“Yes, I believe those fragments were from the Mirror of Illumination.”
Come to think of it, he’d started seeing monsters right about then. That probably made this the likeliest explanation, but…
“I-it can’t be. That’s completely unrealistic.”
“Heh-heh. Deny it all you like, but your left eye still has that curious power. Don’t you think you should put it to good use?” He sounded entertained; young Shiroshi didn’t seem to be deeply invested in Seiji’s problem.
“But… How?”
Joining the police force would probably be the most effective move. He’d be able to identify criminals just by looking at them. Still, there was no way he had what it took to become a civil servant.
He could call in reports as a private citizen, but saying, Hello, yes, that person over there seems to be doing something bad, and when questioned, following up with Because they look like a yokai would only earn him pitying looks and directions to the nearest hospital.
In any case, writing I can see people’s sins at a glance down in the “Hobbies/Special Talents” section of his job applications would not win over anyone in HR.
“Hmm. Let’s see. To start with, why not work for me part-time?”
“Huh?”
“When people come to this house, you’ll tell me what they look like to you. What could be easier?”
Shiroshi certainly made it sound straightforward, but would it really be that simple?
“Well, but—”
“You’d be guaranteed food, clothing, and shelter, of course. You’ll have hot meals and a warm bed, and I’ll provide you with an allowance on top of that. I’ll also pay proper wages for any work you do.”
“H-hang on a minute!” Unable to take it anymore, Seiji called a time-out.
“What is it?” Shiroshi looked puzzled.
“Why are you just assuming I’d be living here?!”
“Oh, is that all? You appear to be living out of net cafés, so I thought it would be best to provide accommodations as well.”
“H-how do you know that?!”
The boy had called it in one, and Seiji’s eyes widened.
Shiroshi raised his index finger. “First, the umbrella. It last rained five days ago. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky today, but you’re still carrying yours. It seems appropriate to assume that, while you may have an umbrella, you have no place to store it. In other words, you’re compelled to move frequently and have no permanent address.”
“Ngh!”
“Next, your bag. There’s a mineral water bottle sticking out of the side holder, but it’s been refilled with orange juice. Not many people reuse bottles that way, so I would imagine you’ve been carrying an empty bottle with you and filling it at drink bars.”
“Ack!”
“In addition, the strap of your cell phone is hanging out of your right-hand jacket pocket. The fact that you’re keeping it easily accessible suggests that you’re still able to use it. It has service, and you’ve been in an environment where you can keep it charged. In other words…” Shiroshi paused to smile at Seiji. “The likeliest explanation is that you are living in net cafés, one step away from being homeless. And you haven’t been doing so for long: two weeks at most.”
“Wh-wh-wha—?!”
Flabbergasted, Seiji gaped like an oxygen-starved goldfish.
“I apologize if I’ve offended you. This is just who I am,” Shiroshi said coolly, raising his second cup of tea to his lips.
The words sounded good, but he didn’t look at all apologetic. What was up with that? Or no, maybe what Seiji should really be regretting was the fact that he was transparent enough that someone he’d just met could see right through him.
“My, it looks as if our next guest is here already.”
When Seiji hastily turned around, he found himself looking at a familiar face.
“Ah!” he yelped in surprise.
It was the woman he’d seen outside the convenience store. Her sophisticated, upper-class impression couldn’t have been a better match for that study.
The moment he blinked, she transformed into that one-eyed, blue-robed monk, then changed back.
“Oh.” She seemed to remember him, too. “Um, who is this?”
“My assistant, Seiji Tohno. Consider him part of the furniture.”
What a cold introduction.
In any case, after an exchange like the one he’d had with Shiroshi earlier, teatime promptly resumed with the addition of the new guest.
Was this kid actually an expert pickup artist?
“Consultations…?” The woman had introduced herself as Satsuki Otose, and when Shiroshi told her his work was “rather like a consultation service,” she looked intrigued. “What sort of consultations do you take?”
“All sorts. No issue is too minor. After all, if it’s stuck in your throat, even a small fish bone will hurt until it’s removed.”
“Then, um… This is really nothing, but…,” Satsuki began apologetically. “You see, I have a blog called Flowers of Avalon.”
Seiji was struck by a sense of familiarity. There it was: His brain had tried to hear Flowers for Algernon and missed.
“I post recipes and journal entries, things like that. After I was interviewed by a magazine, traffic to my blog increased almost overnight, and people began to submit lots of emails and comments. They’ve been mostly all positive, but there was one that…”
When she held her smartphone out with her left hand, the diamond in her wedding ring glittered.
The screen showed an email inbox. She clicked on one of the messages, opening it. Both the subject line and the message field were blank, but there was an image attached.
The moment she opened the attachment, a soft “Oh-ho…” escaped Shiroshi. “That certainly is peculiar.”
“Whoa, no kidding.” Peeking in from the side, Seiji grimaced.
They were looking at a line of text that read:
Want to hang yourself?
The characters seemed to have been scrawled on a sheet of loose-leaf notebook paper, then photographed with a digital camera or smartphone. That would have been unsettling enough, but on top of that—
“I see. Mirror writing, hmm?”
The scribbled letters were flipped, left to right. Reflected in a mirror, they would have appeared normal.
“As you can imagine, I was disturbed. I immediately blocked the sender, but it was resent from a different address, and that kept happening every time I blocked it.”
Satsuki sighed quietly. Seiji realized she probably wasn’t getting enough sleep; there were faint dark circles under her eyes. She seemed worn out.
“Do you have any idea who the sender might be?”
“No, none at all,” she said, blinking rather dramatically.
“Did you respond?”
“I ignored it. I thought that paying it any attention would just encourage whoever had sent it.”
“A wise decision. Have you spoken to the police about it?”
“Not yet. My blog is only a hobby, and I didn’t want to get the police involved when there’s been no actual damage. I would hate to shut my blog down because I was overreacting to a prank.”
“I understand. So am I correct in assuming you don’t want to stop blogging?”
“That’s right. I’ve made lots of friends through this, and the blog has fans who visit every day.”
Forget a blog, Seiji wasn’t even on Line or Twitter. As a result, he didn’t really get it, but maybe that was how it usually went.
And yet…
Sure, getting an ominous email didn’t mean she’d immediately be murdered, but wasn’t the message too unsettling to write off as a prank?
Shiroshi tugged lightly on his jacket sleeve. When Seiji gave him a quizzical look, he held out a book. It was the yokai artbook from earlier. You want me to put it away? Seiji asked silently, but he got a wry smile in response: No, not that. When Shiroshi tapped the table of contents with his fingernail, Seiji finally got it. He started turning pages.
There it was.
Keeping the book open to that page, he passed it back to Shiroshi. The picture showed a one-eyed monk standing in front of a dilapidated thatched hut. The name beside it was aobouzu.
“Yes, that makes sense,” Shiroshi murmured as if he were talking to himself.
“Pardon?” Satsuki looked perplexed.
“Let me ask once more: You really have no idea who the sender might be?”