“Souta…,” I say, intending to scream, but my voice is mostly breath.
“Suuuzume!”
Suddenly, I hear a childish voice. Whipping my head around like I’ve been struck, I see round yellow eyes glowing in the dark. The cat struts toward me, tail pointing straight up and water splashing rhythmically under its feet. It rubs against my thighs as I kneel.
I try to scream, but only breath comes out.
“We’re finally alone, Suzume.”
“Daijin!”
I leap to my feet to get away from the white fur.
“It’s your fault!” I shout angrily. “Give Souta back!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?!”
“He’s not a person anymore,” the cat says innocently, its eyes empty.
“—!”
I bend over and grab Daijin with both hands.
“Ooh!” Daijin purrs.
“Give Souta back!” I yell.
“That hurts, Suzume.”
The voice is sugary. I tighten my grip.
“Give him back now!”
“I said that hurts, Suzume!”
“You! You—”
The kitten’s soft body is so small and fragile. A little more pressure, and its bones will snap. A thin, childish mew escapes its mouth, full of pain.
“Don’t you like me? Don’t you like Daijin?” it asks.
“What?” I can’t believe my ears. “How could I—?”
“You like me, don’t you?”
“I hate you!” I scream, swinging the cat into the air. It whines again. I briefly imagine crushing it in my hands, breaking its bones, and hurling it into the cold water. I can practically feel the sensations already. The thrill of cruelty and the disgust that comes after run down my spine. The cat’s little heart pounds frantically under my grip.
“……”
I can’t do it; the strength leaves my hands. My raised arms grow heavy and drop. I open my fingers and let the kitten go. It drops with a splash by my feet. Standing on four legs, it stares up at me as if trying to gauge how angry I am.
“…Go away,” I say. My eyes are unpleasantly hot. I’m crying. “Don’t talk to me ever again.”
“Suzume…”
Daijin does a little shake and suddenly shrivels; the plump form becomes bony before my eyes, like the air has been let out of it. Its eyes sink into their sockets. Now it looks like a miserable old cat at the end of its life.
“Suzume didn’t like Daijin…,” it croaks, then totters off. Its little footsteps fade behind me.
I’m left alone in front of the Gate.
Now what do I do?
I’m angry, but I’m also worried, sad, upset, and lonely. I don’t know what to do next. I don’t even have a clue. What should I be thinking or doing one minute from now, or five? I can’t come up with anything. Tears are still streaming down my cheeks. I stand there, waiting for the tears to stop. My feet are turning numb in the cold water.
When I look closely at the big doors in the castle gate, I notice vestiges of the worm stuck to the wood. There are several long, thin smears of what looks like smooshed rice on the doors, still faintly glowing reddish black. The worm must have emerged and returned through here.
I realize I need to close them.
I push one of the thick wooden doors with both hands. At first it doesn’t budge, but eventually, it creaks and starts to move very slowly. When I let up even a little, it stops, like I’m pushing on a stone wall. I have to push with all my might to move it. I press both elbows against the door, bend my head, and push with my whole body. I break out in a sweat, and the soles of my feet start bleeding. I watch, detached, as my blood tints the water around my feet.
I think it takes me around half an hour to close both doors. My legs and arms are tingling, and my whole body feels spent. I’m exhausted. If I’m not careful, I might topple over into the water.
I take some deep breaths, plant my legs firmly, and grasp the key around my neck. I close my eyes and imagine what these ruins used to be like.
Eventually, the key grows warm, like it’s breathing, and I hear whispers in the distance. But the memory of those voices, both male and female, is so distant, it’s like a faint breeze blowing between the buildings. All the same, the light radiating from the key draws a faintly shimmering keyhole on the door, shaped like a rounded clover. I push in the key and promise myself once more that I will return to save him.
“We respectfully return them to you!” I say as I turn the key. The sensation of something clicking firmly into place lingers in my hand.
Following a current of air, I walk down a different passage from the one I entered. The draft is faint but steady, blowing up a gentle slope. The damp ground soon turns to dry rock. I’m clearly in a man-made cavern. On the ceiling and walls are many long, straight marks left by the tools used to carve it. Here and there on the walls and floor are what appear to be faded words written in ink. Faint light seeps in from a thin crack near the ceiling, dimly illuminating my surroundings like moonlight. I don’t know if it’s morning or afternoon. My feet, which had been numb from the cold water, now burn with pain. The white socks Chika gave me are brown with dried blood.
As I walk, I notice that the walls are gradually changing. Brick begins to appear between chiseled stone and eventually, gives way to banked concrete. The sound of my footsteps changes. Rusted iron railings appear, leading to concrete stairs.
I climb the stairs through a narrow tunnel. It continues straight for a while, with large landings every so often followed by another straight stretch. Small pipes are attached to the roof. Sometimes I rest on the landings, gaze absently at the random patterns formed by the pipes, and start walking again when my feet stop throbbing. I can’t think about anything. I don’t want to think. I just mindlessly climb the stairs.
Eventually, an odd smell wafts in on a current of cold air. It’s familiar, and I should know what it is, but I can’t remember. At last, I realize it’s car exhaust. That’s about when I see a small door above my head.
I turn the round iron handle, and the steel door opens. Cars are whizzing past right in front of me. I lean out from the wall and look timidly around. I’m in a tunnel with dim orange lighting. The walls are dotted with green guidance lamps and emergency telephones with the letters SOS written on them. About two hundred meters away, white light shines at the mouth of the tunnel. I put my hand on the wall and start walking quickly down what must be a corridor for safety inspections. Every time a car passes, the driver stares at me in surprise. When they see me here, where no one is supposed to be, some of them gape, others squint suspiciously, and still others stare with disapproval. Someone snaps a picture. When I get close to the light, my eyes, accustomed to the dark, start to sting. But I only walk faster. My feet don’t hurt anymore.
There’s a gray steel staircase for workers at the end of the tunnel, and I climb it. As my feet step off the steel platform onto weeds, morning sun hits my eyes. I’m in a small vacant lot piled with construction materials. My eyes tear up from the brightness as I try to take stock of where I am. Past a steel fence, the horizon is packed with rectangular skyscrapers. Apparently, the sun has just risen above them.
“Is this…?” I mumble, looking around.
Directly below me is a huge moat full of emerald-green water. The banks are covered with giant stones, like castle walls, and above them is dense forest. Low castle-like buildings with white walls and black tile roofs poke up from the trees here and there. The ancient forest seems to have been left behind by time, surrounded on all sides by modern buildings shining in the morning sun. Even someone like me who’s never been to Tokyo before knows this place.
“The Imperial Palace.”
I finally realize what has been above me this whole time.
The sharp call of a bulbul rips through the morning air. I look up. It’s another pointlessly, ridiculously clear blue day.