Chapter 7

I was stunned. Sakuraba slid up to me, whispering in my ear. “You’re asking around about Karin Amagasaki, right?” She pulled back, her pitch-black eyes meeting mine, full of intrigue. My own eyes quivered, helpless. Leaning in again, she whispered, “Why don’t you and I hang out tomorrow?” Then she left, leaving my heart pounding wildly. The scent of her cherry blossom perfume lingered through my mask. 13 The next day, a Saturday, I arrived at Shinjuku Station at ten AM. Exiting from the west ticket gates, I stopped dead in my tracks. A giant eye stared at me. It was a sculpture called the Eye of Shinjuku. The words on the piece of paper ran through the back of my mind. For God Does See Thee I shook my head and kept walking. Café Degas—the building was gorgeous, with Buff Beauty roses blooming against its antique brick exterior. Dark-green tables dotted the open terrace, with white parasols complementing the bright, sunny sky, invoking a scene straight out of southern France. Beneath one of the parasols, Sakuraba sat sipping iced coffee. She wasn’t wearing her usual monotone outfit today. Instead, she had on a blue cut-and-sew shirt with a white pleated skirt, making for a picturesque scene. “You’re late,” she said with a refreshing smile, waving. “I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.” “Sorry, these streets are like a maze,” I replied, sitting down. We chatted for a while before a waitress approached, bowed politely, and set down an iced coffee. I noticed that the ice in Sakuraba’s drink had hardly melted, while mine was still fresh. “Did you order for me, too?” I asked. “Something like that,” she answered vaguely. “But let’s get to the point. Why are you asking around about Amagasaki?” My throat went dry. I gulped down some iced coffee before answering. “Well, to tell the truth, I’m the one who found her body.” I explained what had happened that day, omitting anything about my abilities or Miri. I fabricated a few details, adding psychological motivations to explain why I was searching for the killer. “I see.” She stirred her coffee, the ice rattling. “I’m not sure how I feel about just anyone stumbling around like that, but I understand why you’re doing it.” This seemed like my chance. “Sakuraba, do you think you could help me with my investigation?” “Help you?” “You know everyone in the Drama Club, and it would be easier for you to talk to the female members. It would really help me make some progress.” She stared at a wet mark on the concrete, the golden hoops in her ears catching the summer light. Finally, she looked up, her engrossed eyes locking with mine. “Sure.” “Really?!” “But I have two conditions.” She raised her finger. “First, you have to prove your deductive skills. Right here, right now. I don’t like wasting my time, so I won’t participate in anything that has no chance of succeeding.” “Prove it? How exactly do you expect me to do that?” She placed her right hand on the clipboard lying on the table. “The rules are simple. All you have to do is figure out the total on the bill.” “Really? That’s it? Are you sure?” I started to stand, but she stepped on my foot. “However, you can’t move from this spot. No questions and no talking.” “Okay.” I nodded. I quickly surveyed my surroundings. Inside the café, the decor included replicas of Degas’s ballet dancers. There was no menu in sight—until I noticed a blackboard out front that read: ICED COFFEE: 500 YEN (TAX EXCLUDED). Two iced coffees would be 1,100 yen, including tax. It seemed too easy. Would she really give me such a simple test? I hesitated. If only I could read people’s memories through their eyes more easily. With humans, though, their eyes need to well up with tears for me to access anything. Without that, I was left relying on my own observations. “You’re being cautious,” she said, mischievously resting her chin on her hand. My heart skipped a beat. She had a way of wearing mystery, as if it were part of her wardrobe. Wait a moment. Speaking of wardrobes, why was she dressed so differently today? That had to be the key. I glanced at her reflection in the window. Her black high heels clicked against the pavement like a metronome. Black high heels? Those didn’t go with her outfit. There was also a shopping bag from a nearby store at her feet. What was going on? She let out a little yawn. A childlike, adorable yawn. The contrast between that and her usual composed self was striking. A slight tear formed in her almond-shaped eyes. Would that be enough to let me read her memories? “Excuse me…” She blushed slightly, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, sorry,” I said, averting my gaze. That’s when I noticed something important on the ground. “So are you ready to answer?” she asked. I quickly pieced together a theory and nodded. “I know the answer. The total is—five hundred fifty yen.” She looked faintly surprised. “And your reasoning?” I gestured toward the black bag and the new paper shopping bag beside her. “You’ve got a new outfit, but the black clothes in the bag aren’t new. The shoes you’re wearing don’t match your current outfit, either. Plus, the ground is wet. You said you’d been waiting for twenty minutes, but the ice in your drink is barely melted. My guess? The waiter spilled your drink and ruined your clothes. You went to buy a new outfit and told the waiter I might arrive while you were gone. When you returned, they gave you a fresh coffee. When I showed up, they brought a coffee for me, too. In other words, the bill only reflects the first coffee, which costs five hundred fifty yen.” Sakuraba smiled, flipping over the clipboard to reveal the coffee-stained receipt. It read: 550 YEN. “Right you are, detective.” “It was simple logic,” I said, trying to play it cool. “What’s the second condition?” “Second.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Three dates.” “What?” “Go on three dates with me, and I’ll help you.” “Why…why would you ask that?” “Why? For the same reason people ask other people on dates. Haven’t you noticed? I find you absolutely fascinating.” My cheeks flushed bright red. She laughed, calling me cute. 14 “And so you went on a date with her and came home.” Miri seemed a little distant. “Well, we just stopped by an art museum for a little while,” I said, fibbing a bit for some reason. “You flirted and had a great time, didn’t you? And the part about the soft serve…” Remembering it, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “That was because she was so insistent… I mean, all of this is for the investigation.” “Hmph.” I found Miri a bit scary today, or maybe it was just my nerves. “Chitose Sakuraba is pretty, too, right?” “…Yeah, she’s pretty.” “She’s your type, I know it. Mature, with a good body.” “…” Was she still upset about this? “The type of person I like and the actual person I like aren’t necessarily the same,” I blurted, grasping for something to say. “Like, I might love meat, but it’s rice I eat every day…” I wasn’t even sure what I meant by that. “Are you going to start going out with Sakuraba?” “I don’t plan to at this point, but…” You never know what will happen with feelings. Back in middle school, I once looked into the eyes of a girl who had a crush on someone. It was a pure love, one that seemed destined to last forever. But just three days later, she had a crush on someone else. I was astonished, almost fearful. What had happened to her previous feelings? Had they vanished, or had her soul from three days ago been replaced by a different one? Right now, I knew for a fact that I liked Miri. Thinking of her made my heart swell. The idea of losing those feelings chilled me. “Miri, do you think we could meet in person?” “What—?” Miri looked caught off guard. “I’d like to meet you face-to-face. I want to talk in real life, practice acting together, and maybe even go to an art museum. And I think it would help with the investigation.” Miri didn’t respond. Her expression hardened. The corners of her mouth turned down, and I feared she was angry. But then I saw it—sadness slowly creeping across her face, like blue watercolor soaking through the back of drawing paper. “I’m sorry, Yochi, but we can’t.” Pain burned in my chest. The corners of my mouth twitched, though I wasn’t sure if it was to smile or cry. “You…don’t want to meet me?” “No, that’s not it!” Miri leaned forward, then pulled back, blurting out, “We can’t.” “Why?” Miri looked down. It was night where I was, but dusk where she was. When she finally looked up, her eyes were so dark it seemed like night had already fallen. I trembled slightly. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but I’ll go ahead and say it. I’m, well, already…” Miri took a deep breath. “… dead.” “What?” My mind went completely blank for a second. The words were just sounds, disconnected from meaning. My heart thumped. Then it began to pound like an alarm bell. “Wait a second; I don’t understand what you’re saying. Dead? What do you mean, dead?” I asked, my tongue numb. “I’m so sorry.” The ensuing tempest arrived late in assaulting me. The power of those winds could blow away everything in its path. My head tumbled in utter chaos. It was hard to breathe. I was dizzy, my head spinning. I could hardly even sit up straight. “In your time, I’m already long gone. So even if we want to meet in person, we can’t.” “But…why…?” My mind was numb. “How…?” “You should sleep for now. Good night, Yochi.” “Wait, Miri—!” The connection was cut. A surprised Saburou dashed out of my grip and ran off through the open balcony door. I sat there like a soulless doll that couldn’t even blink. 15 “Where has your mind wandered off to?” Sakuraba asked, poking her head up next to me. “Huh? Oh… No, it’s nothing.” I had been thinking about Miri. She could see the future, but she was going to die? If she could avoid accidents or murder, maybe it was an illness? She looked fine, but what if some disease was secretly growing inside her? Was she really going to die? Or was she lying? The sound of cicadas buzzed alongside my racing thoughts. “Are you okay? Is it maybe heatstroke? Want some water?” Sakuraba handed me a water bottle. I accepted it absentmindedly, took a drink, and then she teased, “That’s an indirect kiss.” I choked, and she clapped, laughing hysterically. “I’m joking, just joking! No one says that anymore.” Her laughter finally snapped me back to reality. We were sitting on a bench at school, trying to figure out our next move. “Where were we?” “Come on, get it together,” she said. “I was telling you how Amagasaki took two weeks off in June.” That’s right, she was. “From the start of June until mid-month. Why was that?” I asked. “She went back to her parents’ house.” “Did she have a job?” “Yeah, at a restaurant. She worked hard because of her school loans. But apparently, they made her quit when the pandemic hit.” “That’s strange.” “Really? What’s strange?” “There’s no reason for her to come back to Tokyo, then. With classes and clubs all online and no job, living in Tokyo would just cost her money. It doesn’t make sense.” “Hmm, that’s a good point. She got along with her parents, didn’t she?” “I would think so. Maybe she had a lover no one knew about? Or was she just skipping rehearsals?” “I doubt it. She once sprained her ankle but still came to rehearsals after getting painkillers. People thought Hirutani was obsessed with theater, but Amagasaki’s dedication was on another level.” “An obsession that dwarfed obsession,” I muttered, my gaze drifting to the shimmering waves of heat rising off the pavement. A shiver ran through me. “Maybe it was just downtime.” “Downtime? What’s that?” “That’s the recovery period after plastic surgery, when you wait for the swelling and bruising to subside.” “You think she had plastic surgery?” “Rumor has it she wanted to be a celebrity. It’s possible.” I recalled Amagasaki’s memories. I am so smart. So adorable. “Well, first we should confirm if she actually stayed at her parents’ house during those two weeks.” I stood up and headed into the men’s room. Looking in the mirror, I stared into my own eyes. Reading my own memories was always easy—I didn’t even need tears for it. With my ability, I never had to take notes. The scene replayed in my mind—when Karin Amagasaki’s parents came to my apartment. Their despondent expressions, showing the grief of parents who had lost their daughter, brought back waves of sorrow. I remembered them leaving a piece of paper with their phone number as they departed. I replayed the moment chronologically in my mind. The me in the memory noticed the bandage wrapped around the mother’s wrist. A sense of danger flickered. Then the me in the memory looked into Karin Amagasaki’s mother’s eyes, and— Suddenly, my brain felt like it had been tossed into a blender. I was disoriented, fizzing like soda, and then burst. A sensation more intense than anything I had ever felt surged through me like the shock of dipping your feet into the ocean magnified three billion times. It was as if my very soul was being swept away, light and dizzy, as though standing between two mirrors reflecting endlessly. Before I knew it, I was inside her memories. It was like stepping into a dream without realizing I’d fallen asleep. “My” time with my daughter. The time, the time—! “My” feelings with my daughter. The feelings, the feelings—! The me in the memory abruptly broke the connection. I burst out of those memories. Tears streamed from the eyes of the me in the mirror. The mother and I stared at each other in confusion, bewildered. She began to cry along with me. “I’m so sorry,” her husband said. “You’re in shock, too, and we showed up out of the blue.” They left a piece of paper with their address and phone number in case I needed to contact them. As they left, I limply shut the door behind them. I broke the connection, wiping away my tears and sweat. This was the first time I had ever looked into someone’s eyes while already inside someone else’s memories. Only a fraction of a millisecond had passed in reality, but the experience felt incredibly compressed—time within memories seemed to fold in on itself. I stared blankly for a while, waiting for the trembling to subside. Eventually, I washed my face and took several deep breaths to regain my composure. Once calm, I made a phone call. I hoped the father would answer—I didn’t want the mother to have to relive such painful memories. “This is the Amagasakis.” I sighed in relief. It was the father. I greeted him, explaining that I had joined the Drama Club and made up a story about one of the members wanting to retrieve something important they had lent to Karin. “I heard she went back home for two weeks at the start of June—” “What? Karin wasn’t here,” he said, adding something completely unexpected. “That was when she was in the hospital with COVID.” “Wait, COVID?” I repeated, shocked. “Yes. We were so relieved it wasn’t severe…” My reflection in the mirror stared back at me in disbelief. 16 It was time for Drama Club. A piece of paper hung on the door yet again. Lightning Strikes Down Sinners. “How revolting…,” Sakuraba muttered, crumpling the piece of paper into a ball. “Why do these notes keep appearing on the door? What do they mean?” “I don’t know. It’s some kind of prank. I tear them down right away, but no one else seems bothered enough to take them down.” “Really? They kind of look like the audition flyers, so I thought Amou was behind it.” About ten people were already in the room. Sakuraba leaned in and whispered into my ear, “Ishikawa’s here again today. I’ll go talk to her.” As she walked away, Sugai appeared, as if to replace her. “Hey, Kamisuki! You and Sakuraba sure are spending a lot of time together these days, huh?!” “That’s pretty observant. But it’s nothing.” “No way, no way! Sakuraba is usually so aloof. She doesn’t hang out with guys!” “Not true. Believe it or not, she jokes around quite a bit.” “So you’re the only one who knows this secret side of her, huh? Damn, you’re bragging!” “That’s not what I meant.” Across the room, Sakuraba and Ishikawa were deep in conversation, laughing. Honestly, if she were my girlfriend, I might want to brag, too. Just then the door swung open, and Amou entered the room. “Hey, everyone! Today is another perfect day for acting!” He was full of energy, but stubble covered his sunken cheeks, and dark bags hung beneath his eyes. “What happened to you? You look like a zombie!” I blurted. “Ha-ha-ha! Nice one!” “I actually mean it! You’re acting really weird!” “Heh-heh-heh. I feel moved to sing, ‘…Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo’!” “What are you talking about?” “It’s from Shakespeare’s ‘Spring,’” Sakuraba called out from beside Ishikawa. “Finally, the new play! It’s complete!” Amou spread his arms wide like Moses parting the sea, and the room went so silent it felt like time stood still. In the next instant, everyone cheered wildly and rushed forward. He shared the file containing the script with everyone, and we spread out across the room, immersing ourselves in reading. The play was called The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms. Originally meant as three separate works—The Maiden of Kissho, The Silvering of the Flaming Forest, and The Light of Salvation. This script covered the Maiden of Kissho story. I was hooked from the beginning, devouring the tiny letters on my phone screen. I rubbed my eyes, envying the people reading on tablets. A few had already dashed out of the room to print it. My desire to keep reading uninterrupted won out. The main character was Tetsumonkai Shonin, based on a real monk born in 1789. He joined Churenji Temple at twenty-one to become a Buddhist monk and eventually mummified himself at the age of seventy-one. 17 Sunada Tetsu, who would later become Tetsumonkai Shonin, was born in Tsuruoka, Yamagata Prefecture, and worked as a longshoreman on the Seiryu River. One day, he met a mysterious, terrifyingly beautiful woman and instantly fell in love with her. She was being pursued, so Tetsu took her onto his boat. A violent storm assaulted the Seiryu River, and they barely escaped with their lives. When Tetsu asked what had happened, she explained that she had been a maid for a wealthy merchant family. Her name was Suzume, and she had fled because people believed she had killed the head of the family. Together, they sneak around the merchant’s house to investigate the truth—and in the process, they fall madly in love. Though uneducated, Tetsu possesses a sharp mind and displays the faculties of a detective. He manages to brilliantly uncover the truth behind what really happened. However, the culprit devises a trap, and they are cornered. They decide to die together, yet Tetsu survives. I paused from reading the script to catch my breath. Everyone around me was engrossed in the story. It was well polished, and every scene worked to advance the plot. Even though I was only a quarter of the way through, it felt like I had watched a high-quality movie. The pace was about to quicken even more. Tetsu, now Tetsumonkai, enters Churenji Temple, where he begins rigorous daily practices. After losing the vision in his left eye—an eye stained by Suzume’s blood—a woman’s face faintly appears in the darkness. One day, a lost woman arrives at the temple, a place forbidden to women. Upon seeing her, Tetsumonkai flees the temple and begins traveling as a wandering vagabond. He believes his evil thoughts had manifested the apparition, for the woman looks exactly like Suzume. During his travels, Tetsumonkai decides to dig a tunnel under Kamozaka Pass to connect Kamo Harbor to the town around Tsurugaoka Castle. The area was important for businesses, but the treacherous path had long troubled the locals. For the first few years, he digs alone, never stopping. As he digs, the woman in his left eye fully materializes and begins speaking to him. She reveals herself as a goddess. When Ono no Komachi, an unparalleled beauty and one of the legendary six Rokkasen poets of the Heian period, visited what is now Sagae City in Yamagata, a goddess appeared in the sky one day, dropping robes embroidered with the image of the eleven-headed Kannon Bosatsu. Ono no Komachi made her personal Buddha statue a principal object of worship, offering the robes and the seven jewels alongside it and naming it the Rakusho Kannon. The same goddess, now in Tetsumonkai’s eye, tells him that she had been wandering Earth when some nameless thief mercilessly murdered and ate her. He believed that doing so would grant him the power of immortality. However, he did not get the gift of eternal life but rather an eternity in hell. The man and the goddess were bound together by this curse, tied by fate to be reincarnated again and again, each time meeting and falling in love, only to have one of them kill the other. And Tetsumonkai is that man this time, while Suzume is the reincarnation of the goddess. Horrified by his fate, Tetsumonkai becomes entranced by the goddess. He continues digging in an attempt to shake off his weariness, and the villagers who had been watching from afar finally decide to help him, quickening their progress. But soon they uncover an inexplicable crime—a warm body buried among the rocks. Distressed, Tetsumonkai sets his mind to solving the mystery and, in doing so, attains the Buddhist state of “form is emptiness.” The villagers rejoice at the completion of the tunnel, but Tetsumonkai had already disappeared. It turns out that Suzume had a younger brother. His name is Azami, and after Suzume’s death, he slipped away from the merchant’s house, sensing that his life was in danger. Nourishing his soul with nothing but the promise of revenge, he had eked out a living of sin no better than a stray dog while searching for Tetsumonkai. When Tetsumonkai arrives in Edo during his pilgrimage around Japan, a woman bumps into him. Tetsumonkai is astonished. She is the living image of Suzume, who had wandered lost into Churenji Temple, but now pus runs from her eyes. Though horrified, Tetsumonkai starts to support this woman named Hibari who was losing her sight. At the same time, they begin looking into the cause of the eye disease spreading rapidly across Edo. And again, they start to feel a wild love rise within them. It is during this time that Azami reappears. Bent on revenge, his rage evaporates when he sees Hibari, the spitting image of his beloved sister. Soon, he begins to care for and love her, and he decides to help Tetsumonkai. Unaware of the statistic-based analysis method Florence Nightingale established during her time in the Crimean War, Tetsumonkai deduces that the cause lay in poor plumbing. However, his arguments are ignored. As the affliction worsens, Tetsumonkai’s love for Hibari grows stronger. In a moment of agony, he stands on Ryogoku Bridge and digs out his left eye—the goddess’s home—and tosses it into the Sumida River as an offering to the Dragon God. The spectacle convinces the people of Edo to finally act, and the disease vanishes. Tetsumonkai is praised as the Blessed Eye Doctor. This all impresses Azami, too, but he cannot forget his past, where he lived solely for revenge. So, utterly consumed by his distress, one evening he attacks Tetsumonkai in the dark. However, Tetsumonkai achieves enlightenment in the same darkness and recognizes a frightening truth. That he was Azami in a previous life. The cycle of reincarnation exists independently of time. Past and previous versions of oneself can exist in the same temporal space. At that moment, a body lies dead—it is Azami. Hibari, accustomed to living in the dark, had stabbed him. Realizing the terrible depth of his karma, Tetsumonkai weeps blood from his empty eye socket. Now a murderer, Hibari flees with Tetsumonkai toward Churenji Temple. They run down the Oshu Kaido to Koori, then from Koori down the Ushu Highway. At Shichikashuku, however, they share a night together. Overwhelmed by love and regret, Tetsumonkai weeps and then borrows a knife from the host of the inn. He flees, leaving a package for Hibari. The next morning, she opens it to find Tetsumonkai’s severed penis inside. Back at Churenji Temple, Tetsumonkai undertakes rigorous ascetic training, hoping to forget both the goddess and Hibari. He begins preparing for mummification, eating only nuts, roots, and bark to preserve his body after death. After a thousand days, he begins the process of burying himself in a small underground stone room and meditating. He rings a bell continuously, and when the bell can no longer be heard through the bamboo pole running to the surface, his transformation would be complete. Abandoned at Shichikashuku, Hibari lives an arduous life that weakens her, yet she still yearns for Tetsumonkai. She didn’t know his whereabouts for a long time, but after hearing rumors that he had gone to Churenji Temple to mummify himself, she made the difficult decision to cross Mt. Yudono. The path is treacherous for someone in poor health and blind, but her only thought is to be with Tetsumonkai again. Meanwhile, Tetsumonkai sits in darkness, reflecting on the “deliverance” Buddha had achieved. He pondered the cycle of reincarnation, a constant wandering between life and death. He knows that only those who achieved a state of nothingness through transcendental training would escape this endless rebirth. He longs to break free of the cursed cycle of reincarnation with the goddess. As Buddha faces Mara’s temptations while meditating under the bodhi tree, so does Tetsumonkai when the goddess appears again in his right eye. She is strikingly beautiful, radiant with a vibrancy contrasting with Tetsumonkai’s now-shriveled form. Whispering words of love, the goddess reminds him of their past lives. When the thief had tried to kill her, she sneered, explaining that they were bound by a curse—to fall in love and kill each other for eternity, a fate she relished. The thief never understood what she meant. In the darkness, Tetsumonkai sees a shining cord glimmering—the cord that bound the two lovers in their endless cycle of reincarnation. Hesitantly, he reaches out a finger to pluck the cord. A fierce wave of nostalgia and affection surges within him, but his inhuman willpower allows him to resist. Ring…ring…ring… The bell continued to chime, though the intervals between rings slowly widened. Tetsumonkai’s soul had overcome temptation, and as the last remnants of life were about to leave his body… “Tetsumonkai!” Hibari called out. With the last of her strength, she broke free from the temple disciples holding her back and, clinging to the bamboo pipe, continued shouting his name. From a great distance, Tetsumonkai hears her. A single tear escapes from his parched body as he envisions Hibari’s beautiful figure. In his final moments, his face softens. He becomes a bodhisattva. The bell falls silent. Hibari never moves again. Two small birds dance high in the sky. 18 By the time I finished reading, the sky had already darkened. It felt as though time had shifted—like barely any time had passed, yet decades had slipped by. I looked around. The room was silent. Those who had finished reading sat quietly, savoring the lingering emotions of the play, while others were still engrossed in the script. I was deeply moved, my thoughts swirling. It was a masterpiece. The influence of my étude was clear, and that étude would never have happened if I hadn’t met Miri. I could feel the “touch of fate” in how everything connected. I glanced over at Sakuraba. A single tear rolled down her cheek, catching the light of the setting sun. 19 Rehearsals began the next day. We separated into cast and crew, diving into the work of preparing The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms—performance, music, lighting, everything required for the production. The room buzzed with energy. It felt like I was on a powerful train, hurtling toward an unknown future I couldn’t control. And I still hadn’t had the chance to talk to Miri again. My mind was continuing to process everything that had happened, making it hard to focus on acting. “He’s a genius! Amou is pure genius!” Samura could hardly contain himself. “When I saw The Specter of the Furrow, I didn’t think anything could top it. But this has! Amou’s legend is just beginning!” “He’s at it again,” Sugai muttered, shaking his head. “The fanatic’s getting out of hand.” “Well, can you blame him after reading that?” Isemi said with a bitter smile. “We always said Amou was great, but he might actually be the best in Japan. A mere mortal like me will be left in the dust…” His usual sly expression had been replaced by dejection. “You’ll be fine. You’re rich,” Sugai said, attempting to be supportive, though it didn’t seem to help. Isemi tapped the face of his watch and left without another word. “Oh, I pissed him off,” Sugai said, scratching his nose. “He wants to be ‘somebody,’ while that ‘somebody’ is at home getting a good night’s sleep.” Amou, who had barely slept while writing The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms, was absent today, apparently sleeping like the dead. Strangely enough, even that seemed to add to his aura of genius. As I read through my lines, I realized this would be the hardest role I’d ever taken on. Tetsumonkai started as a rough, bloodthirsty scoundrel—completely opposite from me, a pale, lanky homebody. I wasn’t sure I could capture the raw power and brutal rhythm of his words. Sakuraba, on the other hand, had no trouble at all. She would adjust her eyes, and in an instant, she became Suzume. Playing Suzume, the goddess, and Hibari was no easy task, but she made it look effortless. During the next break, Sakuraba quietly waved me over. We moved to a spot where no one could see us. “I talked with Ishikawa in lighting,” she said in a hushed tone, “and to cut to the chase, I think there’s something suspicious about Kuroyama.” “Kuroyama?” I hadn’t expected that name. “Why do you think that?” She unfolded a piece of paper with a calendar on it. “Remember how Amagasaki was in the hospital with COVID during those two weeks? Well, Kuroyama was also absent during that time.” “He was?” She nodded. “He misses practice often, but those two weeks he was definitely gone. And Ishikawa mentioned that Amagasaki was seeing someone in the club. She didn’t know who, though.” “You think she was seeing Kuroyama, they met up during lockdown, and she caught COVID?” “Exactly. But if that’s true, Kuroyama’s been acting way too calm for someone who just lost a girlfriend.” “I see… It’s worth looking into.” Maybe I could find a way to look into Kuroyama’s eyes. One glance would be enough to see any memory as intense as committing murder. “Thanks, Sakuraba.” “Chitose,” she corrected. “Huh?” “Call me Chitose.” She sounded a little hesitant. I flustered for a moment, but she added with a playful laugh, “And don’t forget, we still have two more dates.” She walked away, her high heels clicking against the floor. I scratched the back of my head, gathered myself, and returned to the rehearsal room—only to stop dead in my tracks. Kuroyama was walking down the hall toward the clubroom. I rushed after him. “Everyone, listen up!” Kuroyama shouted as he entered the room. “Kandagawa has read The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms!” Kandagawa—? I didn’t know the name, but the room erupted in astonished gasps as people crowded around him. Investigating Kuroyama now seemed impossible. The normally stoic Kuroyama was animated, slapping the bundled script in his hands. “A masterpiece! Kandagawa is giving his full support! We’re going to perform this in a big theater!” Cheers filled the room as people hugged one another, completely forgetting about social distancing. I stared at Kuroyama’s back, horrified, feeling the rampant flow of fate brush against my skin. 20 That same day, some students at the university unrelated to the Drama Club tested positive for COVID, so the following day, we went back to quarantine, followed by the summer break. 21 “For now, let’s just do what we can,” Amou’s voice echoed from my computer screen as we wrapped up the day. I took my temperature—it read one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. I had received my first dose of the vaccine yesterday and felt utterly drained this morning, but I still decided to join the meeting. I took some Loxoprofen and went to lie down in bed. The air conditioner hummed with its familiar rumble. Ten days had passed since Amou finished writing The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms, but so many things seemed to have gone awry. Our rehearsal frequency had plummeted, and despite our eagerness to perform, we had barely made any progress. The investigation into the shooting hadn’t moved forward, and Chitose and I hadn’t gone on any more dates. The worst part was that Saburou still hadn’t returned. Where was he? What was he doing? What if something had happened to him? If so, I might never see him or Miri again. And I wouldn’t be able to prevent more murders. Just thinking about it made me depressed. I stared at the ceiling as the hours slipped into the evening. When night fell, I turned on the lights and started reading through The Notes, the unique script Amou had created. The title seemed to stem from the triple meaning of “notes”—as in written script, musical tone, and symbolic markings. The script was divided into two parts: The top held a musical score in a four-beat measure, and the bottom where he used his original notations to meticulously plot entrances and exits and the timing of the lines. “Do you know this quote?” Amou had said ten days earlier. “The early Victorian-era critic Walter Pater once said, ‘All art constantly aspires toward the condition of music.’ To me, the more sophisticated a play is, the closer it gets to becoming music. Every element functions like an instrument performing a beautiful piece. That’s what I’m aiming for.” I’d heard rumors that Amou had a background in violin and loved Bach. It was surprising, given his appearance—I had pegged him as someone who preferred the shamisen or Wagner. But setting that aside, after ten days of practicing, I could understand his notes to some degree. And if I followed the notations precisely, some sort of chord progression emerged. Counting the tempo with my finger, I practiced my parts in my mind. Preparing myself for tomorrow, I eventually fell into a light, uncertain sleep. 22 At nine in the morning, everyone turned on their cameras, and their rooms and faces gradually appeared on-screen. “Okay, we’re all here,” Amou said. His room filled the main window, decorated with random items like a tengu mask, a Star Wars poster, and a piece of calligraphy that read MASTER THYSELF. I laughed every time I saw it. The bookshelf behind him was crammed with books like Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Dogra Magra, Sutta Nipata, and other titles that sounded like chants. The overall effect made his room feel otherworldly. “Today, just like the schedule says, we’ll start from the top and go about a quarter of the way through.” The Vicissitudes of the Three Realms ran just under three hours, so we had about forty-five minutes to cover today. It would take us to the point where Sunada Tetsu and Suzume try to kill themselves, leaving Tetsu as the sole survivor. Kuroyama picked up where Amou left off. His screen showed a projector, audio equipment, and a potted monstera. His chair was an expensive model with a headrest. I watched him with mixed feelings—it was possible he had killed Amagasaki. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just maintain the tempo and keep up the general flow. Crew, use this as a reference for scheduling later. All right then, we start at nine thirty.” We did our final checks. I opened my script, but the words wouldn’t come to me. I decided against taking my anxiety meds, closed my eyes, and tried to push through it. Nine thirty came, and the run-through began. “All right. Come on, come on, odd or even, place your bets!” The first scene took place in a gambling den. The games moved along at a good rhythm, and Sunada Tetsu was winning big. Then Tetsu caught the dealer cheating and flew into a rage. A brawl broke out. My voice sounded shrill at first, but I gradually settled into the role. The person being beaten leaned into the camera, making pained sounds that elicited hoots and applause. That calmed my nerves instantly. This was serious, but it was practice, so we could have fun, too. Suddenly, it became much more enjoyable. The script created a magnificent rhythm, and I immersed myself in the role, forgetting about the others watching me. Finally, Suzume made her debut. A modern, stylish apartment appeared in the main window. Then Chitose’s face faded in, hidden behind a traditional Japanese straw hat, as though she were fleeing something. It was a clever move—just that simple action conveyed a sense of tension. As always, she somehow “wore the mystery,” drawing all eyes to her. We grew excited for what would happen next. I was so engrossed that I almost lost the tempo, breaking into a cold sweat. We reached the scene where we escaped down the river in a shoddy boat, and the incredibly immersive sound effects of the storm made us deliver our lines with more emotion.