Vol 1 Epilogue (1/2)

Epilogue

It’s July 1998, and I celebrate a little in my head as I finish up the day’s

work early, just before lunch break. I say “work” but really, I’m just more

of a secretary to Miss Tōko than anything, mostly doing the odd job she

needs doing. I’m lucky to even get work at all, having dropped out of college

halfway.

“Kokutō, isn’t today your weekly visit?”

“Yes, ma’am. Soon as I finish this up, I’m going there right away.”

“Oh, don’t delay on account of me. You can go early. There’s nothing

more for you to do here today, anyway.”

I have to say, Miss Tōko’s temperament when her gla.s.ses are on is much

more preferable. And after all, this is a good day for her too; since it’s the

day she cleans that car she’s so proud of to an immaculate sparkle. She

always likes doing that.

“Thanks, ma’am. I’ll be back in about two hours.”

“Bring me back a snack or two, all right?” She waves me a goodbye just

before I close the door to her office.

 Ryōgi is still in the hospital, still in a coma unable to do anything. I

still go to visit her every Sat.u.r.day afternoon. She never told me about any

pain she was holding in, or anything she thought about. I don’t even know

why she tried to kill me. But at least she smiled in the end, even if it was a

faint one. At least she smiled, and that was enough.

Gakutō had it right a long time ago. I was already crazy. I guess that’s

why I am the way I am today even after a brush with death.

I still remember the last time we stood in the sunset lit cla.s.sroom. Under

that burning, blood red sky,  asked me what part of her I believed in.

And I still remember my answer.

“I don’t have any basis, but I trust you. I like you, so I want to keep believing

in you.”

A premature answer, perhaps. I said I didn’t have any basis, but the truth

is, I did. I just didn’t know it at the time. She didn’t kill anyone. That, at

least, I could believe in. Because  knew how painful murder was. She,

above all others, knew the suffering that the victim and the murderer went

through.

That’s why I believed: in , who couldn’t express herself, in s.h.i.+ki,

who wasn’t given a chance to be a person, in , who was far from pain,

and in s.h.i.+ki, who knew nothing but pain.

The three pieces now lie poised on the board.

One a mind entwined with a specter floating, and

on death, dependent.

One a life in paradox eternal , and in death, pleasure.

One a predator with origin awakened, and to death,

gnosis.

Three now swirl and dance, and in the spiral of

conflict they wait.

84 • KINOKO NASU / LINGERING PAIN • 84

Part I: Lingering Pain

/ LINGERING PAIN • 85

When I was little, I played house a lot. I had a pretend family, with a pretend

pet, a pretend kitchen, and I would cook pretend food.

But one day, a real blade had accidentally been mixed up in the artificial,

pretend ones.

I had never seen a toy that sharp before, and I used it to play, and in the

process cut myself deeply between the fingers.

I approached my mother with red soaked palms outstretched, and I

remember her scolding me for it, then crying and embracing me, saying “I

know it hurts, but we’ll fix it,” over and over again.

It was not her consolation that made me happy, but her embracing me,

and so I started to cry as well.

“Don’t worry, Fujino. The pain will go away once the wound heals,” she

said while wrapping a bandage around my hand.

At the time, I didn’t understand what she was trying to say.

Because not even for a moment did I feel any pain.

86 • KINOKO NASU

Lingering Pain

“Well, she certainly has her way of introducing herself,” the professor

remarks.

The university science lab has that synthetic smell of chemical disinfectants

that reminds me more of hospitals. But the laboratory equipment

dispels any notion of that quickly. As does the white-coated professor who

Miss Tōko sent me to meet today, who now displays a reptilian smile of full

white teeth while offering a handshake. I take it.

“So you have an interest in parapsychology, eh?” he asks.

“Not really. I just want to know some minor things about the topic.”

“And that’s what you call ‘interest.’” He wrinkles his nose, satisfied at his

show of wit. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’d expect nothing less from

her a.s.sociate. I mean, she asks you to hand her business card as an introduction.

She was always a unique one, and talented. I wish our university

had more students of her caliber.”

“Er…yes, I’m sure your student problems are important.” I’m starting to

see where Miss Tōko gets her ability to ramble so much from. “But I was

asking about—“

“Ah, yes, yes, parapsychology. There are many different phenomena that

fall under that label. Our university doesn’t really deal with it, however. I’m

sure you can understand when I say it’s treated as quack science by most in

my field. There are very few universities here in j.a.pan still giving grants for

parapsychology studies. Even so, I’ve heard a few have had some marginal

successes, though the actual details don’t really—“

“Yes, professor, I’d imagine those studies are fascinating, but I’m more

interested in how people end up having them in the first place.”

“Well, to simplify, you can liken it to a card game. You play card games,

don’t you? What card game is the most popular right now?”

I scratch my head, deciding to go along with this man’s logic. “Erm…

poker, I guess?”

“Ah yes, poker. I’ve had my own fond memories with that game.” He

clears his throat for a moment, then moves on. “Let us say that human

brains are all playing a game. Your brain and mine are playing poker. Most

everyone else in society is playing poker as well. There are other games,

but we can’t play them. Everyone is in consensus that poker is the game

we have to play, because that’s how we define being normal. Are you following

me so far?”

“So you’re saying that everyone plays a boring card game?”

/ LINGERING PAIN • 87

“But see, that’s what makes it better for everyone. Since everyone plays

poker, we’re protected by arbitrary, but absolute rules of our own creation,

and thus we can live in a peaceful consensus.”

“But if I’m getting you right, you’re saying the other games aside from

poker aren’t so clear cut?”

“We can only speculate. Say some other minds are playing a game with

rules that have an allowance for plants to communicate, and maybe other

minds prefer a game that has rules that say you can move a body other

than your own. These are not the same games as poker. They have their

own consensus, their own rules. When you play poker, you play by its rules,

but those playing by the rules of other games don’t conform. To them,

poker doesn’t make a lick of sense.

“So you’re saying that people not ‘playing poker’, so to speak, have some

mental abnormalities?”

“Exactly. Consider a person that knew no other game than the game

where you could communicate with plants. In the rules of his game, he

talks to plants, but he can’t talk to people. People who see him then brand

him as crazy and put him in the funhouse. If he really could talk to plants,

then that’s a person with paranormal abilities right there: a person that

plays a different game, follows different rules, than the game society plays.

However, I’d imagine most people with these sorts of abilities are still capable

of switching their mindsets, so that they can still live mostly unnoticed

in society.”

“Which makes the person that only plays the game where you can talk

to plants a crazy person, since he lacks the shared subconscious experience

and consensus inherent in playing poker, am I right? If he only knows

the other game, and can’t switch between the two, then he’s considered

mentally damaged.”

“That’s right. Society calls these people serial killers and psychopaths,

but I would phrase them more appropriately as ‘living paradoxes’: People

who, because they play by irregular rules of reality, make their existence

itself a contradiction to reality. People who shouldn’t be able to exist, who

can’t exist.” He pauses for a half beat to collect himself, then added. “This

is all hypothetical, of course.” As if he needed to say it.

“Of course, professor. Is there any way to correct a living paradox like

you said?”

“You’d have to destroy the very rules they play by within their minds.

But destroying the brain just equates to killing them, so there’s really no

easy way, or really no other way but to kill them. No one can just suddenly

alter a state of mind or ability like that. If there was, then that person him-

88 • KINOKO NASU

self would also be playing a different game with different rules. Something

like solitaire. I hear that game has some pretty complex rules in it.”

The professor laughs heartily, apparently immensely amused at his own

joke. I can’t say I share the sentiment.

“Thanks, professor. You’ve helped loads. I suppose now I know what I’ll

do when I encounter psychokinetic people.” I say it only half sarcastically.

“Psychokinesis? Like bending spoons, things like that?”

Oh, brother, here we go again. “Or heck, why not a human arm?” That

one was less of a joke.

“If we’re going by spoon bending, then you have nothing to fear. The

force required to bend a spoon would take days to distort a human arm. If

there was someone who could bend an arm, I suggest a hasty withdrawal.”

Now that he mentions it, now’s probably the right time for a hasty withdrawal

myself. “I’m sorry to cut this short, professor, but I really need to go.

I have to get to Nagano, and I’d like to do it today. Sorry for eating up too

much of your time.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. Come by

any time you need to. And send my regards to Aozaki, won’t you?”

/ 1 • 89

/ 1

Fujino Asagami, still in a state of confusion and disorientation, pulls herself

up in the middle of a darkened room. The silhouettes of people standing

and milling about, once so familiar, are now gone. The light isn’t turned

on. No, not quite right. There was no light in the first place, and darkness

stretches all over the room, with nary a peek or a beam of light seeping in.

She exhales a long sigh, and brushes her long, black hair lightly with

trembling fingers. The loose ta.s.sel of hair she once hung lazily on her left

shoulder is now gone, probably cut off by the man with the knife while he

was on top of her. After remembering that, she slowly surveys the room

around her.

This is– was –an underground bar. Half a year ago, this bar ran into

financial difficulties, and it was abandoned. Not long after, it became just

another abandoned establishment blending in the dying city, a haunt for

various delinquents and robbers. Much of the effects from its better days

still lay forgotten inside. In the corner rests a banged up pipe chair. In the

middle of the room, next to Fujino, is a single pool table. Everywhere in

the room, convenience store food is scattered in rotting, half-finished piles

with c.o.c.kroaches scrabbling all over the remains, and a mountain of garbage

is stacked haphazardly to one side. In a corner, a bucket is almost

filled with urine, a communal container to compensate for the lack of a

working toilet. The combined stench of it all is potent, and almost makes

Fujino vomit.

With no light and no way to know where you are, this dark, secluded

ruin could have been in a skid row of some far off country for all anyone

knows. One wouldn’t even think there was a normal city on the other side

of the door on the top of the stairwell. The faint smell of the alcohol lamp

those men brought here is the only thing that maintains any sense of normalcy.

“Umm…” Fujino mumbles. She looks around slowly, as if this scene is

completely routine. Her body had gotten up from the pool table, but her

mind still has some catching up to do.

She picks up a nearby wrist, flesh showing tears and seemingly twisted

off from the arm. Wrapped lovingly and securely around it is a digital wrist.w.a.tch,

and in glowing green text, it shows the date: July 20, 1998. The

time: 8:00pm, not even an hour after what happened.

All at once, Fujino is a.s.sailed by sudden, blinding pain in her abdomen,

and she lets slip a strained grunt. She staggers from the ache, and barely

90 • KINOKO NASU

stops herself from falling face first to the floor by supporting herself with

her hands. As soon as her palms touch the floor, she hears a soft splash.

Remembering that it had been raining today, she realizes that the whole

room is flooded with water…and something else.

She takes a moment’s glance at her abdomen, and sees the distinct

spatter of dried blood—right in the place where those men stabbed her.

The man who stabbed Fujino was a familiar face to anyone in this part

of town. He seemed to be the ringleader of a crew that consisted of high

school dropouts and various drifters of similar minds and motivations.

They did what they felt: stick-ups, a.s.sault, robbery, arson, drugs, you name

it. They plied their trade in the forgotten maze of backlanes between the

buildings of the commercial district, where no neon glow or curious glance

could ever reach. They emerged from these alleys to the harsh lights of the

peopled avenues for only short intervals, to catch their victims through

coercion or force and had their twisted entertainment for the night. It is on

one such normal night that this crew and Fujino crossed paths.

It was a perfect setup. A student of Reien Girl’s Academy, and quite good

looking, Fujino became a prime target for the men. Perhaps fearing public

vilification, Fujino never told anyone of how she was victimized. This

fact eventually reached the ears of the men, however, after which whatever

hesitance they might have had about being found out disappeared.

They raped her again and again, bringing her to this underground bar after

school. Tonight was supposed to be another routine night, like always, but

their leader apparently got tired of just doing Fujino.

He brought out a knife, probably to bring something a little new to the

table. He’d felt offended by what Fujino did: how she just lived her days as

if they hadn’t done anything to her at all, as if what they did to her didn’t

humiliate her. He felt he needed more proof of Fujino’s humiliation and his

dominance. And he needed just that little bit of violence, that little ounce

of extra pain for that, hence the knife.

But Fujino didn’t even react, her face a blank expression, even when he

had a knife ready to dig deep in her face. This made him truly incensed. He

pushed her down to the table, and got to work.

Casting her eyes downward, Fujino looks at her blood-soaked clothes

and thinks: I can’t go out looking like this.

/ 1 • 91

Her own spilt blood is concentrated only on her abdomen, but she’s

soaked in their blood from head to toe. How stupid of me to get dirtied like

this. Her foot hits one of their scattered limbs on the floor, and it gives a

little shake in response. She considers her options.

If she waits one more hour, the number of pedestrians will start to dwindle.

And the fact that it’s raining only helps. It’s summer, so it’s not too

cold. She’ll just let the rain wash some of the blood of her, and go to a park

and clean herself up there.

After coming to this conclusion, she calms down. Walking away from

the dark pool of water and blood, she takes a seat at the pool table, taking

a count of the scattered limbs to find out how many corpses are lying on

the floor.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four. Four. Four? No matter how many times I count, it only comes down

to four! A mix of astonishment and terror. One is missing.

“So, one of them managed to escape,” Fujino murmurs to herself. She

lets slip a small sigh.

If so, I’ll be caught by the police. If he’d already run to a station, I’ll be

arrested for sure. But could he really tell the police? How would he be able

to explain what just happened? Would he tell them how they kidnapped

and violated me, and told me to shut up? He’d need a cover story. And none

of them were ever smart enough for that.

She lights the alcohol lamp on the billiard table to get a better view. Its

flickering orange glow illuminates the entire room, making the shadows

twirl and dance. The story of violence in the room is quite visible now: sixteen

arms, sixteen legs, four torsos, four heads, and wet blood spatters in

every direction. Fujino is unfazed by the brutality of the scene before her.

No time to think on that. After all, the count was missing one, which meant

she still had something to do.

Do I have to take revenge?

Her body trembles as if to reinforce her lack of conviction. No more

killing, she tries to tell herself, as earnestly as she possibly can. But she

remembers what they did to her, and what they could do to her if she

doesn’t permanently shut the mouth of the one who escaped. Her body

trembles again, not in anger, but in something else. Delight? A relis.h.i.+ng of

what is to come? And, for the moment at least, what doubt lingers in her

mind vanishes.

92 • KINOKO NASU

On Fujino’s blood tinted reflection on the floor, a little smile plays across

her face.

/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 93

Lingering Pain - I

July is about to end, but not before it dumps a lot of business in my plate.

Starting from my friend who, comatose for two years, has finally regained

consciousness, to finis.h.i.+ng my second big job since dropping out of college

and working for Miss Tōko, and even having my sister who I haven’t seen

for five years coming here to Tokyo for a visit, I’ve had little time to even

stop and take a breath. I don’t know if starting my nineteenth summer like

this is the good earth’s way of saying “nice job” or “Mikiya Kokutō needs to

be screwed over with greater frequency.”

Tonight is one of those rarest of nights, my night off, so I went with

some of my old high school friends to go drinking. And before I could so

much as glance at an hour hand, I’d noticed it was late and the train had

long since made its last run, leaving me with few commuting options to go

back home. Some of my friends took taxis home, but since my payday was

held off till tomorrow, my budget can’t cooperate. Left without a choice, I

decided to walk back home. Fortunately, my house was only two stations

and a block or two away, not too far a distance.

It was the 20th of July up until a few minutes ago. In the midnight of

the 21st, I find myself walking in the shopping district, which, seeing as

tomorrow is a weekday, sees little foot traffic at this hour. It had rained

particularly hard tonight. Luckily, it stopped just as me and my friends were

going home for the evening, but the asphalt, still wet, is emitting its potent

petrichor smell, and my footsteps make little splashes on the scattered

puddles of the streets and sidewalks.

While the above 30 degree Celsius temperature and the humidity of

the rain work to make this the most miserable stroll in recent memory, I

come across a girl, crouching on the sidewalk and putting pressure on her

stomach with her hand like she was in pain. That black school uniform she’s

wearing is one I’m familiar with. The uniform, made to resemble a nun’s

habit, is the school dress of that academy of ladies of refined taste and

upright morals, the Reien Girl’s Academy. Gakuto jokes that half the reason

for Reien’s popularity is precisely because of the uniform. Not that I’m one

that goes in for that kind of thing; I only know it because my sister Azaka

studies there. I know they’re a boarding school, though, which makes that

girl’s presence here at this late hour doubly suspicious. Or maybe she’s just

some delinquent that doesn’t like to follow school regulations.

Seeing as she’s from my sister’s school, I decide to lend a helping hand.

When I call out a simple “h.e.l.lo” to her, she turns to face me, and her black

94 • KINOKO NASU

hair, wet from the rain, sways when she does. I see her gasp once, though

quite silently, as if trying to suppress it. Her face is small, with sharp features.

She wears her long hair straight down her back, and it separates

around her right ear to form a ta.s.sel that goes down to her chest. It seems

there is supposed to be a similar ta.s.sel on her left ear but it looks like it’s

been cut. That, along with her bangs, cut straight and clean in the school

prescribed manner, makes me think she’s the daughter of some rich, wellto-do

family with an eye for proper grooming standards.

“Yes, what is it?” Her voice is faint and her face is equally pale. Her lips

are tinted purple, the mark of someone with cyanosis. With a hand on her

stomach, she’s trying her best to look at me normally, but the little muscle

movements and the folds in the face that mark a person in pain are obvious.

“Does your stomach hurt?”

“No, er…that is, I…I mean…” She’s pretending to be calm, but she’s

already stumbling all over her words. She looks fragile, like she could suffer

from a mental break down at any moment, not unlike s.h.i.+ki when I first met

her.

“You’re a long way away from Reien Academy, lady. Miss the train? I

could call a taxi for you.”

“No, you don’t need to. I don’t have any money anyway.”

“Yeah, join the club.” Before I’d realized it, I’d already given her an impolite

answer. Try to salvage this one, Mikiya. “Yeah…so I guess you must live

near here huh? I heard it was a boarding school but you probably have

some special dispensation to go out.”

“Not really. My house is quite far.”

Right. Scratch that.

“So what are you, a runaway?”

“Yes, I think that’s the only thing I can do right now.”

Oh, man, that means trouble. I just noticed that she’s soaked right

through. Maybe she couldn’t find an umbrella or a shade the whole time it

rained, because she is dripping wet all over. The last time I was face to face

with a girl soaking wet in rain, I almost got killed, so I guess that’s why I’m

so awkward around this girl now. You never can trust girls in rain. Still, it’ll

be a waste of time if I don’t help her now.

“So, you want to sleep over at my place just for tonight?”

“…can I?” she asks, still crouching and looking desperately at me. I nod.

“I have a place all to myself, but I’m not making you any guarantees.

I’m not planning on doing anything questionable that might offend your

person, and as long as you don’t do any funny business, we can keep it that

/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 95

way. If that’s fine with you, then you can follow me. Now, since my employer,

in her infinite wisdom, has decided to delay my paycheck, I can’t give

you much money, but I do have painkillers for whatever’s bothering you.”

She looks happy and smiles. I extend a hand to her to help her up, and

she gently grasps it and stands. I notice, for a moment, that there are red

stains on the sidewalk where she was sitting.

Taking her with me, I start to lead her back to my apartment and get us

both out of this wretched night.

“There’s a short walk ahead of us. Tell me if you’re having a hard time. I

can at least be burdened with one girl on my back.”

“You needn’t worry. My wound has already closed up so it doesn’t really

hurt anymore,” she says. The hand that she has yet to remove from pressing

on her stomach, however, says otherwise.

“Does your stomach hurt?” I ask again, as much for her own peace of

mind as mine.

She shakes her head, saying “no.” After that, we continue to walk, and

she keeps her silence for some time. But after walking for a few more minutes,

she nods.

“Yes, it…it really hurts. Is it…all right for me to cry?” When I nod an affirmative,

her face turns into an expression of contentment. She closes her

eyes, looking like she’s dreaming.

She hasn’t really told me her name, and I haven’t told her mine, and I

feel it’s more appropriate that it stay that way. As soon as we reach the

apartment, the girl asks me if she can use the shower, to which I say yes.

She also wants to dry her clothes, so with the lame excuse of buying a pack

of smokes, I vacate myself from the premises for an hour to give her some

time. Man, and I don’t even smoke the d.a.m.n things.

After an hour, I come back to find her already exploiting the living room

sofa by sleeping on it. With all indications pointing to tons of work tomorrow,

I decide to make good what little time I have left for sleep. I set my

alarm clock to 7:30am, and I’m off to bed. Before falling asleep, I take one

last look on her uniform, and can’t help noticing it has the littlest of tears,

just around her midsection.

I wake up the next morning to find her sitting in the living room doing

nothing. Apparently she was waiting for me to get up. Once she sees me

awake, she gives a quick bow.

96 • KINOKO NASU

“Thank you for what you did last night. I don’t have any way to

repay you, but I can at least thank you.” She stands up and makes for the

door.

“Wait up, wait up.” I call after her while rubbing my eyes awake. I can’t

have her leave just like that when she waited for me to get up. “I can at

least get you a breakfast.”

That stops her. Food must really get to her. As I thought, she’s just as

hungry as anyone else would be after her ordeal last night. Now then, I’ve

got some pasta and olive oil at the ready, which makes spaghetti the obvious

choice for breakfast. I quickly whip up two portions of it and carry it to

my dinner table, and we eat it together. Since it seems like she’s not in a

talking mood, I turn on the TV to watch some morning news. It’s the usual

diet of homicide in the city, but this one gave me a strange feeling.

“Ah, strange whodunits with a tinge of the weird. Just the kind of news

that Miss Tōko would love.” If I had said that in the office, I’d probably

already be smacked upside the head with a projectile shoe. But the news

item is bizarre.

The reporter on the scene told the story. Seems four bodies were found

in an underground bar that had been abandoned for a half a year. All four

of them had had their limbs torn off, and the crime scene was filled with

blood. The scene is pretty close by, maybe four stations or so away from

where we were drinking last night.

I make a mental note of the fact that the news said that their limbs were

“torn off” and not “cut off.” Regardless, the news has nothing more on that

angle, and goes on to describe the details on the victims’ lives: all teenagers,

and delinquents who frequently hung around the neighborhood. It

seems they were slinging drugs too; corner boys. They have a citizen on the

mike now, commenting on the victims.

“Those kids knew what they were getting into, and they got it. I think

they deserved to die.”

And with those words, I turn the TV off. I hate it when people say those

things, and I hate it even more when the media goes out of its way to give

people like that the time of day. I turn back to look at my guest only to

find her with a hand on her stomach just like last night. She hasn’t even

touched her food. There really must be something wrong with her stomach.

She looks down, such that I can’t see her face.

“n.o.body deserves to die,” she says in between ragged breaths, causing

her next words come out in whispers. “Why does it still throb? It’s already

healed over, but why—“

Suddenly, she stands up not altogether calmly, making the chair fall to

/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 97

the floor with a noise, and runs to the door. I start to stand up to go after

her, but with head still cast downwards, she raises a palm towards me, as if

to say I shouldn’t come near her.

“Wait, calm down. I think I can—”, I start to say, but she cuts me off.

“No, please. Now I know…I can never go back.” That face—a face of

pain and resistance, a face of contradiction—somehow reminds me of