Chapter 5

* * * “Kamisuki, you are going to be our next lead!” 6 “I can’t believe this is happening.” I hung my head, and Miri chuckled. “Me too. The way things have turned out has been rather unexpected.” “Unexpected? I thought you could see the future.” “The future is constantly in flux. Some things will definitely happen, while others occur at random. It branches out indefinitely. And when someone who can see the future interferes with it, the branches multiply exponentially. Even I can’t grasp all of its ins and outs.” “If that’s the case, are you sure you really can’t see who the killer is?” “I’m sorry—” Miri shook her head, stroking the earring on her left ear. “I can’t. There are too many branches, and none lead to the killer’s identity. It’s not impossible in theory, but that’s just how it is in practice. It’s basically like trying to find a single needle in a desert.” “So in other words, it’s up to me to figure this out.” “That’s right. I’m sorry; all I can do is observe.” “So what do I do next?” “First, keep gathering information. Look into the victim, Amagasaki. Ask around and find out what kind of person she was, who her friends were, if she was seeing someone, or if anyone disliked her. Things like that.” “That’s just what a regular detective would do.” “And while you’re at it, why not enjoy Drama Club?” “What?” The unexpected words took me aback. “I mean, you’re in college, after all. Make some friends; get a girlfriend. Don’t waste your youth.” Get a girlfriend? A sudden pain burned through my chest. Then, as if to disguise that pain, I said: “Ha-ha, why not? I hope I can find a girl I like.” “What’s your type?” “A mature woman with a good body.” I didn’t really mean it. I didn’t have a type. “Really. So the polar opposite of me.” Miri’s carefree tone seemed forced. “I suppose so.” “………” The air in the room felt a bit off. “Well, I should go to bed. Good luck with Drama Club. Yochi, you’re going to make a really good detective.” “Oh, sure. Good night.” And just like that, the connection cut out. I covered my face and let out a frustrated yell. Saburou put his paw on my knee. 7 A strange piece of paper hung on the Drama Club room door. The Devil’s Troupe. The words had been written in eerie brushstrokes. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Black Mass happening in there. Today was my first day in the club, but I already wanted to go home. I stood there for a moment, braced—or rather, resigned—myself, and pulled open the door. A zombie stared out at me. Some poorly nourished college students can look like zombies, but what stood before me was undoubtedly a zombie. Its skin hung rotted and decayed, and a putrid left eye dangled from its socket. I wordlessly closed the door. Just then the zombie yanked open the door, and I screamed. “Ha-ha-ha! You scream like a girl!” It doubled over with laughter. Howls erupted from inside the room. I was stupefied, then said, “Oh, Sugai, it’s you! What is that, some kind of special makeup?” “Ha-ha, sorry!” The girl in funky clothes who had been crying yesterday brought her hands together in apology. “This is one of my best creations, and I was just having a little fun! It’s such a cute little zombie, don’t you think?!” She reached up and pulled at the zombie’s cheek. “Ow! Hiyama, that hurts…!” Sugai protested, but he looked pleased. The skin lifted, revealing it was something like a mask. “Wow, that’s really good,” I said, impressed. Hiyama happily showed me her Instagram and TikTok, featuring photos detailing the makeup process and short videos of Sugai becoming a zombie and dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” I pointed at the screen. “Is your account name by any chance your first name? Ume like umeboshi and ko like the character for ‘child’?” “Ah! You guessed it! It’s such an old-fashioned name! It’s so embarrassing!” If this were a manga, the artists would have drawn big Xs over her eyes. Sugai immediately jumped in, “Not at all! Umeko’s a lovely name!” “Yeah, you really think so…?” Her eyebrows knitted together, but she was smiling. It didn’t take much to win her over. Soon, about ten people had gathered around me. “You’re Youichi Kamisuki, right?” “You were an amazing detective!” “You looked so natural; do you do that sort of thing often?” A barrage of questions assaulted me. I was so used to social distancing that this was making me dizzy. So many people introduced themselves all at once, but everyone was wearing a mask, so I honestly didn’t remember them all that well. I answered each person’s questions while trying to gather information. There were about twenty-three people in the Drama Club. Then there was a knock on the door. “The second newbie is coming!” Sugai the zombie dashed over to his standby position. The door opened, and Samura appeared, a gigantic Band-Aid stuck to his forehead. He let out a strange scream that sounded like “Hygaahh!” and collapsed, eliciting raucous laughter from the group. 8 “Well, you all seem to be enjoying yourselves. But don’t forget about COVID precautions,” Amou said as he walked in. Samura’s eyes lit up, and he tried unsuccessfully to stand up from where he had collapsed on the floor. We all gathered around Amou as he counted us and announced, “Everyone is supposed to be here today. We have some new members, so we’re going to do some workshopping.” We made sure the air was circulating in the room, spread out, and started stretching and doing vocal warm-ups. I tried to relax my body and project from my abdomen like Miri had shown me. Glancing to the side, I saw Umeko practicing, too. Even nonactors were participating. Once we finished, everyone had fifteen seconds to introduce themselves. We followed that with a simple game called Tasty Curry. Everyone received an ingredient card, and we had a set number of questions to guess one another’s ingredients. Then we’d form teams to try to create a tasty bowl of curry within the time limit. But we couldn’t say what ingredient we were or the name of the curry we wanted to make—it was all about communication practice. I drew sea cucumber, a traitor card. People who drew traitor cards were trying to change a delicious curry into a disastrous one. I insisted that I was “meaty and juicy” and miraculously transformed a beef curry into a sea cucumber curry, which cracked everyone up. “All right, now that we’re all warmed up, it’s time to move to études,” Amou declared. I was thoroughly confused, but Sugai came to my rescue. “Improv. We make groups and improvise a scene around a certain topic.” “Gotcha. By the way, Sugai, what made you join the Drama Club?” “I was in the Drama Club in high school. I knew Amou from there and joined this club soon after starting college.” “Wow, you’re proactive.” He seemed different from the negative Sugai I knew from the chat screen. Quarantine might have made him more pessimistic, too. We drew lots to form groups of five. Sugai, Umeko, and I ended up in the same group. The other two looked familiar as well. One of them was the girl who had burst into the room during my audition and told us about the fire. With round silver-framed glasses and braided pigtails, she looked like a stereotypical bookworm. Quiet and slouching, she wasn’t very assertive—she had to be the script manager or something like that. Her name was Miwako Hirutani. The other person was the guy from the fire wearing the sailor cap. In addition to his silky blond hair, he wore a polo shirt with a famous brand logo, chino pants, and the same sailor cap, even though we were inside. His hair was cropped short at the back, exposing his milk white skin. He stylishly wore a leather bracelet next to his watch and gave off feminine vibes. His name was Minato Isemi. The topic for our scene was “a conversation while everyone is seated.” Two groups went before us. The first one did “students skipping swim class,” adding a fun, comedic touch, while the second group did “driving somewhere in a car,” a mystery that made my palms sweat. They were all so good; it hardly seemed unscripted. Suddenly, Isemi whispered into my ear, “Hey, how does it feel to nab the lead even though you don’t deserve it?” The way he said it was nasty. I couldn’t wrap my head around this sudden malice and replied, “Well, it does make me pretty nervous.” I sounded like a local resident being interviewed on the news after a neighborhood incident. “So then, why not save face and resign? Or are you too shameless?” His tone was polite enough, but his words dripped with venom. Finally a little ticked off, I replied, “Maybe you wanted the lead. Is that it?” Isemi tsked. Then it was time for our group to perform. As I stood up, Isemi whispered, “I’m going to teach you a lesson—!” We sat around a table with a tablecloth spread out on top of it so our legs weren’t visible. We had to use this set in our scene. “Excuse me—” Isemi raised his hand. I had a bad feeling about this. “Kamisuki and I are going to play a little game. We’re going to play ‘the characters die off one by one,’ and in our game, the first one of us to die loses. The loser buys juice for everyone.” The entire room turned to look at me. Isemi grinned. I felt like backing out would play directly into his hands. Well then, I’d just have to show him. “Sure, let’s do it.” Everyone cheered, chanting “Juice! Juice! Juice!” in a big chorus. Isemi glared daggers at me. For no reason at all, Amou took off his T-shirt and yelled vigorously. “Let the ferocious stage battle begin!” 9 Silence engulfed the room. The first person to speak surprised me: It was Hirutani. Her breathing was rough, and she shook in her chair. “I can’t move… Where are we?!” Everyone else started rattling their chairs, so I followed along. As we constructed the scene, we realized that we had all lost our memories—and our hands and feet were tightly bound. We began discussing how to escape. Apparently, we had just woken up from suspended animation and were suffering from temporary memory loss. I threw up a greenish-yellow phlegm brought on by suspended animation sickness. Now we had to start playing “the characters die off one by one.” Just as I was wondering how it would go, Umeko moved. “Wait. I feel something!” Then she looked around. Sugai caught it and immediately started acting like something was assaulting him before emitting a final death cry and sliding below the table. Hirutani screamed hysterically. The audience swallowed hard. Tension filled the air for a moment. Wearing the zombie mask, Sugai pulled back the cloth covering the table and flashed his face. The audience reacted with a mix of amusement and fright. I barely kept my smile in check. This was fun. Sugai was the judge now. Anyone who was about to die, according to the scene, would be eaten by a zombie. That’s when Isemi spoke, his words loaded. “Ooohh…my head… I’ve seen this before…” Oh, those lines could lead just about anywhere. Sure enough, we were in a biological testing facility, subjects in an experiment to endow people with supernatural abilities. But the experiments had failed, giving birth to an unknown virus that turned people into zombies. Isemi had worked it so he possessed the power to tell the future. “I can see the future… Hiyama, you’re going to die in ten seconds.” Just as he said that, the zombie attacked Umeko. Isemi smiled at me, letting me know that I was next. This was bad. If I didn’t do something, he would win it all. “I can see more… Kamisuki, ten seconds from now your insides are going to explode, and you will die.” Oh no. I started to count down from ten in my head. Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… With three seconds left, I blurted out, “I can see the future, too! I’m not going to die!” Zero. I didn’t die. Without relaxing for a second, I fleshed out the situation. “I’m a psychic, too. The future is constantly in flux. Fate can change.” That elicited cheers and a round of applause. I had somehow deprived Isemi of his claim to dominance. We kept our little battle going. Hirutani died in the process, leaving just the two of us. “Kamisuki, I feel a strong connection with you,” he said without any conviction. “If you were here with me, I would give anything to help you…” If you were here with me? Before I could grasp what he meant, Isemi threw me a curveball. We hadn’t been in the same room the whole time but were talking to each other from different rooms via a monitor. This spelled trouble. Isemi was in control. I didn’t know what he had in mind, but I had to stop him! Right after thinking that, though, he began speaking. “I’ve just realized it now. Nothing is showing up on my monitor. I’ve been looking into the future and talking to you there, in the future. Kamisuki, you’re watching a recording.” I immediately understood what he was trying to do. Because it was pretty much exactly the same kind of relationship that Miri and I shared. The audience seemed puzzled, so Isemi explained the situation carefully. They all gasped together in excitement. Honestly, nothing could be better for him. Having himself exist in the past negated my power to see the future, allowing him to attack me with his unchallenged psychic ability. Isemi proudly explained the situation. “I remember everything. This is a fallout shelter. The five of us came here to escape a zombie-infested world. You all slept for three hundred years, but I alone woke up after two hundred. To see what the outside world was like. However, I was still groggy from the suspended animation, and I started to talk with all of you in the future. The AI still worked at the time, recording this message automatically, which is how this miraculous conversation is happening…” I have to admit, Isemi was really quick on his feet. The audience was completely hooked. “I’m so sorry, Kamisuki, but you only have three minutes to live…” Damn! My heart raced. If I didn’t take action, then I’d lose. I had to think of something. Think, think… The audience began chanting, “Juice! Juice! Juice!” They were so loud. I got it! If this was a recording, then I could fast-forward it! Wait, my hands and feet were bound, so I couldn’t operate the controls. Of course, AI voice recognition! No, Isemi had said that it was working only during his time. Damn, he had shut off every avenue of escape! I only had two minutes left—! A sudden jolt of electricity coursed through my brain. “You said this is a shelter. So no one except the five of us could have gotten in, right?” “That’s right. The walls are solid steel.” I chuckled quietly, then said, “So who attacked Sugai?” Someone cried out in surprise. Isemi looked stunned. I kept going. “One of the five cryogenic sleep chambers on my monitor is broken. Yours. My monitor says that the world outside the shelter is still infested with zombies. This means that one hundred years ago, in your time, it was also infested with zombies. You couldn’t go outside, you couldn’t reenter suspended animation, and all your companions one hundred years later are dead… It filled you with despair. So you killed yourself—then became a zombie and attacked Sugai.” Isemi looked possessed. He grew redder and redder, shaking in his seat. One minute remained on the countdown. He spoke as if the words were being squeezed from him. “That’s right. I can only already be dead. The time release on my post-suspension safety equipment had been set off, and the restraints had been released. So then, your restraints, too.” He desperately added, “You can change the future!” Then he held a gun to his head, pulled the trigger, and disappeared under the table. The next second, I was attacked by a zombie. I screamed as I tried to fight off the zombie. “There’s a gun in the zombie’s coat pocket! Thank you, friend!” I fired into the zombie’s skull. I peeled away the mask of the limp zombie, revealing Isemi’s dead face. He had quickly swapped with Sugai under the table. I finished the scene, tears running down my face. “I lost all my friends to the past! But the future is still not lost! I’m going to sleep for another thousand years. Then I’ll start a new life with all of you reborn into a new civilization—” I scanned the audience. Everyone’s mouths hung half-open, touched. I trembled. I was enjoying this. Acting was really fun! I reentered suspended animation. Thunderous applause rang out. The five of us lined up and bowed to the applause. Isemi whispered in my ear, “Do you have a favorite juice?” “I like strawberry milk.” Isemi chuckled and said that he’d buy me three. 10 After the études, we left the building, got drinks from a vending machine, and enjoyed them. Isemi paid for everything, of course, cheerful the whole time. Drinking the most expensive energy drink the machine sold, Sugai remarked, “Isemi is super rich. He can afford it.” He did look like he had money. Suddenly, a man with stubble appeared, black coffee in one hand, and said, “That étude was superb.” He had arrived late and watched the performances from the corner of the room. Sugai helped me out. “This is Shinobu Kuroyama, a senior. He’s above Amou and is a stage manager. He’s a talented man, acting and directing in other theater companies.” The stage manager leads the staff and is responsible for everything coming together to make a play happen. The director is responsible for bringing the play to life and guiding the actors, similar to a movie director or orchestra conductor. “Don’t oversell me. I was a bit worried when Amou handed the lead to an amateur, but that wasn’t bad. I think you have a lot of empathy.” “Empathy?” “Yes. It’s crucial. You mix another person’s emotions and lines with your own and then blend that with the other actors onstage.” I had never considered myself particularly empathetic. But I could think of one thing: When I look into another person’s eyes, I relive their memories and feelings, and becoming that person again and again probably made me more empathetic. Kuroyama said he was excited for the play and then walked away. We gathered back in the room. The piece of paper with The Devil’s Troupe on it was gone. “Now we’re going to watch a video of last summer’s performance of The Specter of the Furrow,” Amou announced, and Samura suddenly became extremely animated. “The legendary play! Kamisuki, keep your eyes peeled and pay close attention as you watch! It has everything you need to understand what theater truly is!” “If I peel my eyes, I won’t be able to see anything…,” I joked, but Samura didn’t react at all. “He’s a zealot! A total fanatic!” Sugai joked with amusement. Someone pulled the blackout curtains over the open windows, and the movie began to project on the screen. The Specter of the Furrow was based on the life of the eighteenth-century French diplomat and spy Chevalier d’Éon de Beaumont. A member of Louis XV’s personal spy network, the Secret du Roi, d’Éon departs for St. Petersburg in July 1775 to revive relations with Russia. Along the way, he encounters a ghost on the road, standing in the furrow made by horse-drawn carriages. The ghost possesses d’Éon, and his mental health begins to deteriorate. After arriving in Russia, d’Éon infiltrates the court of Empress Elizabeth, sometimes disguising himself as a handsome young knight, and other times as a beautiful maid of honor who reads to her. He successfully achieves his goal in this remarkable fashion. The two fall deeply in love, but after a conspiracy, they turn on each other, each plotting to kill the other. Eventually, Elizabeth passes away, and d’Éon returns to France in deep despair. He later becomes a dragoon captain and fights valiantly in the Seven Years’ War. In his later years, he lives as a woman, earning a living by dueling in a dress. The play was a whirlwind of twists and turns, blending mystery and philosophical themes, while the ghost added a kaleidoscopic, almost geometric layer to the story. When the heroine, Elizabeth, appeared on-screen, the atmosphere in the room shifted, as if I could smell incense burned in offering to the dead. Someone wept softly—Karin Amagasaki had appeared. Dressed in a queen’s robe, she looked as beautiful as a peacock, yet she embodied the innocence and whims of a young girl. She masterfully portrayed the duality of those in power. I felt Karin’s mother’s presence stirring within me, and a wave of nostalgic sadness washed over me like a warm sea. I realized that the other members of the Drama Club were immersed in those same shallow waters. It finally dawned on me that everyone had been trying to keep up appearances, but this club had clearly lost one of its members. The performance continued to captivate me. Amou played Louis XV. He was both director and actor, and his onstage presence was far more technical than I had imagined. He portrayed the King of France, the slightly childish Bien-Aimé, with multiple lovers, while restraining his personal quirks. Isemi played Louis XVI, and though he wasn’t bad, he couldn’t match Amou’s skill. At first, I couldn’t recognize the striking young woman playing Marie-Antoinette. To my surprise, it was Hirutani. Onstage, she had transformed into an entirely different person. It was as if another spirit had taken over her. She effortlessly shifted from a playful, unpretentious woman dressing d’Éon in gowns to a figure of horror, wearing a ghostly expression as she was escorted to the guillotine during the French Revolution. But throughout the play, from beginning to end, the actress playing Chevalier d’Éon stole my admiration. She was unbelievably beautiful, but beyond that, her acting was breathtaking. D’Éon’s character needed to balance both male and female identities, making the role incredibly difficult to perform. Yet she masterfully played both parts, tying back her soft black hair as a man, and letting it flow loose as a woman. As a man, she embodied chivalry; as a woman, she exuded charm. There was a mystery about her that transcended the clothes, giving her an irresistible appeal. I couldn’t comprehend how she managed to be both enigmatic and vibrant. Without a doubt, d’Éon had come alive on that stage. The play began to deviate from actual history, blending fact and fiction seamlessly. Wounded in battle, d’Éon succumbed to a fever, and the ghost heightened this feverish effect. Then the scene from Samura’s audition appeared: d’Éon, striking his head with his unfinished autobiography, lamented: “Oh, is this what becomes of our fate? Too fragile to stand upon, too strong to break.” The difference between Samura’s audition and the real performance sent chills down my spine. The heartbreak in the scene made my chest tighten and brought tears to my eyes. Samura had simply hit his head, but a real actor strikes at the heart. As the ghost’s identity was revealed, the play raced toward its climactic mystery. D’Éon, on the verge of death from his fever, became a solitary bird, returning to his most joyous memories. He flew to a windowsill, reading aloud to Empress Elizabeth. The soft sunlight streamed through the window, and time seemed to stretch toward infinity. D’Éon read from his unpublished autobiography, and upon finishing the last page, Elizabeth asked: “And so, in the end, who was this person that I loved?” “Who indeed? I wonder. Who indeed…” Tears rolled from her innocent eyes. Then Elizabeth said softly, “And yet, my love was true.” With that, the bird flew away from the windowsill. I couldn’t believe how much I was crying. The curtain fell, the actors came out for their curtain call, and the emotion reached its peak. Karin Amagasaki, Marie-Antoinette, d’Éon—they all joined hands, waving and smiling brightly. It felt as though everything, even this final moment, was part of the play itself. I was reminded of a line from Shakespeare: “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” It wasn’t just me—everyone was crying. I was devastated, completely overwhelmed. Like Samura had said, it demonstrated the power of the stage in one fell swoop. We wrapped up, and I stepped outside into the summer night. The familiar scent of summer greeted me—a summer tinged with blood. There was an unusual energy in the air that made us all feel restless and excited. Samura suddenly screamed wildly and ran off at full speed. He didn’t come back, and we had no idea what was going on, which made us laugh even more. I felt dizzy, but despite everything, I hadn’t forgotten my mission. Still, a pure desire to perform had taken over. I wanted to start rehearsing as soon as possible. That’s when I noticed someone sitting on a bench under a streetlight. The shadow of her sleek high-heeled shoes zigzagged across the pavement. She stood and walked toward me with graceful movements. I gulped. Chevalier d’Éon had stepped out of the play and stood right before me. “Good evening,” she said, her voice captivating as she lowered her mask slightly, revealing a smile on her painted lips. She was chillingly gorgeous. Her short, shapely hair framed her small face, and she looked effortlessly cool in a slender, monochrome outfit with a jacket casually draped over her shoulder. Her earrings—two in her right ear, three in her left—glimmered in the light. I felt uneasy and flustered. Without lowering my mask or composing myself, I nodded and replied, “Hello.” “I wish I could have made it to rehearsal today. I at least wanted to introduce myself. I’m Chitose Sakuraba. It’s nice to meet you.” I introduced myself in return, and Sakuraba extended her right hand. I wiped mine nervously before shaking hers. Her hand was much smaller than I had expected—it had seemed larger onstage. While we shook hands, she tilted her head slightly and asked: “Were you crying?” “Huh? Well.” I hurriedly wiped away my tears with my sleeve. “We just watched The Specter of the Furrow. It was stunning. Your performance was incredible.” “Heh-heh.” She smiled, her eyes softening as they glistened with emotion. “Thank you. Amou sent me a video of your étude earlier. The sci-fi zombie one.” “Wait, he recorded that? How embarrassing…” “Don’t be. You were good. Really. You’re quite talented. And the way you handled the fire, that was impressive.” “Thank you. So you were there, too.” I felt myself blush, hoping the darkness and my mask would hide it. “I’ll see you later, detective,” she said with a teasing charm before walking toward the other women. It was only then that I noticed how fiercely my heart was pounding. 11 “It’s been about a week since you joined the Drama Club,” Miri said after we finished practice. “Really? That long already?” I was surprised. It felt more like three days had passed. When remote classes started, time seemed to drag endlessly, but now, the days flew by incredibly fast. I’d go to class, rehearse at Drama Club, then go home and practice with Miri. It was a lot of practice, but it never felt exhausting. The better I got, the more fun it became. “Yochi, I’m so happy you’re starting to enjoy acting,” Miri said, smiling warmly. “It’s fun now, but I know Amou is going to start demanding more and more. He’s going to get really strict. And apparently, there’s something called Hell Camp during summer break—” “Oh yes, when you go to Tokushima. The main cast takes a boat to Amou’s parents’ island, and everyone stays in a building called the Goddess House. Every day is filled with grueling practice.” “An island? Is he really that rich?” “Apparently, he’s a descendant of Emperor Kanmu, and his family has a long and distinguished pedigree. They’ve owned that island for generations. His grandfather was a famous actor, and he’s the one who built the Goddess House.” “It’s called Hell, though. That sounds kind of scary.” “Don’t worry. They’ll have to cancel it this year.” “What? Why?” “A typhoon is going to hit that day, and no one will be able to get to the island. But you’ll all still go to the port and debate whether to go until the last minute. In the end, you’ll eat at Amou’s parents’ house, and that will be it.” “Well, that’s a relief, but I’m honestly a little disappointed.” “You’ve grown confident all of a sudden,” Miri said with amusement. “How’s the investigation going?” “I’m on it, of course. Let me tell you what I’ve found so far.” I opened the case file on my laptop, showing a mind map of all twenty-three club members and their connections. “As you’d expect, the club is divided into several close-knit groups, especially among the women.” “Naturally, women tend to form groups.” Miri nodded. “What group was Amagasaki in?” “She didn’t belong to any one group in particular. Her best friend seems to be Ishikawa, who runs the lights, but I haven’t met her yet.” “So Amagasaki was an outcast?” “More like a loner. She was popular, good-looking, and the female lead. She seemed to get along better with men than women.” “How about her love life?” “She was popular with the guys and got asked out a lot. But no one’s mentioned a boyfriend yet.” “Did anyone hate her?” “I wouldn’t say hate, but she and Miwako Hirutani had a falling out once. Hirutani is obsessed with theater, and she’s upset that Amagasaki got the role of Elizabeth. She’s been bitter about it ever since. They say she would run to the bathroom to cry.” “So some people envied her. But that’s not much of a motive.” So far, there hadn’t been any significant clues. After I finished my report, we sat down to watch a movie. Miri took a Blu-ray disc titled Stake from the shelf. “This one’s excellent! It’s a zombie movie, but the writing is really good. The acting is superb, and I think you’ll learn a lot from it!” “Okay, let’s watch it.” Miri turned off the lights and sat down on the sofa. Her Saburou curled up next to her. The movie began with a family checking into a hotel. The family was dysfunctional and awkward around one another. The main character, an author, kept taking psychiatric drugs while losing himself in his writing—until he suddenly noticed something wasn’t right. For some reason, the hotel was completely run-down. Grabbing a flashlight, he hesitantly began to look around, only to encounter a zombie.