Chapter 15

Epilogue 1 The setting for the final act of a series of murders being the very same Goddess House built by a legendary actor grabbed the world’s attention, sparking a lot of speculation and wild theories. But no one in the Drama Club ever spoke about it publicly, so the topic quickly faded, and the news shifted back to stories involving COVID. The incident became buried in the endless sea of information, much like dirt covering forgotten remains. Sugai was arrested and convicted, but I didn’t bother to learn the details. No one ever realized that Chitose Sakuraba’s body wasn’t her own. She didn’t have any family to notice. The incident ended, and normal life resumed. Or at least, it should have. But I couldn’t move on. I couldn’t leave my room. My air conditioner had broken, no longer carving its cool tunnels through the stagnant air. Saburou had run off somewhere. Fall eventually arrived, and I stayed alone in my silent, stagnant room. I didn’t even rehearse with the Drama Club anymore. One night, a terrible dream startled me awake, and I remembered something Kashimo had once said. “Sitting alone in the dark for so long lets me examine my soul. I tried to discover its true nature and started ridding myself of all unnecessary things, like peeling layers off an onion.” After that, I lived on nothing but water for three days. Then I examined my soul. And I found a stage. A blue light, the color of sadness, and a golden light, tinged with nostalgia, illuminated the stage. I wasn’t there. It was just Miri. Just Miri on the stage, the only actress for all of time. I was no different from Kashimo. Amou visited me during that time. “How have you been?” he asked kindly. We talked about the world over tea. My heart stung when the conversation shifted to theater. While discussing Hirutani’s curse, the names of Ason Amou and his wife came up. “Now that I think about it,” Amou mused, “the two of them shared a kind of curse. My grandmother was cursed to be killed by my grandfather, and he was cursed to be killed by her. The Maiden of Kissho was the only thing that could have broken it. But those tiny polyps in my grandmother’s throat robbed them of that opportunity forever… It all felt like karma. And so that curse transferred to me.” He set a DVD of The Specter of the Furrow on the table. As he left, he added, “I’m waiting for you. You’re the only one I’m waiting for. Only you can break my curse.” I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. The DVD sat in the corner of my room, constantly tormenting my soul. Near the end of October, a package arrived. It completely surprised me, and I opened it apprehensively. My breath caught. It was a copy of René Magritte’s The Lovers. I finally remembered. Right before I went to Isemi’s house, I had stopped by the antique store and bought it, arranging for it to arrive before Chitose’s birthday. I had assumed that doing that would fool Miri. In the painting, the lovers’ heads were covered in white fabric, and they kissed through the cloth, blind to the world. I recalled the moment I kissed Chitose—Miri—through our masks, and my chest ached with grief. After that, I finally sat down and watched The Specter of the Furrow. Chitose’s performance moved me to the core. Miri had likely tried to hold back, to not be too good an actor in order to hide her secret. But even in that, she excelled. “Oh, but is this what becomes of our fate? Too fragile to stand upon, too strong to break…” The final scene, where d’Éon dies, was performed by a pair who had already left this world. They created a realm of pure bliss. A beauty beyond this world filled the screen. “And so, in the end, who was this person that I loved?” “Who indeed? I wonder. Who indeed…” Chitose, in her role as Chevalier d’Éon, cried openly. Her sadness felt so real that my chest tightened. Who was Miri? Why had she risked her life to save mine? Who was the real one? Miri or Chitose? Playing Elizabeth, Amagasaki replied, “And yet, my love was true.” I sobbed. Whoever Miri truly was, I loved her. 2 One day, Kashimo showed up at my apartment. For a moment, I thought she was Miri. “Long time no see. And so we meet for the third time.” “The third time?” I tilted my head in confusion, and then it hit me. “That day at the dock. It was you in the yellow rain jacket, pretending to be Miri!” She nodded. “Yuzunoha told me to. I knew she could see the future. I knew about you and what would happen between the two of you…” A distant look spread across her face, a mix of sorrow and resignation. Then she held out a light blue envelope. “A letter from Yuzunoha.” “A letter from Miri?” “Well, that’s all from me. See you later.” “Later?” I repeated, confused, but she let those puzzling words linger in the air as she left. I went back into my room and stared at the letter. On the back, it was labeled A LETTER FROM THE DECEASED. My heart clenched painfully, and I felt dizzy. Steadying myself, I opened the letter with trembling fingers. Yochi, I’m so sorry. Let me start by asking you to forgive me—for continuing to lie to you, for choosing to die for you. I’m so sorry for all of it. Do you remember the day we walked along the banks of the Arakawa River toward the Goshikizakura Bridge? I think I can finally fulfill the promise I made to you that day. Why do I love you? I’ll tell you everything, holding nothing back. I was an orphan, raised in a foster care facility in Hyogo Prefecture. At first, my ability to see the future wasn’t strong. I would get a feeling my foster mother would return, and she would, or that a flower pot would break the next day, and it did. But as I grew older, my power grew tremendously. My vision became nearly godlike. To deceive you, I had to make you underestimate my ability, but my power is far stronger than I ever let on. There was a girl at the orphanage who was my best friend. In that horrible place, she was the only one who understood me. Together, we were whole. One day, when I was eight, I saw a future where she died. That’s when I understood the nature of fate—a lethal fate cannot easily be changed. To alter it, another life must take its place. The odds of her dying were about 50 percent. In the other 50 percent, a boy nearby bravely sacrificed himself to save her. Or I could save her by dying in her place. I was just a scared little girl. I couldn’t handle such a decision. I hid under blankets in the orphanage closet, shivering, waiting to see what fate would decide. In the end, she died alone, suffering in the freezing rain. My personal hell began that day. I was, in a sense, a child holding a powerful ticket. I could save someone’s life by offering my own—but only one life. All others, I had to watch die. I despised this unwanted, unbearable burden. The pain was unimaginable, as if my soul was being torn apart. I’ll confess something: I thought about becoming a murderer. If I could kill without remorse, I believed I could free myself from the guilt. Then one day, a letter arrived at the orphanage. From my window, I saw a boy put it in the mailbox. I retrieved it and couldn’t believe what I read. “A letter from the deceased.” It was a letter from you. You had witnessed my friend’s death and wrote to me out of kindness and responsibility. The handwriting was messy but honest, like you were trying to ease my grief, even just a little. You even included the cherry blossom hairpin she had planned to buy for me that day. I looked into your future and saw you cleaning up the remains of your broken cow-shaped piggy bank. You had spent your little savings on me without hesitation. I was so happy—it truly saved me. From that day forward, I wore that hairpin every day, even though it wasn’t meant for someone as young as I was. I knew then that I had to find a way to meet the boy who saved me. I searched for a future where we would meet, a future where we would fall in love. I fell in love with the version of you the future me loved. I watched dreamily from the past as we shared wonderful moments together. It was like being absorbed in an enchanting story about a Disney princess. But it didn’t last. I saw your death. The first time, it was a simple traffic accident. You died saving a girl from being hit by a car. What shocked me most was that it was 100 percent fated to happen. As a child, you deeply regretted not saving my friend, so you spent all your willpower ensuring you saved that girl. Seeing that, I altered the future so the accident never happened, and the girl lived happily. But changing that only shifted the cause of your death. I dreamed of us having a happy family—two girls, a boy—but I cried endlessly, knowing it could never happen. So I decided to use my “ticket” to save you. I thought it would be easy, like a vaccination. I would endure a little bit of pain and it would be over with soon. But saving you wasn’t easy. You tried to save me by looking into the future through my eyes, every single time. You became a singularity, causing time lines to multiply exponentially. It was a kind of universal reincarnation, a fate no one could change. I kept searching for some path that would guarantee your safety. In doing so, the future time lines kept branching. My actions grew more calculated, and your death became more complex—grotesque, like a spider with a hundred legs. The series of murders were always fated, but you weren’t originally involved. You became entangled because of my attempts to change fate. But I finally found a way to break through. To make sure that I could save you, I could not meet you. That path brought too many sacrifices, and fear caused me to hesitate. Still, I saw one ray of light in the future after saving you, and I followed it. I’ve spent so much more of my life looking into the future than living in the present. The futures I have yet to experience are like dreams. In the blink of an eye, they disappear like bubbles. I lived more in dreams than I did in the present. I met you in my dreams, and I loved you in those dreams. But where is the boundary between dreams and reality? And who would laugh at such dreams? I learned to act, to deceive you. I faked my death in a plane crash. I underwent surgery, got braces, and changed everything about myself to become someone new—Chitose Sakuraba. I wore high heels to disguise my height, just to steal a single kiss from you. Without them, I probably would have been too short to pull it off. You know the rest. I wrote all this in the past tense to avoid confusion, but in truth, I haven’t even met you yet. I’m going to finish this letter, cut up an avocado, mess it up and cut myself, cry a little, and then meet you. I’m both nervous and excited. It’s spring here, and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. They’re beautiful. I began this letter with an apology, and I’d like to end it with thanks. Thank you for giving me your heart, for loving me. Thank you. I love you. —Miri The envelope contained a cherry blossom hairpin. I recalled everything that had happened, sank to the floor, and wept. 3 Winter arrived, and snow began to softly fall. I still lived in the depths of despair, like Tetsumonkai Shonin as he dug his long, endless tunnel. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop wishing it had been me who died instead of Miri. I didn’t bother repairing the air conditioner, and my room froze me stiff. I stayed wrapped in my blanket, forgoing food, staring blankly into space, enduring the pain in my heart. How had I lost to Miri? The biggest cause for my defeat must have been my ignorance of “Time.” Time moves differently for elves than it does for humans. Miri had so much time. I hadn’t realized how one person, spending so much time cultivating their faith, could achieve something so monumental. Practically a mummy, I rummaged through my refrigerator in search of calories. One of the three strawberry milks that Isemi had bought for me still remained. Looking at the cherry blossom–colored package, I remembered something Chitose had once said. Go on three dates with me, and I’ll help you. Don’t forget, you owe me one more date! But we had only gone on two dates. Had she set the bar one date higher to trick me? Or was she counting the time we walked together? Something didn’t feel right. It was as if I was forgetting something important. That’s when I heard a rustling sound. I jumped and ran to the sliding door. Saburou was pawing at the glass. I frantically opened the door and stroked him, trying to warm him up. “Where were you? You’re so thin…!” I poured half of my strawberry milk into a bowl for Saburou and drank the rest. He curled up in a ball on my lap, nestling into the blanket for warmth. As I watched him doze comfortably, tears welled in my eyes. “Don’t ever run off again. You’re my family.” He was as dirty as the day I first found him, and I realized I would have to bathe him. Just then a jolt ran through me. The first time I met him— I remembered the first time Miri and I talked. Yochi, for you, this is the first time we’ve met, right? I’m Miri Yuzunoha. Yuzunoha is written as “leaf of the yuzu tree,” and Miri is “beautiful village.” Yochi…? A future Youichi said I could call you that. The first time I met you, it was under cherry trees in full bloom. I hadn’t yet told Miri to call me Yochi. I remembered something that Kashimo had said. You might think you know her, but in reality, you just passed her by. You haven’t really met her. So we still haven’t met. But we were going to meet soon. “Saburou, let’s go meet Miri.” 4 We boarded the Tokaido-Sanyo bullet train at Tokyo Station and transferred to the local Tokaido-Sanyo Line at Shin-Osaka Station. Exiting the Rokko Tunnel, I exhaled and muttered, “The train came out of the long tunnel into the country of snow.” Snow covered the landscape of Hyogo. We changed trains again at Kakogawa Station, taking the Kakogawa Line to Ao Station. I let Saburou out of his carrier, and he looked curiously at the unfamiliar snow. He pressed his paw into it, shaking his tail in delight. I cradled him as we walked through the snow, crossing train tracks, cutting through a neighborhood, and walking along the Kakogawa River. Snowflakes flickered down onto the river’s pristine surface before vanishing. Suddenly, Saburou leaped out of my arms. “Saburou, wait!” He darted down the riverbank and crossed the Awata Bridge. I ran after him, my heart pounding. Wait. Don’t run away. Don’t leave me. The air was cold, making it hard to breathe. My chest tightened, and tears welled up in my eyes. On the opposite bank of the river, Saburou stopped. He looked back at me, tail flicking, as if waiting. Then it hit me—this was the Ono Sakura Zutsumi Corridor. Cherry trees lined both sides of the path, though now they were draped in snow. Nearly 650 cherry trees stretched along this two-and-a-half-mile corridor. Miri and I were both from Hyogo, and this was the most famous cherry blossom spot in the prefecture. I took a deep breath, then exhaled. I picked Saburou up and looked into his eyes— Miri was there. Standing under the blooming cherry trees inside those eyes. A canary yellow skirt, her white shirt, a tunnel of cherry blossoms stretching to infinity, the spring sun, and the cherry blossom hairpin that looked so grown-up on her young self. She wore them all elegantly, standing there like a vision. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. Tears stung my eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She looked shy, happy, and sad. “That hairpin looks really good on you,” I commented. “Thank you.” She blushed and touched the hairpin. “I kept extremely good care of it.” “My meager savings were put to good use.” I laughed, almost crying. Miri cried softly as she laughed. “Your hand. Did you cut it slicing the avocado?” “Yeah. It hurt,” she said as she stroked the Band-Aid on her left pointer finger. Miri, who cries over a little cut like this, would undergo surgery, change her whole appearance, and even get stabbed in the stomach in the end. Thinking about it all hurt too much. “Miri…” You don’t have to save me. We don’t have to meet. You should be happy somewhere beautiful and warm. I wanted to say all those things. But she didn’t let me. “There’s something I want to show you. I want you to look into my eyes. Then I want you to look at the light that I’m trying to reach.” I hesitated. I had a feeling that seeing this “light” would change everything. “Okay.” I finally nodded and looked into Miri’s eyes. And in that one moment, I experienced everything. It was the final section of part three of The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms. I was playing the lead role, and Kashimo was the heroine. We stood on the circular stage of the Goddess House, which Amou had rebuilt— The fateful theater. The greatest invention in music is silence. The greatest invention in literature is the blank page. The greatest invention in film is darkness. The greatest invention in theater is the pause. Just like Amou had said, everything existed within nothingness, and nothingness contained everything. The future me felt Miri’s eyes in the darkness of the audience. I felt the presence of my past eyes, too. Amou, Kandagawa, Ason Amou, Yukie Amou, Kuroyama, Amagasaki. I felt the eyes of all those who lived and all those who had died. Tetsumonkai Shonin and Suzume, Hibari—the karma from a tale woven across countless generations had been saved by a goddess coming down to Earth. The goddess floated into the air, and the ceiling opened. The limitless light of the sun was pouring in through the center of the ceiling. The Light of Salvation. Darkness disappeared from every corner as the light shone down on empty seats. It shone directly into the past, illuminating the path, into Miri’s eyes, allowing her soul to steel itself for everything that lay ahead. I understood everything. It was impossible to change Miri’s mind. That was part of our fate. And I would continue to walk unfaltering down the path the light had illuminated. I would endure every sacrifice, repeatedly working myself to the bone, and when I reached the stage at the end of the catwalk, Miri would see that light. Once I had done that, the curse would be lifted— A gust of wind blew. It transcended space and time, creating a flurry of cherry petals and snow. I shivered. Miri fixed her hair, smiled at me, and asked: “Youichi, can I call you Yochi?” I closed my eyes, opened them, returned her smile, and replied. “Of course— Anything for you.”