Chapter 03

Chapter 03

 

A MAN STEPPED LIGHTLY down the hospital hallway, threw open the sliding door to Dr. Washizuka’s examination room, and cast his eyes around the room. Washizuka sat facing an unattractive gray office desk, glancing over some documents.

“Pardon me.”

The man plunked a white picture frame down atop Washizuka’s desk. Takakura Kenzan was in the group photo, wearing an absurdly serious expression and flashing a peace sign. There was a curtain marked boldly in ink with “36th Antarctic Environmental Protection Unit.” The man then placed upon the desk a small flower vase filled with an arrangement of mostly white, but lightly pink-tinted apple blossoms.

“This should do it.” When the man turned around, the place had already been transfigured into “his” examination room. The room was fully furnished in white and a splendid, pale teal, the wooden window frames and floor and ceiling in his preferred style: both somehow dazzlingly pristine and a little weathered. A large clock was projected from the desk onto the wall, which displayed the time in simple Arabic numerals.

Within the cage atop the windowsill, in front of the tightly shut, opaque curtains, were two round, pudgy rabbits with blood-red eyes. They were cloaked in soft, black fur, their noses twitching feverishly as they took in the scent of a new room. The two rabbits wore expertly tied velvet ribbons in place of collars. The two were almost identical in appearance, but were distinguishable by how one ribbon pricked cleanly up, while the other had a lazy droop to it.

The man looked around the room again and gave a thin smile of satisfaction. He sat lightly upon the exam bed and produced a bright red apple, which he juggled in his hands.

Colored light in a myriad of hues shone from his long hair, flashing in and out of sight like a prismatic rainbow within the white room.

 

Kanba hated the word “fate.” If births, encounters, partings, successes, failures, and whether one achieved happiness, or fell into the arms of despair, were all determined by fate, then what on earth were humans born into this world for? What is it that they even lived for?

Some were born into prosperous homes. Some were born into poverty. Some were born beautiful, to beautiful mothers. Some were not. And some were born thrust into the middle of famine or war. If all those things were set in motion by the hands of fate, then God must be a horrible, outrageously cruel creature.

“I’m home,” Kanba called as he slid open the door. Judging by the unlit lights in the house, it seemed Shoma and Himari were out. “What, is everybody out somewhere?”

He passed through the darkened entrance into the parlor and pulled the cord of the light switch.

Penguin No. 1 followed behind him, looking exhausted. Atop the table was a note in Himari’s handwriting, along with a deep, wrapped dish. Kanba picked up the note, smiling at the flower and penguin that had been drawn in the corner.

We made your favorite today, cabbage rolls. We’re stopping by Ringo-chan’s place to share some with her. Make sure you wash your hands good and eat it all up! “Hmm,” he said out loud, then leaned in and peeled back the saran wrap slightly, inhaling the aroma. “Ooh. Curry flavor today, huh?”

Suddenly, the house phone began to ring. “All right, all right,” Kanba said, assuming his uncle was calling. He lifted the receiver. “Hello, Takakura here.”

The other end was silent.

“Hello? Who is this?” Still no answer. “Hey, if this is some kinda prank, I’m hangin’ up.” He was about to chow down on some cabbage rolls, after all.

“Isn’t it stunning?” came a low, gentle voice.

“’Scuse me? What?” Kanba asked.

“Your little sister, Takakura Himari, is going to die again tonight,” the person on the other end of the line said casually.

Kanba froze, breath catching and eyes going wide. “Who are you?!”

“One who comes from the place where fate resides,” was all they said before hanging up.

The place where fate resides. Kanba was certain he had heard those words before. In a panic, he searched for the penguin hat, which should have been sitting atop the old globe, but turned up nothing. He checked the family altar, the kitchen, and atop the bed in Himari’s room, to no avail.

Immediately, he called Shoma’s cell phone, but couldn’t get through. If they were going to see Oginome Ringo, then maybe he should head to East Koenji. Or it might be faster to question Masako first if he wanted to find out who that caller was.

He went over to Penguin No. 1, who was lying on the sofa, and smacked him awake. Kanba pondered the route that would get him to Himari the quickest. However, the caller’s threat kept butting into his thoughts, and he got nowhere, growing only more irritated.

“Why won’t you pick up the phone?!” He rested his cell phone on the tatami, sat down, and gazed at Himari’s lettering on the note. “Himari…”

It was the start of another long, dark night.

 

Oginome-san and I squared off under Himari’s watchful gaze, still within the subway car in the world of the penguin hat.

“What I’m saying is, it’s because of us that your sister is dead.”

“J-just a minute! How could Momoka’s passing have been your fault?” She seemed to be seriously bewildered.

“It was our mother and father who caused that accident. It happened in the spring, when we were born,” I said in what I thought was a calm voice. “Need I explain more?”

I stared at the floor, unable to look Oginome-san in the eye. She said nothing.

“Sixteen years ago, our parents, Takakura Kenzan and Chiemi, were part of the leadership of an organization that hurt and killed a lot of people. So it was my family who murdered your sister.”

Himari, who at some point stretched out across the bench, snorted, and gave a big yawn. She flicked her hair back emphatically, making a show of it. “This is taking too long! I’m so bored I’m falling asleep. Have you two come to comprehend the ring of fate which connects you both?”

I was silent. I hadn’t been thinking about anything. No matter how I considered it, there were some things I couldn’t do anything about; conclusions I could not reach. There were some efforts that would never pay off, no matter how hard I tried. I took great care not to think about the things I didn’t wish for. However, this was reality, one formed of worries and thoughts that made us suffer.

“Have you finally come to believe in destiny? Do you curse your fate? Goodness, humans are such feeble-minded creatures. I suppose it cannot be helped. Well, I will tell you one good thing as my parting words.” Himari stood up straight and pointed at us. “Listen up, you children of accursed fate! You lost the Penguindrum! The hares of darkness will be called once more upon this world! Indeed, the day of reckoning is now fast approaching!”

The moment the lady of the hat finished speaking, the mysterious subway train came to a sudden halt. Oginome-san and I both cried out, stumbling. The darkness from outside the window flowed in through gaps in the glass, swallowing everything. The luscious, sweetly scented frills of the Penguin Hat’s dress lost their white glow, like flower petals fading, and then crumbled away like sand.

“Himari? What’s going on?!” I rushed, panicked, to Himari’s side.

The penguin-hatted queen knelt there, listless.

“Himari-chan!” Oginome-san crouched beside her as well.

“You must obtain the Penguindrum,” said the queen, “if you wish to save your sister’s life and escape your own fate. You can switch the train to a different track, but you must find the Pen…guin…drum…” Her red eyes opened wide.

“The Penguindrum… You mean the diary, right? What is it you want us to do now?”

“Stop them.” The penguin-hatted queen no longer looked like much of a queen. The red light in her pleading eyes grew faint as the darkness closed in, from the edges of her desiccated dress to her body, until finally she closed her eyes.

The hat slipped from her head, as though it was nothing more than a hat.

“Himari!”

“Himari-chan!”

I quickly sat her up, brushing the hair from her face. Her face was pale, twisted in pain and dotted with sweat. “Himari! Himari!”

“Shoma-kun, we’re back.”

I looked around, suddenly realizing that we were back on the walkway in front of Oginome-san’s condo. The streetlamps shone down on the quiet nighttime street around us, and Himari’s body was curled in on itself. She was unconscious. The small white floral band that fastened her hair lay on the asphalt.

What was this day of destiny? Was everything ruined because we gave up the diary? Still, the penguin queen had said “parting words.” I’d never seen her in that much pain, nor had she ever vanished like that.

The cabbage rolls wrapped in gingham, lying on the concrete, were already completely cold. Penguins No. 2 and 3 opened the lid, and stared inside.

 

On a spring morning sixteen years ago, two children were marked by fate. They knew nothing of each other’s existence, nor of the humans who knew how to cherish, but also hurt each other.

In a large, dim, warehouse-like room, Takakura Kenzan raised a receiver to his ear.

“Really, they’ve been born?! How is my wife? Is everyone doing well? Oh, wonderful! Yes, yes, thank you so much. We’re in your debt. I’ll drop in there just as soon as I finish up some work. Please look after them. Of course. See you later.” Kenzan hung up the receiver, muttering, “Wow,” to himself. His cheeks were flushed and he beamed with a smile. Then, he picked the receiver right back up, and began laboriously sending a message on his pager.

“Shall. We. Initiate. The. Survival. Tactic?”

That message would be delivered all throughout Tokyo. It would be sent out to his associates at the base of Tokyo Tower, the government offices in Shinjuku, a busy street in Ginza, even the National Diet Building. The men who received and confirmed this message renewed their own resolve, and thought of Tokyo. Their city. Then they thought of this country, Japan, their thoughts spreading out further to the entire world.

In the morning fog, some men in work suits intermingled with the crowds of commuters and students pouring into the station entrances. A van pulled up in front of them as they stood beside the road, surveying the scene. Kenzan slowly emerged from the back doors.

He exchanged gazes with each of the men looking back at him and gave a small nod. “With this, the world will finally be at peace,” he said without moving his lips, holding an inward-facing peace sign in front of his chest. He and the men filtered into the crowd, and vanished into the station.

 

That morning, Tabuki Keiju, age ten, had overslept. He ran down the street, the open flap of his black backpack fluttering noisily, his messy bedhead untended. That day was his and his classmate Momoka’s turn to care for the class rabbit. They agreed ahead of time to make the commute together, but at this rate, Momoka would probably board the train before him.

“Come onnnn…!” he groaned, gazing at the traffic signal that turned red just when he was about to cross. He groaned in irritation, jogging in place. “Seriously, why did this have to be the one morning my alarm didn’t go off?”

The moment the light turned green, he took off again at full speed.

“If I’m late, I’m gonna end up in tickling hell again!” he moaned pitifully. When he finally arrived at the station, he came upon a clamor that was unthinkable for a normal morning crowd. He halted at this strange scene, trying to see what was going on. A pair of station employees repeated a message shouted through megaphones:

“Please accept our apologies! We cannot permit anyone to enter the station at this time! Due to a recent accident, service has been suspended on all train lines! We apologize for the inconvenience, but we kindly ask for your understanding!”

Tabuki stood, bewildered, among the adults troubled by not being able to board the train. “An accident? On the subway?” He was dubious, but then he overheard some of the commuters talking.

“Sounds like it was because of the fog.”

“I heard it happened in front of the Diet Building station.”

“No, it wasn’t just on this line; there were others, too.”

“I heard there were explosions.”

“Explosions?” Tabuki looked up at the sound of helicopters flying above. Ambulances and fire trucks raced past him, their sirens at full blast.

He stood there speechless for a time, unsure what to do, feeling a sense of unreality. Then it hit him.

“The subway? Momoka-chan!” He forced his way through the crowd of adults, all busy sharing information and contacting others, trying to see what was going on inside the station. “Excuse me, please move! My friend… She’s inside!”

“Whoa, look at that!”

Tabuki turned around at the sound of a man’s loud voice.

“Smoke? Is there a fire?”

Several adults were screaming now. Tabuki watched, unable to speak, his mouth agape. Between the distant skyscrapers were countless pillars of black smoke, rising up to a sky blue as ever. Numerous helicopters hovered around them.

This is bad, Tabuki thought. However, in the face of a serious incident that had already occurred, there was nothing a ten-year-old boy could do.

 

Momoka’s memorial portrait was bordered in white, delicate flowers. It pictured her with a soft, lively expression, as though someone had just called her name. Her striking, wide eyes peered out from below thick-cut bangs. Her hair fell stick straight to her shoulders, her smile carefree.

Tabuki stood motionless in the black clothing his parents picked out for him. There were adults dressed in black suits that reeked of mothballs, and students weeping dramatically. Relatives, who seemed to have known her better than he did, spoke of the kind of girl she was.

“It was such a terrible accident. I can’t believe there were so many casualties,” said one of a group of women who appeared to be acquaintances of Momoka’s mother. She was gazing softly up at the sky, her arms folded.

“Momoka-chan was only ten years old, wasn’t she? The poor thing,” another said sadly, gazing at the assembly.

“She was on the way to school. For her to have been just one train later than usual on that of all days… That’s so unfortunate.”

That of all days, the woman emphasized. Tabuki was aware that this happened because he left the house late. However, he also understood that it didn’t mean Momoka’s death was necessarily his fault.

“Apparently, they never found her body. The only thing they retrieved was her diary,” one said, very curiously.

“What? Really? Just her diary?” said another anxiously, as though they could not bear to stand there a moment longer. The woman kept glancing between the sky and the assembly. The visitation line stretched on for a while. “So then, that casket…”

“Totally empty. That’s probably why it took them so long to put this service together. I’m sure it was just too much for her parents to bear,” another said with a shrug. They seemed to be implicitly suggesting that this was not the sort of thing one should inquire into.

“That’s true.”

Tabuki’s homeroom teacher was tearfully encouraging his classmates to write their send-offs for this small, empty, white wooden coffin. Each of them wrote their thoughts in a letter that the unfortunate girl might read in Heaven.

Tabuki was almost never tardy when it came to class presentations. However, for the first time, he was late with his submission. He briefly considered not doing it at all. For days and days, he stared at his composition paper, but nothing at all came to mind. In the end, he simply wrote “Momoka-chan” on a little white card, glued it to the page, and submitted it.

He could not write “Thank you” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” “Goodbye” was completely out of the question. Their teacher was a little concerned that he might write something inside that should not be written, but seeing Tabuki’s clear dejection, they said nothing more on the matter.

Tabuki felt a wild, violent hatred toward his classmates who wrote innocent things like, “Please stay your same bright and happy self up in Heaven, Momoka-chan.” He knew firsthand that there were times when even innocent words felt the cruelest.

People only spoke without any doubt about God and Heaven when it was convenient for them. What had God or Heaven ever done for them? If such benevolent forces existed in the world, then why hadn’t they saved Momoka? Praying to such a worthless God never once crossed Tabuki’s mind.

“Still, it’s something of a mixed blessing, isn’t it? Momoka-chan’s little sister was born the same day she passed away.”

Momoka’s haggard-looking mother was in the seats reserved for family. Her head was lowered, and she held the smiling newborn Ringo in her arms. Ringo’s cheeks were a rosy red, like the fruit that was her namesake, and she was given Momoka’s diary to hold.

Obviously, Tabuki could not believe Momoka was dead. Why, they hadn’t even found her body. Momoka was looking forward to her sister’s birth more than anything. Plus, she promised to see the cherry blossoms with him when the trees were in bloom.

At any rate, there was no way that a girl as special as Momoka could simply just vanish from the world without a trace. It just could not be. This funeral with no remains was as empty as that coffin, overflowing with nothing but flowers and baseless conjecture.

As he stood there, unmoving, Tabuki squeezed both his hands tight and looked up at the smoke rising from the chimneys of the crematorium. Finally, he began to cry. The tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the ground and forming small stains. Still, he did not feel any better, and that was fine. He could keep waiting without forgetting Momoka. He could go forward, bearing the burden of losing her.

The cherry trees had already begun to bloom.

 

The call from Shoma came soon after the previous bizarre call, as Kanba paced impatiently around the house.

“Aniki, Himari collapsed again! Putting the hat on her didn’t help. Something feels different this time! What do we do? Anyway, I’m taking her to the hospital, so hurry!” Kanba knew immediately from the trembling in Shoma’s clipped voice that something unexpected had happened.

As he scooped up No. 1 and ran through the night to the hospital, Kanba thought of the cabbage rolls sitting on the table.

Whenever he had those perpetually petty fights with his brother, Kanba would always sulk off to bed in a huff, or make some excuse to go meet someone. Shoma would always go around the house, cleaning more thoroughly than usual. Both of them refused to budge an inch, neither wanting to be the first to speak. However, when it was just the two of them, or even with Himari present, they couldn’t keep up the stubborn act forever. It was too hard to keep going around with a scowl and refusing to speak a word to one another. As a signal that it was time to give up and make amends, the standard dinner menu in the Takakura house would be cabbage rolls.

A sweet, flavorful consommé wrapped in tender, boiled cabbage. The lovely look of the carrots and onions all stewed together.

“It’s cabbage rolls for dinner tonight. That should be good,” Shoma would say, bluntly stating the obvious.

“Guess that’s all right,” Kanba would reply, as though fully uninterested.

And with that, their fight would be over.

Sometimes, in the middle of the fight, Kanba would also make cabbage rolls at Himari’s behest.

“You’ve gotta make them sometimes too, Kan-chan. You’re fighting, aren’t you?” Himari once said to him, dressed in a jersey with a fine floral print, and denim shorts with long soft green socks, slamming a cabbage down atop the cutting board in the kitchen. “Honestly, the two of you are like little kids. The wise Lady Himari sees through all ruses!” A small pin had been stuck through her long hair.

Kanba had dragged himself over beside her, watching dazedly as she prepared the pot and bowls.

“Where’s Shoma?”

“In the bath. He’s in there scrubbing the heck out of the tile grout with an old toothbrush. So tonight, we’re cooking.” She peered up at him. “I’ll peel the cabbage; you go ahead and chop up the thick parts in the middle.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he’d sighed, gripping the knife awkwardly.

Himari had diligently filled the pot with water and peeled the cabbage leaves one by one.

“Heh heh heh, thou art such a stubborn creature, my dear. Do as I say, and bare yourself! Oh dear, my lord! You must jest! No, don’t look!”

Kanba was soothed down to the core. No matter how he felt, the little girl standing before him understood him, tolerated him, and always watched over him.

“C’mon, Kanba, you’re the servant, you have to say some stuff too!” she’d said very seriously. “And get busy!”

“Huh? Me? Some stuff, hm…?” he’d said as he thinly sliced and separated the cabbage cores. They sometimes set those aside in the fridge, chopping them up finely to put in the cabbage roll soup.

“Then you shall be punished, stripped bare and boiled to death!” said Himari, forcing her voice deep, rapidly peeling off the cabbage leaves, her little hands red with effort.

“Oh no! Your lordship, please stop!” Kanba had said by way of canned reply.

There was the fresh smell of the cabbage, and the fragrance from Himari’s hair, which swayed nearby. It was the same shampoo that she used every day, so why had the scent seized at his heart, sending a startlingly unusual ache into his brain?

“Hey, isn’t that a bit too many, though? We really gonna make that much?” he’d asked, distracting himself. Himari had seemed hell-bent on using up the entire head.

“Well, this is thy favorite dish, is it not? One would naturally prepare such an amount, if it’s to soothe thy spirits,” Himari had replied, puffing out her chest.

“I don’t really need soothing, though,” Kanba had said, thinking he might give a cabbage heart or two to Penguin No. 1. Penguin Nos. 1 and 3 were busy spinning around in circles, flirting with one another and toppling over on the floor, putting on a little act as the servants.

“Really? Then you need to make up with Sho-chan at dinner tonight.” Himari had smiled quietly, giving a triumphant snort at the mountain of peeled cabbage leaves.

“Huh? Well…” Kanba had waffled on his reply, following Himari’s little hands as she carefully submerged the cabbage into the pot.

“Don’t look so weird about it. The cabbage rolls are a sign of making up, aren’t they?”

“I guess so.” His fight with Shoma hadn’t been why Kanba made that face. It was because he was thinking about the girl in front of him. A girl who always looked Kanba straight in the eye, unwavering, and the only girl in the world who Kanba truly treasured from the bottom of his heart.

 

The man in a white lab coat shuffled down the empty subway train, an apple in one hand, the other hand shoved in his pocket. He walked through one connecting door after another, his coat sleeves flapping behind him.

The two red-eyed assistants following him were nearly twins, but they were easily distinguished by the red velvet ribbons adorning their fluffy black hair: one standing up straight, the other drooping. They wore black blouses with ascots the same color, secured with cameo broaches embedded with ruby-red stones. Their classy, charcoal-gray short pants were held up by dazzling white suspenders. Their simple garters were an essential accessory to the black socks they wore upon their tiny feet.

They scurried behind him, one of the assistants carrying a polished black leather medical bag, the other a silver attaché case.

The man smiled thinly. Their upcoming destination was but one of the places where fate resided. He could not wait to plunge in deep and brush that fate with his own two hands.

 

I watched Himari’s pale face as we rocked within the rushing ambulance. Oginome-san called to her repeatedly, but Himari only writhed in immense pain.

Himari was carried on a stretcher through the emergency room doors, and rolled quickly down the dark hallway to an intensive care room.

I had watched this scene before, the first time Himari died: helplessly standing with my brother on the other side of the glass while the doctors and nurses rushed around, frantically attaching and detaching tubes and masks, taking measurements, and infusing Himari with various substances.

This time it was not Kanba beside me, but Oginome-san. Still, that didn’t change a thing. We didn’t have the Penguindrum.

“Mary had a little lamb,” I said unconsciously.

Oginome-san looked at me uneasily.

I stared back and forth between the penguin hat and the white flower tie in my hand that had been in Himari’s hair. In that moment, all I wanted was to stop thinking, if only for a little while.

I could hear the regular beeping of machines from within the room. The electronic sounds reported on Himari’s life, but there was something almost mocking to their ring.

There was nothing either of us could do but stare in silence from the other side of the glass.

“Shoma-kun, are you all right?” Oginome-san’s voice sounded as though it was coming from a million miles away.

Was I all right? What did “all right” even mean? If she was wondering whether or not I was alive, then of course. I was standing there, healthy as a horse. But Himari could die at any moment. Under what circumstances could anything be considered “all right?”

“Mary had a…” I mumbled.

One of the graphs on the screens suddenly went flat, and the machine emitted a long, ear-piercing beep. Dr. Washizuka and a few of the nurses conferred with one another, and then removed the oxygen mask from Himari’s mouth. They were doing it again—that grim ceremony of checking the clock and giving their condolences.

“Himari-chan!” Oginome-san screamed.

“Shoma!”

I looked up at the shout to see Kanba standing before us, shoulders heaving with breath.

“What happened?”

What did happen? I had made curry soup cabbage rolls together with Himari. I had boarded the subway and gone all the way to Oginome-san’s place, to bring her some. Then the penguin-hatted Himari had appeared and unilaterally expressed her farewells.

She had bewildered us with haughty words and actions, and then vanished before our eyes. Then Himari collapsed, and now she was probably dead.

“Oi, are you listening?! Get it together, Shoma!” He gripped my left shoulder tightly. My body swayed loosely.

“Kanba-kun!” Oginome-san said, trying to calm him.

“Stop messin’ around! Gimme that!” He snatched the penguin hat from my hand and shoved his way into the room, ignoring the doctors’ warnings.

As he snatched it, the hair tie I was gripping along with the hat dropped to the floor.

“Himari! Himari!” Kanba called her name over and over again. Everyone in the room tried to console him, to calm him down, but it was no use.

“The black rabbits tempted her,” I said in the quietest whisper.

“Shoma-kun, what’s wrong?” Oginome-san peered at my face. Her large, distressed eyes were red and moist, her expression intense.

I just stood silently, weakly shook my head.

 

Mary had three beautiful little lambs. Whenever she took them out walking to the fields, everyone turned to look. The little lambs’ wool was soft as an angel’s wings, and they were all waiting with bated breath for the day she would shear them and spin the wool into yarn.

One morning, Mary awoke to a shock. The apple tree in her garden was dying. It was the first tree in the world. Every year it produced heaps of beautiful fruit, and aside from the lambs, it was her pride and joy.

Mary ran to the apple tree and began to weep. This tree once lit the way for the dreams, the loves, and the future of the world. Now that the tree withered, the world was plunged into darkness.

Mary wept and wept, the words of comfort from her lambs falling on deaf ears. Just then, a voice suddenly came from the sky. “Don’t give up,” it said. “The world hasn’t ended just yet.”

Mary lifted her eyes to see two large black rabbits sitting atop the cliffs, bodies swaying, ears pricking, their red eyes glinting. The black rabbits spoke to Mary as one: “Deep in the forest is a shrine to a goddess. Retrieve the ashes from the torch that burns there. If you sprinkle those around the apple tree, it will recover.”

Mary shook her head. No mortal could lay a hand upon the goddess’ flame—that much was law. However, the rabbits insisted. “Just borrow a little bit of the ash. That’s all you need to return light to this world. Surely even the goddess would be overjoyed by this.”

They convinced her. That night, Mary stole some of the ashes from the shrine, and sprinkled it on the roots of the apple tree.

Just as the black rabbits said, the apple tree came back to life. Mary reveled, dancing under the tree, so thrilled that she did not even look upon her beloved little lambs. The goddess, however, was outraged. Mary should not have broken the law.

The goddess decided to punish Mary. Or rather, one of her lambs would be punished in her place.

“Which. One. Shall. It. Be?”

The goddess chose the smallest and youngest of the lambs. The chosen lamb was a splendid, gentle-mannered babe. She loved cooking and knitting, and was always worried for her two hopeless older brothers.

The two sheep left behind said to the goddess, “Oh, Goddess. Why did you choose the smallest one, our little sister?”

And the goddess said to the sheep, “Because that’s the most senseless punishment, isn’t it?”

 

Seeing Kanba sitting at Himari’s side, Dr. Washizuka exchanged glances with the other doctors and nurses present, and they all quietly exited, leaving nothing but faint mechanical noises, the smell of medicine, and an empty room.

Kanba forced Himari’s limp hands around the penguin hat.

“C’mon, here’s the hat. This should fix it, right? Wake up, Himari!”

A faint red light shone from the eyes of the hat. Noticing Himari’s slender fingertips move ever so slightly, Kanba knew. He just knew it would be okay. Shoma must have done it wrong, or been mistaken somehow. He had made it in time.

“Himari…?”

Suddenly, Kanba was in the world of the penguin hat. The sky above was ashen with black clouds, the ground consumed by tattered frills. There was no trace of the familiar sweet fragrance. There was only the penguin-hatted queen, on the ground on hands and knees as a fog began to roll in on the feeble wind.

“Oi, didn’t I give you a part of my life?!” Kanba shouted at her. “Are you telling me you forgot our exchange?!”

The queen heaved a deep, pained sigh, and said nothing.

“Say something!” Angry, he roughly turned Himari’s body, sitting her up.

Himari’s chest heaved, the sound of her breathing desperately thin, a sound like a cracked flute wheezing from her throat. Her long hair and black skirt were spread wide across the ground.

“The offering I previously plundered from you is out of juice, so to speak.” The queen said. “Anyway, it’s too late now. We are returning home. This girl’s life has run out.”

Himari smiled cruelly, but her forehead was dotted with sweat, and her breath hitched now and then. She took Kanba’s hands and joined their palms, intertwining their fingers.

“This is goodbye,” she said firmly.

“Goodbye?! What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“To the place where fate resides, of course.” There was not a hint of fear in her voice. Her fingers pulled gently away from his.

“Just once more,” Kanba begged, grabbing her hands back. “Couldn’t we do it one more time?”

The silhouette of Himari’s delicate body was clear in the penguin dress. She had a childlike slenderness, straight limbs, a concerningly thin waist, narrow shoulders, and a modest chest swelling beneath her beautiful collarbones.

Light lingered on Himari’s red eyes as she looked at Kanba, shallow breath leaking from between her lips. At the very least, the penguin-hatted queen in Himari’s body was still alive. Gently, Kanba pulled her slender waist closer. His grip on her grew steadily firmer, and he could hear her strained breathing in his ear.

“My life in exchange for Himari’s life. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” He became aware of how tightly he was holding her, and loosened his grip.

“It’s no use. That’s just puppy love. You only feel that rapturous ecstasy the first time. It only works once.”

“Puppy love? Don’t make me laugh. What would you know about love?! Ecstasy? Only the first time? If the first time was enough to ease this pain, then I…” He pulled his body away from Himari’s and ripped open his shirt. “You don’t know if it’ll work until we try. Hurry up, let’s do this!”

The faint glow of life within his chest burned like a tiny candle flame. “The red glow of a scorpion’s soul,” Himari choked out in a ragged voice. She undid the large ribbon at her own chest, her fingers trembling. Then she stood, letting her frilly skirt fall to the ground. “Very well.”

Kanba looked up at Himari, his breath hitching.

“Shall we initiate the survival tactic?” she said, and shed her corset. Her upper body was freed, her breath still faltering, but calm.

Her body was smooth, yet beautiful, like a bar of fresh soap. Kanba gazed into her red eyes. They were wide open, staring into his soul. She leaned in, one hand slipping straight into Kanba’s chest.

Nothing happened.

She was unable to extract the red light of Kanba’s life. He ran a hand along Himari’s back as she plunged another hand into his still-agonized chest, trying to draw out that light, but it was as if fate itself was fighting back. She couldn’t do it.

She lowered her eyes and shook her head. Kanba gripped her arms as she tried to pull away.

“It’s no use,” she said softly.

Kneeling, the queen cradled Kanba’s head, drawing their faces close. Kanba brought his cheek to hers, simply letting her hold him.

He would think nothing of sacrificing his life if it meant saving Himari. However, if he couldn’t do that… If this pain in his heart and soul meant nothing…then what was Kanba supposed to live for?

He longed to touch her. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side, no matter where, no matter how. As the scent of the realm of the penguin-hatted queen began to fade, for just a moment, he could smell the scent of shampoo wafting from the hair of the real Himari.

When Kanba came to, he found himself collapsed on the floor of the ICU. He opened his eyes and reached out a hand to Himari, who lay motionless on the bed. Before he could grip her pale hand, the penguin hat slipped from it, and fell to the floor.

The flat prolonged beep signaling that Himari’s life had run out rang through his skull.

“Why? Why was I not enough for you?!”

Kanba felt the red flame within his own chest go out. His body no longer ached. However, the fact that Himari had just died did not mean his love for her had as well.