Chapter 07

Chapter 07

 

FOLLOWING THE SHOCKING onsen affair, Yuri-san had a new room prepared for herself, and I brought Oginome-san to sleep in my and Yamashita’s room. Yuri said that she wasn’t going to do anything else, and it felt like she was telling the truth, but having seen her assaulting Oginome-san, I wouldn’t leave the two alone together.

Yamashita was sleeping in our room, sprawled out on the tatami. When I told him that I was bringing in a girl, he naturally kicked up a fuss and started grilling me about our relationship, but I explained simply that she was “a friend of Himari’s.”

Himari’s friend. Our friend. Still, we could not stay together forever.

I barely slept a wink before morning came. The sky was bright and clear, and the relaxing sound of the waves and crisp air enveloped my fatigued body, giving me just a little more strength to face the day.

“Where…am I?” Oginome-san mumbled as she awoke, sitting up and rubbing her tired eyes.

I was sitting by the window in a rattan chair, but before I could open my mouth, she noticed Yamashita snoring beside her, and screamed.

“Who are you?!” She crawled quickly away from the futon, holding shut the front of her yukata.

I wished she wouldn’t make such a fuss over the likes of Yamashita, given what a terrible situation the night before had been.

“Um, good morning, Oginome-san.” Her jaw dropped again as I called out to her from the wide-open sliding door of the adjoining room. “How are you feeling?”

“Where’s Yuri-san?” she asked.

I wondered how much she remembered about the night before. I was up all night wondering if it was better that she remember nothing at all, given that nothing happened, or whether I ought to tell her about some of it, but I still had not come to a decision.

She immediately began to question me. “What are you doing here? Who’s this guy?”

“His name is Yamashita. He’s my classmate. We both happened to be staying here yesterday. Then, last night, there was that call.” If she remembered what was said during the phone call, she might end up remembering the state she had been in. I shut my mouth.

“Call?”

“Oh, well, uh, you accidentally had some of the wine that Yuri-san was drinking, and you um, got drunk, and…called me. Then, we found out we were staying at the same ryokan, so…” So, what? I already told her that we shouldn’t see each other anymore, so it seemed odd for us to meet up just because of some “strange coincidence” while traveling.

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Sounds weird.” Though she was groggy, she still had a sharp look in her eyes.

“You were really drunk, and I was worried, so I helped look after you. I mean, Yuri-san doesn’t know anything about us, and I couldn’t just leave you alone.”

She looked at me, slightly troubled. Had I said something strange? The silence was painful. My story really didn’t add up at all.

“I see. Thank you,” she said softly. “I remember as far as eating dinner, but I have no idea what happened after that. I’m sorry for troubling you.” She slowly stood up, sweeping her hair into place with her hand. “I’m going back to my room. I need to check in with Yuri-san.”

I wanted to tell her that she probably shouldn’t be alone with Yuri-san, but it was already breakfast time. I didn’t have enough money to pay for her train fare, and judging by the uniform and the few other items I saw in Yuri-san’s room, Oginome-san came here right after we parted ways at the school gate. She probably hadn’t had time to make any of the necessary preparations. She probably wouldn’t be thrilled to be badgered by Yamashita either, and I wasn’t able to remain beside her like I used to.

I was still uneasy, but I decided it would be for the best to trust Yuri-san to get Oginome-san home. I saw her to the room, where I was greeted by a whisper from Yuri-san, her face so frank and beautiful it was as though last night never happened.

“You really are a good boy. I’m always moved by how chivalrous you are.”

“You promise not to do anything else to her, right?” I said, glancing at Oginome-san. Her back was turned to us as she gazed out the window. “Please get her home safe.”

“Yes, that’s a promise. I’m in your debt.”

I stared at Yuri, still highly doubtful. This was the woman who stole Oginome-san’s diary, albeit with a slightly different goal in mind than ours. Considering the events of last night, it was obvious she was into women. So then why was she married to Tabuki? Of course, some people loved both men and women, but I wasn’t going to pry. Whatever the answer, this probably didn’t bode well for Tabuki.

“Don’t give me that look,” she snapped.

After that, I ate breakfast while dodging Yamashita’s barrage of questions, took a morning bath, and headed home. We grabbed some onsen eggs and hot spring minerals as souvenirs. We had already eaten up all the manju from Ikebe’s place, and I was sure Himari would enjoy the mineral salts.

 

After the ryokan trip, Oginome-san texted me numerous times, but I couldn’t find it in me to reply right away. Eventually, I gave in and texted her back, asking her to meet me at the subway station. I waited for her with a hopeless heart, wanting just one chance to meet and talk things over.

Although I thought the days of us riding the subway together were behind us, here we were, sitting beside one another. Oginome-san looked like she already knew what I wanted to talk about. I, meanwhile, was anxious, pinching surreptitiously at Penguin No. 2’s belly. Every now and then No. 2 looked up at me, slightly perturbed, but did nothing more.

“Thank you for the other day,” she said softly.

“I didn’t really do anything.”

The tension between us practically crackled in the air. The train stopped at a station and started off again, and I still said nothing else. I couldn’t get my head into the game at all.

In the dream I had, I told Oginome-san that I couldn’t leave her alone. That was probably true, but that was an entirely separate matter. I cleared my throat, having finally found the words to speak.

“I can’t be around you,” I told her. “I’m not good for you. I think our families were just destined to end up this way.” I knew that what I was saying was just going to hurt her again. I knew that because as I spoke, my own chest began to ache terribly.

Oginome-san was having none of it. “No matter what you say, I’m not going to give up on you,” she replied. “I’m your stalker now, Shoma-kun. I’m going to change that destiny. Just you watch.” Her words were soft, yet imbued with an intense willfulness. Furthermore, dense as I was, even I could tell that this was a declaration of love.

Which of life’s stations should we even have gotten off on? When would we be let off at a station where we could feel safe?

The scenery outside the window was dark and endless, and the pair of us were silent and still, the only movement the slow tightening of my fingers pinching No. 2’s belly. Suddenly, I noticed the penguin looking up at me, tears welling in its eyes.

“Sorry,” I said softly, and took my hand from No. 2’s stomach.

 

It was early morning at the Natsume estate. Masako was thinking of Mario’s sleeping face, which she had looked in at just minutes ago. He had narrow eyes and thin lips that much resembled hers. On his pillow beside him, the penguin hat shone with a sinister light.

She laid the two torn halves of the diary atop the living room table. “Finally, I have it,” she said to herself. “With this, I’ll be able to save Mario-san.” She picked up the half that she had taken from Yuri at the onsen, and proudly aligned it with the other.

There was no missing the small click she heard at the moment the two halves were aligned. As she furrowed her brow, the stolen half suddenly began to sing. It was Tokikago Yuri, performing “Marie’s Lament.”

“This…!” Masako gasped.

When the song ended, a recording of Yuri began to play. “Did you enjoy hearing my spectacular voice? You idiot. This is a patent fake. Don’t underestimate an actress!” The moment the amused-sounding voice ended, the fake diary caught aflame.

“Very well.” Masako smiled thinly. Perhaps she really had underestimated her opponent. She flung the smoking diary away, her expression tightening.

There was no doubt that Tokikago Yuri possessed the genuine other half of the diary. If snatching it from her in person was going to prove too difficult, then Masako needed to get the drop on her from the shadows. But how?

A hint of smoke in the air made her cough, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to see Esmeralda frantically slapping a cushion against the curtains, which had caught aflame from the burning fake diary half Masako had thrown carelessly aside.

Masako flung open the door to the hallway and shouted, “Renjaku! The curtains are on fire!”

The woman named Renjaku appeared, calmly carrying a fire extinguisher in hand. “Allow me, my lady.”

Renjaku removed the safety from the extinguisher without a moment’s hesitation, aimed the nozzle, and sprayed the foam at the curtains.

Masako knew Renjaku could handle the fire. She was the family’s butler, having worked for their family since her grandfather’s time, and was the only person in all the world who Masako could truly trust.

Her hair was arranged in a severe style, and her thin, imposing brows were finely arched. She wore thick-lensed glasses that glinted in the light, along with the thin, refined chain attached to the frames. A blouse with a standing collar completely hid her neck, and it was paired with an ankle-length skirt with only the faintest of slits in it. Tied around the waist of the skirt was a bold gathered pleat, fashioned into a large ribbon in the back like an obi.

Masako looked at the now-extinguished curtains. Esmeralda, completely covered in white foam, rolled on the ground clutching the cushion, looking just like a giant marshmallow.

“Goodness. I better crush her soon,” Masako muttered.

 

Masako stood casually by the window, looking up at the sky and sipping some sage tea. Winter was already fully upon them.

“By the way, Renjaku. What of that new woman of Kanba’s?” she asked, not looking at the woman standing behind her.

“The usual sum should be enough to dispatch with her. She was a boring woman, nothing to worry about.”

“I see.” Most of the women who flocked to Kanba were boring. However, that was not where the root of the problem lay. “Well then, moving right along, I would like you to surveil Takakura Kanba and his younger sister.”

“Of course, my lady.”

The real problem was Kanba’s little sister, Takakura Himari. No matter how hard Masako pondered it, no matter how many pictures she looked at or videos she watched, she simply could not see what was so appealing about such a childish little girl.

“There’s a board meeting today.” She placed the nearly drained cup of tea along with the saucer upon the tray that Renjaku offered her, and headed to her room to get changed.

She donned a brown madras skirt and a jacket with a large, three-dimensional collar and idiosyncratic pockets. Beneath the skirt she wore white tights and black, high-heeled, laced dress shoes. Once she dabbed on her favorite perfume, her mood was transformed.

“Esmeralda. You’re taking too long.”

Esmeralda, having now returned to her original color, was sitting at the dresser, staring intently at her own face in the mirror.

Masako sat beside Esmeralda on the spacious limousine seats, using the short ride between the mansion and the Natsume conglomerate offices to check the news on the on-board television, looking over the materials for the meeting.

Masako inherited the entirety of the Natsume family wealth at a young age, and the entire corporation rested on her shoulders. She owned everything that her grandfather Natsume Sahee, who built Natsume Holdings from the ground up, had left behind: the people who bore grudges against him, those to whom debts were owed, his brownnosers, the family mansion, and a spectacular female butler.

In her opinion, at least, the late Sahee still controlled the Natsume family.

Sahee had been of the mind that there were only two sorts of people in this world: successes and failures. There was no doubting that Sahee himself was in the former group. He even taught his own son, Masako’s father, that there was no point in living if you could not become successful. He hoped to raise him into someone worthy of his inheritance. Masako’s father, however, questioned Sahee’s philosophies and heavy-handed methods, and the two frequently butted heads. As a result of this discord, Masako’s and Mario’s mother was unable to bear the tense atmosphere that hung over the whole house. She left, leaving her children behind. Their father was so persecuted for this fact that he vanished from the Natsume household as well.

All sense of reality disappeared from the children’s lives, leaving them only with the fear of being unable to live up to their grandfather’s expectations.

Sahee drove her mother and father from their home, and yet Masako would not abandon this place. For her own sake as well as Mario’s, and for Kanba’s as well. She would save Mario, get Kanba back, and—most importantly—bring her father home, no matter what it took.

When she stepped out of the limousine, the conglomerate secretary was there waiting for her, practically prostrating himself in greeting. “Good morning, Ms. President.”

“Morning.”

She only inherited this position because the cursed blood of Natsume Sahee flowed through her veins. Even if her heart wasn’t really in it, there were many things that she needed to protect.

As she walked through the spacious lobby, surrounded by her employees, she locked eyes with the wicked-looking bronze statue of Natsume Sahee that adorned the center of the room. Sahee was wearing a kimono with the Natsume family crest, his chest puffed out with pride.

“Goodness,” said Masako under her breath as she walked past him through the lobby, heading for the elevators. “We better crush him soon.”

 

Himari sat on a white bench in the hospital garden with several knitting instruction books and her wicker bag of knitting supplies beside her. She thumbed through one of the books on her lap, churning ideas for new knitting projects in her mind.

“Knitting the Winter Away.” “Knits You’ll Want to Gift.” “Knitting Adventures.” All the books depicted darling hats and sweaters, gloves and scarves, and stuffed animals with a charming warmth to them.

“How stunning. What are you knitting this time?” asked Sanetoshi. He sat on the bench next to her, leaning his face in close to peek at the book she was looking at.

He wore a simple white dress shirt, a mustard colored V-neck sweater, and gray pants, with loafers in a burnt umber. The man, whose long hair and feminine face contributed to the impression that he was not at all a doctor despite his lab coat, crossed his legs expectantly. He had Shirase and Souya in tow again today.

“A sweater. I wonder what color a man would like.”

Himari wore a lined navy blue nightgown with a lacy collar, and fluffy beige socks beneath her hospital slippers. Penguin No. 3 was beside her, pointlessly flipping through one of the booklets as it mimicked Himari.

Sanetoshi pointed to a photo. “I’d probably like something like this. It’s very lovely.”

“I see. It’s just like you to pick something so grown-up, Dr. Sanetoshi,” Himari said.

“What are you saying?” Sanetoshi laughed softly, whispering in Himari’s ear. “You’re already plenty grown up.”

Himari stiffened up and looked at Sanetoshi. His eyes, as always, were as black and deep as the cosmos, sparkling with countless stars, looking everywhere and nowhere at once.

“That’s not true,” she said. “I can’t do anything on my own.” Her eyes turned back to the book.

“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Sanetoshi replied.

Himari nodded bashfully.

“Such a grown-up! How magnanimous! How stunning!” the boys said in unison, applauding.

“Himari.”

Himari looked up to see Kanba approaching from inside the hospital. “Oh, Kan-chan!” she grinned.

“Well then, I should be off for my afternoon rounds.” Sanetoshi stood, brushed off his backside, and sneered as he locked eyes with Kanba. “Try not to get too chilly.”

Kanba glared at Sanetoshi’s back as he retreated into the hospital, his mysterious helpers following. He was surprised to see Himari swiftly stuffing all her things away into her wicker bag. “What were you up to?”

“That’s a secret,” she said curtly.

“If it’s a secret, then…” Then why would you tell Sanetoshi, but keep it a secret from me? he wanted to say, but didn’t have the heart to do so.

Moments ago he was searching for Himari, who was missing from her room, and found her and Sanetoshi with their faces nuzzled up in a strangely friendly manner, laughing together.

“It’s none of your business, Kan-chan.” Once everything was put away, she stuffed No. 3 into the basket, using it as a lid so Kanba couldn’t see inside.

There were times when she hid things from her brothers before, but those were all sweet little white lies. They were things like preparing secret gifts for birthdays and Christmas morning, or embroidering the curtains, or secretly caring for a stray cat in the corner of the yard. However, upon recognizing the beauty in her slowly maturing face, Kanba grew angry.

“That man is your primary doctor, but he’s not a good person. Don’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know.” Normally, Kanba didn’t show such childish envy. However, he couldn’t bear the thought of Himari maturing and having special secrets with Sanetoshi. Kanba didn’t trust Sanetoshi one bit.

“What wouldn’t he need to know?” Himari’s face tightened as she looked at Kanba.

“Things about our family, and you.”

Himari flopped back down on the bench, puffing her cheeks unhappily. “Why would you say something like that? He’s a good person. He sent my scarves to Double H, and he always listens to my stories, no matter how boring they are.”

“But me and Shoma listen to your stories too, don’t we? We’ve never once said they were boring, have we?” This is like a lover’s spat, Kanba thought. However, if this were just a trivial little spat, he would be able to do something about it. But this was completely different, as far as Kanba was concerned. This time, Himari’s thoughts were as unclear to him as that of any other woman.

“But…” Himari began, then fell silent.

The world Himari lived in was very small. It was comprised mostly of the hospital, their home, and the nearby neighborhood shopping arcade. But it was different for her brothers. The two of them went to school, and they knew more about the outside world than Himari. They received all sorts of lessons, and had friends, seasonal activities and standardized tests, and were even—in Kanba’s case—popular with girls. Himari knew nothing about that side of their lives. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to know. At the very least, Kanba had no right to rebuke her for finding someone in the hospital she could talk with.

“Himari—”

“I’m telling you, Dr. Sanetoshi is a good person! Why are you being so mean? I hate you!” Himari grabbed up the basket, No. 3 and all, and left, leaving Kanba behind. The scent of her long hair remained, but it was different, smelling like the hospital shampoo instead of the kind she normally used.

Kanba could not follow her, nor even call out to stop her. Only No. 1 watched steadfastly as she vanished into the building. Kanba wore a hard look upon his face that remained for some time.

 

“A quarrel? I see. That’s a good sign. Continue your observations, Renjaku.” Masako sunk deep into a large chair, sighing as she set the phone back in its cradle.

The president’s office was impressively large, decorated with a reception sofa and ornamental plants, both largely for show. The walls behind and beside Masako’s desk were hung with large-scale portraits of Sahee. They were drawn with such a drab technique that, to Masako, they were as good as bulk trash.

Her grandfather, a managerial genius, was also a greedy, merciless wreck of a man. He didn’t trust anyone and was cold even to his blood relatives. That he had a family at all was for one purpose, and one purpose alone: so his legacy, the Natsume line, would continue to prosper, unbroken. Anyone who could not serve that purpose was worthless trash, just like the wretched portraits that invaded Masako’s field of view.

That was why Masako had killed him.

 

Masako, nine years old, whiled away her days with only a single letter from her father as her heart’s solace.

I am doing well here, the letter read. I can’t come home any time soon, but I’m counting down the days until all four of us can live together as a family again. Until then, take care of little Mario in my stead.

So many times she read that brief letter, secreted away in the gazebo in the backyard, knowing that she had to keep going. She shored up her weak little heart with the assurance their father would return someday. Their mother, who hated the Natsume household itself, probably would not return. And yet, their father still worried for them, still thought about the day they could live together again. Even from afar, he still loved them. He still loved Masako, or so she believed.

It was for the sake of that “someday” that motivated Masako to crush her grandfather, no matter what.

One day, Sahee gathered up all of the stuffed animals and fashion dolls and beloved storybooks in Masako and Mario’s rooms, and shoved them into the fireplace right in front of their eyes. Naturally, gifts from their absent parents were caught up in the mix.

“You don’t need this! Or this! It’s because of sentimental things like this that you still have attachments to your worthless father!”

His sinuous hands, thick with dark brown hair, stretched out from the sleeves of his kimono and cast Masako and Mario’s childish hearts into the fire.

Masako watched her dolls as they twisted fearsomely in the flame, holding her terrified brother to shield him from the sight. Synthetic fibers and plastic melted in the heat, giving off a terrible smell. The last vestiges of the life that the children once lived as a happy, normal family, were burning away.

“Masako! Give me that letter you’re hiding!” Sahee hounded her, a burning fury upon his face. In Masako’s arms, Mario was trembling, on the verge of tears.

“Masako!” Sahee forcibly snatched the letter out from Masako’s skirt pocket, shoved her away, and cast it into the fire without a moment’s hesitation.

“No!” By the time she raised her voice in protest, her precious letter was already ashes.

“Masako! That man is a loser. A deep embarrassment to the Natsume family! I will not permit you to cherish a letter from that failure as some kind of memento! Do you understand?!”

Before Masako could even weep, she felt a deep hatred toward her grandfather welling up. She held and stroked Mario’s head while she stared at Sahee with a sharp look in her eyes.

“Look at me,” he said. “I bow to no one, and I never let my guard down! I am a powerful man whom no one can crush!” The massive, bearded man wore a face of sullen anger. He looked down on the pair with an overbearing gaze, huffing through his nose.

“Soon, we will need to begin your training, Mario, so that you can be an exemplary man of the Natsume family. You can’t go around always wailing like a woman! A Natsume man must never be crushed, no matter what obstacles face him!”

By now Mario was trembling, and Masako held him tighter. Somehow, she would protect weak little Mario, and this house, so that their father had somewhere to come home to. Although she was so powerless that even her precious letter had been taken from her, she vowed that somehow, someday, she would crush this demon standing before her.

It was on that night that the dreams began.

 

Every morning, Sahee drank a cup of strongly brewed tea, straight. This morning, Masako carried a cup of poisoned black tea into his room. Not even bothering to thank her, and not even minding that it was still hot, he lifted the cup to his mouth and gulped it down.

Immediately, he dropped the cup and fell to the floor, spewing up blood. The detestable Natsume family crest was prominent on the back of his haori. Seeing him like this, Masako began to tremble, but her heart was jubilant. I’ve finally done it! Father, I’ve worked so hard. I saved Mario!

And then Masako awoke to darkness. Her nerves were frayed, and she could scarcely breathe. Her pajamas clung to her sweat-soaked skin. Moments later, she realized it was a dream, but the image of her grandfather, groaning in pain and clawing at his chest as his bright red blood seeped slowly into the carpet, was burned into her eyes.

“Renjaku! Renjaku!” she squeaked out, her voice lacking its usual strength.

“My lady? What’s the matter?!” Renjaku, dressed in her bedclothes, flung open the door of Masako’s room and rushed to her bedside. “My lady!”

“I had a dream.” Masako looked up at Renjaku as she hurriedly put on her glasses, her shoulders heaving.

“You poor thing,” said Renjaku, crouching down beside her and stroking Masako’s face. “What kind of dream?”

“A scary one.” The more she tried to steady her breath, the harder it became to breathe.

Later that morning, Sahee awoke, and the sounds of him swinging a bamboo sword and shouting could be heard from the yard. Masako felt ambiguous at the confirmation that the man was still alive.

“I won’t be crushed! I won’t be crushed!” His loud, husky voice echoed from the yard.

No matter how frightening it had been, Masako still crushed him in her dream. She gritted her teeth.

Night after night, the dreams continued. Every night, she killed him in a different way. She pushed him from cliffs, unleashed poisonous snakes upon him, got him run over by cars, drowned him in the bath, strangled him, struck him with a bat. Each method was vivid and direct, something she could witness with her own two eyes.

Every morning, Masako awoke with seemingly incongruous feelings: hope that her father would return now that Sahee was gone; and fear that her own murderous hands were now soiled beyond salvation. She would lay in her bed, breathing deeply, stretching out her tense limbs, making certain that her little hands were not actually stained with blood.

“Father, I…” She no longer called for Renjaku, for her dreams no longer shocked her. As she clutched her pillow tightly, hoping to calm herself, in came the sound of Sahee’s shouts as he practiced in the yard.

“I won’t be crushed! I won’t be crushed!”

The demon lived another day.

 

With the letter no longer hers to read, Masako simply sat quietly in the gazebo in the backyard. For nights unending, she dreamt of killing Sahee. Until the man was dead, her father would never return home. Still, she feared the dreams of killing that were to come the next day, and the next. She worried that one day, she might lose her ability to distinguish between dream and reality, and truly kill Sahee with her own two hands.

“Father. I’m…scared.”

Masako suddenly looked up to see Kanba standing on the other side of the pond. He was looking her way, his expression placid. A strange feeling came over Masako, as though he understood everything that she was thinking.

Soon after, Sahee began forcing Mario to walk over hot coals, swing a bamboo sword, and suffer absurd muscle strengthening, all in the name of “training.” Mario, small and weak, was in no position to defy him, but neither was he successful at this training. Masako was left to comfort him after Sahee struck and beat him.

She had never seen a person so frightening, aside from herself when she killed Sahee in her dreams. Shuddering, Masako would stroke Mario’s smooth, slightly damp hair as he cried himself to sleep.

Renjaku could not oppose Sahee herself, but she worried over the pair from afar, carefully tending to the blood blisters Mario formed from gripping the sword too long, the burns on the bottom of his feet, his bruised, swollen face and the scrapes on his knees. And yet, the next day those wounds would just be reopened, and again his hands would run red with his blood.

“At this rate Mario is going to be killed, and Father will never come back. So, this time, I’m going to crush that man for real. Even if it means incurring some eternal curse. It’s dreadful, but there’s no other way.”

Masako explained this calmly to Kanba, who sat beside her. What did Kanba think about this? He must know that she was crazy, sitting here confessing that she was thinking of murdering someone. However, even that rested entirely on Sahee’s shoulders—the curse of the Natsume family dictated as such.

There was no one in the world from whom Masako could seriously ask for help.

Kanba’s reply was an unexpected one. “If you’re cursed, then let’s be cursed together.” he said firmly, looking her square in the eye. “That’s the bond we share.”

In that case, I can do this, Masako thought. If Kanba was willing to share her curse, then the thought of killing Sahee wasn’t so frightening.

It was not long after that that Sahee died. He went fishing with a friend and brought home a massive blowfish. Ignoring the warnings from everyone around him, he cleaned the blowfish himself and ate it. Of course, he was stricken by the blowfish’s poison and taken to the hospital. He departed the world that night without a hint of fanfare.

Clad in her mourning clothes, Masako stared dimly at the portrait of her grandfather, who died without her ever laying a hand on him. Naturally, she did not shed a single tear. The altar was far too large, the walls of the funeral home decked with white chrysanthemums and orchids and lilies, the line of mourners unending. And yet, her father did not come home. Surely, she and Mario were truly cursed. Even after Sahee’s death, the children would never know happiness.

Never again would the four of them live together as a family.

 

Some nights, even now, Masako was still wracked by nightmares. Dreams of her childhood, dreams of Mario and Kanba leaving her. Even now that she’d grown, she still sometimes had to kill Sahee in her unconscious world, even though he was already gone. Dead from his own hubris, taken out by blowfish poisoning.

“Stunning, isn’t it?”

When she turned around, there they were in the train car. Sanetoshi sat in a nearby seat, thumbing through an illustrated guide of marine animals. Mario, wearing his penguin hat, swayed quietly by the man’s side. Mario stared at the description of a blowfish that Sanetoshi pointed to on the page.

“The poison of the blowfish is called tetrodotoxin. It is thousands of times more toxic than potassium cyanide, a single milligram containing roughly 5,000 MU of deadly poison. There are portions of the blowfish’s body that contain poison, and some that do not, but if improperly cleaned, there is a risk of poison being transmitted into the parts that do not contain it. That’s why you should never eat fugu prepared by an amateur,” Sanetoshi explained in a gentle, sing-song voice.

“When did you…?” Masako furrowed her brow, glaring at Sanetoshi, who grinned back at her.

Sanetoshi looked suddenly at the doors connecting to the next car. Masako followed his gaze to see a stream of men in black pouring into the car. She tried to flatten herself to one side, but the men proceeded through the car in a steady herd.

Masako’s eyes opened wide. Among those men was her father.

“Father!”

She pushed through the men, calling out to her father, who was dressed in the same black clothing as the rest. She reached out to him, but he and the rest of the men continued through the train as though Masako was not even there, moving on to the next car.

The connecting doors closed noisily and did not open again. Masako pounded on the glass. “Father!” she shouted once more. Her world narrowed to only vague, fleeting impressions: the train, rushing through the darkness. The black-suited men. Her father, who was lost in the fray, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“Kanba?”

The moment her father went out of view, she saw Kanba appear from the side, halting one of the men and saying something to him, a harsh look upon his face.

Why? Why did they have to go astray? First her father, now Kanba. Even though she warned him so many times. Surely they had their own reasons, but why wouldn’t they stop?

“Kanba! Don’t get any closer to them! You’re just going to end up used, the way my father was, and you’ll be crushed!” she screamed, her voice shrill and tearful. However, Kanba appeared not to hear her, and disappeared into the sea of black suits.

“Just once would be enough,” Masako muttered. All she wanted, just once, was for someone to recognize how hard she was working, to tell her they loved her. That sole regret lingered in Masako’s heart like a tiny black stain, one that spread and grew over time, and now was a great looming shadow that threatened to eclipse her.

Why would Kanba do all this for the sake of a woman who was nothing more than a child?

“Why?!” Once more, Masako pounded on the thick glass, mortified. The edges of her fists stung.

“Because they were chosen,” Sanetoshi said simply, behind her. “They were chosen to right the wrongs of this world.”

She slowly turned back to him. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with this world?”

“Well, I mean, your brother has never once sinned.” The illustrated guide was no longer in Sanetoshi’s hand. Beside him, Mario sat up straight, staring into nothing with his red eyes.

“That’s true. That’s why you’re saving him, isn’t it? You promised me!”

“Yes, I will save him. As long as you continue to act in accordance, as another chosen one.”

At Sanetoshi’s cue, the connecting doors flung forcefully open. Masako looked back in surprise to see Kanba, surrounded by the men in black and wearing a black suit himself, glaring her way.

“What are you trying to do?” Masako murmured, looking Kanba in the eye.

“Burn this world down.” Sanetoshi’s thick voice rang directly into her ear.

Kanba, don’t do it! she tried to scream, but her voice failed her.

“No!” she finally managed to shout. It was then that she awoke, realizing it was a dream. Her breath was ragged, her sleeping clothes plastered to her sweat-soaked body. No longer would she call for Renjaku. But even as she grew older, the scary dreams never became any less scary.

She wiped her forehead with her hand, shuffled out of bed, and opened the window. Slowly, she breathed in the crisp morning air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone looking up at her. It was Sanetoshi.

I’m not going to board that train. I cannot follow your accord. Masako fluffed up the curls that clung to her neck as she silently gave her reply.

In the next instant, Sanetoshi vanished.