Chapter 03
Chapter 03
ON THE WAY HOME FROM SCHOOL, Ringo boarded the subway train with Yukina and Mari. They chatted for a while, and then it was time for Mari to deboard, followed by Yukina. Then the train passed Ringo’s station, too.
For a while now, Ringo had gotten into the habit of going to hang out at the Takakura house. Well, perhaps “hang out” wasn’t the right way to put it—she was checking up on them. Sometimes she made plans with Himari, while other times she met up with Shoma. But in the end, she always checked in with all three siblings.
Granted, she was still coming to terms with everything she’d learned about their history. But in the meantime, she spent her days worrying endlessly about whether they were still functioning as a family…and whether anyone was giving them any trouble.
Yukina and Mari often teased her about “finally finding a boyfriend,” but she and Shoma were not dating—for now, at least. In a way, he felt more like a brother or some other relative…not that she believed she could insert herself into the ironclad bond between the three Takakura siblings, of course. But if possible, she wanted to build a good, strong connection with the first person she ever truly loved.
Tabuki Keiju was still nowhere to be found. Ringo was no longer interested in chasing after him, but she kept thinking back to the look in his eyes the last time she saw him. Those were the eyes of a kind, responsible man—the same Tabuki she had previously convinced herself she was in love with.
Had she become a better person? Even if she couldn’t be Momoka, could she still help Shoma? Was she useful to him? Was she needed?
Having deboarded at Ogikubo Station, she headed up the stairs. The wind blew up from below, rustling her hair. Her school-issued balmacaan coat was far too thin for this weather, and her bare neck was freezing.
“Oginome Ringo-san, I presume?”
Just then, she was accosted by a short man with a wan complexion who reeked of cigarette smoke. Suspicious, she stayed quiet.
“Allow me to identify myself.” He pulled a business card with bent corners out of his pocket and offered it to her.
“A journalist?”
Positioned over his name was the logo of a weekly tabloid that published all sorts of entertainment articles, including erotic model shoots. Ringo had seen this magazine at the convenience store, but she’d never read one. Its content wasn’t always strictly factual.
“We’re looking to interview the family members of those lost in the bombing. Now, we’ve heard it told that a group of children are living in the house of suspect Takakura Kenzan, pretending to be siblings. What do you think of this? Your older sister was killed in that incident, correct?”
Maybe he thought his smile was reassuring, but to Ringo, it was stiff, unnatural, and downright goosebump-inducing.
“Don’t write about things you know nothing about!” she shot back, glaring.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? The world has a right to know. This is what it means to get justice,” the journalist replied robotically.
Ringo ignored him and stormed off into the shopping district. The journalist watched her go with a faint smile on his face, then turned and left.
“God, that journalist pissed me off! Next time I see him, he’s getting a knuckle sandwich! You better be on the lookout for him, Himari-chan!” Ringo raged melodramatically, then took a sip of the hot cocoa Himari made for her. “Agh! Hot!”
“I will.” As her expression clouded over, Himari transferred her cookies (freshly baked following Ringo’s recipe) onto a plate.
“Seriously, I mean it. Okay, end of conversation!” Pouting, Ringo let out a sigh and looked over at Himari as she continued to avert her gaze. “I’m sorry… I know you went to all the trouble of making cookies for me…”
“It’s okay.”
Himari followed Ringo’s recipe by herself once before, but at some point she must have put in the wrong amount of something, because they came out rock-hard. Shoma and Kanba still ate them, claiming they were “tasty in their own way” and “might make our teeth stronger.” But this time they came out perfectly—crispy, crunchy, and golden brown, with a light melt-in-your-mouth sweetness, just like the recipe intended.
“So…I guess you found out that the three of us aren’t really siblings, huh?”
Now that she remembered, she wasn’t really planning to keep it a secret from Ringo, but she wasn’t sure she was emotionally ready to find out how her friend felt about the special circumstances of the Takakura household.
“Yeah, Shoma-kun told me a little while back,” Ringo answered, feeling a bit guilty.
“Oh, so Sho-chan told you.”
For the briefest of moments, resentment flared up inside Himari at the thought that Shoma had snuck off to have some secret conversation with Ringo. As with the night the four of them ate sukiyaki together, she felt vaguely left out.
“I’m sorry,” Ringo apologized on reflex, though she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“No, it’s okay—I wanted you to know about it. It sucks having to lie all the time.”
It was the honest truth. Himari was happy to share her secrets with a friend as dear as Ringo… In that moment, looking down at her violet cable knit sweater dress, her slender legs looked small and childish.
“Well, have a cookie,” she said at last, forcing the words out as she looked up at Ringo, who gazed back anxiously. “I think they turned out good this time.”
“Okay!” Ringo grabbed a little round cookie and popped it into her mouth.
“How is it?” Himari asked.
“It’s good!” Ringo beamed.
Himari smiled back, then ate one herself. “What a relief.”
They all cared about each other, and they were all working hard to do right by each other. Maybe Shoma was having a really hard time not being able to talk to Kanba, since he was constantly busy with work, and maybe he didn’t want to bother Himari either, since she was so frail. Maybe it was a good thing, then, that Ringo was there for him. Yes, of course. Hadn’t the three of them always cared about each other, right from the start?
“See, our house is actually a Mika-chan Dream House,” Himari explained calmly.
“What? Mika-chan, like the doll?”
“Uh huh. Remember Mika-chan and her Dream House?”
Himari could still remember the commercial jingle, clear as day. She started to sing it, and before long Ringo joined in. At the end, they both burst out laughing.
“Oh god, that takes me back! Now I remember. I wanted one so bad, but my parents wouldn’t buy it for me.”
“Same.” Nearby, Penguin No. 3 sat on the tatami busily knitting; Himari pulled it into a hug. “Did you know it was Kan-chan and Sho-chan that painted the wall outside?”
“What?”
“Back when Mom and Dad first disappeared, I would cry all day long. With each new day, I was terrified that Kan-chan and Sho-chan would leave me, just like they did.”
But then Kanba and Shoma started painting the sheet metal siding in a rainbow of different colors. Pink and blue and green and yellow and red and orange… In a blink, Himari watched as the dull, gray house transformed into something bright and beautiful.
When they finished, the two boys thrust out their chests proudly, both of them splattered with drops of paint. Himari promptly stopped crying, instead staring enraptured at the wall that now resembled a Mika-chan Dream House. Whenever their parents returned, she was sure they would be delighted to see it. Afterwards, the boys reached out and stroked her hair with their newly paint-free hands.
“Wow, that’s so cool! That wall was one of the first things I noticed about your house. I didn’t realize your brothers did it themselves.”
“Yup. And they made me a matching Mika-chan bed, too.”
“Oh my god, I was wondering why it seemed so familiar! It’s a Mika-chan Princess Bed!”
Their mother had left an ancient sewing machine behind in one of the rooms. There, they got to work, using tons of old books and fabric to transform Himari’s rickety little metal bed frame. Then they added four posts and a canopy, and just like that, it was the Mika-chan Princess Bed she always dreamed of.
Then Himari herself learned to knit and sew. With some assistance, she made little additions, like cushions and shelves. Over time, she collected candles and lamps in the shape of angels and mushrooms, and now it was every girl’s fantasy bedroom.
“It really meant a lot to me.”
“Aww, they’re such good brothers!”
“But then they stepped on my favorite teddy bear and made its stuffing pop out.”
Horrified, they hastily comforted a crying Himari, then set about giving the little bear’s tummy some much-needed “first aid,” inexperienced though they were.
“See this stitching here? It looks like the poor thing had surgery.” Himari grabbed the pink pirate teddy bear from her bedroom to show Ringo.
“You’re right! Aww, it’s so cute. Bad stitch job, though,” she laughed.
“Yeah, but that’s what makes it so special. I consider it his appendectomy scar.”
“I guess those two dorks were bound to screw something up sooner or later.”
“It’s okay. Mistakes like these are proof that we’re a family.”
“Awww…” Touched, Ringo ran a finger over the bear’s stomach. She didn’t notice Himari’s expression steadily growing darker once more.
In the end, Himari sent Ringo home with half of the cookies. And after she was gone, Himari stood there in the entryway, staring into space.
Just prior to Ringo’s visit, the magazine journalist had already arrived at the Takakura house while Himari was home alone.
“You realize your medical expenses are incredibly costly, right?”
He was a short, stocky man who stank of cigarettes, and this was the first thing he asked her, without even so much as a perfunctory greeting.
“Why would you ask me that?” Himari asked back, without meeting his gaze.
“Because no high schooler could possibly scrape together that kind of cash.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Part of her was desperate for Ringo or Shoma or Kanba to come home and rescue her, but another part of her wanted to know the truth. Thus, she didn’t send him away.
Kanba never said a word about Sanetoshi’s expensive medical treatments beyond a dismissive “Don’t worry about it,” and somehow, his part-time job seemed to be paying enough to cover them. Even Himari could tell that something was fishy about it.
The journalist pulled a stack of photos out of his jacket pocket and showed them to her. The photos depicted Kanba surrounded by a group of men dressed in black, one of them caught in the process of handing him an envelope.
“We’ve figured out where your brother’s been getting the money. It’s a huge scoop.” Before Himari could ask who the men in black were, he continued, “These men are part of an organization called KIGA—the remnants of the group behind the bombing. In other words, their dirty money is the only thing keeping you alive.”
The group behind the bombing. Himari’s vision blurred and dimmed. She sensed that Kanba was making a massive sacrifice on her behalf, but the truth was worse than she ever imagined.
“How do you feel about that? I’d love to know.”
“Please leave,” she choked. Then she slid the door shut and locked it. “Please leave!”
After that, the journalist didn’t knock or call out to her again. Then Himari spotted No. 3 standing around idly in the hall. She scooped it up into her arms, then hurried to the kitchen.
“The cookies will be ready soon, okay?”
Her grip on No. 3 grew tighter and tighter. Meanwhile, it peered up at her curiously as she sternly opened the oven door.
Even after Himari pulled on her soft gauzy nightgown and climbed into bed, sleep eluded her. Shoma gave her a hot water bottle to keep the bed warm; as she rolled it around with her feet, she gazed at Penguin No. 3 already slumbering beside her, its little beak twitching sporadically.
Hours later, after tossing and turning until the bottle’s warmth was all but lost, she heard the front door slide open and bolted upright. Someone just left the house. Hastily, she sprang out of bed and donned her robe, her coat, a pair of tights, and a scarf. Then she slid open her bedroom door, and sure enough, one of the futons was empty. Kanba was missing.
Careful not to wake Shoma as he snored soundly, Himari tiptoed over the tatami to the entryway, quietly slipped into her sneakers, and walked outside. There, she roughly ran a hand through her long hair. Then she set off down the street.
Shivering in the cold of night, she glanced around. In the distance, she could see Kanba walking away from her, his black coat sporadically illuminated by each streetlamp as he passed under it. Summoning her resolve, Himari decided to tail him.
If what the journalist told her earlier that day was true, then it was quite possible Kanba was meeting up with someone from KIGA…maybe to get more money for the family. She wasn’t really sure what her plan was—should she stop him, or was she only interested in confirming the truth with her own two eyes? And if it did turn out to be true, should she tell Shoma? What would he think?
Kanba seemingly paid no heed to his surroundings. When he arrived at the outskirts of town, he walked into a small ramen shop with no lights on inside. Was this their meetup spot? Even after he entered the building, the windows remained dark.
Exhaling into her hands, Himari watched from a distance and waited for someone to come outside. Here in this sleepy residential district, the only lights were those of the streetlamps. Shivering, she crouched down, huddling into herself. She didn’t own a cell phone, so she couldn’t even check the time. Then Kanba stepped out of the ramen shop, still alone. Biting back the urge to call for him, Himari watched as he headed back the way he came with a hard look on his face.
If she revealed herself right that moment and asked him to come clean, would he?
She watched him stagger down the street and, after a good ten or twenty seconds of serious contemplation, decided not to reveal herself. He wouldn’t be honest with her; he would just get angry that she followed him out here this late at night. Then he’d notice that she was shivering and lend her his coat, and with a smile, he’d tell her there was nothing she needed to worry about—and in so doing, he would willfully distance her from the truth, even though she was practically staring it in the face at this point.
She waited until he vanished from sight, then dashed over to the ramen shop. Holding her breath, she forced open the poorly fitted door. For a moment she was scared that the person inside would hear her, but it quickly became apparent that she needn’t have worried.
Not only was there no electricity, but it was increasingly apparent that the place hadn’t operated as a restaurant in many years. Everything was covered in a layer of dust, and the corners of the ceiling were dotted with thick spiderwebs. Choking on the stench of mold, she covered her nose and mouth with one hand as she entered.
“Hello…?”
Inside, the cramped interior featured a counter with peeling paint and a handful of stools set in front of it. On the walls hung an outdated calendar with the name of a bar on it, a poster of a bikini-clad woman holding a beer stein, and what was probably once the menu, but was now too burned to be legible.
“Is anyone here?”
Following the footprints in the dust likely left behind by Kanba, Himari moved deeper inside the shop. There, she spotted something shiny on the counter; she reached out and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger, holding it up. It was the ring she always yearned to one day wear—more specifically, it was one of the wedding rings Kenzan and Chiemi wore. No diamonds or gaudy adornments, just thin platinum. She didn’t know how her father felt about it, but her mother wore it on her person at all times like a precious keepsake.
“Your ring doesn’t have a diamond?” little Himari once asked as she sat on her mother’s knee. At the time, her mental image of a wedding ring involved a round brilliant-cut diamond the size of a tangerine.
“Not yet! After you grow up and become an idol, will you buy me one?” her mother asked, smiling.
“Of course!” Himari had replied, as if it was the most obvious choice in the world.
Hesitantly, she peered at the inside of the ring. There, the words “K to C” were engraved in the metal. From Kenzan to Chiemi.
“Mom?” she called in a quavering voice. The silence of the room grated on her ears. Then she heard a sound like the snapping of a tree branch. But when she looked in that direction, all at once, her mind went blank. The blood drained from her face. The ring slipped from her fingers and plummeted into the dusty darkness.
She thought she had figured out Kanba’s secret, but as it turned out, she didn’t know the half of it.
Himari was not looking forward to seeing Natsume Masako again. Just the other day, the girl pointed a gun at her; there was no telling what sort of gutting remarks she might make the next time the two of them came face to face. But Himari couldn’t keep hiding behind Kanba forever. She came to the conclusion that she’d never figure out what she truly wanted unless she learned the whole truth. And so, per Masako’s instructions conveyed to her over the phone, she didn’t tell her brothers where she was headed when she left.
“Did you make this?” Masako asked, eyebrows raised, as she unwrapped the parcel.
They sat in matching armchairs in the living room inside the Natsume mansion. A chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling over a black-and-white checkered floor. Sunlight streamed in from the windows, illuminating the elegant furnishings and affording Masako the beautiful solemnity of a statue.
“I did,” Himari answered hastily, seated across the table from her. “You’re welcome to have some if you’d like. No worries if not.” She fully expected her gift to be rejected and wasn’t too broken up about it.
In the service of having a serious conversation, Himari was dressed in a beige crew-neck sweater over a white round-collar shirt dress, thick black leggings, and a pair of Mary Janes. Adorning her long hair was a pin decorated with a small gold ribbon, and as a token of goodwill, she brought a gift of freshly baked cookies. One might think it strange of her to bring baked goods to someone who previously tried to attack her, but it was a thank-you gift for the pudding, which the penguins devoured with relish.
“Does Kanba eat these cookies?” Masako asked in a tone of forced calm. She wore a dark green velvet dress with a large, luxurious black ribbon on the chest. Beneath it was a pair of sheer black plaid tights and brown ankle boots. She didn’t consider Himari to be on her level whatsoever, but truth be told, when she first saw the girl’s outfit on the security cameras, she ran back and reapplied her perfume.
“Uh, probably? I mean, I left some on the table, so…”
This was Himari’s first time ever seeing a real fireplace, and it was blowing her mind. A real fireplace with real fire and real wood! The orange flames were so powerful, they warmed up the entire room. It was very impressive.
“Is there something wrong with the fireplace?”
“Oh, no, it’s just…I’ve never seen one in real life before. I’ve only ever read about them and seen them in movies,” she admitted, staring at her lap in mild embarrassment.
“How very odd you must be to bring me a gift,” Masako commented without batting a lash. She grabbed one of the cookies and put it in her mouth. “Well, they’re perfectly edible.” Then she rose to her feet, strode to the nearby cupboard, and looked up at the tea set sitting on top. “No objections to Assam tea, I presume?”
You’re an odd duck yourself, you know, Himari thought to herself. Not only had Masako actually eaten one of her cookies, but now she was making them both some tea. Hard to believe this was the same terrifying girl who fired a slingshot gun at her.
“I remembered the truth,” Himari began vaguely.
“Yes, I’m aware. And there’s still so much more you ought to know. That’s why I called you.”
Himari straightened her posture and waited for her to continue.
“Kanba and I are siblings by blood.” Masako set two dainty little patterned teacups down on the table beside the gilded plate of cookies and poured hot Assam tea into each.
“You are?” Himari asked. Now that she thought about it, they both had sharp, analytical eyes and upturned noses. “Then why…?”
She was aware that Kanba wasn’t born into the Takakura family, but she never thought too hard about where he came from. Why would he choose to live at the Takakura house when he had a real family right here in this mansion?
“To make me the sole heir to the Natsume legacy. He chose to stay there with our father for my sake and Mario’s. Because he loved us.”
And it was that love that she came to reclaim when she visited the Takakura house. Kanba’s love once protected the Natsume family, but now it was being directed at Himari and Shoma instead.
Masako looked at Himari with her hard, almond-shaped eyes, but the other girl simply averted her gaze quietly. With a small sigh, Masako set the teapot on the table. “At least now you surely understand how entitled you’ve been acting.”
Himari couldn’t say a word. Her beloved older brother spent all this time looking after some other family’s children while his actual sister suffered alone—indeed, one could tell they were related. But were Kanba’s choices really her fault? Was she meant to apologize to Masako? She wasn’t sure. She and Shoma simply accepted, respected, and loved Kanba as one of their own. Was that such a crime?
“Because of you, Kanba has been putting himself in danger.” Masako curled her slender fingers around her teacup and lifted it to her lips.
“What sort of danger?”
“He’s been cooperating with the remnants of KIGA, the organization behind the bombing sixteen years ago.”
This confirmed what she went into the ramen shop to find out. The journalist was telling the truth: Kanba was indeed accepting money from that organization.
“For my medical expenses…?” Himari whispered sadly.
This infuriated Masako. How could this girl possibly sit still at a time like this? She planted herself right up against the back of the armchair, and her feet couldn’t even reach the floor. Everything about her was so utterly childish—her round face, her tacky hairpin, her lanky limbs, her flat chest. Even her manner of speech was childish!
Over the years, Renjaku showed Masako countless surveillance images of Himari, and yet for some reason, now that the girl was sitting right in front of her, resentment flared up inside her all over again. “Isn’t it obvious?!” she snapped without entirely meaning to. “He’s doing it all for you!”
Kanba spent years waiting hand and foot on this little child, wasting years of his precious life using women as a crutch while he ate these plain, plebeian cookies and pretended to be happy, all the while making his actual sister live alone in this giant house.
“What should I do?”
It wasn’t clear whether Himari was actually asking her or if she was asking herself. The longer they sat here, the more likely this girl was going to take over the conversation. But she wasn’t malicious—just stupid.
“You and I are going to stop him together. Otherwise Kanba might just cross a line that can never be uncrossed.”
Together was less than ideal, but she had no choice. Without Himari’s cooperation, Kanba likely wouldn’t listen to a word she said. But more than that, after meeting the girl in person, Masako learned one important thing about her: she clearly cared about Kanba in her own way.
School was no place to have a private conversation with Kanba, but we couldn’t have it at home either, since Himari was there. So after she went to sleep, I led him outside to the empty lot beside the house. When I first told him I wanted to talk, he must have noticed my duffel coat and realized it was going to take a while, because he went and fetched his black military jacket.
“It’s freezing. What do you want?” Kanba plopped down on an animal-shaped playground fixture and looked up at me as I stood there, staring at the ground.
I was seething, so I cut to the chase: “Why did you lie to us?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked without batting an eye.
“Himari’s medical expenses. Where are you really getting the money?”
I was so sure that random journalist was lying—that our brother was more trustworthy than a total stranger—but then I saw the photos. And if the journalist was telling the truth, then it would seemingly explain why I sensed that something shady was going on. But more importantly…he knew that we weren’t actually his real family.
“Does it matter? We needed the money. End of story.”
We both exhaled the same foggy breath in the same shade of white, but it still felt like there was a massive gulf between us.
“Aniki, are you seriously taking money from those people?”
In the best-case scenario, he would deny it with a laugh, tell me I was clearly half-asleep, and send me back into the house to change into my pajamas. But I already knew I wasn’t going to get the best-case scenario. There was no other way any of us could possibly get our hands on that kind of money.
“I met a journalist today. He knew everything about our family, including where you’re getting your money. He asked me how I felt about it.”
“So what?”
His voice was so calm and cold, it made me grimace in frustration. But what exactly was so frustrating? The fact that he wasn’t panicking? The fact that he kept something this important from the two people who were supposed to be his family? Or was it the fact that he tried to shoulder the burden by himself when he knew full well he shouldn’t? Honestly, probably all of the above.
“What are you thinking? I know damn well you haven’t forgotten the magnitude of our parents’ horrific actions. And now you’re taking money from their cronies? Screw you!”
I couldn’t possibly risk letting Himari find out about this. How would she react? Neither of us was prepared to have that conversation.
“How else would you like me to pay for her treatment, Shoma? Because I don’t see any other options!”
He glared at me, and I faltered. No, there were no other options—I understood that. Without that money, Himari would have died by now—I understood that, too. But these were two very separate problems.
“Just stay the hell away from them. And obviously, don’t breathe a word of this to Himari. Problem solved.”
“No, it isn’t!”
Ignorance was not bliss, though I used to tell myself it was. When we broke into Oginome-san’s home and rooted through her stuff, I averted my eyes, stuck my head in the sand, and tried to convince myself it was all for Himari’s sake. Likewise, Kanba said the same thing. But I didn’t actually believe that at all. Bad things were objectively bad; the ends did not justify the means.
“Then how are you gonna get the money, huh? How are you gonna save Himari?” he shot back flatly. “There’s only one way we can save her. We have to change this corrupted world.”
The familiar words sent a chill running down my spine. “What are you talking about, Aniki?”
“I’m gonna save Himari, no matter what. You just sit there and watch me.”
“Like hell I’m just gonna sit there! You’re going about it the wrong way!”
“Oh yeah? Am I?” he asked defiantly. I didn’t know what to say to this. Clearly he thought I was powerless…
“Damn you!”
I lunged at him, swinging my fist. But I had no prior experience in fistfights, and he dodged my attack with ease. Before I slammed my face against the animal-shaped fixture, I hastily braced myself with my hands. Then, with a groan, I pushed myself back up and went for him again. He grabbed my fist in his palm and twisted my arm; the sudden pain made me grimace.
“You’re wasting your time.”
I knocked his hand away and swung at him again.
“You’re wasting your time!”
This time Kanba punched me hard in the jaw, knocking me onto my back. The world started spinning, and lights popped behind my eyelids—so bright, you’d think it was daytime.
“Aniki,” I groaned, forcing myself up into a sitting position even though I still couldn’t see straight.
“Aniki?” he retorted sarcastically. “Please. Don’t address me like I’m your brother. We’re just two strangers who happened to be born on the same day,” he snorted.
Did he really think of us as strangers? Even if we weren’t actually blood-related, could he really turn around and call me and Himari “strangers” when we spent all these years living together like family?
“You and me and Himari—we’ve never been family, not once. And Shoma, you can’t save her.”
I thought of him as my brother, but after that, I was done calling him Aniki.
“Looks like this is as far as we go. Now our ties have finally been severed. This has all been dragging on for way too long, anyway.”
“We…we’re family, aren’t we? Our ties can’t be severed!”
He turned his back on me and looked up at the rainbow-colored wall of the house, its vibrancy dimmed in the twilight.
“So tell me about this journalist. What did he look like?”
As I sat there on the ground, he crouched down and grabbed me by the collar. The look in his eyes was cold and hard, nothing like the Kanba I was so used to. Wordlessly, I examined his features. Then, with a sharp glare, he relinquished his grip on me and strode off down the street.
“Where are you going?!”
But he didn’t answer. Instead, he vanished into the darkness of night.
I forced myself up onto my feet. There were a few small black stains on the navy blue fabric of my coat; I wiped at them with my palm and realized it was blood. Then I noticed the taste of metal in my mouth.
“Sho-chan?” a feeble voice called out.
Startled, I looked up to find Himari crouched down on the porch, clutching her pink pirate teddy bear tightly in her arms, staring at me in shock. Then she stepped down off the porch and walked over to me, barefooted.
“You’re bleeding. We need to patch you up,” she continued in a watery voice.
How long had she been watching our exchange?
“Kanba left, and he’s probably not coming back. Let’s just stop here.”
“Stop? Stop what?” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Let’s stop pretending to be a family.” Except to me, it was never pretend. “You can blame it all on me. The Takakura family ceased to exist a long time ago… I can’t keep pretending it didn’t.”
“Are you serious about this?”
“Kanba’s gone, and now we’ve got that journo sniffing around. Staying in this house will only prolong our suffering. C’mon, Himari, let’s call it quits.”
“I’m not suffering!” Shaking her head, she grabbed the sleeve of my coat. “And I’m sure Kan-chan will come back, so—!”
“Tomorrow I’ll get in touch with Uncle Ikebe. You’re going to go stay with him.”
Himari was on the verge of tears, but she didn’t let them fall. She just stared at me for a long moment. Then, quietly, she nodded. “Okay.”
How sorely I wished I could take it all back, tell her it was a bad joke, and endure the silent treatment as punishment for the next three days. How I wished I could pretend that Kanba would come home tomorrow morning when he got hungry.
“Come on. We need to disinfect the wound,” she said quietly. Pulling me by the sleeve, she led me back to the porch, where she had left the sliding door wide open.
She was surely freezing to death wearing only a nightgown, and her expression was grim; it reminded me of the day I first met her. Yes…I was the one who made Himari a co-conspirator in the Takakura family’s crimes. And if we hadn’t taken Kanba in, he wouldn’t have had to pay the price in my stead. So really, this was for the best. No matter how badly it pained me, in the end, all that mattered was getting Himari to safety.
Inside, she pulled on a cardigan and some socks. Then she turned the light on in the living room and examined my face, her eyes wide.
“He really got you good, Sho-chan.” I knew she was sad, but she forced a smile nonetheless. “That’s what you get for starting fights,” she continued, and I could hear the tears in her voice.
“That bad, huh? I hope it doesn’t swell up too much or else I’ll never hear the end of it at school tomorrow.” My voice was so calm and quiet, it threatened to disappear into the tatami beneath me.
With her small, dainty hands, she poured disinfectant onto a cotton ball—“This is going to sting”—and pressed it against my lip. Sure enough, it stung like hell. It hurt so bad, I wanted to wail and scream. But I knew if I started crying, she would join in, so I suppressed it. Because that was what a good brother did.
Tabuki stood outside a ramen shop on the outskirts of town. Summoning his resolve, he opened the door. At last, he tracked down the last known hiding place of Takakura Kenzan and his wife Chiemi. It wasn’t even that far from the house where their children lived.
“Here? Really?” he muttered to himself. The interior was pitch-black, with no signs of human life. The whole place was covered in dust and spiderwebs—hard to say whether it had electricity or even plumbing. Hesitantly, he moved deeper inside. The reek of mold was overwhelming.
Then he glanced behind the counter and sucked in a breath.
“It can’t be…”
There lay two skeletal corpses, side by side, wearing sun-faded orange jackets with the KIGA emblem on the back. Reflexively, Tabuki grabbed the jacket and lifted it slightly. The name “K. Takakura” was neatly sewn into the chest pocket in navy blue thread.
“God…”
Takakura Kenzan was dead, and the skeleton beside him was probably Chiemi. The monsters Tabuki had chased after for so long had already met their end, right here. What was he supposed to do now?
At no point had Takakura Kanba actually met with his father Kenzan. It simply wasn’t possible. Was this the place where he died, or had someone merely dumped his body here after retrieving it from elsewhere? Tabuki had no way of knowing. It could take anywhere from a week to several months for a human body to fully decompose, depending on temperature and other factors. Judging from the earthy color of the bones, these corpses didn’t look fresh.
“I always had a feeling Takakura Kenzan was dead.”
Startled, Tabuki whirled around, bracing himself. Then he quietly let out the breath he was holding. “Yuri! What are you doing here?”
“Ironic, isn’t it? Turns out we already got our revenge a long time ago. We just didn’t know about it.”
Yuri was standing there, dressed in a collarless camel coat. In the darkness of the filthy abandoned restaurant, her face and hair glowed like an angel’s.
“You’re such a handful. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
He took a deep breath, then opened his mouth in preparation to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. He assumed she would have forgotten about him by now in her one-woman quest to find Momoka’s diary. Additionally, he found it odd that none of the news channels were reporting on the famous Tokikago Yuri’s failed marriage, but hadn’t thought too hard about it.
“Now then, let’s go home where we belong. This marks the end of our first couple’s spat.” She held out her hand, her skin as beautiful and white as snow.
“Home…” Slowly, Tabuki reached out to take it.
But just then, a figure in a black coat ran in from outside and slammed into them. When they pulled away, blood splattered to the dusty floor.
Just like that, their family reunion was over, without even a scream.
Unsurprisingly, Uncle Ikebe agreed to take Himari in. I didn’t tell him about Kanba or the journalist—instead, I said I felt Himari would be better off living with people who could look after her properly. Going forward, it was possible she could actually attend school in between hospital visits, at which point she would need a grown adult to sign the paperwork. Really, this was for the best.
Over the course of a few days, Himari packed her travel bags full with as much as she could carry. Then, on the day of her departure, she woke up bright and early to make an uncommon breakfast: eggs, toast, soup, and salad. The sky was clear, and the sunshine was warm.
Sleepily, I sat across the table from her, watching her long lashes sparkle in the morning light as I stuffed my mouth full of toast. She was dressed in a frilly blouse and a blue flared skirt; her long hair was thoroughly brushed and tied back with her favorite ribbon. Why was she wearing her Sunday best on a day like this? I didn’t understand.
Our final few days together were unusually quiet. I looked in the mirror and was horrified to find a fat purple bruise running down my left cheek to my jaw. Hastily, I cleaned and iced it. Then Himari asked me for a handful of recipes she hadn’t quite memorized yet, so I recounted them to her, and she wrote them down in her notebook. “Thanks,” she said with a slight smile.
Since Uncle Ikebe probably wouldn’t be able to see Penguin No. 3, she told me she was going to stop playing with it and acknowledging its presence. After all, if she tried to keep doing it in secret, they might think she smuggled in a pet. Neither of us said a word about Kanba.
“Well, I guess I should go now.” Himari pulled on her boots, then opened the sliding door and peered outside. She was wearing a thick fur coat with white trim and a cape, carrying a large bag, with No. 3 at her feet.
“Okay.”
She was smiling, but I couldn’t.
“Here, Sho-chan. Thanks for everything.” As she spoke, she opened her bag and pulled out a ratty old striped scarf, its colors dull and faded.
“You held onto it all this time?” It was the scarf I lent her, back before we were ever family, and I hadn’t seen it since.
“This scarf tied us together, but now I’m giving it back to you. Now we’re officially strangers.” Smiling, she pushed the scarf into my hands.
“I’m sorry.” My fingers tightened slightly, clutching the soft scarf, and I stared at the floor. Apologies wouldn’t fix anything at this point. We were both in the process of losing our only family.
“It’s fine. We’re strangers now.”
Confused, I looked up at her. Her eyes were swimming with tears, and yet she was still smiling somehow.
“The truth is, I always loved you, right from the start. But…I’m not a good girl.”
I wanted to call her name, but before I could, she ran right up to me, got up on her tiptoes, and kissed my lips. When she pulled away, tears started rolling down her cheeks. Then she dashed out the door, slid it shut behind her, and was gone, without so much as a goodbye.
Alone, I stood there, staring down at No. 2 as it swooned on the welcome mat.
Back when the house was occupied by three teenagers and three penguins, it felt cramped. Then when Kanba left, it got bigger all of a sudden. Now that I was alone, the house was massive, silent, and empty. Everything they left behind had lost its color. The penguin hat was no longer sitting on the globe; apparently Himari took it with her. That family outing at the aquarium felt like centuries ago.
Kanba’s belongings were all still here, as were more than half of Himari’s, but everywhere I looked—the corner of the hallway, the red curtains, the entryway—the reality that they were never coming back stared me in the face.
Every time I did the laundry, there was barely anything to wash. As the old machine rumbled and rattled, I opened the lid and gazed down at its contents, swirling with detergent suds. When we were young, Himari and I always loved to watch the washing machine. Together, we’d climb onto a stepstool just to watch the clothes spin. “How is that any fun?” Kanba would always ask. Then our mother would tell us to stop doing it because it wasn’t safe.
To this day, I still couldn’t explain what made it fun, but here I was. Except now I didn’t need a stepstool, and there was no one around to worry about me or watch it with me. But here I was, watching…all the while reliving the sensation I’d felt against my lips.
Later, I hung up the wet laundry while the sun was still high in the sky. For lunch, I ate leftovers from last night’s dinner. I didn’t feel like cleaning, and I probably didn’t need to go grocery shopping, since I’d only be cooking for one tonight. My sluggish body wanted nothing more than to lie down and do nothing, but it was still too early to pull out my futon on a weekend. Instead, my legs carried me to Himari’s bedroom.
She would never sleep in this room again, so I could get rid of the fancy sheets and cushions, take down the canopy—hell, I could take the whole bed apart if I felt like it. If I customized it to suit my own preferences, I would no longer have to deal with the hassle of moving a futon in and out of a closet every day. As my mind wandered, I sat down on her bed. Likewise, Penguin No. 2 hopped up next to me and sat down.
The bed was surrounded by large cardboard boxes full of summer clothes, books, sewing tools, plush toys, scrapbooks, colored pencils, and a cookie tin that contained her button collection. I needed to write her name and new address on a packing slip, take them to a package delivery company, and have them sent to my uncle’s house.
“Oh…”
On top of the sheets lay a single photograph: one of me, Himari, and Kanba as kids. We were all grinning from ear to ear, standing in front of the wall we’d just finished painting. Kanba had an adhesive bandage on his right cheek, Himari was wearing her hair in pigtails, and I’d gotten a splotch of paint on the tip of my nose. It was the first photo we ever took as a family, just the three of us; as I recalled, we used a tripod and the self-timer function to make it happen.
“And now they’re both gone.”
I stared into space for a moment, and then the next thing I knew, I was sobbing so hard my face hurt. In the end, I passed out in the living room with only a single blanket.
By the time hunger finally woke me, the sun had nearly set. I crawled out of the blanket and went to fetch the clean laundry. As I brought it into the house, I rubbed my eyes and contemplated what to eat for dinner. Then I watched No. 2’s round belly rise and fall as it slept nearby, and it occurred to me that I should probably check the weather forecast for tomorrow. Only then did I finally remember to turn on the television after days and days of forgetting it even existed.
“It’s cold…”
I no longer had to go out of my way to cook anything special. It didn’t really matter what I ate, as long as it was warm and filling. With that thought, I switched over to the cooking channel.
“Oden stew? Yeah, right.”
Oden was not something you cooked for a single person. As I stared blankly at the screen, time flowed like sand. Together, the chef and the female show host worked quickly to prepare a pot full of enough stew for four or five people. Then it was time for the taste test, and they gushed about how good it was, and then the show was over.
Naturally, my stomach was rumbling by that point. I knew I needed to eat something, but I was too lazy to do anything. Times like these, I wished the penguin would make me something as a token of gratitude for its caretaker. Then a news program came on, and I finally pushed myself up onto my leaden feet.
“Hey, wake up.”
I poked No. 2 with my toe, but it simply rolled over and went back to sleep. With a sigh, I headed to the kitchen. Then I overheard the phrase “near Ogikubo Station” and looked back at the TV, where the newscaster announced that a station wagon had flipped and crashed, killing the driver—a tabloid journalist.
They showed images of the scene taken by an eyewitness on their cell phone, and sure enough, it was the same station wagon the journalist I spoke to was driving, except now it was upside-down, exuding smoke, and fused with a telephone pole. The newscaster explained that the car hadn’t actually collided with anything—it just spontaneously rolled into the pole. This impact crushed the driver, killing him instantly. This journalist was in the middle of an investigation at the time of his death, but the details were unknown. For the time being, the police cordoned off the street with yellow tape to investigate the initial cause of the crash. Then the newscaster addressed a reporter live on the scene.
“Kanba…?”
I didn’t want to believe it, but…that journalist was in the middle of investigating our family, and the three of us were the only ones who knew about it… Gingerly, I reached up and touched the spot where Kanba punched me, still faintly swollen. Then I thought about the cold, hard look on his face when he demanded to know what the journalist looked like. If he went off to be with the terrorists, then this was no accidental death.
All this time, no matter what moral boundaries Kanba crossed, we always respected him as our brother. But that was because we believed wholeheartedly that he would never do anything worthy of more than a facepalm and a scolding, and we trusted him not to take it too far. There was no reason to doubt him, and so we forgave him for all of it. But if Kanba had gone beyond the point of no return, then our relationship was truly over for good. I would never be able to forgive him for that.
I realized a tear was rolling down my cheek, but I didn’t wipe it away. Instead, I ran into the bathroom and puked in the toilet. I couldn’t control it; it felt like something was squeezing my organs from my chest to my gut. My teeth chattered. And in that moment, it finally hit me: no matter how far apart we were, we were still a family. No matter which of them came home, no matter how long it took them, we would surely go right back to our lives together.
But that day would never come. Neither my words nor Himari’s feelings would ever get through to Kanba. We were strangers now. All of us.
Looking back, it was probably KIGA that held the funeral for his father. Kanba was still just a boy at the time, and as he stood there in front of the coffin, he quietly wondered what would happen to him. His father had cut himself off from the Natsume family, and Kanba made the choice to go with him. Now he was all alone.
“This man was one of our dear compatriots,” Takakura Kenzan declared, tears in his eyes. Whoa. The guy was even more emotional than Kanba himself.
Kenzan was one of the organization’s executives; he brought his wife and two children to the service. The kids were close in age to Kanba himself, and in fact, he’d seen the older brother at the office on occasion.
Kenzan and his wife Chiemi both looked at Kanba with sympathy.
“You have nothing to worry about, Kanba. Starting today, we’re your new family,” Kenzan declared, so matter-of-factly that he couldn’t argue.
His father always seemed to regret taking him away from the Natsume family. Whether he thought of him as a burden or simply wanted him to be with his siblings, it wasn’t clear. But he would always say the same thing: “I failed at family.” Kanba’s mother was driven away by his grandfather’s tyranny, and since his father lacked managerial skills, he couldn’t stay long, either. Did he end up in KIGA afterwards, or did he leave the family because he joined KIGA? Kanba didn’t really know.
Naturally, Kanba himself was part of the “family” his father had failed at. They were two failures, living a failed life together. Did his father ever really love him? Did he love his father? Was he even mourning at all? As he stared down blankly at the ground, Chiemi walked over, dressed head to toe in black, and crouched down to meet his eye level.
“I swear, Shoma talks about you all day every day. Don’t worry, Kanba-kun—it doesn’t take long to fit in with us. You’ll be their big brother before you know it.”
No grown-up had ever smiled at him like that. Judging from her friendly tone and the slight distance between them, he could tell she was trying to be respectful of his space. But even then, he doubted it would be that easy to join someone’s family. Even his real family got angry and shouted at each other.
Chiemi led him by the hand out of the funeral home to the crematorium. Behind them walked Kenzan, Shoma, and the other girl. At the time, his only thought was: I didn’t realize Shoma had a little sister, too.
As his father’s body burned to ash, he sat at a table in the waiting room with the Takakura family and silently ate the packed lunch he was given. It wasn’t especially tasty or gross—it was just normal food. It didn’t taste like anything.
“Look at you, eating your veggies! I’m proud of you,” Chiemi told him.
Kanba didn’t know how to respond to this. Shoma finished everything except his snow peas, but his sister barely touched anything. Her complexion was wan.
“Himari, you don’t have to push yourself,” Chiemi told her gently.
“Okay,” the girl, Himari, answered quietly. After a sip of tea, she continued, “Thank you for the food.”
“Yeah, thanks for the food,” Kanba hastily chimed in, almost like an afterthought. Then Himari glanced over at him, and for a moment, their eyes met. She had big, round eyes—just like Shoma, he thought to himself.
It wasn’t until they asked him what he wanted to do with the bones that it finally sank in: his father was dead. His father’s dead body was reduced to bones, and now tradition dictated that the next of kin use chopsticks to pick them up and put them in a funerary urn. But Kanba was still a child. He wasn’t in charge of this funeral.
“Whatever you decide, make sure you won’t regret it. Your father was a great man,” Kenzan told him.
And so Kanba decided to look at his father’s bones.
There were no identifying features left—just an arrangement of slightly yellowed human bones. As the undertaker stood at the ready nearby, he stared down at the pieces in contemplation. Even if his father thought of him as a burden—even if the man had died cursing his failed family—he decided he still loved his father all the same. No particular reason.
As he broke down crying, Shoma flinched in surprise. “You okay?”
Was he? Kanba didn’t know the answer. Deep down, he was terrified of joining Shoma’s family. Suddenly, he felt something cold against his cheek. Startled, he touched it and realized something was stuck to his face, right over his tear streak.
“See? We match,” Himari explained, holding up her index finger to show him the bear-patterned adhesive bandage wrapped around it. “Now it won’t hurt anymore, right?”
Tilting her head, she looked at him in concern. She was a pale girl, clad in black shoes, black tights, and a black dress.
“Did that fix it?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He was so startled, he stopped crying. Instead, he offered Himari a small smile.
After that, Kanba became a Takakura kid—the older brother of Shoma and Himari. And at some point along the way, he vowed to himself that he would protect Himari at any cost. He would never let anyone destroy his family ever again. She was his beloved baby sister, and he was going to save her.
“I’m gonna save you, I promise.” Kanba looked over his shoulder at Himari, knees tucked to her chin, sitting among the black teddy bears stacked up to the ceiling.
“Okay,” Himari nodded, smiling. “I’m with you to the end, Kan-chan.”
In return for all the times Kanba protected her, Himari decided it was her turn to watch over him. That was what brought her here. She didn’t fully understand what he was talking about when he said he would “save” her, but she could plainly see that he was plotting something with KIGA, talking to them through these computer monitors all day every day. And whatever they were plotting, it wasn’t good.
There was a small KIGA symbol affixed to the door, and the eyes of the teddy bears gleamed an ominous shade of scarlet. Plus, there were the men in black that kept coming in and out. They were nice enough, but for some reason, it felt like they were pulling Kanba further and further away. There was no going back now. She had to stop him and rescue him from this place—at any cost, even her own life.
That morning, Dr. Washizuka had a very strange dream. When he opened the door to his exam room, he instead found a different, unfamiliar room—the sort of room that didn’t belong in a hospital at all. When he stepped back out into the dark hallway to double-check, sure enough, the placard outside said it was his exam room…and yet it couldn’t be. He didn’t recognize the erratic mess of colors on the walls, or the fuzzy clock projected over it, or the porcelain-enameled furniture, or the wooden bookshelves. There was no trace of the room he himself was using.
“Welcome to my exam room.”
Just then, he noticed a young man dressed all in white sitting on a stool nearby, his legs crossed, his long hair tied back, smiling faintly. His eyes gleamed brightly as he gazed back at Washizuka…but at the same time, it felt like the young man was looking beyond him somehow. Beside him stood two young boys wearing dark clothing, their expressions perfectly blank.
“What are these children doing here?”
The boys looked back at him with bright red eyes.
“Good evening! Or good morning, as the case may be,” the longhaired man greeted him leisurely. “Please, have a seat.”
“Good evening,” Washizuka replied as he sat down on the stool usually reserved for patients.
Why did everything appear so fuzzy in this dream? Was it because he didn’t wear his glasses to bed? In that case, why did the floor beneath him feel so firm when he was walking down the hallway? Surely there was no way he would get lost on the way to his own exam room.
“Forgive the sudden question, but…how do you feel about ghosts, Doctor?” the man smirked.
“Do they exist?!” shouted one of the boys.
“Are they scary?!” shouted the other. They giggled.
“Well, I’m a doctor, you know. I’m not well-versed in matters beyond the realm of science,” Washizuka replied, feeling around to try to figure out whether he was wearing pajamas or scrubs. If he could find his pocket, he could get to his glasses case.
“Ah, of course. You see, I know a boy who claims to have met one. He said they had a conversation,” the man whispered in a low voice, like he was telling a spooky story.
“It was probably an audiovisual hallucination induced by strong feelings or desires.” Once again, Washizuka scanned the dimly lit room. He could faintly smell an array of medicines, plus some sort of flowery perfume. “Incidentally, I thought this room was my exam room, but apparently not. My, this is a rather vivid dream.”
“I apologize. While you were off in Germany, I did a bit of redecorating. What do you think? Lovely, isn’t it?” the man asked. The boys promptly started clapping.
“Lovely!”
“Stunning!”
“Oh… Sorry, but I’m afraid I’m not wearing my glasses at the moment—I can’t even tell if I’m wearing my lab coat. But eh, it’s just a dream, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not good, Doctor. There’s something I need you to see.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid it’s all rather fuzzy without my glasses.”
The next instant, Washizuka’s vision suddenly sharpened. The sense of discomfort he’d felt upon entering the room was gone, and his old exam room was back the way it used to be. The only decoration on the crisp, clean walls was a calendar from a pharmaceutical company; in the penholder was his favorite ballpoint pen. The desk, the medical exam table—all of it was reverted to match the cold, sterile furnishings found in any other exam room in this hospital. The mysterious boys had vanished as well.
“Now look at this photograph. Really takes you back, doesn’t it?”
The man held up a framed photo. Washizuka took it and scrutinized it with the help of his trusty glasses. “Is that…?”
It was a group photo taken at the South Pole. Among them was a man with a stoic expression, holding up a peace sign; Washizuka recalled seeing him on television often.
“Not him—the one on the side.”
On the far edge of the group was a beautiful man with long hair, wearing a fur coat and holding up a peace sign, just like the others. The memories came flooding back, and Washizuka let out a long sigh. “Right… It was quite a long time ago now. He was a very talented assistant of mine, but then he became the leader of a criminal organization, committed a large-scale atrocity, and ultimately died in the process.”
“I was so close back then. But Momoka-chan got in my way, that little cutie,” the man laughed, snatching the photo frame out of Washizuka’s hands.
“Wait, what? Are…are you Sanetoshi-kun?”
Sanetoshi was the name of Washizuka’s former assistant, depicted right there in that very photograph. He was a tall man, perpetually smiling, with androgynous facial features and long hair loosely tied back.
“What are you doing here? Am I dreaming about you? But why?”
“Because I’m a ghost,” Sanetoshi grinned in amusement.
“A ghost?”
Washizuka furrowed his brow. To be clear, the Watase Sanetoshi he knew passed away many years ago, which meant this had to be a ghost or a hallucination of some sort. But if this was a dream, then no real explanation was necessary.
“If ghosts are too unscientific for you, then let’s say I’m a curse. And now I’m back for round two.” Sanetoshi recrossed his legs. Then he pulled a bright red apple out of nowhere and began to play with it, tossing it up in the air and catching it.
“What are you talking about?”
Washizuka remembered the day of the atrocity very clearly. And every day that followed, he asked himself: why would Watase Sanetoshi do such a thing? He thought back to how he had personally interacted with Sanetoshi, sometimes regretting everything, other times justifying it.
“I vowed to change the world, and now that intent has been passed down from my comrades to their children. Stunning, isn’t it?”
“You know, I’ve never once forgotten you, but it’s odd that I would dream about you now, of all times. I’m enjoying this little reunion, but…I see you haven’t changed a bit,” Washizuka muttered sadly.
Even in a dream, Watase Sanetoshi was up to no good. Many years passed as Washizuka struggled, and failed, to understand what made him tick. Unfortunately, this wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
“Now then, it’s time for me to return your exam room back to you. Likewise, I enjoyed seeing you again, Dr. Washizuka. Good day to you.” Quietly, Sanetoshi rose from his stool and bowed respectfully. Then he pulled off his lab coat, whirled it around like a cape, and vanished.
This dream was far more creative than Washizuka’s imagination was capable of, and he started to worry about himself. But then again, it was just a dream. Before long, he fell into a deep sleep…and by the time he awoke to the sound of his alarm clock, he forgot that he dreamt at all.