《Endless Thirst》 Volume 1 - Prologue OCTOBER 7, 2022 ~ CTRLDEVIL I wipe my wet face with a towel and start the engine. The water on the front window is swept off by the windshield wipers. Raindrops, with the wind¡¯s borrowed momentum, keep hitting the window continuously. Visibility a hair¡¯s breadth from zero, whatever ambient light there is blurs into the darkness. Made contact with the communications center by radio. The windows of the contractor¡¯s home ¨C deserted on vacation ¨C were not properly locked. ¡°The storm caused the windows to open and the alarm malfunctioned.¡± Just tonight alone, how many times have I repeated the same exact phrase? August. It was the early typhoon season. The humidity and heat were growing unbearable at night. For a security guard, it was busier than ever. Wind-blown chips of wood and birds hit the glass of buildings and residences. Sensors frequently report anomalies. There are big dark circles hovering under my eyes. The night shift has taken a toll on my body. Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, I loosen my stiff shoulders. Even my foot on the gas pedal feels tired. It feels as if there is a lump behind each of my eyes. At times, I even have trouble focusing. I¡¯ve gotten old. A man¡¯s sigh of resignation fills the air. The radio¡¯s signal announces another alarm activation. Worn out to the bottom of my heart, I press the microphone and agree. I can¡¯t complain since everyone is working at full capacity. There is no such thing as time to eat ¨C it is already past 2 am. Five Market, Fukasaku location. A convenience store open 24 hours a day ¨C just a stone¡¯s throw away from Higashiomiya, where this old man happens to be. More specifically, it¡¯s in a residential area near National Route 16. The voice filtering through the radio informs me that the nearby police station has already been notified. Eventually, I arrive at the newly developed residential area, which is undergoing rezoning. The orange glow of the convenience store lights are blurred by the rain. Next to the purple mosquito light, a red light is rotating, indicating that an alarm¡¯s gone off. Two cars are parked in the parking lot, and a scooter sits under the eaves of the store. I pull the van into the parking lot, reach behind me to put on the helmet I had rolled onto the back seat, and open the door. The rain blowing right beside me makes a sound against the windshield. The wet sleeves of my shirt absorb more water, clinging to my skin. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. In this heavy rain, the glass doors of the store are open. The linoleum floor is wet, and the newspapers sitting in the stand by the entrance have already been discolored from the storm. Inside, people are nowhere to be seen ¨C not even a clerk at the counter. Drawn from focus by the reminder of the rain on my back, I step on in. I pull out the baton that¡¯s attached to my belt. When I step on the welcome mat, water seeps out. I approach, breathless, and look down over the counter. A sharp intake of air fills my lungs. A young man in a uniform is curled up on the ground. His blue jeans have been discolored by dark blotches. Under him, a pool of blood. There are finger-shaped smears on the counter and register that look as if they¡¯ve been made with red paint. The register¡¯s been left open ¨C change is strewn everywhere. I lean over the counter, about to call out to him, but stop. The animal smell of thick blood and excrement hits my nose. The young man¡¯s stomach, along with his uniform and the t-shirt underneath, have been ripped open, and he is hunched over, holding his overflowing guts. As if showing signs of a fight, cuts and tears litter his uniform, and deep lacerations on his arms and chest are torn open, revealing fat and pink flesh. Video-game discs and DVDs for rental meant to be put on the shelf behind him are soaked in blood on the floor. Despite the gruesome scene, the store is filled with the sound of easy-going pop hits and the scent of oden. The smell of boiled food and fresh death hits me with a wave of nausea. ¡°Oi-¡± As I approach the young man¡¯s body behind the counter, I notice the head of what looks like a person lying on their side at the back of the store, not too far away. A middle-aged woman with disheveled brown hair is crumpled up on the floor. She is dressed simply ¨C tank top and shorts. A basket lays next to her, and snacks and water bottles are scattered about. Kneeling down, I try to shake her awake. At the same time, I notice another smell that makes me grimace. A bloodshot eyeball has been displaced from its socket. Her tongue is far enough out of her mouth to reach the floor. There are string-like marks on her neck, and the congestion of blood under her skin lends them a purple color. I tread halfway around the store. A bespectacled boy leans against a shelf of dairy products. His arms and legs are stretched out like a puppet with cut strings, without so much as a twitch of a muscle. His cotton tank top, formerly white, has been dyed reddish-black. There is a large rip in his neck, like the gruesome smile of a specter. Piercing his chest are numerous holes, and his surroundings are stained with a spray of blood, as if a spray can had exploded. Red drops cover the bread, milk, cheese, and cornflakes on display. ¡°Someone..¡± At this point I might as well be immune to the sight of death, but even my voice is laced with anxiety and fear. Shaking off the nightmare that looms over me, I kick open the door to the back room. At once an inexplicable rush of excitement and fear comes over me. Beyond the door is a small stockroom with bare concrete and steel frames. Cardboard piles of juice and cup noodles are stacked in a heap. A sense of relief and dismay falls over me at the fact that nothing awaits me here. I open the windshield of my helmet and wipe the sweat dripping from my forehead with my sleeve. The sound of a Super Cub engine approaches. When I exit the back room, I am met with the sight of two uniformed officers. One, a young cop in a black jacket, is frozen like a stone at the entrance. The other, a thirty-something cop with a protruding belly, is a familiar sight. They¡¯re faces I know well ¨C they¡¯re from the police station in front of the train station. My head drifts into a nod. The young cop looks at the clerk behind the counter and makes a girlish screeching sound ¨C the middle-aged one mutters something urgently as he grips the microphone on his radio. In just a few minutes, the parking lot will be filled to bursting with cop cars. Melancholy besets me. I wonder how many faces I will recall among the police here. Just how many faces will I see? Stepping out of the store, I escape the smell of murder, a mixture of blood, guts, and excrement, heading out into the torrential downpour. Taking off my helmet, I reach for the car¡¯s radio microphone. The sound of a noisy siren filled my ears, drowning out the sound of the heavy rain. Volume 1 - CH 1 OCTOBER 8, 2022 ~ CTRLDEVIL Sweat beads were getting into his eyes. Akihiro Fujishima used his sleeve to dab at his face. The sun beating down on him and the hot asphalt were relentlessly scorching him. Sweat dripped into his shadow in the street. At the corner of a large shopping center in Saitama City¡¯s Taisei-cho district, an ATM cash machine was set up near the entrance to the store. It¡¯s Nakagawa¡¯s job as a junior to collect the money. Fujishima, standing at an imposing 180cm, held a baton in his hand and was standing on watch, silently intimidating anyone who passed by. The full rig of helmets, jackets, and holsters turned the oppressive heat into an even harsher hell. The wind chime hanging at the entrance of the store made a discordantly refreshing sound each time the automatic doors opened. From a park far away, a higurashi chirped faintly, as if to indicate the arrival of autumn. As dusk signaled that the day of the special sale was soon to come to a close, the concrete plains, which could have accommodated hundreds of cars, were filled with waves of waxing and waning light, and the cars were coming in and out of the parking lot. Each time a car passed by, it threw a quivering wave of heat at them. Nakagawa put the cash from the ATM in a case and locked it, and the two of them got into the silver van. He let the air conditioning turn on full blast. The ultraviolet rays through the glass pierced his skin. Sweat beads streaked his blue uniform with stains and speckles. With a cigarette in his mouth, he fumigated the interior of the car. The smell of sweat was neutralized by the musty smell of nicotine. Neither of them spoke much. Regardless of the fact that they had just finished collecting the cash, they still had a full night shift ahead of them. Nakagawa turned on the radio, as if he couldn¡¯t stand the silence any longer. Fujishima could only be disgusted at what he heard. Coincidentally, the news broadcast on the radio was talking about some sort of bloody incident. It was a convenience store robbery in which three people were slaughtered. Or ¨C a mass murder disguised as a robbery. A week had already passed, but the police had not yet identified any suspects. The broadcast was sparing in words and moved on to the next topic. The news value must be fading fast ¨C sensationalism was perishable after all. Three people were indiscriminately murdered for a pittance of money. The police had suspected, and the mainstream media had responded by suggesting, that some Asian foreigner had committed the crime. But that was soon to fade into the background. The case was being replaced by questions of prejudice and discrimination against foreigners. ¡°Detective, I guess you¡¯re back in town today,¡± Nakagawa interjected. ¡°I doubt it.¡± Gazing out of the window with vacant eyes, the gloomy Fujishima simply replied, ¡°I¡¯m not here¡­ not in town at all.¡± ¡°Just who could the culprit be?¡± ¡°Beats me.¡± ¡°I think it was a foreigner. I heard that the sales were only about 80,000 yen. Killing three people for such a tiny amount of money is impossible in our world. What do you think?¡± No witnesses. No physical evidence. No commonalities between the three victims. The number of murderers has not yet been announced. The number of murderers has not yet been announced, but it is possible that it is equal to or greater than the number of victims. No, it was a lone murderer. The media wrote whatever they wanted. A man entered the store and stabbed the waiter at the counter. The second chased after the boy, ripped his neck open, and stabbed him in the chest. The middle-aged woman screamed, threw out the basket, and ran away. The third assailant stayed at the entrance, prevented the woman from escaping, and then slashed her head with a blunt object. No, he strangled her with a cord. He did it alone, two men did it, they did it with more than two people ¨C there was no convincing evidence. Two things were certain: one, the perpetrator was calm. After he butchered the three men, he took the video from the surveillance camera. It was the clerk who set off the alarm. He was certain that his own name would have been mentioned on the news if the alarm had not sounded a few minutes earlier, and that he would have been the fourth victim. His skin was awash with perspiration. Fujishima had never felt so close to his own death. When the light turned red, Nakagawa put his gearshift in neutral. ¡°But Fujishima-san, it¡¯s not your best luck to be in charge of so large of an area. How dangerous.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not as if I like to take on these jobs, either.¡± ¡°Fujishima-san, you¡¯re the boss¡¯s favorite, aren¡¯t you?¡± It had only been a year since he had started working for the security company. Even so, Fujishima was put in charge of much of the eastern part of Saitama City. It was more than even a physically strong and experienced security guard could handle. It seemed they weren¡¯t on the same page. Nakagawa leaned forward. ¡°So what really is the deal?¡± ¡°With what?¡± ¡°Please, tell me. Haven¡¯t you heard anything from your old colleagues? You see, I bet 20 thousand yen on the foreigner.¡± Fujishima pushed the end of his cigarette into the ashtray. Nakagawa kept talking. ¡°Even you must be curious, Fujishima-san? I heard that you¡¯ve been buying up all the newspapers and magazines about the case. That former-detective blood is rushing through your veins, isn¡¯t it?¡± Nakagawa had a mean smile on his face. Regardless of who, everyone seemed to be looking down on Fujishima¡¯s circumstances. But it didn¡¯t matter. The corners of his lips turned upwards meekly. The anti-anxiety medication given to him by the neurologist had taken the edge off his anger. ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯m not one of them anymore.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s not that easy to forget about the past, is it?¡± He went upstairs to the office. As soon as he walked through the door, the salt-and-pepper-headed manager looked up and turned his chin toward the meeting table, as if annoyed. The men who had settled into the black leather sofa there stood up. It was Asai, a small, boar-necked man with a body like a dharma doll, and a tall, broad-shouldered man from the First Investigation Section of the police. The duo had visited Fujishima many times. Asai stood up and bowed. The man from Section 1 did not stand up. In other words, that was part of his job. Asai had a downcast expression on his face. ¡°¡®Scuse me.¡± Fujishima plopped down on the sofa. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be coming.¡± ¡°Aye.¡± ¡°So then?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going over the legwork and interviewing people related to the crime once more.¡± ¡°You want me to tell you what I did that day from the ground up?¡± Asai gave a nod in reply. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna.¡± ¡°Assistant inspector-¡± ¡°What assistant inspector?¡± ¡°..Sorry.¡± ¡°Go back and read over the report. That¡¯s all there is.¡± Sergeant Mamoru Asai. He was assigned to Section 1 of the Omiya Police Department¡¯s Criminal Investigation Division. The man who had been partnered with Fujishima until a year and a half ago, fixed him with a superior look. ¡°If you had never gotten yourself involved, I wouldn¡¯t have gone this far. You¡¯re a former detective who was dismissed from his job a long time ago and holds a grudge against the organization. I¡¯m not saying you stole physical evidence, but I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if you knew a thing or two about the witnesses. That¡¯s what we think.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t dismissed, I put in a resignation.¡± ¡°Either way, you must have been upset. I understand how you feel. Assistant Inspector Fujishima was a well-known name. Some people still trash talk you, but at any rate, you were on the verge of leading a search. You feel like you got the short end of the stick, don¡¯t you?¡± Asai interjected. ¡°Why don¡¯t we go bar-hopping? If you have time.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡± Fujishima put a cigarette in his mouth. He pulled out a large glass ashtray for the reception area. The man¡¯s wary eyes were fixed on the ashtray. ¡°I get it. You have a family, too, and it¡¯s tough for you to find a job, huh? You don¡¯t even know when you¡¯ll be able to go home, huh? It wouldn¡¯t be strange if something happened while they were fretting about the investigation.¡± Fujishima quietly smiled and listened to the man¡¯s lines. The anti-anxiety drugs were certainly effective, but he was terribly conscious of the special baton in his equipment. Volume 1 - CH 2 OCTOBER 9, 2022 ~ CTRLDEVIL It was a peaceful night. The thunderstorms that had turned the city upside down and the noise of the incident a week earlier seemed like a dream. As he prepared his report, he was grateful for the quiet. The young people were enjoying video games on the TV. The direct-dial phone rang, and his gaze turned upward. The convenience store appeared in his field of vision. The boy leaning against a shelf, his throat gushing blood like water from a faucet. ¡°¡­That¡¯s right. Please put your card through and then enter your PIN, yep.¡± After answering according to the manual, he grabbed the controller of the game console again. One of the young employees replied listlessly, ¡°I guess one of the workers at one of the stores made a mistake in locking the door.¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be strange if he had a thing or two to say about¡­¡± The words of the investigation head came back to him. There was nothing to hide. How many times had he replayed that night? The perpetrator disappeared just before he reached the Five Market. He looked for anything in his memory, the fleeing figure, the car. Nothing appeared on the other side of the strong raindrops. Another direct call. He was not nervous, his palpitations had subsided. The body in front of his eyes had also disappeared. ¡°Fujishima-san!¡± A young employee was waving the telephone handset. ¡°Um, it¡¯s from your wife.¡± His eyes seemed to shine with curiosity. For a brief moment, his blood boiled. Perhaps the effects of the drugs had begun to wear off. He was well aware of his own bloodlust. But in the event that it was meant to be a bad joke, he would kill the fellow. While picturing the plan to beat him to death, he picked up the phone. ¡°Hello?¡± No response. ¡°Is anyone there?¡± He felt the blood drain from his face. The moment he clenched his fist, he heard a retreating voice. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± Fujishima took a small breath. He couldn¡¯t help but feel bewildered, having not heard from her for several months. The mediation was over, and he had lost any excuse to see her. He was resigned to the fact that they wouldn¡¯t ever contact each other again. ¡°Oh¡­thank goodness. I¡¯m sorry to be so abrupt, but¡­¡± He tried to keep his composure. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°I have to talk to you.¡± ¡°Talk?¡± Fujishima replied. ¡°What is there to talk about?¡± He felt his self-control being torn down. The divorce papers were sent to him as soon as he decided to retire from the police force. The resignation was due to an incident he had caused. She left home the day after the incident. She took her daughter, Kanako, with her to her parents¡¯ home. How many times he called and visited her, demanding to speak with her, that was lost on him now. But they never met until he signed the papers that he had received from her. ¡°Just listen, please. I¡¯m begging you.¡± Fujishima put down the phone. He left his desk and headed for the locker room. Ignoring curious stares at his back, he crossed the dark corridor and reached for the jacket he had stored in his locker. He took out his cell phone, which was in his breast pocket, and turned it on. He opened the aluminum packet of pills in his back pocket and released three pills into his mouth. This is the kind of behavior that should never be seen in a workplace as rich in ideas of machismo as that of the police. He cursed himself for not being able to control his emotions and be more patient talking to a certain someone he hadn¡¯t had in a long time. He even felt sorry for himself, all giddy like a teenager. Before making the call, he prepared himself for surprise and shock. He thought of his daughter. Seventeen years old, if his memory was right, and attending an all-girls¡¯ high school in Urawa. Excellent grades, applying to a national university in Tokyo. And¡­ No matter how much he tried to twist it, he came up with a blank for the rest. He worked all his life as a detective; he was surprisingly willing to risk his own life for information. But when it came to his family, he was the exact opposite. He called the apartment where Kiriko lived. It was the house that Fujishima had purchased for them and then vacated after the divorce. Calm down. He told himself to calm down and pressed the call button. With just a couple rings, he was connected. ¡°What¡¯s this about Kanako?¡± ¡°I thought maybe she was with you.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Please, don¡¯t try to hide it¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t fuck with me!¡± Fujishima barked reflexively. His efforts had gone awaste. Kiriko¡¯s voice lost its power of speech and collapsed into a sob. He could envision Kiriko with the phone clasped to her ear, her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. It was an image he had seen countless times before. ¡°What¡¯s going on? What reason would there be for her to be with me?¡± ¡°She¡¯s not¡­ she hasn¡¯t come home.¡± Her voice was anguished, and in it, he could hear a hint of calculation. ¡°So what, you think I kidnapped her? Don¡¯t kid yourself.¡± Kiriko sniffed, in a state of exasperation for a while. The time on the LCD screen added up to another five seconds, then another ten. He thought of Kanako ¨C her small face and slender body, and her large, light-brown eyes. She had a small mouth and a thin nose like her mother. Her face always gave people the impression that she was noble and strong-minded. Even in her callous father¡¯s eyes, she was a beautiful girl. If only they had been able to communicate, he would have been so proud to call her his daughter. He dug up the few memories he had of her. When she was about twelve or so, a number of relatives recommended that she go to a private junior high school, but Akihiro was the only one who was against it. This was right after he had purchased an apartment. The school fees were not covered by a detective¡¯s salary. Nor could he afford the lavish support from his father-in-law, an executive at a local bank. What was more was Kanako herself said she did not want to leave her friends who were going to the city junior high school. That event marked a turning point for him and his family. His wife, who had been a dedicated mother up until then, began to work. Using her father¡¯s connections, she became a clerk at a real estate company. Perhaps because she found the work so fulfilling, she became absorbed in it, not coming home until late in the evening, or even after midnight, until Fujishima finally gave up on their family. He abandoned their marriage and left his daughter alone. There were no arguments. The heat that had consumed them had passed, and they had moved into a cold war. She was probably taking advantage of her husband and daughter¡¯s refusal to attend the private school. That daughter of hers; though she treated her like a pet, was just a child after all. Their daughter had disappeared. When did Kiriko first notice that? ¡°I have nothing to do with this. That¡¯s all.¡± A wail escaped from the phone speaker in response. It seemed that a little bit of his spite had gotten through, and he was seized by a thrill of joy. ¡°How long has she been gone?¡± The pause was unnaturally long. ¡°Oi, you there?¡± ¡°Yesterday. Ever since I left for work yesterday morning.¡± Fujishima switched hands with his cell phone and wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks. It didn¡¯t seem unusual for a teenage girl to spend one, or even a few nights away from home during summer vacation without her parents¡¯ knowledge. He was more concerned as to why Kiriko was this distraught. ¡°I think she¡¯s been taking classes at a prep school all summer. Yesterday, she was there. I called them to ask. She was there until yesterday afternoon.¡± ¡°What about her friends? How could they not know where she is?¡± ¡°I did contact them. But they all¡­ said the last they saw her was yesterday evening.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t really fall for that, did you?¡± ¡°How am I supposed to know what¡¯s a lie and what¡¯s not?!¡± After a few sobs, Kiriko said, ¡°You want to tell me that I¡¯m crazy, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yeah. Yeah, that¡¯s it. You¡¯re hysterical like an idiot. If people hear you they might even laugh.¡± A sharp sound mingled with her sobbing over the line, like something being put on the table. It was probably a glass of scotch. ¡°Come over. That¡¯s the only way you¡¯ll understand.¡± ¡°Last night, what were you doing?¡± ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Answer honestly, will you? That¡¯ll decide my answer. When did you notice Kanako¡¯s disappearance?¡± ¡°¡­This evening.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t notice it yesterday? Didn¡¯t you say she wasn¡¯t home all night?¡± ¡°I¡¯m talking about her now.¡± ¡°Where were you? A hotel, or maybe some guy¡¯s apartment?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not¡­¡± she said matter-of-factly. And then a moment later, ¡°¡­Yes.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°I was at someone¡¯s apartment.¡± ¡°And what kind of business did you have there?¡± Fujishima¡¯s breathing became increasingly ragged. He hung up without another word. Turning off his cell, he tucked it back into his jacket and went to his desk. A sticky sweat, different from that of the warm day, trickled down his back. He didn¡¯t feel anything; as if he were a stranger. His thoughts turned to his daughter. Was Kanako the kind of girl who would hide from her mother without a word? Was she the kind of girl who went from one friend¡¯s house to another, eating only snacks for dinner? Or was she the kind of girl who led a regular school life and did household chores in place of her work-weary mother? Fujishima mentally mocked himself. Some father he was, only being able to identify her by such crude stereotypes. In an attempt to look nonchalant, he yawned. The other employees were still playing video games. Unwilling to return to his paperwork, he grabbed a sports paper that was close at hand and unfolded it. Following the words, he was only further absorbed in his thoughts. Where did she go? Was his little girl really the type that¡¯d run away from home? Finding that out now would be impossible. How dare that whore make a phone call now of all times? How could their daughter disappear while her mother was busy having an affair? This sort of story is just like her. ¡°When you get here, you¡¯ll know.¡± Was the person he spoke with on the phone truly Kiriko? ¡°Dumb whore.¡± An inarticulate murmur escaped from between his teeth. Volume 1 - CH 3.1 OCTOBER 9, 2022 ~ CTRLDEVIL As soon as his shift came to an end, he grabbed the director, who had just arrived at work. He asked for another day off in addition to today¡¯s off-duty day. ¡°It¡¯s about my wife.¡± When he heard the reason, his face scrunched up as he quickly realized the situation. ¡°Nothing¡¯s going on.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s true.¡± He was tired of being reminded of this. After changing into his suit in the locker room and passing through the service gate, the air had already begun to turn sticky. It was going to be another hot day. The relentless sun burned his scalp and the heated asphalt burned the soles of his shoes. His car was a gray Corolla. As soon as he opened its door, he was hit by a nauseating heat. From there, he headed toward Miyahara, where his ex-wife was waiting for him. While waiting for the traffic light, he swallowed three caffeine pills. It had been a long time since he had been on the road to the apartment he formerly called home. He turned off the old Nakasendo trail onto the national highway. He had taken the same route that day as he was taking now, he recalled. October of the year before last. A series of twenty-five arson cases centering on the three cities of Saitama City, Kawagoe, and Kasukabe were being pursued. The suspect was a 30 year old man of no fixed address who was squatting in a house in Kawaguchi. Two motives that may or may not have had any significance, two dead bodies, and countless torched motorcycles and houses were produced. However, the suspect¡¯s confession was elicited, and the public prosecutor¡¯s office was able to close the case without incident. The public prosecutor took the bait, and the man was indicted. Fujishima was returning home after attending a light victory celebration at the station. He had taken a short vacation, and he was in a good mood. He even had a feeling that all would be well for the day when he returned, even if it was not a house he could call his own. Now he could only think that he had been indulging in a stupid dream. The relationship with his family had long since grown cold. His absence, the head of the household, was the only thing that made it a normal family. As Fujishima approached the apartment building, a light car pulled out of the building in front of him, with trailing red tail lights. It was a pale blue Wagon R. Kiriko¡¯s car. Before he could think about this or that, his body reacted. Fujishima stepped on the accelerator and followed the car. He turned onto the Shin-Omiya bypass and headed in the direction of Urawa. He followed Kiriko with two cars in between. While driving, he took out his cell phone. Should I call our apartment and ask Kanako? On second thought, he slipped the cell phone back into his pocket. There was no need to inform her of what was about to become an embarrassment. She knew all about it, surely. He had no reason to believe that she would be on his side. Passingly he was aware he had to use the bathroom. Riding the highway from Yono, he realized it Kiriko was not headed to her parents¡¯ house. Kiriko¡¯s parents lived in Urawa, and they had already passed. His faint hopes were dashed, and a terrible chill ran down his spine. He was even surprised that he had that much emotion left in him. Wading through the rage and resignation, he continued to the center of the city. It was easy to figure out where she was going. All he had to do was take a peek at Kiriko¡¯s cell phone. The owner of the apartment was a real estate company executive, a man named Iwanaka, her employer. He was a handsome man with a rugged face who seemed like he would look good in an aloha shirt. The type that would, after work, have an intense workout, and if there was a mirror anywhere in sight, stop to admire himself with a Rolex on his wrist. Naturally, the address book of the company she works for listed Iwanaka¡¯s address. Most of the leave he was given was spent trying to identify and monitor the man. He had no intention of doing anything about it, he had simply resigned himself to it all. It was not a relationship that could be defended when the end came ¨C he told himself that. Until the last day of his vacation, when he was playing pachinko and drinking alcohol. It was late October. The apartment building near Gokokuji Station was a solid fortress with a full-time building manager. Except for the underground parking lot. There were no cameras in that concrete parking lot, just fluorescent lights on the ceiling that emitted a white, cold light. Among the rows of luxury cars, Fujishima parked his Corolla and waited for his return. His face was on fire and the smell of alcohol on his breath filled the car. From there, his memories faded like gossamer and became terribly fragmented. He knew he wasn¡¯t a saint when he got drunk. He had to have known what would happen if he went too far. But now, he understood. From the very beginning, he had subconsciously planned to attack from the moment his well-dressed wife came to visit that man. He could only remember the smell of cologne on Iwanaka, the smell of blood that reminded him of rusted metal, and the sound of a ridiculously loud gasp. The side window, smashed with a special baton, flying open in hail-like shards, and Iwanaka, who had been dragged out of the Audi, with gums dripping with dangling strings of spit and his sunglasses with warped frames. Fujishima himself was so horrified by the scene that he ran across the parking lot. Then there was self-pity, and anger. The next days, he lived like an empty shell. The day the case was reported in the newspaper never came, but within three days, the police began to hover around him. After several rounds of questioning and a recommendation to resign, he was told that if he did not comply, he would be arrested or prosecuted. If he complied, his supervisor said, there would be no arrest or prosecution. There was no way he could refuse. With a few strokes of the pen, he lost his badge, his family, his reason for living, and his pride. He had lost so much, he had condemned himself to a mental prison forever. Fujishima parked his car in an empty space in the parking lot and looked up at his home for the first time in a long time. It was a four room apartment on the eighth story of this brown-toned building. The auto-locking glass door in front kept out the outside world. On the first floor, a lobby existed, albeit small, with a few chairs and a desk. The property was bought after the bursting of the bubble economy and the collapse of prices, but even despite that, Fujishima¡¯s salary was not enough to cover the expenses alone. This property was the result of support from his father-in-law. Looking up, he saw housewives hanging laundry on the balcony. He glanced at them as he headed for the front entrance. Pressing the button on the intercom, it connected without a pause. ¡°Just a minute.¡± The glass door in front of him opened. Upon entering, he saw a scratch on the elevator door that looked as if it had been scuffed by a coin. The ceiling of the lobby was stained with cigarette smoke. Seemed to have aged. Both himself and the apartment building. He pushed the doorbell in front of room 103, where Kiriko resided. Even though she had already announced her visit, she hadn¡¯t neglected to lock the door. The sound of the lock being released was audible. ¡°Come in.¡± He drew in a breath at the sight before him. Her shoulder-length caf¨¦-au-lait hair was plastered to her cheeks by sweat. Puffy eyelids. Bloodshot red eyes. Dark circles appeared on her face as if to prove that she had not slept well. She was wearing a worn white shirt, stockings, and a tight skirt. She had not even changed her clothes after returning home from work. Kiriko¡¯s body reeked of a strong odor of alcohol mixed with perfume. It was the same smell as those of the suspects who were waiting patiently to be placed in jail. The smell of a human being cloaked in exhaustion and despair. He thought back as his eyes followed Kiriko¡¯s unsteady steps toward the kitchen. Kiriko was a woman consumed by a strong sense of vanity. Looking at the Scandinavian-style furnishings, which had grown in number since before, and the bubbled glassware glimpsed through the glass shelves, he thought that she had remained the same. The bathroom would be even more forested with cosmetics ¨C pots and jars of makeup ¨C than when he last was here. To maintain the curvicature of her face and body, she had never stopped her ascetic efforts, until now. He turned to Kiriko, who was fiddling with the siphon coffee maker. ¡°What happened?¡± Her shoulders trembled. She kept her eyes on the coffee in the bottom of the cup and did not look up. It seemed like a scene from some provincial play, but there was genuine fear in her eyes. ¡°Oh, right¡­¡± She nodded her head repeatedly, as if to herself. ¡°Go to Kanako¡¯s room. Then you¡¯ll understand.¡± Kiriko pressed her mouth shut as if that were all she could say. Fujishima turned his head and glanced down the hallway he had just passed by. Old dust floated in the air. ¡°I asked you what happened.¡± ¡°Go and see.¡± ¡°Is it alright for me to go down that hallway alone?¡± Kiriko reflexively looked at the cordless phone. It was a bitter memory. There had been a time when he had planted a bug on her when he witnessed her infidelity. ¡°I want to hear it from you.¡± ¡°Hear what?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t get it?¡± Kiriko poured coffee into an ivory cup. Her hands were shaking. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe I saw it wrong.¡± He stared at her, still in the throes of grief. The corners of her eyes and jawline showed the weariness and decline appropriate to her age. The image of Kiriko entering the apartment by Gokokuji Station crossed his mind. Gritting his back teeth, he stepped out into the hallway. As he touched the door, he felt a rush of anxiety and frustration. Gently, he opened the door and slid it open. He looked around Kanako¡¯s room. The sheer curtains were not drawn, but the room was brightly illuminated by the morning sun. The wooden flooring gave the room a clean impression. A thin scent of lotion lingered in the air. Having imagined the room to be in a rough state, he felt like he¡¯d lost. The room was so neat and tidy that there was little sense of a lived-in atmosphere. There was a minimalistic bed, a table, and a bookshelf filled with books. There were no girlish stuffed animals or posters of pop idols. Not many accessories to add a little color to the room, either. The room was filled with a few potted houseplants, some picture frames, and a large number of paperbacks and hardcover novels. The large study desk he had bought for her long ago had long since disappeared, replaced by a simple table meant more for decorative reasons. On top of it, several textbooks and reference books were tucked into bookends. He reached for a photo frame. It was probably taken on the day of some event, and a group of girls in school uniforms were smiling carefreely as they posed for the camera, making V-signs and doing whatever they felt like. Kanako was on the far right, with her shoulders shrugged and a little smile on her face. She was a little different in terms of mood from the other girls, but it was enough to surprise Fujishima. So Kanako was capable of this kind of expression, after all. Kanako¡¯s grades were stellar. Not to mention that delicate face, which reminded him of her mother¡¯s youth. However, they saw each other surprisingly infrequently. She rarely left her room. She always wore headphones with music playing and was distant from her parents. In a fit of anger and drunkenness, he had kicked the door to her room a few times. Eventually, they had lost the ability to even speak to one another. He looked at the bed. The summer linen was still wrinkled. It was the first time he realized that ¨C ah, this was where Kanako had been living. Fujishima was puzzled. Was she really spirited away? Wasn¡¯t she taking remedial classes at a prep school today as usual? He couldn¡¯t figure it out. The vain Kiriko would go to any length to beautify herself, but never would it occur to her to make herself look as unsightly as she did today on purpose. The closet door was cracked open, so he slid it open all the way. Lots of shirts, high school uniforms and pleated skirts, plus winter and summer casual wear. Most of them were chic in black and white. He looked at the collars, but they were all unfamiliar brands. Yet, somehow, he got the impression that they were expensive. Opening the storage case on his lap, he found underwear and T-shirts folded and tightly packed. Just looking at the number of clothing still there made it clear that the disappearance was not of her own design. Later, he would also have to check her toiletries and cosmetics. Was she involved in some kind of trouble or had someone kidnapped her? Fujishima let out a low rumble. Whatever the reason, Kiriko must have known that she was not just running away from home. She should have immediately called the cops. Next to the storage case was a navy blue school bag. The zipper was open. There were several reference books, a notebook filled with mathematical formulas and English vocabulary, and a drawstring bag full of sanitary napkins. There were several CDs, a small bottle of lotion, a compact, a pouch with lipstick. No cell phone, which he had expected to find. From the bottom of the bag, Fujishima spotted something. He pulled out of the darkness a second bag that looked out of place, with a design as though it was meant for men. Stunned by its somewhat unexpected appearance, he opened the zipper and stuck his hand into the bag. Feeling a cold sweat on his back, he bent down and shook the bag upside down. Its contents fell to the floor without making a noise. There were several small sachets, about an inch square. On it rolled a syringe and a handmade pipe made of shiny silver aluminum foil. Hi-Lite cigarettes. Several seconds passed before he registered the significance of this. There was a burn mark in the hollow of the pipe. With trembling hands, he picked up a clear sachet. Inside, light shone off the translucent granules like snow. Now he understood what Kiriko must have meant. In his hand was crystal methamphetamine1. Quickly he counted the number of packets. There had to be tens, maybe even around a hundred. He had no idea how much they each weighed. Only from experience, he knew that there had to be well over a million yen¡¯s worth here at the end of the day. It was enough to last for a while, unless you were a serious addict. It wasn¡¯t an amount that a high school girl would be carrying around for fun. Right in front of his eyes were all the must-haves of an addict. An aluminum pipe for smoking meth. The filters in the smokes2 could be taken out and used as a makeshift filter for the syringe. All this was taught to him when he was working in the Community Safety Division. It wasn¡¯t uncommon in his profession. But not when they were in his daughter¡¯s room. All he could think was that it had to be a bad joke. Fujishima stared for a moment, then, as if resolved, carefully tore open the packet. He placed the crystals on his fingertips. There was no guarantee that it wasn¡¯t actually cyanide. But he put the crystals in his mouth regardless and rubbed his fingers over his gums, and as he did so, it dissolved. Whether it was really methamphetamine or not, he couldn¡¯t be sure. At the very least it wasn¡¯t camphor3 or sugar, that¡¯s for sure. He took out his lighter and fumbled to close the tear in the packet. Taking up the syringe, and removing the case from the tip, he looked at it closely. The plunge and needle were clean. He put everything back in the bag it had come out of, and carrying it, strode quickly back to the living room. Whether it was the stimulant or the shock, his heart wouldn¡¯t stop beating wildly in his chest. T/N 1. he first refers it to as gankoro (¥¬¥ó¥³¥í) which is a term for specifically the crystal form of meth 2. people often use improvised filters like cigarette filters and tampons to inject drugs intravenously 3. camphor powder is white Volume 1 - CH 3.2 OCTOBER 10, 2022 ~ CTRLDEVIL Kiriko slumped on the couch in a state of dejection. He tossed the bag wildly on the table. The anxiolytic drugs did nothing to ease his stupor. He shoved her coffee aside ¨C and again flung the contents of the bag down. The packets made a rustling sound. Coffee dripped from the edge of the table onto the carpet. She closed her eyes tightly. Crow¡¯s feet were clearly visible around her eyes. Her face looked so tired that he wanted to laugh. ¡°Is this yours?¡± Fujishima then continued. ¡°Hers?¡± There was no reply. ¡°You should know. You guessed right the first time. Meth, syringes, and a pipe. All the trappings of a drug addict. So how did all this get into the house?¡± There was no reply. ¡°Did Kanako¡¯s weight suddenly change? Has she grown thin? What about her behavior?¡± Kiriko opened her eyes. Her neck was covered in red rashes, probably smothered raw by tears and sweat. She shuddered, choking back her sobs. ¡°That girl¡­ would never do something like that.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s yours?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you the one who¡¯s being ridiculous?¡± Kiriko glared viciously at her ex-husband. But there was no power behind her expression. She was still crying, her eyes bloodshot. When was the last time they had looked at each other so intently? ¡°Because I don¡¯t know. How she grew up. What sort of friends she hangs out with, what kind of food she likes. I¡¯m her father, but I don¡¯t even have the slightest clue.¡± ¡°But©¤©¤¡± ¡°Just now I was wondering whether or not I really have a daughter at all. After all, it wasn¡¯t like she¡¯d ever rooted for me.¡± A long, thin breath escaped from her slack mouth. He had seen many women with this look on their faces. It was the face of someone who had been told of a close relative¡¯s crime or death. ¡°Why would she©¤©¤¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t this what you called me here to confirm?¡± Kiriko¡¯s voice caught in her throat. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to call the cops?¡± ¡°Shouldn¡¯t that be obvious?¡± ¡°Why the hell would you! You can¡¯t!¡± Kiriko took Fujishima¡¯s hand and latched onto it like a child. She looked up at him with eyes that seemed to be pleading for salvation, digging her long fingernails into his wrists. ¡°There¡¯s no way we can do anything about this by ourselves!¡± He grabbed the cordless phone with his left hand before she could get it. The rampaging Kiriko was caught in his arms. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating. And the smell of sweat and alcohol. The feel of her soft arms and the warmth coming from her made his back buckle involuntarily. ¡°Listen. What do you think will happen if those guys find out about this? You used to be a detective¡¯s wife. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Let me go! Quickly, or else she¡­¡± ¡°Listen to me. Our daughter¡¯s gotten mixed up with something. It¡¯s the kind of stuff that people love to cry over. Can you handle them? What of Kanako? If the media finds out, her life is over. Can you endure that?¡± In his arms, she was slowly losing the strength to resist. There was no way she could handle it. Countless thoughts must have been mixed up with each word he spoke to her. Take, for example, the time when she was living in a government accommodation. She was already tired of being the wife of a police officer, and therefore had become a bit of a pariah. She did not want to fit in with the police community and forced her daughter, Kanako, to follow suit. She devoted herself to her daughter¡¯s upbringing, and planned to take advantage of her entrance into a private junior high school to join a new community that was more appropriate to her status. ¡°She must have run away on a whim. That has to be it.¡± A wail, almost a scream, escaped from her throat. ¡°What would you know?¡± ¡°Just let me take care of it.¡± T/N 1. here Fujishima refers to it as shabu (¥·¥ã¥Ö) which is slang for uppers, usually meth Volume 1 - CH 4 OCTOBER 10, 2022 ~ CTRLDEVIL Three years ago 1 He stood, and averted his eyes from the graffiti on his desk. Already the bell had rung indicating that homeroom time was over and that it was time to leave school. It was a sound of liberation. He grabbed his bag and left the classroom as quickly as possible. Without incident, he stepped out into the hallway. Naturally, his back stiffened. He held his breath on reflex. With his head hanging down, he walked along the side of the corridor. Sometimes they teased him for looking like a dirty, homeless person. He, too, knew he was unsightly. But it had become a part of him, down to his very core. In the past few months, he had been completely ground down into the dirt. The stares in the hallway hurt. And whether they were looking at him or not, it seemed people were always beating the shit out of him. They beat him when he so much as crossed paths with them. They kicked him. They hit him. He was always on guard for it. And when nothing happened, he would breathe a sigh of relief, and then he would be overcome with exhaustion. Such was his daily routine. This marked the end of another day in hell. But when would it stop? The reddish sun shone on the entrance to the school. He stood there and sighed deeply. His sneakers weren¡¯t in his shoe box. A feeling of tedium and gloom crept into his mind. He looked in every direction. Outside the doorway, under the steps, and so on. He kept looking, thinking someone just tossed them somewhere on a whim. A group of girls, one by one, began to filter through the entrance hall. They were laughing and frolicking, as if there was some kind of inside joke. Soon there were more and more people, and he wandered through them. He checked in nearby restrooms and classrooms. Still no luck. By then, the thought of giving up and walking home with no shoes crossed his mind. But he had to stop and think of what would happen next. He didn¡¯t want his parents to find out anything unnecessary. They must have thought that he was still a junior high school student enjoying a normal school life. The girls on their way out of school looked at him suspiciously as he stood there, at a loss. Embarrassed, he turned his head to the side. Not knowing where to go, he saw a group of people laughing at him out of the corner of his eye. These people were from his class, once. He couldn¡¯t remember all of their names because he had just switched classes in April. A was a big guy with long hair, and B was a fat guy with a half-cropped head who seemed to be in the judo club. Then there was Shimazu, who, unlike the two men with the smirks on their faces, was glaring at him with a fierce, upturned look in his eyes. ¡°Give me back my shoes,¡± the boy told them. A beckoned to him. ¡°Come here. Where do you think you¡¯re going all of a sudden?¡± ¡°Give them back.¡± B was picking at his earwax. Shimazu spoke as if he was ready to puke his guts out. ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about, man.¡± ¡°You¡¯re messing with me¡­ you just tried to stop me from leaving.¡± As he stood still for a moment, A pointed with his chin to some classroom. An empty workroom. He shook his head. ¡°C¡¯mon, maybe you¡¯ll find them? Don¡¯t be such a pussy, hurry up.¡± The three of them quickly walked to the workroom. B turned his head over his shoulder and grinned broadly at the boy. His legs had no choice but to move. ¡°If you don¡¯t follow suit, it¡¯s gonna be the incinerator¡­¡± What they did to those old beat-up sneakers didn¡¯t matter at this point. Regardless, going home in just socks would be tough. The three of them entered the workshop. B barked into his ear. His breath stank. ¡°You must have brought it, right?¡± He did not answer and remained silent. There was no way he could have said a word, and his neck was locked in a vise so tightly that he could not resist. His consciousness was crystal clear, and he felt as if he were on the verge of spewing out the contents of his stomach. ¡°You think you could just walk out on your own and¡­ quit without any kind of goodbye?¡± The boy could only keep shaking his head. ¡°I told the manager a long time ago that I was leaving.¡± ¡°Shut up.¡± ¡°I©¤©¤¡± ¡°Shut up.¡± Shimazu growled low and looked around as if he were examining the boy¡¯s body. And then it was time for another theme. ¡°Your hair¡¯s gotten longer.¡± He reached out and ran his fingers through his bangs. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten kind of girly, haven¡¯t you? Pansy.¡± His other hand touched his cheek, and the other two started to laugh. Shimazu¡¯s cheeks twitched, and he laughed too. For the past two years, that sickening smile has been a daily sight for him. He, being himself, had almost replaced the person in question¡¯s sight, the so-called Shimazu referred to. Shimazu moved his face closer. His breath landed on his face. ¡°I don¡¯t want your money. How about you just die instead? Chase that pansy¡¯s ass in the afterlife.¡± The three burst into laughter again. As he spoke of that guy, his face flashed through the boy¡¯s mind. His cheeks were so white that you could almost see his veins through them. And, just like a girl after school, his lips were so bright red that one had to guess he had put lipstick on them. It was the well-dressed face of Seiichi Ogata, who had died after stirring up all the boys¡¯ ardor in the darkness. Both legs, which should have been weak, were kicking the floor. Folding deeply at the waist, he slammed headfirst into Shimazu¡¯s stomach like a rhinoceros. The hard buttons of his uniform hit his forehead, and he was pierced by a pain that made tears well up in his eyes. Shimazu let out a short yelp and winced as he clutched his stomach. He looked at the scene in dismay. Stunned by what he had done, he wondered whether he should apologize to them or run away as fast as he could. In the end, he was frozen in place, unable to do anything. He put his hand on his forehead. There was a small smear of blood on his palm. The wound on his forehead was small, he hoped. The faces of his homeroom teacher, who would look at him awkwardly, and that of his parents, whose expressions would harden as they tried to question him, flashed across his mind. ¡°What the hell are you doing?!¡± ¡°You fucker!¡± A and B shouted at the same time. They said it as if they were trying to scold him, but their faces were full of surprise and impatience, as if they had been betrayed or hurt by something. They looked as if they had been bitten by a cat or a puppy. There was sadness on their faces. But Shimazu clicked his tongue and quickly folded the knife back into his pocket. The door opened and a gray-haired teacher entered the classroom. He stood there as if startled and turned his eyes to look at the bloodied boy. Somehow, he thought he caught a glimpse of an expression of regret on his face. ¡°What the hell are you guys doing?¡± ¡°Not much.¡± A¡¯s expression disappeared. ¡°We haven¡¯t done nothin¡¯.¡± B¡¯s voice changed from cheerful to flat. It was the kind of eerie tone that adults feared. That was enough. The teacher was no longer looking at him. Shimazu was glaring in the boy¡¯s direction, as if to say, ¡®Say something and I¡¯ll kill you!¡¯ ¡°Hurry up and go home.¡± With that, the teacher retreated. Even closed the door properly. B exhaled the breath he had been holding. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that trouble? Did he see us?¡± ¡°It¡¯s no big deal, probably.¡± A¡¯s face stiffened. Shimazu looked again at the blade of the knife, and A shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s enough. Just put it away for now.¡± Shimazu raised the knife to the boy¡¯s eye level. As if fascinated, he brought the blade close to his cheek. A¡¯s voice raised. ¡°Oi! That¡¯s enough!¡± Breathing hard, he let go and folded the blade regretfully. He growled, low like a badly trained dog. ¡°You traitor¡­¡± ¡°You probably don¡¯t even remember our names, do you, ex-ace?¡± B said, as if he were hanging onto that detail. ¡°Just in case this turns into a sticky situation later.¡± ¡°Ah©¤¡± The air seemed to have emptied. His body, which had been pinned down, was released and he fell to the floor. The heat in his cheeks and lips, the pain in the back of his nose, and his breathlessness were all too much to bear. There was blood on the collar of his shirt. He was afraid to look in the mirror later. ¡°Don¡¯t forget to bring it. Next time, if you don¡¯t have 10 thousand yen in your wallet, I¡¯ll kill you.¡± A and B¡¯s footsteps moved away. Shimazu leaned over and spat on him. He spat onto his uniform; which made shame slide down his spine. After they left the room laughing, he stood up slowly, brushing the white dust off his uniform. Then he wiped the saliva off his shirt. There was no guarantee that someone would walk in on him like before. In that case, he didn¡¯t even know how to act, anymore. He let out a sigh so deep that the air in his lungs drained out of his body without his intention. His sneakers had been left next to the teacher¡¯s table. They were torn up so much that one could see them from a distance, and the cotton inside was exposed. The wounds were all aching persistently, so much that he thought blood would start to pour out at any moment. He picked up his sneakers. It was like he was holding a dead puppy. He left for the hallway. A few girls passed right in front of him. They broke off the lively conversation they had been having and walked quickly away. Just like that teacher, they looked as though they had seen something bad. He threw his sneakers into the trash can in the hallway. They were not something he could wear, and there was no way he could take them home. He felt heat rise to his eyes and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Tears. Don¡¯t! Don¡¯t come out, he mumbled to himself. Please don¡¯t put me through any more misery. He prayed, he wished, but they kept trying to get into his nose and mouth. The water slapped against his face repeatedly. Desperately, he took deep breaths, trying to somehow regain his composure. As his head lay still, he suddenly saw his face. Just like he was now, he was washing his face under the tap. It was the face of Ogata, who was in the same class with him. That¡¯s right. There he was then, his eyes bright red, banging his fist on the faucet. ¡°Damn it,¡± he kept repeating, his red lips trembling. ¡°Damn it¡­ damn it¡­¡± It was many months ago. It was late, well past dusk, after practice, he thought. He had just come back in to pick up something he had forgotten from the classroom when he saw him. He was pounding his fist like a hammer and shaking the water pipe. The knuckles of his hand were splitting and blood was mingling with the flowing water. Ogata noticed him just watching in silence and embarrassedly ducked his head. He looked ambiguous, as though he could have been crying or laughing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to see something so unpleasant.¡± His reaction was no different from that of Ogata¡¯s, who looked at him with an ¡®oh shit¡¯ look on his face. He walked past the other without saying a word. Why did he get so riled up when he heard Ogata¡¯s name? It was the first time in his life that he had ever been violent like that. He resembled some hot-blooded protagonist, mad over an insult to a friend. Embarrassed, he splashed water on his face again. He had only been in the same classroom with him, breathing the same air. If he were to say that they were friends, Ogata would surely come crawling out of his grave and try to question him. He pulled the back of his head up out of the running water. Droplets of water dripped from the long hair on his head, soaking his shoulders. It seemed that the fits of tears had finally subsided. That didn¡¯t make it any easier. Images of their lecherous smiles, the graffiti, and ripped sneakers kept flickering back and forth, threatening to bring tears to his eyes. He looked out the window. On the field, the members of the club that he used to be in were playing catch for warming up. Some were throwing the baseball to each other like shooting stars. Others, perhaps tired, were drawing parabolic lines with broken form. Soon Shimazu would be ready, eager to join them. In the spring, there were some new, young faces in the club, probably due to the arrival of the first-year students. However, most of them were familiar faces. It would not be strange to call them friends. He could watch no longer. Wringing out his handkerchief, he gripped his wet hair and patted it dry. Suddenly, something soft fell on the nape of his neck. Reflexively, he braced himself and turned around. A blue sports towel peeled away from his shoulders, and landed on the floor. Standing there was a girl with a blank look on her face. The face¡­ he knew it. But he couldn¡¯t think of her name at once. ¡°¡­What?¡± A trembling voice came out of his mouth. Why now, of all times, did he have to make such a sound? With a feeling of heat burning through his face, he turned his head to the side. He was completely frightened. ¡°Here, use it.¡± She picked up the towel that had fallen and handed it to him. At last he remembered her name. It was Kanako Fujishima. They had been in the same class in the second year. If it had not been her, the name would never have come to him so quickly. ¡°T¡­ Thanks.¡± As he hurried to reach out and pick up the towel, he looked at her face, which he hadn¡¯t seen in a long time. And how spellbindingly beautiful it was. Rounded, delicate eyebrows. Light brown eyes, like candies spun from honey. Small, round cheeks and a slightly pointy chin. Her body was so thin that it even looked a little bony. She was taller than him. You would never guess that she was in junior high school. She was the type of girl that gave a long lasting impression. Maybe it was just a prejudice, but he always thought that girls were creatures that acted in groups, especially at school. He had heard from his cousin, a college student, that they would feel insecure otherwise. That made him easily nod his head in understanding. After all, being alone is the worst for many reasons. Through his now clearer vision, he saw her smiling faintly. Instantly, his breath caught in his throat. He could do nothing but watch her silently as she walked away. If he had tried to say something, he was afraid he would have made an even bigger fool of himself. He looked quietly into the mirror. How awful. Dried blood was caked from his nose to his lips. One cheek was swollen and red like an overripe peach. His eyes were red and moist. With a deep sigh, he shook his head. Maybe I look a little like Ogata. Thinking so, he looked at his own face, but he was convinced that he had made a terrible mistake. Ogata, who died, was not a friend or enemy of his. But what was he to Kanako Fujishima? Friend, companion, lover¡­ what kind of words would be used to describe them? He saw them, once. They were walking together in front of Ikebukuro station on a holiday. That time, she had an innocent smile on her face. It wasn¡¯t the bored, expressionless face she wore at school. He pressed the towel against his head. It had a sweet scent, different from that of ordinary laundry detergent. As he wiped his hair, he thought back again and again to that smile she had shown Ogata. T/N: Shimazu refers to the protagonist as okama (¥ª¥«¥Þ), which is a derogatory slang for male homosexuals, but because of the various words it can be translated into that shouldn¡¯t really be typed out, it became ¡°pansy¡± the reason for the font change is because in the book: I can¡¯t change the font, so it ended up like this. Volume 1 - CH 5 The morning before yesterday. He returned to his daughter¡¯s room and did a second sweep, from top to bottom. He asked her to inspect each item thoroughly. He questioned her about the clothes in the closet. Half of them she had bought for her, but the other half of them she had no idea where they came from. ¡°Did she have a part-time job?¡± Kiriko shook her head. Working was forbidden by her school, she explained, and there was no indication that she had ever done such a thing. Fujishima pinched the clothes and asked. ¡°This pricy brand-name stuff?¡± ¡°I think it probably is, but I don¡¯t know for sure.¡± Kiriko was vague in her answer. A high school student, not rich or employed, doesn¡¯t exactly have many means to buy expensive clothes. But then again, there could have been an older man. The faces of the girls who had been pulled into the precinct and the police station came to mind. He had never asked them if they were selling their bodies. Yet he still resisted the idea of including his own daughter as one of them. There was a cream-colored pouch in the bottom drawer of the desk. In it was a paper bag containing aluminum-wrapped capsules and powder medication. ¡°Was she sick, somewhere?¡± On the bottom row of the bookshelf were a few simple albums, the kind that a photographer would give you when he developed the film. Sandwiched between them were photos that appeared to be taken with friends and classmates. Her black hair was longer than her shoulders, and she was taller than the rest of her classmates. School trips, cultural festivals, athletic meets©¤©¤ Gradually working backward in time, he came upon her wearing the uniform of her junior high school days. There was a familiar face in the picture, slightly childish, from a time when they still talked to each other to a certain degree. The last book. The photographs were few and sparsely arranged in the album. He stopped turning the pages and furrowed his brow. ¡°Oi.¡± He showed the album to Kiriko, who was standing there as if distracted. ¡°Who¡¯s this guy?¡± In all the photos, there was one boy. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Kanako in junior high school, smiling shyly. There was even a shot of the boy alone waving at the camera, perhaps taken by Kanako herself. ¡°Ogata-kun¡­¡± ¡°Ogata?¡± He was shorter than Kanako, with fair skin and red lips. His body was thin, lending the impression that he was somewhat frail. Although his school uniform identified him as a boy, his bangs fell to his eyebrows, and his figure was slim, almost girlish. The photos were enough to infer that they were close. Maybe they even fell in love. Kanako was more radiant and lovely than in any of the other photographs. Fujishima took plenty of time to look at them. Before long, he felt a strange, foolish jealousy rising in his heart toward this Ogata boy. Kiriko stared at it for a moment, then shook her head and returned the album. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°He was Kanako¡¯s classmate in junior high, but¡­ he isn¡¯t with us any more.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± Fujishima looked at his ex-wife. She was trying to keep her face expressionless. Fujishima looked down at the picture. There she was, smiling against the blue sky. The Kanako who¡¯d lost him. Not once had he noticed her. He cracked open his notebook and glanced again at the photo he had clipped there. Sipping the nutritional drink he had just bought, a sweet taste slid down his throat. He stood in front of a convenience store near the west exit of Omiya Station. The clock was past twelve. He shoved the bottle into the garbage bin, where it reeked of rotten food. It was lunchtime, and the store, which was not very large, was crowded with many prep school students. Everyone was carrying lunch boxes and plastic bottles. The store clerks were single-mindedly working the cash registers, and customers were huddled together in the heat to complete their purchases. Fujishima paid close attention to the area. He was told that the three neighboring police departments, including the local jurisdiction, had all of their regional divisions off-duty and were mobilizing all hands on deck to reinforce patrols of convenience stores. There were no police officers in sight. Businessmen and students drifted about in the post-lunch siesta mood, and elderly women were enjoying shopping at the department stores. The shopping building in front of the station¡¯s west exit was playing music at a volume so strong that it was almost as intense as the sunlight, creating an even hotter atmosphere. Then the girls in the photo came out of the convenience store. ¡°Hey.¡± When he called out to them, Emi Matsushita and Tomoko Nagano had suspicious and irritated looks on their faces, unlike their photographs. What with the location and all, they must have mistaken him for a scout. Both were dressed simply in short T-shirts and jeans that revealed the lines of their bodies. Matsushita, who was already long-legged, was wearing thick-soled platform sandals, making her almost as tall as Fujishima. She had black shoulder-length hair and a face that gave a winning impression. Nagano wore a short camouflage patterned T-shirt that almost showed her navel and a silver choker as well. She had gold earrings and short golden brown hair. Despite her colorful appearance, she had a thin body that looked as if it could be blown away by the wind at any moment. In the eyes that looked up at this new stranger, there were hints of fear and trepidation. ¡°Wait a sec.¡± Matsushita, with her long, model-like arms and legs, looked back at him with unafraid eyes, as if being accosted was not unusual for her. ¡°He¡¯s Kanako¡¯s dad.¡± They were the first two people Kiriko contacted. The girls were high school classmates, Matsushita commuting from Kamio and Nagano from Yono to school and prep school. Many of Kanako¡¯s photographs were taken as a set with these girls. They attended the same prep school, worked together on school trips, and spent time together at cultural festivals. ¡°So?¡± Matsushita said, lifting her shoulder. Fujishima put his hand to his forehead and shaded his eyes from the sun, unable to resist any longer. In fact, his skull was beginning to heat up like a burnt griddle. With his chin, he pointed to a sign for a fast-food restaurant a few doors down. ¡°Could I ask you a couple questions?¡± ¡°But¡­¡± Matsushita lifted the brown convenience store bag she had just acquired. ¡°Please, help me out.¡± Matsushita sighed in a what-do-to-do? manner. They exchanged looks as if they were troubled. Nagano had a stiff look on her face as she looked at her friend. Even though there were no actual words, she was conveying her desire to get out of there as soon as possible. What great friends you have! Fujishima remarked to the invisible Kanako. ¡°We don¡¯t have any clue where she went, either. We¡¯re worried too, but¡­¡± ¡°No hassle. All you need to do is answer some questions.¡± Matsushita narrowed her eyes. ¡°Is this like, your job?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°I remember now. You¡¯re a detective, aren¡¯t you? Kanako said so.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not in the police force anymore.¡± ¡°Then have you told them yet? The police.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Should I go ahead and call ¡®em?¡± ¡°Well¡­ I dunno about that. But aren¡¯t you worried?¡± Matsushita¡¯s lips twitched. He leaned in close and told her in an offhanded tone, ¡°I¡¯m worried. That¡¯s why I¡¯m walking around asking.¡± A group of middle-aged women carrying paper bags from a department store passed by them with disturbed glances. Fujishima inclined his head to the girl behind her. ¡°Please.¡± Nagano¡¯s gaze was fixed on the asphalt. ¡°Well, okay, but¡­¡± Matsushita interrupted her and gave her a strong-willed look. There was a hint of a resemblance to Kanako. He had once received a similar look from his daughter. He entered the crowded fast food restaurant and let them find a table. Then he sat down, holding a tray with a cup of coffee on it. ¡°Is there anything that you remember? Other than what you told her mother.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t say.¡± ¡°How about you?¡± Fujishima turned to Nagano. A low, muffled voice responded. He had no choice but to repeat his question. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything either¡­¡± ¡°Tell me again about the day before yesterday. How did you spend your time?¡± ¡°Umm©¤©¤¡± He raised his hand to stop Matsushita, who was about to answer, and pointed to Nagano. ¡°I¡¯m asking her.¡± Matsushita gasped in surprise and then fell silent, letting off an indignant huff as if she had been insulted. ¡°You were at the prep school together that day, weren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°We were only together in the morning.¡± On the other side, Matsushita nodded, her mouth ajar. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± ¡°Kanako and us are all in liberal arts courses, so in the morning the three of us would take English lectures together, but in the afternoon we would separate. Kanako¡¯s going to a national university, so in the afternoon, she went to math and stuff like that.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t ya¡¯ go home together?¡± ¡°That¡¯s usually the case, but¡­¡± Nagano falteringly chose her words. ¡°I was waiting there the day before yesterday, but she didn¡¯t come at all that day. I thought she must have gone home first.¡± ¡°So where did she go?¡± Matsushita tapped the table with her finger in frustration. ¡°Didn¡¯t she just say? She thought she went home.¡± ¡°She didn¡¯t come home. So where do you think she went?¡± ¡°Where she goes, where she¡¯s going, I don¡¯t keep track of that stuff. We¡¯re not together year-round, you know.¡± He asked question after question. He wanted them to have as little time to think as possible. ¡°Did she have a man? Anybody in particular?¡± Matsushita snickered. ¡°Kanako? No way.¡± ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± Clamor and static. The jarring pop music struck a nerve. Fujishima wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and lowered his head. ¡°My bad. I apologize.¡± Matsushita, who had been hovering, sat down with a miffed look on her face. Fujishima spoke. ¡°She didn¡¯t leave home. Someone took her.¡± ¡°Why do you say that? Isn¡¯t she just out somewhere for a breath of fresh air? Study, study, study, that¡¯s all she ever does¡­ wasn¡¯t she cooked?¡± ¡°But my daughter had an income. Was she selling herself?¡± ¡°You, are you really her father?¡± Matsushita¡¯s face contorted in disgust. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡± Shaking, with her eyes tightly closed, Nagano expressed her anger. ¡°She has every reason to ask that.¡± ¡°Unbelievable.¡± The brass-haired girl could not hold back her tears. ¡°A man, there might be one.¡± Matsushita spoke up. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°I said there might be one. You were asking if there was one in particular.¡± ¡°And who might that be?¡± ¡°Beats me. Kanako didn¡¯t tell us. We were pissed too. Kanako was avoiding us. She doesn¡¯t answer her cell phone much, and she¡¯s not very social. It¡¯s been like that since before summer vacation. Days like the day before yesterday were not unusual for her. I had always thought she was a selfish girl, but I didn¡¯t think it was that big of a deal. It¡¯s just a hunch, but maybe she¡¯s on a trip with that guy. It¡¯s summer.¡± ¡°Do you think so too?¡± Nagano shook her head, wiping away tears. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°She¡¯ll come back when she¡¯s had enough. Is that all? We need to get going.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know Kanako that well either, huh? Despite the fact you¡¯re supposed to be friends.¡± Fujishima provoked them, but Matsushita, standing up, only smiled thinly. ¡°Who said we were friends?¡± Fujishima was at a loss for words. Matsushita went down the aisle with a convenience store bag hanging from her arm. Nagano followed her. At the last moment, Fujishima grabbed Nagano¡¯s elbow. His fingers trace the thin, hard bone in his palm. His eyes traveled to the inside of her elbow. Nagano¡¯s body froze. Turning hostile at once, Matsushita closed the distance with a broad step and stretched out Fujishima¡¯s cheeks. Volume 1 - CH 6.1 Nagano and Matsushita had narrowly eluded him. He stepped inside their prep school and peeked into their classrooms. A middle-aged man barging into a place where young people congregate. Granted, nobody was particularly suspicious of him. However, no matter which room he looked in, they were nowhere to be seen. The emergency exit door was open. Running from the prep school to the station, he followed their trail. He crossed all the stores. Arche at the west exit, Lumine and Sogo in the station building, and then Loft through the shopping district at the east exit. Many times he stopped girls of similar stature, which drew suspicion. At the very least, the little princess Nagano had experienced stimulants. Or was experiencing them, present tense. He didn¡¯t see any track marks, but the arm wasn¡¯t the only place. Not to mention injection wasn¡¯t the only way to do it. It was just a hunch, but he was almost certain. He¡¯d surely find out from her eventually. 5 o¡¯clock. The strong western sun pierced his eyeballs. He lowered his sun visor. The dirt on the front window stood out and blocked his view. Even with the A/C turned up to maximum, he still had no escape from the sharp heat rays. A sticky traffic jam. The traffic was slow and sluggish as it headed toward Saitama Shintoshin. He drove through the man-made architecture and parked his car on the street. Opening a piece of paper torn from the Town Pages, he double-checked. There was a large ad space for Tsujimura Neurology Clinic. A map of the area and clinic hours. Located on the second floor of a brand-new building at the east exit of Shintoshin Station. The clinic was thriving. The lighting was warm and soft, and the walls wood-grained. It was decorated with houseplants and an aquarium with tropical fish. The room was lukewarm, and the air conditioning was neutralized with sweat. Bowls of candy were placed on tables, and the chairs surrounding them were nearly full. The room was filled with office workers on their way home from work, housewives, and young boys looking down at their handheld game consoles. At the reception desk, Fujishima presented a business card. He asked about a patient who had been visiting the hospital. The business card was that of the chief of the Life Safety Section of the Omiya Police Department, with whom he had worked together many years before. Little known fact, he already retired. With some hesitation, the clerk suggested a chair in the waiting room. He spent what seemed like an eternity in contemplation and observation. What was Kanako thinking, as she sat in this chair? One of the patients was staring into a glass bowl with a vacant expression on his face. What had Kanako looked at, as she waited her turn? Many patients received their medications and left one by one. More patients were being admitted, and there was no end in sight. After nearly an hour of waiting, he was taken to the examination room. Tsujimura was a forty-something-old man with a protruding belly. For a doctor, his accessories were quite the statement. He wore thick-framed light-blocking glasses and a ring that looked like a golden seal. A Bulgari wristwatch, too. He was looking over his medical charts and business cards when Fujishima announced himself and slumped into a round chair. ¡°Kanako Fujishima. Is she the one you¡¯re asking about?¡± ¡°Her family has reported her missing.¡± From his second bag, he pulled out a paper bag that contained the medication. The date and time clearly marked was exactly one week ago. ¡°We¡¯re starting her search from both tracing her footsteps and her circle of associates, but we¡¯d also like to look into her medical history.¡± Tsujimura checked his medical chart against the medications. ¡°Doctor.¡± ¡°I prescribed anti-anxiety medications and some light sleeping pills.¡± ¡°What did she discuss with you here?¡± Tsujimura shook his head in astonishment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t discuss anything that involves patient privacy.¡± ¡°We believe at this point in time that she is in danger. There¡¯s no time.¡± ¡°It¡¯s been three months since she visited me for a checkup. A week ago, she must have come to pick up her meds. I didn¡¯t see her at that time.¡± ¡°How many months ago it was isn¡¯t the problem.¡± Tsujimura rubbed his eyes in exasperation. ¡°Please. Someone¡¯s life is at stake.¡± ¡°Her father was a policeman.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°But that¡¯s not the case any more. She told me that a long time ago, he attacked his unfaithful wife¡¯s lover, injuring him for three months and squandering his job. Months went by, and then a man approached me with a business card, wanting to know about his daughter¡¯s medical care¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡®What shall I do?¡¯ I thought to myself.¡± His throat and mouth were dry. ¡°Could I see your police identification, please?¡± ¡°You think I¡¯m falsifying my identity?¡± ¡°People do come to me asking me to tell them about my medical practice. Hyena-like people, trying to sniff out people¡¯s secrets. It¡¯s better that we¡¯re cautious.¡± Tsujimura lifted the receiver. ¡°Could I see it?¡± ¡°Just hang on a sec.¡± Tsujimura slammed the phone down hard in a somewhat dramatic fashion. He raised his eyes from behind those dark-rimmed glasses. ¡°Just leave. I¡¯ll pretend this exchange never happened.¡± ¡°Wait-¡± ¡°Please, give it a rest.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re right. I am her father. But I wasn¡¯t lying about her disappearance.¡± Tsujimura shook his head in pity as he looked down at his chart. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard of any such thing. In any case, you¡¯re not a police officer, so there is nothing I can tell you. You¡¯ve already resigned from your position. The custody of the child has been transferred to her mother. In other words, you are not qualified to ask about Kanako Fujishima.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t care if my daughter dies?!¡± ¡°Someone!¡± The door to the examination room opened almost immediately after Tsujimura called out. An elderly nurse, who appeared to be the head nurse, entered with a pale face. Patients stretched out their necks and looked curiously in her direction. Fujishima looked back and flinched. Pushing through them, he left the room. He could not calm his excitement. He thought back to what he had said to his wife. Oh, you¡¯ve suddenly decided to act like a mother? Don¡¯t act like a father now. That¡¯s what he felt Tsujimura had told him. He turned around and shouted. ¡°If something happens to her, it¡¯s your damn fault!¡± Tsujimura was already looking through another medical record. His hand holding the chart appeared to be shaking. Fujishima pushed through the clinic¡¯s glass doors, stomping as he did so. It had been a while. A while since he had been emotionally distraught, and to this extent. He hit the steering wheel so hard that the car shook. The base of his little finger began to swell. That son of a bitch knew something. That was the only possibility. There was something in that chart that pointed to the answer. That was why he refused Fujishima. Breaking into the clinic and stealing it¡­ would be impossible. All it would take was one phone call from Tsujimura, and he would have a headache on his hands. Identity fraud by an ex-cop. The force cared about prestige and face. They were also very cold to the officers who quit. He popped two tablets of etizolam and prayed that his composure would return. Then, he drove back to Omiya on National Route 17. Something¡¯s not right. He growled low and pounded the steering wheel intermittently. He was supposed to be a detective. What¡¯s with this half-assed outcome? No, it wasn¡¯t just the exchange that was wrong. Everything was wrong from the beginning. He had no solid organization, no associates. He was reminded that he was nothing more than a vulnerable civilian. All of a sudden his footing was unstable and he felt uneasy, as if he were groping in the dark. While gripping the steering wheel, he checked his cell phone. There was a mountain of missed calls. Kiriko¡¯s voice sounded as if she was desperate. ¡®Kanako hasn¡¯t come home yet.¡¯ ¡°And over there? Have you found anything?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± She bombarded him with questions. The call turned from discouragement to ridicule, and when it turned to cursing, he hung up the phone. It was already the third night since his daughter had disappeared. He called the homes of Matsushita and Nagano, claiming to be a clerk at the prep school. Their mothers answered and said they were both out of town. Both began to chafe when he asked them where they had gone. He had the smell of two days¡¯ worth of body odor. So he drove to his place. It was a wooden mortar apartment surrounded by fields, a 20-minute walk from Toro Station. Even so, the rent was not unreasonable. The room had become an impromptu sauna, with beer cans and liquor bottles standing in a forest in the small one-room apartment. Dirty magazines, gekiga, and garbage bags covered the floor. He took off his sweaty shirt and showered in the moldy unit bathroom. While washing his hair and wiping his face, Kanako flickered in his mind. Flustered by the smell of death, where none existed, he slammed the back of his head against the wall of the bathtub. Kanako and an overweight middle-aged man, entangled together. He pretended not to see his bloodshot groin. He pulled his travel bag out of the closet. A cowhide favorite from his days as a detective. In it he put his shirts and toiletries. In addition, he put in the weapons he had confiscated when he was a detective. A folding knife with a blade of about 15 centimeters and a folding baton with a special blade. He figured he would need them in case he eventually came across the real owner of the meth. Fujishima escaped from the scorching mess. As he descended the stairs, he realized that he had forgotten to lock the door to his room. He got into his Corolla and slipped the knife onto the dashboard. At nine o¡¯clock, he called his daughter¡¯s childhood friend. This was the third person his wife had called last night. Akemi Kaminaga spent her daytime working part-time at a supermarket. Apologizing for the late hour, he asked if he could talk to her outside; she replied in a low tone of voice that she could talk to him after the TV drama was over. It seemed that everybody, no matter who, was out to screw with him. His body, which had been cold like a corpse after taking a cold shower, was now burning up. Volume 1 - CH 6.2 They were to meet at a family restaurant along the old Route 17. The distance between the apartment that used to be Fujishima¡¯s home and the single-family home where Kaminaga lived were unexpectedly close. At a booth seat for four people, he waited. ¡°Has she been in contact with you since?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Kanako and you.¡± Kaminaga looked surprised and smiled almost a mischievous smile. ¡°No, not really. I only heard the news of Kana-chan¡¯s disappearance from her mother.¡± ¡°Have you seen my daughter lately?¡± Kaminaga shook her head. Her muffled voice was drowned out many times by the bustle of the crowd. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t seen her in about two years.¡± ¡°Two years?¡± ¡°Yes. I think that¡¯s probably about accurate.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± Inwardly, he sighed. It seemed to him that he¡¯d made a mistake in choosing the next lead to follow. ¡°You¡¯ve known Kanako since elementary school?¡± ¡°Well, yeah, I¡¯ve known her since about the fifth grade.¡± Fujishima nodded. Seven years ago, he bought a condominium. That was when the stumbling blocks began. The proud expressions of his wife and daughter, satisfied with the level of the room, flashed across his vision. ¡°Now I haven¡¯t seen her in years.¡± Kaminaga stared up at him, toying with the vanilla ice cream through a straw. A hint of shame peeked out of her tilted eyes. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like anything happened. We just changed schools and made new friends.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s a rumor or not, have you heard anything at all?¡± She made a thoughtful gesture but ended up shaking her head. He had a feeling that any further questions would be futile. The girl in front of him was not even a friend of his daughter¡¯s anymore. As if to confirm that, there was a stark contrast between her and Kanako¡¯s fashionably dressed group of friends. ¡°I¡¯ve seen her around a few times.¡± ¡°My daughter?¡± ¡°You know, in like her apartment courtyard.¡± Kaminaga licked the ice cream on her long spoon and said in a relaxed manner, ¡°Yeah, I wonder.¡± ¡°What do you mean you wonder?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing¡­¡± She looked the most mature and thoughtful he¡¯d seen her. Fujishima¡¯s brow wrinkled. ¡°What are you, trying to play informant?¡± ¡°Not really. But normally, you can¡¯t say bad things about your childhood friends.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t screw with me.¡± Fujishima¡¯s voice was faint. The restaurant was sparsely populated with customers and chatty waitresses. But that didn¡¯t stop him from slapping her across the cheek. Kaminaga¡¯s throat was pumping. ¡°I¡¯ll do it later. Talk.¡± ¡°Right now¡­ is fine. No one would ever think it was a hook up.¡± Fujishima handed her a folded 10,000 yen bill that he had pulled from his wallet. She crumpled it up and put it in her pocket. ¡°Thanks for the help. You know, unlike Kana¡¯s, my family¡¯s poor, so it¡¯s tough. My father¡¯s unemployment insurance is the only thing that keeps us afloat. Even if a high school student works the cash register at the supermarket, it doesn¡¯t bring in much money.¡± ¡°Talk.¡± Kaminaga mentioned two names. One of them belonging to a man, and the other a woman. Then she began to speak in a sluggish, distant manner. She spoke of their junior high classmates, who were well-versed in fooling around. They loved to drive and go downtown, didn¡¯t want to go to school early in the morning, and smelled of cigarettes and perfume. In the eyes of most kids their age, they were nothing more than objects of terror. In other words, she hung out with a group of delinquents. She often saw the cars they drove in the neighborhood. ¡°This was around the third year of junior high. Low riders and big cars, delinquent-looking cars, always parked around the side of our house and playing loud music all the time. You and the school probably didn¡¯t know, but she¡¯s always been like that, Kana-chan.¡± Fujishima handed over a sheaf of photographs he had taken from home. They showed a large number of Kanako, her friends, acquaintances, and classmates. ¡°Which ones are they?¡± Eventually, Kaminaga pointed to it. It was a whole class photo cut out of her yearbook. It wasn¡¯t Kanako¡¯s class. Boys and girls were lined up in three rows, standing upright. The boy, Yasuhiro Munakata, was at the far end of the group photo. He had brown hair and a slender chin. His face, which could be called handsome, was eerily expressionless. The boys on either side of him were probably his friends, and they were staring into the lens with wrinkles furrowing their brows, as if it were a virtue. ¡°This is too small to make out. How about the snapshots?¡± He pointed to the snapshots on the table. All of them had Kanako in them. If they were hanging out, surely they would be there. She stared at them for a moment, then flipped through them. Finally, she shook her head. ¡°They¡¯re not in these.¡± ¡°I expected as much.¡± He snatched up the bundle of photos. He had looked through all the albums in Kanako¡¯s room. With such a rowdy bunch of people, he would easily spot them. ¡°I want my money back. Your story sounds fake.¡± Kaminaga sipped her soda calmly. ¡°I didn¡¯t lie. I¡¯m the only one who knows. I don¡¯t need to be told to prove it.¡± ¡°Look, if you lied, just hand it back over.¡± ¡°Is a police officer allowed to say stuff like that?¡± He didn¡¯t feel like responding to that. ¡°Well, whatever.¡± Now he had to take this girl¡¯s word for it. There was no time or manpower to substantiate him. He looked down at the graduation photo on the table. The Kanako from junior high school lacked an expression on her face. She was beautiful, and yet she seemed as if she were dead. ¡°Who¡¯s this guy?¡± A graduation photo from another class. As with Nami Endo, he pointed to a black-and-white portrait inserted in the right corner. It was a pale skinned boy with a soft smile on his face. The boy called Ogata who had laughed so familiarly with Kanako. By the time the graduation photo was taken, he was already gone. ¡°What about him?¡± ¡°He was Kanako¡¯s boyfriend. No?¡± ¡°Oh, is that it?¡± ¡°I heard he killed himself.¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know much about it.¡± Once again he pulled out his wallet. As her eyes were drawn to it, he stomped on her sandal-clad foot with his leather shoe. There was a short scream. Quickly, he looked around, but the restaurant was still the same. Kaminaga nodded. A greasy sweat was beading on her forehead. When he let go of her foot, she reflexively raised her leg. Her knee slammed into the table so hard that the glass overturned with the impact. Ice and cold water splashed onto the table. One of the waitresses came flying in with a dish towel in hand. Fujishima smiled, as if everything were fine, and waved her off. ¡°I think they got along well. Because Kana-chan was¡­¡± Kaminaga looked at the photo of Kanako and the Ogata boy side by side. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen Kana-chan smile this much.¡± ¡°So then, what kind of boy was he? Ogata.¡± ¡°Five more small ones will do.¡± She peeked upward inquiringly. She made no move to offer her hand. He folded a 5,000 yen bill and put it under the coaster. She stared at it for a moment. ¡°A herbivore down on his luck.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°People used to say that about him. He was weak and small. Like a rabbit. He transferred to a new school in the second grade, but he had a bad kidney or something and didn¡¯t have any friends. He was always alone, always listening to music with earphones.¡± Fujishima looked at Ogata in the photograph. It could be said that he had the complexion of a person suffering from an internal disease. But all of his smiles were bright. ¡°His family was rich, so he got held up and threatened a lot.¡± ¡°My daughter, how did she get on with him?¡± ¡°No clue. Seriously. Nobody really knew what Kana-chan was ever thinking.¡± He looked at Kaminaga¡¯s face. Her face was scrunched up in fear, but he was not inclined to pursue the matter deeply. ¡°Kanako had few friends?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Her gaze wandered to the ceiling. ¡°It¡¯s more like there weren¡¯t any.¡± Fujishima nodded. When he saw her at home from time to time, she wore a cold air, as if rejecting everyone around her. That was why it was so difficult to accept her with the boy Ogata. ¡°And then he died. Kanako¡­ how was she?¡± ¡°How was she, you ask?¡± ¡°Was she grieving?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember when she heard the news, or the funeral. I think she was probably just going about her daily life. If it weren¡¯t for people¡¯s eyes, maybe she would have been looking at her English flash cards.¡± She was blunt, as if she was trying to prevent emotions from spilling out. ¡°And you?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°You also liked this Ogata-kun, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Am I wrong?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like that, not at all,¡± she said with a somewhat melancholy expression on her face. ¡°Then why do you hate her so much?¡± He poked at the coaster sitting on top of the 5,000-yen bill. ¡°Is this revenge? Against Kanako.¡± ¡°I wonder.¡± Quietly, Kaminaga laughed. ¡°She must have been lonely. Kana-chan changed. In the past, I couldn¡¯t imagine her making friends or hanging out with people.¡± There was a loud scream. A woman in a yukata, seated diagonally in front of them, had spilled coffee on her hem and was making a fuss. With that, the girl got up from her seat. Dragging her injured leg, she put on her overcoat. ¡°Can I go now? I work early tomorrow.¡± ¡°Wait. We haven¡¯t even gotten to this yet.¡± He poked the coaster above the 5,000-yen again. ¡°You should know by now, right?¡± She was sniffling and trying hard to hold back tears. ¡°What?¡± ¡°They all had sad faces. That was the case for everyone around her, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Kaminaga headed for the exit without taking the money. She made no attempt to hide her crying face. Several customers and waitresses noticed and threw Fujishima curious looks. Volume 1 - CH 7 Three years ago 2 He was isolated. It may have been because he had deserted his club activities. After all, that was probably the path he should have taken since he was inferior to others in both strength and stature. Originally, sports were very popular at the school. He chose to join a prestigious baseball team known for its strict rules and practices. At the time, he had a strong will to change his body and mind. Practice was as tough as they made it out to be. And boring, too. No one was allowed to even touch the ball properly. For hours they had to be on their knees and shouting. Under the midsummer sun, they were forced to run laps and laps in circles on the field until their bodies melted like butter. It was not only the physical labor that was hard on him, but he also had to endure the bullying of the older members of the club and their treatment of him like a servant. Saturdays, Sundays, and summer and winter vacations were all taken up by practice matches. Within a year, more than half of the club members had stopped coming. If only he had done the same. It would have been a simple case of one baseball pickup boy disappearing, and no one would end up getting pissed off, hurt, or resentful. But he gained a lot, too. Although once thin, he no longer caught even a single cold. He could run 100 meters in 13 seconds and run laps around the field without feeling much fatigue. His body was not robust, but it was in good shape. And his friends. They were all the elite who had overcome the strict rules and practices. They did everything together. They would return home together late at night, dragging their tired bodies along with them. They often played cards on the bus on the way to the practice games. At training camp, even though they had practice early in the morning, they stayed up until late at night talking about girls they liked or making up stupid innuendos. They smoked cigarettes in the club room, unsettled by the eyes of those around them. Even on Obon and New Year¡¯s vacations, the only time they had off, they ended up gathering on the field, setting off fireworks, and having a potluck dinner at the coach¡¯s house. If he tried to remember everything, the list of memories would be endless. Ishibashi, the captain, was a strong-shouldered catcher who threw the ball like an arrow to second base. He was overconfident and snooty, but he was still the No. 4 hitter in everyone¡¯s eyes. He made people dream about him in games again and again. He was a superhero who would come in to save the day when they were behind by several runs and turn the game on its head with a hard-hitting single. The pitcher Miyashita¡¯s heart was full of hair. No matter what sort of predicament awaited him, he never ceased to smile, as if he were a little out of it. A surprisingly gluttonous eater, he would empty dishes such as hot pots and sashimi by the boatload so quickly at training camps that no one wanted to sit with him. His buttocks were so big that they often ripped around the buttocks of his uniform when he pitched, causing everyone to laugh. Tezuka, a left fielder, was also the school¡¯s student council president. He was always in the top ten of his class in all the tests, even though he had no time to study because he spent every day practicing. He was a bit of a nuisance to those of them who had been distracted from their studies by their club activities. But he was a lifesaver for everyone. He was a man of integrity, gently admonishing those who were unnecessarily bullying junior students, and always acting as an intermediary when there was a dispute. Everyone loved him, especially his juniors. A man who was always there to help out. The boy was no exception. He wanted to be like him someday. There were a lot of interesting people there, and among them, he was No. 8 on right field. He used to go around warming the bench in the reserve. There were more than fifty of them. He was able to get a spot in the starting lineup, though not always. For someone like him, who was supposedly not very good at sports, this was an unbelievable accomplishment. But it didn¡¯t matter. When a game was on the line, even if he was sitting on the bench, he would feel as if he were standing in the batter¡¯s box or holding the glove in his hand. Whenever someone got a hit or made a miraculous fine play, he would be surprised and excited as if it were his own. Their pain was his pain, and his joy was their joy. They were like a single unit, and when he saw members of the same club fighting with each other, even if he didn¡¯t really know them, it made him very sad. So when one of the members of the club stopped coming to practice and became a ghost, or changed to another club, he felt pain as if he had lost a part of his body. For some reason, it made him angry, and whenever he encountered them on campus, he would glare at them or ignore them. Traitors. Spiteful dropouts. So he understood their anger well. After two years of fighting together and even winning a regular spot, in the end, he irresponsibly threw them out. There was no particular reason why he left. Perhaps it was because he felt constricted by the strong sense of togetherness. Although they were all friends, they were not always bound by warm friendships. When it came to vying for a regular spot, the competition could turn into an insidious fight. If it was discovered that someone drank water during practice, they would say he¡¯d been smoking earlier or something, and hung up like a witch hunt. If their physical abilities were inferior, they would be the laughingstock of the juniors. Some of the new players who had just joined the club were also very skilled Little League players, so no one could let their guard down. That is why everyone was so absorbed in the game. After a hard day of practice that seemed to evaporate all the water in their bodies, the boys went home and continued to swing. They would swing until they got blood blisters on their hands. They drank protein and begged their parents for gloves and cleats that cost tens of thousands of yen. A sense of urgency, as if they were being rushed, was always falling on them. On the same day, his grandfather, who lived in Ureshino, Kyushu, died suddenly of heart failure. He went to his parents who were getting ready to return home in a flurry. ¡°I¡¯m not coming.¡± Kyushu. If it¡¯s a funeral, you have to take at least three days off. Three days! The thought that the position that he had built up might be threatened while he was absent was unbearable, no matter how close the funeral might be to him. He was no exception to the rule, whether as a regular or a reserve warming the bench. For example, when it came to official games, only 15 players could wear a number and sit on the bench. The rest of the time, he would be cheering from the stands along with many of his juniors. It was unbearable. What was the point of working so hard if it would end up like that? ¡°Can¡¯t I stay home?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± ¡°We have practice today.¡± The two looked at each other. This is where they should have lamented over his coldness, or been angry with him for his selfishness. His natural innocence began to stir, and he turned to the two people who were diligently preparing for the event. ¡°I¡¯ll come after all.¡± In the past, they used to go to Ureshino several times a year. His grandfather and grandmother always welcomed everyone with open arms. Country-style houses and the aroma of Japanese tea. In his surprisingly frugal hands, grandfather always had a lot of strawberries, either picked from the fields or given to him by greenhouse farmers in the winter. Every time he visited, he would give his allowance in a small New Year¡¯s gift bag. He would make the boy stand in front of a thick, shiny black pillar and measure his growing height with a tape measure, smiling with a scowl on his face. But he liked his grandfather. He hadn¡¯t visited him once since he was in junior high school. On the plane, on the train, and when they arrived at his grandfather¡¯s house with the smoke from the incense sticks, all he could think about was baseball. But when he saw his grandfather¡¯s face in the coffin, he still cried. His relatives and cousins, whom he hadn¡¯t seen in a long time, rolled their eyes at him. Three years ago, he had measured his height on a pillar, and it was only about the same as his chest today. He played with his cousins in his spare time. In his grandfather¡¯s house, there were piles of soccer balls, badminton and baseball equipment in the shed for when his sons and daughters would get together. Everything was child-sized, too small for them, but enough for a good time. And then there were the meals with so many people. It had been a long time since he and his family had eaten a meal together, even though it wasn¡¯t at home. Both parents worked, and all three of them came home at different times. Although he felt bad for his dead grandfather, it was a lot of fun. He was so happy that he forgot about his daily routine. On the morning of the third day, his father told him that the funeral was over, and the relatives who had gathered there were about to return to their respective homes. As it turned out, he had missed a whole week of school. The next week he came back to school full of anxiety, but nothing special had changed, except that he was having trouble keeping up with his classes, which had progressed slightly, and he didn¡¯t find himself out of place in the club practices. As usual, the right field position was waiting for him, and there he took his knocks and, in turn, took hitting practice against the pitching machine. It was rather him who had changed. The feeling of being rushed had disappeared. He no longer attended morning training sessions as he used to. Instead, he would take Saturdays and Sundays off for any reason he could think of. In his spare time, he used his pocket money he had saved up to travel. It didn¡¯t matter where he went. Utsunomiya, Maebashi. Nothing was happening wherever he went, but he was completely captivated by the scenery he could see from the train. Naturally, his friends gradually began to look at him with cold eyes. For them, there was nothing more annoying than people who did not practice diligently. The same thing went for him. Everyone was one body. Whenever they saw him being negligent, they probably felt as if they were looking at a wound that was festering. The coach also called him in. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Coach must have thought that there was a serious reason behind the situation. He wasn¡¯t about to say that there was nothing, so he asked him, leaning forward and kneeling even closer to him as he kept his mouth shut. He asked questions about his family¡¯s financial situation and even about his friendships with delinquents, naming their names. He had no answer. The parents of the club members asked the same questions. Even though they weren¡¯t teachers, they put on big faces as if they were the coach, which he didn¡¯t really appreciate. Soon he couldn¡¯t even keep a straight face anymore. All the more so, he was losing his place in the world. Even from his own people, he was told ¡°Come to practice properly,¡± and was often cautioned while being hit on the head with a glove. The number of days he took off without permission increased even more. On those days, jogging and muscle training were the main part of the practice, since it was wintertime. While jogging, he felt thirsty. It was not as overwhelming as it had been in the summer, when he would feel like he was going to die, but he stopped and drank water from the water tap in the school building as if he were devouring it.¡¡Shimazu watched. He ran to the baseball field as if he had just beheaded by an oni and howled like he was about to sell the newest newspaper. When he returned, his friends gathered on the field and greeted him with looks as though he were a puddle of puke or a piece of shit. Probably for the rest of his life, he would never forget those eyes. According to the school rules, one had to belong to a club. There were many clubs in the humanities, however, that existed only in name and were not actually active. In effect, he was effectively resigning from the club. The coach didn¡¯t say anything more. He did not even raise his eyebrows as usual. He asked him why, but he answered that it was because he was taking an entrance examination. He was still vexed, but said nothing more. All that filled his heart after was regret. He should have prepared a better answer. Even if it was just to get through the situation, he wondered how his friends would have felt if they heard he was ¡®studying for the entrance exam¡¯, when they were all sacrificing and devoting themselves to something. During that same period of time, Seiichi Ogata, a classmate of his, died. The school was in an uproar from top to bottom. Cause of death was suicide by hanging. At the time, he thought it was a suicide caused by bullying. A group of guys known for being rowdy bullies were tormenting him as if they couldn¡¯t leave his androgynous beauty alone. The girls would hide his clothes and tease him by writing on the blackboard in round letters, calling him a homo and whatnot. Later it was announced by both the school and the police that his suicide had nothing to do with bullying. This was partly because there was no suicide note, and partly because the bullying had already stopped more than a month before his suicide, if not before. In the school assembly, despite the weeping principal, he stood there with an inexplicable feeling in his chest. It was two weeks ago that he saw Ogata crying at the water fountain.¡¡He had no idea what made him do it. He was not a friend of Ogata¡¯s, nor was he a friend of his. Even so, the police interview was apparently quite severe in its own way. Some of the students who bullied Ogata were so overcome with fatigue and shock that they even took days off from school. At the funeral held at his home, while watching a female student with tears streaming down her face, he could only think to himself that he would probably be the one to take his spot. Then he looked for her. Kanako Fujishima fixed her light-colored eyes on the raised portrait of the deceased. She was holding her hands together with a nonchalant look on her face. To him, it seemed the saddest gesture of anyone there, and a fitting way to mourn him. He visited his grave several times with incense. He wasn¡¯t sure why. Maybe it was to atone for not being able to save him. Or rather, he simply didn¡¯t want to forget him. Whenever he visited, the area around his grave was always neatly cleaned. Most of the weeds had been pulled and the ground had been swept with a broom. There was always a supply of fruit and juice. Some days there was even incense smoke in the air. He understood. He knew it was her handiwork. He envied him a little for getting that out of her. As for him, his path was exactly as he had expected. Everyone suddenly became distant and stopped talking to him. That alone wounded him terribly. In third year, when the aftermath of Ogata¡¯s death had subsided, he was the one who had to step up to plate. Volume 1 - CH 8 Warning: When he opened the door, he heard the domestic sounds of dishes touching each other.¡¡Kiriko was standing in the kitchen, washing pans. On the table were two rice bowls and a bowl for soup, face down. In the center of the table were taro stew and grilled white fish wrapped in plastic wrap. ¡°Are you going to eat?¡± Kiriko said in a calm tone as she turned on the faucet. Slightly confused, Fujishima could only nod. He picked up his travel bag and placed it in a corner of the living room. She said nothing. He sat down on a chair. He noticed that the other bowl and chopsticks must have been Kanako¡¯s. He stole a glance at his wife¡¯s face as she wiped the dishes. Although she was still a bit worn out, she had regained some of her good looks with a little makeup and lipstick. Rice and miso soup were ladled into bowls. The warmth alone was enough to make his heart clench. He had no appetite, only a heavy tiredness that felt as though he was about to meld into the back of the chair. ¡°You¡¯ve calmed down?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just tired of making a fuss.¡± Fujishima reported on his day as he poked at the side dishes. About their daughter, who was brilliant, yet hung out with a group of delinquents, was hated by the girls she considered friends, and had been in and out of the neurologist¡¯s office on and off for many years. ¡°A neurologist? You mean a mental hospital?¡± Fujishima frowned. He himself saw one every two weeks. ¡°It¡¯s not a mental hospital. It¡¯s a neurology clinic.¡± ¡°But she kept saying that she was going to the dentist.¡± She looked as if she had been terribly wounded. ¡°What kind of person was she, after all?¡± Fujishima was speechless. Similar questions were swirling in his fatherly head. The girl was an honor student who attended school diligently, went to a preparatory school during vacations, and was aiming for a national university. She was good at English, and apparently had a dream of becoming a translator in the future when she was in junior high school. On the other hand, she hung out with a group of delinquents in junior high school. That still might have been the case today. In high school, she often returned home late at night. In addition, she had meth and paraphernalia unique to a regular user. Fujishima recalled his time as a detective. He had seen many young people who had grown up in wealthy families and attended prestigious schools, but had fallen to ruin through drugs and violence. So Kanako was one of them. ¡°The girl said that this is her way of punishing us. Do you think so?¡± He rummaged through the refrigerator. His body, continuously exposed to the strong sunlight, craved beer. Kiriko continued. ¡°I admit it now. I certainly let her off the hook. No, it¡¯s too laid back to say I let her off the hook. All along, I¡¯ve been condescending and neglectful. Because she followed your words. Because she didn¡¯t go to the middle school I wanted. That¡¯s the only reason I was so disappointed, and I took advantage of my job to think only of myself. I left her alone all these years.¡± He drank his beer in one gulp while making appropriate remarks. ¡°I would never question her. Even if she doesn¡¯t come back, as long as she doesn¡¯t blame me, it would be enough if she just told me that she was doing well.¡± Kiriko was forever wiping the dishes, which were already dry. He left most of his supper and laid down on the couch in the living room. He took sleeping pills from his travel bag and took two days¡¯ worth at once. Kiriko took one look at him rooted to the couch. But she said nothing. He looked at each of Kanako¡¯s photographs. The summer blanket was draped over his body as he idled with the photographic paper in his hand. A long day. And he had never looked at his daughter so much as he did today. Since her birth to this day, as a father, he had been checking on her growth at each milestone, though not to the same extent as other people would. But it was far short of what he had seen today. A snapshot with a dead boy named Ogata. The two were standing upright side by side in front of a cage containing some kind of animal at what appeared to be a zoo. Who was the photographer? Both of them were standing tall with a face that looked so formal that it was almost comical. The sky was dull, and there were patches of snow in the shadows of the trees. There was no date on the photo, but it was probably the winter of their eighth grade year. Whenever he saw them smiling at each other in an innocent and friendly manner, as if they were middle school students, his heart ached. They were arranged by age group. There were no delinquent boys or girls anywhere around Kanako, a junior high school student. Nor was she anywhere to be seen with what appeared to be a drug dealer. Kanako, now in high school, had lost some of her childishness and had grown even taller, with longer arms and legs and hair that reached to her back. Her complexion was fair and she wore an air of maturity. Like a spirited model with a sense of sobriety as her duty. He wondered if that was how she had been. At the time, Fujishima was in the First Section. He was obsessed with a case. With that being said, why didn¡¯t he notice all these little sides of her? Plain clothes, uniforms. A variety of outfits and rich expressions. I saw a range of smiles, from archaic smiles to full smiles with white teeth peeking out. At other times, a sulky look with pouting lips appeared on her face. Darkness. He realized that the overhead light had been turned off at some point. The picture slipped through his hands, and he knew he had been ruminating on Kanako¡¯s image in his slumber. Fatigue was melting his extremities. His vision was wandering, partly due to the effects of the sleeping pills. His eyelids were heavy. Kiriko had already disappeared into the bedroom. The digital clock on the VCR was showing four o¡¯clock in the morning. He felt terribly thirsty. Getting up, he went to the kitchen in search of water. Not even half a glass of tap water made it down his throat. His feet were heading for the bedroom. The door was opened quietly. On the semi-double bed, Kiriko was sleeping with her back to the door. Silently, he peeled back the edges of the bedding. Dressed in her pajamas, she didn¡¯t move an inch. The thick scent of her body sent shivers down his spine. Underwear peeked out through the gap between her pajamas, giving her a sensual look. The lines of her body were a little less defined than before, but she still looked younger than her age, and her body was still nubile. He took off the shirt he was wearing. Naked only on his upper body, he slid himself onto the bed. He pulled her faintly sweaty body closer and touched her shoulder. Her sleeping face caught his eye. It was as if she had been poked with a sharp blade. It wasn¡¯t the face of a sleeping person. Her brow was wrinkled deeply and she was gnashing her teeth as if she was enduring pain. He was about to say something, but she shook her head slowly as if she was interrupting him. He felt a sense of shame that made him want to run away. Not wanting to retreat, he smiled benignly and continued to fondle her body. He touched her breasts, which had not lost their firmness, and buried his face in her neck. ¡°No¡­¡± She wriggled and jerked his arm away from her. Long nails dug into the back of her hand, and the unrelenting pain almost robbed him of his arousal. ¡°Stop¡­¡± ¡°Why?¡± He tucked his face next to her stomach. ¡°Please, stop!¡± Strong force pushed him away. Like a woman trying to escape rape, the force felt instinctive. Kiriko¡¯s palm hit his larynx. He coughed like an asthmatic. ¡°At a time like this¡­ Something¡¯s wrong with your head¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m only©¤©¤¡± He was coughing so abominably that he trailed off. ¡°Stop, I don¡¯t want to hear it.¡± ¡°All I wanted was to start over with you guys.¡± ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll find Kanako.¡± ¡°Even if you do, what next? Really, what then?¡± As expected, he did not say ¡°alive¡±. ¡°I¡¯m giving this my all.¡± ¡°And so what now?¡± ¡°I told you I¡¯d find her, didn¡¯t I?¡± He was uncontrollably agitated and determined to seize the situation. ¡°I¡¯m sick of being alone. I¡¯m not old enough to be alone.¡± She scrunched up her face and retreated to the very edge of the bed. ¡°I can¡¯t do any of that. I can¡¯t start over.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Are you going to make me say it? You understand, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m asking you why.¡± ¡°Because you don¡¯t even try to understand. It¡¯s terrifying. You¡¯re¡­ anyway, I can¡¯t even imagine us together.¡± ¡°Then I¡­¡± For what reason was he looking for that girl? He never meant it to be in his face or words. No, he didn¡¯t even think of it. But Kiriko¡¯s face twitched as if she was lamenting in disgust. ¡°Are you looking for my daughter just to have me?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not it.¡± ¡°Then why are you in here trying to touch me? How can you get hard when you don¡¯t even have the slightest idea what you¡¯re doing?¡± Why, he wondered. He was at a loss for words and was deeply irritated by her vigorous attitude. Why was she doing this? If only she would shut her mouth and keep quiet, she would be a lovely woman. ¡°I was thankful for you. I really was. You were the only one I could count on. After all, you are her father, I thought. But¡­¡± ¡°Listen.¡± There was only blinding rage. ¡°Or are you going to stop looking for Kanako if you can¡¯t have sex with me?¡± Sudden fatigue robbed him of language. ¡°Please. If it¡¯s money, I¡¯ll get it for you. If I hear from Kanako, I¡¯ll call you.¡± His right arm gripped her neck. Her eyeballs bulged with fear. With his left hand, he brushed her cheek. A short cry of pain escaped her. The base of his index finger was cut by a canine tooth, and a spot of blood drenched the sheet. Blood leaked from the black wound in rhythm with the beating of his heart. No time to be surprised. Her elbow hit his jaw, jolting his brain. He applied pressure to his right hand. Her face was red and puffy, and her white teeth bared like a primate¡¯s. Her well-defined face was distorted into an ugly mess. For her. For their daughter. He would have risked anything for them. But you people¡­. ¡°Don¡¯t kill me¡­¡± she croaked. He didn¡¯t understand what he was saying. Why on earth would he kill her? An intense shock hit his forehead and he saw a flash of red. She was holding an alarm clock in her hand. With his split left hand, he snatched the clock and threw it against the wall. ¡°Let me breathe¡­¡± He did the same thing at that time. That son-of-a-bitch said. ¡°Please stop.¡± ¡°How many times did you fuck that guy?¡± ¡°I¡¯m begging you, forgive me¡­¡± ¡°You made a fool of me.¡± The smell of exhaust fumes. The cold underground parking lot flickered in his mind. He released his right hand that was squeezing her. She slumped over and let out an animalistic moan. Yellow bile leaked from her mouth to the floor. Eventually, the moans turned to cries. Fujishima touched her waist and pulled her pajamas down to her feet. He pulled down her light pink panties. Her white hips, with few blemishes, were revealed. She did not try to resist. He pulled down his trunks and got completely naked. Holding her by the waist, he spit on her pubic area and pushed his painfully erect penis in. He pulled up her pajamas and touched her breasts, disciplining the rhythm of his hips. The sensations were terribly vague. Still, he felt a hot surge, and he went on, clutching at her flesh. Semen was smeared on their genitals, both of them. He came back to himself and shuddered. Regret and guilt. They were drowned out by the tinnitus-like frustration and anger. All he wanted to do was to start over. She said, ¡®if it¡¯s money, I¡¯ll get it for you.¡¯ Why would she say such a thing? A hiccup-like sob escaped his throat and his eyelids heated. Tears ran down the bridge of his nose. He left the bedroom, holding his stubble-streaked face. In the bathroom, he washed his face. The mirror reflected a childlike face with reddened eyes. He could see a chest with protruding ribs and a flabby belly. A penis that had lost its hardness. A small red laceration on the forehead.¡¡Tears almost welled up again. He sprinkled antiseptic solution from the first-aid kit on the wound on his hand. The dripping blood did not stop. Feeling slightly dizzy, he wrapped the bandage tightly around it. He wandered around the living room. Mouth on a bottle of scotch in the cupboard, my nerves were on edge. I unzipped my travel bag. There were no condoms in it. He put on a change of pants and slacks. Half-naked, he returned to the bedroom. She was slumped over on her back, her limbs sprawled out on the bed. She was breathing heavily and her breasts were rising and falling violently. ¡°Take a shower.¡± She remained supine and did not move. Was she that shocked? Did she really hate being taken that much? There was no way that this woman had such a weak heart. With both hands, he forcibly pulled her off the bed. The eyes that looked at him as if he were a monster. And there was a fierce hatred in her eyes. He endured it. ¡°I¡¯m her father. And here¡¯s where I¡¯ll be til¡¯ I find her.¡± ¡°What a noble idea.¡± The wound on his forehead ached. ¡°If the police won¡¯t act, I¡¯m going to turn to a detective agency or whatever. I¡¯m going to spend all my savings on it. If I don¡¯t have enough, I¡¯ll bow down to all my relatives. I was thinking about that while you were moving your hips around so much. I was thinking how terribly natural it was.¡± ¡°I see.¡± The police would move. How could they not be interested in a high school girl who had that much methamphetamine in her possession? They will try to put her into the category of the subject of a special search, not just as a runaway girl. This could develop into something big, using the mass media. Her picture would be plastered in police stations, highway service areas, and neighborhood halls all over the country. His daughter being peeked at by all kinds of people with a keen interest in her. Just the thought of it was enough to make him feel bizarre and uncomfortable. ¡°I¡¯ll just count all of this as punishment for not calling when I should have¡­¡± Naked, Kiriko raised herself from the bed. The fluid stuck to her crotch had dried, and her pubic hair was discolored white. He pulled one of the packets out of his slacks pocket. It was the one he had found in his daughter¡¯s room and used for confirmation. He tore off the seal and dropped the crystals into his palm. Kiriko was putting on her panties. Halfway down, she stopped and stared at his palm. ¡°What¡­ are you doing?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to find Kanako. I said I was, so I¡¯m going to.¡± He punched her in the stomach with his bandaged left hand. Her brown hair whipped about in the air, and she folded at the knees. Clinging to the corner of the bed, she growled. ¡°¡­ you, really ¡­¡± ¡°I will protect the two of you. I will find her. I won¡¯t let them do it first.¡± He wanted to find Kanako and hold her close. To reassure Kiriko. Spit dripped onto the crystals and he kneaded them around with his fingers. He screwed the melted mixture inside of her and rubbed it in. She let out a muffled scream as she gripped the summer cover. Eventually, her whole body shook. ¡°You¡¯ll go to him, won¡¯t you? The police won¡¯t listen to you. The first thing they do when you talk about drugs is test you. You want them to think you¡¯ re a drug addict? They suspect you more than Kanako. You still want to rely on them? Are they that much better?¡± Once again, between her legs, she was growing stronger. She was shivering, squirming. Even so, her pubic hair was soaking wet. ¡°Do not step outside. I will call you every 30 minutes. If you don¡¯t pick up the phone within three calls, I¡¯ll call the police. I¡¯ll tell them that there¡¯s a woman with meth up hers here.¡± ¡°But it¡¯ll be impossible for you.¡± The sun shining through the window burned his eyes. The light was strong enough to make him angry. He pulled the curtain closed. She spoke in a thin voice. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about that girl.¡± An unexplained excitement welled up from deep within his chest. I¡¯ll definitely find her. He touched her breasts and continued to chant to himself. Volume 1 - CH 9 He opened his eyes to the sound of his cell phone ringing. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°It¡¯s Asai.¡± ¡°What the hell?¡± ¡°Right now, where are you staying?¡± ¡°My old place.¡± In a panic, he opened the bedroom door. From the bathroom he could hear the sound of the shower running, and he breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°If possible, I¡¯d like to meet with you right away.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t I just come over for a little bit?¡± He connected words in rapid succession. He didn¡¯t ask why. Both knew they were wasting their time. The official¡¯s question was not a question. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°I have some pictures I¡¯d like to show you.¡± Not only victims and suspects have their lives ruined by incidents. If you¡¯re the first to discover a case, your daily life will be ruined for days. He was well aware of this, but when he actually put himself in that position, he realized that he would be forced to undergo a great deal of pain and suffering. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re gonna tell me some pretty interesting things.¡± So far, he had already been shown dozens of montages and mug shots. ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡± The photographs shown would be of people around the victim. Junpei Koyama, a young man with glasses who had his chest punctured. Nobuko Yasuda, the owner of a snack bar, who was strangled to death. Hiroshi Kawamoto, the part-time clerk of the Five Market who was stabbed in the stomach. He sighed deeply. Every minute was too precious now. He wanted to get as close to Kanako as possible. ¡°Don¡¯t come to the apartment. You know my wife hates cops. There¡¯s a family restaurant nearby.¡± He told him the name of the restaurant where he met Kaminaga last night. ¡°Got it.¡± Hanging up the phone, he headed for the bathroom, which led to the washroom. The sound of the shower still persisted. ¡°Oi.¡± He called out through the sliding door. No answer. He slid the door open. On the other side of the steam, Kiriko was scrubbing her body with a sponge. For how long had she been doing this? Her white skin, covered with foam, was red and scratched all over. He stepped in and grabbed her wrist. The hot water from the shower splashed on the hem of his slacks. ¡°You look awful.¡± ¡°Let go of me!¡± She tried to scrub it, as if she were insulted by Fujishima¡¯s touch. It was as if her body had become impossibly dirty from his touch. He picked up the shower head that was lying on the floor and poured hot water on her. She let out a short scream and arched her back in pain. Then he tossed the shower head into the bathtub. ¡°Just hurry the hell up and stay put.¡± She cowered and looked back at him with wide eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going out. Listen, don¡¯t step out of the house.¡± ¡°Then get out!¡± He left the bathroom covered in sweat and dampness. In the kitchen, he washed his face. He ran a comb through his hair. The teeth pressed against the wound on his forehead and he yelped. He walked to the family restaurant. There were few customers, and a few businessmen were having breakfast. Asai was already sipping his coffee at a seat by the wall. A detective in a polo shirt was sitting in the booth right next to him. He was probably working with Asai. It was a different young man from the day before yesterday. Asai stood up and bowed. ¡°Excuse us for coming during your vacation. This late in the morning.¡± He sat down on the seat. Asai gazed at his beat-up face seriously. ¡°Can¡¯t believe it?¡± ¡°To be honest, I find that unexpected.¡± When he was a detective, he took him to his apartment several times when he was drunk. Kiriko didn¡¯t so much as say hello to him. In addition, Asai knew about the incident Fujishima had caused. Even a child would not believe that he would return to his former life. ¡°She¡¯s been sick since the day before yesterday. I¡¯m taking care of her.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Asai¡¯s eyes had changed to those of a detective¡¯s. ¡°Can I ask you one thing?¡± ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t mean to pry.¡± ¡°Where¡¯s your daughter right now?¡± ¡°She¡¯s traveling to Kyushu with friends.¡± Sweat beaded on Asai¡¯s forehead. The young detective, who had been listening, exchanged glances with Asai. ¡°Subdivison Ch©¤©¤¡± Fujishima grabbed his cell phone. ¡°You think I¡¯m making a fool of myself, don¡¯t you?¡± Asai did not respond. ¡°Did you think I was keeping her and her daughter locked up?¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s¡­¡± He immediately called home. The call was connected at the same time as the third ring. ¡°Yes?¡± A voice that sounded as if the soul had been drained out of it. ¡°It¡¯s me. So what was your temperature? And? What do you want me to get for you on the way home?¡± ¡°What¡­ in the world are you talking about?¡± ¡°You remember him, don¡¯t you, Asai-kun, from the station. He wants to say hello.¡± He pulled away from Kiriko¡¯s groggy voice and handed the cell phone to a bewildered Asai. ¡°See?¡± Kiriko was a vicious woman, but she was no fool. Asai took the phone and put it to his ear. ¡°It¡¯s been a while. Yes, I just heard about that. I see. Yes, please take care.¡± The brief and hurried exchange was over. He received the cell phone from him. Fujishima inquired with his eyes. ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Hurry up with your business. I can¡¯t just leave a sick person unattended.¡± He put the phone to his ear and told Kiriko. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± ¡°So did she scream for help?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Did she ask where her daughter was?¡± ¡°¡­No.¡± ¡°And did she ask you why I turned up at her place?¡± ¡°No¡­ I understand what¡¯s going on.¡± ¡°Naturally. If you keep poking your nose in, I¡¯ll kill you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Asai bowed his head deeply. The young detective next to him rolled his eyes. ¡°So?¡± ¡°Here.¡± Spread out on the table were three mug shots. All of young boys with colorful heads of hair ¨C all of them had been arrested for criminal mischief. In other words, all of them had been arrested before. One was a young man with dyed gold hair that hung down to his collar. The other was a young man over 20 years old with dark skin like a surfer and shoulder-length brown hair. He had one of his front teeth gold-plated, perhaps as a fashion statement. The other man was of indeterminate age. He had a shaved head and stubble from his chin to his mouth. Piercings were embedded in his ears, lips, and nose. There was a long, blade-like scar from his right forehead to his cheek. The skinhead had dark, vacant eyes, and his mouth was slightly open as if in a daze. Fujishima stared at them, forgetting the time. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± Asai¡¯s voice brought him back to himself. ¡°What a great looking bunch of brats.¡± He released the photos onto the table, feigning indifference. The skinhead bore a striking resemblance to the boy named Munakata who was supposedly a friend of Kanako¡¯s. His style had changed since he was in the graduation photo, but his elusive, vacant stare had not. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ll say it again. There was a terrible downpour that day. I didn¡¯t see a thing.¡± ¡°You¡¯re positively certain?¡± ¡°How couldn¡¯t I have noticed such flamboyant little shits hanging around?¡± The waitress brought a breakfast of omelets and bread. He nudged the photographs to the corner. ¡°Did the dead have criminal records?¡± He asked about the one whose throat was ripped open at the store. ¡°It seems he was connected to a group of juvenile delinquents. They called themselves Apocalypse.¡± ¡°Apocalypse?¡± He rifled through his drawer of memories. ¡°Some of their alumni found work with the Ishimaru family.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°Those idiots couldn¡¯t have done it.¡± Asai sipped his coffee. ¡°Maybe so. But then again, Apocalypse¡­ they were probably involved in the murder of a junior high student three years ago. Cunning, manipulative, and notorious.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°But the majority of the investigation team is focused on scouring for illegal foreigners. The higher ups, like the section chief, don¡¯t think those kids are capable of that kind of murder.¡± He was ever so forthcoming. At times, he even discussed the status of the investigation, which was supposed to be top secret. But his words did not reach Fujishima¡¯s ears. His attention was focused on the boy Munakata. He forced his breakfast down with cold water. He stuffed all the food in his stomach, assumed the role of a husband worried about his sick wife, and quickly slipped out of the restaurant. Then he made a phone call. It was to the junior high school that Kanako had once attended. A man who appeared to be a clerk answered in an unfriendly voice. He said that Rie Higashi, her former homeroom teacher, had already gone to practice with the tennis club she was supervising. It seemed that she was still working at the same school without being transferred. When he told him to call her out, the man said with great propriety that he would have her call back later. He gave him his name and number and hung up the phone. In any case, the junior high school was just a stone¡¯s throw away. There was no way in hell he would just sit idly and wait. He headed out on foot, looking back many times. Sweat beading on his shirt, he walked through the gate. The school building was deserted, and on the field, where the sun was shining, numerous members of the athletic teams were shouting and shedding sweat. The air smelled of dry dust. When Fujishima announced himself and told her of his intention for coming, Higashi¡¯s face turned grim. ¡°I understand you called earlier.¡± ¡°I was relieved to hear that your place of employment has not changed.¡± ¡°Is this about Kanako Fujishima¡­?¡± ¡°Three years ago, she was a student of yours.¡± ¡°I remember it clearly. But¡­¡± Fujishima explained that he and his wife had divorced. Her mother had custody of the her now and would only allow him to see Kanako for short periods of time. He put on as sincere of an expression as he could. ¡°This is the result of putting all my energy into my work for so many years. Although I don¡¯t think we can start over, I wish I could at least understand her better than I do now, not knowing anything about her.¡± Her face was covered by the shadow of her sun visor. But he could see the doubtful look in her eyes. ¡°You worked for the police, right?¡± ¡°I quit the police force. Now I work for a private company.¡± ¡°So¡­ you are going around asking each and every person who knows your daughter?¡± ¡°Seems awfully pointless, huh?¡± ¡°Yes, well. It seems counterproductive. That detective-interrogation sort of style.¡± Higashi continued, running her eyes over the court. ¡°But I can understand how you feel. I have a little daughter myself. When it comes to our own children, all parents lose their cool.¡± Higashi gave a small smile. Then, silently, she grabbed a soft ball at her feet and threw it at one of the club members who was swinging a racket. Without much force, the soft ball parabolized and fell to the ground. But the girl, a member of the club, bowed deeply to the east like a spring-loaded puppet to hit it. Soon she clapped her hands and instructed the many girls, and they started walking to the school building. They passed through the chilly staff entrance and into the empty staff room. She offered Fujishima a spot on the sofa of the old parlor set and offered him a glass of barley tea. Fujishima praised her memory. How could she remember the name of a student who had graduated three years earlier, much less her father¡¯s occupation, unless it had made a deep impression on her? She shrugged. ¡°I have an answer for that.¡± She handed him a postcard she was holding in her hand. It was a summer greeting card with an illustration of a morning glory printed on the reverse side. A brief update on how she was busy preparing for her college entrance exam was written in light blue color pen. It was definitely Kanako¡¯s handwriting. ¡°Sometimes I get postcards like this. But even if I never heard from her, I¡¯m sure I would have remembered her.¡± ¡°Was my daughter a memorable student?¡± ¡°Yes. Very clever, and more beautiful than cute. Not the type to assert herself, but she was full of charm.¡± She looked at the postcard and added, ¡°And she knew well how to please people. I¡¯ve been a teacher for how long, and I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m still getting postcards like this after all these years.¡± ¡°So©¤©¤¡± She interrupted him. ¡°I know. You came to ask about him, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Him?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know him?¡± ¡°No, I do. I heard that my daughter had a boyfriend at the time. And that he committed suicide.¡± ¡°I will probably never forget that day.¡± ¡°Was Kanako shocked?¡± ¡°At the time, everyone was in terrible shock.¡± ¡°I¡¯m told my daughter didn¡¯t show much grief.¡± ¡°Who told you that?¡± ¡°Not everyone in this world has a soft spot for my daughter.¡± ¡°Tears aren¡¯t the only way to express condolences.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s right.¡± He showed her a bunch of photos. He pointed to two people, Nami Endo and Yasuhiro Munakata. ¡°Was it because of Ogata-kun¡¯s death that she started hanging out with them?¡± She replied bristlingly. ¡°Neither of them were bad kids by any means.¡± ¡°But this student, Munakata. He was part of a gang named Apocalypse.¡± ¡°You must have put a lot of effort, looking into this.¡± Her face turned grim. Fujishima was convinced that his eyes were not mistaken after all. The bareheaded boy was Munakata after all. ¡°Kanako¡¯s mother has asked me to do this for her. My daughter has disengaged from communication with both of us for years now. She is a smart, strong girl. She¡¯ll end up going to college on a scholarship and choose to support herself. Just end up disassociating herself from us. That is why I want to know as much as I can about that girl¡¯s past. I understand that this is a terribly selfish thing to say.¡± These were not random remarks. If he didn¡¯t find her now, he would never be able to see her again. That was the feeling he had. He felt Higashi¡¯s gaze on him painfully. There was a strong light in her eyes as she tried to discern the authenticity of the situation. ¡°There was a time when Kanako fell into truancy. She was pale and gaunt, as if she had not been eating or sleeping properly, let alone studying. It was right after she entered the third year.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°There is no doubt that Ogata-kun¡¯s death in that way was a great psychological shock. But even now, I don¡¯t think that was the only reason. She herself denied it once and for all.¡± ¡°Was it drugs?¡± Higashi¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. Then she gave one big sigh. ¡°At the time, I was unsure. Should I tell her parents or not? In her case, it was obvious that she was using drugs after knowing how scary they are. It was like she was slowly trying to commit suicide.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t have even noticed her¡­¡± ¡°I think she blamed herself. More severely than anyone else. It was contrary to those of us who were slowly healing from our grief. She was not willing to even go back to her normal life. Munakata-kun and his crew had the means to get those drugs. Things that we would have never thought possible.¡± ¡°So, she©¤©¤¡± For a change, Higashi looked pained. ¡°To tell the truth, my memory of those days is a little fuzzy. In any case, many things happened three years ago, including Ogata-kun¡¯s suicide.¡± ¡°Ah. Yes, that¡¯s right.¡± Fujishima¡¯s memory was coming back to him. Some time ago, there had been a shocking incident in which someone had murdered a student at this junior high school. That incident, as he recalled, had also occurred three years ago. Then Higashi spoke, as if to interrupt his thoughts. ¡°I talked to her when she had calmed down to a certain extent. She said she would stop using drugs and would stop hanging out with Munakata-kun and the others.¡± Fujishima nodded, though to him it sounded like nonsense. Higashi stared directly into Fujishima¡¯s face. ¡°Are you going to see them? Munakata-kun and Endo-san? If that¡¯s the case©¤©¤¡± He shook his head. ¡°No. Enough is enough. No amount of digging up the past will change the situation. What matters is how we are going to handle our daughter.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a bright girl. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll come around sooner or later.¡± Fujishima stood up and held out his hand. ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure talking to you.¡± He shook her hand. It was big like a boy¡¯s, tanned by the sun, and her palm was thick. The soft breeze from the fan ruffled her hair. He was about to leave when she spoke once more. ¡°She¡¯s doing well, right?¡± ¡°Well, she¡¯s been keeping busy with all sorts of things. This and that.¡± He bowed and left the staff room. The aburazemi were rumbling like an engine that had begun to hum. The sun was high in the sky and the smell of dust and sand intensified as he stepped out the front door. The heat from the asphalt was transmitted through the worn soles of his shoes. On the sidewalk, a young baseball player with a slight build was panting like a skinny stray dog. He looked around the water fountain as if he was thirsty and wanted something to drink. His molars grit sand. As he passed through the school gate, he glimpsed Kanako walking by his side. Her hand holding her bag was as thin as a piece of wood. Her face was pale and white. Holding up his hand, he asked, Are you alright? But Kanako just smiled unworriedly. It was that wry smile, the one with the corners of her lips lifted. It seemed as if she might¡¯ve said something, but he didn¡¯t hear anything. With a flickering shimmer, she dispersed into the distance beyond the waving heat. Volume 1 - CH 10 Three years ago 3 ¡°C¡¯mon, you asshole.¡± He stumbled, almost falling on his butt, and walked backwards. He crossed the corridor and was made to ascend the stairs. From the third floor, the only thing beyond the stairs was the rooftop. Their voices reverberated on the ceiling. The roof doors, which were supposed to be locked, opened. It seemed that one of the students had stolen the key that was supposed to be kept in the staff room, and that a copy of the key existed. His teeth chattered. He was rolled on the floor with his hands behind his back. Weeds and dirt from the cracked concrete were in his mouth. Several smiling faces looked down at him. Someone spoke up. ¡°We aren¡¯t gonna tell you to come to practice any more. We don¡¯t care about you any more.¡± Shimazu continued for him, wrinkling his brow. ¡°But where did you think you were going? Idiot. Are you going to cram school now? You¡¯re dirty, you know that? You¡¯re gonna stay here until we¡¯re done. Okay?¡± ¡°So why don¡¯t you come to cram school with me?¡± the boy asked. His, and the eyes of A and B, who were just outsiders, all became sharply angled. He received a powerful kick to the gut. His insides jumped up and he arched his back, unable to breathe. ¡°What¡¯d you say? What¡¯d you just say, son of a bitch?¡± ¡°This guy doesn¡¯t know shit.¡± Many arms outstretched, and with a clattering sound, his belt was undone. ¡°Stop!¡± They took off his pants. He felt the coldness of the outside air on his thighs and thrashed about in fear. Crazy laughter poured out. As he bent his knees and resisted, he heard some part of his garment tear. His top was shucked off. The lower half of his body was left with only his underwear, and he felt unparalleled embarrassment. Shimazu held up his pants. Viscous hatred spilled out of his face. ¡°You can¡¯t go home like this, even if you want to. Unless you have the guts to go out on the street like this.¡± ¡°Take off his underwear and let¡¯s see his birthday suit!¡± ¡°Like I¡¯m touching that, man.¡± There was a disgusted laugh. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± With looks of contentment, they turned away. ¡°Wait-¡± They left the rooftop with his trousers in their hands. He walked aimlessly on the rooftop, away from the door. The May wind was cold on his bare legs. The thought of really being trapped in a place like this for hours filled him with more dread than anger. Nauseous, he leaned against the wire mesh surrounding the rooftop. Below the building, a number of students were happily leaving school. Getting ready for club activities. It was as if he were completely alone, stranded in some distant dimension. A terrible thought crossed his mind. Would they be sweating it out at practice, forgetting all about him, and munching on some snacks with their buddies? He felt as if his nerves were being burned out. ¡°Dammit.¡± Through the wire netting, the ground seemed awfully close. Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, as well as the day after that and the day after that, this humiliation would continue to be inflicted on him. Thinking of this, the blackness of the hard asphalt seemed very appealing to him. It seemed as if it would welcome him softly and warmly.¡¡His head leaned against the wire mesh. For some reason, he wondered if it would come loose and fall down with him. He shook the wire mesh several times, but it seemed as if it would never come off, strongly refusing to let him lean towards the asphalt. But that was nothing. The wire mesh separating them was originally only as high as his chest. All he had to do was climb©¤©¤ He came to himself and backed away, pulling his legs off the floor. An image of himself slamming to the ground and splattering his brains all over the place came into his mind.¡¡Sweat was pouring out of his body as if he were submerged in water, and every time the wind blew, he felt a chill on his back. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform. The image of Ogata, who had hanged himself to death, flashed across his mind. It was foolish of him to think that he would follow in his footsteps. The lock on the door rattled suddenly, startling him. Reflexively, he looked for a place to hide. If they came back by any chance, of course he would get beaten up some more. If not, there was no way anyone could see him dressed like this. But there was no place to hide in this large concrete plaza. All he could do was just stand there. His mouth fell open in a daze. Standing in front of him was Kanako Fujishima. Her long, shoulder-length hair swayed in the wind. When she recognized him, she pulled her chin back a little and stopped with a wry look on her face. It looked as if she was tired of seeing him again. ¡°What are you doing? Up here.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m¡­¡± She looked him over nonchalantly from top to bottom. He was so embarrassed that he felt the urge to jump off the roof again. Without making any sign of walking away, she searched through the bag she was carrying. ¡°So this is what you¡¯re into?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°I mean, you like being tied up and abandoned?¡± Her gaze was fixed on the marks on his wrists. ¡°No!¡± His voice came out so loud even he got second hand embarrassment. ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ into anything like that.¡± ¡°It was a joke.¡± She touched her hair, tangling in the wind behind her. In her other hand was a dark bottle. Pulling the cork out of the bottle, she put her mouth on it and drank something down. This sudden action made him feel a bit confused. ¡°That¡¯s©¤©¤¡± ¡°Since you¡¯re dressed like that, you must be cold, right? Want a sip?¡± ¡°¡­Thanks.¡± She handed over the bottle. The sweet aroma of grapes and alcohol rose from the opening of the bottle. Upon taking a sip, he realized it was red wine, and he nearly coughed at the unfamiliar taste of alcohol, though he had smoked a few cigarettes with it before. A bittersweet taste lingered in his mouth. His stomach was enveloped in warmth and heat. ¡°Why do you do this? Do you come here often? To drink this.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. No way I could do it in class.¡± He handed her the bottle. She took a sip and tilted the bottle again. Her every movement was bewitching, and she drank in a rather sober manner, as if she was drinking it out of thirst, not because she was trying to look tall like the rest of them. ¡°So, where are your pants?¡± Dark thoughts covered his mind once again. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know. They¡¯re probably in the club room, though.¡± ¡°Club?¡± ¡°Baseball. I used to be on the team.¡± ¡°Is there anybody in that room right now?¡± He looked down outside. White balls were already flying around on the field. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Not right now.¡± ¡°Well, then.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t mean to go there, do you?¡± An unintentionally vulnerable voice burst out. ¡°What, do you plan on walking around like that?¡± He searched frantically for words. ¡°You¡­ might get mixed up with some trouble.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°So¡­ it¡¯s better if you leave me alone.¡± ¡°Then, if something happens to me, will you protect me?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Just kidding.¡± Pushing the bottle into his hands again, she turned away and walked to the door. As she walked away, he felt a hole in his chest, a sense of loss. Her bag and the bottle of alcohol were still there. But it didn¡¯t surprise him that Fujishima would leave those behind and just walk off. His face lit up faintly. Some part of his head felt tingly and numb. Thinking it was risky, he took another swig. It didn¡¯t taste that great, but it was special somehow, like they were sharing a secret. The door was wide open. At this rate, maybe a teacher patrolling campus would come up the stairs. If so, what kind of punishment would they mete out to him, dressed in underwear and holding a bottle of alcohol? Although terrified, he decided to leave the door as it was.¡¡Someone was coming up the stairs. With bated breath, he watched the doorway. Finally, Fujishima appeared, holding his pants in hand. ¡°They were in there.¡± She held up the pants cheerfully and showed them to him. Her pale cheeks were pink, maybe from the wine, maybe from excitement. ¡°But what a dirty clubroom. They were just on the floor, and they¡¯re all dirty like this.¡± She brushed the dust from his pants and handed them to him. The scenery around him and her became blurry as a wet film covered his eyes. He bit his lip, looked up, and blinked them back. ¡°Thanks.¡± She lightly lifted her shoulders as if to say he was welcome. Walking to the edge of the rooftop, he put on his pants to hide from her. Though she had already seen him in his underwear, the idea of putting them on in front of her made him feel unsettled. ¡°I¡¯ll be here for a little bit.¡± She took a paperback book out of her bag. Then she sat down leaning against the wall of the water tower. A bottle of alcohol right next to her. This must have been her usual way of spending her time. As long as the wall sheltered her from the wind, the sun was shining and it was warm and comfortable. ¡°This is the second time. You saved me.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± He cut her off. ¡°Did you save him too?¡± She raised her eyebrows slightly and looked at him in wonder. He continued, perplexed by her amber eyes. ¡°I saw you together, a long time ago in Ikebukuro. You and him. And you seemed to be having a good time.¡± She was looking into the distant landscape. At the end of her gaze, there was a large field on the bank of the Arakawa River. Passingly, he wondered if he¡¯d offended her, but he didn¡¯t stop. ¡°So I was worried. Ever since then.¡± ¡°Worried?¡± ¡°About you. After Ogata passed away, I thought you were in shock.¡± She gave a little laugh. ¡°You look at me from all sorts of different angles.¡± ¡°¡­Sorry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine. That marks the second time I¡¯ve heard that.¡± ¡°The second time?¡± ¡°The first was coming from my homeroom teacher.¡± ¡°Homeroom¡­ you mean Higashi?¡± The face of a tanned female teacher came to mind. A gym teacher who oversaw the girls¡¯ tennis team. Students like her and the girls often called her aneki or anego. Boys sometimes made fun of her, calling her an amazoness. ¡°Higashi did?¡­¡± ¡°This was the place I first met Seiichi.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Same as you. Just as I was about to fly away, Seiichi showed up. He was always getting bullied, so he used to come here and cry by himself.¡± ¡°Ha¡­ hang on. Fly away?¡± Her casual remark left him at a loss. Fujishima only looked off into the distance and smiled a little. ¡°Seiichi said, ¡®You and I are the same¡¯. He was the one who saved me.¡± He was at a loss for words. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her. By flying, did she mean that she intended to die the same way he was? Why would she think to die? What did she mean by ¡®the same¡¯? Was she bullied, too? ¡°You¡¯re the one who sometimes put incense on his grave, aren¡¯t you?¡± After hesitating a little, he nodded his head. ¡°Well¡­ I¡­ yeah.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Her eyes round and narrowed like the waning moon, dimples peeking out, she smiled. It made his heart beat off rhythm. Then she handed him the bottle. ¡°Want some more?¡± Then he nodded and sat down next to her. It was a strange feeling. Both happy and lonely. ¡°Do you think I can be like him?¡± ¡°Eh?¡± The wind swallowed up his words. I must be drunk, he thought. He was afraid to ask her again, and in the end, he still didn¡¯t understand her any more than before. Still, there was one thing he did understand. She was still looking back at Ogata, whose time had already come and gone. That skinny, girly guy. Stealing a glance at her profile, he mumbled softly once again. How could I be like him? He wished she would smile at him the way she had smiled at Ogata. This thought kept running through his mind as he sipped the wine, that had already been depleted considerably. T/N Kanako is making a play on words when she says he¡¯s stale, she says º®¤¤ which actually means cold but is sometimes used to mean lame/corny/stale etc. Aneki and anego are other terms that mean older sister, kind of in a more serious way Volume 1 - CH 11 He drove past the side of the library and headed in the direction of Nisshin. Passing through a shopping street lined with abandoned bicycles, the car proceeded down a narrow alley along the railroad tracks. Hot and humid pop music was playing on the radio. Behind the shopping district, uniform old houses lined the street, as if they were once part of a development project. He parked his car on the street. Eventually, he spotted a house with a wood-grain nameplate on the front door. The name ¡°Munakata¡± was written in worn letters. What kind of life did Kanako lead as a high school student, and how did she end up disappearing? There were still countless unknowns. But if nothing else, he was beginning to grasp the direction in which to go. She was a two-faced girl. On the one hand, she was a student with excellent grades who was applying to a prestigious university. On the other hand, she couldn¡¯t stop using drugs, and she had one foot in the dark side of the law. What was more was, she didn¡¯t stop at herself, she had probably gone and gotten her classmates hooked on stimulants. Nagano was an example. Kanako was a smart girl. In the beginning, she neglected eating properly and was indulging like an addict, but no wonder she learned how to come to terms with the situation instead of heading straight to death. Generally, public portrayals of meth were extreme. Absolute psychological dependence and violent wakefulness. After hallucinations and delusions, users commit heinous crimes and are detained in hospitals. Yet, the reality was not so dramatic. It would take many years and a process of extreme abuse to reach that point. Most of them had no money to last, and their access to it was closed off by the authorities, forcing some to quit naturally, while others continue to use it permanently for ten or twenty years. Consequently, she may have been forced to disappear. He didn¡¯t want to be right. But drugs are always accompanied by the shadow of gangsters. Unless she herself ran away, the truth was nothing but the ugliest. He touched the doorbell. It seemed to be broken, and the bell did not ring. He knocked on the front door and called several times. Just as his knuckles were getting numb, he finally heard a noise on the other side of the door. ¡°Who is it?¡± said a middle-aged woman¡¯s frail voice. ¡°The police.¡± There was no reply at first. After a few moments of silence, the door was opened. It was a small woman in a wrinkled dress. Her hair was pulled back. But her face was neatly made up. Still, it did not hide the scabs on her lips or the bleeding floating at the bottom of her eyeballs. She looked up at him, her eyes moving in a fine, frightened motion. ¡°Um¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m Fujishima of the Omiya Police Department.¡± He showed her his business card from his former workplace. He had kept it for a long time, but never thought he would use it again. The woman who appeared to be Munakata¡¯s mother did not ask to see his badge. ¡°Is Yasuhiro-kun here?¡± ¡°Did my son get into something again?¡± ¡°No, he didn¡¯t do anything. I¡¯m just here to talk to him about a man I think he knows, who was involved in a minor assault.¡± She didn¡¯t seem any less fearful. Her hand was shaking as she held the business card. The smell of simmering shoyu came from inside the house. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes, so could I¡­¡± ¡°He¡¯s off somewhere at the moment.¡± ¡°Off where?¡± She shook her head emphatically. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. I don¡¯t know, myself.¡± ¡°Do you have any idea where he might be?¡± ¡°A few things come to mind, but he¡¯s been away for three days.¡± Three days ago. The same day Kanako disappeared. She nodded. The Shiba River was a small river that ran through Omiya from north to east. The area around the river in Omiya No. 2 Park was surrounded by large fields and open spaces. At the end of August, a fireworks display was held there. On summer nights, the area had long been a favorite hangout for motorcycle gangs and juvenile delinquents. ¡°If he comes home, could you call? My cell-phone. Here, I wrote it down. I¡¯m always away from the precinct.¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± ¡°By the way, those wounds, were they caused by your son?¡± A black cavernous oral cavity peeked out from a chipped right front tooth. She was wearing a long-sleeved dress, probably to hide some of the damage. As if repelled, her face turned up to deny it. ¡°You¡¯re mistaken, it¡¯s not like that. This¡­¡± Suddenly, her expression froze, and she retreated hastily and closed the door. He turned his attention to the small yard. A moped with no tires lay on the weed-strewn ground. Oil cans and plastic bottles were scattered about, and a doghouse half-turned into wood shavings and a leash were left unattended. Everything was in disrepair, as if it were a true testament to the family¡¯s environment. He returned to his car and called the friends. Two answering machines. One was answered by an elderly man who was folks-home material. One call was answered by what appeared to be the mother of one of his friends, who strongly insisted that she had never heard of the building. Through a narrow alleyway, he reached Route 16. The route plodded on, circling Saitama City. Eventually, he reached the Shiba River, with its vast open fields, and overgrown reeds. The sounds of children¡¯s voices could be heard coming from the park¡¯s outdoor swimming pool. The parking lot situated on the riverbank was already full, although only a third of it was filled with the wreckage of abandoned cars. No tires, smashed glass, and sticky black-market flyers. Here and there, batteries, door mirrors, and parts were discarded. The concrete ground was covered with numerous tire tracks. As usual, the area remained a favorite spot for the gangs to hang out. During the day, the area was filled with cabs and company cars, all of them idling and running the air conditioner. But it wasn¡¯t time yet for them. He got into the car again. Then he called Matsushita and Nagano¡¯s houses. The phone went straight to voicemail for Matsushita. Nagano¡¯s phone was answered by someone who seemed to be her mother, who answered curtly that she was out. He drove to the west exit of Omiya station. Three o¡¯clock. Parking the car at the station¡¯s rooftop parking lot, he walked to the prep school. Loud noises and crowds of people came from the shopping district. Hot weather. It was the same scenery and the same feeling as yesterday. He quietly opened the classroom door. A lecture was in progress. The large classroom was packed with students. The colorful backs of their heads peeked out. He looked for black hair and golden brown hair. Matsushita¡¯s figure was by the window. Her black hair shone in the sunlight. Nagano was nowhere to be seen. Despite the enthusiasm of the lecturer, who was pounding the whiteboard with his fist, microphone in hand, she was gazing out in a daze. Leaning against the door, he stared at her. Suddenly she looked back. Their gazes met. She looked surprised, but pretended not to know and turned to the whiteboard. With stiff cheekbones, she ran her pen over her notebook. But then, as if determined, she stood up vigorously and approached him. Come out quickly. A look like fire was about to leap out and a stance ready to drive him away, Nagano met him in the hall. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°Well if you run, I have to chase you, don¡¯t I?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t run anywhere.¡± ¡°Where¡¯s orange-girl? I had something to say to her yesterday.¡± ¡°She didn¡¯t come. She said she had a cold.¡± ¡°Her mother said she wasn¡¯t home, though.¡± ¡°Oh, right¡­¡± Frustrated, she briefly clicked her tongue. ¡°Why don¡¯t we quit this silly chase and talk about it? You¡¯re hiding her.¡± ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡± ¡°Has Kanako contacted you at all?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± A corridor with no sunlight. No people. ¡°Then let me talk to her. I¡¯d rather talk to her than you.¡± Her face turned red so clearly that it was visible even in the dark. ¡°What is it you want to talk about with her? I¡¯ve said it a thousand times. We really don¡¯t know where Kanako is.¡± ¡°Even if you don¡¯t know where she is, you at least know what she¡¯s been doing.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re saying.¡± ¡°In Kanako¡¯s room, there was a copious amount of drugs.¡± She cautiously scrutinized Fujishima, like an inexperienced robber scoping out a hit. Sweat broke out on her red forehead. Fujishima continued. ¡°Yesterday I was convinced. Your friend does meth. Am I right?¡± Matsushita remained silent, glaring at him. ¡°Kanako was a dealer. Have you ever bought from her?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯ve never done anything like that, not once.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a policeman. I¡¯m not even blaming you. All I¡¯m after is Kanako. And I have to see Nagano to find her; there¡¯s no way around it.¡± He approached and made his case. Suddenly she backed away, breathing rapidly. ¡°¡­Kanako and I were friends. That girl couldn¡¯t sing at karaoke to saved her life, but she was smart, and giving. She¡¯s given me clothes, accessories, other stuff. I hate to admit it, but she was the friend I always wanted to brag about in front of others. Haven¡¯t you ever felt that?¡± ¡°Yeah. She was the kind of girl that made you want to brag about her.¡± ¡°Kanako always brought¡­drugs. She just said they were for giving you a boost. There were a lot of people from real studying-heavy schools that wanted them. Their popularity boomed. Even though basically everybody knew it was speed.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°Then Kanako flipped around and got super stingy. She said it was getting harder to get, and started taking money for it. It went from from ten-thousand yen to twenty-thousand yen. Everyone was pissed off, but it wasn¡¯t like they could report it as a scam. There were rumors that there was a gang backing her.¡± ¡°Apocalypse?¡± With a sigh, she nodded. She turned on her heel and put her hand on the classroom door. ¡°Wait.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit what happens to Kanako.¡± Fujishima reached out and grabbed her arm. ¡°Listen. My daughter¡¯s life is at stake.¡± Matsushita spun around, face pale. Her eyes were wide open, her whole body trembled, and her mouth parted as if to make a loud shout. He flinched. Then, all of a sudden, she stumbled and fell to the ground. Her dark hair covered her face, hiding her expression. ¡°Oi.¡± He shook her shoulder as she lay on the floor. Her eyelids fluttered finely. She was clenching her teeth tightly. ¡°Oi!¡± The girl¡¯s face contorted in fear. Ready to scream at any moment, she sucked in a breath. ¡°Calm down. I¡¯m not gonna do anything.¡± She took several shallow breaths as she put her hands on the floor. Then she took a deep breath as if trying to regain her composure. ¡°I won¡¯t do a thing.¡± She nodded as if her strength had been drained. ¡°If you want me to leave, I¡¯ll leave.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you leaving?¡± ¡°Where¡¯s Nagano holed up?¡± ¡°No idea.¡± ¡°If you¡¯ve got no idea then why did you make a break for it?¡± ¡°No idea, I¡¯m serious.¡± Wiping away tears with a handkerchief, she grumbled in frustration. ¡°Yesterday, since you saw us, she was freaking out. She said she couldn¡¯t even stay at home.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I dunno. It¡¯s just, like, she finally started to be able to laugh again. Not like someone who was on speed. She was finally starting to get back on track, but¡­¡± ¡°So you¡¯re hiding her without asking anything?¡± ¡°What else can I do?¡± she asked, her tone regretful. ¡°Let me see her.¡± Wet eyes stared back at him. ¡°Can you wait a bit?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t. It has to be today.¡± ¡°No. How can I guarantee you won¡¯t hurt her?¡± ¡°Stop messing around.¡± ¡°I¡¯m serious. Give her my number.¡± He wrote his cell phone number on the back of his business card with a ballpoint pen and handed it over. ¡°What happened, back then?¡± ¡°Stop talking already¡­¡± Matsushita registered the number on her cell phone, then crumpled up the business card and tossed it into the trash. Turning to run away from Fujishima, she fled into the women¡¯s restroom. Volume 1 - CH 12 He entered a ramen store in the shopping district. Slurping down lukewarm ramen, he called home. But no matter how many times he tried to call, he couldn¡¯t get through. He threw some coins onto the table and left the restaurant. The windows of his apartment were curtained off. The doorbell rang at the auto-locking front door. There was no response. He inserted the key and turned it. No sign of anyone inside the room was to be found. Anger rose in him, and with dirty shoes still on, he went in. The bottle of scotch was still lying on the living room floor, where he had drunk it all. The bedroom looked as if it had been burglarized. Almost all the drawers had been left open. Clothes spilled out of the closet. He could picture Kiriko angrily stuffing them into her carry-on bag. And there was no sign of her in her daughter¡¯s room either. Shit. He knocked off the books on the bookshelf, threw the CDs on the floor, and sent the stereo crashing to the floor. The plastic case rattled and something shattered on the stereo. He tore open the aluminum package of stabilizers in his pocket. One after another, he put the pills into his mouth and crunched them down. A chemical bitterness filled his mouth. White powder danced from his lips. He made a call with his cell. The other party picked up. ¡°Kiriko, do you know what you¡¯re doing?¡± A low, threatening growl. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk! What did you do with her daughter?¡± From the phone came the voice of a wrinkled old man. It was Akiba, Kiriko¡¯s father. ¡°Can I speak to Kiriko? She¡¯s there, no? With you.¡± Fujishima spoke quickly. In contrast, Akiha was silent for a while. Sweat trickled down into his eyes. ¡°I knew it was you. I told you to stay away from her and my granddaughter. Are you at her apartment right now, you bastard?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to talk to Kiriko. Just let me talk.¡± ¡°My daughter¡¯s still crying her eyes out. What the hell did you do?¡± His body slumped into a momentary dizziness. He realized. She had abandoned him. He raped her. He made her get high on meth. It wasn¡¯t a normal realization, but he trusted it. ¡°This is our business. It has nothing to do with you.¡± ¡°Like hell it doesn¡¯t! My granddaughter, Kanako. Where did you hide her? Is she with you?!¡± Akiba was unaware of everything. He¡¯d already shoved meth into this man¡¯s beloved daughter. His granddaughter was selling speed to her classmates. How would he react if he heard those things, Fujishima wondered. Akiba had undergone heart bypass surgery four years earlier. ¡°Tell her this. It¡¯s not too late to come back.¡± ¡°You¡­ Do you even have the slightest idea of what you¡¯re doing? You want the cops called?¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you give it a shot? It¡¯s Kiriko who¡¯s in danger here. If you don¡¯t want her wonderful career to be tarnished, you¡¯ll keep your mouth shut.¡± ¡°What did you say?!¡± He threw the phone to the couch. His eyes watered and his vision became blurry. He had been betrayed. Only now was it clear to him. He loved her. She was never coming back. As long as he was still here, she would never come back. He only wanted the three of them to live together again. This time, he wanted to build a peaceful life. He¡¯d find Kanako, and continue devouring the dream of becoming their hero from there. He wanted to be a father, a husband, again. Damn it. A pitiful sob escaped his trembling lips. The sticky summer dusk cast a pessimistic shadow over his mind. His wife withdrew into a shell, and his daughter lay rotting somewhere where neither the sea nor the mountains could be seen. Tears kept streaming down his face as he thought of the warmth of Kiriko¡¯s skin and the life that Kanako had led. Sniffling, he picked up his cell phone, which kept ringing, and turned it off. The reflection of his face on the mirror stand caused him shame. Red, double-lidded eyelids. He threw a bottle of scotch at the mirror and broke it. Cobwebbed cracks shattered Fujishima¡¯s face. 10:45 pm. He put on a change of underwear and a water-repellent jersey. He was dressed like a backwater yakuza, but considering what awaited him, this seemed like the best way to dress. He left the apartment and got into his Corolla. From 50 to 60, 80 to 90 kilometers per hour. The car plowed through Route 16 in the middle of the night. The car was parked on a bridge over the Shiba River, just short of their nest. He got out of the car with the special baton, which he had left lying on the passenger¡¯s seat, and tied it to his waistband. Nearby was the slide of the municipal swimming pool. In the distance, the lights of the buildings of Saitama Shintoshin could be seen. The parking lot was enveloped in deep darkness. The silence was overwhelming. He could hear the chirps of insects coming from the river. There were no fireworks, no exhaust noise, and no sound of the little brats and their charming racket. Wasn¡¯t it still time for them? He stretched his neck as if out of breath. In the parking lot, along with the discarded scraps, there were low riders, large Chevrolets, and Celsiors. There were also several mopeds and mid-size bikes with mufflers tampered with. He gasped for breath. Aware that his nervousness was getting worse, he approached the place. Soon he realized that he was in the middle of a bizarre situation. Motorcycles were overturned, lights were smashed, oil was leaking. The sedans and Chevrolets were no exception. As he got closer, the devastation became more and more obvious. A side window was smashed and the asphalt was littered with grainy pieces of glass. A front window white with webbed cracks. Doors had been dented with what looked like a blunt instrument, and paint was peeling. A car was tilted at an angle, as if the tires had been punctured. It was like a slap to the face. Fujishima stretched out his baton and looked for them. Assault. A lynching. These violent words brought back memories of that day. Wet, light blue security uniforms. Red lights flickering on and off at the convenience stores scattered in the darkness. Bloodied and gushing entrails, protruding eyeballs. He needed a gun. He wanted to call for backup. The muscles in his legs stiffened with fear. He realized he was no one, and he was devastated. He thought he saw a figure in one of the sedans. It was a young woman with long hair. ¡°Kanako?¡± He approached the sedan with a short shout and fast steps. The stiffness in his legs was gone, as if he had escaped from a spell. Leaning forward mid-stride, he peeked inside. Leopard print seats. Artificial flowers covering the car¡¯s garish interior. In the passenger seat was a young woman holding her head, covered in shards of glass. It was not Kanako. Her hair was bleached in a dirty way. Her sunburned shoulders, peeking out from a flower-print camisole, were bruised by shards of glass and oozing red blood. ¡°Oi! What¡­ what happened?!¡± The woman cowered with her head in her hands. He opened the dented driver¡¯s door, reached out and shook her by the arm. Rust-colored hair covered her face. Not Kanako. Damn it. The woman, terrified, wouldn¡¯t lift her head easily. ¡°Oi!¡± The glass fragments in her hair spilled out. ¡°Is Munakata here? What do you know?!¡± Her trembling fingers pointed to the asphalt sidewalk that led to the park. There was no light except for the cold fluorescent lights of the public restrooms along the way, and the darkness was even greater. The wide promenade had no people in it. Eventually, he came to a streetlight with a white light. A swarm of winged insects was buzzing in the air, making him feel sick to his stomach. The tennis courts nearby were already closed. There were human voices. They were high-pitched voices, neither yells nor screams. It was coming from the promenade where there was a small river. He caught glimpse of a head and looked over. About ten boys, dressed in a variety of outfits, were huddled together, slumped on their backs, leaning against the wire fence of the river. All were dirty and their hair was disheveled. Even in the darkness, one could see that they had been subjected to relentless violence. In the darkness further in, there was movement. Four other boys and others looked down coldly, as if inspecting the results of an experiment. In their hands were metal bats, taped iron pipes. One moved. Like a farmer plowing a field, the boy swung something stick-like. The sound was heavy, striking flesh and echoing through bone. There was a cry, like a baby¡¯s. ¡°Stop! Police!¡± Fujishima barked. The boys all looked at him. Their expressions were hard to discern. His hand holding the baton was sweating and shaking. With his other hand, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a notebook. It was nothing more than a black leather notebook. But he could not help pulling it out. From a distance, it did indeed look like a policeman¡¯s identification book. The four boys turned to look at Fujishima blankly. ¡°He, help¡­¡± One of the fallen ones tried to get up and crawl towards Fujishima. At that exact moment, a young man in a black baseball cap holding a bat kicked him in the stomach like a soccer ball, as if to show Fujishima how it was done. The man in the cap laughed. He did not look at Fujishima. ¡°Tamura. In the end, your head is only filled with dick cheese. What a shame.¡± ¡°You, stop!¡± Sweat streaming from his forehead met his eyes. The boy called Tamura was coughing up blood as he arched his back like a boiled shrimp. It seemed like Fujishima was minutes away from being the same. ¡°Drop your weapons and don¡¯t move!¡± The three of them looked at Fujishima and then stole a glance at the man in the cap, their eyes like soldiers waiting for orders. Fujishima realized that the man in the cap was the leader of the group. The man in the cap looked at him and listened to something whispered in his ear. Then he moved calmly, as if he knew Fujishima was not a policeman. The boys with weapons in their hands nodded at each other. Gangs always fight together. Confronting the blood-crazed brats required a reckless courage. The man in the cap slowly raised his arm. The metal bat left his hand and rolled on the asphalt, emitting a high pitched sound. His shaved head was hidden by a cap. Piercings were embedded in his ears, lips and eyebrows. A white tank top and brown cargo pants. A slender jawline and double eyelids. He squinted. ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡± ¡°Get over here!¡± ¡°You really a cop? You better show me your badge.¡± ¡°I told you to get over here!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll ask you one more time. Show me the badge.¡± ¡°Shut your damn mouth!¡± He grabbed Munakata¡¯s arm. The boys¡¯ eyes changed color. Their expressions hardened into rage and animosity. ¡°Move outta my way!¡± He swung his baton wildly to scare them off. His nylon tracksuit made a rubbing noise. ¡°Outta my way! Nobody move!¡± At his feet, a boy in a blood-stained T-shirt was moaning. He coughed like an old man with tuberculosis. Munakata shook his head blankly and put his hand in his pocket. ¡°Who the hell are you, man?¡± ¡°I have so many questions for you. Come on, get your ass over here!¡± His arm moved. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held something in it. His brain was setting off a loud alarm. Fujishima raised his baton. A small spray can, about the size of his palm, emerged in front of his eyes. With the sound of leaking gas, an orange-colored liquid sprayed from a pinhole-like spout. Fujishima quickly scrambled to cover his face with his hands, but he wouldn¡¯t make it in time. The skin of his face and hands felt a sore, burning pain. Fine mist invaded his eyes and nose, burning his mouth and windpipe. Coughing unintentionally, tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn¡¯t see anything and couldn¡¯t breathe. In his panic, he was sure he heard the sound of iron pipes and baseball bats scraping the asphalt. Someone clutched his arm and ripped away the baton. ¡°I got a question for you, too. Just who are you?¡± He turned away and tried to run. The clinging spice particles attacked his eyeballs. Tripping over a fallen boy, he slammed his body into the road. The impact broadened his shielding arm, and asphalt scraped away his skin. Humiliation burned his body and fear froze his heart. Damn it! They gave no reply, and the iron pipe that was squeezing his throat loosened its pressure. He wiped his face with his palm. He endured the searing pain and opened his eyes thinly. The boys surrounded Fujishima, their cheeks twitching and cracking into grins. Slowly, like rippling waves, they started to laugh. Then the steel pipe wiggled and hit his chin. ¡°Kidnap her? Kanako?¡± ¡°What¡¯s so funny?!¡± ¡°That¡¯s a riot.¡± Once again, the pipe pressed against his throat. ¡°I¡¯ll ask you again. Who the fuck are you? And where is that whore? Is this a set-up?¡± His airway was squeezed shut and his consciousness dimmed. A white haze covered his vision. In the distance, sirens sounded. A mixed chorus of police cars and ambulances. Suddenly, the force that was being applied was gone. The iron pipe had fallen to the asphalt. The boys were already running without looking at Fujishima. Before long, he could hear the wild sound of motorcycles and car exhausts. Munakata looked down at Fujishima, who was clutching his throat and writhing on the ground. ¡°My daughter¡­ where. Where is she?¡± ¡°Wow, Fujishima¡¯s dad, huh? You?¡± Words like gibberish leaked out. Where is my daughter? ¡°To go so far as to use her own pops¡­¡± Munakata also turned away and ran into the darkness. Fujishima put his face to the asphalt. Across the creek was a residential area. Light leaked from every house, and the sound of open windows could be heard. The sound of a distant car exhaust was soon replaced by sirens.