6. Short Story Reading — “Castration of the Sky Father”

Today, I wanted to write something solemn and reflective, rather than in the light-hearted literary style of my novels. But no matter how many times I try to rewrite this, I just can’t seem to get rid of my original style. So I’ve decided to write tonight’s piece just as the light novel author and high school student, Shiyo Takaoka.

It’s already been two whole years since my novel debuted, in my third year of junior high. I guess fifteen is a pretty young age to make it big. I just thought up a story that I’d like to see published, scribbled it down, and submitted it for fun. Then, I unexpectedly won an award for it, and my life changed big time.

I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve received loads of offers to have my book made into a movie, and to have it translated and sold abroad. But I’ve rejected them all. Look, I believe that Japanese people especially would enjoy reading my book. My writing style wasn’t meant to be superficial; I was just trying to mirror the fads, trends, and colloquial expressions of junior-high and high-school girls these days. As a current high-school student, I wanted other girls my age, who only live in Japan, to read and understand my story only in Japanese. It would be such a nuisance to have it translated! I refuse to consent to that. This is my personal decision as a professional author and I plan to stick to it.

Until I won that award, I didn’t stand out much at school. I wasn’t an excellent student and didn’t study very much. But the moment that Kimikageso debuted, everyone went nuts over it, and I really got to bathe in the spotlight.

People often tell me that the title of my novel, Kimikageso, sounds pretty somber and austere. But my novel isn’t stiff at all; it’s actually super easy to get through. I wrote it in a simpler style so that teens like me could breeze through it.

Kimikageso is about a fifteen-year-old girl who, accidentally finding out that she is adopted, goes searching for her real father and secretly writes him letters. It’s an epistolary novel, told from the perspective of their letters to one another, but her father’s very last letter is blank, with only a pressed flower inside of it. In truth, her father collapsed from an illness that rendered him unable to speak or write, and he had dedicated his last bit of strength to putting all his love into the last letter…and then the story ends.

My story was born from one of my daydreams. It was something I came up with trying to imagine what it would be like if I had been adopted. Everyone has thought about this at least once, right? I decided to make the main character a very contemporary girl. The story grew from there, and I ended up writing it all in one sitting.

I wanted my novel to convey the importance of family ties. We live in a world where relationships tend to wear thin, and I wanted people to realize how precious these connections really are…Well, okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit.

I was so surprised when I was nominated for the literary prize in the young adult novel category, and it felt even more unreal when I actually won it. I was just so grateful and embarrassed. But I was proud to know that my message had really gotten out there. I always liked to write, but I never imagined that I would actually debut as an author!

Everyone at school freaked out after I won the award. The principal publicly commended me at school and all these TV shows and magazines were doing stories on me. I became, like, famous overnight. Since my novel had become so popular, Itsumi Shiraishi invited me into the Literature Club when I got into high school.

The high school Literature Club she’d revived. No one could join this exclusive club without Itsumi’s invitation. At the time, Itsumi and Sayuri were the only two members because no one was cool enough to live up to their standards.

The special salon, tucked away in the corner of the annex, sounded so gorgeous from the rumors I had heard! All the girls in junior high knew about the salon and everyone wanted in. I used to look out the window and secretly wish, not even to be a member, but just to be invited to drink tea with them someday. After all, I knew an average student like me would never be good enough for a world of such grace.

After I won the literary prize, I half-expected Itsumi to let me join the club. And then, a few weeks into high school, Itsumi and Sayuri showed up at my classroom. It was like a dream come true.

“We read your novel. It was fantastic! Would you please join our club?” Itsumi asked.

The classroom buzzed with excitement. First of all, they were a remarkable pair. They had this aura that the underclassmen found hard to approach. They shone so brightly that they’d burn your eyes if you got too close. It was crazy to think they had come to me, stood right in front of me, to invite me to their club! “With pleasure,” I replied, shaking Itsumi’s hand. My classmates squealed with excitement. I was trying to play it cool, but secretly my legs were shaking. Also, I was so honored to be the first member of the club. They had chosen me!

Itsumi’s hand was warm. My heart raced late into the night.

Itsumi loved Kimikageso. Well, it’s kind of embarrassing to say this, but she pretty much raved about it. She talked about it at our book discussions and even put a copy of it in the library. “Can I have your autograph?” she asked. I played along, turned to a random page in the middle of the book, wrote my name, and:

“To Itsumi Shiraishi, the beautiful president of our beloved Literature Club.”

I can’t believe I had the guts to write that.

Itsumi let me write in the salon whenever I wanted to, and I was really grateful for that. The Literature Club provided me with the funds to order the books I needed from Japan and abroad, kind of like how the medieval European patrons used to be. You may be thinking, like, “Okay, stop exaggerating!” but I’d be typing in the Gothic-style literary salon and look up to suddenly find black tea and freshly baked cookies on my right, and the files I had asked for on my left. Just try and picture that. I’m sure you’d say the word “patron” without even thinking.

I made friends with the members of the club and grew closer to Itsumi, the girl I had always worshipped.

Itsumi and I became even better friends during our homestay in Bulgaria. We were only there for two short weeks, but it was really fun. Even Mr. Hojo was startled at how happy we were.

No one at school had ever asked to study abroad in Bulgaria, a completely unfamiliar country to us, but Itsumi had apparently already gone the year before, the first student from the academy to go. Most students choose to study abroad in America or England, and yet there Itsumi was, going to Bulgaria. I was dumbfounded as to why she would choose such a (I shouldn’t say it, but) backwater country in the first place. She even had the guts to go alone. So, I also settled on Bulgaria. If I’m lucky enough, I’ll be able to spend one-on-one time with Itsumi! I thought to myself. And then, my wish actually came true! “I’m so glad you’re coming! I was so bored when I went alone last year,” Itsumi told me. I really enjoyed going to all the different places with her.

On that trip, I discovered a lot of things about Itsumi.

It was really nice staying in a small village instead of a city. I also became besties with Diana and Ema. It was a really precious experience for me.

I was supposed to stay at this woman Bessie’s house, but she told me I had to sleep in the living room. Frankly, Ema kinda messed up. She got all flustered when I asked to be moved to another homestay, and then said that she wouldn’t be able to find a ready place for me to stay. At that point, I told her that I didn’t mind staying in a hotel. So even though the homestay program was supposed to be the highlight of the study abroad program, which required me to stay at a local home, I ended up lodging in a hotel. I’m sure Ema would have gotten in trouble if I had reported her to the school, but I could tell that she was doing her best and told her I’d keep it a secret. “Thank you for not saying anything, Shiyo. We couldn’t live without Ema’s job,” Diana told me. But hey, that’s what friends do, right?

Speaking of friends, Itsumi once bought us all good-luck bracelets from the Rila Church. When you put on a good-luck bracelet, you’re supposed to make a wish. Right arm for love, left arm for studies, right leg for friendship, and left leg for fortune, I think? I put mine on my right leg because I wanted to be closer friends with Itsumi. It was embarrassing to put it on in front of her, so I just did it, like, really fast. I watched Diana and Ema put theirs on their right arm. Ema chose her right arm because she hoped to marry her boyfriend someday. Diana didn’t say anything, but I think she might have liked someone at the time.

I wished as hard as I could, hoping that my wish to be great friends with Itsumi would come true really soon, but the next day I heard a snap, and the bracelet was broken. These things aren’t supposed to break, so I was shocked. But maybe it was the bracelet working in my favor; Itsumi and I got so close during study abroad it was almost like we were actual sisters.

When Japanese people think of “Bulgaria,” they also think of “yogurt.” And it turned out Bulgarians really do have yogurt with everything. In Japan yogurt usually goes with dessert, but in Bulgaria, it goes on fish, meat, and even vegetables. And, Bulgaria is famous for flowers! I bought tons of floral souvenirs: rose oil, rose water, rose jam…what girl doesn’t love roses?

We had a great time everywhere we went, but the most unforgettable experience was our shoreside picnic.

Just imagine: a forest blooming with mimosas and magnolias. The calm, rolling tide. Birds cheeping sweetly. It was like we were lost in a fairytale. We sat on the grass, drinking sweet plum juice with our sandwiches. Though Ema had taken us to so many historical sights and ruins, for me, that simple picnic was the most fun of all.

I got to be alone with Itsumi on the picnic. Ema and Diana were busy with something else, so Itsumi and I decided to set off on our own adventure.

The lake was too pretty not to go in. We hadn’t brought our swimsuits, so we decided to skinny-dip. The water was a little chilly, but in the warmth of the May sun, the cold felt refreshing. And Itsumi’s body was so gorgeous. Her long, glamorous hair clung to her figure when she rose from the lake, and the sunlight coming through the tree leaves glinted through the drops of water falling from her body. It was like she was Venus in William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s The Birth of Venus. And I say that as someone who has seen that painting in person. When I lived in France, I saw it in the Musée d’Orsay. But I have to say that Itsumi’s body was far more sensual even than Bouguereau’s painting.

By the way, did you know that Venus was born from a severed penis? The Sky Father, Uranus, hated his son so much that he put him back into his mother, Gaia’s, womb. Gaia punished Uranus by ordering her son to cut off his father’s penis with a sickle. Uranus’ genitalia splashed into the ocean, with liquids seeping out of it that turned into bubbles, and thus Venus was born.

Here is a poem that Angelo Poliziano wrote about this myth:

Most people agree it was Poliziano’s poem, which I just read to you, that inspired Sandro Botticelli for The Birth of Venus.

Still, imagine having your genitals cut off and thrown into the ocean. Awful, isn’t it. But I totally get how Venus’ beauty could be born from the Sky Father’s castration. And I feel like this “beauty born from male castration” somehow fits Itsumi to a tee. A world devoid of men—a divine beauty that only existed in an all-girls school. I guess unique environments breed exceptional beauty.

Emerging from the lake, Itsumi’s naked body wasn’t lascivious, but was pure, mystical, and bursting with light. The wind fluttered behind her, green grass sprouted from the earth, and ripples formed on the water as if nature was worshipping her as a goddess. That naked body and gaze, as soft as the Virgin Mary’s, broke all the rules! If I were a boy, I would’ve been so twisted by her beauty that I would’ve thrown myself into the lake…Ah, yes, I can probably use that idea in my next novel.

After the picnic, we were supposed to visit a museum with Mr. Hojo. But it was too much of a hassle to go after swimming. I lied and said I was sick. Then I wandered off on my own, taking pictures. And, man, I really took a lot.

I think the reason I feel comfortable walking alone in a foreign country is because I used to live in one for so long. Due to my father’s work, I lived in France from grades one through six. I travelled to various European countries with my family: Italy, Spain, Switzerland, Belgium, England…At the time, I had taken my travels for granted, but now I realize that I had truly been blessed.

France is my second home. I want to live there again someday. I feel like it somehow suits me better than the rigid confines of Japan. I feel calm when I’m in France. I guess this is the kind of thing that happens when you grow up overseas.

Perhaps my time abroad as a child is what made me so extraordinarily picky about the Japanese words I use in my novels. Yes, I’m sure of it. Without a doubt, the six years I spent in France are as much a part of me as my flesh and blood, and they have most certainly improved my writing skills.

Even after we returned to Japan, Itsumi and I were still like sisters. We joked around in the salon and I did silly things to get her attention. But Itsumi had fun with our little games and let me depend on her as I would on a sister.

After Diana came to Japan, the three of us often reminisced about Bulgaria together. I felt bad that this left the other members out, but it wasn’t intentional. Sonoko seemed especially pissed about it. But for the three of us, this was such a special memory that we just couldn’t help it.

Now, we really acted like sisters at the Easter festival.

I had been chosen to be an Easter Bunny. (Supposedly this was Itsumi’s dad, the chairman’s, idea). When I went to the executive committee’s office to pick up the suit, I saw the head and the torso separated, lined up on the floor. With is severed head and its creepy, plastic blue eyes, the Easter Bunny—a symbol of life and glory—looked like it had been brutally murdered. It was terrifying.

And I didn’t expect the inside of the suit to be so hot and stuffy. I was super depressed and dreaded wearing it for the next few hours. I thought I had such bad luck. I put on the torso, another volunteer zipped me up in the back, and then I slipped on the head and gloves. I thought, Ughh, and I just painted my nails, too! Our school usually forbids manicures, but I’d painted mine with the Easter egg paint. We wouldn’t get scolded for using the leftover Easter egg paint, so everyone was doing it. But the stupid costume hid my pretty green nails. And my fake eyelashes were perfect, too, but of course the costume also covered that.

As I walked around in my Easter Bunny costume, I had to do this happy-looking dance. Children sometimes called me over, and I helped them look for eggs. The costume was terribly heavy. Even though my shoulders were stiff, I still waved my arms as much as I could, and lifted my legs and shook my waist.

“Oh my, is that Shiyo in there?” I heard a voice call. I couldn’t hear very clearly with all the mesh around my ears and didn’t know where the sound was coming from. I spun around and searched for the source.

“Right here.” Someone’s hands touched my fuzzy arm. Through the hole in the head piece, I could only see her school uniform.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Itsumi.”

“Aah, Itsumi. You knew it was me, even though we’re all wearing the same costume?”

“I knew right away!”

“How?”

“I mean, your dance is the worst,” she snickered loudly.

“Itsumi, that’s not nice. I’m sweating in here trying my best.”

“Are you hot?”

“Oh, extremely.”

“You poor thing. Here, come with me.” Itsumi hooked arms with me. She pretended to dance with me, her Easter Bunny friend, while leading me to the back of the gym.

“Nobody’s ever here,” she said. “So you can take off the costume and take a break.”

She really saved me back there. I took off my sweat-soaked gloves and tugged at the head piece. But it was stuck.

“Itsumi, it won’t come off!”

“Hnnh!” Itsumi tried pulling at the headpiece, but it caught on my jaw and wouldn’t budge.

“Owwww! That hurts!”

“Just bear with me. Okay, one more time.” She tugged so hard I thought my neck was going to come off.

“Oww, oww, that hurts. Itsumi, seriously, stop! If you don’t stop, I’ll never forgive you!” I shrieked in pain, and then I heard footsteps. Oh, no! If anyone found out I was shirking my Easter Bunny duties, Itsumi’s dad would definitely get mad at me.

“Itsumi,” I hissed, “what do we do?”

“You go escape from the other side. Don’t worry, I’ll distract them.”

“But—”

“Just go!” Itsumi pushed me from behind, and I scurried away. Guuhh, why did Itsumi’s stupid dad have this weird idea to get us in Easter Bunny costumes? I cursed at him under my breath. Back in the main festival grounds, I started to dance around a circle of kids with the other Easter Bunnies.

Whose footsteps had we heard anyway?

Behind the gym, I had totally panicked. But now that Itsumi’s gone, I look back on that incident fondly. I never thought that she would die just a few weeks later.

The Easter festival closed with the Eucharist.

We bid farewell to the parents and caretakers, tidied up, and held the Eucharist in the new church. Although the entire student body was present, only the students who’d been baptized could participate. They joined the priest under the cross and were handed bread and wine.

“You have been given the body of Christ.”

“Amen.”

“This is the blood that Christ shed for you.”

“Amen.”

I was one of the baptized students. I always feel solemn when I put the bread on my tongue and sip wine from the small chalice. This ritual depicts the Last Supper and has been practiced for over two thousand years, and I always take it very seriously. Even a high-schooler like me knows how important it is. Two thousand years seems like an eternity.

Every year, Itsumi read from the Bible for the Eucharist. But this year, Sayuri stood at the altar instead. I scanned the church, but Itsumi was nowhere to be found. I thought she might have gotten into trouble for letting me take a rest in the gym.

I started to worry and, right after the Eucharist ended, went looking for her. Finally, I found Itsumi in the salon, blankly staring out a window, standing there as if nothing had happened.

“Oh, Itsumi. I’m so glad you’re here,” I said.

“Oh no, did mass end already?” Itsumi turned and asked.

“Yeah. I didn’t see you there, so I got worried.”

“I’m just a little tired. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Uhmm…was everything okay at the gym?”

“No problem at all. No one saw you.” Itsumi smiled. Her collar gaped slightly. She wore a red scarf over her neck.

“What’s with the scarf?” I asked.

“Oh, this? This goes to the top five winners of the egg hunt. They already announced the winners, so I grabbed one of these and took a little cat nap in the back of the gym.

“But actually, I’m wearing last year’s scarf. I put it on so I could give it to one of the kids that cry when they lose,” Itsumi said, sticking out her tongue mischievously, like a child.

“I’m glad that’s all it is.” The tension had left my shoulders. Just then, the door swung open and the members entered the room.

“Let’s keep this between you and me, okay?” whispered Itsumi, winking at me as she put her finger to her lips.

“Okay! I’ll keep it a secret!” I said gleefully. My voice was too loud, and she glared at me.

Our club’s Easter festival sales totaled 420,000 yen (as expected, we were sold out!). Even when we took out the 180,000 yen that went to ingredients and the 100,000 yen that the Literature Club retained for its exertions (though she had lived an easy life, Itsumi knew to claim what she deserved), we were still able to donate 140,000 yen to charity.

We all gave opinions on who we wanted to donate the profits to. The upperclassmen said it would be a good lesson for us to decide based off our own beliefs rather than on what the school tells us to do. So every year, we discuss our options, take a poll, and then donate the funds to the charity that wins the majority of votes. But this time, everyone wanted something different. Sonoko wanted to donate to underfunded hospitals, Mirei chose retirement homes, Itsumi suggested orphanages…

“I want to do something for children in need,” Itsumi said definitively. “There are many reasons why children don’t have parents. I want to make their lives easier. Just look at this picture.” Itsumi showed us a photo of an adorable baby. “Some babies are so unfortunate they can’t even meet their parents after they’re born.” Great, fat teardrops fell from her eyes.

Everyone was moved at Itsumi’s words and agreed with her: “Yes, yes, let’s donate to the orphanage.” My opinion of Itsumi improved even more. She was someone truly filled with love.

But I gotta say, we couldn’t have sold all the cakes and cookies if it hadn’t been for Akane Kominami.

Even if someone used the exact same utensils, ingredients, and baking techniques as Akane, her desserts would still come out on top. Her timing and intuition for baking was just uncanny.

I secretly called Akane “Alice.” She wore a frilly apron and would fit perfectly in a fairy tale—just like Alice in Wonderland.

And that’s right—once, she staged a totally stylish tea party when we discussed Alice in Wonderland. She recreated the baked butter, molasses tarts, and the Mad Hatter’s tea. She’d given us all hats, too, saying, “You all have to put these on, please!” I don’t know where she found those pieces of headgear, but she gave Mirei a playing card’s military helmet, Sayuri rabbit’s ears, Diana cat ears, Sonoko a funky hat, and Itsumi a crown with hearts on it. Yes, we were, respectively, the Playing Card Guard, the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat, the Mad Hatter, and the Queen of Hearts. And it goes without saying that Akane was Alice.

It was a really fun tea party. Whenever something small happened, Itsumi would melodramatically shout, “Off with her head!” Everyone would laugh.

Come to think of it, that tea party was the first time I noticed the big red scar on Akane’s left arm. I hadn’t seen it before because her clothes cover her arms in the winter, and she wore a cardigan in the summer because she was always cold. But her Alice cosplay was half-sleeved. I didn’t realize that I’d been staring at it, but she apparently noticed my gaze and quickly hid her scar. Oh no, I didn’t mean to be rude, I thought, worried that I had offended her. But Itsumi took Akane’s arm and gently caressed it.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know,” she said comfortingly. “It’s really very cute. It’s kind of shaped like a lily.”

Itsumi’s words lifted Akane’s spirits. They helped me out, too—I mean, she saved me from looking rude. Itsumi understood how Akane felt and instantly cleared the air. She’s super sensitive to how people felt. Again, I was touched. Itsumi was a genuinely wonderful girl.

I really like Akane, but I have to say, something has been bothering me.

When was it that Itsumi told us that she was going to close down the Literature Club when she graduated? I feel like that was what started it. This meant that the salon and Literature Club would be permanently shut down after just two more semesters.

I mean, the salon was originally made for Itsumi. It was sad to think about it closing and stuff, but I had always figured that everyone knew it would close when Itsumi graduated. So one day, she told us that the salon was going to be donated to an orphanage.

Then Akane, who was normally very adult-like and composed, suddenly stood up and argued with her. We were all surprised at how vehement she was. She said things like:

“Are you trying to take the salon away from us?!”

“Can’t you donate anything else to the orphanage?!”

“This is tyranny!”

The kitchen was Akane’s rock, her support system. Her house and restaurant had burned down, along with all of her plans to own her own restaurant. So this meant the salon’s kitchen, and I’m not exaggerating this time, was her only reason for living.

But Itsumi didn’t back down.

“Didn’t Jesus say to ‘love thy neighbor’?” she scolded Akane. She didn’t listen to Akane’s arguments, and the salon was still set to relocate at the end of the term.

It was around then that Itsumi started saying she “didn’t feel well” after tea time.

Before, Itsumi used to sing lightheartedly along to the music she’d play in the salon while stepping in time with the beat, but after her argument with Akane, she just lay lethargically on the couch. She claimed reading made her head hurt and stopped contributing to our discussions. Akane fed us mouth-watering risotto and sandwiches—but Itsumi continued to wither away.

I just couldn’t take it anymore. I would have done anything to revive my lovely Itsumi. The campus had become so gloomy and boring without her vivacity. Writing is the only thing I can do well, so I wrote her poems of encouragement and read them aloud to her to cheer her up. But that sort of thing didn’t help her. The only thing I could do was stand there feeling frustrated as I watched Itsumi grow weaker by the day.

While thinking of ways I could cheer her up, I suddenly remembered her fondness for Mozart. I chose Peter Shaffer’s play, Amadeus, to be the theme of our next discussion, and held a special viewing of the movie version in the salon. I brought in a Karajan CD from home, figuring that anything to do with Mozart would make Itsumi happy, but she rejected my offer, saying that she was “too tired to listen.”

Then, I thought as hard as I could and it was like a light bulb went off in my head: What if we tried making the desserts from Amadeus? There’s a scene in the movie where Mozart’s wife, Constantine, eats a dessert called the “Nipples of Venus.” You make the breast by soaking a chestnut in brandy, coating it in white chocolate, and then topping it off with a chocolate chip. It’s a cute little dessert that was once very popular in France.

Even though Itsumi was exhausted, I knew she still had an appetite, and I was positive that she would eat our sweets if we made her some. I may be tooting my own horn here, but I thought it was a great idea. But I can’t bake very well, so naturally, I asked Akane for help.

There weren’t any chestnuts in the kitchen. Akane declared, “There must be a way to make it with chocolate truffles. I’ll give it a try. Leave it to me!” She skillfully began baking without even looking at the recipe. I watched her with admiration, but, knowing that I would be too clumsy to help out, decided to wait in the living room and leave it up to the pastry chef.

When I entered the living room, I saw Sonoko taking Itsumi’s blood pressure. I was looking at Itsumi’s pale arm when I had another brilliant idea. There’s a classic French dessert called the “Arms of Venus,” a roll cake that contains dried fruit. I thought it would be very fashionable to bring out both Venus’ arms and nipples at the same time. Only the sweets of a goddess were fit for Itsumi.

I’m a genius, I thought, feeling all proud of myself. I rushed online, printed out the recipe for the Arms of Venus, and then flew into the kitchen.

“Akane, do we have any dried fruits?”

Perhaps it was because I’d entered so suddenly, but Akane seemed to shudder all over in surprise. And then…I saw her hiding something behind her back.

“Shiyo, don’t scare me like that.” Akane turned to me and grinned, her cheeks twitching.

“What were you just doing?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“Are you hiding something?”

“Um, no. What are you talking about?”

“Nothing…It’s fine, I must have been seeing things.”

“You must have been. I’m almost done with Itsumi’s desserts, so can I please finish in peace?” As she said, round balls of ganache were already sitting on the counter.

“Okay. I’ll go wait outside then.”

Akane didn’t take her hands out from behind her back until I’d left the room. It was kind of weird. She wasn’t acting like herself. In the end, I wasn’t able to give Akane the recipe for the arms, and she had only made the nipples. The little pinches of pink chocolate on top of the balls of white chocolate were really cute, and everyone loved them. Of course, Itsumi also enjoyed them as much as I’d hoped she would.

“Hey, it looks like Itsumi’s the only one with big nipples,” Sonoko snickered while we were eating.

Itsumi hadn’t noticed it until it was pointed out to her, but it was true: the pink parts of her dessert were slightly bigger than everyone else’s. For some reason, it felt like some sort of sign…

That’s when I first noticed. We’d tended to eat cakes, tarts, and other desserts you would cut up and share. But now, we were only served macarons, pudding, individual treats. Meaning that it wouldn’t have been hard for Akane to slip something into Itsumi’s dessert if she’d wanted, right?

And, I remembered, Itsumi always said she felt ill after eating one of Akane’s light meals. Then, there was also the time that Akane baked madeleines when Mirei first joined the club. Mirei showed up the next day all embarrassed, telling us that she had thrown up after eating something her body couldn’t handle.

If I’m not mistaken, on Mirei’s first day, Itsumi told Mirei she was full and had given her her madeleines. I remember that well because I’d been jealous of Mirei.

So what did this all mean? Was my dear Akane putting something in Itsumi’s desserts?

I decided to observe the situation. I discovered that Itsumi’s desserts were all marked in some way, and that Akane personally brought them to her. Then, Itsumi would take a few bites and say that she “didn’t feel well.”

One moment Itsumi would be sweating and claiming that she was hot, and the next she would be shivering and cold and lying on the sofa. After Itsumi would gulp down the black tea I brought her, she would stagger into the kitchen and munch on cakes that hadn’t even been decorated yet.

I’ve seen people act like this before. Yes: These were the actions of someone who’d been poisoned. I know because I had interviewed people at a rehabilitation center when I was asked to write an essay for the “No more! Say no! Stop! The! Drugs!” campaign. The people at the center had staring eyes, couldn’t regulate their body temperature, and were always thirsty and gorging themselves…just like Itsumi!

When I realized how serious things were, I panicked. Itsumi wouldn’t just get sick if this continued, she would die. I knew Akane wouldn’t be able to stop me if I tackled the problem head-on. I had to do something. So when The Tragedy of Y was mentioned at one of our book discussions, I took the chance to slip in a hint.

“Slipping people drugs and poison is so passé. It may have worked in the past, but now we can figure out everything with autopsies,” I said.

I still remember the look on Akane’s face. Her soft eyes instantly lost color, as if they’d turned to stone. I pretended not to see her reaction. She was my friend. I felt pity for her.

By then, I was convinced that she would stop poisoning Itsumi. My words were meant to help Akane and bring her to her senses.

But now I think they probably had the converse effect and made her feel trapped. Hence why I think Akane stopped drugging Itsumi and felt like she had no other choice but to push Itsumi off the terrace. If my theory is true, then my heart truly aches for Akane. I really do feel bad, you know. I kind of feel like I’m the one who pushed Akane over the edge.

If Itsumi died, all plans to donate and move the salon would naturally dissipate. And Akane has been in the kitchen every day since Itsumi’s death. She’s been baking caramel chiffon cakes and grape mousse because, she says, “They were Itsumi’s favorites.” But to me, it almost seems like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

And then, Akane even said that Kominami wants to purchase the salon and kitchen. If she could make this happen, the salon and kitchen would be relocated and made into a Western-style restaurant. Of course, she also said she would be one of the owners and make all kinds of foods and desserts.

Even the finest restaurant would be no match for this kitchen. Itsumi bought all of the equipment and tools that Akane had asked for since joining the club, creating the ideal kitchen for her. A kitchen that exists only for Akane…Akane’s Wonderland.

I don’t know. I feel conflicted. Of course, I still love Itsumi. She was like my older sister and then died—and so young. This has left me with a tremendous sense of loss. If Akane hadn’t been the culprit, I’d hate and resent and curse whoever did this…but I like Akane too. She’s nice and hard-working. I want her to get her dream restaurant, I really do.

So, here I wallow in my regret, stuck wondering if I could’ve done something to stop this from happening. But what’s done is done. My regrets mean nothing now.

It was incredibly unlucky that Akane’s family restaurant burned down. That must have completely changed her life. She probably developed a deeper love for, and assigned more meaning to, the salon’s kitchen than we had ever imagined she would. And once she found out she was going to lose her kitchen…Yes, I can understand her rage. Akane, too, is a poor victim here.

She may have done something terrible, but I still love her. She may have taken my older sister Itsumi away, but I cannot bring myself to hate the murderer.

But I can’t deny what I happened to see the day Itsumi died. I was walking down the passageway and…

I can’t forget the exultant look on Akane’s face as she shoved Itsumi from behind. She squinted her eyes, as if looking at something bright, as she watched Itsumi fall from the terrace. Isn’t that when Akane got one step closer to her dream? Didn’t Alice have to kill the Queen of Hearts to get her hands on Wonderland?

I will not judge her. If this is what Akane felt she had to do to solve her problems, no one has the right to criticize her.

When I saw the lilies in Itsumi’s hand, I prayed that no one would remember Akane’s scar.

There may come a day when Akane will have to repent. But, until that day comes, I hope she can at least recover a little from the stains of her misfortune. I hope she got what she wanted by killing Itsumi.

I sincerely pray for that from the bottom of my heart.

(Fin.)

Thank you very much for reading, Shiyo.

It seems that everyone was most excited for the novelist’s story after all. That includes myself, of course. That is why I had you read last.

I love your literary style, Shiyo. The rhythm and expressions you use in your piece just screams “high school girl.” I read all of the middle school, high school, and college versions of the Kimikageso series, and I can’t wait for your next story.

I didn’t know the myth about the birth of Venus. Beauty born from the Sky Father’s castration. That really does fit Itsumi to a tee. You could even say Itsumi was “mystical.”

Your take on the events was intriguing. You put all that was in your head eloquently on paper. Shiyo, you are truly quite the talent.

Yes, I remember you looking up the recipe for the “Arms of Venus” in the salon. And also when you ran into the kitchen with the recipe in your hand. I was very curious and excited to see how it would taste. What a shame it was that we never got to eat it. If your story is true, then that must mean…

Yet another theory has emerged. But all of your stories sound true. How very strange. How are we supposed to reach a conclusion? Anyway, thank you, Shiyo. You may return to your seat. Everyone, a round of applause for the professional author.

Well, that was the last of your readings. Thank you, everyone, for your participation.

This past week, it’s clear all of you have given Itsumi’s death a lot of thought before bringing your stories in. This must have been very hard for you, what with final exams too. I am sure that Itsumi is pleased with all of you.

At last, it’s time for the final reading. It’s my turn.

But I must apologize in advance; I didn’t write this next story.

It was written by Itsumi Shiraishi herself.

Everyone, please settle down. I just received it this morning. There is no question about it—this is certainly her handwriting. When did she write this? I understand why you’re all confused. Anyway, I will now read it to you…