There was a small KIGA symbol affixed to the door, and the eyes of the teddy bears gleamed an ominous shade of scarlet. Plus, there were the men in black that kept coming in and out. They were nice enough, but for some reason, it felt like they were pulling Kanba further and further away. There was no going back now. She had to stop him and rescue him from this place—at any cost, even her own life.
That morning, Dr. Washizuka had a very strange dream. When he opened the door to his exam room, he instead found a different, unfamiliar room—the sort of room that didn’t belong in a hospital at all. When he stepped back out into the dark hallway to double-check, sure enough, the placard outside said it was his exam room…and yet it couldn’t be. He didn’t recognize the erratic mess of colors on the walls, or the fuzzy clock projected over it, or the porcelain-enameled furniture, or the wooden bookshelves. There was no trace of the room he himself was using.
“Welcome to my exam room.”
Just then, he noticed a young man dressed all in white sitting on a stool nearby, his legs crossed, his long hair tied back, smiling faintly. His eyes gleamed brightly as he gazed back at Washizuka…but at the same time, it felt like the young man was looking beyond him somehow. Beside him stood two young boys wearing dark clothing, their expressions perfectly blank.
“What are these children doing here?”
The boys looked back at him with bright red eyes.
“Good evening! Or good morning, as the case may be,” the longhaired man greeted him leisurely. “Please, have a seat.”
“Good evening,” Washizuka replied as he sat down on the stool usually reserved for patients.
Why did everything appear so fuzzy in this dream? Was it because he didn’t wear his glasses to bed? In that case, why did the floor beneath him feel so firm when he was walking down the hallway? Surely there was no way he would get lost on the way to his own exam room.
“Forgive the sudden question, but…how do you feel about ghosts, Doctor?” the man smirked.
“Do they exist?!” shouted one of the boys.
“Are they scary?!” shouted the other. They giggled.
“Well, I’m a doctor, you know. I’m not well-versed in matters beyond the realm of science,” Washizuka replied, feeling around to try to figure out whether he was wearing pajamas or scrubs. If he could find his pocket, he could get to his glasses case.
“Ah, of course. You see, I know a boy who claims to have met one. He said they had a conversation,” the man whispered in a low voice, like he was telling a spooky story.
“It was probably an audiovisual hallucination induced by strong feelings or desires.” Once again, Washizuka scanned the dimly lit room. He could faintly smell an array of medicines, plus some sort of flowery perfume. “Incidentally, I thought this room was my exam room, but apparently not. My, this is a rather vivid dream.”
“I apologize. While you were off in Germany, I did a bit of redecorating. What do you think? Lovely, isn’t it?” the man asked. The boys promptly started clapping.
“Lovely!”
“Stunning!”
“Oh… Sorry, but I’m afraid I’m not wearing my glasses at the moment—I can’t even tell if I’m wearing my lab coat. But eh, it’s just a dream, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not good, Doctor. There’s something I need you to see.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid it’s all rather fuzzy without my glasses.”
The next instant, Washizuka’s vision suddenly sharpened. The sense of discomfort he’d felt upon entering the room was gone, and his old exam room was back the way it used to be. The only decoration on the crisp, clean walls was a calendar from a pharmaceutical company; in the penholder was his favorite ballpoint pen. The desk, the medical exam table—all of it was reverted to match the cold, sterile furnishings found in any other exam room in this hospital. The mysterious boys had vanished as well.
“Now look at this photograph. Really takes you back, doesn’t it?”
The man held up a framed photo. Washizuka took it and scrutinized it with the help of his trusty glasses. “Is that…?”
It was a group photo taken at the South Pole. Among them was a man with a stoic expression, holding up a peace sign; Washizuka recalled seeing him on television often.
“Not him—the one on the side.”
On the far edge of the group was a beautiful man with long hair, wearing a fur coat and holding up a peace sign, just like the others. The memories came flooding back, and Washizuka let out a long sigh. “Right… It was quite a long time ago now. He was a very talented assistant of mine, but then he became the leader of a criminal organization, committed a large-scale atrocity, and ultimately died in the process.”
“I was so close back then. But Momoka-chan got in my way, that little cutie,” the man laughed, snatching the photo frame out of Washizuka’s hands.
“Wait, what? Are…are you Sanetoshi-kun?”
Sanetoshi was the name of Washizuka’s former assistant, depicted right there in that very photograph. He was a tall man, perpetually smiling, with androgynous facial features and long hair loosely tied back.
“What are you doing here? Am I dreaming about you? But why?”
“Because I’m a ghost,” Sanetoshi grinned in amusement.
“A ghost?”
Washizuka furrowed his brow. To be clear, the Watase Sanetoshi he knew passed away many years ago, which meant this had to be a ghost or a hallucination of some sort. But if this was a dream, then no real explanation was necessary.
“If ghosts are too unscientific for you, then let’s say I’m a curse. And now I’m back for round two.” Sanetoshi recrossed his legs. Then he pulled a bright red apple out of nowhere and began to play with it, tossing it up in the air and catching it.
“What are you talking about?”
Washizuka remembered the day of the atrocity very clearly. And every day that followed, he asked himself: why would Watase Sanetoshi do such a thing? He thought back to how he had personally interacted with Sanetoshi, sometimes regretting everything, other times justifying it.
“I vowed to change the world, and now that intent has been passed down from my comrades to their children. Stunning, isn’t it?”
“You know, I’ve never once forgotten you, but it’s odd that I would dream about you now, of all times. I’m enjoying this little reunion, but…I see you haven’t changed a bit,” Washizuka muttered sadly.
Even in a dream, Watase Sanetoshi was up to no good. Many years passed as Washizuka struggled, and failed, to understand what made him tick. Unfortunately, this wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
“Now then, it’s time for me to return your exam room back to you. Likewise, I enjoyed seeing you again, Dr. Washizuka. Good day to you.” Quietly, Sanetoshi rose from his stool and bowed respectfully. Then he pulled off his lab coat, whirled it around like a cape, and vanished.
This dream was far more creative than Washizuka’s imagination was capable of, and he started to worry about himself. But then again, it was just a dream. Before long, he fell into a deep sleep…and by the time he awoke to the sound of his alarm clock, he forgot that he dreamt at all.