acting.” Carrying my small suitcase, I boarded the bus with the others for the thirty-minute ride to Tokushima Station. The wind howled, tossing the tall palm trees wildly. After that, we took the Mugi Line for two hours to Mugi Station. “What a charming station,” I remarked, admiring the small red-tiled roof. “This brings back memories,” Amou hummed. “When I was in sixth grade, I bought the five-day unlimited Seishun 18 ticket and rode all over Shikoku.” “Oh, wow. Such a wonderful memory of your youth. Back when you didn’t even have pubic hair.” “I do remember washing my chest hair at Dogo Onsen on that trip.” Soon, a HiAce van approached. Amou’s mother was driving. She looked to be in her late forties, plump, well tanned, and constantly smiling. When I shook her hand, I noticed the thick, rough skin of her palms. She resembled Amou, with her arched eyebrows and Hawaiian shirt. “Hey, you, long time no see!” she said with a touch of the Tokushima dialect. We all introduced ourselves. She commented on how gorgeous the women were and, upon seeing Samura, joked “Is this handsome young man Arnold Schwarzenegger?” and laughed heartily. Everyone except Samura doubled over in laughter. The Amou house was a mansion, but the growing rain made us rush, and we hardly had any time to sit down. Photographs of theaters and portraits adorned the wood trim running along the room’s ceiling containing the family shrine. Amou paused and pointed them out. “That’s my grandfather, and this is my grandmother. Wasn’t she beautiful? She was from Okinawa, so her features were quite striking.” Ason Amou, Amou’s grandfather, had a stern look, exuding the soul of an artist. Amou clearly inherited his eyebrows. His grandmother, Yukie Amou, radiated a mysterious energy, almost otherworldly. Or perhaps that’s how I saw her, knowing the fate that awaited them. Once we were ready, we donned our raincoats and climbed back into the van. As Amou’s mother waved us off, Samura gave her a thumbs-up, saying, “I’ll be back.” Umeko chimed in with a “That character dies.” No one laughed. We drove down country roads in the middle of the storm. The wind picked up, and Amou turned the windshield wipers faster, muttering to himself. An uneasy air filled the van. When we reached Mugi Port, we bolted for the boat. “Hurry, hurry!” Amou yelled as large raindrops pelted our faces. We ran past fishermen shouting, “Stop, stop, no one’s getting on a boat today!” The pitch-black sky flashed with lightning, and a thunderclap roared loud enough to tear the sky. Hirutani shrieked and crouched down. Ash-gray waves pounded the sea walls, spraying us with water. Umeko helped her to her feet, and they both started climbing aboard. Amou turned to me, shouting over the storm. “What do you think? Should we call it off?” “Can we make it?!” I yelled back. “Probably just…!” Then I saw her—a small figure far off in the distance, wearing a yellow raincoat. She looked like a woman, walking toward us. I had a feeling. “Miri…!” I turned to Amou and shouted, “Let’s go! Let’s do it!” Amou leaped onto the boat, started the engine, and we took off. The boat rocked violently, and we all screamed. Hirutani was hysterical. “Stop! Turn back!” “It’s fine; I got this!” Amou declared. I glanced back toward the dock. The figure in the yellow raincoat stood there on the breakwater, watching us. I knew my plan had succeeded. Pushing through the Hell Camp that was supposed to be canceled, heading out to the island—this was where a new branch of the time axis formed, a path I had seen through Miri’s eyes. The typhoon would act as a natural barrier, preventing Miri from following. Plus, I would catch the murderer at the Goddess House. In other words, it would now be impossible for Miri to die, and my death was nearly guaranteed. Miri had realized it, but she was one step behind me. The killer was among these eight people, and they would kill me. But I wasn’t planning to simply let them. I would fight until the very end to change my fate. I wanted both Miri and me to live. Yet an indescribable sadness overtook me, and a single tear fell from my eye. I turned toward Miri, raising my right hand to heart height. Miri, too, raised her right hand to heart height.