Chapter 01
Chapter 01
I WAS WRONG. You were always fearless, so coarse and frank in speaking your mind to me. I wanted to be like that too, if I could. I was just a little bit jealous of that freedom of yours. I know this is no excuse, but I was frustrated and so tired of everything: the Penguindrum, that formless object that we seek; my sister’s fragility; and the everyday lives we had to keep living despite it all.
I truly regret how cruelly I stressed that there had to be something dark within your heart. How could I possibly know that, when I’d met so few girls in my life? So please…keep being fearless and stubborn. Please stop wailing there, collapsed on the cold pavement. Just be by my side as I lie here on the ground. You look so pale, and it’s raining so hard. The night is growing deeper, the temperature falling. If you catch a cold, it will be all my fault. So please…don’t just sit there and cry. Get somewhere warm, with a roof over your head, where you can change into some dry clothes.
Also, just so you know, that nightgown you’re wearing is getting soaked clear through from the rain. I apologize—I just happened to catch a glimpse of what you have on underneath. I won’t say that out loud, though. I don’t want to make you any madder.
I was wrong. I sincerely believe that. So, won’t you please stop crying? I have no idea what I’ll do if you don’t, aching from head to toe as I am. I’m not especially sharp or clever when it comes to words.
That small, hunched back of yours is soaked gray, and trembling.
When I cracked open my eyes, it was to a familiar scent and the sight of a pockmarked white ceiling warping above me. At the very least, I wasn’t outdoors or cold anymore.
“Tch, look at him sleepin’ so peacefully. Not only is he not that sick, he’s not even hurt,” came a distant, but familiar, grouchy voice.
“Kan-chan, are you really one to talk? You went pale as a sheet the moment we got that call from the hospital,” came a higher, teasing voice.
“Shut up. You can’t tell Shoma that.”
There was a faint chuckle.
Slowly, I moved my heavy head to see Kanba and Himari standing by the window, silhouetted against bright sunlight. Goodness, morning already? I needed to get up and make breakfast. But when I tried to sit up, I felt a prickling pain all over my body and let out a raspy moan. I realized then that I was lying in a bed with starched sheets.
“Sho-chan! You’re awake!” Himari turned and rushed over to me. The sun shone through her long, soft hair.
“Shoma!” My brother’s eyes went wide as well, then narrowed as he sighed through his nose.
I propped myself up, again taking in the smell and the ceiling and the walls, the clock hung on the wall, and my siblings’ faces.
“Wait, am I in the hospital?” I asked in a hoarse voice.
“You idiot!” Kanba screamed in a volume inappropriate for a hospital.
“Idiot?” As I glared at him, he shoved me down onto the bed. “Ow! What are you doing?!” I bounced a bit from the recoil of the mattress springs.
“Whatever, you can just sleep there forever for all I care!” Kanba’s face twisted.
“Don’t you remember last night, Sho-chan? You were hit by a car and brought here!” Himari stared at me nervously.
“Ah…”
Right. I had been in the dark, pouring rain. Thunder roared, and the rain was so cold and harsh, and Oginome-san was there, collapsed on the ground and crying. This was all such a mess. I couldn’t even think where to start making sense of it.
“Do you remember?” asked Kanba, glancing my way.
“Yeah.”
“If your memory’s clear, then your brain is fine. You’ve always been a little slow anyway.” He finally smiled, poking my head ever so softly. “Don’t worry, you didn’t break anything. You’re just a little bruised. The docs were laughin’ about how lucky you were.”
I pouted and glared at him, but he suddenly looked away to the window.
“Don’t be mad at him, Sho-chan. Despite how he’s acting, he’s been worried sick about you. He didn’t sleep a wink all night,” Himari whispered to me.
“Himari!”
She pulled away from me, grinning.
I could only see Kanba from behind, but he didn’t look angry anymore.
“Oh, hey—” What about Oginome-san? I started to ask, but Himari cut me off.
“Oh, that’s right! I need to go tell Ringo-chan! You need to thank her, Sho-chan. She’s the one who called the ambulance for you, and stuck with you the whooole time!” Himari said innocently, before vanishing into the hall.
“Himari, wait.”
How could we…or rather, how could I face her, after everything that had happened? What could I say to apologize to her, if everything I remembered was true?
“So. More importantly, what happened?” asked Kanba, turning slowly back to me. His eyes flashed toward the door to check that the coast was clear before he continued, “Your accident. It had somethin’ to do with Oginome Ringo, didn’t it?”
Truthfully, it wasn’t wholly unrelated. Still, the fact that I saved her in that moment probably had nothing to do with the diary. We simply happened to be in the same place when she was in peril.
“Don’t tell me that chick pushed you?” he asked, his face rigid.
“N-no! Actually, I…really kind of messed up again there. I said something I shouldn’t have. But anyway, it was an accident, pure and simple. It wasn’t Oginome-san’s fault.”
He made an expression of disbelief, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion, eyebrows knit.
“What?” I glared back at him.
“You really are an idiot.”
Just outside the door to Takakura Shoma’s room, Oginome Ringo leaned against the wall, sports bag in hand. The nightmare that was last night had been shoved inside the bag next to her beloved diary, along with the soiled, sopping nightgown she changed out of after arriving at the hospital. Wrapped around her neck was a clean, white towel that she borrowed from the hospital, soaked with rainwater.
“Ringo-chan!”
Ringo slowly lifted her head upon hearing Himari’s cheerful voice.
“Sho-chan is awake, and he’s doing great! He said he wants to thank you. C’mon!” Himari grabbed her hand, but Ringo did not move a muscle.
“That’s good,” said Ringo, heaving a deep sigh and smiling faintly.
“What’s the matter? Let’s go!”
Ringo’s hand, which was slightly bigger than Himari’s with its long fingers and angular nails, was icy to the touch.
“I can’t. I’m not worthy.” Ringo hung her head.
“Ringo-chan, what’s wrong?”
Ringo pulled her hand gently away. With nowhere for her own hand to go, Himari’s fingers curled softly at her chest.
“What’s with all the insults, huh?!” Shoma’s lively voice was audible through the cracked open door.
“See? He’s better already,” said Himari with a smile.
Ringo clutched her bag more tightly, pulling it up over her chin and muttering, “Shoma-kun…”
He was in the accident because of her. No matter why it had happened, that fact was unshakable, and she had no idea how she could possibly apologize to Kanba, or the girl smiling before her…or to Shoma himself.
Project M was vital, but she never meant to get Shoma involved this way.
“It’s fine.” Himari smiled weakly. “Sho-chan wants to talk to you, too.”
Himari dragged Oginome Ringo, her head still bowed, into the room. “Kan-chan,” she said abruptly. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get some lunch.”
“But…” Kanba started. He looked between Shoma, who had his sheets pulled awkwardly up to his face, and Oginome Ringo, who stood stock-still in the middle of the room with her eyes to the floor.
“Maybe we should go?” Himari quietly asked.
“Yeah.” Shoma’s soft reply was hardly more than a grunt.
In a corner of a dining hall larger and more comfortable than one would expect from a hospital, Kanba sat leaning on his elbow, dazedly watching Himari knit. The pair of them, along with their two penguins, had just finished eating warm soba. Kanba sipped his hot tea, watching the faint tremors of Himari’s eyelashes, the gentle swaying of her long hair. Himari moved her needles quickly, and Kanba had no idea how she did so with such precision.
Every now and then, Himari would open her pale lips as though she wished to say something, or softly mutter something like, “There we go,” or, “Okay.” Suddenly, she looked up at him. “Hey, Kan-chan?”
“Huh?” He was so enraptured watching her that, startled, he knocked over his cup. “Oops…oh well, it’s fine. Wasn’t much left in there.”
He quickly set the cup back up and handed a wet towel to Penguin No. 1, who was sitting beside him. He directed it to clean the spill, and No. 1 dutifully began cleaning the table with both its wings.
Himari tittered, and continued. “So, um, have you ever gotten a present from a girl?” she asked, her knitting on hold for the moment.
“A present? Why?” Kanba replied, staring at the last drops of tea still left in the bottom of the emptied cup.
“Well, I mean, you’re so popular. Sho-chan said you were a ‘lady-killer.’” She gave him an odd smile.
“What nonsense has he been filling you up with now?”
“On that note, there’s something I want to ask you. What would you be happy to receive something from a girl?” she asked timidly, her eyes glimmering with intrigue.
“Hmm…” he said, pretending to think. “There’s not a single thing I’d want from any other girl,” he whispered only to himself, his attention drawn by the way Himari’s gaze was focused so wholeheartedly on him. “Well, nothing in particular,” he said flatly.
“I see.” For some reason, she let out a sigh of disappointment. “Uh, well then, how about the opposite? Is there anything you would hate?”
“Ah, well, I definitely have a few of those. Like the sorts of things chicks say they ‘put all their heart into making.’ I’m not interested in those,” he said, clearly this time.
“What?” Himari’s needles stopped moving.
“You know, like, bento and stuff, those weirdly involved ones. The ones with wieners cut into impossibly intricate octopus shapes, or the sushi rolls with pictures of flowers or animals or stuff on the cut ends. My least favorite ones are the ones with letters spelled out on the rice, like some happy housewife would make. Frankly, those give me the chills.” Kanba shook his head weakly as he recalled the bento he received with “LOVE” written out on the rice in flaked fish.
“So, bento are no good, then?” Himari leaned forward slightly. Penguin No. 3, who wore an out-of-season straw hat, mimicked this with eyes wide.
“Mm, and then there’s those stupidly huge cakes and stuff. The ones with little coupled figures in wedding dresses and tuxes on top. That one was especially freaky,” said Kanba, staring off into the middle distance as he ruminated on one particularly harrowing experience.
“Is that all? Any others?” Himari pressed on, uneasily.
“Hm…well, actually I think the absolute worst was a hand-knit sweater. It was super heavy and had big old initials on it. Sometimes she tried to force me to wear it,” Kanba said with a weary grimace, right before realizing that Himari had completely stopped knitting.
Himari lowered her eyes, jutting out her lip faintly, and set her needles down on the table. “So, a scarf would just be bothersome, wouldn’t it?”
Crap, thought Kanba. As considerate and kind as he could be to most women, he completely failed to consider what his sister might be thinking about right in front of him.
A brief silence fell between them.
“Hold up!” Kanba exclaimed as he stood up so forcefully that his chair fell over. Himari stared up at him, dumbfounded. He gripped her by the shoulders and said, “Listen, everything I was just saying was a joke! There’s no one in this world who’d be dumb enough to complain about a hand-knit gift from you! If I got a scarf from you, I would wear it anywhere, any time! Even if it was on the boiling sands of the Sahara, or the middle of a sweltering jungle. Hand-knit scarves forever! Viva la scarf! They’re the best!” he shouted, lifting his arms, knowing full well that he had gone too far this time.
He saw Himari, slack-jawed, out of the corner of his eye. Here he was, making a fool of himself. He was no better than his classmate Yamashita. Already too late to retract his best false smile, Kanba slowly lowered his arms.
Himari giggled and tilted her head. “Kan-chan, are you feeling all right?”
Just the faint smell of her familiar shampoo was enough to keep Kanba’s heart racing. He was no match for her. Himari stood up straight, stretched out a small, pale hand, and gently stroked Kanba’s head a few times. Then she tapped her broad forehead against his. Their mother used to do the same thing, long ago. Kanba shuddered, feeling his own forehead growing hot.
“I’ve finally reached a good stopping point for this, so I’m going to go home and get a change of clothes for Sho-chan now. I need you to stay with him in the meantime.” Himari was as sweet as a little candied fruit. Just the sound of her voice flowing through his ears was enough to melt all of Kanba’s troubles away.
“Roger that,” Kanba said with uncharacteristic meekness. He gave her a wry smile. If it meant protecting his family—protecting Himari’s smile—he would be a human, a fool, or a monster. Whatever it took.
He picked up the fallen chair and plopped back down on it. Across from him, Himari grinned, and put her yarn and needles away into her bag.
“Thank you, Himari.”
“But I haven’t done anything.” Her strangely soft voice echoed around the dining hall before she fell quiet again. It was as though nothing had happened at all in the past few minutes. Kanba considered saying something, but held his tongue. He decided to linger there a little while longer. Until she left the hospital, just sitting here and watching her was enough for him.
Oginome-san was utterly silent, sitting on the stool beside the bed I was propped up in. With Kanba and Himari gone and the curtains drawn firmly around me, my awareness of the surrounding empty beds began to fade, the silence enveloping us all the more starkly.
What could I even begin to say to her?
“Um. Shoma-kun. You didn’t say anything about last night, did you? When I saw Kanba-kun and Himari-chan at the hospital, I couldn’t…” Her breath hitched in sorrow. “I’m sorry!” She bowed her head so deeply that I could see the crown of her head.
I’m the one who should be apologizing, I wanted to say. Or, Lift your head. Or maybe, Don’t worry about it; I’m fine. In the brief silence, I finally sighed and spoke.
“You scraped your knees, huh?” Both her knees were plastered with blood-tinged bandages. “Did you get hurt anywhere else?”
Surely that would tell her that I didn’t blame her whatsoever. It wasn’t an especially absurd reply, was it?
“No, I’m all right.” She slowly lifted her head, glancing my way. Her eyelids were pink and swollen. She looked a bit tired.
“Good.” I smiled brightly. “I’m glad you weren’t injured too badly. I wasn’t even hurt that much. Putting me in the hospital was basically overkill,” I said. I tried to look her in the eyes, but they were hidden behind her thick bangs.
She continued staring at the floor.
“Anyway…I said some terrible things last night, too.”
The moment I said this, she cried, “I’m sorry!” and bowed her head again.
“No, listen, it’s fine.” I was trying to be as honest with her as I possibly could, but frankly, I couldn’t bear to have her apologizing to me like this. There was nothing impure in the slightest about my having saved her. However, there were copious impurities about us being together in the first place. In fact, I should admit that it was mostly impure.
This would be so much easier if she could muster up even the slightest bit of disdain for me.
“More importantly, is the diary all right?” I asked, certain that she would give me a firm reply of, Of course it is, but that reply never came.
“I’m going home for now. I’ll be back here later.” Slumping, she briefly locked eyes with me. She was clutching her bag close to her chest. Through the small gap in the opening, I could see the gown from the night before…as well as the diary.
“Huh? Is that the diary?” I doubted my own eyes. The sullied, rain-soaked diary appeared tattered and torn. “Was it destroyed?!”
“Half. Half of it was taken,” she said, voice trembling faintly.
“What happened?”
“It fell on the street last night, remember? Then someone came riding through on a motorcycle and tried to take it. When I tried to pull it back, it tore.”
“No way…” So my accident wasn’t the only reason she was bowing her head so apologetically. She felt responsible for losing part of the diary that we had been so desperately relying on.
I felt my mind going hazy. The diary was no longer complete. What did that mean for us now? What effect would this have on Himari?
Why had I bothered hanging around Oginome-san for all this time?
“Excuse me,” came an annoyingly clear voice. A nurse pushing a serving cart entered the room and swiftly drew back the curtain around my bed. I reflexively straightened my spine and shut my mouth.
“I’ve brought your meal, Takakura-san.” The nurse was strangely young, her eyes sharp as she stared at me, smiling gently. “I’m sure you must be hungry. We’ve included a special dessert today.”
Now that she mentioned it, I was indeed hungry. The last thing I ate was that tainted Montblanc at Tabuki’s place.
“Pardon me,” said the nurse as she set up a folding table for me, placing a food-laden tray upon it as she continued, “Here you are. Looks wonderful, doesn’t it?”
There were a number of bizarre things happening here. She was far too young, and her nails were filed into clean egg-like shapes, which seemed odd for a nurse. Plus, she had a strange smell about her—like perfume, something with beeswax, or notes of flowers or fruits mixed in. The dessert, which was flan, didn’t fit with the rest of the hospital meal. It was decorated with whipped cream and even had fruits on top.
“Whoa, a flan. Nice!” With hunger clouding my vision, Oginome-san nearby, and my brother being somewhere here in the hospital, my guard was completely down. It never dawned on me that anyone would bother to sneak all the way into the hospital just to harm me.
“Starting with dessert, really?” asked Oginome-san, staring at me a bit judgingly as I reached immediately for the flan.
“Trouble never rests. When you’re beat, you need something sweet.”
“You’re such a kid.”
Ignoring her, I began eating the flan. The spoon itself was strange as well. It was a proper dessert spoon, not the sort of tableware you would imagine at a hospital.
“Oh, my. I’m all out of tea,” the nurse said loudly, peering into the kettle with a troubled look upon her face.
“Oh, I’ll go get some, then,” said Oginome-san, unusually considerate.
“Thank you,” said the nurse, handing the kettle to Oginome-san. “The kitchenette is a little far from here. Do you know where it is?”
“I do,” said Oginome-san with a small nod, before leaving the room with kettle in hand and her bag flung over her shoulder.
“My, I’m truly jealous of you, Takakura-san. Having your girlfriend by your side looking after you.” The nurse grinned as she watched me stuff my face with flan.
“No, she’s not anything…like that…” Before I had time to be surprised at how my vision blurred as I looked up, the spoon fell from my hand. It made a lovely ringing sound as it hit the floor.
Before I lost consciousness, I thought I heard her say, “Goodness. We better crush him soon.”
Her voice was so cold that it sent a shiver down my spine. Her face had a strange hue to it. I felt as though I had seen it before somewhere.
Ringo proceeded back down the hall to Shoma’s room, heavy kettle in hand. Just before she entered the room, she passed by someone who resembled the nurse from before, pushing a serving cart, but she paid this little mind.
“Sorry I took so long, I got you some tea,” Ringo said, adding a small, “Huh?” as she pushed her face past the curtain. The nurse and the tray were gone, and so was Shoma.
“Shoma-kun?” Had he stepped away to the restroom? If he had, then why had everything vanished, including his phone that was on the bedside table? What did it mean that even the nurse, who should have been waiting for the kettle, was gone?
Standing in the disquieted atmosphere of the silent hospital room, Ringo knitted her eyebrows.
Kanba gazed around the empty room, eyes wide.
“What do you mean, he vanished?” Presently, there was no one else in sight.
“I don’t know. He was supposed to be eating lunch, but when I got back there was no one here.” Ringo stared at Kanba uneasily, the kettle set on the floor and her bag clutched to her chest, still looped around her shoulder.
Kanba walked carefully around the bed. There was nothing particularly suspicious around. There was only a spoon lying on the clean, generic floor. He picked up the polished silver dessert spoon and breathed a soft breath. Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his back pants pocket. He frantically checked the text as he prickled with a sense of déjà vu. “It’s from Shoma!”
“Hand over the diary half, or else Takakura Shoma will die,” read the text.
“Huh?!” Ringo leaned forward, staring at the screen alongside him. Seeing this, Ringo stiffened, clutching her bag more tightly.
“Diary half? What’s that mean?”
There was another message, with an attachment. “Takakura Shoma, presently,” it read, beneath which was a web address. Kanba clicked the link at once. It was a video of Shoma bound to an operating table in a dark room.
There was a ball gag stuffed into his mouth, and his face, lit by the blue flame of a blowtorch, was twisted in fear, his moans loud and forceful.
It appeared that the video was being livestreamed, but given how dark the room was, the screen was grainy and it was impossible to tell where he was.
“What is this? Who the hell would be after the diary?”
“Um, here.” Ringo pulled the diary half from her bag and timidly offered it to Kanba.
“Just half? Where’s the rest?” He took it immediately, carefully inspecting the torn edge.
“It was taken last night,” she said timidly. She suddenly recalled the cold of the rain, the sound of the thunder, and the motorcycle’s engine roar. The memory was so vivid that it almost felt as though she was back at that terrifying scene.
“Taken?! By who?!”
Ringo took half a step back in fear as Kanba roared at her. “I don’t know. This motorcycle came out of nowhere, and the person riding it tried to pull the diary away from me. After that I was still standing in the road, and just as a car was about to hit me, Shoma…” She pressed her forehead, dizzy. She looked ready to cry.
“Doesn’t seem like you’re lying,” said Kanba, scrutinizing her unforgivingly.
“Of course I’m not! If Shoma-kun hadn’t saved me, right now, I would be…” She looked to the bed with its sheets rumpled, where Shoma had been.
If Shoma hadn’t saved her, then Ringo would be in that bed right now, or maybe even dead. And yet she faltered, unsure of whether to prioritize him over the fate of her own family.
“So…” Kanba, with his handsome looks and a perpetual scowl on his face—so completely unlike Shoma’s—stared at the name written on the cover: Momoka.
We have to save Shoma right away, Ringo thought, so he can scold me and this scary brother of his. If only he could have been sitting in the bed, eating his flan like nothing had happened, when Himari returned with his change of clothing.
“Take it! If you don’t, Shoma will die, won’t he? So hurry up!” Ringo implored him.
“Are you sure?” Kanba asked suspiciously.
“Well…” If Takakura Shoma ended up dead, Oginome Ringo would be devastated. She could not imagine a world without Takakura Shoma, and such a thing could not be allowed to happen.
“Okay, hang on.” Kanba stared at the screen again. “Shoma’s safe for now. Plus, it’s not like we have no leverage here.” He swiftly manipulated the phone, pulling up a map, and grinned.
“What?” Ringo asked, noting how truly different Kanba’s smile was from his brother’s.
“Both those messages and that video came from Shoma’s phone.” Kanba zoomed in on the map, staring at a location with a red dot on it. “Knew it.”
“You know where he is?”
“Yep. He’s being held somewhere in this hospital. There’s no way they could have gotten him that far in that short of a time. This has gotta be it.”
Ringo would do whatever it took to save Shoma. Still, the sharp glint in Kanba’s eye, the way he thought, and the swiftness of his actions were uniquely frightening. It was strange to think that this man could be at all related to the kind, meek, and conscientious Shoma. The chilly aura emanating from his body stung at Ringo’s skin.
“You hold onto this,” said Kanba, shoving the diary back at her.
“But—”
“Even if only half of it is left, Himari needs it. We need it. Don’t hand it over to anyone, no matter what!” His voice was low and forceful.
“But if you don’t take this to them, then Shoma…”
Ringo pictured Shoma’s face. The way he always looked troubled, whether he was smiling, angry, or giving out a lecture. And his voice, so soft and comforting… All of these things were already so dear to her.
“I’m going to save Shoma,” Kanba said. “I promise you that. That’s why you need to protect this. It’s important enough to you that you would drag Shoma around all over the place and still not give it to him, right?”
“That’s…true.” If I can have faith in Shoma, then perhaps I can have faith in Kanba, too, Ringo thought. In fact, she was a little surprised at how thoroughly she believed in Shoma. “Please, you have to save him.”
“He’s my little brother,” he said, flashing Ringo a confident smile.
On the rooftop below the great wide blue sky, several white sheets were hung out to dry, all waving in the wind. Kanba sauntered into the sea of sheets. He held out a paper bag as he proceeded.
“I brought the diary, as promised! Where are you? Come out and get it!” As he raised his voice, holding the bag aloft, a sphere the size of a golf ball pierced through the sheets right next to him, grazing his cheek.
He gasped as the spheres began flying in from every direction, sending him dodging to and fro, not leaving him a moment to focus.
He tried to look between the gaps in the sheets to determine where the spheres were coming from, but he could not keep up. The moment he hesitated for even a second, a sphere collided with the bag, knocking it from his hand.
In an instant, the outside of the paper bag caught fire, black smoke rising from it. The periodical he had put inside in place of the diary soon became visible.
“Saw through it, huh?!” Kanba clicked his tongue.
The spheres stopped coming, the only movement the smoldering bag and the hole-filled sheets swaying in the wind. As Kanba looked around, he spotted a glimpse of a woman’s legs, running beyond the upturned sheets.
“There!”
He pushed back the sheets haphazardly, following the sound of the woman’s feet. She evaded his pursuit as though she were dancing through the waves of sheets. Then, suddenly, she vanished.
“You little…!” Kanba rushed through the labyrinth of sheets, quickly glancing around, until he came to a space utterly devoid of anyone’s presence. All the signs of life he picked up on before disappeared.
A faint, familiar melody began to play. Kanba looked down to his feet to see a wooden music box placed there. It was playing Dvořák’s “Going Home.” His face crinkled slightly as he leaned down to look at the tiny box.
“This is…”
“So, have you remembered?” A voice echoed across the rooftop via a loudspeaker. It sounded like it was being run through a voice changer, so Kanba couldn’t tell the age or gender of the speaker.
“What’s this about?! What am I supposed to remem—?” Before Kanba could finish his sentence, another sphere came flying toward him, completely shattering the music box. The small explosion blew Kanba onto his back, leaving him staring upward. “Owww…” He pulled himself up, patted out the embers, and stared speechless at the smoldering music box.
“Keep walking!” the speaker demanded sharply.
This was like what had happened with Kuho Asami and Chizuru and Yui, but further escalated. However, it was unclear what Kanba was supposed to be remembering, or what this voice wanted him to do. If he couldn’t figure it out, then this stranger might start taking more drastic measures. He needed to rescue Shoma.
Kanba entered the stair block. This was the same door from which he entered onto the roof, yet for some reason the air within was hot and tense. It was like he’d just opened the door into the unknown.
“Wah!” Without any notice, a brass arrangement of “Going Home” began blaring at a nearly ear-bleeding volume.
Kanba reflexively clapped his hands over his ears, but the music still reverberated inside his skull. The sound filled up every inch of the space. He couldn’t imagine how huge the speakers must have been, or how many of them there were. Kanba inched his way down the cramped, filthy stairs. His lungs burned, and he was wracked by a formless pain. Was there some deeper meaning to this tune? Or was it merely all part of the production? The sound of the instruments filled his head, his thoughts too scattered to remember whatever it was he was supposed to recall.
The third floor. Upon the wall was written the number “3,” in lettering almost as large as Kanba was tall. There was nothing unusual here; no signs of an incoming attack. “Going Home” blared from the speakers, so even if there had been some sign, Kanba likely wouldn’t have noticed.
He headed down the hall toward the next flight of stairs down. Just as he began to question his enemy’s motives—an enemy who was surely watching him from somewhere—the hospital room door in front of him suddenly opened, and a bed came rolling smoothly out before him. Atop the bed was a large, square basket, fringed by white lace.
The sight took his breath away.
Inside was a bento galaxy, packed beautifully with handcrafted, delicately cut wieners; sushi rolls with flowers and bears on the cross-sections of their slices; white rice decorated with sakura denbu forming a heart and the word “LOVE,” and all of it spattered with cheese slices cut into the shape of stars and studded with green peas.
“Is this not enough to jog your memory?” came the voice through the speaker. Kanba continued walking down the hall, not bothering to answer. His vision spun, the excessive sounds of the music throbbing in his head.
He descended to the second floor, walking with his hand against a wall painted with the number “2.” Unsurprisingly, as he reached the middle of the hallway, a bed came rattling out from one of the rooms. Atop this one was a three-tier wedding cake, lavishly decorated with frosting, and so tall it nearly reached the ceiling. At the crown of this cake were lit sparklers, as well as a pair of figures of smiling newlyweds clad in a white dress and tuxedo, moving in slow rotation.
Through hazy eyes, Kanba gazed up at the towering cake. He blinked repeatedly, the sparklers almost blinding.
“Is this not enough? Do you still not remember?” demanded the voice.
Kanba began dripping sweat, bile rising in the back of his throat at the sickly-sweet smell of the frosting combined with the booming voice. What did they want him to remember? He shoved the bed away and fled down the stairs. He could tell by the dull shadow cast across the floor that the cake was swaying.
The moment he reached the first floor, before he could even find the number “1” upon the wall to confirm his location, the next bed rolled out. Upon this one was a mannequin bust, wearing a sweater. The sweater was a simple crewneck, knit from bright red yarn. In the middle of the sweater was a white heart emblazoned with the red letter “K.”
All of these unpleasant memories were a sticky mess in the depths of his mind, clinging to the pit of his stomach, but they remained hidden, lurking, and he could not remember a shred of detail. The memories were like demons rising from the depths of a pool, gripping at his ankles and slowly drawing themselves up to show their faces. “Going Home” tore at his eardrums, and the bright red of the sweater stabbed at his eyes.
“Put that on! You have no choice in this matter!” the voice from the speakers boomed.
Kanba snatched the sweater from the mannequin bust and roughly pulled it down over his uniform shirt. The ends of the sweater were unfinished, the red yarn trailing off down the hall.
“Always with the cheap gimmicks,” he muttered, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice.
As he wobbled down the hall, never once did it occur to Kanba to ask who this enemy was.
“Well? Seems like you’ve remembered,” said the voice as Kanba looked across the hall of the first basement floor, marked with a “B1” on the right-hand wall.
“Yeah. I remember.”
The red yarn stretched into an ancient, rusted operating room door at the end of the basement hallway. There, Kanba was sure he would find what constituted a large portion of the memory that had finally returned to him. He put his hand on the handle of the sliding door and pulled, but perhaps because it was so old, or because it was heavy, it would not budge. He pulled harder, putting his whole weight behind it. Finally, the door slowly eased open with a painful, keening sound.
Ringo’s legs dangled over the edge of the bed Shoma had laid in. She held the kettle in one hand, a teacup in the other. Evening light poured in from the window as she sat quietly, sipping cup after cup of lukewarm barley tea. She was waiting either for the phone at her side to vibrate, or for Kanba and Shoma’s return.
In the bed on the other side of the curtain lay an old man who was recently admitted to the hospital. She could hear him engaging in pleasant conversation with his family, who had come to bring him his things.
The large, round, golden teapot was still chock-full of tea. Ringo passed the miserable time quietly, unconsciously sipping the tea from the cup and filling it up again from the pot when it was empty.
The glittering spoon that Shoma had held was placed casually beside the cell phone. Ringo stared at the dimming light outside the window, her hand gripping the teacup a little more tightly. They needed to hurry up before Himari came back, or before Ringo lost her cool and started crying. For now, though, she kept a stalwart face, sipping stubbornly through the tea reserves. Even if her stomach filled to bursting, she would keep on drinking.
If only they would come back already.
The moment she saw her phone move the slightest bit, she raised it to her ear, not stopping to check who the caller was. “Hello? Shoma-kun?” Though the surface of the bed was uneven, the big, heavy teapot did not move an inch upon it. All she could hear from the other side of the phone was breathing. “Who is this?”
“The instructions I gave to Takakura Kanba were a trap. Oginome Ringo, you will bring me the diary. If you don’t come at once, Takakura Shoma will die.” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded as though it was being run through a voice changer.
Ringo pulled her face away from the phone and looked at the screen, but neither name nor number was displayed. With a flash, the screen changed, showing the same dark video that was sent to Kanba’s phone: Shoma, bound to an operating table with a ball gag filling his mouth, facing the screen and moaning desperately.
Ringo opened her mouth, unable to scream. Shoma was still safe. However, Kanba had yet to reach him. He still had not been rescued. If she didn’t hand over the diary, he might actually be killed.
She drew in a quick, deep breath as her eyes fell to the bag at her swaying feet. “I understand. Where should I bring it?” She stood up and took the diary half from the bag. She summoned every last drop of her courage, making sure the person on the other end of the line would not hear how her voice wavered.
The third-floor passage faced out onto the parking lot, from where the setting sun was clearly visible. From elsewhere, the melody of “Going Home” noted the time.
Ringo clutched the diary to her chest and started down the indicated passage. Soon, her phone began to ring.
“Hello?” She was certain she was being watched from somewhere, but there were far too many people and windows and doors in this hospital. Every last one of the nurses and patients and white-coated doctors passing her by looked suspicious.
“Keep going toward the railing,” said the voice, wholly without feeling. “Then, drop the diary below.”
Not saying a word in reply, Ringo looked down through the glass-sided railing. There, she saw a lot of cars, but no people. She touched the cover of the diary again, gently stroking the torn-off edge.
“I’m sorry, Momoka.”
Ringo steeled herself and threw the diary over the railing. She leaned over the railing to watch it fall just as a black figure leapt out from the shadows, snatched up the diary, and dashed away in the blink of an eye. Ringo felt the urge to chase the figure, but thought better of it. Doing anything unnecessary now might only put Shoma in more danger. Plus, she would never be able to figure out where the figure vanished to.
She crouched down on the spot, burying her face in her knees as the orange sky darkened into the navy blue of evening. “Why?” she asked no one, but all she could do was believe that her actions would be enough to save Shoma.
Ringo didn’t get any more calls, and when she tried calling back, it wouldn’t even connect. She decided to return to Shoma’s former room instead, her head and her heart twisted with unease. She stood slowly, straightening her back.
Her heart was probably still black, wasn’t it? Black and dirty.
Without the diary, there was now little left within her heart. Momoka’s diary was one of the only things giving her the strength to keep on living. It was because of the diary that she was able to maintain any ties to reality, and to make any compromises.
If Takakura Shoma did not return, then Oginome Ringo might never again know anyone who could erase the blackness from that heart of hers.
Beyond the rusted door was a dark, silent operating room, just as Kanba had seen in the video. Even the melody from outside could not reach this place. He faced the direction the red yarn led him toward, and proceeded farther into the room.
The moment he spotted Shoma strapped to one of the old operating tables, the tension fell from Kanba’s shoulders, and he breathed a little easier. The strains of “Going Home” still rang in his head, and his vision blurred slightly.
“Shoma!”
When Shoma noticed Kanba, he shook his head wildly, moaning around his gag. Kanba rushed forth to release Shoma from his bonds, but just then the iron door behind him shut with a dull sound. As he turned around, the dim lights illuminating the room all went out, and his field of vision went black. At the same time, he heard a faint mechanical sound. Beyond that, all he could hear was his and Shoma’s breathing, and his own retreating footsteps.
“Shoma, are you all right?!” Kanba asked.
“Muh-huh,” Shoma replied.
Kanba turned in the darkness. “Where are you?!” he called out to his unseen enemy, who he now was certain was Natsume Masako. The blackness was so thick that his eyes couldn’t even adjust, but he was sure she was lurking somewhere in the dark. “Come on out. Enough of this messin’ around! Let Shoma go already!”
Kanba wondered what that mechanical sound from before had been. Was it a weapon? If it was some kind of night-vision device, Masako would be able to see Kanba’s position clearly. As things stood, it was unlikely she would lay a hand on Shoma, but Kanba wouldn’t be able to untie his brother, either.
Kanba began groping through the darkness, straining his ears for the mechanical sound. His first priority was to get the door open before Masako could attack.
“Heh. So you’ve finally remembered.”
Kanba gasped at the sudden whisper in his ear. She was right behind him, so close he could feel her breath.
“You!” Kanba squeaked out, but when he turned, he of course saw nothing.
“That sweater looks perfect on you. ‘Pigeon’s blood red’ really is your color.”
The only sounds in the darkness were Masako’s lilting voice and the sound of her footsteps.
“I don’t know anyone else who’d use such messed-up, roundabout methods. Spill it. What’re you after? How do you know about the diary?” asked Kanba, addressing the darkness as a whole.
Masako was seemingly unfazed by his insults. “Hm… Well, I suppose I owe you a reward, oh faithless hero who followed Ariadne’s crimson thread to this place. Very well. I will answer just one question.” She took up her beloved slingshot, one she had used so many times before, and took aim at Kanba’s forehead. She pulled the strap back taut. “What I am after is…” Her eyes narrowed behind the night-vision goggles, and after a moment, she let the slingshot fall to the ground. She then discarded the goggles completely and ran to Kanba, clasping her hands around his sweat-soaked face. She tilted her head and swiftly kissed him.
Kanba’s back collided with the wall at the force of her embrace. His eyes widened, and he was breathless from the feeling of her soft lips on his, the potent smell of the perfume she wore. Even if he couldn’t see her, he remembered these sensations vividly.
He frantically shoved at Masako, but his arms found only open air. At that moment, all the lights in the basement flickered on noisily, illuminating the whole room. Reflexively, he shielded his eyes from the bright light.
Masako vanished.
“She’s gone?!” Kanba exclaimed.
Shoma also screwed his eyes shut as he writhed atop the dirty operating table, kicking his legs and moaning. Kanba quickly went to him, removed the gag and worked at the ropes.
“Kanba, th-that woman, that was…!” Shoma frantically stammered, gasping for breath. Just like Kanba, Shoma’s memories of Masako resurfaced.
“Yeah.” Kanba wiped his lips forcefully and tore off the red sweater. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before releasing Shoma from the table.
“Ow…” Shoma muttered as he slowly sat up. “Kanba, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go. We need to get back before Himari does.” Kanba grinned warmly at his brother.
And so, propping each other up as they tottered along, the pair departed the basement.
Ringo was nodding off on the hospital bed. She hadn’t slept a wink all night, and she was so, so sick of the taste of barley tea. She pulled out the tray table and placed the kettle and her phone upon it before lying down, ready to rest in the arms of the sandman.
The faintest hint of Shoma’s scent lingered on the starchy hospital sheets. Ringo fought back the hot tears she felt welling up behind her closed eyes. Doing so made her temples ache, and she felt all the sadder.
How much time had passed since she handed over the diary? She was at a loss. Countless dreadful images flashed through her mind, but she quashed them by imagining the best possible outcome. Her eyelids were lead, her body and mind thoroughly exhausted.
“Ringo-chan.”
Ringo opened her eyes a crack at the soft, high-pitched voice.
“Ringo-chan, have you been crying?”
She looked up, wondering who was speaking to her, and saw Himari. Ringo flew awake then, suddenly remembering where she was and the situation that was currently unfolding.
“W-welcome back, Himari-chan! I wasn’t crying!” She shuffled off of the bed, wiping her tear-blurred eyes with her fingertips. “Goodness, what am I doing here? Anyway, that didn’t take you long!”
Himari was dumbfounded. “Really?” she asked as she pulled open her bag and put the contents away on the shelf and in the drawer. The world outside the window was already completely dark. “Where are Sho-chan and Kan-chan?” she asked with a smile.
Ringo reflexively smiled back at her, but fell silent.
“Did…something happen?”
Ringo snapped back to attention at the straightforward question.
“Yo, thanks Himari,” came a loud voice from the doorway. The pair turned to look.
“Kanba-kun! Shoma-kun!” shouted Ringo, swiftly covering her mouth bashfully.
“And where did you two run off to? Making Ringo-chan keep watch like this…” asked Himari, puffing out her cheeks.
“Well, uh…” said Shoma, smiling weakly and scratching his head.
“Oginome-san was pretty worn out, so we went to the cafeteria to let her use the bed for a bit. Right, Shoma?” said Kanba, casually brushing the dust from his clothing and wiping his brow.
Shoma looked Ringo’s way and nodded fervently. “That’s right! You were pretty sound asleep, so we thought it’d be bad to wake you.”
Ringo restrained herself from immediately leaping for joy. “Yes. That’s right,” she said instead. “Thank you, you two,” she added with sincere gratitude.
“Oh, I see. You need to take it easy then, Ringo-chan. It’ll be time for dinner soon. We should probably head home after we get Sho-chan’s things in order.”
Himari gave a gentle smile, not the slightest hint of doubt crossing her features. Ringo pressed a hand to her chest in relief, looking again at Shoma and Kanba. Kanba patted Shoma lightly on the back, his face soft, while Shoma smiled peacefully. The two of them really are nothing at all alike, Ringo thought. Still, at least there was no mistaking how close they were as brothers. Both were serious, hardworking, and full of love for Himari.
Natsume Masako sat within a subway car as the train raced along the darkened rails. She looked straight ahead, her posture perfect, with her penguin Esmeralda sitting upon her knee. Masako met the eyes of her own reflection in the glass of the opposite window, and quietly averted her gaze.
She stroked Esmeralda’s dark head, the short, soft hairs smooth and soothing against her palm.
“The diary is now ours, just as planned. I can’t wait to see what happens next, Esmeralda. The hunt is only just beginning. Naturally, Project M will be seen through to completion. I’m not the sort of foolish hunter who would let my prey escape my grasp.”
Masako looked again at her own reflection. This time, she locked eyes with her own gaze, her eyes glinting.
“Survival Tactiiiiic!!”
Masako turned slowly toward the source of the voice. She saw a lone young boy wearing an elegant penguin hat, in the showy style of the Prince of Penguins. The boy was staring straight ahead, his eyes glowing red.
“Yes, that’s right, Mario-san.” She smiled tenderly at the boy. However, there was no change of expression from the boy named Mario, and not a single reply.