Zaregoto

Volume 2 Chapter 1

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3
My world is the coolest.
Rokumeikan Private University, located in Kinugasa, in Kita
Ward of Kyoto, has a total of three dining halls. Of the three,
the Zonshinkan Chika Dining Hall (lovingly abbreviated to
“Zonchi”) was thought to be the most lively. This was
probably because it had an extensive menu, and it was right
next door to the co-op bookstore.
That day, since I had no class during second period, I went
straight to the Zonshinkan Chika after first period. I’d had no
breakfast that morning—I’d accidentally overslept by a whole
hour—so I thought I might grab an early lunch.
“Man, it’s empty at this hour. Risky business,” I mumbled
to myself, doubting all the while that I was using the phrase
“risky business” correctly. I picked up a tray.
Now, what to eat?
I’m no foodie, so usually I just eat whatever without much
of a fuss. Be it spicy or sweet, I say bring it on. But lately
things had been just a little different.
It was only a month ago that I’d spent a hell of a week in a
place where I’d been served three gourmet meals a day.
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Now, as an aftereffect, my tongue was still stuck in Snootyville.
It had been a whole month since anything had made me
say, “Wow, this is good.” Every time I ate some-thing, it
always felt like something was missing, like some key ingredient
was lacking.
It wasn’t enough of a problem to merit being called a problem,
but I sure was sick of feeling that way. As far as solutions,
I had already thought of two.
The first was fairly simple: Just eat tasty food.
“Can’t hope for that to happen in a school dining hall.”
But that first suggestion was impossible to follow. Not, anyway,
without heading back to that strange, isolated little island.
I won’t say I was totally against the idea, but I certainly
had my reservations.
“So that’s no good.”
Yes, I was talking to myself.
This left one other possible measure, and it was a strongarm
tactic. It was the “beat the child who doesn’t listen” tactic.
Most problems in the world are solved by either giving or
taking.
I made my way to the donburi corner and placed an order.
“Excuse me. Large kimchee bowl, please. No rice.”
The lunch lady gave me a quizzical expression and said,
“That’s just kimchee, son,” but she dished it out all the same.
As if it were nothing, she plopped it in front of me, displaying
an admirable degree of professionalism.
A big, heaping, mountainous bowl of kimchee. I doubt
there was a single tongue in this world tough enough to chow
all that down and still preserve its sense of taste. I nodded 
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with satisfaction, placed the bowl on my tray, and settled the
bill.
The dining hall was so empty that I could hardly decide
where to sit. In another hour, the place would be filled up
with students who had cut out of second period early. I was
never a fan of crowds, so I considered myself under a time
limit. I took a seat in the corner.
“Down the hatch,” I muttered, and took the first bite. . . .
This. Was. Awful.
I really had to eat a whole bowl of this stuff? Wasn’t this
what was commonly known as suicidal behavior? What cruel
fate had brought me to this pass? What had I done?
“Is this divine retribution?”
I guess they also say reap what you sow.
From then on, I wielded my chopsticks in silence. If I kept
on talking to myself, people would start thinking I was a
weirdo. And besides, it’s poor table manners to talk while
you’re eating.
And then, just as I hit my limit—my entire head had gone
numb from the tip of the tongue up, I didn’t know what the
hell I was doing, or, for that matter, who I was, or what the
word who meant, and even what the word meant meant . . .
“Yo.”
She sat in the chair across from me.
“Pull that tray back a little, will you?” she said. Then she
pushed my tray toward me and placed her own tray in the
newly opened space. Her tray was laden with a plate of
spaghetti carbonara, some tuna-and-kelp salad, and a bonus
fruit dessert for a grand total of three courses.
Oh, how bourgeois.
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I looked to my right, then to my left. The dining hall was
empty as ever. You could practically call it deserted. So why
had she decided to eat her spaghetti directly across from me?
Probably some kind of dare.
“Oh my God, what is that?! It’s all kimchee!” she exclaimed
at the shocking sight of my lunch. “Wow! You’re
eating a whole entire bowl of kimchee!”
She was wide-eyed, her hands up in the air like she was doing
a banzai cheer. Maybe that was what she was doing, or maybe
she was surrendering. There was also the possibility that she
was just Muslim. Any of these was fine by me, but in reality,
she was probably just surprised.
Her shoulder-length hair had a reddish tint and was done
up in a sort of bob. Her clothes were nothing out of the
ordinary. They were ultra-plain, following the style of so
much of the Rokumeikan student body. All of a sudden, when
she sat down, she seemed much shorter—but then I realized
most of her height had come from her extra-tall London
boots.
She had a young face, so I couldn’t tell if she was my senior
or a peer. Judging by her demeanor alone, it would have
seemed plausible that she was my junior, except that being
that I was a freshman, that was pretty much impossible.
“Hey. Y’know, if you don’t respond, I’ll get lonely and
stuff.” She stared at me with puppy-dog eyes.
“Right,” I finally said. “Who are you?”
I was pretty sure this was our first encounter. But I’d
learned one thing in the past month: This weird little pocket 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7
of space known as a “university” had an unusually large
number of people who were friendly and genuine. These
strange people would strike up conversations with you like
you had been their close friend for the past ten years—even if
you had never seen them before in your life. For a guy like me
who’s bad at even remembering personal encounters, this made
things difficult from time to time.
And surely this girl was another one of those types. Fearing
the hassle of having to deal with a club invitation or,
worse, some religious thing, I went ahead and posed the above
question.
Doing so launched her into an over-the-top shocked pose.
"Hwa?!” she said. “Oh my God! You mean you forgot? You’ve
forgotten? You freaking forgot?! Ikkun, that’s so cold!”
Huh.
Judging from her reaction, it seemed this was not our first
encounter.
“Ohhh. I am shocked. But what are you gonna do, right?
Yeah, nothing, I guess. You’ve just got a bad memory after all,
right? Well, might as well introduce myself again.” She flashed
both hands at me and gave a full-faced grin. “I’m Aoii
Mikoko!”
This might prove to be a painful encounter.
Whether it was our first encounter or not, this was, to be
sure, my first impression of Aoii Mikoko.
Her story was simple. Mikoko-chan and I were classmates.
Not only were we taking the same core subjects, but we were
also in the same foreign-language class. We had met face-to-
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face a number of times, and were in the same group for the
class training camp before Golden Week. We had even been
paired up before in English class.
“Man . . . from this conversation alone, I must seem like a
total nut for not remembering you.”
“I think you are a total nut!” She laughed lightheartedly.
To be able to laugh so cheerfully after someone had entirely
forgotten her existence took a special kind of vacuousness. I
figured she was probably a pretty nice girl after all.
“Normally, I’d find it pretty disturbing that you forgot me
like that. Or rather, I’d be pissed. But that’s just how you are,
right? Like, you don’t forget the stuff that’s really important,
but you forget normal stuff,” she said.
“Well, I can’t argue with that.”
She was exactly right. One time I had even forgotten if I
was right- or left-handed, and found myself in quite a bind
when I actually tried to sit down and have a meal. To top it all
off, when all was said and done, I turned out to be ambidextrous.
"Okay, and what’s happening with you?” I asked. “Why
aren’t you in class?”
“Class? Well, the thing about that is . . .”
For some reason she seemed abnormally happy. But I got
the feeling that “abnormally happy” was her default setting.
To be honest, even though I’d seen her before, I still could not
remember what she was like normally. But either way, it was
hard to be put off by this smiley-faced girl.
“I’m playing hooky.”
“Freshmen really ought to go to class,” I said.
“Aw, come on, it’s boring. Totally boring. What was it
again? Oh, yeah, my economics class. It’s just a nonstop 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9
stream of jargon. And it’s like a math class. I’m a humanities
person! And you’re skipping class too!”
“I don’t have a class right now.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Fridays I only have a first period and a fifth period.”
She flung her hands wildly in the air again. “Doesn’t that kind
of suck? That’s like six hours of boredom.”
“Boredom isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
“Hm, I thought boredom was practically the definition of
‘a bad thing.’ Different strokes, I guess.” She began winding
the spaghetti around her fork as she spoke. Unable to successfully
get it all on the utensil, it soon became a matter of
trial and error. I reckoned it would be awhile before the food
actually reached her mouth. Before I knew it, she had put the
fork down and switched to chopsticks. So much for stick-toitiveness.
“Say . . .” I said.
“Hm? What-what?”
"There are tons of open seats.”
“Yeah, for real. I think this place will fill up pretty soon,
though,” she said.
“But it’s empty now, right?”
“You said it. Something wrong with that?"
“I wanna eat alone, so let’s move along now, honey,” I
wanted to say. But then I saw her smile—a vulnerable smile
that showed she couldn’t possibly have imagined she was
about to be completely rejected—even I had to take pity.
“Nah . . . it’s nothing.”
“Hm? You’re a weird guy.” She gave me the pouty lips.
“Ah, but I guess if you weren’t weird, you wouldn’t be you.
Weirdness is like your identity, right?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0
I couldn’t help but feel like I was being inadvertently
insulted. But then again, it wasn’t as bad as completely
forgetting someone you had been regularly interacting with for
a whole month. So I swept the notion aside and switched my
focus back to the kimchee.
“Ikkun, you’re a kimchee fan?”
“Nah, not particularly.”
“But that’s a ton of kimchee. Not even Koreans eat that
much in one sitting.”
“Well, I have my reasons,” I said as I crammed some
kimchee into my mouth. More than half of it still remained in
my bowl. “Not very interesting ones, but still.”
“Reasons?”
“Try to figure it out yourself first.”
“Huh? Oh, right. . . okay.” Mikoko-chan crossed her arms
and began to contemplate my rationale. Of course, figuring
what circumstances could possibly require my eating an entire
bowl of kimchee wasn’t exactly easy. After just a few
moments of pondering, she let her arms drop back down
apathetically. She really was quick to throw in the towel.
“Oh, yeah, by the way, I had a question for you. I thought
this was a good opportunity to ask you. May I?”
“Uh, sure.”
Wasn’t the phrase “a good opportunity” usually used for
something that came up by chance? As far as I knew, Mikokochan
had come here and sat down in front of me of her own
volition.
Or maybe that was beside the point.
She was wearing the same smile when she posed her
question. “Ikkun, you know how you didn’t come to school
for a while in the beginning of April? Why was that?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 1
“Uh . . .” My chopsticks stopped moving. The bits of kimchee
they held plopped back into the bowl. “Uh, well . . .”
I must have had a troubled look on my face, because
Mikoko-chan was quick to start waving her hands around
frantically and say, “Oh, if it’s hard to talk about it, don’t
worry. I was just wondering, that’s all. It’s like, Unsolved Mysteries
Featuring Mikoko-chan.”
“No, it’s not hard to talk about. It’s a simple story, really.
I was just on a vacation. For about a week.”
“Vacation?” She blinked at me like a little forest animal.
Her expressions were also easy to read. It made it easy for me
to talk to her—she was a great listener.
“Vacation? Where’d you go?" she asked again.
“Out to some deserted island in the Sea of Japan, kind of
by accident.”
“By accident?”
“Yeah. A big accident. Anyway, that’s how I got myself
into this kimchee-eating situation.”
She scratched her head, which was probably a natural response.
But I am a fundamentally lazy person, so I couldn’t
be bothered to explain all the details. Or rather, just how the
hell would I?
“Anyway, just a vacation. Nothing particularly deep.”
“Huh. You don’t say.”
“What did you think it was?”
“Oh, nothing . . .” She blushed a bit. “I just thought maybe,
uh, like you hurt yourself somehow and had an extended
stay at the hospital or something.”
How and why such an idea would occur to her was a mystery
to me, but then again, for someone to suddenly take a
week off just after entering a university, there weren’t really 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2
any other plausible explanations that came to mind. At the
very least, it was a more likely explanation than “I was just on
a vacation.”
“I see. Sort of like a delayed graduation trip.”
“Yeah, something like that. I couldn’t get a reservation, so
it ended up eating into April,” I said with a shrug, but of
course the real facts were totally different. The very idea that I
had “graduated from school” was something I hadn’t
experienced since elementary school. I’d certainly never been
on a “graduation trip.” But all of the circumstances surrounding
what had happened would have required a pointlessly
long explanation, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing
I wanted to talk about at length anyway, so I just went with
her interpretation.
“Hmm . . .” She gave a sort of half-convinced expression.
“So did you go alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Gotcha.” And then, just like that, the cheerful smile was
back. It was as if all confusion had been cleared. It was like she
really didn’t put on any façades. She was so straightforward
with her emotions that I almost envied her.
Well . . .
Not really.
“So, Mikoko-chan . . . Why are you really here?”
“Huh?”
“You have something to say, I assume? I mean, considering
you came and sat right here when there’s a whole roomful
of empty chairs.”
“Huh.” She narrowed her eyes and lowered her gaze a bit,
down to my chest. “So I can’t sit with you unless I’ve got
something specific to say to you?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3
“Huh?” This time it was my turn to scratch my head.
She continued talking in the meantime. "I mean . . . am I
bothering you? I just saw you when I was walking by, so I
thought maybe we could eat together.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
So she’d just wanted someone to eat with. I was the type
who preferred doing personal things, like eating, alone, but
there were plenty of people who viewed mealtime and talk
time as one and the same. Surely Mikoko-chan was one of
them. But having unexpectedly decided to skip class, she
couldn’t find a friend to eat with, so she went ahead and
struck up a conversation with the first acquaintance she
happened to see—me.
“Well, if that’s all it is, it’s fine by me,” I assured her.
“Thanks. That’s a relief. I don’t know what I would’ve
done if you had said no.”
“You don’t?”
“Hm? Yeah. Maybe something like this,” she said, pretending
to hold the edges of her tray in both hands. Then she
twisted her wrists in a sudden cracking motion. “Like that.”
“I see . . .” Even if she was just joking, I was a little relieved
I had refrained from saying no. I wouldn’t have put
such a reaction past her, in reality. Someone who expressed
happiness so freely might express anger just as freely.
“Well, I guess I’m free anyway. As long as you just want to
talk,” I said.
"Thanks.”
“So what are we talking about?”
“Oh, umm . . .”
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As I prompted her onward, she began anxiously scraping
her chopsticks together. She was probably trying to think of a
topic.
I may have forgotten who she was, but surely in the past
month it seemed like she’d at least managed to grasp the surface
of my personality. So just what kind of topic would she
broach with me? Me, who was so ignorant, and so lacking in
common sense, that I used to think soccer was baseball played
with your feet? I was strangely interested to find out, as if I
were watching it happen to someone else.
She clapped her hands as if she had suddenly thought of
something. “Don’t you think the world’s gone crazy?” she said.
“Huh? In what way?”
“I mean . . . er, you know, the prowler. Even you must
know about it.”
Even me.
Even me—the phrase was pretty enraging. Except that it
happened that I had no idea who the hell “the prowler” was.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot! Of course I know!” An
angry outburst like that would have been fairly justified, but
"Shut up! How the hell am I supposed to know what that is,
stupid?!” just didn’t have the same ring of validity to it.
“Hm? What’s wrong, Ikkun?” she asked.
“Ah, nothing. What’s ‘the prowler’?”
Obviously I wasn’t looking for the dictionary definition,
one who prowls. She gawked at me in amazement.
"You’re kidding, right? Is this a joke? Ikkun, it’s been all
over the news. There’s no way you could have missed this
if you live in Kyoto.”
“There’s no TV in my house, and I don’t get the paper
either.”
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"What about the Internet?”
“Oh, I don’t have a computer. Don’t really use the ones on
campus much either.”
"Oh my God, Ikkun is a caveman!” she said, sounding almost
impressed in a way. “Is it some sort of ethical policy?”
“Maybe it is, in a sense. How do I put it . . . I don’t like
having possessions.”
“Cooool! You’re like an ancient philosopher! Wow!” She
clapped her hands with joy. I seriously doubted I would have
gotten the same reaction if she knew it was actually for a
practical—and completely lame—reason: My room was just
too small.
I mean, newspapers take up a lot of space.
“When you say ‘if you live in Kyoto,’ do you mean this
‘prowler’ thing is going on here?”
“Yeah, that’s right. It’s made a pretty big splash. ‘Panic in
the Old Capital!’ Some places have even called off field trips.”
“Wow . . . too bad for them.”
“Six people have been murdered! And it’s still going on
right now! With no known suspects!” She had become all riled
up, and there was a hint of excitement in her voice. “He stabs
them with a knife and then flings their guts all around and
stuff! Freaky, huh?”
“. . .”
Let’s set aside the fact that we were in the middle of
eating. After all, I was partly responsible for the fact that the
conversation had veered in this direction. But what did it say
of this girl that she was able to discuss the murder of others
with such absolute glee?
It’s scary how detached people can become.
“Six people, huh? Is that a lot?”
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“Yeah it’s a lot! It’s a hell of a lot!” She almost sounded
boastful in a way, as if she were the one doing the killing.
“Maybe not overseas, but serial killings are rare in Japan! It’s
become quite a sensation, you know.”
“Huh. So that’s why there are patrol cars circling around all
over the place.”
“Yeah. There are people from the mobile police force in
Shinkyôgoku. Makes me think of the Gion Festival.” She
chuckled to herself for some reason.
“Wow, go figure. I didn’t know anything about this.”
As I nodded along with her explanation, somehow I knew
Kunagisa would definitely get a kick out of this. Kunagisa, for
those new to my story, is the short version of Kunagisa Tomo,
one of my few friends. That is to say, my only friend. Kunagisa
Tomo was a nineteen-year-old electronic and mechanical engineering
professional shut-in of the mysterious variety, with
blue hair and a passionate interest in collecting information on
just these types of incidents.
Unlike me, she wasn’t constantly in the dark about what
was going on in the world. In fact, she was essentially an
information-collecting expert, and she was probably already
well aware of this prowler case without my having to say anything
about it. In fact, she was probably already taking action.
“So when did it start?”
“Around the beginning of May, maybe? I think that’s right.
Why?”
“Oh, I was just asking.”
I put the last piece of kimchee in my mouth. My tongue,
or rather the entire inside of my mouth, was completely
mangled. I would probably never take food for granted or say
"this tastes bad” again. If you thought about it, the fact that a 
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single bowl of kimchee could so easily destroy all my principles
didn’t say much for my taste buds. Or maybe it was more
of a stomach issue.
“Well, I’m done. See you again sometime.” I put down my
chopsticks and began to get up from my seat.
"Ah! Hold on! Hold on, will you?! Where are you going?!”
Mikoko scrambled to stop me. “Wait a minute, Ikkun!”
“What do you mean, Where am I going’? I’m finished
eating so I figured maybe I’d drop by the bookstore.”
"I’m not done!” I took a look at her tray. Indeed, more than
half of her food was left.
"But I am.”
"Don’t make me sad. Stay with me till I’m finished.”
“Why should I have to do a pointless thing like that?” . . . is
exactly the kind of thing I’m not tough enough to say. I’m
more of the go-with-the-flow type.
“Okay. I’m free now anyway.” I didn’t have anything
urgent to do, and it wasn’t like I was full yet, either.
I figured I might as well eat some real food while I was
there. “Wait a minute. I’m gonna go buy something.”
I approached the register from the opposite direction
(which was against the rules) and took a look at the menu on
the wall, pondering whether I should order the beef bowl.
Geez, it was more expensive than Yoshinoya. Maybe something
else was the way to go.
“Kimchee again?” the lady at the counter interrupted
lightheartedly as I was trying to decide.
“Yes.”
Oops.
I had up and said it.
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“No use crying over spilt milk.” Or wait, was this more of a
“hindsight-is-always-twenty-twenty situation”?
A few dozen seconds later, I received another heaping
bowl of kimchee (this time the lunch lady gave me a little
extra) and sat back down in front of Mikoko-chan.
"What the hell? Am I supposed to be following along with
something here?” she said.
“Don’t worry about it. So what were we talking about?”
“Hm? Uh, what was it? I forgot."
“Gotcha. Well, then you want to talk about class?”
She shook her head firmly.
“Why? There were some things I didn’t really get in first
period today, so I was thinking maybe we could go over it
together. It’s a required class for freshmen, so you must have
gone, right? If you ask me, the professor’s inability to explain
things properly is to blame, but what do you think?”
“What do I think?’ I think that there isn’t a boy alive who
brings up something like this to a girl when there isn’t even a
test coming up!”
I was only kidding, but she seemed seriously put off by it.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like studying?”
“Nobody likes studying.”
“That sounds debatable to me. But if you hate studying,
why did you go to college?”
“Ah, that’s a forbidden question. If you ask that, it’s all
over. I mean . . . everyone’s like that, right?”
It seemed I had inadvertently touched a soft spot, and she
suddenly seemed a bit melancholy. Come to think of it, it
seemed to me that someone had once said Japanese universities
weren’t a place for people who wanted to study, and
that college was just a time to prepare for entering society.
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“Heh, that’s one way to put it.”
“Do you like studying?” she said.
I shrugged.
Of course not.
In fact, I hated it.
“But it’s not bad for killing time. Or as an escape from
reality, rather.”
“Usually studying is the reality.” She gave a heavy sigh.
Then, as if shifting her focus back to her meal, she picked at
her salad for a while in silence.
Hmm. Was a plate of spaghetti, a large salad, and a dessert
really a normal-size portion for a girl under the age of twenty?
I didn’t know anybody fit to use as a standard for comparison—everyone
I knew was either incredibly finicky, ridiculously
gluttonous, or always fasting or something—so I had no
standards for judgment. But seeing as Mikoko-chan was neither
too slim nor the opposite, perhaps it was, at the very
least, an appropriate portion for her.
“Umm, it’s hard to eat with you staring at me like that,”
she said.
"Oh, sorry.”
"S’okay.”
She resumed eating. When she was nearly done, she began
looking my way in a sort of probing fashion. Really, she had
been peeping up at me every so often the whole time, but
now she had suddenly become obvious about it, making eyes
at me like there was something she wanted to tell me.
And indeed, that proved to be an accurate speculation.
As if she had at last made up her mind about something,
she placed her chopsticks down without finishing her dessert. 
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She gave a bit of a playful smile as she leaned her body
forward, bringing her face close to mine.
"So, Ikkun,” she said.
“Yeah . . . ?"
“The truth is, I may or may not have a favor to ask you.”
"You don’t.”
“I do.” She leaned back again in her seat. “Are you the kind
of guy who might be free tomorrow?”
“If you define free as not having any plans, then I sup-pose
I’m more apt to say yes than no.”
“Yeah, kind of hard to follow you.”
“That’s just how I am,” I responded as I chewed my kimchee.
“To put it more simply—I’m a free dude.”
“Really? You’re free? Oh, good!” She pressed her hands
together in front of her chest with a look of true joy. To cause
someone such teary-eyed happiness just by not having plans
on a Saturday seemed a bit much.
More important, this didn’t look good. I had the distinct
feeling I was about to get dragged into something.
“I see, I see, so if I’m free, something good happens to you,
huh? One hand washes the other. It’s also kind of like the
food chain. A magnificent circuit, if you will,” I said.
She wasn’t even listening. "Yeah. So anyway, if you’re free
tomorrow, I was hoping we could get together!”
Her hands still pressed together, she tilted them to the side
a bit as if to emphasize her request. It was such an earnest,
imploring pose that it almost felt like foul play. There was
scarcely a male life-form alive that wouldn’t have surrendered
to it. They would want to surrender.
Nevertheless, I refused without mercy.
“No,” I said.
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“Wha?! Why?!” she shrieked. “You’re free, right?”
“Well, yeah. But it’s like I said, I don’t dislike boredom.
Sometimes people like to just spend the day doing nothing,
right? Everyone feels like that sometimes. Everyone wants to
escape the hustle and bustle of the world sometimes, to free
themselves of the hassle of dealing with other people.
Everybody has a right to time to contemplate their own lives.
I just happen to have more.”
“But-but-but! How can you just refuse without even
hearing me out?! That’s crazy! It’s like a bunch of eighth
graders forming a band, but they all end up playing bass!”
It was a pretty great analogy.
On close inspection, it was apparent that she was about to
cry. That is to say tears were already brimming in the corners
of her eyes. This was not a desirable situation.
I looked around. It was about time for the dining hall to
start filling up, and students began trickling in, their numbers
gradually increasing. At this point, I wanted to avoid standing
out (by, say, making a relatively hot girl cry) as much as possible.
But come on, who cries just from one little rejection?
“Okay, okay, just calm down. I’ll hear you out. Come on,
have some kimchee.”
“Okay,” she said, sniffling.
Doing as suggested, Mikoko-chan placed some kimchee in
her mouth. “Uwa!” she peeped, and then the tears really
started flowing. It seemed she wasn’t much for surprises
(which I kind of knew).
“Ahh, hot . . .” she cried out.
“Well, it is kimchee. It wouldn’t be kimchee if it wasn’t
spicy.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2
They say there’s also sugar-preserved kimchee, but I always
went with spicy, so I had never seen it. I wouldn’t mind if I
never did, either.
“Ohh, you’re terrible. You’re so mean. . . . Now, what
were we talking about?”
“That prowling killer?”
“No! We were talking about tomorrow!”
Bam! She slammed her hand on the table. It looked like she
was seriously a little mad now. Maybe I had gone too far, I
reflected.
“Umm, do you know Emoto-san?”
“Whether I know her or not, I don’t remember her.”
“She’s in our core subject classes. Her hair is like this.” She
stuck her fists to the sides of her ears, but even with this
striking pose, “Emoto-san” and her hairstyle remained firmly
beyond the grasp of my imagination.
“She’s a pretty noticeable girl. She’s always wearing shiny
things.”
“Huh. Well, I don’t really look at people much. What’s her
full name?”
“Emoto Tomoe. That’s the tomo from wisdom and the e
from blessing."
Interesting name. Sounded like it could do a headstand and
start running around upside down. It felt like it rang a bell, but
I couldn’t put my finger on it. I didn’t want to just toss out
some answer like, “Oh yeah, yeah, I know that chick. She’s
the one with the contact lenses, right?” There was always the
chance that Mikoko-chan would throw it right back in my
face, like, “I tricked you! There’s nobody like that in our class!
Ahahaha, looks like the pants are on the other leg now! Nyanya-nya!”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3
And then the egg would be on my face, my fraudulence
exposed. Not that Mikoko-chan would do something like that.
“Her nickname is Tomo-chan.”
“That’s not gonna work for me.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“No reason. Just my own personal thing.” I shook my head.
“Sorry. I don’t remember at all.”
“Figures,” she said, laughing. “But if you didn’t remember
me, I guess it goes without saying that you wouldn’t remember
her. If you did remember her, I’d be a little shocked.”
I didn’t quite follow her reasoning, but as long as my lack
of memory made her avoid feeling terrible, I guessed it wasn’t
totally worthless. Something definitely seemed off with the
logic there, though.
“Well, okay. How about Atemiya-san? Atemiya Muimisan?
I call her Muimi-chan.”
“Another classmate?”
She nodded. "Then there’s Usami Akiharu-kun. Akiharukun
is a guy, so you must remember him, right?”
“My memory functions in a gender-neutral environment.”
“But you sure don’t seem like a feminist.”
She let out a big, unintentionally exaggerated sigh. It was
like I had done something wrong. But it was my memory’s
fault, right?
“Anyway, so Tomo-chan, Muimi-chan, and Akiharu-kun.
We’re all going out tomorrow night for a little drinking.”
“Huh. What’s the occasion?”
“It’s Tomo-chan’s birthday!” For some reason she seemed a
tad boastful. It was hard to deny her adorableness as she sat
there with her hands on her hips, chest stuck out. “May fourteenth!
Happy twentieth!”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4
If this Tomo-chan was a classmate, that meant she was a
freshman. Maybe she had entered college a year late. Or
maybe she was a returnee like me. It didn’t really matter.
“I’m only nineteen, by the way. My birthday’s April twentieth.”
“Huh,” I said.
I didn’t really care.
She continued. “Umm, so anyway, tomorrow’s Tomochan’s
birthday, so we figured we’d throw a really light, casual
kind of party.”
“Huh. Seems like an awfully intimate group for a party.”
“Yeah, well. We all like the rowdy atmosphere thing, but
nobody wanted there to be a ton of people, so what are you
gonna do?”
“Ah. Then four people is pretty appropriate, huh.”
“Huh?” She looked surprised.
“A fifth person would throw off the balance.”
“Huh? What?”
“Well, say hi to everyone for me. And happy birthday to
you.”
“It’s not my birthday! Hey, wait, I mean don’t just get up
and leave! You don’t know the other half of the story yet!”
“Well, they say knowing is only half the battle,” I said.
“That’s not what that means!”
She grabbed me by the sleeve as I started to leave and
forced me to sit back down. But even if the conversation was
only half-over, I could more or less tell what was coming next.
“Okay then. So now you’re going to tell me to partake in
this drinking party . . . or birthday party, rather. Right?”
“Gah! Wow, that’s exactly right.” She flung up her hands
in surprise, but this time it reeked of phoniness. Maybe it 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5
wasn’t that she didn’t put on any façades; she was just a lousy
actress. “Amazing, it’s like you’ve got ESP or something,
Ikkun.”
“Let’s not go there. Not a good subject.” I let out a light
sigh. “How did all this come about? I don’t even know these
people, right?”
“Yeah you do. They’re your classmates.”
Ah, right.
Maybe I had amnesia. I was never good at remembering
people, but lately it had gotten particularly bad. These three
classmates aside, there wasn’t a single person in all of Rokumeikan
University whom I had a clear picture of.
But there was a more likely explanation: that it was simply
the result of my apathy toward other human beings. It had
nothing to do with my mind’s functionality. It wasn’t a defect.
It wasn’t that some essential part was missing, either.
It was just that I was, from the very start, a broken thing.
“Could it be that I’ve just forgotten, and that I’m actually
good friends with these three people? Even I wouldn’t forget
something like who my friends are, I think.”
Mikoko-chan’s expression grew a little sad. “I don’t think
that’s the case,” she said. "You probably haven’t spoken much.
I mean, you’ve always got this narrow-eyed scowl as if you’re
thinking really hard about something or filled with contempt.
Even now. It makes you kind of hard to approach. It’s like
you’ve got a wall in front of you. Or your AT field is fully
operational. And in spite of all that, you always sit directly in
the middle of the classroom.”
I wanted her to leave me the hell alone. I wanted to tell
her not to bother talking to me if that was how she felt. But I
didn’t.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6
I finished my kimchee. As it turned out, two bowls ended
up being pretty excessive, and I felt dreadful fullness in my
stomach. I probably wouldn’t be having kimchee again for a
long time.
“But you and I are friends, right?” she asked.
“Are we?”
"Yes!” She slammed both hands on the table again. It
seemed she had a habit of hitting nearby things when she got
emotional. I’d have to remember to stay out of range of those
slender arms if I was going to make fun of her. That is to say,
I’d have to stay out of range when I made fun of her. Maybe it
was better to pick on her over the phone.
Er, I mean, why was I planning ways to harass her?
“And, so, naturally, I tell my friends about you sometimes,
right?”
“I guess.”
"And then my friends think, ‘Man, for a guy who’s always
got such a crummy face, he seems kind of cool,’ right?”
“I guess it’s possible.”
“So it’s not so strange that they would want to try being
friends with someone who seems kind of cool, even if he is a
weirdo. Right?”
“Yeah, I guess we all have temptations.”
“So that’s what I’m saying,” she said.
“What is?”
“That.”
She peered up at me with eager, expectant eyes. I pretended
I was drinking tea in order to escape her gaze. But a single
cup of tea sure wasn’t going to be enough to revive my
paralyzed mouth.
"Huh. I understand,” I said.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7
“You do?”
“It’s a good opportunity and all, so I think I’ll go spend the
night at my parents’ place tomorrow.”
“Don’t make plans’ You didn’t even go home during
Golden Week!”
She slammed the table again. I was a little disturbed that
she knew what I had been doing during Golden Week, but
then again, maybe I had told her and forgotten.
“But you know . . . it’s almost Mother’s Day and stuff.”
“That was last week! And besides, you’re not the kind of
guy who would go out of his way to show devotion to his
parents!”
That was rather harsh. And even if she was right, did she
believe that a seventeen-year-old guy who wouldn’t even go
out of his way for his parents would be any nicer to someone
who was just a classmate? Maybe she was so worked up she
didn’t realize what she was saying anymore.
“Come on, I’m begging you. I already told them I’d bring
you. I’ll lose face.”
“It seems like there’s a misunderstanding here, so let me
clear things up—I’m not the kind of guy you can have fun
talking to. They say I’ve got about as much pep as a storm
cloud.”
“Wow, that’s as disappointing as hearing about two budding
young authors, only one’s poison ivy and the other got
eaten by tent caterpillars." She looked a little somber as she
chewed her lip. “Come on, Ikkun. Do it as a favor to me. I
know it’s selfish of me, but hey, I’ll even pay for drinks.”
“Sorry, I’m not a drinker.”
This was true.
“Why not?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8
“I once drank a whole bottle of vodka in one go.” I didn’t
dare tell her how things ended up after that, but at any rate,
ever since then I had sworn off alcohol. I may not be such a
smart guy, but I’m not so dumb that I don’t learn from my
experiences either.
“Wow, not even the Russians do that.” She was truly surprised.
“I see. . . . So you can’t drink. Hm, now what?”
She immersed herself in thought once again. It seemed she
had a firm understanding of what it was like for a non-drinker
to show up at a drinking party. Perhaps she was a lightweight
herself at least to some extent.
Nevertheless . . .
I wasn’t so cold-blooded that I felt nothing for this girl sitting
before me, looking so deeply troubled.
Dammit . . . I get dragged into things so easily. Going along
with something out of pity was one thing. But getting dragged
in just because the situation presented itself was totally lame.
“Okay, okay. As long as you’re okay with me just sitting in
the middle of the room scowling.”
“Hmm, I guess that would be an awful bother for you, but
you know, I think . . . Wait, you mean you’ll go?” she said.
She shot her body forward. Maybe it’s a rude analogy, but
she was like a dog who had just had food tossed in front of it.
A cat would have approached it with some caution, suspecting
the possibility of a trap, but Mikoko-chan was completely unguarded.
She may have physically resembled a cat, but she
was definitely more like a dog in personality.
“Is it really okay? Will you really come?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m free anyway.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9
Even I was a little appalled by my own bluntness and
wondered if I couldn’t have put it a little more nicely. All the
same, she shrieked with joy.
“Waaah! Thank you!” She smiled innocently.
I replied by downing the rest of my tea. At some point she
had finished her dessert as well, so it was time I really should
start to leave.
“Ah, wait a sec. Let me know your phone number. I’ll call
you.”
“Hm? Ah . . .” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket.
“Okay, it’s . . . uh, I forgot.”
“Figures. Okay, then I’ll give you mine, so dial me.”
I entered her number as told and sent it. A ringtone
emerged from her little bag. David Bowie. She had surprisingly
great taste.
“Okay, got it. Hey, Ikkun, your phone doesn’t have a
strap.”
“Ah, yeah. I don’t like that girly stuff.”
“Are straps girly?”
“Well, I’m no expert or anything, but they’re definitely not
very manly.”
“Mmm, guess not,” she said with consternation.
“Well then,” I said, stepping away from my seat with my
tray. “See you tomorrow, Mikoko-chan.”
“Yep! Don’t you forget about me again!”
She gave me a big wave, to which I responded with a small
one as I made my way out of the dining hall. After returning
my tray and silverware, I headed straight to the co-op bookstore.
Of course, being a university bookstore, its main selection
consisted of academic texts, and its recreational reading
selection was fairly limited. But on the plus side there was a 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 0
10 percent discount on everything, and for some reason (I
wonder why) this particular bookstore had an unusually large
selection of magazines, so it got fairly crowded.
I made my way to the novels section and picked one out.
Wait. Huh? Something had occurred to me.
"Wait a minute. Did Mikoko-chan call me ‘Ikkun’?”
Now that I looked back on our encounter, that nickname
she used seemed to stand out. I hadn’t even noticed when
she’d used the nickname—but I didn’t think anyone had ever
addressed me with such an overly familiar nickname in the
past. I thought about it for a moment, but I couldn’t remember.
I had no specific memory of her calling me that before,
but then again, I didn’t remember her not calling me that,
either. After all, I hardly have any memory of Mikoko-chan
herself, much less a trivial thing like what name she called me.
“Eh, whatever.”
Either way was fine by me. Satisfied with that notion, I
began reading the novel inside the store.
Yup.
No big deal.
Hardly a life or death situation.
All was well with the world.
Even if Heaven was empty.
What is a fatal wound?
Cutting off someone’s head.
Yeah, obviously that’s one.
Crushing someone’s heart.
Again, obvious.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 1
Destroying someone’s brain.
Naturally.
Stopping their breathing.
That’s another good method. Pretty final, too.
But when I say "fatal wound,” I’m not referring to these
trivial sorts of things.
I’m thinking of something else. A fatal wound is an impact
so intense, so devastating, that you fall into a state where
you’re no longer a human—even though you are. You’re no
longer able to lead a life even though you’re living. It means
being ground to bits after falling victim to a relative paradox
created by reason itself.
That is a fatal wound.
In other words, failure.
The key here is the fact that even after a profound failure,
we go on.
The world is brutally tepid.
It’s so kind that it’s cruel. It’s a devil’s Heaven.
To put it plainly, you don’t die by making a big mistake.
Or maybe I should say you can’t die.
Yeah, you don’t die.
You just suffer.
You simply suffer in agony.
And you go on. Forever, wherever.
Meaninglessly, you just go on.
Life isn’t a video game, not because there’s no reset button,
but because there’s no Game Over. Even though it was
"over” long ago, tomorrow shows up anyway. Even when night
falls, morning comes again after it. When winter ends, spring
rolls in. Life is wonderful.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 2
It’s an absolute paradox—even though you’ve taken a fatal
blow, you can’t die. It’s like asking what a person sees when
he looks backward while traveling faster than the speed of
light. An unthinkable question.
Even though the potential to be you has long since been
cut off, you go on. You do it all over, again and again. You
redo your life again and again.
But it’s like making a million crappy copies, and each time
you make one, your “self” gets a little bit shoddier.
And eventually you get to thinking . . .
Am I really me, or . . .
. . . did I become something else
long ago?
Have I devolved?
Just as the central figure in an incident can’t all of a sudden
become just a disinterested bystander, you can’t become your
own spectator.
And that, my friends, is what’s truly fatal.
“In other words, it’s like mind over matter . . .” I muttered.
As I pondered these fruitless ponderings, I was trying the new
McDonald’s burger. The five hundred twenty-five yen value
combo.
The kimchee must have worked, because my sense of taste
had returned to normal. A McDonald’s hamburger tasted
pretty luscious again. After all, as a Japanese person, there was
no way I could have gone on with my life if unable to enjoy
McDonald’s.
The time was 7:30 in the evening.
The place: Shijôkawara-machi, Shinkyôgoku Street.
After fifth period had ended, I decided I wanted to see
those mobile police Mikoko-chan was talking about for 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 3
myself, and my feet had taken me this far in an effort to kill
time.
Next to the tray with the hamburger on it was a single
magazine. What they call a “weekly infozine.” I had bought it
at the co-op, and on the cover it said, “Feature Story: Jack the
Ripper Resurrected in the Devil’s City!”
“Pretty tasteless.”
The ridiculously apocalyptic feel of the magazine was
actually the second reason I had bought it. The first was that it
featured a big story on the “prowler” incidents Mikoko-chan
had been telling me about.
I shoved two fries in my mouth, added a straw as well, and
sucked down some cola. I started flipping through the weekly.
The first page was set with an all too vivid picture of a corpse
as the background, and in big, Gothic letters, it read: “The
Homicidal Monster Who Shook Kyoto!”
Ominous indeed.
“So they let you show photos like this . . .” I muttered as I
flipped through the pages. I had already scanned through the
details of the articles, so I at least knew something about the
incidents now, if not everything.
The media had dubbed the crime spree the “Kyoto Prowler
Serial Killings.” Not the most imaginative name in the world,
but then again, maybe a case like this didn’t need one. Still,
the word prowler hardly seemed to be an accurate description
of the criminal. I always thought of as a prowler as a sort of
stalker, someone who stalks people on the street and causes
them harm. But in this case the culprit was luring the victims
into desolate areas, killing them with a sharp blade, and finally
dismembering the corpses. It seemed like maybe “serial killer” 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 4
was a better description than prowler. And you could definitely
make an analogy with the Jack the Ripper murders.
“Six people now, huh? Not bad,” I muttered as I stuffed
the magazine back into my bag.
Yeah, six people. Just as Mikoko-chan had said, six people
in less than two weeks’ time was quite a death toll. It was
probably unprecedented. By the third murder, the police force
had been dispatched all over the region for surveillance. Even
the riot police had been dispatched, and yet the murders went
on, as if the killer were laughing at them.
The victims had no apparent connections. They were
young and old, male and female: The killer showed no mercy
to anyone. The police (and everyone else, for that matter) had
deemed these incidents merely a series of acts of random
violence.
Therefore the sixth victim probably wouldn’t be the last.
The killings would go on. As long as this monster remained on
the loose—or until he decided to stop of his own volition—
there would be more murders. Perhaps even tonight. Perhaps
even right now.
“It’s all nonsense in the end, huh?” I stared out at Shinkyô-
goku Street from the entrance of McDonald’s.
It was the same scenery as always. Fewer tourists and students
on field trips, but it was still pretty crowded—a lot of
kids with dyed hair were milling around. I suppose you could
say that this was when they came out to mark their territory.
Nobody, absolutely nobody walking along this street right
now was seriously considering the notion that they could be
the next victim.
Of course, everyone was still being a little cautious. Some
were visibly unsettled by the mobile police units scattered 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 5
here and there. “What a mess,” they might think, but that
about covers it. At most, they would go home a little earlier
than usual.
But deep in their hearts, everyone believed they would be
going home.
That’s how it is with these things. There are very few
people who can accept as a hard reality the possibility that
they might be the next to die.
It was true that the probability of becoming the next
victim was negligibly low: “Those victims must’ve had been
really unlucky.” A terrible thought, but what else could
people think?
Anyway . . . perhaps I should go ahead and mingle in with
this unguarded crowd? With that in mind, I got up from my
seat only to feel my phone vibrating in my right pocket. I
wasn’t familiar with the number on the display. But I didn’t
want to just ignore it. I went ahead and pushed send.
“Ciao! Mikoko-chan here!”
Hyper from the get-go. It was easy to imagine her giving
me the thumbs-up on the other end, even though I guess she
probably wasn’t actually doing that. But without even knowing
who she was talking to, she was so bubbly and friendly.
What would she have done if this was the wrong number? A
small fire ignited in my inquiring mind.
“Eh? Hey, it’s Mikoko-chan. What’s wrong?”
I didn’t reply.
"Uhh . . . This is Ikkun, right?”
Again, I was silent.
“Hellooo? This is Ikkun, right?”
I persisted in not replying.
“Did I mess up? Huh? I messed up!”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 6
I kept up the silent treatment.
“Gahhh! It’s like getting all prepped for the next radio
calisthenics session—you know, that exercise show broadcast
over the radio—only to have them go ‘We’re outta time, so
just do the chicken dance’! I’m sorry, I dialed the wrong
number!”
At that, I finally said something: “No, this is right. What’s
up?”
“Uwa!” she shrieked in surprise when I spoke. “Huh?
Wha?” she sputtered, confused. Eventually, she let out a sigh,
so I figured she had calmed down a bit. I also figured that it
was only a matter of seconds before her relief turned to anger.
"For crying out loud! It’s the phone! You have to say something!
I’ll freak out if you don’t! Ikkun, you jerk! You snake!
You . . . you monster!”
I didn’t think I’d done anything that bad.
"Sorry, sorry, I was just kidding around.”
I hadn’t meant to stay quiet for so long, but I also had
never expected she’d provide such a hilarious response either.
Before I knew it, my timing had been thrown off.
“God . . . It’s fine, I guess. Since it’s you and all.”
She let out a moan. It was hard not to feel a little sorry for
her. “Umm,” she started again, back to her normal self. “This
is a business call! Regarding tomorrow’s business!”
“You know, you don’t have to yell. It’s quiet here.”
“Hm? Where are you now?" she asked.
“Ah, uh, I’m at home. At the boarding lodge.”
“Oh. I’m still at school. I had to talk to Inokawa-sensei
about something, so I just got out of the research room. Isn’t
that place incredible?! Books everywhere!”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 7
Inokawa-sensei led the general-education class. A slightly
eccentric assistant professor, he was popular enough with his
students if you were willing to set aside the fact that he was
way too strict about punctuality. (If you weren’t in your seat
by the time the bell started ringing—even if you were in the
classroom and were in the act of sitting down while it was
ringing—he marked you absent).
“Umm, right, so about tomorrow. Will you be home tomorrow?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Are we meeting somewhere?” I asked.
“Uh-uh. If we set a meeting place, we might miss each other,
right? That’s no good, so I’ll come meet you at your boarding
lodge. I bought a scooter and I kinda wanna take it for a spin.
So, let’s say four o’clock. Can I go to your place at four?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, but . . . you know where the boarding
lodge is?”
“Huh? Oh, no problem there.” She seemed flustered. “I
mean, because we made that address list when classes first
started, so I know it.”
“Is just the address enough?”
"I know Kyoto well, so we’re a-okay. You’re at Senbon
Nakadachiuri, right?”
“Huh?” I asked. There was something suspicious about the
way she was acting, but if she said she knew it, I figured there
was no problem.
“Fine by me,” I replied.
“Okay. That settles that, then. Hmm, I’d like to talk more
since I went to the trouble of calling, but I’ve got to go to
driving school from here. I made an appointment, and if I
don’t go now I’ll be late.”
“Huh. You’re going to driving school.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 8
“Yep. How about you? Got a license?”
“I do. Just for automatic, though.”
If it wasn’t such a big hassle to get a license, I could
actually drive anything, but that was a secret.
“I see,” she said. “I’m going for a manual. I’m reaching that
age where I want my own set of wheels, you know? My dad
said he’ll get me a car once I get my license. Yup. Anyway, see
ya tomorrow. B-b-b-byeee!”
She giggled and hung up. I stared at the phone for a while
before putting it back in my pants pocket.
Right. We did have plans tomorrow, didn’t we? It hadn’t
completely slipped my mind, but it was close enough. At this
rate, I might forget again by tomorrow. Maybe it would have
been best to write “Plans with Mikoko-chan tomorrow” on the
palm of my hand, like an unusually dim-witted elementary
school student.
Oh, but if she was coming to meet me at my house, it
didn’t really matter if I remembered or not, I thought. I was
just going to be there all day anyway. I returned my pen case
to my bag.
This time I really did actually walk out of the McDonald’s.
It was already almost eight o’clock, and the shops outside
were preparing to close. Suddenly something occurred to me.
“Ah, that’s right. It’s a birthday thing.”
In that case, I should probably take the opportunity to buy
a present while I was out and about. It was only common
sense—not that I ever thought of myself as someone with a lot
of common sense.
Then again, I’d been sort of half-forced into going. Maybe I
didn’t have to go out of my way to be a good guy or anything.
As I thought it over, I peeped into a nearby souvenir shop.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 9
Emoto Tomoe. Now, what kind of a character was she? I
didn’t have a single memory of her. Once I actually saw her
face, I might remember her. But no matter how hard I
thought about it, I couldn’t remember a single thing about
her. Which meant she probably wasn’t a particularly eccentric
or remarkable person. Maybe she was a little more subdued
than most. The kind of person who reads a book before the
start of class instead of messing with her cell phone.
Wait . . . but hadn’t Mikoko-chan said she was a striking
girl who always wore shiny things? Huh. I had no idea after
all. Not even a vague image.
Then there were those other two: Atemiya Muimi-chan
and Usami Akiharu-kun, right? I tried to recall them as well,
but with no success.
“Eh, I guess if they’re Mikoko-chan’s friends, they can’t be
all that weird.”
“Tell me what company thou keepst, and I’ll tell thee what
thou art.” Cervantes said it, but surely you could’ve switched
it around and it would still make sense. Nothing to worry
about too much.
As my mind wandered, I picked up a box of snacks from a
display. They were yatsuhashi cinnamon cookies folded into
triangles and stuffed with red bean paste. A wholly
conventional Japanese snack. Thirty pieces, one thousand two
hundred yen.
"Hm . . .”
Kyoto and yatsuhashi—a confection made from rice flour,
cinnamon, and sugar—were synonymous with each other. If
there were no yatsuhashi, it wasn’t Kyoto, which meant that if
there were yatsuhashi, it was. Compared to yatsuhashi,
Kiyomizu Temple, the Daimonji Fire Festival, and the Big 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 0
Three festivals didn’t even matter. Shrines and Buddhist
temples were irrelevant. If you didn’t eat yatsuhashi, you
didn’t know 80% of Kyoto.
Okay, then, I thought.
And so it was settled that Tomo-chan would receive snack
food for her birthday. I didn’t want to burden her with
something nondisposable, and I figured it would be the perfect
thing to eat while drinking. Or wait, did sweet stuff go
with alcohol? I didn’t drink, so I didn’t know. At any rate, it
wasn’t like they would be inedible.
And then my back shivered.
It felt as though liquid nitrogen had been poured into my
spinal cord. As if my entire body had been frozen to absolute
zero and the heat of the outside air was about to scorch me.
Only a basic level of brain functionality remained. And then I
felt an intense pressure crushing me. If I couldn’t maintain my
composure, surely I would be pulverized.
But I didn’t look back. I just tried to collect myself as
coolly as possible, and thrust the box of yatsuhashi at the store
clerk. The clerk had a brown earring, a brown ponytail, and a
smile that wasn’t very professional.
"Welcome, now.” The clerk wrapped up the treats for me,
which I accepted as I fished for the exact change. “Please
come again there, now,” the clerk said cheerfully with a little
head bob. Surely it was this kind of heartfelt service that captured
the hearts of tourists, I thought, a little irrelevantly, as I
left the store and began on my way to Shijô Street.
And then I felt it. A gaze so intense it couldn’t be ignored
once detected, a gaze so ferocious there was no way not to be
aware of it. No, this was more than a gaze.
This was the intent to murder.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 1
It was a 100 percent pure murderous desire. Nothing—not
one of a million emotions; not animosity, aggression, or a
sense of mischief—diluted the purity of this desire. My entire
body ached with a terrible feeling. This feeling was long past
the point of unpleasant or unsettling.
I walked.
The feeling followed me.
I walked some more.
The feeling still followed.
“In other words, I’m being followed,” I muttered to myself.
Since when? From where?
I had no idea.
It was so blatant that I didn’t even need to look back.
It was so blatant that I didn’t even need to sense it.
That meant that whoever it was had surely noticed that I
had noticed. The fact that they continued to tail me anyway
was the most blatant thing of all.
“This ain’t good,” I sighed as I weaved my way through the
crowd. It was strange. I really thought I’d left all danger
behind me . . . back on that island on the other side of the sea.
Being tracked all the way to this country, to this city, no less,
seemed unthinkable, much less being killed. I had already
employed Kunagisa’s skills to confirm that.
In which case . . .
This was a random act.
The first thing that came to mind was the feature story
from the magazine in my bag.
The slasher.
“Aw, hell no,” I said to myself. What cruel fate had
brought me to this pass? If I were to put it like Mikoko-chan, I
might have said something like, “It’s like forming a second
Onyanko Club, but everyone’s a backup dancer.” On second 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 2
thought, I have no idea what that means. I guess you
shouldn’t try to be something you’re not, I thought. Clearly I
was panicking.
But even supposing the person one thousand feet behind
me right now was the famous prowler, or even supposing it
was just your run-of-the-mill psycho killer, or even supposing
that it was someone with a grudge against me . . .
Something was off. This just didn’t make sense. It was unfathomable
and absurd.
What I felt was uneasiness. Yes, like the uneasiness you
feel when you notice that reflection in the mirror is looking
back at you, that kind of absolutely mistaken textbook
explanation. I had now confirmed that that red line that’s
usually in front was, suddenly, behind.
“More nonsense?” Of course this was an illusion.
What mattered right now was that someone was following
me. This much was certain. That and, sometime soon, I would
be killed. This much was also certain. With these two
essentially definite facts in mind right now, I had no leeway to
be distracted by any other sensations. Ultimately, my options
were limited.
Give, or take.
“Ahhh, this is becoming a freaking hassle,” I muttered.
I made my way from Shinkyôgoku Street onto Shijô Street.
On the other side of a cluster of cabs was a long line of cars.
Shijô Street was extremely congested at this time of day, to
the point that it was actually faster to walk than to drive. In a
town like Kyoto, which had so many traffic lights it wasn’t
even funny, a bicycle was by far the number one most
effective way to get around.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 3
Number two, incidentally, was by foot. Maybe number
three was a boogie board.
I had come to school by bus, so number two was my only
option. I debated for only an instant about which way to go
before heading east.
After a pause at a red light, I crossed Kawara-machi Street.
If I kept straight on this road, it would take me to Yasaka
Shrine. From there, if I broke south, I would reach Kiyomizu
Temple. It was a textbook route for the Kyoto temple sightseer.
But I was no sightseer, and I had no intention of going as
far as Yasaka Shrine.
I was on pins and needles. I felt that high-pressure gaze
edging ever closer. And if it ever caught up to me, that pressure
would erupt into plain, simple violence.
“Ah . . . this is gonna be close." May already and here I was
in a cold sweat. Just how long had it been since I had been this
nervous? Surely not since I’d left that odd little island. Yet at
the same time, what I felt now was somehow distinctly
different from what I had felt back then.
I am nervous, therefore I am at peace.
I became aware that, for me in this nervous state, failure
was something wholly improbable.
“Phew . . .”
And so I arrived at Kamo River. Instead of crossing the big
Shijô Bridge, I made my way down the staircase beside it and
emerged on the riverbank. Whenever the sun came out,
countless young couples would start crowding the riverbank.
In my personal opinion, this riverbank, lined with perfectly
spaced out boy-girl pairs, was one of the top three must-see
attractions of Kyoto. When the moon was out, the riverbank
offered itself as an after-bender hangout for drunks. After
drinking the night away, they could come here to sleep it off. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 4
The drunks ranged from college students all the way up to
salarymen.
The drunks and lovers had one thing in common: They
were both complete nuisances who went around shoving their
happiness in other people’s faces. But there was no time to
wax philosophical about. No matter what I thought about the
drunks and young lovers, only one thing mattered right now.
It happened to be that one brief moment of the day when the
riverbank was empty. The lovers had already gone home, and
the drunks were still getting drunk.
In other words, it was a perfect situation.
And being underneath a bridge made it even better, right?
I entered the shadow of the bridge as soon as I had
descended to the riverbank. The sounds of passing cars rushed
overhead. The chatter of people crossing the bridge. It was
one hell of a ruckus. But it wasn’t enough to cover this guy’s
footsteps.
Shuffle.
The sound of scraping grit.
I muttered something and turned around.
He made an incoherent noise as he faced me.
My feelings at that point were probably pure and simple
confusion. Ordinary, everyday confusion and nothing more.
There was a mirror in front of me.
Or so I thought.
His height was a bit under five feet, and he was longlimbed
and slender as a flower stem. He wore tiger-striped
shorts; nonskid rustic boots; a red, long-sleeved, hooded parka;
and a black tactical vest. Both hands were clad with gloves,
but they obviously weren’t for something as cowardly as covering
his fingerprints, as they were fingerless gloves. It was my 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 5
guess that they served a much more sinister purpose—to stop
the knife from slipping on sweat.
His long hair was tied up in the back and buzzed on the
sides as if he were a dancer. His right ear had a triple piercing,
and two straps that looked like they belonged on a cell phone
dangled from his left ear. His stylish sunglasses rendered his
expression unreadable, but the sinister-looking, obviously real
tattoo running down the right side of his face communicated
this person’s eccentricity loud and clear.
He was unlike me in almost every conceivable way. Our
similarities ended with age and gender.
And yet I felt like I was looking into a mirror.
So naturally I was confused.
And my new friend appeared to be just as confused.
Still, he made the first move. He inserted his right hand
into a pocket of the vest, and an instant later he was
brandishing a small, five-centimeter-wide knife. He made not
a single wasted motion. It was as if he had surpassed the limits
of the merely human. Light and sound seemed distorted
around him.
Even supposing I had been observing all this from the point
of view of an uninvolved bystander, even knowing that this
was a murderer, his technique was so perfect that I could’ve
only described it as artful.
There was no escaping it. There was no accepting it.
But I managed to dodge the knife by pulling my upper
body back. Of course, normally this would be impossible. I
wouldn’t say I’m any less athletic than average, but I’m
certainly no Mary Lou Retton either. I had neither the quick
eye nor agile body needed to elude a plausible contender for
the title of the world’s fastest knife fighter.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 6
However, supposing a dump truck was coming straight at
you at a hundred miles an hour, but you became aware of this
when it was a few miles away, I think we can all agree that
dodging it would be a simple task.
Likewise, I’d been anticipating my assailant’s slash attack.
It was so obvious that it was coming that it was if I had been
expecting it for the past five years.
I groped wildly for my bag, then swung it around, hoping
to smash him in the face. But with no more than a simple
motion of the neck, he managed to dodge my attack as if he
had been expecting it for ten years.
Because I had strained to dodge his attack, I tumbled
backward. Of course, I didn’t do anything as foolish as try to
roll back to my feet. Even a single arm wasted on such a
maneuver would surely have created a prime opportunity for
the killer. Just as I feared, he wheeled back from his initial
miss and came straight for my carotid artery. Not good. There
was no way to dodge from this position. I guess I could have
theoretically performed a stupid-looking roll and dodge this
one attack. But the next moment, or the moment after that,
regardless of how pathetically I scrambled around on the
ground, he would plunge that knife into my spine. I could
imagine it so clearly that I felt like a certain clairvoyant I once
knew.
In which case, dodging was beside the point. The key was
simply taking it. I swung my right elbow up at the knife.
My opponent twisted his wrist, altering the direction of his
swing. Consequently, the excess momentum from my elbow
had me swinging at nothing. This left my entire front side,
including all of my organs, not least notable of which were the
heart and lungs, completely exposed to the enemy.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 7
Behind the sunglasses, his eyes seemed to smile ever so
faintly.
With another twist of the knife, he aimed it directly at my
heart.
A moment’s pause.
And then the tactical knife swung down at double speed.
So strong was his will to destroy human life that it made his
body move at speeds that couldn’t be detected by the human
eye.
He left me not even time enough to gasp. That’s right: I
didn’t even have time to gasp.
But I had known this one had been coming before I’d even
been born.
 !
 !
The knife tore through a single layer of my clothing and
stopped. My left index and middle fingers had stopped it—by
pushing up my assailant’s sunglasses.
A stalemate.
He had my heart and I had his eyes. If you put the two on
a scale, their weights obviously differed, but this was no
matter to be weighed on a scale. For my opponent, tearing
through my flesh and bone to demolish my heart was simpler
than taking candy from a baby. But it would leave just enough
time for me to pulverize his eyeballs.
The opposite was also true.
I could sacrifice my own heart to destroy his eyeballs, and
he could sacrifice his eyes to obliterate my heart. Hence, a
stalemate.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 4 8
We stayed that way for as long as five hours, or maybe it
was five seconds, and then: "This is a masterpiece,” he said,
tossing his knife aside.
“It’s nonsense is what it is.” I retracted my fingers.
He backed away from me, and I rose to my feet slowly,
shaking the grit off my clothes and slowly straightening out
my posture.
Our fight had been a farce—but it had gone so harmoniously,
it was as if it had all been predestined. I felt overcome
by an incredible faintness.
“I’m Zerozaki,” my opponent said as he straightened his
crooked glasses. “Zerozaki Hitoshiki. So who the hell are you,
Mr. Doppelgänger?”
The question left a sour taste in my mouth. It was like
seeing myself asking someone else for my own name.
And that—that was the first encounter between the passive
onlooker and the homicidal monster.
Strangely enough, it was Friday the thirteenth.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 0
Misfortune and misery are underplayed.
Give me more despair. Give me more darkness.
Give me wholehearted depravity.
The thirteenth of any given month, by the way, is more likely
to fall on a Friday than any other day. Friday the thirteenth
occurs once a year at least, and three or four times a year on
average. But for a guy like me who wasn’t Christian—I don’t
even understand the difference between Catholic and
Protestant—Friday the thirteenth meant little more than that
the next day was Saturday the fourteenth.
Now, then. The next day was Saturday, May fourteenth. I
awoke inside my one-room Senbon Nakadachiuri apartment.
I looked at my clock to discover that it was about ten until
four p.m.
“Seriously?”
I was a bit . . . that is, fairly—nay, insanely—surprised. This
was a whole new oversleeping record for me. How many years
had it been since the last time I slept until the afternoon? And
it wasn’t only the afternoon—the p.m. was a third over
already. This would probably remain as a stain on my memory
for the rest of eternity.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 1
“But then again, I want to bed at nine in the morning, so
it’s only natural.”
Finally shaking away the sleepiness, I returned to my sense
and rose from my bed.
The room had four straw mats of floor space and a naked
lightbulb. This little pocket of space was unbelievably classic,
and so full of anachronisms that it made you wonder if it had
been around since the olden days when Kyoto was still our
capital. Naturally, the rent was deathly low. Deathly to the
landlord, that is.
I folded up my futon and stuck it on the closet. There was
no toilet or bath, but there was a washstand of sorts, so I used
it to wash my face, then got dressed. My wardrobe wasn’t
exactly jam-packed with options, so all of this took less than
five minutes.
I opened the window and let in the outside air. Kyoto is an
incredible place, in that once you’ve passed Golden Week,
you’ve already entered summer. It’s as if life is still being run
according to the old Chinese calendar—or as if fall and spring
don’t even exist.
Then there came a knock at my door. This apartment
wasn’t equipped with such modern amenities as telephone
intercoms. It was exactly four o’clock. Mikoko-chan was certainly
a punctual one. I was just a little bit dazzled by this.
People who were as anal about time as Inokawa-sensei were
just annoying, but I figured that if you really wanted to refer
to yourself as a human being, you had to be at least as punctual
as an analog clock. In that sense, Mikoko-chan passed as a
human.
“Yo, I’m coming.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 2
I unbolted the lock (now that’s what I call radically retro)
and opened the door. But to my surprise, it wasn’t Mikokochan.
“Sorry.”
It was Asano Miiko-san, my neighbor. She was twenty-two
years old, making her my senior, and she was a seasonal
worker. There was something strangely Japanesey about her
style, and even right now she was dressed in classic Japanese
summer casual wear. It was black cloth, with the word
Carnage printed on the back of her top in white letters, and
she had a distinctly samurai-esque ponytail. At first she
seemed unapproachable, but after you talked to her for a bit,
it quickly became clear that she was a pretty decent human
being. Maybe a little on the mysterious side, but that just
added to her charm.
“Miiko-san . . . right? Good morning.”
“Yeah. Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah, I actually overslept a bit, so . . .”
“If you slept this late, I don’t think it still qualifies as ‘a
bit,’ ” she said drably. With her subdued demeanor, it was
often hard to guess what she was thinking. It wasn’t that she
was completely expressionless. Instead, her default expression
was a glare, with changes so subtle that she might as well have
been expressionless.
“Oh, please come in. As usual, there’s not much to see,
though,” I said without a hint of false modesty. I stepped aside
to make way, but she shook her head.
“Nah, I just came to give you this.” She passed me a flat
box. It was wrapped in paper with the word Snacks written in
big letters.
“. . . .”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 3
“They’re yatsuhashi. They’re a Kyoto favorite.”
“I know them, but—“
“They’re yours. They’re good, you know. Well, see ya . . .
I’ve got to get to work.”
She spun around, flashing the word Carnage at me. The
fact that she had offered no explanation as to why she had just
given me a box of yatsuhashi was hardly unexpected. She was
a woman of few words, and when you thought about how
much effort you would have to exert just to fish an answer out
of her, it was easy to justify leaving things unexplained. And
so I send her off with a simple “Thanks very much, I’ll definitely
enjoy them,” and nothing more.
She stopped in her tracks.
“Sounded like you got back just this morning,” she said
without turning around. “So, what’s the story?”
“. . .” Damn these thin-walled apartments. Actually I suppose
they do have their perks.
“Oh, I was just hanging out with a friend all night. Nothing
shady. Nothing exciting either.”
“A friend, huh? Wouldn’t happen to have been that
colorful blue-haired girl who came by around February, would
it?”
“Actually, Kunagisa’s an extreme shut-in. This was someone
else. A guy.”
She nodded with a look of complete and utter disinterest,
but I wondered if she would’ve perked up a little if I had said
“I was schmoozing with that killer everyone’s been talking
about under the big Shijô Bridge.” Then again, Miiko-san
being the way she was, it was entirely possible that she
wouldn’t have given me more than a “huh,” even if she knew I
wasn’t joking.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 4
She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and proceeded on her way
down the planked hallway. She was headed to her part-time
job. When I first discovered those weren’t just her indoor
clothes, even I couldn’t help but vocalize my surprise.
I shut the door and returned to the middle of the room.
But why did it have to be yatsuhashi? Come to think of it,
these were the exact same yatsuhashi I had picked up the
previous day for Tomo-chan’s birthday. It was a terrifying coincidence,
but there it was.
“Well, whatever.”
I stacked the two boxes and stuck them in the corner of
the room.
Looking at the clock, I discovered is was several minutes
past four.
Thirty minutes later, it was past 4:30.
“Well, duh,” I said aloud and lay down on the floor.
Well now. Wasn’t Mikoko-chan coming to pick me up at
four? Of this I was certain. I may forget things, but I never
misremember them. This meant Mikoko-chan had either
gotten in an accident, gotten lost, or was just a sloppy person.
But no matter which it was, there was nothing I could do right
now.
“Time for some Eight Queens?”
Of course, there was nothing as extravagant as a chessboard
in my room, so I’d just have to play it in my mind. The
rules to Eight Queens were simple, and concise—just place
eight queens on a chessboard so that none of them can capture
any other. It’s one of those “brain exercise” routines. I’d
played the game quite a few times, so I basically knew the
solution. But with my poor memory, I always forgot the exact
arrangement, so I was able to enjoy the game every single time 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 5
I played it. Okay, not that it was really all that enjoyable. But
it was a good way to kill some time.
I started strong, but the trouble set in around the fourth
queen. The game was starting to lose its consistency. Queens
just don’t get along with other queens. There should never be
more than one party in power. Moreover, if I allowed my
thoughts to wander like this, I’d lose track of where I had put
all the pieces up until now, and I’d have to start all over.
The thrill of sectioning off your mind like this was indescribable.
You could say it was something like the feeling of
walking on a balance beam, only the more pieces you placed
down—that is, the closer you got to a final solution—the
harder it became. In that sense, it was very much like a game,
and great in that sense. In the case of failure, there was no one
but yourself on whom to vent your anger, and herein lay the
real thrill.
And just as I was trying to find the place for the seventh
queen, there came a knock at my door and a cry of “Ikkun!”
The chessboard went flying. Queens everywhere.
For an instant, my heart, not to mention my thoughts,
stopped.
I approached the door and swung it open. This time, it really
was Mikoko-chan. She wore a pink camisole with a red
miniskirt, exposing a healthy and refreshing amount of skin.
“Morning!” she said with a wave. Then came the full-faced
grin. “Ikkun, guten morgen!”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“. . .”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 6
“Morgen . . . gen . . . gen . . . It’s like the Doppler effect or
something.” She was as spastic and smiley as I’d come to expect
her to be. Her eyes drifted away from me off into space.
“Umm, I was just wondering, and I know this isn’t the kind of
thing you would do, but . . . Are you mad or resentful or hatefilled
or cursing my name or anything? Actually, cursing my
name does seem kinda like something you’d do.”
“. . .”
“Come on, let’s communicate! Hey! Don’t be so quiet!
When you get all quiet I feel like I’m about to have something
terrible done to me!”
“Your palm,” I said.
“Hm?”
“Hold the palm of your hand in front of your face like
this.”
“Okay . . .”
She did as told.
Smack! I smooshed her hand into her own face.
“Gwah!” she shrieked in unfeminine fashion. Satisfied for
the time being, I went back inside to fetch my bag. Now
where had I put those yatsuhashi?
“Uwa! You’re terrible!” she said as she came into my room
for some reason. “You’re being violent with me just for being a
little bit late? That’s abuse, you know. It’s like forming a jurybased
judicial system, only all the jurors are O. J. Simpson!”
Apparently forty minutes late was only “a little bit late” in
Mikoko-chan’s mind. Without waiting for an invitation, she
came into the middle of my room and took a seat on the floor.
Plop. She scanned her surroundings with a look of true curiosity.
“Oooooo,” she sighed in awe. “Wow, there’s nothing
here. Amazing!”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 7
“You know, that kind of compliment isn’t particularly
flattering.”
“You really don’t have a TV! You’re like one of those
struggling students from the good ol’ days. I bet you study by
the light of fireflies! Does anyone else live in this apartment?”
“Uh, well, there’s one swordsman freeloader, one hermit,
a fifteen-year-old and thirteen-year-old brother and sister currently
running away from home, and then there’s me, so that’s
four rooms and five people. Up until recently there was an
aspiring singer here too, but she went to Tokyo to launch her
major-label debut.”
“Wow, so this place is kind of prosperous. Kind of a surprise.
So I guess that means there’s an open room here? Hmm.
It does have a certain ambience, huh? Maybe I should move
in!”
What could she have possibly seen in this apartment, in
this room, that would’ve given her such an idea? “Better not,”
I said, giving her the appropriate advice. “Well, let’s get going,
huh?”
“Ah, not yet. It’s still too early,” she blurted out.
“But won’t it be bad if we don’t leave soon? We’re already
pushing forty minutes here.”
“No, we just have to be there by six. Tomo-chan’s apartment
isn’t far from here, so even if we leave at five thirty we’ll
have plenty of time to get there.”
“Oh really?”
“Really,” she said with an index finger thrust skyward. It
was hard to deny the adorableness of her grandiose gesticulations,
but it didn’t seem like the thing I needed to go out of
my way to mention, so I didn’t. I didn’t want to get her all
excited.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 8
“Then why did you say four o’clock?”
“Huh? Oh, that. Well, you know. Ehh, I’m not so great
with time. It was just in case, just in case.”
“You mean there was a chance you might have been an
hour and a half late?”
Just thinking about it made me feel like blood might shoot
out of my ears.
“Huh?” she said, peeping at my face to catch my expression.
“What’s the matter?” she asked cheerfully.
“Nothing. I’m not thinking about anything. I’m definitely
not thinking about how you should maybe consider the feelings
of the person waiting for you to arrive. Or how you
should stick to the time that you designated. Or how you
should at least call if you’re going to be late. Or how you
should take better care of chessboards.”
“Chessboards?” She scratched her head.
Naturally she wasn’t supposed to understand that.
I found the yatsuhashi lying in the corner of the room and
cut the seal on one of the boxes. I placed it in front of her.
“Can I eat ’em?”
“Sure.”
I stood up and made my way over to the sink. I thought to
boil some water for team, but I didn’t have a kettle. I thought
of using a hot pot, but I had no burner in any case. So I just
poured her a cup of tap water and placed it in front of her.
Looking thoroughly baffled, she glanced at the liquid
thrust before her, but then pretended not to see it and didn’t
bother touching it.
She chowed down enthusiastically on the yatsuhashi.
“Asking this might be one of those things and all, but are you
poor, by any chance?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 5 9
“No, I’m not particularly strapped for funds.”
Living in an apartment like this, I had no evidence to support
this statement, but it was the truth. At the very least, I
had enough money saved up to pay for your years of college
without lifting a single finger. Technically it wasn’t money I
had earned personally, but it was in my possession.
“I guess you’re sort of an economist then, huh? Or is it a
philosopher?”
“I’m just bad at spending money. Sort of the opposite of a
shopaholic.”
I helped myself to some yatsuhashi as I spoke. She gave me
a halfhearted nod of comprehension.
As she knelt on the straw-matted floor of my room, I
stared at her from top to bottom. Huh. Not that I was thinking
anything in particular, but there was something very
awkward about having her sitting here in the middle of my
room. I don’t know if you would call it unnatural or risqué,
but something about it felt incredibly iffy.
I stood up.
“Huh? Where ya going? We’ve still got an extra forty minutes.”
“Forty minutes is just a ‘little bit,’ right?”
“Ahh! Ikkun, that’s the kind of thing a big jerko would
say!” she said, recoiling overzealously. “You don’t have to hold
it against me forever!”
“I’m just joking. Let’s go get a light lunch somewhere. It’s
no fun just picking at each other in this empty room.”
I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and headed toward the
door.
“Aww, that’s not true,” she mumbled as she followed me.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 0
Tomo-chan resided in a students-only apartment complex
near Nishiôji Maruta-machi. Just looking at that steelreinforced,
concrete exterior, I could imagine the difference in
rent from my own place. Five times as much, or even ten
if you got swindled.
Mikoko-chan must have been there before, because she
entered the main lobby with an air of confidence. She pushed
the room number on the intercom and pressed the call button.
“Yellooo! It’s Mikoko-cakes.”
“Yo-yo. C’mon up.”
As the somewhat drowsy voice emerged from the intercom,
the firmly locked glass door slid open. An autolock security
system. Actually, maybe that’s too extravagant a term.
Whether that lock was there or not made little difference to
anyone trying to break in.
“Come on, hurry. Hurry hurry hurry hurry.” Mikoko-chan
passed through the door and beckoned for me to hurry along.
“Sixth floor, sixth floor! We gotta hurry!”
“It’s not like the sixth floor is going to get away.”
“Yeah, but it won’t come down to greet us either.”
“That’s true . . .”
I followed along as told.
“The sixth floor is the very top one. Tomo-chan lives in the
corner apartment, and there’s a pretty nice view, as views go.”
“Mm, nice view, eh?”
That was one thing I never hoped to see where I was living.
If you opened the window in my place, you got trees.
We called down the elevator and got in.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 1
“I wonder if Akiharu-kun’s here yet. Muimi-chan is pretty
much a given, but . . .”
Mikoko-chan was incredibly excited. Seeing her carefree
expression, even I couldn’t help but think about how nice it
must be to have friends. Whether or not it worked for me, it
must’ve been very nice for her.
We got off at the sixth floor. Mikoko-chan raced down the
hallway and stopped in front of the very last door. “Over here,
over here!” she shouted and beckoned. It made me want to ask
if she was just completely oblivious to the looks people gave
her.
She pushed in the doorbell. Ding-dong. The door opened,
and a girl revealed herself.
“Welcome,” the girl—most likely Tomo-chan—said drowsily,
a cigarette hanging from her lips. She was entirely different
than I had expected.
“So, Mikoko. On time for a change, eh?” She wore her long
brown hair in a sauvage—with her hangs long and the rest cut
at wildly varying lengths—and her fashion sense was impeccable:
Her light jacket and jeans combo was very stylish. She
was probably a little taller than me, and was so sickly thin that
if she said she had only one day to live, I probably would have
believed her. It was the perfect match for her slightly crooked
smile.
“Howdy, Muimi-chan!” Mikoko-chan greeted. “Haro haro!”
It seemed this wasn’t Tomo-chan after all, but Muimichan.
“Oops,” she said, finally noticing my presence. Without
a hint of shyness, she gave me a hard study from top to bottom.
“Maybe this is our first time talking, ‘Ikkun,’ “ she said
with a smirk.
“Yeah,” I said apathetically. “Hey.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 2
It seemed my apathy had struck a chord with her. She let
out an exaggerated laugh. It was boisterous, and not very
feminine.
“Well how ‘bout that. You are an interesting guy. I think
we’ll get along.”
“Really.” It was more of a sigh than a response. Not the
kind of thing that warranted such judgment. It was just about
as enthusiastic as my greeting had been. “I don’t think so.”
“Heh, well, we don’t have to get into all that. Just come in.
Stupid Akiharu isn’t here yet. We just called and he was still
at home.”
“Oh my God, he’ll never change. Last time he claimed he
got confused by the time zone difference. That lousy tardyman.”
Mikoko sure was throwing stones at the proverbial glass
house. It was almost impressive. But I wasn’t in the mood to
start teasing her about it, so I stayed silent as I removed my
shoes.
At the end of the short hallway between the kitchen and
bathroom was a single door. It seemed this was one of those
sectioned-off one-rooms. Muimi-chan went ahead of us and
opened the door. The room inside was about eight or nine
mats in size, but the floors were hardwood. By the window
was a bed, and in the middle of the room, a mini-table covered
with cake, snacks, and a row of empty glasses. So this was
more of a drinks thing than a dinner-thing affair after all.
A girl was sitting daintily beside the table. This time it had
to be Tomo-chan. She was even more petite then Mikokochan,
and dressed in a strawberry-patterned one-piece. Her
hair was in pigtails. She gave me a little wave.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 3
She was just as shy as I’d imagined. And yet something
about her made me think she probably had a bad habit or two.
It was like there was more than meets the eye—as if her simplistic
form prevented you from being able to see through her.
Thinking about it made me feel as though someone had asked
me for the sum of all integers.
“No, wait.”
That’s all nonsense. Everyone feels that way when they
meet someone for the first time. It wasn’t technically my first
meeting with Tomo-chan, but I didn’t really know her, so it
was only natural that I had this impression.
Hmm. Come to think of it, it did seem as though we had
crossed paths a few times in our general education seminar. I
joined her at the table so that I was facing her, and tossed out
a simple greeting. “Yo.” She looked at me a little crookedly,
then gave me a politely deep bow.
“Thanks for going to all this trouble. Sorry to ask such a big
favor.” Her voice was pretty and calm, with a watery quality.
“I’ve always wanted to have a chat with you, so I hope you
have a good time today.”
I was a little moved by her good manners. It was something
I hadn’t seen much lately (especially in the last day or
two).
“Ahahaha, quick to break the ice, eh?” Mikoko-chan said as
she sat down next to me on her knees. Muimi-chan, in turn,
sat down next to her. This allowed enough room for Akiharukun
to eventually come sit between me and Tomo-chan.
“Ahhh.” Muimi-chan put out her cigarette with her own
finger, then deposited it in an ashtray. “So what are we doing?
We’ve got a brand-new guest here. Should we go ahead and 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 4
start? It seems stupid to sit around wasting time just because
of that asshead.”
“Hey, we can’t do that,” Mikoko-chan interjected. “For
something like this we have to all be together! Right, Tomochan?”
“Yup, Mikoko’s right.” Tomo-chan nodded. “You know
he’ll be here soon, so don’t be so impatient. Right?”
“I don’t really care, but...” Muimi-chan gestured towards
me. “What about Ikkun here?”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to waiting.” To be sure, that didn’t
mean I was used to people making me wait. But it would have
been too much of a hassle to start an argument about it, so I
just fed her an easy line.
Muimi shot me an inquisitive look, but “Well, whatever
then,” was all she said. She pulled out a fresh cigarette, then
shot me another look. “Are you an antitobacco kind of guy?”
she asked.
“I don’t smoke myself, but you can smoke all you like.”
“Ah. No, I’m good.” She broke in half the cigarette she
hadn’t even lit yet and deposited it in the ashtray. “I make it a
point not to smoke around nonsmokers.”
“Huh.”
Did that mean Mikoko-chan and Tomo-chan were both
smokers? The fact that she had asked only me seemed to indicate
such. Huh. I was a little surprised.
“Hey! Muimi-chan, you’ll make me sound like a smoker if
you put it like that!” Mikoko-chan objected once again. She
was giving us the puppy-dog eyes. For some reason she
seemed vehemently opposed to me finding out she was a
smoker.
“But you do smoke.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 5
“No I don’t! I was just going with the flow that one time!”
“Ah, right. Gotcha. My fault, my fault.” Muimi-chan gave
her a friendly pat as she threw her little tantrum. Meanwhile,
Tomo-chan watched on in delight.
Huh. It didn’t take long to notice the dynamic here. It was
the good girl, the bad girl, and the regular girl. This made me
Wonder what Akiharu’s role was. He finally showed up at
6:30, half an hour late.
“Sorry, sorry. I thought I’d be here on time, but the train
was crowded and stuff,” he said with good humor.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Tomo-chan said as she greeted
him with a smile. The good girl.
“The train doesn’t arrive any later just because it’s crowded!
And you live in a boarding house, so you don’t even take
the train anyway!” Mikoko-chan, the regular girl. She had the
nerve to question his lame excuses.
“You think you can get off with a simple apology? You
gotta chug three beers,” Muimi-chan said, passing a beer bottle
over to him. The bad girl.
“Okay, okay. Don’t rush me so much, Atemiya. This is a
birthday, a birthday. Not a mayday. Goddamn I’m a clever
bastard. What the . . . ?” It seemed he had noticed my presence.
He gave a problem-child sneer. “Heh heh, so you really
brought him, Aoii,” he said.
He sat down next to me and said, “Well, good to meet
you,” with a slight bow.
I did likewise.
He had an easy-breezy air about him, with light brown hair
and a taste for street fashion. Maybe it wasn’t uncommon for a
university student to dress like that, but at Rokumeikan in
particular, it was kind of unusual. Judging from his build, it 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 6
looked like he was involved in some kind of sport, but I
couldn’t tell which one.
“Umm, what do I . . . wha? Are we all supposed to just call
you Ikkun then?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Really, really? Gotcha. You’re a good guy. Don’t you
think so, Aoii?”
He shot Mikoko-chan a meaningful look. She shot back a
flustered one. “Oh, uh, yeah.” Judging from her response, it
didn’t seem like she thought I was a very good guy at all. Of
course, considering how much I made fun of her, that was
probably only natural.
“Well, shall we start?” Muimi-chan said. She seemed to be
the leader of the four. She pointed at me. “Umm, you don’t
drink, right?” she said.
I nodded.
“Oh? What’s this now, Ikkun? You can’t go around being
finicky all the time, you know. Alcohol is a vital component in
man-to-man interactions after all, right? I mean, am I right or
am I right?”
“Akiharu! What did I tell you about pushing your bullshit
opinions on others?! I’ll fucking kill you!” Muimi-chan gave
him the look of death. Her cool, almost dazed demeanor from
a moment ago had sharpened into a knife of fury. “Did you
already forget what I told you last time? Huh?”
Akiharu quivered and tensed with fear. “Uh . . .”
“I’m not lookin’ for an ’uhhh.’ ”
“Sorry.”
“Not lookin’ for a ‘sorry’ either. Why the hell are you
apologizing to me? Huh?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 7
Akiharu-kun’s mouth opened and closed like he was a
suffocating fish. Then he looked over at me. “Please forgive
me,” he apologized.
“Okay, then,” Muimi-chan said with a look of satisfaction.
“Sorry there, Ikkun. He didn’t mean anything by it. Forgive
the guy, will ya?” She had completely returned to her origi-nal
self and smiled back at me. “Did he piss you off?”
“Uh, I don’t really care.”
Atemiya Muimi. She was definitely an ex-delinquent. No,
not even an “ex.” I thought that brown sauvage seemed a little
out of date.
Maybe I should call her Boss.
Meanwhile, Mikoko-chan poured some low-malt beer into
each glass and lined them up in front of everyone. She also
placed a single glass of oolong tea in front of me.
“So who’s going to lead the proceedings? Shall it be Tomochan,
our queen for a day?”
“Yeah, I believe it shall,” Muimi-chan said. “Tomo, let’s
have it.”
Tomo-chan raised her glass a bit reluctantly. “Okay then.
To my twentieth birthday and our new friend.”
Cheers.
I lightly tipped my glass.
“So the thing about friends is that they’re like, eh, you know,
like . . . y’know,” Zerozaki said with a cynical smile. The tattoo
scrawled across the right side of his face wrinkled unpleasantly.
“What do you think?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 8
“You’re actually asking me? I thought this was going to be
some kind of spiel.”
“Hah, don’t expect me to do everything. They say if you
want to figure out your own opinion, you gotta ask others
theirs, right? So let’s hear it. What do you think? What is a
friend?”
“It’s not such a hard question. It's just someone you hang
out with, have meals with, joke around about stupid things
with. Someone who brings you peace. That kind of thing,
right?” he said.
“You got it. Exactamundo. If you look at it that way,
friends are such a simple thing, man, like pie. You hang out,
you eat together, act stupid and feel peaceful together, and
that makes you friends. If you come to each other’s rescue,
you’re close friends. If you smooch each other sometimes,
you're lovers. Oh, what a treasure of life friendship is!” he said
with a sneer.
“So the question here is, how long do these friendships
last? A year? Five years? Ten years? Forever? Until tomorrow?”
“Is your point that even friendships come to an end?”
“My point is that all things come to an end.”
“Well, sure. But without endings, there could be no beginnings.
That’s the vital subtext. If you’re looking to gain something,
you’ve got to be prepared to sacrifice one-third of it. If
you want a payoff, you've got to take a risk. If you can’t do
that, you’re better off just living with what you’ve got.”
“Gahaha. I guess you must be that type.”
I had no need for things I would just lose in time. If it was
just going to end anyway, it didn’t have to begin. I had no
need for pleasure if it came accompanied by pain.
“Why? Are you any different?” I said.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 6 9
If it meant never being sad, I didn’t have to be happy.
If it meant never fading, I didn’t have to succeed.
Evolution loaded with risk was a waste of time.
“Eh, but in reality, that's all true whether you’re after
something or not,” I said.
“No doubt.”
Zerozaki laughed. I didn’t.
Be that as it may.
Three hours had passed since the party began. I won’t get
into what happened during those three hours. Nobody particularly
wants others to see what they’re like when they’re
drunk, and they certainly don’t want to have the details relayed
from person to person.
No matter how people feel while they’re drinking, it’s inevitable
afterward that good old shame comes to pay them a
visit. It's difficult to determine which is real: the person you
are under the influence of alcohol, or the person you are when
you’re sober. But one thing's for sure: A wild night spent in
good fun isn’t something you want to try to recount later on.
It’s one of those “unpaintable scenes” like Urashima Tarô
talked about.
Still, if I were to dare to share a little vignette of the
evening’s festivities just for kicks, it would go something like
this:
“So whaddaya call a rock made of oxygen and nitrogen?”
“Quartz! Gaaahahahaha!”
“That’s like a two-hundred shot barrage from a watercooled
heavy machine gun, only it’s an assassin squad!”
“Shit, that aside, it’s hot today. Why is it so hot in the middle
of May? Is it global warming? Is it the greenhouse effect?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 0
“What?! Listen here, chump, if you want to complain
about the summer heat, you answer to me! Bring it!”
“Are you the one they caught in Catcher in the Rye?!”
“It's a tropical night, that's what it is.”
“Then I guess that makes me a tropical fish!”
And so three hours passed.
At present, Mikoko-chan, Akiharu-kun, and Tomo-chan
were playing PS2. It looked like a racing game. Realistically
depicted four-wheeled machines sped around the narrow onscreen
circuit.
Huh. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it tantalizing, but there
was something rather pleasant about watching them all so
fully immersed in their fun. It looked like they were willing to
share some of that happiness with me, and somehow that
made me surprisingly lonely.
“Well, I guess even this is—”
Someone slapped me on the shoulder. It was Muimi-chan.
Apparently a heavy drinker, she didn’t seem any different
from when she was sober, even from a bystander’s point of
view.
She didn’t call herself Boss for nothing. Not that she called
herself Boss at all.
“Wanna go outside for a bit?” she said, pointing toward the
entrance. “Let’s go to the convenience store.”
“What about Mikoko-chan and the others?”
“We can just let ’em be. They don’t know what’s going on
right now anyway.”
She was right about that. I nodded and left the room with
her. We got back into the elevator, traveled down to the first
floor, and exited the building.
“Is the convenience store close by?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 1
“Eh, it’s a bit of a walk. But c’mon, let's walk a little bit.
It’ll help me sober up.”
“You don’t really seem drunk though.”
“Maybe not on the surface, but I’m pretty far gone. It feels
like my brain’s flipped upside down so my cerebrum and cerebellum
are switched. Right now I wanna kick the crap outta
that sign.”
“Just don’t kick the crap out of me.”
“I’ll try,” she said with a little laugh. She shook her head
and looked up toward the sky.
“Doesn’t really feel like a birthday party,” I said. “I wonder
if this is really enough to make Tomo-chan happy. She’s still
drunk now, but I wonder if she’ll get depressed about it later.”
“Yeah, I wonder . . . But it’s still better than being depresssed
from the very beginning. Yeah. It’s all good. You
don’t need a good reason to get wild. Ahh . . . I’m groggy.”
“You look pretty exhausted, Muimi-chan.”
“Well, that’s what I get for hanging out with those guys.”
My sentiments exactly. Mikoko-chan was spunky enough
to begin with, but when she was inebriated she was four times
as bad. Then there was Akiharu-kun, and even Tomo-chan
was getting pretty rowdy.
“Man, if you think about it, I guess being able to hold your
liquor so well puts you at kind of a disadvantage. It must be
hard to follow along with the mood.”
“Exactly. I mean, it’s still fun, so it’s no big deal.”
“You think it’s okay to leave those three drunks in a room
unattended?”
“They’re not kids. They’ll be fine. Actually, it's probably
more dangerous to be walking around outside in the middle of
the night,” she said.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 2
A good point. We were in the midst of the Kyoto Slasher
serial murders. So that was why she bothered taking me along
with her. I may look scrawny and unreliable, but I’m still a
guy, in a manner of speaking.
“What a messed-up world, huh? What could be enjoyable
about chopping up a human being?”
“Well, different strokes, I guess.” I tried to brush off the
topic. If I was thrust into a conversation about it, there was a
chance I would let my tongue slip. It wasn’t that Zerozaki had
told me to keep my mouth shut, but it sure wasn’t the kind of
thing I wanted everyone and their mother to know about.
“I can’t understand it at all,” she said. “I mean, I’ve been
around for twenty years now. Even I’ve thought to myself
before, ‘I oughta kill that bastard.’ Actually, it happens a lot.
Even nowadays. Like, ‘this person would be better off dead.
Killing him would serve the greater good.’ ”
“. . . .”
“But what's up with these random killings? I can’t understand
the idea of finding pleasure in the act of killing itself.”
“In general, they say serial killers who choose their targets
at random are fueled by resentment. So it’s just like when you
say to yourself, ‘I oughta kill that bastard,’ ” I said.
“Really? But then the killings aren’t random.”
“It’s a little different, though. In this killer’s case, he resents
the victims simply because they happened to walk by. He resents
the world as a whole. He hates the world that surrounds
him, a world that, for him, is as vague and nebulous as the air.
And so his killings appear to be random.”
“Hmm . . .” She nodded, but to be honest, I was only speculating.
I had no idea why he was committing acts of murder. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 3
We had only talked about stupid, irrelevant things the previous
night, and never touched upon the topic of his motives.
We were probably saving the best for last, childish as that
may sound.
“It’s just nonsense, though,” I said.
Muimi-chan scratched her head at me.
While we were talking, we eventually reached the convenience
store. She entered ahead of me and quickly made her
way to the liquor section.
“You're buying more alcohol?”
“Nah, there’s already plenty of that. Let’s get some Pocari.
Gotta sober those guys up or they won’t be able to get home.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
We put three two-liter bottles of Pocari sports drinks in a
basket, picked out two or three types of snacks, and proceeded
to settle up at the register. Maybe I should’ve expected this,
but I ended up carrying everything.
As we left the store, Muimi-chan pulled a cigarette from
her pocket, stuck it in her mouth, and lit it with a coollooking
Zippo, all in one fluid motion.
“Ah!” she said and immediately went to extinguish it with
her finger.
“I don’t care if you smoke one. We’re outside, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Well, I guess it’s rude to smoke and walk at the same
time, but since it’s night and nobody’s around, it’s probably
fine as long as you don’t litter ashes everywhere.” And, indeed,
there was no one around who'd object to her blowing smoke
everywhere as she walked.
“Well . . . nah, it’s okay. I’ll stick to my decision.” She went
ahead and snuffed it with her finger. Then she curled up the 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 4
cigarette butt and put it in her pocket. It seemed she wasn’t
the littering type. I was a little impressed: For a college student,
she had above-average morals.
“If you don’t mind my asking, isn’t that hot?” I said.
“Not really. I’m used to it,” she said with a slightly bashful
smile. “There was this Mafia boss bad guy in a movie I used to
like, and he did the same thing with cigars. With the palm of
his hand, like this. It was cool, so I started imitating it.”
“Huh.”
“Looking back, I just thought the actor was hot, but it’s a
habit now. Anyway, that aside . . . Ikkun, let’s talk seriously for
a minute.” Her expression immediately grew serious, changing
as abruptly as a circuit switch. I couldn’t help but be a little
surprised. “It's pretty tough keeping up with Mikoko's hyperness,
huh?”
“Not particularly.’’
“Huh,” she said. Her expression grew all the more serious.
She hesitated for a moment. “What do you think of her?” she
asked me.
“What do I think?”
Judging from her expression, she wasn’t looking for some
halfhearted bullshit answer.
But I couldn’t figure out what that question was supposed
to mean. I didn’t really think much of anything about her.
“Well, I think she's got a little bit of red in her hair. She's
around five feet tall, and may or may not weigh as much as
one hundred ten. From the way she acts, I’d guess she’s a type
B, and her astrological sign is probably one of the beasts. She's
got a kind of koala-ish feel in general.”
“Did you really think I was looking for a half-assed answer
like that?” she asked.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 5
Whoops. Delinquent mode. Why oh why do I so love stepping
on land mines, I wondered. I broke eye contact with her.
“I dunno. I mean, she’s a nice girl, I guess. Sure she’s a little
overly hyper, which can be exhausting, but I know a girl
who’s even worse than her, so it doesn’t particularly bother
me.”
“Huh. How neutral of you.”
“Well, I don’t like making waves.”
“Is that a fact?”
She paused for a moment, then gave me a sort of sidelong
glance.
“You’re kind of a slimeball, aren’t you, Ikkun?” she said.
“I’m self-aware.”
“Self-aware, huh? I wonder. I wouldn’t know. Anyway, let
me give you a word of advice.” She took a step ahead and
turned to face me directly. I had no choice but to stop. The
apartment building was still about a hundred feet away. Surely
the others were still inside racing. Muimi-chan ran her fingers
through her sauvage hair and shot me a direct glare.
“Mikoko and I have been friends since we were just little
brats.”
“Huh.”
“If you hurt her, I’ll never forgive you.”
I scratched my head a bit. Why was she telling me this?
Could it be that she was mad because of all the times I had
teased Mikoko-chan up to now? It didn’t seem like the kind of
thing to take so seriously, but Muimi-chan sure didn’t seem to
be joking, so I answered with a shrug.
“It’s okay. Despite how it seems, I’m actually nice to my
friends.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 6
She blinked her narrowed eyes at me. “Hahahahaha!” she
laughed. A moment later, she spun back around. “I stand corrected.”
She recommenced walking. “You're just clueless.”
It felt like a terrible insult, but at the same time, it was
probably the most accurate description anyone had ever applied
to me in all my nineteen years, so it was hard to get mad.
We returned to the room to find that the others were indeed
still racing. Surprisingly, Tomo-chan was apparently the
most skilled. Mikoko-chan was a lap behind.
“Yo! Guzzle down this Pocari, you goons! You drunken
bitches!”
For some reason Muimi-chan had suddenly gone berserk,
smacking the “drunken bitches” in the heads with Pocari.
Being hit in the head with a full plastic bottle should have
been fairly painful, but they were so thoroughly numb with
drink they didn’t even seem to mind.
I don’t like noisiness. I hate boisterousness. Loud situations
irritate me.
But on occasion, like maybe once a year, maybe these
things are kind of nice. Or so I thought.
I was wrong.
It was past eleven p.m.
“Well, thanks for tonight,” Muimi-chan said as she rose to
her feet. “Akiharu, take me home.”
“Aw, why?” Akiharu whined. He shot her an aggravated
look; he was sprawled out in the comer of the room. “Just go 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 7
yourself. I’m gonna rest a little before I go. Your place is far.
My place is in the opposite direction.”
“Are you a man? Don’t tell me you’re not even worth a
ride home.”
“Tch . . . fine.”
He stood up, still looking aggrieved, as if he knew there
was no point in objecting. His eyes shifted over to Tomo-chan.
“Well, here's your birthday present,” he said, pulling a package
out of his bag.
“Ah . . . Muimi-chan said. “That’s right, you give presents
on birthdays . . .”
“Hm? What’s that you say? What? Come again, Atemiyasan?”
Akiharu-kun said with the glee of someone who had just
defeated an ogre. “Don’t tell me that you forgot to get your
dear friend a birthday present! Oh my goodness, I cannot
believe it! Is this a joke?! Ohh, what to do, what to do?! For
the love of God, tell me, what to do?! Huh? Huh?”
“Cram it, oaf. Isn’t my smile enough?” Muimi-chan said
sulkily and headed toward the entrance.
“Hey, wait up! Don’t get mad so easily! What are you, a
kid?! Ahh, here we go. See ya at school, Emoto! Adieu! Let’s
hang out again soon, Ikkun!” Akiharu-kun gave a light wave
and chased after Muimi-chan.
“Bye-bye. See ya again,” Tomo-chan said as she waved
sluggishly back. As soon as the two had left, her hands went
for the present. She undid the ribbon and neatly opened the
wrapping paper.
“I wonder what it is. Ikkun, what do you think it is?” It
seemed the alcohol was mostly out of her system. Her cheeks
still had a bit of red in them and her voice was a little shrill,
but her personality seemed to have returned to its default
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 8
setting. “I’m a little excited. This kind of thing always makes
me giddy.”
“Well, it’s probably not yatsuhashi, at any rate,” I said. Incidentally,
the yatsuhashi I had brought had already been
evenly divided among the stomachs of all five party members.
“Judging from the size, it's probably an accessory or something.”
“Yeah, maybe. Oh, it’s a neckstrap. Pretty cool, huh?”
It was a capsule-style neckstrap with a liquid center. It
didn’t really look like a girly item, but as Tomo-chan had said,
it was pretty cool.
“Heheheh, it’s just what I was hoping for,” she said gleefully
as she immediately tried it on. “How does it look,
Ikkun?”
“It’s a good match,” I said, but I didn’t really know.
My eyes made their way from the gushing Tomo-chan over
to Mikoko-chan, who was snoozing in the comer. She looked
so peaceful that I couldn’t bear to wake her. Perhaps she was
planning to just spend the night at Tomo-chan's place.
“Hey, Ikkun,” Tomo-chan said, suddenly straightening herself
out. “I want to say thanks again for coming all the way out
here today.”
“I don’t think it’s the kind of thing you have to thank me
for.”
“But you don’t like doing this kind of thing, right?”
Her question was a little awkward, but it also came out as
if it was something totally normal to her. She delicately raised
her face to view my expression.
It was like . . .
She was looking through me.
Like she was looking at my brain from the inside.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 7 9
“Uh, no, I . . .”
“You don’t like opening up to other people, right?”
“It's all right. I don’t hate it. I actually kind of like goofing
around with everyone like chums.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s a lie.”
“Yes, it is.”
She snickered at me. But her eyes weren’t smiling. They
actually looked rather sad and lonely. The strange combination
of expressions had me puzzled.
What was wrong? What reason could she have for looking
so sad when she had spent her birthday surrounded by
friends?
There shouldn’t have been anything wrong.
Supposing there was . . .
“Mikoko-chan . . .” she said, casting a glance over at the
slumbering Mikoko-chan. “She’s really a great girl.”
“Yeah,” I responded. I was being unusually direct—by my
standards, anyway. “I bet she is.”
“I wanted to be like her.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But I couldn’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
She cast her eyes downward.
“And now here I am, twenty years old, still unable to be
like her. I’m sure it’ll go on like that. No matter how many
years pass, no matter how many decades. I’ll never be like her,
until the day I die.”
“What’s wrong with that? Everyone’s different.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 0
“Say, Ikkun,” she said, looking up again. “Have you ever
felt like, as a human, you’re damaged goods?”
I had no idea how to respond.
“I have.” She was smiling. It was the saddest smile I had
ever seen.
“Everybody does . . .” The words just came out. Whether
they were really from the heart, I didn’t know. They were just
words of comfort. I was probably just saying words I didn’t
really mean so as to not have to see Tomo-chan look so sad.
What a slimeball.
How comical.
How terribly unseemly.
“Everyone feels like that sometimes, I suppose. Nobody’s
perfect, after all. We’ve all got our strong points and our weak
points. That’s what makes us human.”
“Yeah, I know. Even I know that, but you probably understand
that that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about
something more finite, I guess, or more lethal, like a fatal
wound, I guess.”
Boom.
The words shook me.
“It’s kind of like that.”
“. . . .” So this was the real reason I couldn’t read Emoto
Tomoe very well. Perhaps this was really it.
In other words, a long time ago . . .
“There’s another me right here,” she said, pointing over her
own right shoulder. “When I get all rowdy and have fun with 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 1
Muimi-chan and Akiharu-kun and Mikoko-chan and you like
this, that part of me is just watching on, sighing. It’s looking
down on me with cold disdain as I have my fun, saying ‘What
you’re doing won’t amount to anything.’ ”
“Sighing,” she said. “I know I’ll probably never be like
Mikoko-chan until the day I die, but maybe I’ll be able to
once I really do die. If I’m reincarnated, I want to come back
as Mikoko-chan. I want to be able to laugh with complete innocence
like her, to get mad when I want to be mad, to cry
like crazy when I’m sad. That’s what makes a great life.”
“I . . .” This time I was speaking from the heart. “I don’t
want to be reincarnated. I want to just hurry up and die.”
“I’ll bet,” she said with a gentle smile.
Mikoko-chan woke up around one hour later.
“Uhhh.” She shook the sleep out of her head. She still
looked pretty tired.
“So what’re you going to do?” I said. “I’m going home. Are
you going to stay the night?”
“No, I’ll go . . .” She rose to her feet in a daze. “It's okay,
I've sobered up. Give me ten more seconds.”
“Sure. I’ll take you home, then.” I was at least worth a ride
home, I wanted to emphasize, but she didn’t seem to get it.
She had been deeply immersed in sleep when Muimi-chan
left, so that made sense.
“Well, bye-bye, Tomo-chan.”
“Yep. See ya later.” She gave a little wave.
I took my bag and headed toward the entrance. I sat down
in the doorway and put on my shoes. They had messy laces, so 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 2
putting them on was always much more of a hassle than removing
them. Situations like these were an irritating waste of
time. Meanwhile, Mikoko-chan seemed to be having problems
with her own footwork, and a clumsy clopping noise could be
heard through the door separating us.
It probably wasn’t something to worry about. She appeared
in the hallway outside the entrance shortly after me.
“Ohh,” she moaned, rubbing her head. “My head hurts . . .
It’s spinning. It's like a murder at a convenience store, only the
murderer is wearing Rollerblades.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying. Are you sure you don’t
want to stay here for the night? There’s no need to overexert
yourself.”
“It’s okay, I can go.”
She hobbled down the hall on unsteady feet. I gave a shrug
and followed after her.
“So did you have fun?” she said once we were out of the
building.
“Eh, I guess. But I think I'll pass next time.”
“Don’t say that. Let’s do it again! With everyone! When’s
your birthday?”
“March.”
She looked defeated. “Mine’s in April. Ohh, I guess I
should’ve invited you sooner.”
“So where’s your place? I’ll take you back.”
“Near Horikawa. Horikawa Oike. But we’ve got to go to
your place first.”
“Why?”
“My scoot . . .”
Come to think of it, she had come as far as my place on
her bike.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 3
“Can you drive?”
“Sure . . .”
‘Okay then.” Obviously she was in no condition to drive,
but if she said she could drive, who was I to stop her? When
the time came, she could just call a taxi if she had to.
We took Nishiôji Street up to Nakadachiuri and broke east,
when for some reason, David Bowie music started playing
from somewhere. Thinking it was a nearby guerrilla concert, I
was a bit taken aback, but it turned out to be Mikoko-chan's
ringtone.
“Hm?” She pulled her phone out of her purse. “Hello? This
is Mikoko-chan, the spunky and energetic girl of Lake Ashi!
Hm? What? Tomo-chan?” It seemed it was a call from Tomochan.
“Yeah. Yeah . . . Yeah, he’s here with me right now.
He's walking right in front of me. Sure, I guess. Okay, I'll pass
it over.”
She passed me the phone. “It’s Tomo-chan. She wanted
me to give you the phone.”
“Me? Why?”
“. . . . ?”
I must have forgotten something at her place. I scratched
my head as I took the phone. It was more than a little smaller
than my own phone, so it felt kind of awkward.
“Hello?”
“. . . .”
“Hello?”
“Ikkun.”
A voice.
It was quivering, like she was afraid of something. It
could’ve been partially the phone’s fault, but something in her 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 4
voice was obviously different from when we had spoken moments
earlier at her place.
“Tomo-chan?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong? Did I forget something? I’ve got my bag
here.”
“No, it’s not that. Um . . . I forgot to tell you something
earlier.”
Forget to tell me something?
“Yeah, what?”
“Never mind. See you.”
Click.
Suddenly the call was cut off. Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeep.
Beeeep. After four rings, I took the phone away from my ear. I
scratched my head, stared at it for another three seconds, then
handed it back to Mikoko-chan. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” she said, taking it. “So what’d she say?”
“Nothing. I don’t know what that was about.”
“Huh?”
She gave me a confused expression, but I was the one who
was confused. Tomo-chan wanted to tell me something? Why
would she start and then stop like that?
“What? I wonder what it was. Maybe it was a secret or
something. Did you guys have some kind of secret talk?”
“No, nothing like that, but . . . oh yeah, Mikoko-chan.” I
switched trains of thought. “Is there somebody right here?” I
said, drawing a circle with my finger over her right shoulder.
“Huh?”
She raised a dubious eyebrow at me. Naturally.
“I mean, do you get the feeling someone is right there,
looking down on you?” I asked.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 5
“I don’t think so, but . . . why?”
“Eh, if you don’t feel it then don’t worry about it.”
“If somebody was there, it'd be pretty scary,” she said as
she imagined it. “But as for in here,” she said, pointing to her
own heart, “there is somebody.”
Huh. I nodded. Judging from her bashful smirk, she must
have been talking about her boyfriend.
In about ten more minutes, we had arrived at my apartment.
In the apartment parking lot, there was only a single
bike, so it must have been hers.
“Whoa, it’s a Vespa.” And a white vintage model, no less.
This girl called her Vespa a “scooter”? A Vespa is a Vespa,
and only a Vespa. Calling it a scooter was, to me, an insult.
And not just your everyday insult—it was the ultimate insult,
which threatened to shake my very existence. Everyone has
one thing that they’d sacrifice their own life for, that they'd
trade the world for, and to me, this was that thing. I wanted
to shout at Mikoko-chan. I angrily turned to face her.
“. . . .”
She was sleeping.
“I’m speechless.”
She was sleeping standing up. She had been awfully quiet
for a while. Was it possible that she had been sleepwalking?
She probably had been. This was the power of the human race
pushed to its absolute limit. I gave her a few taps on the
cheek, but she refused to wake up. I had the urge to start
stretching her face, but it seemed that there would be no way
to explain my way out of it if somebody happened to see us,
so I restrained myself.
“I wonder if I could just leave her here . . .”
If not, there were only two options.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 6
“Hup,” I groaned as I lifted her onto my back. She stirred a
little bit on the way, but didn’t wake up. Likely because she
was so short, she was actually quite light. Or maybe all girls
were like this.
With her still on my back, I entered the apartment, then
made my way up the stairs to the second floor. I clomped my
way down the boarded hallway to the room next to my own.
I knocked lightly.
“Yeah, wait one moment,” an answer came from inside.
Miiko-san soon appeared before us. She was dressed in yet a
different set of Japanese summer casual wear, which was red
this time. I was pretty sure this was the outfit with the word
Treachery printed on the back.
“Yes?” she said, eyeing the girl on my back suspiciously.
“You’re still under legal age, right?” she said after a moment's
thought. “Well, of course I'll let you hide out here, but speaking
purely out of kindness, I suggest you just turn yourself in.
Japan has a pretty capable police force. Not likely that you’ll
be able to escape.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that this time. Er, this girl’s a classmate.
Looks like she drank too much and passed out. Would
you be willing to let her spend the night?”
“Huh?” She put her hand to her chin and thought for a
moment. “Why don’t you just put her up yourself?”
“Eh, but I mean, as you can see, she's a girl. And it sounds
like she’s got a boyfriend, so I can’t just have her sleeping over
in my place, right?”
“Huh. Well, if that’s how it is, I guess I don’t mind. But
what is given today I will one day receive. To ignore thanks
where they’re due is a dastardly deed.”
“I gotcha. Want to go antiquing again?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 7
“Yes. Okay then. So what’s this girl’s name?”
“Mikoko-chan. Er, last name is Aoi, I think.”
“Aoi Mikoko? Heh, strange name,” Miiko-san said, taking
Mikoko-chan from me. Everyone should have a neighbor as
dependable as her.
“Well, I’ll be on my way then.”
“Mm. Get some sleep. You’d best not make yourself out to
be some afternoon-sleeping lollygagger.”
“Huh? I never sleep in the afternoon.”
“Is that so? Well, just forget that then. Good night.”
“Good night.”
I bowed and returned to my room, where I laid down my
futon and curled up on it.
“Time to sleep.”
And so the day ended. Saturday, May fourteenth. No, it
had already passed zero o'clock, so it was Sunday the fifteenth.
So at zero o'clock twenty-four hours later, it would be
the sixteenth. The next zero o’clock would be the seventeenth.
Zero o’clock.
Zerozaki.
Wondering if that human failure was currently killing his
seventh person or had perhaps already dismembered his
eighth, the damaged goods gradually fell into a slumber.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 8 9
No more.
I don’t want to think anymore.
When I awoke to a knocking at the door, it was already past
eight o’clock.
I brushed the hair out of my face with both hands and rose
to my feet.
“Uhhh.”
I opened the door to find Mikoko-chan. Her usual hyper
greeting had been replaced with a shy look of apologetic embarrassment.
“Did I wake you?” she said meekly.
“Eh. It was time to wake up anyway,” I answered as I
stretched out. “Morning, Mikoko-chan.”
“Good morning, Ikkun. Um . . . I’m sorry about yesterday.
I sort of, er . . . it looks like I fell asleep.”
“Eh, forget about it. Just be sure to thank Miiko-san.”
“Ah, right.” She nodded after a moment of ambiguous
hesitation.
“Isn’t she a good person?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 0
“Well, yeah, she is, huh? Kind of cool, I guess you could
say. So is she the ‘swordswoman freeloader’ you were talking
about?”
“Does she look like a thirteen-year-old little sister?”
“No, I guess not.” She awkwardly broke eye contact with
me and gave a brief pause. “I don’t know if it’s because she
practices sword fighting, but her clothes were kind of weird.
Sort of Japanesey, but like the kind of thing you’d wear to a
festival.”
“You mean her jinbei?”
“A djembe? What’s that?” Evidently Mikoko-chan had
never heard of it. “Oh, you mean like a jinbei shark?”
“Uhh, well, yeah. Have you ever seen the pattern on the
back of a jinbei shark? It’s just like they’re wearing that same
type of clothing. So we ended up naming that kind of Japanese
clothing jinbei, after the shark.”
“Ahh. You sure know a lot, Ikkun,” she said. “I’ll have to
teach that to Tomo-chan and the others.”
Yep. And if Tomo-chan and the others weren’t as cruel as
me, they would probably teach her the truth. Why did I tell
such meaningless lies? Perhaps it was time I gave that some
serious thought.
“So anyway,” Mikoko-chan said, changing the subject. “Are
you and that girl—Asano-san—are you two close?”
“She’s saved me from starvation a few times. But then I
saved her from being crushed under a pile of antiques, so
we’re even Steven. Those yatsuhashi you had yesterday were
from her too.”
“Huh,” she said with a complicated expression. “You know,
I don’t really like yatsuhashi.”
“Huh? Oh, you don’t say.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 1
“Too sweet.”
“Huh. Miiko-san likes sweet stuff.”
“Well, I don’t.”
For some reason she was getting a little serious. I scratched
my head at her, not sure where she was going with this.
“Well, that’s fine. So what are you going to do now?” I
said.
“Oh, er, I’ve got this,” she said, pulling a pink, wrapped
present from her purse. “It’s Tomo-chan’s birthday present.
Forgot to give it to her. Big mistake, huh? I should’ve given it
to her before we all got drunk. I got carried away trying to get
things going.”
“Hm. Well, why not go give it to her now? She should be
home.”
“Yup, that’s the plan.” At last, she showed her trademark
smile. “Well, thank you. Let’s get together again.”
“We’ll see.”
“Why do you say stuff like that?! Let’s do something!”
“Just kidding. Fine by me. If I’ve got time, I’ll spend as
much of it with you as you want, so please invite me again,” I
said.
I only said it to be polite, but seeing Mikoko-chan’s face
light up, the guilt kicked in. Thinking she’d probably burst
into tears or rage if I said “just kidding” again, I just said, “See
you next time,” instead.
She gave a big, energetic nod and spun on her heels.
Something came to mind. “Hey, Mikoko-chan. Let me just
say one more thing.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“Call a Vespa a Vespa. Calling it a scoot is just offensive, so
knock it off.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 2
“Wow, Ikkun giving an order?! It’s like a first-rate school
where you can wear your own clothes, but all the students
show up in uniforms anyway!”
“You got it or not?”
“Wow, you’re as scary as Muimi-chan . . .”
She seemed to seriously be a little scared. But I had to say
it firmly or she wouldn’t get it.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be careful from now on.” She made
her way down the hall. When she reached the comer, she
turned back around. “Hey! I’ve got something I want to say to
you too!”
“Huh? What?”
She took a big breath. “My last name is Aoii! Not Aoi! I
told you not to forget!”
I wanted to tell her I knew that, but then I realized that I
had introduced her to Miiko-san as “Aoi Mikoko.” Miiko-san
was the kind of person who was hard to correct once certain
information had entered her brain (thanks to me, she still believed
Shakespeare was a flavor of a McDonald’s McShake), so
she had probably spent the morning calling her “Aoi” over and
over. Well, maybe not that many times.
To me it didn’t seem like the difference between Aoi and
Aoii was such a big deal, but I decided that was probably fairly
rude. Japanese are as proud of their last names as Italians.
“Okay. I won’t forget again. I promise.”
“Okay then. Also . . .” She turned halfway back around. “I
don’t have a boyfriend,” she said softly, then quickly made her
way down the stairs as if trying to escape.
“Huh?” I probably looked more than a little confused.
Er . . .
What was that about?
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 3
She had probably heard that from Miiko-san as well. I did
seem to remember having that kind of conversation with her.
Something about Mikoko-chan not being able to stay in my
room because she had a boyfriend. But Miiko-san, she . . .
“I don’t go around regurgitating every little detail like that.”
Whoa. At some point she had appeared in front of me.
“Looks like we’ve got a couple people yelling in this dilapidated
apartment. Never mind that everyone can hear you
from their rooms; if you shout like that, the whole building’s
gonna come down.”
“Heh . . .”
“Now then, I have to go to work. Let’s hope that classmate
of yours learns to mind her p’s and q’s,” she said, and shuffled
her way down the hall. There was something frightening
about the fact that Rage was written on the back of her blue
jinbei. Maybe she and Mikoko-chan hadn’t gotten along so
well. Their names were sort of similar and all.
But in that case, the name thing seemed kind of dubious.
“Maybe she was actually awake last night . . .”
Sleeping while standing up is one thing, but walking
around while asleep isn’t all that easy. The power of the
human race pushed to its absolute limit isn’t something you
see every day. Maybe Mikoko-chan had actually been awake,
how lucid she may or may not have been at the time notwithstanding.
Maybe that was why she knew I had mistaken her
name and said she had a boyfriend.
She probably just didn’t want to bother with making the
trip home. But then she could’ve just said so without pretending
she was asleep. Some people sure do strange things, I
thought as I went back inside.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 4
Now then.
It was precisely that evening when the story started getting
altogether tiresome.
As I was alone in my room reading a fat book I had
checked out from the school library, a wild knocking came at
my door. Now, it’s only natural to be irritated when someone
interrupts your valued quiet time like this, but having become
rather accustomed to this kind of thing by now, I wasn’t particularly
angry. Wondering if it was that damned fifteen-yearold
brother coming to ask for money again, I opened the door.
“Oh.”
It was an older guy and a girl I had never seen before.
There was something particularly peculiar about the guy.
He was probably in his mid-to-late thirties, and not so much
tall as long-legged. Moreover, he had his hair slicked back.
Stranger still, even in this heat he was dressed in a black suit
and tie. It was a disturbingly bizarre way to be dressed. He
even had sunglasses on. If he had been a foreigner, I would’ve
been afraid it was the MIB here to erase my memory.
The woman, on the other hand, was dressed in a slightly
more normal suit and tight skirt. She had straight, black hair,
and was relatively pretty. But the look in her eyes was not ordinary.
Without a hint of the reservation normally expected
when meeting someone for the first time, her eyes met mine
with a penetrating, gouging gaze.
She took a step forward. “Have a look,” she said, flashing
me a police badge. “I’m Sasa Sasaki of the Kyoto Police First
Investigative Division.” It was the kind of name that threat-
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 5
ened to make you bite your own tongue. Her parents must
have been awfully whimsical.
“Oh. Hey.”
I gave a little head bob for the time being. The woman—
Sasaki-san—seemed a bit surprised by my reaction. Maybe I
should’ve shown more surprise myself, but it didn’t take more
than a glance to tell that these two were obviously police officers.
The thought of these two stone-faced individuals being
anything other than police officers was, to me, unimaginable.
The male officer chuckled to himself a bit and showed his
own badge, “Ikaruga Kazuhito from the same division. Mind if
we come inside for a bit?” It was essentially coercion in the
form of a question. As a kid, I naturally felt the urge to defy
this coercion, but it didn’t look like this Kazuhito-san would
let it fly.
“Oh, uh, well, sure. It’s small, though.”
I invited them into the room. They seemed surprised to
find that the inside of the room was just as small as I’d said,
but they passed it off with an impressive coolness. If I was
their boss, I would’ve given them a raise. Of course, not
being their boss, I didn’t give them squat.
“Please have a seat over there,” I said. I poured water into
two cups and placed them in front of the pair. Just as Mikokochan
had the day before, they ignored this completely.
“Allow me to be frank,” Sasaki-san said, eyeing me firmly.
“Emoto Tomo-san is dead.”
“Oh.” I prepared myself a glass of water and sat down
across from them. “Is that right?”
“ ‘Is that right?’ Is that all you have to say?” Sasaki broke
her poker face for the first time.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 6
“Oh, well, I’m not much for expressing emotion. I’m totally
shocked on the inside, so don’t pay it any mind.”
That and, by this point, I was becoming kind of used to
this sort of thing.
But I really was shocked. This was half because Tomoechan
had been killed, and half because the instant I had seen
these two outside my door, I had guessed they were here to
talk about Zerozaki.
I was half-relieved, half-stupefied. It was like a contradicttion
of emotions swirling around in my gut.
“Umm, is it safe to assume that since there are detectives
oil the case, she didn’t die under ordinary circumstances? Not
to mention that you’re from the First Investigative Division.”
Considering the kinds of cases First Investigative Divisions
usually handle.
“That’s correct.” Sasaki-san nodded. The seriousness of her
expression was pure and undiluted.
“So was it, by any chance, the ‘prowler’?”
She shook her head at my inquiry. “No.”
“Oh, really.”
It was like something had deflated. Part of me was relieved.
I couldn’t help but wonder why, but I quickly switched trains
of thought.
“What happened, then?”
“Her body was found this morning. She had been strangled
to death.”
“Strangled?”
Strangulation.
Emoto Tomoe.
Murdered . . . ?
I felt my heart going cold.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 7
Just how many people had I seen die? How long had it
been since I stopped counting dead friends? My first encounter
with death was before I could even remember.
“It’s been about a month since the last one, huh? That’s got
to be a new record.”
Sasaki-san gave me a sideways look. It was entirely different
from the kind of sideways looks Mikoko-chan gave me, a
purely intellectual pose completely devoid of any adorable
charm. Then again, in my whole life, I had never seen a pose
that was both intellectual and adorably charming, whether it
be from a male or a female.
“Did you say something?”
“No, just talking to myself. I do that a lot. They say I’m just
a nineteen-year-old soliloquy that can dress itself and walk
around.”
Although Sasaki-san looked satisfied with this answer, she
didn’t crack so much as a smirk.
Suddenly I noticed that Kazuhito-san had been closely
monitoring my expression. I kept quiet.
Interesting.
That explained the need for sunglasses. Sasaki-san was in
charge of doing the talking. Kazuhito-san was the observer. It
was marvelous nonsense. A true masterpiece.
It seemed I was a prime suspect.
“I guess that makes sense. I was with her all night.”
“Did you say something?”
“No, just your plain old, everyday nonsense.” I sat myself
up straight. Not that I was nervous, but maybe it was time to
start getting a little more serious. “So if she was killed, who
killed her?” I asked.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 8
“That’s currently under investigation. To tell you the truth,
that’s the reason we’ve come here today,” Sasaki-san said.
“Then tell me,” I wanted to say, but I refrained from provoking
her.
“You were in Emoto-san’s apartment from about six in the
evening to midnight. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Just to check, would you tell us the names of the other
people present during that period of time?”
“Umm.” Good luck, memory. “Emoto Tomoe-san, Atemiya
Muimi-san, Aoi . . . no, Aoii Mikoko-san, and Usami Akiharukun.
And then me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You arrived with Aoii-san. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Aoii-san first came to my place—here, I mean—
then we went to Emoto-san’s place together. It was around
six p.m.”
“More specifically? Was it before six or after?”
“Before.”
She was barraging me with questions. The limitations of
my mind’s processing speed had been surpassed long ago, and
my head was spinning.
“So all of the guests were there at that time . . ."
“Please wait a minute,” I interrupted. “I can’t settle down
and focus if you keep throwing out questions one after another
like that. I think I mentioned that, but this all has me a
little mixed up.”
“Oh, sorry about that,” Sasaki-san said. It was the most
unapologetic apology of all time.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 9 9
I spent the next hour responding to her assault of
questions, divulging every last detail of the previous night’s
events. The things we talked about during the party. The
atmosphere of the party. My going to the convenience store
with Muimi-chan. Returning. Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan
leaving at around eleven o’clock. Akiharu-kun giving Tomochan
a present just before that. The neckstrap. My talk with
Tomo-chan after that. Leaving the apartment with Mikokochan
in tow. The phone call from Tomo-chan around the time
we reached Nishiôji Nakadachiuri. Leaving Mikoko-chan with
Miiko-san because she appeared to be sleeping (whether it
was the truth or not, I didn’t know). And then, sleeping.
Mikoko-chan’s short visit in the morning. The rest of the day,
which I spent reading.
I didn’t bother mentioning the intense pressure of having
Kazuhito-san peering over Sasaki-san’s shoulder the whole
time when she was already plenty scary on her own. We were
just sitting and talking, but I felt like I had wasted a great deal
of energy. And then there was Sasaki-san’s brilliant last line.
“Okay, so far this pretty much matches what we’ve already
heard.”
Boy, she was super.
The string of questions seemed to have come to an end for
the time being. “Hmm,” Sasaki-san said with a perplexed look.
But something about it seemed like an act. If Mikoko-chan
could be called a person of no façades, this woman, on the
other hand, was a person of nothing but façades, to the point
that they appeared to be her true personality. She certainly
wouldn’t be the easiest person in the world to deal with.
“So how about that phone call?” she said with a finger to
her temple. “She really didn’t say anything? According to 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0 0
Aoii-san, Emoto-san specifically asked her to pass you the
phone, from which one could deduce that she had something
to say to you.”
“She began to say something, but she didn’t. She just said
‘never mind,’ and hung up.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“And it was definitely Emoto-san on the phone?”
“Yes. I never mistake voices of people I know.”
She exchanged glances with Kazuhito-san behind her. It
looked like they were done questioning and about to be on
their way, but I couldn’t just sit idly by in silence.
“Umm, Sasaki-san, may I ask a question?”
“Huh?”
Her poker face broke down once again, naturally. Having
had a younger boy suddenly address her by her first name, it
would’ve been stranger if she hadn’t been surprised.
“Something’s been bothering me.”
“Uh-huh . . .” She exchanged another glance with Kazuhito-san.
He responded with nothing more than the slight
drop of his jaw. Apparently a sign of consent; Sasaki-san
turned back toward me. “Okay.”
This consent was most likely not spurred by sympathy for a
boy whose classmate had just been murdered, but by the
mean-spirited notion that they could use my question to see
into me. Not that I cared.
“Um . . . by any chance, was Aoii-san the one who discovered
the body?”
“That’s correct,” she answered coolly, providing no further
explanation. It seemed they had no intention of telling me
anything more than necessary to answer my questions. Of 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0 1
course, they probably wouldn’t answer all of my questions
either.
So I was right, after all. She had gone to drop off Tomochan’s
birthday present, but there had been no answer. She
tried calling, but nobody picked up. The door to the building
had an autolock, but surely that was easy enough to get
around. All she had to do was follow one of the residents
inside. In that sense, it hardly even passed as a lock.
Hmm . . .
Mikoko-chan.
How must she have felt at that time? She was always so
full of emotion. What could she have possibly felt at a time
like that?
“Maybe I should’ve gone with her. . . .”
But then again, how could I have known? Besides, I wasn’t
sure I would’ve been much help even if I had gone along. I
wasn’t worth that much. I might have ended up just making
her angry.
“Is that your only question?”
“No, I’ve got a few more. What was the time of death?”
“We’ve determined that it was sometime between eleven
p.m. on the fourteenth and three a.m. on the fifteenth.”
“In that case . . .” Mikoko-chan and I had left her apartment
at midnight, which meant that the crime must have
occurred between midnight and three a.m. “Er, and you say
she was strangled, correct? There wasn’t a knife involved or
anything?”
“That’s what I said.” She narrowed her eyes at my mentioning
of the word knife. Of course I didn’t tell her, not even
with my eyes, that I knew a certain knife-wielding killer.
“Was it a rope?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0 2
“It was a thin piece of cloth. She most likely died instantly
from vascular compression. I doubt she suffered much.”
This was most human thing Sasaki-san had said so far. But
to me, whether Tomo-chan suffered or not was relatively
trivial. Either way, she was dead.
I knew what it was to die. It isn’t death that people fear:
It’s nothingness. Pain is nothing more than a peripheral addon,
despair nothing more than decoration.
“Um, have you already gone to see everyone else?”
“Everyone eke?” Sasaki-san replied, even though she knew
damn well what I meant.
“Everyone who was gathered at Emoto-san’s place last
night. Usami-kun, Atemiya-san, and Aoii-san.”
I asked this without any particular expectation. I figured
she probably wouldn’t even answer. But to my surprise, she
answered immediately.
“Yes, we have,” she said. “We’ve finished questioning all of
them. Your address was a little hard to find, so we ended up
coming here last.”
“What was everyone doing during that window of time
when Emoto-san was killed?”
One more step. I cautiously took another step forward.
Sasaki-san’s lips curled up into a vague smirk. “Usami-san
and Atemiya-san say they spent the night singing karaoke in
Shijôkawara-machi. As for Aoii-san, well, it probably goes
without saying.”
It did. Mikoko-chan was staying with Miiko-san in the
room next door. I felt a little relieved. If you could believe
Sasaki-san’s claim, that meant that the top three suspects all
had alibis. Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan could only account 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0 3
for each other, so their alibi wasn’t exactly watertight, but it
was enough to loosen any suspicions toward them.
I felt the pressure of Kazuhito-san’s gaze grow even
stronger.
“Tch . . .”
How unseemly.
Much too late, I broke eye contact with the two of them.
Dammit. They had set me up to feel at ease. They had
caused me to let my guard down. I had been careless. These
two detectives aside, you were never supposed to let your
guard down around a police officer.
Shit . . . what had they seen?
“Is that all, then?” Sasaki-san asked without a hint of
change in her tone.
“Oh, no. One more.”
If I had ever known failure, surely this was that time.
Kazuhito-san’s penetrating gaze was minute subtlety compared
to what I was about to face.
But it was a subtlety that had flustered me enough to ask a
question I didn’t even have to ask, a question that I shouldn’t
have asked.
“Who do you suppose did it?”
It was a question that had already been answered. And I
had gone and repeated it.
“That’s currently under investigation,” Sasaki-san answered
with a meaningful gaze—and the smile of a predator who had
just bagged its prey. She rose to her feet. “Pardon us for intruding
for so long. I think we’ll be back again later to talk
more,” she said, placing her calling card on the floor. “If you
remember anything else, please give us a call.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0 4
I took the card in my hand. It gave a number for the prefectural
police as well as her own cell phone number.
“Well, take care, Mr. Student,” Kazuhito-san said with a
smirk, and began to make his way out of my room.
Interesting . . . so he was the real faker. I had committed
such a fatal misstep that I didn’t even deserve to call myself a
passive bystander anymore. I had completely mixed up the
roles of the two detectives.
In other words, it was Kazuhito-san who was rushing me
along while Sasaki-san had been absorbing everything I said.
And what’s more, Sasaki-san had purposely let down her
guard and invited me to attack.
The gall. The utter audacity.
“Oh, by the way,” Sasaki-san said as if just remembering
something. “About your alibi. For the time being, it’s been
confirmed by your neighbor, Asano-san. She said you can hear
people walking down the hallway from inside the rooms.”
She flashed me a refined smile. This was essentially a
checkmate. No, this didn’t even make for a match.
She even had the nerve to throw in this little scrap of
compassion at the end there.
Well, son of a bitch.
I don’t know if it was because I hadn’t dealt with them for
a long time, but I had completely underestimated the Japanese
police. Did my arrogance know no bounds? Who the hell
did I think I was?
It was the first time I had felt such defeat since my run-in
with that redheaded private contractor.
I chewed my lower lip. “Kazuhito-san,” I said to him as he
was leaving.
“Hm?” He looked back.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0 5
“If you were better-looking, you’d be a dead ringer for
Matsuda Yûsaku.”
“Guess that means I’m not a dead ringer for Matsuda
Yûsaku.”
It was a bull’s-eye answer. My last hopeless jab at him had
been a big whiff, and with that, the two detectives were on
their way. I cleared away the cups and plopped myself onto
the floor.
It had been a decisive defeat. I hadn’t felt this sensation in
a month, and I hadn’t felt it this strongly in a whole year. But
in this case I could just abandon the emotion. When you
thought about the fact that someone had just died, it was all
too trivial.
“Tomo-chan . . .”
I tried whispering the name aloud. The first thing to come
to mind was our conversation from the previous night.
“Have you ever felt like, as a human, you’re damaged
goods?”
Now, now, Tomo-chan, that’s not the sort of thing one admits
out loud, isn’t it?
It’s better to not know things; it helps us go on living. As
long as we’re not too aware of ourselves, we can live in happiness.
You might compare us to an airplane that’s lost its
engine and wings. We’re nothing but insignificant nobodies
who can only soar like crows who can’t call out. Once you
start questioning things, it’s all over.
It’s not about denial. It’s about ignorance.
“You can get killed asking questions like that.” As someone
with experience, it wasn’t my job to just dish out empty
words of condolence. “If you put your mind to it, it’s only 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 106
natural . . . whether you’re a person like us or not . . . Or rather,
if you don’t put your mind to anything, that is.”
Having realized these things myself long ago, I was now a
person living without purpose, just as Tomo-chan had been
living a life without meaning.
I closed my eyes.
And I opened them.
“Well, so much for mind over matter.”
I swiftly rose to my feet.
Now then.
What to do now? There was nothing I was supposed to do,
but plenty of things I wanted to. For me, this was a fairly rare
condition.
First, I took out my cell phone. I checked the call history,
then began to dial Mikoko-chan’s number. But halfway
through, I stopped myself.
“Seriously, who the hell do I think I am?”
This was utter and complete nonsense. If I did call Mikokochan,
what did I possibly have to say to her?
So I put off calling her. At that moment, I just didn’t have
the right words to say to her.
“In that case . . .”
First things first. I cleared my phone and began reentering a
phone number. It was the one and only phone number I knew
by heart. With the phone at my ear, I tried to remember how
long it had been since we’d talked.
She picked up immediately.
“Ohhh! Ii-chan! A long time indeed, old friend! Do you
still love me?”
Her hyperness dwarfed Mikoko-chan’s by a factor of about
twelve; unlike Mikoko-chan, once you removed her stopper, 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 0 7
the gushing would never end. If you let her alone, she would
shoot all the way up to Heaven like the Tower of Babel.
“What oh what oh what oh what is wrong? You never call
me! This moment is monumental! It’s the Himeji Castle! It
must be a diversionary tactic! Hyaooo! I wanna take a photograph
to record it, but a photograph can’t capture sound so
there’d be no point! Therefore, commence audio recording!”
“You don’t have to bother with the audio recording.”
I made an effort to keep my cool.
Muimi-chan had asked me if it was tough keeping up with
Mikoko-chan’s hyperness, but as I had told her, compared
with Kunagisa, Mikoko-chan was pretty much a piece of cake.
If Mikoko-chan was happy-go-lucky, then Kunagisa Tomo
was happy-go-crazy.
“Tomo, are you free much these days?”
“Nope! More on the busy side. Extremely occupado. My
processing power is facing an imminent meltdown! Emergency
memory expansion! Defrag imperative! I’m going to freeze!
Oh my God, it’s happening! It’s happening! Present progressive
form! Please reboot!”
“Is it this Kyoto prowling serial killer case?”
“Bingo! Wowww! You’re like Maki-chan! Or the red contractor!
Kyahahahahaha! Return of the ESP! And forever!
Mankind’s strongest! This is the end!”
“Sorry, Tomo, could you dial it down a notch?”
“Huh? What’s wrong? Well, whatever. Yep, it’s the Kyoto
prowling serial killer case! But you know what? It’s not going
the way I expected! This darn case! Hurdles! Serious hurdles!
Surely the killer is the reincarnation of Dread Jones! Wahaha!”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 108
“Let’s make a deal, Kunagisa Tomo,” I said. “I’ll give you
some information on this Kyoto prowler case. You’ll give me
information on a certain murder that’s come up.”
“Huh?”
She thought for a moment. I knew she wouldn’t ask me
why I had information on the prowler case or why there was a
murder case I was interested in. I believed in her, and she
trusted me.
Unnecessary explanations.
Excess clarifications.
Wasted words.
Inane questions.
Distracting chatter.
The very best thing about Kunagisa was that she had no
use for any of these things.
“Ehh, I don’t like this word deal, Ii-chan.”
“How’s bargain?”
“Awful.”
“Pact?”
“Almost there.”
“Conspiracy?”
“Not technically wrong, but something’s off.”
“Well, then what about a mutual complementing of each
other’s attributes?”
“Yeah, that’ll do,” she said happily.
Give or take.
At this point, I still hadn’t decided which.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 109
After finishing my call with Kunagisa, I went to visit Miikosan
next door. I knocked on her door.
“Yo,” came her response. Several seconds later, the door
opened. As usual, she was dressed in a jinbei. It seemed to me
that if she was going to take such an avid interest in Japanese
clothing, she ought to get herself a nice, pretty kimono. It definitely
would’ve looked good on her.
“Can I help you?”
“Oh, I just wanted to thank you. They said you vouched
for my alibi.”
“I didn’t do anything remarkable. I just told the truth.”
“Yeah, but I created an unnecessary burden for you.”
“I don’t care. Happens all the time . . . but you’ve certainly
dealt with your own fair share of nuisances, haven’t you?” She
sounded more amazed than concerned. “You’re like the man
of a thousand disasters. So what about that girl? Based on
what the authorities were saying, it sounds like she was involved
as well.”
“Well, in a manner of speaking . . .”
“Gotcha,” she nodded. “Well, then, how do you intend on
thanking me?”
“I’ll treat you to tea.”
This was literally an invitation to go have real tea at a teahouse,
not just a regular coffee shop. It was sort of a Kyoto
thing, or maybe just a Miiko-san thing.
“Does that come with dango?” Dango—those tasty rice
flour dumplings—went really well with green tea.
“It even comes with hiyashi shiruko.” Yes, and sweet red
bean soup, too!
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 1 0
“Where at?”
“The Oharame-ya in Gion.”
Miiko-san’s eyes immediately lit up. “Hold on, I’ll get
ready.”
She shut the door. For what it was worth, she was considerate
enough to change into normal clothes if she was going
out with somebody else. That level of thoughtfulness made
her a pretty rare specimen in my circle of acquaintances.
“And I’m back.” A minute later she was ready to leave. She
handed me a car key. I flipped it over once in the palm of my
hand before clutching it tight.
And so eight o’clock in the evening rolled around. Tea with
Miiko-san had ended and I found myself walking between
Shijô and Oike on Kawara-machi Street. Miiko-san had already
driven her Fiat back to her apartment.
“Don’t use me just to kill time and save on shoe leather.”
Those were the words she had left me with.
She could see right through me, all right. Miiko-san was
sharp, all right. But you had to hand it to her for accepting my
invitation anyway. She was a nice girl. Or maybe she just had
a sweet tooth.
I came to a stop and entered a nearby karaoke spot.
“Welcome,” the guy behind the counter said. “Party of
one?”
“Umm, I have a friend who should already be here.”
“May I have your friend’s name, please?”
“Zerozaki Hitoshiki.”
“Ah, Zerozaki-sama?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 111
He briefly entered something into his computer. “Okay,
that would be room twenty-four,” he said, flashing me a
customer-servicey smile. I said my thanks and made my way
to the elevator. Room twenty-four was on the second floor. I
got off there and walked down the hall, checking the number
of each room.
“Dadadadadada dadadadadadadada! Dadadada! Dadadadadadadadadadadadadadadada!
Ah! Aaaahhhh!”
Just as I was wondering who was the bozo with the rusty
pipes, I realized it was coming from room twenty-four. I gave
a little shrug and opened the door without even knocking.
“Wha?”
Zerozaki stopped his belting once he noticed me.
“Yo, Damaged Goods,” he said, waving a finger at me. I entered
the room without reacting and took a seat on the sofa.
“Hey, Human Failure,” I said.
He placed down the microphone and used the remote
control to end the song.
“You can keep singing if you want. You’re paying for this,
right?”
“Nah, it’s okay. I’m not really all that into singing, to be
honest. And I sure as hell don’t like imitating other singers. I
just do it to kill time.”
He sat down so that he was facing me and sighed deeply.
“Haven’t seen ya for a day. But, like, it don’t really feel that
way.”
“Eh, I guess not.” I nodded.
To be honest, I was surprised. Until a moment ago, I didn’t
even think Zerozaki would be here. Sure, after our conversation
the day before yesterday—I mean, yesterday morning—
we’d arranged to meet again. “I’ll be at the karaoke joint, so 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 112
let’s meet up there,” he had said. But I didn’t think he would
actually show up. I guess he probably thought the same thing.
And that was no doubt the reason that I had come and the
reason he was here waiting.
The meaning of the phrase used to waiting: Here too lay a
justified contradiction.
From there, we began talking about a variety of things,
none of which mattered in the least. It was just like the night
we had first crossed paths. Ridiculous philosophy, boring facts
of enlightenment, irrelevant views on life. At times we veered
off-track a bit and got into discussions on music (“Guess the
one-hit wonder”) or literature (“What’s the trick to truly moving
your reader?”). None of it had any real point. It was as if
we were both just trying to check something.
“Say, Zerozaki,” I said somewhere around the four-hour
mark. “What’s it feel like to kill someone?”
“Huh?” he said, tilting his head at me. His face looked
blank, as if he hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular.
“It’s not really the kind of thing that makes you feel this way
or that. I don’t really feel much of anything.”
“You don’t? It doesn’t feel good or refreshing or anything
like that?”
“Listen, dumbass, what do you think I am, some kind of
sicko?” he said with a heaping helping of condescension.
Committing grisly murders sure seemed like a funny way of
not being a sicko, but I decided to hear him out.
“ ’Cuz, you see, it’s like this. I mean, I am a murderer. But
I’m not what you would call a ‘lust murderer.’ That’s a tricky
distinction to make. I guess it doesn’t do any good for me to
make that kind of claim myself anyway. In the end, it’s the 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 113
people around you who decide who you are. All I can do is go
along with it. I’m not really one for deep thoughts, you know.”
“Huh . . . yeah, I guess not. Okay, then how about I change
my question—what is murder to you?”
“Nothin’.”
I could find two meanings buried in that word.
It was worth nothing.
And therefore, it cost nothing.
“Now here’s a question for you, D.G. What is death to
you?”
“When you flat-out ask me like that, I’m at a loss. If I had
to answer, I guess I’d say it’s kind of like a battery running out
of juice.”
“A battery? You mean like with the AA and stuff?”
“Yeah. Well, something like that. I guess you could say
battery power is like a life force or something. Which I guess
would make you and your body the insulator.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he said with a little laugh. He
seemed to be truly enjoying himself. I wondered if I sounded
like him when I laughed.
“I guess my question was ambiguous,” I said. “How about
this, then? Do you understand why other people commit
murder?”
“Huh? That’s a bizarre one. But very you somehow. Let’s
see . . . nope.”
“You don’t?” I asked.
“Well, first of all, I don’t understand other people, period.
Whether or not they’re killers, and regardless of how evil they
may or may not be. Second of all, I don’t even understand
myself. I have no freaking idea what causes all that chaos and 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 1 4
confusion swirling around in my guts. So all I can say is no, I
don’t understand people who kill others.”
“I see your logic there.”
“I might add that murder was never particularly what I was
going for,” he said as if it really was just an afterthought.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, this is going to get awfully conceptual, but in other
words . . . well, here’s an example.” He picked up the receiver
for the room phone. “Excuse me, could we get two ramens
please?”
Not much later, a staff member came in carrying ramen.
“Eat up. I’m payin’,” he said, and took some noodles with
his chopsticks. “Now this is a meal.”
“Yup. You didn’t even have to tell me.”
“They say food, sleep, and sex are the three basic desires of
mankind. But why are we eating this meal right now?”
“To ingest vitamins.”
“Yes. Without vitamins, people die. And thus eating food
brings pleasure. Sleeping feels good, too, and sex, well, that’s
obvious. Anything that you have to do to stay alive always
comes with pleasure.”
“Sure. That’s easy enough to understand. So?”
“Don’t rush me. 'So? So? So?’ You sound like Akutagawa
Ryu-freaking-nosuke.”
“Huh? Wasn’t that Dazai’s thing?”
“It was Akutagawa, dammit. Dazai wrote about it in an
anecdote on Akutagawa.”
Whichever literary figure it was, I decided to once again do
as told and hear him out. He paused for a moment before
speaking, as if to build up the suspense. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 115
“Now let’s imagine someone who’s obsessed with eating. In
other words, someone who eats not simply to take in vitamins,
but because he’s mad for the sensation of eating itself; for the
beauty in the very act. The stimulation of his taste buds. The
pleasure of feeling the food pass through his mouth. The joy
of mastication. The ecstasy of feeling that mushed-up gook
flowing down his throat. The feeling of fullness nearly destroying
his satiety center altogether. The euphoria taking over
his brain. In other words, I’m talking about a fat guy,” he said,
laughing. ‘To a guy like that, vitamins or lack thereof are totally
irrelevant. The means and the end have switched places
for him, so that his main goal is something subsidiary. Now
there’s your problem. Can you still say this guy is eating? No,
don’t answer. You and I both know the only possible answer is
no. What this guy is doing isn’t eating. He’s just eating the
concept of eating.”
“And you’re just killing the concept of killing? That’s a bit
of a stretch,” I said with a shrug. “It’s pretty perverse to try to
equate a natural appetite for food with the urge to kill. Are
you sure you don’t just have your priorities mixed up? Maybe
you’re mistaking killing for something else.”
“Ehh, that’s a tough one. It’s hard to say. I’ll say it again,
man—the act of killing itself was never my intention, nor was
the stuff that comes afterward. Y’know, the dismemberment.”
Then what the hell is your intention? Man, you’re a tough
guy to understand.”
“Not as much as you. I mean, I know that I’m hard to understand.
I just said that. Anyway, in the beginning, I thought
I was in it for the thrill.”
“The thrill,” I said.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 116
“Yeah. You’ve heard of ‘high risk, high return’ before,
right? In Japanese, I think we say, ‘If you don’t go into the
tiger’s den, you don’t get no cub.’ With murder, the risk is
high, but the return is low, right? It hardly seems worth it. It’s
stupid. That’s why most murders are almost always cases of
people ‘going too far’ or ‘using too much force.’ They’re not
trying to kill the person, but before they know it, they’ve gone
and done it. However . . .”
He pulled a rather dangerous-looking blade from his vest
pocket. “This here is what they call a dagger. You grip it in
your fist like this. So the first person I killed, I stuck this thing
in his carotid artery and just tugged it to the side. This was an
inexplicable act of murder. I had no particular intention of
causing the person suffering or pain. In fact, it was a rather
pleasant way to die, if you ask me. Now let me just say right
now that by no means was this a boastful act. I’m sure you
know this, but acts spurred by one’s pride are the most pathetic
actions a person can take. People who take pride in
causing harm are the lowest of the low. I’m just boasting
about my faults here. Seriously, all joking aside, that’s the only
kind of murder I can perform. Even when I went after you, on
the other side of the mirror.”
“Huh. You don’t say.”
“I do say. Like, let’s imagine that you and I ended up fighting
to the death again. Of course, logically speaking, it’s entirely
possible that you would kill me. But in the one time that
you could kill me, I could kill you nine thousand, nine hundred
ninety-nine times. Well, in reality you and I each only
have one life, but this is a metaphor. At any rate, I can only
kill for the sake of killing. In other words, I can affirm that the 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 1 7
eight people I’ve killed up until now were not victims of me
‘going too far.’ ”
Eight people. In two days, the body count had risen by
two. Well, I guess you could say that Zerozaki had gone about
living his life while I had been living mine.
“So am I an idiot? Maybe. After all, it’s not like I’m getting
anything out of killing these people. Well no, I guess I am
getting something. Whatever’s in their wallets,” he said.
One of the alarming details of the prowler case had been
that the victims’ money and valuables had been stolen. This
was a rare thing in cases like this, in which the murders
seemed to have been committed for the thrill of it, but the
reason was simply that Zerozaki needed the money to support
his homeless lifestyle.
Even his karaoke money was probably coming out of one
of those victims’ wallets. If you looked at it that way, even this
ramen was tainted with sin, I thought as I slurped my noodles.
“But you could get that stuff just by working a normal job,
so it’s no reason to commit murder. If you think about the
effort that goes into killing one person, it makes a lot more
sense to just spend the day working somewhere instead. And
yet I choose murder. And therein lies my whole theory.”
“Ah, I get it. In other words, to Zerozaki Hitoshiki, the risk
is the return.”
“Yup. The means and the end aren’t just swapped, but unified.
The act itself is the purpose. The purpose is the act. The
act is complete when you’ve carried out that purpose. This is
actually not a bad theory at all.”
“But how is that any different from just losing sight of your
purpose? It’s like having a guy who loves to read, so he fills his
room with books until it’s completely buried in them. But he 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 118
still keeps buying new ones. Whether he buys books or not is
up to him, but he’s got so many books in his room now that
even if he spent his whole life reading them, he’d never get
through them all. But he just keeps on buying and buying.”
“Hmm. Ahhh, ah-ah-ah, I get it I get it. You’re talking
about processing capacity. Once you’ve surpassed your processing
capacity, means and end become one and the same.
It’s like Ishikawa Goemon said: ‘A splendid view, a splendid
view, even a thousand pieces of gold is too little to pay for the
beautiful sights of spring. I, Goemon, am worth ten thousand
ryô.’ Hmm. Yeah, maybe so,” he said with an impressed sigh
as he reclined into the sofa. “But you know, my man, even if
that is the case, it doesn’t have much to do with me. You
know why? Because that theory I’ve been talking about is so
totally wrong to begin with. Risk equals return? Now there’s a
bullshit equation if I’ve ever heard one. I’m just having fun
with logic here.”
“Huh. So what are you getting at?”
“Well, this story is a little generic,” he said, leaning forward.
“But let’s go back to when I was just a little brat. You
were a little brat once too, huh? Well so was I. What kind of
brat was I? Well, I wasn’t particularly weird or anything. I
even believed in God. If I got smacked, it hurt. If I saw someone
else get smacked, it hurt. I had all your average sensibilities.
I wanted to bring happiness to the people near me. I
knew gratitude. I knew unconditional affection for another
human being. That’s the kind of little brat I was. . . . But
sometimes, I would just sit. Not to read a book or watch TV
or something. I would just sit. I’d be there resting my chin in
my hands, my mind up in la-la land, just sitting there. Sooner
or later I realized that during these times, I would always 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 119
naturally start pondering how one kills a human being. The
first time I realized what I was doing, I was seriously freaked
out. I mean, I was pondering, examining how you kill a person
as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The idea that
this was really me was the scariest thing,” he said.
“So it was something you discovered in yourself. But what
part of this story is supposed to be generic? It seems pretty out
there to me. You’re saying that from birth, you’ve had an
innate proclivity to murder?”
“I said don’t rush me. I thought that once myself, but that’s
not the case at all. I thought I was born with a murderous
mindset, with the urge to kill. But that’s not it. It’s that—and
this is where it gets generic—I’m attached to a rail.”
“A rail? What are you talking about?”
“It’s a metaphor. You hear it a lot. People talk about life on
a track, right? You go through middle school, you go through
high school, you go through college, you enter society, you
support yourself with a salary so that you can bag a lover, and
then you depart from the world. That’s the track of life. Well,
similarly to that, I’m on the murderer’s track.”
“Sounds more like you’re off the track to me.”
“Like you’re one to talk. Anyway, that’s not important.
The kind of track I’m talking about here isn’t necessarily the
one set up by society. It might be a track you’ve set for yourself.
Like, imagine there’s a kid who becomes obsessed with
Ichiro in elementary school and decides he wants to be a baseball
player. In that moment, he makes a track for himself.”
“I see. So that means we’re all on a track . . . except for
people who ‘drop out,’ I suppose.”
Except for people who have suffered a fatal blow.
Except for people who go off the rails.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 0
“Yup. I don’t know who laid down this track for me. I
might have done it myself. Someone else might have. But one
thing I know for sure is that I’ve taken the track too far. I’ve
made it too far down without suffering that fatal blow, and
now there’s no stopping me. I can’t even entertain the idea of
putting on the brakes.”
“Aha. So it just keeps going on and on.”
In other words, right now, he was in motion. And the him
in midmotion was entirely different from the him who had
first started running along this track.
“Yup. It’s like a curse from the past. And in my case, it’s
slowly killing me. It may sound boring living life on a track
someone else has laid out, but you know, it doesn’t make any
difference who laid it out if it if you get sick of it midway
through. Not that I could just quit at this point. Too many
strings attached now.”
“Must be even tougher not having anyone to blame.”
“That’s right. Especially for an outcast like me.”
“Might as well give it up. You may not break away from
the track, but you sure do break away from the rules.”
“Oh? Well you’re no Mother Teresa yourself, you know.”
“But I am a serious student at a university. I’m not like
you.”
“Doesn’t saying that depress you? It’s like looking into the
mirror and saying, ‘Who the hell are you?’ ”
“Exactly,” I said nodding.
“Anyway, it’s for that reason that I don’t view myself as a
murderer. Because killing isn’t my goal. You’ve heard of people
who ‘kill like it’s as simple as breathing,’ right? Well, for
me, if I don’t kill, it becomes hard to breathe. I’m just paying
the train fare for this track I got on long ago. Or it’s like I’m 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 1
perpetually repaying a loan. You could say I’m killing the act
of killing.”
“This is all becoming a little too idealistic and abstract for
me. Can’t you put it more realistically?”
“Not really. I mean, we’re talking about a vague concept
here. If you put it in realistic terms, the conversation would be
over with ‘I killed and dismembered someone times eight.’ ”
“That’s true . . .” I sighed and looked up at the ceiling.
Talking with Zerozaki was interesting enough, and I had even
learned a thing or two, I suppose, but it wasn’t exactly useful
information. “Hmm. And here I thought a killer like you
would be the one most capable of understanding the heart of a
killer.”
Maybe I’d been wrong to assume that. After all, Zerozaki’s
MO and Tomo-chan’s cause of death were completely
different. I didn’t believe for a second that Sasaki-san had
given me the whole scoop, but she had at least told me that
Tomo-chan had been strangled with a thin piece of cloth.
Meanwhile, Zerozaki was cutting people up with a knife. The
similarities began and ended with the fact that both killers had
brought death to their victims.
Zerozaki killed people at random.
Tomo-chan’s killer had sought her out. It was most likely
the result of a grudge. Something spurred by a sticky, slimy,
disgusting personal relationship that had eroded away.
“Hah? Why do you say that?” he said.
“Well, it’s just that a classmate from my university was
murdered recently.”
“Murdered? Your classmate?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 2
“That’s what I said. Yeah, at first, I wondered if you had
done it, but it doesn’t match your style at all. They strangled
her with a piece of cloth.”
“Ah, yeah, that’s not my thing,” he said, waving his hands
with a grimace.
“So I thought. But I just figured one monster would understand
another.”
“You’re mistaken. And it’s such a you mistake. Monsters
don’t kill people; people do. And just as people don’t understand
monsters’ feelings, monsters don’t understand people’s.
It’s like comparing a platypus to the archaeopteryx.”
I didn’t know who was supposed to be the platypus and
who the archaeopteryx, but he was probably right. Guys like
Zerozaki were peculiar and dysfunctional, and that was why
they were so rare.
“So, what happened, then?” he said, sounding not particularly
interested. Figuring there was no need to keep it a secret,
I proceeded to tell him everything I had heard from Sasakisan.
I told him about Mikoko-chan, Tomo-chan, Muimi-chan,
and Akiharu-kun and about the birthday party. He occasionally
dropped in a brief remark or shook his head as he tried to
follow along with the story’s twists and turns, and just once,
he even flashed a look of concern.
“Hmm,” he said when I was finished. “I see. I see I see I
see. So that’s how it went down. So?”
“What do you mean so?”
“So means so.” He stared me directly in the eye. I didn’t
answer him. This silence continued for a whole hour.
“Okay, I got it,” he eventually said, standing to his feet.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh? Where?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 3
“To Emoto’s place,” he said like with all the casualness of a
good friend inviting someone over to hang out. With that, he
made his exit. This was all going just as I had expected, I
thought. I rose from the sofa and followed him out, leaving
our half-eaten ramen behind.
“But about that Aoii chick,” Zerozaki said apathetically as
we walked westward down Shijô Street. “Seems pretty obvious
that she’s got the hots for you.”
“What?” I couldn’t help but be surprised by this sudden
leap in our discussion.
It was already past midnight, meaning it was now Monday,
the sixteenth. Even on Shijô Street, which was a major eastwest
road, traffic had grown sparse. Occasionally we passed a
group of college students probably coming home after a night
of drinking, but the sidewalks were otherwise mostly empty.
I realized that the next day I had to go to school. And from
first period, no less. What’s more, it was my foreign language
class, where they always took attendance. And it looked to me
like this was going to be another all-nighter.
“Eh, what were we talking about again?”
“That Aoii chick,” he said irritably, knitting his brow at me.
“Hearing what you have to say about her, she’s got to have a
thing for you.”
“No way. What could’ve possibly given you a dumb idea
like that? That doesn’t even sound like something you would
say. I mean, she’s already got a boyfriend anyway.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 4
“Oh wait, that’s right.” Come to think of it, she may or
may not have told me that. “But still. I don’t think that’s the
case. I mean she does seem to be fond of me, but it’s like how
people are fond of animals. And even then, she probably sees
me as an iguana or something in the reptile family. You know,
like ‘Aw, that’s . . . kind of cute.’ ”
“An iguana? If you’re an iguana, then that makes me a chameleon,”
he said, and proceeded to laugh. “For example,” he
then said, immediately switching back to his serious tone.
“She knew your address, right? That’s extremely suspicious
right there. Who bothers looking up the address of someone
they don’t even have a crush on?”
“She didn’t even have to. It was in the address log from
class.”
“Aha. You said it yourself, man. You were on vacation
when class started and you missed the first week of your . . .
general education, was it? Whatever that class was. Hence,
there was no way your address could’ve been recorded in that
log.”
“Oh.”
Now there was an oversight. I certainly didn’t remember
telling my address to anyone else, and that meant there was no
way the address of my ancient ruin of an apartment building
could’ve been on the sheet. There wasn’t a single person at
Rokumeikan who should’ve known where I lived.
“But Mikoko-chan claimed she got it off the address list.
Was it just a misunderstanding? But misunderstandings like
that don’t happen, do they? So maybe she lied to me.”
“Eh, not so much a lie as an excuse. She probably followed
you home one day.”
“If she’d been following me, I would’ve noticed.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 5
“Maybe. At any rate, she probably learned your address
through fairly illegitimate means. She couldn’t tell you the
truth, so she just blurted out that thing about the address log.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So let’s think about this. Have you ever met a girl who
would go that far just to learn the address of some random
guy? You might not put it past a guy, but we’re talking about
a girl here.” He flashed an unsavory smile.
I let out a sigh of a laugh. “Don’t act like you know what’s
going on.”
“What can I say, it’s who I am.”
“But I really think you’re wrong about this. I can say that
for certain.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. And what are you basing this certainty
on?”
“Well, she acts like she hates me.”
“Huh?” Zerozaki’s facial expression alone was enough to
make it clear that he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Come on now, at least remember the stuff you said yourself.
You just said Aoii was fond of you, didn’t you? So what the
hell are you squawking about now?”
“Hang on, this isn’t a contradiction. I have sort of a dualistic
or Boolean view of the world. Shall I explain? In other
words . . . like, take the cars on this road. Let’s say there’s a car
going twenty-five miles per hour.”
“Yeah. You want me to tell you if that’s fast or slow?”
“Yeah. Which do you think?”
“It’s slow, isn’t it? At this time of night they could go faster
than that.”
“Okay, then let’s imagine the same car going at full speed. I
don’t know much about the limitations of automobiles, but 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 6
let’s just say it’s going one hundred miles per hour at full
throttle. Is that fast?”
“Fast works for me.”
“Finally, let’s imagine the car when it’s at rest. How about
this time?”
He gave a restless shrug. “It’s at rest. What the hell do you
think?”
“Just humor me.”
“Well, slow, I guess. You sure can’t call something that’s
not moving fast.”
“That’s right. Now let’s go back to the initial question—is
twenty-five miles per hour slow or fast? I would express it like
this: ‘It’s twenty-five fast and seventy-five slow.’ ”
“Ahh.” He gave a convinced nod. The cheek on the tattooed
side of his face curled up into a slight smirk. “So the
way you see it, what does Aoii think of you?”
“Well, to give an approximation, she likes me seventy and
hates me fifty. Approximately.”
“I guess that doesn’t add up to her liking you twenty.”
Indeed. The logic of arithmetical operations didn’t apply
when it came to human emotions. Besides, these numbers
were highly prone to fluctuate, making such calculations troublesome.
They could only be expressed as averaged values.
“Okay, so what about you, now?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“You. How much do you like and hate Aoii?”
“I like her zero and hate her zero.”
“Whoa . . .” He pulled back a bit in surprise. “My God,
man . . . you’re brutal.”
“You should talk.”
“Cram it, Captain Passive.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 7
I liked her zero and hated her zero. You might call it
apathy.
Sure, my words might have been a little exaggerated and
laced with apathy, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t telling the
truth.
Because after all, I’m such a cold, dried-out person that I
can kill a person just by living. Indeed, I was as brutal as Zerozaki
made me out to be. I simply couldn’t take any type of
assertive action for the sake of a stranger.
“This is totally . . .”
“Totally.”
“A masterpiece,” Zerozaki said, laughing.
“Nonsense.” I didn’t laugh.
“Well, putting all that textbook mumbo-jumbo aside, don’t
you have the hots for anyone?”
“Huh. I don’t really know.”
“Even though they’re your emotions?”
“Because they’re my emotions.”
“Ah, I get it. Because you’re the passive spectator. You
understand other people better than you understand yourself.
I guess they say you can’t be your own observer. It’s like that
thing . . . what was it again? The uncertainty principle? Quantum
mechanics? Doppelgänger’s cat?”
“ ‘Doppelgänger’ can’t be right.”
“Ahh, who was it? It’s math, so it’s gotta be a German guy,
but . . .”
After that mildly racist remark, he sat and thought to himself
for a minute. But ultimately, he couldn’t seem to recall
whose cat it was. “Goddammit,” he said, slapping himself in
the left cheek. This seemed to relieve him.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 8
“Well then,” he said. “Here’s my conclusion: You’ve got a
fucking terrible attitude.”
“That’s probably correct. But. . .”
But.
What could I possibly have intended to follow that up
with? Might I have been considering saying somebody’s name?
Of course I was. But whose name that could’ve been, I don’t
know.
“It’s all just nonsense in the end.”
“Um, is that supposed to be, like, your escape line?” He
slumped his entire upper body dramatically as if my incredibly
delayed response had completely knocked the wind out of
him. Though not to the same extent as Mikoko-chan, it
seemed Zerozaki was also one for big reactions.
“Eh, then again, I guess I’m kind of like that too. Or rather,
I am like that,” he said.
We arrived at the Nishiôji-Shijô intersection. The Hankyû
Saiin Station was visible to the south. Of course, the final
train had long since made its stops, and the area surrounding
the station was desolate. We turned north. If we continued up
as far as Maruta-machi, we’d arrive at Tomo-chan’s apartment.
“Maybe we should’ve hailed a cab after all. We’re still only
halfway there.”
“It’s a waste of money. That is to say, I don’t have any
money. Or were you going to pay?”
“Nope. There isn’t a single student in Kyoto who rides in
cabs.”
“Huh. I’m not a student, so I wouldn’t know.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 2 9
Suddenly a doubt rose in my mind. I thought of Sasakisan’s
stern gaze for some reason as I asked Zerozaki my question.
“Are you on a most-wanted list or anything?”
“I don’t think so. Nobody’s ever tried to talk to me, and
nobody’s ever followed me. I’ve done my share of following
other people, though,” he boasted. It amazed me that someone
who stood out this much—I mean, he had a tattoo running
down half his face; maybe that kind of thing was normal
in Tokyo, but he was probably the only one of his kind in all
of Kyoto—hadn’t been arrested yet. But then again, if you
thought about it, whether he stood out or not probably didn’t
make much of a difference in a case like this.
“So we’re going to Emoto’s place from here, right? But . . .”
“What?”
“In reality, you can already pretty much deduce what happened,
right? I mean, who the killer is and stuff.”
“Deduce?” I parroted his word back at him. Could I really
figure out the answer based only what I knew at this point?
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I mean it when I say I don’t
really know what happened. I’m not some mystery novel or
movie . . .”
Detective.
The redheaded private contractor.
“Detective.”
“Well, of course not,” he said with surprising plainness.
“But I guess I also mean it when I say that I don’t think it’s
beyond figuring out. She was strangled to death. Inside a
room. The estimated time of death leaves a fairly narrow window.
The suspects all have alibis. We just need a few more
clues.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 0
And it just so happened that I currently had Kunagisa collecting
that very thing. And I myself was on my way to do the
same.
“Is it possible that it was just a random robbery?”
“Well, technically it’s possible, but the cops don’t seem to
think that’s the case.”
There was something very unordinary about both Sasakisan
and Kazuhito-san. It was hard to believe they were the
kind of people who would be sent out just to handle a simple
burglary-homicide case. Of course, that was just my hunch.
“Mmm.” Zerozaki's eyes drooped lazily. “But I don’t think
you really have to go out of your way to investigate things. Is
there some logical reason for doing this?”
“Not especially. Listen, nobody's making you come along.
Why don’t you go cut up some more people?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I’m not in the mood for that tonight.”
He took my suggestion more seriously than I had intended.
“Besides, I was the one who suggested we go in the first
place.”
Meanwhile, we’d arrived at Tomo-chan's apartment building.
Apparently the police had already checked out, leaving
the area as desolate as the train station. We made our way
through the automatic door and into the main lobby.
Now then.
“Ah, right. You need an autolock card key to get in.”
“What now?”
“Here’s what we do.” I walked a step ahead of Zerozaki
and entered a random room number into the intercom.
“Hello?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 1
“Um, this is the person from room three oh two. I’m so
sorry to bother you, but I went and locked my own card in the
room. Would you mind opening the door for me?”
“Oh, certainly.”
K-chunk, the glass door said as it opened up.
“Thank you,” I said to the complete stranger, and Zerozaki
and I quickly made our way into the building.
“You don’t mind lying just like that, huh?” he said.
“What can I say, it’s who I am.”
We got into the elevator and went up to the sixth floor. As
we walked down the sixth floor hall, I produced some thin
white gloves from my pocket and slid them onto my hands.
“Not to make this awkward, but . . . were you prepared
with those gloves this whole time?”
“Yup. I planned this whole thing.”
“Wow,” he said as he pulled his own pair of gloves out of
his vest pocket and switched them with the fingerless ones he
was currently wearing. Of course, a guy like him probably just
carried gloves around with him every day.
We arrived in front of Tomo-chan’s room. When I tried
the knob, the door turned out to be locked, as expected.
“So how do you propose we clear this one?”
“Actually, I hadn’t thought about it. Any ideas?”
“I gotcha,” he grumbled, pulling a thin knife from his vest
pocket. Or perhaps drill was a more accurate word for it. He
jammed it into the keyhole. He rattled it left and right until
we heard the click of something settling into place. Then he
pulled the knife back out, spun it around once in his hand,
and closed it back up in his vest.
He turned the knob. “It’s open.”
“This can’t be safe, can it?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 2
“Not even a little bit. The killer could be anywhere.”
We shrugged and went in anyway.
We walked down the hall between the kitchen and bathroom,
and passed through the door at the end. The room
hadn’t changed much from my Saturday visit. It looked like
some things had been slightly moved around, but that was
probably owed to the crime-scene investigation.
And then there was the center of the room. White strips of
tape formed the shape of a person.
“Wow,” Zerozaki said with awe. “So they really do that. It’s
like something out of a TV show or a manga. Hey, that Emoto
girl had about the same build as me.”
“Looks like it.”
Tomo-chan was pretty small, even for a girl, but for a guy,
Zerozaki was ridiculously petite. They weren’t exactly the
same size, but they could’ve easily fit each other’s clothing.
“Incidentally, I prefer tall girls,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yup. But tall girls don’t like short guys, do they?”
“But none of your six victims were tall girls.”
“Who goes around killing the girls he’s into, idiot?” he said
angrily. It looked like I had touched on a difficult subject.
Nevertheless.
My gaze fell back on the tape on the floor. Tomo-chan
must have been strangled and then collapsed on the floor here
in this position, asphyxiated. But this tape hardly captured the
reality of it.
I looked back over at Zerozaki to find him immersed in
silent prayer. His eyes were closed, with his hands pressed together
in front of his chest.
I deliberated for a moment before deciding to do likewise.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 3
Afterward, I once again began inspecting the area around
the tape.
“Hm.”
There was something on the right hand of the human
shape. It was dark, so I couldn’t see it very well, but we
couldn’t just go turning on the light, either. I managed to
make out a small ring made out of black tape.
It seemed this was some sort of mark they had made during
the investigation.
“What’s this? Maybe something was on the floor here?”
“No, look closer,” Zerozaki said, crouching down next to
me. “Something’s written here.”
“Dammit, I wish we had a little more light.”
“Just wait a little longer. Your eyes’ll adjust soon enough.”
It assumed that we were working at our leisure here, but
right now that was our only option.
In time, my eyes did begin to adjust.
Thin carpet. On its surface there were red letters.
“x over y?” we both said.
The letter x was written in cursive handwriting. Then a
diagonal line below it. Then the letter y in the same cursive
handwriting. It was messy writing, so you had to struggle to
make it out. But it didn’t seem like it could’ve said anything
else.
“What’s x over y?”
“Beats me.”
“Is it red because it’s written in blood?”
“Nah, seems to be some kind of oil-based ink.”
Strange writing next to the body's right hand. Could this
have been her dying message?
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 4
“But hey, we don’t actually know that this is the right
hand. We can’t tell if the body was faceup or facedown just by
looking at this tape.”
“Ah, right. But, Zerozaki, I don’t think she could've written
this if she was facedown. Not that she was necessarily the
one who wrote it.”
“Yeah, that’s right. There’s still the possibility that the
killer wrote it. So what’s this x over y bullshit all about? Math?
But this isn’t an equation. You can’t take it any further than
this.”
“Maybe whoever wrote it didn’t finish.”
“If that’s the case, we're pretty much at a dead end. I can’t
even imagine what they were getting at with this,” he said as
he walked over to a comer of the room and slid down against
the wall. “I’m sleepy,” he said with a big yawn. “Figure anything
out?”
“Just the fact that this may or may not have been her dying
message is a pretty good haul. Now, then . . .”
I scanned my eyes around the room. There were no signs of
a struggle. As far as I could see, nothing was broken or missing.
“Yeah, I don’t think this was just a burglary,” I said. Was it
all because of a grudge after all? But what could a girl who
had just turned twenty years old two days ago have done to
have inspired such hatred?
I continued examining the room as I pondered. Of course,
the police had probably already done this with complete thoroughness,
but right now it was necessary to see the crime
scene with my own eyes, in order to fill in the gaps in my
imagination. For later on.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 5
“What now?” Zerozaki said as he watched me moving
around. Judging from his current state, it didn’t look like he
intended to help me any further. Not that I was expecting him
to do anything. I’m not such an idealist that I would expect
anything from a mere water reflection.
“You seem strangely comfortable doing all this,” he said.
“Well, I've got experience.”
“What could a twenty-year-old have possibly experienced in
his life to have broken him so badly as a human being? I can’t
even imagine,” he said.
“You should talk. But I guess I’ll humor you anyway. I
guess you could say I haven’t lived a very respectable life. Or
no, my life has been plenty respectable, but I haven’t been.”
“Hmm. You know, I don’t like myself very much,” he said
plainly to my back. “But seeing you, I realize I’m not so bad.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth. I may be a
screwup, but I’m not as bad as you. When I look at it that
way, it’s kind of a relief.”
“I wonder.”
“I wonder.”
“Say . . . why do people die anyway?” he asked.
“Because you kill them.”
“Well, yeah, but I mean aside from that. Umm, what is it
again? Apoptosis? Darwinism? Genes? Cancer cells? Cell
suicide? All that good stuff. It’s like the termination point of
our functionality.”
“Come to think of it, I heard once that the longest a
human can live is somewhere around one hundred ten years,
regardless of the era or region.”
“Huh.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 6
“I mean, the bottom line is that living creatures have a lot
of diversity. But you know, whether you live a long time or
not doesn’t really make a difference. I don’t really think
there’s even much point in living two hundred or three hundred
years. I’ve lived for nineteen years and two months up
until now, but quite frankly. I’ve had enough.”
“You’re tired of it?” he asked.
“Well, it’s more like I just can’t endure it anymore. I’m still
okay for now, I guess, but if things go on like this . . . yeah, in
another two or three years, my ability to process reality will
have reached its limit.”
“But isn’t that just one of those things? Like, I’ll bet you
thought the same thing when you were fourteen, right? Like,
‘in another few years I’ll probably have committed suicide.’ ”
“Yeah, I did think that. But I didn’t have the balls to go
through with it.”
“Chicken.”
“Yeah, well. I always wanted to be a bird.”
“Not a chicken, I bet. They can’t even fly.”
“I’m joking. But I do think this: There isn’t a person on this
earth who’s lived for ten or twenty years without pondering
God and death, unless he’s just some slaphappy nut.”
“God and death, huh?”
“Yeah. But before he can contemplate those things, he has
to have learned about life. Some knowledge of life is necessary
in order to contemplate death, so you have to study life before
you can even begin to think about the fact that it will one day
end. It’s like that saying: ‘If you want to kill someone, your
victim had to have been alive to start with.’ No matter how
much effort I might exert, I can’t kill John Lennon.”
Nor could I kill Emoto Tomoe.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 7
“Now tell me, Zerozaki. What does it mean to be alive?”
“That your heart’s still beating?” he said off the top of his
head.
“Wrong,” I answered. “Showing signs of life and being alive
are not the same thing. But that aside, what if there existed a
person who had experienced death before life? What kind of
human being would he turn out to be? Could we even call
him a human being? A living creature who could reminisce
about his own passing, who had mourned his own death before
life even began. What would we label such an existence?”
“I guess that would be Death himself. It would have to be,
or else . . .” His eyes seemed to be searching for the right
words. He pointed a finger at me with an awkward look on his
face. No words came out. To be sure, they probably didn’t
need to.
“Eh, it’s just another mind-over-matter thing,” I surmised.
An escape line.
“Say, man. I know I already asked, but is there some reason
you’ve gone to all this trouble—I mean, illegally entering her
apartment, not to mention the fact that you’re supposed to be
the passive observer type—just to gather information about
the murder?”
“Yeah, there is,” I answered. I meant to say no, but for
some reason a confirmation leapt out of my mouth. I wasn’t
sure which one I really meant.
“Huh . . . you said yourself that you don’t like or dislike
Aoii, right? Then why should you do anything for her? And it
seems to me that you only met those other three through her,
like little add-ons.”
He slapped his hands together as if he had just thought of
something. “Is it for Emoto Tomoe?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 8
Tomo-chan.
A tragic figure, brutally murdered just after celebrating her
own birthday.
That alone wouldn’t have moved me, normally. If starving
children on the other side of the world were being shot to
death, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. If some giant
earthquake in some faraway country killed tens of thousands
of people, I wouldn’t feel a thing. Whether or not a string of
murders occurred in the town where I lived, it was no matter
to me. I just didn’t have that kind of spirit; it wasn’t much
more to imagine that I wouldn’t feel much sadness or despair
over the passing of even a nearby acquaintance.
However, there were always exceptions.
“I was hoping I’d get to talk to Emoto Tomoe just a little
more.”
Zerozaki said nothing to this.
“That’s all, though, really.”
“I see,” he nodded. “Well, whatever the case, what we have
here is a masterpiece for sure.”
Indeed, he was right that there seemed to be no compelling
reason for me to go to all this trouble. It wasn’t like I was
being somebody else, but it certainly wasn’t my usual style.
I realized I was being stupid. I just didn’t think I was
wrong.
“Ahh,” Zerozaki yawned again.
“If you’re bored, you can go.” That is to say, get lost.
But he shook his head. “It’s okay. Besides, how are you
planning to lock up without me?”
“Actually, I’ve got one of those things that allows you to
lock the door without the key.”
“That’s a pretty useless device.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 3 9
Of course, I was joking.
Zerozaki soon closed his eyes and began to doze off. It was
like watching my own sleeping face, which was a bizarre, alien
sensation, to say the least. I continued examining Tomo-chan's
room until four in the morning, but didn’t come up with
anything that seemed like a decent lead.
“But . . .”
Maybe it didn’t matter anyway. In fact, halfway through, I
had entirely lost my will to search for clues and spent the rest
of the time staring down at the tape human.
And I reminisced. About the time I had spent here on
Saturday night. That wild, ridiculous night during which we’d
all left reason and rational thought behind.
If I could be allowed to say something a bit romantic, perhaps
this was my memorial to Tomo-chan. Now that wasn’t
my style, to be sure, but it seemed like a good enough reason
all the same.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
We left the building, and Zerozaki and I parted ways there.
We spoke no parting words, and made no plans to meet again.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 1
 There ain’t no meaning.
 Got it.
 Got it.
 Got it.
 Got it?
Wednesday, May eighteenth.
With second period over, the afternoon break had begun.
Since the dining room got crowded at that time, I always
skipped lunch on days when I had a second-period class. So I
instead made my way directly to my general-education class.
General education.
Classmates.
Aoii Mikoko, Atemiya Muimi, Usami Akiharu, and Emoto
Tomoe . . .
I hadn’t seen a single one of these four people since the
week began. This was no coincidence; most likely, not a single
one of them had come to school. Being dead, Tomo-chan had
her reasons, but the other three had neither died nor been
murdered. Perhaps Tomo-chan’s death was to blame for them
not showing up, or perhaps this was just how college students
behaved after Golden Week.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 2
Things hadn’t progressed any further. The pair of
detectives—Sasaki-san and Kazuhito-san—hadn’t returned to
visit my apartment again, I hadn’t had any contact with my
three classmates, and I was still waiting for news from
Kunagisa. Naturally, I hadn’t met with Zerozaki again either.
As someone who doesn’t read the news or watch TV, I of
course had no idea what kind of press (or lack thereof) Tomochan’s
death had attracted. Nor did I know if the prowler had
struck again in the past three days.
It was something I had no desire to know.
Right now, I was only waiting. After all, that was one thing
I was used to.
“Man, it’s hot. . . . I wonder if I’m a slug,” I muttered as I
made my way across campus, from Meigaku Hall to Yôyô
Hall. It was less than three hundred feet away, but it was a
tough walk anyway. I had heard of boiling-hot climates before,
but I didn’t think they really existed. Neither Kobe nor
Houston had been this bad. This was the kind of heat and
body-soaking humidity unique to basin towns. I struggled to
endure it as my legs carried me along. I climbed a staircase,
which brought me directly to the second floor of Yôyô Hall. I
went inside and at last took a moment to catch my breath.
Just then, I spotted somebody familiar. But it wasn’t
because she was familiar that I noticed her. Rather, it was that
my eyes had been attracted to her against their better
judgment by her flamboyantly hot-pink jersey. It didn’t exactly
blend into the surroundings.
That brown sauvage. If only she was crouching on the
ground in front of a convenience store, the image would have
been complete.
It was Atemiya Muimi-chan.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 3
She was currently talking to some guy, probably a classmate.
Thinking it would be a little obnoxious if I were to butt
in and start up a conversation, I tried to slip by her unnoticed
when she called out to me.
“Whoa, it’s Ikkun,” she said.
“Yo,” her male associate greeted me informally. He had
light brown hair and an easy-breezy kind of smile. Wait, who
was this again? I didn’t know anyone with this sort of easy-golucky
surfer quality, did I? Was he from our general-education
class?
“Long time no see, huh?” Muimi-chan said with a weak
smile. “Umm . . . Geez, this is kind of awkward, huh? How
have you been since it happened?”
“I’ve been coming to school as usual.”
“Oh . . . heh, well, I guess you would.” She smiled, but it
seemed slightly forced. She appeared worn out, which probably
wasn’t forced.
“How about you?” I asked. “What’ve you been doing? I
haven’t seen you at school.”
“Oh, well, how do you put it . . .” She couldn’t seem to
find the words. She probably didn’t like the idea of exposing
her weakness to others. I’m not that type of person myself,
but her feelings weren’t beyond my comprehension.
“Well, I’ve got to prepare for a presentation. Time to get
outta here. See ya later,” the guy said to us, and rushed off in
the direction of the staircase.
“He’s sure an energetic son of a bitch, huh?” Muimi-chan
said we watched him take off. “He’s totally lazy until an
opportunity to be the center of attention comes along. Gen.
Ed. ought to be a good show today. I’ll be watching that bastard
from the front row.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 4
“Huh. So that guy is a classmate, then.”
Muimi-chan stood frozen for a few seconds before slowly
and stiffly turning her head toward me like her neck needed
an oil change. I almost expected to hear it creaking.
“Don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Hm? Oh, I guess Mikoko-chan didn’t tell you then, huh?
I’ve got a pretty bad memory, so I don’t really know who’s in
our class. I might remember him if I heard his name, though.”
But she wouldn’t tell me the guy’s name. She was staring
at me in shock for some reason.
At last, she opened her mouth. “Usami Akiharu.”
“Oh.”
There you had it.
This was shocking.
“Does he leave that little of an impression?” she said.
“Well, less than you, anyway. It’s not like he goes around
wearing hot pink jerseys.”
That was what I wanted to say, but I stopped myself.
Muimi-chan was the type of person who would probably
really start hitting you once you made her mad. And I probably
wouldn’t get off with just a jab or two. If I teased her the
way I teased Mikoko-chan, I’d be dead meat.
“It’s my memory that’s at fault here, that’s all.”
“If that’s the case, then do something about it.”
“Well, the weak impression thing may be an issue too. He’s
not as crazy as Mikoko-chan. I know a lot of eccentric people.
Actually, that makes it sound like I know a lot of people.
Correction: The only acquaintances I have are eccentric
people, so normal people just slip right out of my mind.”
“Normal people, huh?” She gave a wicked little laugh.
“What? Did I say something funny?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 5
“Oh, nothing, nothing, I was just thinking, you’re a surprisingly
poor judge of character.”
“Huh?”
“Akiharu’s got a meaner personality than you think,” she
said in a way that seemed strangely meaningful as she stared
off in the direction he had gone moments ago. “Well, you’ll
figure that out eventually . . . eventually.” Something in her
soft tone seemed to suggest her words had a deeper meaning,
but a moment later her facial expression switched like someone
had pressed a button on a remote. She turned my way
again.
“This is perfect,” she said. “I wanted to have a chat with
you. Let’s go talk in the lounge.”
She began walking without waiting for my reply. After a
short walk, we broke to the right, where we came upon the
student lounge. I wondered if it would be crowded since it
was the middle of the afternoon, but looking through the
window glass I could see that, for some reason, fewer seats
were occupied than empty. There was a plate hanging off the
lounge door with No Standing written on it in red, Gothic
letters. It was a prank a student had carried out several years
back, and at this point nobody even bothered questioning it
anymore. As a result, nobody bothered getting rid of it, either.
We entered the lounge, and Muimi-chan took a seat. The
place was filled with cigarette smoke. Muimi-chan took one
whiff and immediately reached into her pocket for something,
but then stopped herself as if she had recalled her “policy” just
in time. It was nice of her to stick to it so fastidiously, but in a
place already this filled with smoke, it didn’t really make
much difference to me whether she smoked or not. But I
knew that even if I told her she could, she would just say 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 6
something like, “No, it’s my decision,” so I took my seat without
saying anything.
“So what did you want to talk about?”
“Don’t play dumb. What’s the one thing you and I would
have to discuss?” she asked.
“Tomo-chan?”
“Mikoko.”
She leaned forward with her arms on the table and glared
up at me. But I wasn’t so clueless that I wasn’t prepared to
meet her gaze.
“Have you seen Mikoko since then?”
“Since when?” I asked innocently.
“I told you not to play dumb. The police must have paid
you a visit, too.”
“Well, yeah . . .” I recalled my meeting with Sasaki-san and
Kazuhito-san, but to be honest, they weren’t really a pair I
wanted to think about too much. “So they visited you too?”
“Yeah. Kind of an unpleasant pair, weren’t they?”
“A man and a woman?”
“Yeah. The guy looked like he belonged on The X-Files, and
the lady looked like she paid regular visits to underground
cells. Regular cops piss me off enough already, much less these
two . . . uh, but that’s another story,” she said, righting her
posture. “Yesterday was Tomoe’s funeral.” She looked at me
in an accusatory fashion. “You didn’t come.”
“Well, nobody told me about it.”
“Mikoko didn’t come either. Akiharu and I went, though.”
“Well, what can you do, right? Her death must’ve been a
big shock to all of you,” I said.
“Yeah, must’ve been. You make it sound like this doesn’t
have anything to do with you,” she replied.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 7
“It doesn’t,” I stopped myself from saying. Ah, the art of
tact.
“You’re not at all shocked by the fact that Tomoe was
murdered?”
“Well, I was surprised enough when I first heard the news,
but after three days, well, what do they call it? Cleaning out
your heart’s drawers? I mean, the past is just memories.”
“As Tomoe’s friend, I want to be pissed at you for saying
that, but you’re pretty much right, huh?” she said, a bit defeated.
“I guess the human heart is conveniently constructed.
Especially for someone who’s thick-skinned like me. It’s only
been three days and I’m already back at the point where I can
go to school again. But it really was devastating at first. I
mean, I had just seen her, and then . . .” She snapped her
fingers.
And then, silence. I wouldn’t have called it awkward, but
it was a little unbearable. There was definitely a painful aura
flowing between us.
“It looks like Akiharu-kun’s recovered to some degree,
based on how he was acting just now.”
“Is that how he looked?” she asked.
“I thought so.”
“Well, maybe, if you say so.”
Again, she seemed to be getting at something, just like
when she had said, “Akiharu’s got a stronger personality than
you think.”
So what was she saying? She changed the subject before I
could figure it out.
“So apparently you were the last one to hear Tomoe’s
voice.” 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 8
“Yeah. Although it was over the phone. Did you hear that
from Mikoko-chan? Or from the detectives?”
“Mikoko,” she said, nodding. “I went to her place yesterday
after the funeral ended, but . . . I think she needs more time to
recover.”
“Ah.”
“And that doesn’t bother you at all?”
“Huh? What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean you just heard that Mikoko is feeling down, and
I’m asking if that bothers you.”
“Everybody sure is hung up on that,” I said. Muimi-chan
looked a bit puzzled, possibly because of the word everybody.
She let out a big sigh and stretched. “Fucking clueless . . .”
“What’s that? I couldn’t quite make that out.”
“Ah, nothing. Listen, you might not want to hear this, and
frankly I’m the last person who should be telling you. I was
the one who was opposed to it in the first place. . . .”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Okay, let me ask you a favor, then. It’s a simple
favor and there’s no catch. Just go visit Mikoko’s place, will
ya?”
She pulled a piece of paper out of her jersey pocket and
handed it to me. “Aoii Mikoko” was written on it in hiragana,
and below that were her address and phone number.
“Man, these are some round letters. Who wrote this?”
“Me.”
“Ah . . .”
“What’s that supposed to mean? What up with that
expression, like you saw that answer coming or something?”
“Uh, nothing. That’s not what I was going to say.” I looked
down at the memo in an effort to escape her deadly gaze, and 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 4 9
confirmed Mikoko-chan’s address. Horikawa Oike. Come to
think of it, had I heard that before? It felt like I had, but it also
felt like I was learning her address for the first time. I couldn’t
remember.
“It’s pretty far from school. I guess that means she commutes
here on her Vespa.”
“Nope, bus. This school doesn’t allow bikes.”
“It doesn’t?”
Incidentally, I commuted on foot. I had a bike, but I didn’t
use it much, as a general rule. It wasn’t that I particularly liked
walking, but somehow it works for me anyway.
“Okay, so I go to Mikoko-chan’s place, and then what?”
“She’s down, so cheer her up. Just say stuff like ‘it won’t
do any good to just sit around feeling blue’ and ‘keep your
chin up.’ I’m sure that’ll do.”
“Oh, just the usual crap, huh? But wouldn’t that kind of
thing be better coming out of you? Oh, but I guess you already
told her yesterday. But if her good friend couldn’t even
cheer her up, I’m a lost cause.”
“It’s not that hard. Just go there and that’ll be enough.
Seriously, that’s all. Go see her, say a word or two of encouragement,
and then just play it by ear.”
Whatever that meant.
But then again, I didn’t really have any reason to refuse,
and it was a relatively convenient proposal, so I went ahead
and accepted. “Okay.”
“Try stopping by today after school.”
Just then, the bell indicating the start of third period rang.
“Oh, crap,” said the look on Muimi-chan’s face. My face probably
didn’t show it, but I pretty much felt the same way.
Inokawa-sensei, the Cerberus of time.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 5 0
“Ah, crap, that was the bell.”
“Even if we go now, we’ll be marked as absent. Or rather,
he won’t even let us into the classroom,” I said.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Hate to
miss out on Akiharu’s studly performance, but let’s cut class.”
She was quick to make a decision. I hesitated to make a
decision for just a moment longer. But no amount of mental
effort would turn back the hands of the clock, so I just gave
up. “Fine.”
“So, what now? Wanna go eat?”
“The dining hall’s probably still crowded at this time,
right?
“Oh, right. Well, wanna stay here and chat a little more?”
“Well, then can I ask you something?” I said, thinking this
would make a good opportunity. “Was there anyone who
might’ve had something against Tomo-chan?”
Muimi-chan’s face immediately grew serious. It was like
she was deliberating over something. Or, more likely, she was
just mentally confirming something she’d already thought of.
“Nope, no one,” she said decisively, after a long pause and a
perplexed expression. “Logically speaking, nobody could have
had something against her.”
“ ‘Nobody could have had something against her’ . . . heh,
kind of a weird phrase. Sounds like a crappy translation or
something.”
“But I think it’s an accurate one. I mean, I think. I’ve
known her only since high school, though.”
“Speaking of which, how do you all know each other, anyway?
You said you’ve been friends with Mikoko-chan since
you were little kids, right?”
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“Mikoko and I were childhood friends, and then I met
Akiharu and Tomoe in high school.”
“Hey, wait. Isn’t that a little strange?”
“What?”
“Mikoko-chan is nineteen, and her birthday is in April.
Tomo-chan just turned twenty. . . .”
“Oh, no. Tomoe repeated a grade in junior high.”
“Ah.” So she hadn’t entered college late or returned from
abroad after all. She had just been held back a year. I hadn’t
even considered that option.
“The thing is, she was in the hospital for a long time. She
had to take about half a year off, and even after that she
tended to be absent a lot. She just didn’t have the attendance
record in order to pass. Apparently she was pretty sick. They
said she was near death.”
Near death.
Death.
Awareness of death.
“Hahhh . . .” I tried my best to be coolheaded about it, but
I wasn’t sure how well I managed to pull it off. “I see, so that’s
what it was.”
So that was Emoto Tomoe’s story. I nodded a few times so
that Muimi-chan wouldn’t notice my surprise.
“So anyway, it’s been the four of us ever since high school.
Apparently that was when Akiharu and Tomoe first met too.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Oh, right. So in other words, Tomoe was really good at
adapting. Or wait . . . maybe that’s not it. Maybe she was a
little bit like you, if you don’t mind my saying,” she said,
pointing at me twice. “You’ve heard of the ‘personal space
bubble,’ right? Well, she was extremely good at defining 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 5 2
them. She could get close to people as far as a certain point,
but she would never step over that line. She would never
come into intimate contact with anybody, and on top of that
she never let anybody come into intimate contact with her.
She always stayed at a cautious distance, never too near or too
far. Kind of like a master sword fighter.”
“. . .”
The term sword fighter made Miiko-san spring to mind for a
second.
“Tomoe was my friend, but . . . I don’t think she ever
opened up to me. I also don’t think I was ever any help to
her.”
“I doubt that,” I said, but my words probably didn’t mean
anything to her. They didn’t mean much to me either.
Whether her hunch about Tomo-chan was right or not, it
probably wasn’t very far from the truth.
But Muimi-chan, you mustn’t mix things up. It’s incredibly
rude to Tomo-chan. If you’re really her friend, you shouldn’t
be saying such things.
Tomo-chan and I weren’t alike. We were simply on similar
tracks. In essence, however, we were different.
The only ones who are really similar to me are the murderers,
Muimi-chan.
“Anyway, she was that kind of chick so by nature she
couldn’t have done anything to incite a grudge. I think you
can say that for certain.”
“Then who the hell killed her?”
“Like I know. Probably that serial killer.”
“The serial killer uses knives, I think.”
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“Well, whatever. Somebody killed her. Those cops looked
pretty sharp, so I’m sure they’ll find who did it if we just let it
be. There’s nothing we can do right now anyway.”
She wore a stern face that didn’t match her passive comment.
Surely she was speaking these words against her own
will. Her beloved friend had been murdered, and there was
nothing she could do. She must have felt helpless.
But it really was beyond her control. It was probably true
that she had no idea who the killer could have been. She had
nobody at whom to direct her anger.
Hmm.
“What the hell is everyone doing?” she said, looking at all
the students walking by outside the lounge. “Seriously, what
the hell are they doing?”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone. Everyone here. It’s so stupid. They’re just
living. They’re just not dead, that’s all. They’re just fucking
living.”
They’re just fucking living.
She repeated the phrase one more time. “Ah, I’m groggy,”
she said, straightening up again. “I wonder if any of these
people really have a purpose. A purpose for living, or a future
goal or something. I wonder if they actually have those
things.”
“They must. I mean, I’m sure it varies from person to person.
But it doesn’t really matter either way.”
“That’s not really what I’m trying to say. I don’t know. It’s
not that complicated. Like, take those chicks over there,” she
said, pointing to a group of girls on the opposite side of the
lounge. They had a sophisticated air about them, suggesting
they were probably sophomores or juniors. I couldn’t make 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 5 4
out what they were saying, but even if I could hear them, they
were most likely chattering about something I wouldn’t have
understood anyway. They were laughing and slapping one
another on the back with giddy enjoyment.
“Now let’s say I had an assault carbine in my hands. An
M4A1. Then I aim at them, and . . . ratatatatata! What would
happen?”
I looked over at them once again. Their laughter was just as
giddy as before, but in my head, I saw them drenched in
blood, their bodies torn apart, pieces blown all the way out
the window.
“Well, I suppose they’d probably die.”
“Yeah, they’d probably die. But in that moment, what
would they be thinking? Would they have regrets? . . . I don’t
think they would.”
She glared at them with contempt, but none of them noticed.
They were fully absorbed in their own chatter, so much
that they didn’t even glance in our direction.
“They probably wouldn’t have a shred of remorse. Nothing
left undone. After all, they’re just living their lives without
any goals or aspirations. What could they possibly leave
behind?”
“. . . .”
“Of course, I’m not saying life is dull. It’s got its moments.
But all these people are desperate. They’re all desperately
looking for a way to kill tomorrow’s time. Suddenly they’re all
just thinking about ways to kill time. ‘How will I spend tomorrow?
And the next day? How can I kill twenty-four
hours?’ Like idiots, they desperately scramble for ways to fill
their schedules. But what is that? What’s the point in that?
Tomorrow might as well not come at all, if they’re just living
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 5 5
to kill time. If you’re just living, you might as well die. . . .
That’s what I think, anyway. . . . Ah, sorry, I guess that was all
kind of weird.”
“No, it was really interesting.”
And I really meant it.
Muimi-chan was probably thinking this, as well: In the
end, what about Tomo-chan? What was she thinking in that
moment when she was killed? For Muimi-chan, who had
never been able to step over that line into Tomo-chan’s heart,
this would remain an eternal mystery. But if I were simply to
speculate, if I were to speak from what I had seen as a passive
observer, I would bet that she was no different from the giddy
girls we were observing: Tomo-chan died with no regrets.
“The dining hall’s probably cleared out a bit by now.”
Muimi-chan checked the time on her watch and stood to her
feet. “Let’s get some food. If we go to Ryôyû Hall we can
probably get a seat.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, but would you mind just going alone? I’m
not really hungry.”
“Oh,” she said, tilting her head at me a bit. She started to
take off, but then came to a halt and looked back at me.
“By the way, how do you know Mikoko’s birthday is in
April and that she’s nineteen?”
“I heard it from her.”
“Let me rephrase that: Why did you remember something
like that? Your memory is totally crap. There’s no way you
would remember details like that, normally.”
It was a rude question, but she was probably justified in
doubting me, considering I had completely forgotten Akiharukun’s
face.
“Eh, well, I have my reasons. I won’t get into it.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 5 6
“Hmm?” she said with a puzzled look, but didn’t pry any
further.
“Let me ask one last question too,” I said. “Muimi-chan, do
you know what x over y is?”
“Hm? Probably means x divided by y, right?”
“Yeah, right.”
“I don’t know of any other explanation.”
“Okay, don’t worry about it. Thanks.”
“What’s this about?”
“It was Tomo-chan’s dying message. I don’t know what it
means.”
She looked a bit puzzled by the phrase dying message, but
again, she didn’t pry.
“Mmm . . . Well, see ya later,” she said after a moment’s
thought. “Don’t forget about Mikoko.” She waved a hand at
me and left the lounge.
I waved good-bye to her. From there, I stayed in the
lounge for a while, not thinking anything in particular, just
sitting in a daze. Soon enough my throat started to hurt from
all the cigarette smoke, so I made my way outside. I put my
hand into my pocket, where it touched a piece of paper. I
pulled it out to see that it was the memo Muimi-chan had just
given me with Mikoko-chan’s address written down.
“Guess I don’t have a choice. . . .”
Maybe I should have viewed this as another good opportunity.
Fortunately, the class after general education was a
lecture in which the professor never took attendance. I considered
my options for approximately three seconds before
settling on a self-declared holiday.
At the same time, I thought about the fact that when I
died, not only would I not have regrets—I would be relieved.
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And, walking by all those people who were just living utterly
without purpose, I left the lounge behind.
Mikoko-chan’s apartment in Horikawa Oike was even more
lavish and splendid than Tomo-chan’s. It was far too ritzy for a
mere college student; it had an almost sublime air about it.
“Now then . . .”
The bus deposited me in front of her apartment building at
just around two o’clock. The time right now, however, was
3:30. So, looking at the facts objectively and rationally, this
meant I’d spent an awkward hour and half just standing at the
building’s entrance.
“What was he doing all that time? Why, he was shaking in
his boots at the very idea of visiting a girl of his age in her
apartment where she lived alone.” I said aloud.
I tried to reaffirm the current state of affairs and apply a
personal interpretation, but there was hardly a point. It made
me feel kind of stupid. But if I thought about it, this was
possibly the first time I had ever made a decision to take an
action, and then still hesitated to the point that I wasn’t
moving at all. If it had been a close friend, I wouldn’t have
gone to such lengths to consider each and every little possibility
and detail, but I had only known Mikoko-chan for a few
days (or actually since last month). That didn’t bother me,
personally, but I didn’t want to accidentally put Mikoko-chan
in a bad mood.
That is to say, as an innately passive human being, I suck at
taking the initiative.
“Man, this is so lame. . . .”
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Still, an hour and a half was a bit much, even for me. The
longer I stood there, the stupider I felt, but I at last made up
my mind and stepped inside the building.
Unlike Tomo-chan’s building, there was no autolock here
and thus no need for a card key, but there was a security
camera watching over the lobby. Much more effective than an
autolock, which is pretty easy to get past. Of course, the most
effective method was what they had in Kunagisa’s monster of
an apartment: a real live security guard.
I looked at the memo I had received from Muimi-chan.
Fourth floor, room three.
I boarded the elevator and pressed four. I arrived at the
fourth floor a moment later and began my way down the
narrow hallway. Then I spotted surveillance cameras in front
of the elevator and on both sides of the hallway. Wasn’t security
a bit too tight here? Even convenience stores didn’t have
this many cameras. Maybe a big celebrity was living here in
secret. Even though it was Kyoto. Or wait, maybe it was
because it was Kyoto.
My head full of these meaningless ponderings, I arrived at
the door of room three. Deciding that since I’d made it this
far, there was no point in hesitating anymore, I went ahead
and pushed the button for the intercom.
Inside, I heard a relatively normal-sounding bell ring, and
then the sound of someone moving around. Figuring that, as a
girl, she would probably take some time getting ready before
coming to the door, I prepared myself for the long haul and
leaned up against the wall behind me.
“Okay, I’m opening up now!”
Wha?
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 5 9
Wow. That was freaking fast. I guess I should’ve been glad,
but something about it gave me a bad feeling. And as a passive
observer, my unpleasant premonitions boasted a 100 percent
accuracy rate. Crap. Something big was coming.
“This is pretty late for you, Muimi-chan. . . . Did something
happen?”
K-chunk.
The lock slid open with a satisfying sound and the door
opened.
I failed to respond, and Mikoko-chan couldn’t respond.
It was a dead freeze, and ctrl + alt + del wouldn’t fix it.
“Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . .” She turned bright red, then pale
blue. Then back to bright red.
“Ciao,” I greeted, for lack of a better idea.
“Eeeeeyaaaaahhhh!!!!” She let out an ear-piercing scream as
the door slammed shut with such an incredible noise and force
that I thought the entire frame might break. The whole world
distorted for a moment, and then came a silence, as if the
whole thing had never happened.
Well, if worse came to worst, at least the security cameras
could vouch for my innocence in regards to her scream.
“Well . . . then again . . .”
She was still wearing her morning face. Her hair was all
messy, and her bunny-print pajamas were partially unbuttoned.
So Mikoko-chan’s reaction to suddenly being confronted
by a member of the opposite sex wasn’t all that weird
after all.
“Why?!” came a voice from the other side of the door. She
sounded like she was just barely holding back tears. Or maybe
she wasn’t holding them back at all. “Why-why-why-why?
What are you doing there? Wasn’t Muimi-chan supposed to 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 0
be coming over? It’s like, gumshoe Asagi Semimaru solves the
case of the sealed room decapitation murders right away, but
the culprit was caught red-handed! Oh, my head! I don’t get
this! Why?! Nowaynowaynoway! You’re a ghost! This is a lie!
A dream! A nightmare!”
Aw, crap, she was panicking.
I wasn’t doing such a great job keeping my cool either, but
with her getting this flustered, I might just be able to keep my
wits about me. Interesting. So Muimi-chan was originally
planning to come visit her. Then that lazy punk passed the
role over to me, and she hadn’t even told Mikoko-chan about
it.
Okay, conditions confirmed. Proceed with maneuver authorization.
“This is creepy! You shouldn’t even know where I live!
You’re an illusion! This is all some vicious prank!”
“Well, I’ll explain everything later, so just let me in. No
point in standing her talking like this.”
“Go away! Hurry up and go! No wait, I’m sorry, don’t go!
I’ll go clean up and get ready, so wait a minute! Please! And
forget what you just saw!”
“I’ve already seen you once, so what’s the big deal? Just let
me in.”
“No!”
With that final, sharp rejection, I heard her stomp back
into the depths of her room. This was followed by what
sounded like full-on battle. She was probably cleaning up. She
really didn’t have to go to the trouble, I thought as I leaned
back against the wall again. I waited half an hour before she
finally let me in. It was past four o’clock.
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The structure of the apartment itself wasn’t so different
from Tomo-chan’s, but there was a ridiculous amount of furniture
and other furnishings. It seemed Mikoko-chan was a
woman who liked her material possessions. It wasn’t a messy
place, but you couldn’t deny there was a little clutter.
“Wait a sec, okay? I’ll pour some tea.”
She wore a pink camisole and shorts. The outfit exposed
far more skin than her pajamas from before, but I wasn’t
about to say anything. Her hair was also very nicely styled. It
was like she had become a completely different person.
She placed a cup on the low table. Of course it wasn’t
filled with tap water, but with delicious-looking barley tea. It
had three ice cubes in it and looked nice and cold.
She plopped down across from me. “Um-um-um . . . So
what’s going on, Ikkun?”
Perhaps still shaken up, she was acting a bit strange. If she
had been walking around Shinkyôgoku, the mobile police
would have stopped her for sure.
“Um, so yeah, Muimi-chan should be here any minute! It’s
already past the time we were supposed to meet, oh my God,
where is that silly girl?”
“Uh, I’m her substitute,” I said, waving for her to calm
down.
“Wha!” she cried in surprise, and then flashed an ambiguous
smile that seemed to express anger, embarrassment, joy,
and some other stuff I couldn’t put my finger on all at the
same time.
“Freaking Muimi-chan . . .”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not planning to be here long, so just
relax. I heard you were feeling pretty lousy, but I’m glad to
see you seem pretty alive.”
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“Oh . . .”
“The word lousy seemed to spur a reaction out of her, and
she hung her head down. Perhaps I hadn’t been careful
enough with my wording, I thought, but that was the only
way I knew how to phrase it.
Yes. Not only had Mikoko-chan’s friend been killed;
Mikoko-chan was also the first one to see her friend’s corpse.
She was the first person to have the image of that still, lifeless
body burned onto her retinas. And that burned image probably
still remained, even now. It wasn’t something she could
just bounce back from.
“So you came here because I haven’t been going to school
and you were worried about me?”
“Yeah. Well, something like that.”
The reality of it was a little different, but I supposed the
difference was negligible.
This time she flashed a straightforward, happy smile.
“Thank you!” she spouted. “I’m so happy you came!”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I didn’t even bring anything.”
I realized this as I said it. Showing up to another person’s
house without bringing anything was probably pretty thoughtless
of me. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t feeling
well. But since I had come directly from school, I didn’t
reckon there was anything I could’ve done.
“Oh, no problem,” Mikoko-chan said. “It’s not like I’m
incapacitated or something. It’s just that . . . if I go to school, I
know I’ll start thinking about Tomo-chan.”
“But it’s not like you don’t think about her when you stay
home, right?”
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“Well, that’s true, but . . .” She laughed weakly. “But seeing
you has cheered me up. I’m okay. I’ll be going to school again
starting tomorrow.”
“I don’t really think the school thing matters one way or
the other. Have the police been visiting you?”
“Yeah, a few times. A big guy and kind of a scary lady. But
I was the one who found her body, after all, and this is a
murder case.”
“Who could’ve killed her?” I said, not so much asking as
talking to myself, but still loud enough so that Mikoko-chan
could hear.
“I don’t know.” Her weak response was no surprise.
“Tomo-chan wasn’t the type of girl to make enemies. That’s
for sure.”
“Yeah, that’s what Muimi-chan said, too. But I wonder . . .
realistically speaking, is it actually possible to live without ever
being resented or disliked by anybody? I have my doubts
about that.”
“Huh?”
“I think it’s worth considering the possibility that you only
feel that way about Tomo-chan because you two were such
good friends, at that in reality, someone out there did resent
her. Even if that resentment was unmerited.”
She grew unbearably silent. She wore such an expression
of pain that I blurted out an apology. “Sorry.” She may have
been acting strong, but she was still in no state to be discussing
things like this yet.
“I shouldn’t have come here after all, huh?”
“Huh? Why?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 4
I really hadn’t meant for her to hear me. But her face
swung back up at me. She’d heard. “Ikkun, that isn’t true. I’m
glad you came.”
“Come on . . . you’re just trying to look cheerful because
I’m here, right?”
A close friend, one who could speak frankly to her, like
Muimi-chan, would have been much better in this situation.
“But that isn’t true,” she persisted. “Even if I am just acting,
the more I do it, the truer it’ll become, right? I’m fine. I’m
really glad you came. Even if you were just doing what
Muimi-chan said and you really hate being here.”
“I don’t hate being here. . . . If I hate something, I say so.”
“Really?”
“Nah, I just thought I’d try saying it. I’m actually pretty
easy to push around.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she agreed.
I let out something like a sigh and stretched my arms. “All
joking aside, how are you really feeling? Are you finally starting
to get over the shock?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just . . .” Her eyes shifted to my right.
I followed her gaze to see that there were scattered piles of
newspapers and magazines lying around. “Umm, do you mind
if I talk about when I was in elementary school and stuff?”
“Go for it. I’ll listen.”
“It was when I was in the third grade. The building my
class was in was undergoing construction, so trucks and bulldozers
were constantly coming and going. But then one day,
there was sort of a near miss, and a truck carrying a big load of
sand crashed into the first-grade building.”
“Gee, I wouldn’t call something that big a ‘near miss.’ ”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 5
“Well, maybe not. The wall was smashed in, and sand
spilled into the classroom, burying some of the first graders. It
was a mess. But you know, we were still kids, so to us it was
almost like a fun event. Muimi-chan was going wild, surfing
on the sand mound and stuff.”
“Heh.” She really did seem like she would’ve been that
kind of kid.
“So, then, the next day. I woke up early and went to read
the newspaper. Anybody would be proud to have their school
mentioned in the newspaper, right? I mean, it was just because
the accident had happened there, so it wasn’t really anything
to be proud of, but just the idea that my school was ‘in
the papers’ was enough to make me happy.”
“Well, you were just a kid.”
“But you know what? It wasn’t in the paper,” she said with
an uncharacteristically glum sigh. “To me, it was such a big
incident, but on a national level, it wasn’t a big deal at all. I
don’t remember what the headline article was that day, but in
that moment, it felt like someone was telling me, ‘Your
existence isn’t worth squat.’ Something so amazing to me
didn’t mean a damn thing to everyone else. It was the saddest
feeling.”
“. . .”
“I feel kind of the same way now,” she said, pointing to the
stacks of newspapers and magazines. I could see where she
was coming from. Sensational murder stories like this Kyoto
prowler were one thing, but the papers weren’t likely to dwell
for very long on something as ordinary (sorry to say) as the
murder of a single college student in her apartment. It would
be in the news the next day, and then maybe the next at best. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 6
But even then, it would be a brief article that didn’t take up
too many column inches.
I grew silent. Mikoko-chan did likewise. We remained in
complete silence like this for a while, but she was the first one
to break it, with a question that took things in a confusing
new direction.
“Ikkun, have you gone antiquing or anything with Asanosan
since the other day?”
“Huh?” I blinked at her. “What? What do you mean?”
“I . . . oh, I’m sorry! I don’t know where that came from! I
didn’t mean to ask that!”
“It’s okay. . . .”
Now how did she know that I went antiquing with Miikosan
sometimes? There was no way Miiko-san would’ve told
her something that personal. Come to think of it, I seemed to
remember that I might have promised to go with her again . . .
oh, yeah, that’s right. Was Mikoko-chan awake that time?
“Does it bother you, by any chance?” I asked.
“What what what? Does what bother me?”
I had asked because I thought she might be feeling bad that
I had to promise to go antiquing with Miiko-san just to thank
her for putting Mikoko-chan up for the night, but this nervous
reaction was not what I was expecting. There was just no
reading this girl.
“Anyway, don’t let it bother you. We do that a lot.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. She likes antiquing quite a bit. Did she show you
inside her closet? As small as that room is, she won’t stop
buying antiques. I guess she sells them after she’s enjoyed
them for a while, though. She says art isn’t something one
person should monopolize.” At the same time, however, she 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 7
was no saint herself. “Basically I’m there to carry her stuff.
Even a guy like me has some basic strength, and they say you
should always lend what you have to others. I’m not particularly
interested in antiques, but that doesn’t mean I hate
them or anything, so if she asks me, I go.”
“Huh. I see. So you and Asano-san go out . . . a lot . . . and
stuff.” For some reason her voice was trailing off.
“Not a lot, really. But you see, she’s been in Kyoto for a
long time. She said she’s been living here alone ever since she
dropped out of high school. I got her to show me around to all
the Buddhist temples and shrines once while we were
antiquing, like Seimei Shrine and the Philosopher’s Walk. Do
you know ’em?”
“Yeah. Well, I know the names, anyway. I’m not really interested
in that stuff.”
“Huh? Didn’t you say you knew Kyoto pretty well?”
How could she know Kyoto well if she wasn’t even interested
in the temples and shrines?
“Oh, uh, well, you know, yadda yadda yadda,” she said,
blatantly dodging the question. “How come you only remember
that kind of stuff? . . . Er, I mean, you and Asano-san must
be pretty close then, huh?”
This conversation was starting to sound familiar. She was
awfully hung up on the whole Miiko-san subject. Had something
happened between them? I couldn’t imagine what might
have taken place in just a single night. Why was she trying so
hard to bring me and Miiko-san together? It didn’t make
much sense to me.
“Yeah, well, she’s a pretty interesting person and all,” I
said. “But we’re not ‘close,’ per se; she kind of takes care of 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 8
me. Like sometimes she lends me her car. It’s a Fiat 500. You
know, the Fiat 500.”
“Huh . . . well, maybe it’s all okay then.”
Apparently having no interest in cars whatsoever (she
drove a ‘scoot,’ after all), she let my words pass right through
her and started babbling about something I didn’t understand.
“I wonder if she minds you coming to another girl’s house
like this.”
“Huh? Oh. Uhh, are you telling me to leave?”
“No, that’s not what I mean! I mean, you go out with her
and stuff, right? So, I mean . . . dammit, Ikkun, you pinhead!”
she shrieked, slamming her hands on the table, her face bright
red. Why she was getting so emotional over this, I had absolutely
no idea. All I could do was be confused. It all seemed
awfully unreasonable to me, but it was obvious that my presence
was only making her angry.
“I don’t really get it, but I’m sorry,” I said.
“Ahhh,” she moaned. “Fine, let me put it another way. You
and Asano-san go shopping and stuff together, right?”
“Well, yeah. Not to run the point into the ground or anything.”
“So would you go shopping and stuff with me too, then?”
Her logic here was beyond my comprehension, but her
face was written with such a sincere look of what could only
be described as “last-ditch desperation” that I just couldn’t
bear to point that out.
“Yeah, I guess I would. No reason not to.”
“Really? For sure? You’re not just saying that because
you’re on the spot?”
Her whole body leaned forward like her life depended on
the answer to this question. She chewed on her lip. She 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 6 9
looked for all the world like a little kid who was about to start
bawling. Her emotions were exposed so plainly that there was
no way you would guess she was a university student about to
turn nineteen.
“You sure are hung up on this. Did something happen, by
any chance?”
“Answer the question!”
“I mean . . . probably. I can promise, if you’d like.”
“Really? You really mean it?”
“I don’t lie. As a general rule.”
“You absolutely mean it?”
“If there’s something you want to buy, sure.”
“This is a promise! If you forget, I’ll be pissed!”
“Okay.”
Overwhelmed by Mikoko-chan, I had gone and let her pull
a promise out of me. But it wasn’t such a terrible thing, so I
decided to let it slide. This, at last, seemed to calm her down,
and she proceeded to drink down the tea in her cup in a single
gulp.
“Ahh,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry. Occasionally I get a little
emotional and I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
“Occasionally? Did you just say occasionally?”
“Er, well, all the time,” she nodded, sheepishly.
Huh.
The shock of Tomo-chan’s death. Certainly Mikoko-chan
wasn’t completely over it, but at least she wasn’t so down that
she was thinking about following after her by committing
suicide or anything. Somehow she was keeping herself together.
Some of the stuff she was saying didn’t make a lot of
sense, but that was forgivable. It seemed she was okay for the 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 0
time being. She would probably be mostly recovered by
Saturday.
“Well, that’s it for me today,” I said, starting to get up. “I’m
afraid I’ve got to go.”
“What-what-what? You’re going already? Oh, I’m sorry, I
did put you in a bad mood, didn’t I?”
“I said I didn’t plan on staying long when I got here, right?
Well, let’s get together again soon.”
“Ah, um!” she said, stopping me as I tried to leave. “Um . . .
um, Ikkun.”
“What?”
“Um . . .” She hesitated a bit, a lot, rather, and thought for
a while before she spoke. “What do you think Tomo-chan
wanted to say that last time you talked to her?” she said.
The final phone call.
Tomo-chan had tried to tell me something.
“I have no idea, really. That day was the first time I ever
even talked to her, so how could I possibly know something
like that? I don’t even know why she was talking to me. But,
Mikoko-chan, you must have some idea, right?”
“I . . .” she dropped her head down. “I don’t know. I don’t
even have a clue.”
“. . .”
“Because Tomo-chan never talked to anyone.”
She never talked.
She never opened up to anybody. She kept her cautious
distance.
“It was like our friendship took place through an unbreakable
sheet of glass. She never told me anything deep about
herself, about what she felt in her heart.”
“. . .”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 1
Then why had such a person made an attempt to talk to
me? “Nonsense,” I muttered aloud.
“Huh? What?”
“I doubt I’ll get much of an answer out of you with the
current state you’re in, so I won’t ask a lot, but Mikoko-chan,
will you answer just this one question for me?”
“Wh . . .” She wore a puzzled expression. “What?”
“What do you think x over y means?”
She thought it over for a moment. “I don’t know,” she answered.
Oh, I see. How about that.
I nodded and said, “Well, see you at school. Sorry I bothered
you.” With that, I left her apartment. I proceeded out of
the building and began contemplating what to do next.
Horikawa Oike.
There was quite a distance between here and my apartment,
but even still, I could probably make it home in around
thirty minutes on foot. It seemed like a waste of money to
bother getting on a bus, so I decided to just walk.
It never crossed my mind that the world’s greatest entrepreneur
might be waiting in my room.
Near my apartment, by Senbon-demizu, I ran into Miiko-san,
who was out for a stroll, aloof from the world. When she
noticed me, she sped up to a pace unusually fast for her and
came over to greet me.
“Yo.”
“Hello. On your way to work?”
“Nope. Today I’m going to Mount Hiei.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 2
“Ahh, with Suzunashi-san?”
She nodded. Suzunashi-san, full name Suzunashi Neon,
was Miiko-san’s close friend. She worked part-time at Enryaku
Temple on Mt. Hiei in Shiga Prefecture. Some called her
“Violence Neon.” Others, “Blackout Suzunashi.” She was sort
of a cool lady, but prone to flipping out randomly. I occasionally
saw her myself, but she would lecture me about
something every time. For someone so young, she was
strangely fond of lecturing others. It was hardly her only major
personality issue, but I liked her more or less as much as I
liked Miiko-san.
“It sounds like she wants some advice on something, so I’m
going out there. I’ll be back by tomorrow, so watch over
things back here in the meantime. If someone comes to see
me, just get their name and tell them whatever you want. If
it’s someone freaky-looking, don’t worry about it.”
“Uhh, sure, no problem, I guess.”
“Also, you have a visitor.”
“A visitor? For me?”
“. . .”
“Yup,” she nodded.
“When I noticed her, she was breaking into your place. She
had a little pizzazz about her. Or rather, a ton of pizzazz. I
don’t know who it was, but her gender appeared to be female.
She didn’t seem to be up to anything in particular, so I just let
it be.”
A female? What woman was likely to come visit my place?
I didn’t have many friends to begin with, so it seemed like I
should’ve been able to narrow it down pretty easily. But the
way things had been going lately . . .
“Was she about this tall? If so, it was that detective.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 3
“No. That was no detective. Detectives don’t look like
that,” she affirmed with confidence. “Besides, I’ve met that
detective you’re talking about. I never forget a vibe I get from
someone. Oh yeah, and there was a car parked by the apartment
that looked like it was probably hers. Maybe it’ll give
you a clue. Well, see ya,” she said, and made her way towards
the parking lot. Today’s jinbei had the word Tranquility printed
on the back. Yep, she was in a good mood today, possibly
because she was going to see Suzunashi-san.
But what did Suzunashi-san want with her anyway? She
was the type of person who rarely called on others, so I
couldn’t get it out of my head. And just what kind of “advice”
was she seeking? She may have liked sticking her nose in other
people’s problems, but when it came to sharing her own problems
with others, Suzunashi-san was wholly passive.
“Something’s odd here.”
But the more pressing issue for me right now was: Who
was this “visitor” currently waiting inside my apartment? If it
wasn’t Sasaki-san, who was it? There was always Muimi-chan
and Mikoko-chan, but it was unlikely to be either of them.
And Kunagisa was an all-out shut-in, so it was highly improbable
that it could’ve been her.
I turned onto Nakadachiuri.
“Gah . . .”
Suddenly, everything was clear. Parked on the shoulder of
the road, as if to say that it was above all traffic laws, was a
spectacular bright red Cobra. Completely out of place in a city
like Kyoto, it was a monstrous, incredible specimen of machinery.
“Oh my God . . . I don’t want to go home.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 4
I seriously considered the idea of running straight to Kunagisa’s
place, but based on personal experience, I could
imagine the cruel fate that would be in store for me if it were
ever revealed that I’d attempted escape. Giving up, I went
back to the apartment, dragging my feet all the way.
I climbed up the stairs and headed for my room. The fact
that my locked door was no longer locked didn’t surprise me.
This was a woman who could mimic voices, pick locks, and
read minds: The most difficult task was for her as easy as
breathing. I opened the door to see the private contractor,
adorned in a wine-red suit as dark as blood, sitting on the windowsill
with legs crossed, as if her presence were the most
natural thing in the world.
Uncompromising.
Aloof.
“Hey, Aikawa-san.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to call me by my last name?”
“Hey, Jun.”
She gave me a slightly cynical grin.
Aikawa Jun.
Mankind’s greatest private contractor. I had met her a
month ago through the great fiasco that had occurred on that
island. She left me that day with the cool line, “If our fates are
linked, we shall meet again,” only to show up to hang out at
my university the next day. She was kind of weird like that.
And what’s more, she spent the following week making me do
her bidding, not even allowing time for sleep, until finally
having to leave Kyoto for a job. Speaking from that experience,
she was a woman with whom I didn’t particularly want
to get involved. She was perhaps the most unnerving person I
had ever met.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 5
Looking at her with all the objectivity I could summon, she
was extremely wild—and she was a beauty of such wicked
allure it was hard to resist her. She had any number of
eccentric mannerisms. And she was completely unapproachable.
She looked at me, searching my expression. “You don’t
seem at all surprised to see me.”
“Oh, no, I am. So you’re back in Kyoto, huh?”
“Yeah, well, y’know, duty calls. We can talk about that
later, though. . . . Ahh, I get it. You saw the flashing car outside
and it tipped you off, huh?”
“No, actually the girl next door told me.”
“Aw, and I was being extra careful not to be noticed. That
makes me extremely . . .” Aikawa-san’s expression grew sharp
as a knife for a moment, but it was only for a moment before
she reverted back to her normal sardonic smirk. “Eh, whatever,”
she said.
I removed my shoes and stepped into the room, then made
my way straight to the sink. I poured a cup of tap water and
served it to her. “Enjoy,” I said.
“Muchas gracias,” she replied, and drank about half of it
before placing it on the windowsill.
Geez, she took it as if there was nothing unusual about it.
Just once I wanted to see Aikawa-san get surprised about
something.
“So what’s going on? Why are you back in Kyoto?”
“I said I’ll tell you later. More important, allow me to
apologize for the period of neglect. But hey, you’ve got a nice
place here. It’s the perfect environment.”
“Exactly where do you see that?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 6
“That’s not what I mean. Come on, you know what I
mean, don’t you? Well, whatever. So what’ve you been up to
lately, anyway?”
“Nothing, really. I’m just your average university student.
I’m not living some yakuza lifestyle like you.”
“Just a regular old student, huh?” she said, chuckling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Oh, except for the fact that you apparently define
‘average’ as someone who starts nosing around when one
of his classmates is murdered, and maintains friendly relations
with serial killers.”
“. . .”
“Ooh, there’s that surprised look. You’ve made me happy.”
She jumped down from the windowsill and plopped herself
down cross-legged on the tatami floor. Whether this was
something she felt compelled to do because she was wearing
such a short skirt, I wasn’t sure, but either way, I kind of
wished she hadn’t.
“How do you know about that stuff?”
“How do you think I know?” She grinned with unbridled
elation. But I had no idea what lurked behind this unbridled
elation. I was expending copious amounts of energy just standing
here talking to her like this. What’s more, she was a mind
reader of the highest order, so my emotions were all leaking
out of the pipes. It felt like we were playing poker, but with
my hand faceup on the table. She sure didn’t make such
things easy. She was like a piece of food that you couldn’t eat
no matter how long you boiled and grilled it.
But as long as she didn’t want something out of you, she
was a nice person, I guess. She was my type and all.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 7
“I have no idea,” I said. “Not even a clue. It’s not like I can
ever tell what you’re thinking.”
“Think. And then face it, man. I’m a lone wolf, but I’ve got
a quite a number of friends, in Kyoto and out.”
“Hey, that’s really something. It’s great to have a lot of
friends. Even I can acknowledge that. I’ll acknowledge it right
now. So what friends would you be referring to in this case?”
“For example, Sasa Sasaki.”
“. . .”
“Ikaruga Kazuhito.”
“. . .”
“Kunagisa Tomo.”
She pulled a single envelope from her black bag.
“Here you go, it’s from your sweet, sweet Kunagisa.”
“For me?”
“Yep. She said it’s the ‘thingy’ she promised.”
I accepted the envelope. Well, how about that. She must
have paid a visit to Shirosaki before coming to my apartment.
While I was just your everyday, boringly average university
student, Kunagisa Tomo was, with all her eccentricities, an
expert computer specialist. She and Aikawa-san knew each
other fairly well.
As ordered by Aikawa-san, I thought for a moment. It
looked like she had come back to Kyoto for a job. Then she
had gone to Kunagisa for help with said job, just as I had gone
to her for help investigating Tomoe’s death. Then when
Aikawa-san went to visit Kunagisa, Kunagisa had decided to
use her as a messenger. Was that what happened? But . . .
something was missing. There was no reason Kunagisa should
have to ask Aikawa-san to do such a thing, and there was no
reason Aikawa-san should agree to do it.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 8
This brought a much uglier scenario to mind, and it wasn’t
purely theoretical. To be more specific, Aikawa-san was . . .
“Well, now there’s just the simple matter of collecting your
fee. Tell me what you know about your pal, the Kyoto
prowler.”
Aikawa wasn’t a messenger—she was the collector.
“Jun-san, you mean you came to Kyoto . . .”
“Yup. To have a little chat about morals with that psychotic
nutjob.”
Aikawa-san made her living as a “private contractor.” This
involved anything and everything. Simply put, she was a jackof-all-trades,
a multitalented freelancer who didn’t limit herself
by specializing in any one particular field. Whether it was
walking dogs, solving locked-room murder mysteries, or
catching mass murderers who had already cut up ten people
into little pieces, as long as there was money involved, she
would take it on. Granted, there probably weren’t too many
nuts out there offering a big stack of cash just or walking their
dog. At any rate, she lived out each day “accomplishing the
impossible”—never bothering to make the distinction between
legal and illegal.
Be that as it may.
“The Kyoto slasher claimed a twelfth victim yesterday.
Seeing as you lived in another country for so long, maybe you
don’t realize this, but that number is unprecedented in Japan.
This kind of incident simply doesn’t happen in Japan, much
less in a provincial city. What’s more, the identity of the killer
is a complete mystery. At this point, it’s going to require government
intervention.”
“And so you’ve been called upon?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 7 9
She nodded. “It sounds like there are other people at
work on the case as well—Public Welfare, Walker, Texas
Ranger—frankly, I don’t really know who. Unfortunately, I
don’t have a lot of horizontal ties. At any rate, my job right
now is just to stop that maniac from claiming more victims.”
“Did Sasaki-san hire you?”
“Can’t tell you that. What do you call it again? The code of
confidentiality? Business ethics? Trade secrets?” She gave a
comical little shrug and laughed. “Anyway, it seems a lot more
worthy of my time than that crazy fiasco on Wet Crow’s
Feather Island ever was. That’s for sure.”
Worthy of her time. That’s all she had to say in regard to
the grisly murderer who had already chopped up twelve
people. The idea of taking on this anonymous monster didn’t
frighten her in the least. On the contrary, she was so laid-back
about the whole affair you’d think she was sashaying on her
way to a picnic.
Suddenly, I realized all over again just how dangerous this
crimson woman was.
And I also realized that I was currently face-to-face with
said danger.
“Now then. I heard from Kunagisa-chan that you know a
thing or two about all this. I don’t suppose you’d mind filling
in your favorite big sister—I am like a sister to you, aren’t
I—on the details now, would you?” she said in a soft, coaxing
voice, like one might use to address their pet cat, as her fingers
crept up my face. It wasn’t that I particularly minded that
voice, but the speaker herself was either a tiger or a panther,
and it was more than a mere tabby like me could resist.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 0
Damn that Kunagisa. What ever happened to helping each
other out? Without the slightest hesitation, she had sold me
out.
“What’s your problem? Why are you clamming up and
looking away? You’re being awfully uncooperative. Don’t tell
me you’re not going to tell me. Are you breaking your
contract? You promised this in exchange for what’s in that
envelope, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but I said I’d tell Kunagisa, not just anybody. If
I went and told you, it would be . . . what’s the word? A betrayal?
Immoral? Divisive? Rebellious? Whatever. The bottom
line is that it feels like backstabbing, and that’s just not my
thing.”
“Excuse me?!” she said, her voice suddenly much more
stern. If looks could kill, I would already be dead. Which
sounded a lot better than what was really in store for me.
“Are you saying you can tell Kunagisa but you can’t tell
me? Well goddamn. I had no idea you were such a cold son of
a bitch. I see, I see. Gee, you make me sad. So you’ll listen to
Kunagisa, but you won’t listen to me? I had no idea you were
such a tough guy.”
“It’s not like that. It’s just that with Kunagisa, no matter
what you tell her, she’s harmless. But you’re planning on
taking some kind of action, right? Getting myself directly
involved with something like that, well . . . it’s just not in my
nature.”
“Excuse me, did you just call me harmful?”
“Well . . . aren’t you?”
As if she herself were aware of this, she refrained from objecting
to my remark, instead murmuring to herself thoughtfully.
She was, to a certain degree, someone who might listen 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 1
to reason. Once you had surpassed that degree, however, well,
you can imagine what happened then—that is to say, it would
backfire.
“Kunagisa will probably just tell me anyway. That girl has a
big mouth. I figured I might as well just cut out the middleman
and come straight to the source.”
“Er, yeah, I know, but . . . I just have my own reasons, or
rather, uh . . .”
“Hm? Ahhh, ah-ah-ah, I get it! Well, why didn’t you say
so?!” she said with a wickedly and ghastly grin. She beckoned
to me. Each stroke of her hand was so alluring, so graceful,
that it was mesmerizing.
“Uhh, you get what, exactly?”
“Just come to me. I’ll tease you to your heart’s delight.”
Seeing that I still wouldn’t budge, Aikawa-san instead
crawled over to me on all fours. She stared up at me with a
challenging, provocative gaze. She nestled her body into mine
and wrapped her arms around my back, forcing all of her
weight upon me. She applied some pressure, digging her nails
into my back.
“Now. What were you saying?”
“Um, I’m terrified of you.”
“By the by, did you know that my index finger is perilously
close to jabbing through your ribs into your liver?”
“. . .”
“Don’t tense up so much. It’s bad for you. It’ll make your
flesh all stringy. So just out of curiosity, who do you think is
scarier—me, or the serial killer?” As she said this, she ran her
tongue down the carotid artery on the right side of my neck.
The pleasure I felt from this delicate sensation, along with the 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 2
more pressing sense of fear that she might actually take a
gigantic bite out of my neck, bored their way into my brain.
Dammit.
Indeed, the serial killer did make for better company than
this.
“Jun-san . . . I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to say no.”
“Oh, go right on ahead. But if you do that I won’t tease
you like this anymore.”
“. . .”
“Either way is fine by me. It doesn’t change the fact that
you’re going to talk. I’ve already decided that I’m going to
have you tell me about this killer. That’s a fact. But since
you’re a friend, I just thought I’d ask first. Now do you want
me to be nice? Or do you want me to make this painful?”
“Uhh . . . what’s the difference?”
The fact that we were in this embracing position was my
one saving grace; I didn’t have to see her face, and she
couldn’t see mine. But even still, my cold sweat and pounding
heart probably betrayed my terror.
“What do you think is the difference?”
Chomp. She bit down on my neck. She literally had my
life in her clutches. Softly, teasingly, she dug her canines into
my skin, but at the same time worked a healthy amount of
saliva onto her tongue, licking my flesh between her lips,
rubbing her body against mine, running her fingers down my
back.
“Okay!” I said, using every ounce of strength to pull myself
away from her. “I won’t disobey you anymore! Please forgive
me!” Sitting a little apart from me, Aikawa-san responded
with a sly yet somehow innocent smile.
“Don’t get so serious. It was just a little joke,” she said.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 3
“Yeah, a bad joke. Bad for the heart, anyway . . .”
“Hahaha. Actually, I’m relieved. You’re a healthy young
man after all.”
“Come on, give me a break.”
I had to calm down. So I chugged down a cup of water. It
didn’t take long for my heartbeat to slow down, but the cold
sweating was out of my control.
I am no good at dealing with this woman after all. I should
have just run straight to Kunagisa’s place without worrying
what might happen later.
“Really now, this is nonsense.”
After that, Aikawa-san managed to fish out of me every
last detail about Zerozaki Hitoshiki, no stone left unturned. I
tried my best to weasel out of revealing the key facts, but with
her ability to read my mind, I wasn’t especially successful.
Every time I tried to hide something, she would see right
through me and threaten me, and then either through coercion
or trickery would pry the answer out of me. It served to
remind me that I was basically her prisoner.
The person known as Zerozaki. His appearance, build, and
clothes at the time we met. The way he spoke. The circumstances
surrounding our first meeting. What we talked about.
Even the details of our secret infiltration of Tomo-chan’s
apartment. Aikawa-san drew all of it out of me. At least, as
much as I could remember.
It wasn’t like Zerozaki and I were friends. We were just of
the same breed, and we were like mirror reflections of one
another. We hadn’t exchanged any sort of promise, and he
wasn’t preventing me from talking.
Nevertheless, I felt so spineless it was a wonder I didn’t
collapse. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 4
“Hmm . . .” After all that, Aikawa’s smile disappeared and
her expression grew more serious. She thought to herself in
silence for a few minutes. “So this guy . . . Zerozaki, was it?
Like zero and zaki put together?”
“Yeah. At least, that’s what he calls himself.”
“Zerozaki Hitoshi . . . ahhh, that’s a nasty name.”
Aikawa-san looked truly irritated, like the whole thing was
just a big hassle. It was the first time I had ever seen her wear
such an expression. It was almost refreshing.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”
“No, no no no . . . On second thought, maybe a ‘nasty
name’ isn’t the right expression. But ‘Zerozaki’? Sure is an unusual
name.”
“Oh, but you know, it might not be his real name. That
guy’s no fool. I doubt he would give someone his real name on
a first encounter.”
“That’s beside the point. Even if it’s an alias, the fact that
he would choose an alias like ‘Zerozaki’ is proof that he’s a
nut. And if it is his real name, well . . .”
She began thinking in silence again. Once this lady started
thinking about something, she sank into her own world, and if
you were there beside her, it felt like you had become
invisible. But then again, even an invisible man still exists. In
this case it was more like you had become empty space.
“Even as a joke, there isn’t an idiot on this earth who
would announce himself with a ‘killer’s name’ like that.
‘Zerozaki,’ huh? Damn, that’s right above ‘Susukino’ in rank,
isn’t it? I guess it’s still better than ‘Niounomiya’ and
‘Yamiguchi,’ but you know, I actually hope it is just an alias.
Or better yet, just a case of two people having the same last
name by coincidence. But there’s no way that’s it. There’s no 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 5
way something that convenient would ever happen to me.
Wow . . . so even Kunagisa, even an ex-member of the ‘team’
was of no use.”
“Uh . . . is there something wrong with the name ‘Zerozaki’?”
“Yeah, there is. It’s about as terrible as names come. It’s so
bad that to us, the worst possible insult you could call someone
was a ‘Zerozaki.’ That’s how bad it is. I don’t really want
to bother explaining any deeper than that. To be perfectly
honest, I don’t want to have the slightest thing to do with the
‘Zerozaki Ichizoku,’ and that includes giving explanations. Eh,
but actually it’s the name itself that I don’t like. In this case,
the individual is essentially irrelevant. He’s probably just some
irregularity . . . probably. But is this guy really the Kyoto
Prowler?”
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
“So you didn’t actually witness him in the act? You’re just
taking his word for it?”
“Well, you could say that,” I said, nodding.
“Hmm. So then there’s a chance that he might be some
delusional, lying bastard who’s just saying this stuff.”
“Yeah, there’s definitely that chance. I mean, I didn’t get
that impression, though.”
“Really? Come on, he’s got a big tattoo on his face, right?
And it covers the entire right side. Even in Chicago he’d be a
freak. He’s been standing out like that and he’s still able to
escape the cops without leaving a single clue behind?”
“Yeah, well . . .”
Naturally, I had considered this possibility myself as well.
But having heard what he had to say, there was no basis on 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 6
which to call him a fake, and frankly, I didn’t care all that
much to begin with.
Whether it was him or not, it didn’t make much of a
difference to me. Maybe he wasn’t the prowler.
“That guy is a murderer without a doubt,” I said to
Aikawa-san. “Aikawa-san, you must know that I haven’t lived
the most decent life, right? In Kobe, Houston, even here. Hell,
even on that island I was almost killed. I may still not hold a
candle to you, but I’ve seen my fair share of Hell in my time.”
And Heaven was still a long way from here.
“I never actually saw him kill somebody, but he did almost
kill me. He was just using a plain old short knife, and yet the
terror I felt was that of someone facing an opponent with a
naginata . . . no, with a machine gun.”
“Hmm . . .” Apparently convinced, she nodded several
times. “At any rate, I suppose the bottom line is that this expert
of dissection who calls himself the ‘prowler’ is somewhere
in Kyoto. Yeah. As long as I have that straight, that’s
enough.”
“It is?”
“Sure it is. Combined with the other information I’ve
gathered, it’ll give me a place to start. For now, anyway. I
think for the time being it’ll be faster for me to proceed on my
own two feet, if you know what I mean. If I don’t have a bit of
a challenge, things get boring and I can’t function anymore.
Know what I mean? Anyway, more importantly,” she said,
bringing the conversation back to me, “putting my stuff aside,
what’s going on with you? I heard from both Kunagisa and
Sasaki that you’ve been sticking your nose in some boring,
everyday kind of case.”
“I got caught up in it.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 7
“You got caught up and then you kept sticking your nose
back in, didn’t you? I mean, sneaking into the victim’s apartment?
Quit pretending you’re just some passive observer.”
Touché.
“Now what is it, exactly?” she pondered, looking at me
with a touch of awe. “You’re a hard guy to understand,
y’know? It’s like you have no conviction, or no style. What
you say and what you do are completely different things.”
“It’s that clash that gives me my flavor.”
“What flavor? Can’t you view yourself objectively?”
“Sure I can . . .”
“You’re more like the comic relief than a passive observer.
Eh, but whatever. Do whatever you like. It’s your life, I guess.
Not my place to butt in. Not my problem.”
“You’re a cold woman.”
“Not really. Keep studying, young’un. You do your own
dirty work. And if you set out to do something, do it to the
end. I told you before, didn’t I? Quitting midway through is
the worst thing a person can do. Oh yeah, and also,” she said
as if she had just remembered, even though that obviously
wasn’t the case, “a message from Kunagisa.” She pointed to
the envelope under my arm.
“What is it?”
“Don’t go having an affair now, Ii-chan. I’ll forgive a
smooch on the cheek and nothing above that. ‘I love youuu,
kiss kiss,’ ” Aikawa-san said, mimicking Kunagisa’s voice and
intonation and grinning. “She said.”
“Roger that,” I said, throwing my hands up.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 8
It had gotten to the time where it was technically okay to be
eating dinner, so I invited Aikawa-san to join me. But because
she was eager to proceed with her pursuit of Zerozaki as
quickly as possible, she refused and soon left.
In the very end, I asked her one final question. “What do
you think x over y means?”
“Don’t look to others to confirm what you already know,”
she said flatly. Touché, I thought.
I let out a sigh as I watched her disappear.
Zerozaki Hitoshiki.
Aikawa Jun.
She would probably find him in a matter of two days. I
hadn’t exactly provided a cornucopia of information, but it
was more than enough to serve Aikawa-san’s purpose. She
was in a state of mind beyond my wildest imagination, and
even that was something she was free to break away from
whenever she desired. The superiority of Aikawa Jun’s
cognitive faculties defied the imagination.
And the two would likely collide. Mankind’s Greatest and
the Human Failure would meet head-on. And if it came to
that, the outcome was obvious. If Zerozaki Hitoshiki was a
homicidal monster, then Aikawa Jun was the ultimate monster
hunter. Having a bit of a penchant for taking lives was
great for drawing attention, but it wouldn’t be enough to stop
her from sniffing him out. The nature of this scarlet woman
was one so transcendental, so elevated, that if there was one
thing you didn’t want to do, it was make an enemy of her. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 1 8 9
And making friends with her didn’t serve as a very good plan
B. If there was any one saving grace, it was that she had a
sense of the whimsical. But it was hardly something that could
be exploited.
“I wonder if he’ll get away . . .”
I was just a little worried. Not to mention incredibly sympathetic.

But I didn’t give it too much thought.
I had little interest in something that was to take place a
world away from here. Even if it was happening to my own
mirror image.
Now was the time to think about my own world.
I took the envelope from Kunagisa in my hand.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 1
Ilikeyoulikeyouloveyoulots.
On Saturday, May twenty-first, I woke up early in the
morning.
“Time to get up.”
I had had some kind of nasty dream. It seemed like I was
about to be killed, and like I was also trying to kill someone.
My entire body was being controlled by the sheer will to commit
harm, and at the same time, I was being harmed. I ran and
I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran, but sooner or later the
figure chasing after me turned out to be myself, and I was
gripped with terror. Certain death was just behind me, and
yet it was strangely exhilarating. It was that kind of awful
dream.
The sheer fact that I couldn’t remember it made it a nightmare,
and the fact that it was a nightmare made this a rude
awakening.
I rose up from my futon and checked the time. Five fifty in
the morning. My plans with Mikoko-chan weren’t until ten
o’clock, so I still had roughly four hours to kill. With nothing
in particular to do, I folded up my futon and pushed it into
the closet.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 2
I went outside, thinking it might be nice to go for a run for
the first time in awhile. I locked up just to be safe, but with a
lock of this quality, Aikawa-san wasn’t the only one who
could easily break in if so inclined. Not that there was anything
in that place I’d mind having stolen.
I ran east down Imadegawa Street and turned back once
Dôshisha University had come into view. I went directly back
to my apartment and changed out of my sweaty clothes. Why,
oh why had I thought it would be a good idea to run in this
heat? I wondered with the usual remorse.
I picked up the book I had borrowed from the school
library and reread the part I had previously stopped in the
middle of. That alone ate through a good chunk of time, so
from there I picked up the envelope from Kunagisa, the contents
of which I had already glanced over a few times.
The envelope contained police documents. Through what
means Kunagisa had obtained such a thing, I didn’t know, but
we had sort of a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. What I did know,
however, was that Kunagisa could access pretty much any
place with electricity running through it, and that within her
circle of friends were criminals who knew just about everything
in the entire Milky Way galaxy. Of course, normally I
had little interest in criminal investigation. But these were
documents on the murder of Emoto Tomoe.
“But come on . . .”
I flipped through the paper-clipped sheets of A4 paper.
There wasn’t really any new information. The documents
elaborated on some of the more minor details, but most of
them seemed irrelevant, and it was all more or less what
Sasaki-san had told me. I was a little bit shattered to realize 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 3
that this was what I had endured Aikawa-san’s interrogation
for.
Still, it wasn’t a complete waste. There was some information
I hadn’t been aware of, and it was worth knowing.
“So here we have alibi relations.”
As logic may have dictated, the four classmates who had
been with Emoto Tomoe the night she died (us, that is) were
the prime suspects. Nevertheless, all four of us had alibis, at
least for the time being. Miiko-san next door had graciously
vouched for Mikoko-chan and me, while Muimi-chan and
Akiharu-kun were vouching for each other. The possibility
that they had committed the crime in cahoots was present,
but based on the police’s observations, that didn’t seem to be
the case. Sasaki-san had made it sound like Muimi-chan and
Akiharu-kun went to karaoke, just the two of them, but apparently
other people from school had been present as well. In
other words, Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan had a sound alibi,
just like Mikoko-chan and I. If anyone had a weak alibi, it was
me. After all, Miiko-san could only vouch for what she heard
(or didn’t hear) through the apartment walls.
But of course, I knew I wasn’t the killer.
“Okay then, that’s all clear . . .”
Next was the list of items in the apartment. When I snuck
in with Zerozaki, I didn’t think anything was missing, but apparently
I was wrong. The police documents gave a complete
list of everything inside Tomo-chan’s apartment, from the
largest piece of furniture to the smallest accessory. It was like
the concept of privacy no longer even existed, but at the same
time, it gave you a good idea of who this Emoto Tomo character
was.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 4
It was just that on this list, one thing was missing—the
liquid-filled capsule neckstrap Akiharu-kun had given Tomoechan
as a birthday present.
I had seen him give it to her with my own eyes, so it was
strange that it wasn’t on the list. The most logical explanation
to come to mind was that the killer had taken it, but that just
raised the question of why the killer would want such a thing.
“It wasn’t exactly worth a lot. . . .”
Meanwhile, the cell phone she had used to call me had
apparently been found in her pocket. The documents included
corroboration of the call based on the call history in her
phone’s memory.
No foreign objects had appeared in her apartment either.
Evidently the killer had left with the think cloth allegedly used
to strangle her.
“Cloth . . . cloth . . . cloth, eh?”
Next was a thoroughly documented account of Mikoko’s
discovery of the body, which was information I hadn’t been
able to draw out of her. She had visited Tomo-chan’s apartment
in the morning and called her room on the intercom.
But there was no answer. She wouldn’t pick up her phone
either. Thinking this was strange, Mikoko made her way
through the autolocked door as one of the other residents was
leaving and headed to Tomo-chan’s room. The door to the
entrance wasn’t locked. I had feared we might have another
damned sealed room on our hands, but apparently that wasn’t
the case.
“And finally.”
That x over y writing.
The police had deemed this the “work of the perpetrator,”
which made sense. Sasaki-san said herself that Emoto Tomoe 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 5
had died instantly, so it didn’t make sense that she could’ve
written a dying message. This was something I had realized in
time as well. Once again, this raised the question of why the
killer would do such a thing. Leaving a sign at the crime
scene—this was no Jack the Ripper after all.
“And that’s the end of that.”
Those were the facts I had deemed useful. But overall, my
ideas on the case remained largely unchanged.
And that was fine, I thought.
Based on this information, a number of minute possibilities
had been crossed out. From here I would gradually narrow
down the remaining possibilities. But for the time being, it
was safe to say that a basic process of reasoning was starting to
take form.
“But still . . .”
What the hell was I doing? Why did I have to do all this
stuff?
Was it for Tomo-chan?
Or for Mikoko-chan?
Going as far as obtaining these documents, dedicating copious
amounts of time—what the hell was I doing?
“I ought to talk to Sasaki-san again, huh . . .”
There were some things I wanted to ask. Some possibilities
left to be narrowed down. I wouldn’t use the word solution
until I had something 100 percent watertight.
I slid the papers back into the envelope, tore the envelope
to pieces, and threw it all into the garbage. In the unlikely
event that somebody caught a look at these documents, there
would be trouble. Besides, having perused them pretty thoroughly,
most of the information had been committed to memory
already.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 6
Now then.
There was still a little over an hour until Mikoko-chan
would be here. Two hours, if you factored in her lack of punctuality.
I lay down on the floor and thought a bit more.
About the murder?
No.
About my own ridiculousness.
Luckily, there was still plenty of time.
Life had only just begun.
Mikoko-chan showed up on time.
“I’m not late today!” she said, giving a gleeful German
salute with both hands. Though it was probably a given at this
point, she was so hyper that you might think she had blown a
circuit. She was dressed in a tight tank top and large, loose
overalls. She also had her head deeply inserted into a yellow
hat that looked like it belonged on a kindergartener (not to be
mean or anything). There was something adorable about her
reddish hair peeking out from under the brim. The tank top
was just a bit too small, making it look like she was wearing
overalls directly over nothing, which was, well, how do you
say . . . actually, I guess I didn’t mind.
“Well, shall we go?”
I started to leave, but she immediately stopped me. “Oh,
wait-wait-wait,” she said, pushing me back into the room and
entering herself without being invited. She had done this last
time too. Maybe invading houses was one of her hobbies. Not
a very sociable one, if you asked me.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 7
“I brought you a little something today. To say thanks for
spending the day with me.”
No sooner had she said it than she opened her bag—a
Boston bag different from her usual purse—and pulled out a
lunch-box-like item wrapped in a bandana. She unwrapped it
to reveal that it was actually Tupperware.
“Wow, what is it?”
“Treats,” she said boastfully, and opened it up. Inside were
six pieces of sweet potato shaped like Mont Blanc. I could tell
by the slight indents that these were handmade.
“Wow, so you do baking and stuff.”
“Yup. But don’t expect it to taste too good or anything.”
“Can I eat ’em?”
“Of course. Oh, right.” She pulled a thermos out of her
bag, handed me a cup, and poured the contents of it. It was
black tea, and Marco Polo, no less. So she had even come prepared
to compensate for the fact that I didn’t have anything
besides water here. This girl didn’t let anything get by her.
She prepared herself a cup of tea as well, and flashed a nice
smile. “Well, cheers.”
I clinked glasses with her and popped a piece of sweet
potato. Unfathomable sweetness immediately spread throughout
the inside of my mouth. Of course they weren’t called
sweet potatoes for nothing, but this didn’t seem like an ordinary
amount of sugar to me.
“Pretty sweet, huh?” I said, letting my true impressions
show.
“Yep. I looove sweet stuff.”
“You don’t say.” I nodded and popped the next one in my
mouth. Yup. Sweet. Come to think of it, I hadn’t had any
breakfast that morning, so this was quite the convenient little 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 8
surprise. But hey, hadn’t Mikoko-chan said she didn’t like
sweet stuff before? It seemed to me like she may or may not
have said that at one point. I couldn’t seem to remember.
Well, whatever.
She was a girl, after all. You know how fickle they can be.
Within five minutes, the sweet potatoes had been completely
consumed.
“Mikoko-chan, you’re pretty good at cooking and stuff,
huh?”
“Yep. It’s because I was a latchkey kid.”
“What’s a . . . latchkey kid?”
“Uhh, it means a kid who’s home alone a lot. Kids whose
parents both work have to bring a house key with them to
school, right?”
“Why?”
“Um, because if nobody’s home, the door is going to be
locked, right?” she continued, looking rather perplexed. “So
that’s why they call them latchkey kids.”
“Oh . . . I get it.”
I broke my eye contact with Mikoko-chan and stared up at
the ceiling to hide my facial expression.
Well how about that, I thought. So households like that
exist.
“Ikkun, did I say something wrong?”
“Huh? Why?”
“You’re making a really weird face right now.”
She didn’t sound so much worried as nervous, almost
frightened, even. I shook my head and said, “No, it’s nothing.”
Yup, nothing at all. Why should something like that bother
me?
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 1 9 9
“So should we really go now? Where do you want to go?”
“Huh?”
“You wanted to go shopping, right? I think that’s what you
said. Shinkyôgoku? Kyoto Station? Or do you want to go all
the way to Osaka?”
“Oh. Umm. Umm.”
She started to get flustered, as if she hadn’t even thought
about it. Her eyes darted around looking for something or
someone to save her, but ultimately looked back at me and
said, “Uh, a-anywhere is fine.”
What did that mean?
“You can’t mean that. You’re the one doing the shopping.”
“There isn’t any place in particular you want to go with
me?”
“There isn’t really anything I need. Living in a room like
this, I only have space to buy things you can throw out quick.
It wouldn’t make any sense to go shopping. Not that I’m
against nonsense. There just really isn’t anything I need to
buy. What is it you wanted to buy?”
“Uh, well, you know, clothes and stuff.”
“Huh.”
“And I want to eat somewhere.”
“Well, then I guess Kawara-machi’s the way to go.”
“Okay,” she said.
I may not be the assertive type, but Mikoko-chan might
have been even worse. Why did I have to decide where she
would go shopping? Of course, such questions were pointless.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said, and we left the room together. We
walked for a bit until arriving at the Senbon Nakadachiuri bus
stop, where we stood and waited for the Shijôkawara-machi
bus. Within five minutes, the 46 line bus had arrived. We got 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 0
on and found a lucky pair of empty seats. We sat down with
me on the inside and her beside me.
“By the way, you came on your Vespa, right?”
“Yeah, my Vespa. My Vespa,” she said, looking a bit nervous.
It seemed my previous anger had left a strong impression
on her. I wondered if I might have gone too far last time, but
there are times when even I can’t hold back my emotions.
In fact, it happens a lot.
“So you’ll have to come back to get it . . .”
“It’s okay. As long as I take the bus, the price is the same!
It’s a flat fare within city limits!”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“So you’re not planning to buy a car or scooter or anything?”
“Nah. Things aren’t particularly inconvenient without
one.”
“Hmm . . .” She nodded ambiguously. “Tomo-chan was the
same way. She had a license, but she didn’t have any wheels.
She said she just wanted to use it as a proof of identification.”
“Yeah, that’s basically what I’m doing.”
“I see. Maybe everyone’s like that. But I want to start driving
once I get my license.”
Come to think of it, I did seem to remember her saying
something about going to driving school and getting her dad to
buy her a car once she had a license.
“I drive on occasion too,” I said. “Sometimes I borrow
Miiko-san’s car.”
“Mm-hm.”
The instant I brought up Miiko-san, Mikoko-chan’s
expression grew terribly bored. By this point, even I had come 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 1
to learn that Mikoko-chan wasn’t someone with whom you
could have a good conversation about Miiko-san.
“Wow, so Tomo-chan had a license too.”
“Yup. For what it’s worth.”
“I see. Hey, by the way, did you go to school yesterday and
the day before?”
“Yup. Didn’t see you there, for some reason.”
That was because I didn’t go to school yesterday and the
day before. With those documents from Kunagisa in hand, I
had a lot of things to think about. It wasn’t that my role as a
student was my lowest priority or anything, but it wasn’t my
top one either.
“I met up with Akiharu-kun and Muimi-chan, though. I
talked to them about the idea of having an event in Tomochan’s
honor. You’ve got to come out when we do it.”
For a moment, for just a single instant, I hesitated. “Yeah,
for sure. Be sure to invite me,” I replied. I couldn’t tell if I was
genuinely agreeing, or if I was just saying that because I was
on the spot. Knowing my personality, it was more likely the
latter, but in this particular case, just maybe it was the former.
We arrived in Shijôkawara-machi and got off the bus.
“Ooookay! Today, we get crazy!” she declared, stretching
out both her arms. And then she flashed me the most beautiful,
awe-inspiring, liberated smile I had ever seen in my life.
“Say good-bye to the dark stuff. Today we’re having fun!
Right, Ikkun?!”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Yeah! Mikoko-chan, full speed ahead!”
For the next six hours, Mikoko-chan did just as she’d
declared, running around Shinkyôgoku from one end to the
other, almost as if she really had forgotten about Tomo-chan. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 2
Skipping and hopping around.
Frolicking about.
Vanquishing evil.
Going wild.
Joking around.
Almost crazily.
Almost like she was broken.
Almost like shad had somehow faded.
Like she had melted away.
Dancing madly.
Flying about.
Spiraling.
Like she was scrambling for something.
Like something was holding her back.
Like she was on a self-abusive binge, and yet still somehow
mistakable for a pixie.
Like an innocent child, utterly free of sin.
A wholly pure existence.
Freely expressing her emotions—laughing, losing her
temper, and at times even lamenting with watery eyes, only to
return once again to that joyful smile.
Even I, even I, just some guy who happened to be there.
Me, Mr. Damaged Goods.
Or perhaps she had already made up her mind to confront
her destiny. For me, the one who couldn’t save her—no, who
didn’t save her—this was nothing more than an excuse, but I
still couldn’t help wondering.
Was she already aware of her fate?
“Wow, time just flies by, doesn’t it? I can’t believe it.”
“Well, it’s like Einstein said. There’s a world of different
between a minute spent with a pretty girl and a minute spent 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 3
with your hand on a stove,” I said, as if Einstein were an old
friend of mine.
“Huh?!” Mikoko-chan said with a look of pure triumph.
“Could it be? Are you saying you think that I’m pretty?”
“Well, I don’t suppose I’d deny it,” I said, simply for the
sake of the conversation. If there was one thing today had
taught me, it was that giving her too direct of a response
would result in me getting dragged into something unnecessary.
I currently had three paper shopping bags in my right
hand, two in my left, and two plastic bags on my back. They
were mostly filled with clothes, so none of it was all that
heavy, but it sure was a shock to see Mikoko-chan throw her
ten-thousand-yen bills away one after another. Kunagisa was a
big shopper too, but in her case it was all online from home,
so the reality of seeing someone splurging this heavily right
before my eyes was a fairly fresh experience for me.
“Well, then . . . should we eat something and then go
back?”
“Yeah, yeah! Wowww!”
“What?”
“I’m so happy you asked me!” she said with a big grin.
She was really hyper today. Why was she so damn happy?
From there, we went into a place in Kiya-machi that was
sort of a cross between a Japanese-style pub and a coffee shop.
The interior was decorated to look like a prison, with the staff
dressed in prisoner or policewoman costumes, but despite the
place’s peculiarities, the food and the prices were both decent.
I had come here once before with Miiko-san once, during
which we deemed it one of the top three restaurants in town,
but that was probably the kind of thing I shouldn’t bother 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 4
telling Mikoko-chan. Aikawa-san would only take me to Japanese
bars that only served Japanese liquor, Kunagisa only ate
junk food, and pretty much everyone else I knew was finicky.
If I really thought about it, having someone I could go to
places like this with was something to be cherished.
A (fake) policewoman showed us to our cell, where we sat
down.
“Would you care for something to drink?” she said.
Mikoko-chan ordered a cocktail, and I a glass of oolong tea.
“You really don’t drink, huh?”
“It’s kind of a policy. Like how Muimi-chan doesn’t smoke
in front of nonsmokers.”
“Haha, that’s right! You know, it was actually Tomo-chan
who asked her to stop. Tomo-chan rarely demanded anything
from her friends, so even Muimi-chan listened to her just like
that.”
“Come to think of it, she doesn’t seem the type to care
much about whether or not she’s disturbing others, normally.”
“Yeah, but you know, she said she’s quitting.”
“Huh.”
“It’ll be good for her health!” she said, sweeping away the
darkness about to form. At the same time, the drinks finally
arrived. The waitress placed the cocktail in front of me and
the oolong tea in front of Mikoko-chan. We ignored this for
the time being and placed our order.
“So you’ve been friends with Muimi-chan since elementary
school, huh?” I said.
“Yup. And even then she was a smoker.”
“And yet she’s pretty tall.”
“Yup. But I’ll bet she would’ve been even taller if she
hadn’t smoked.” Such a thing was virtually unimaginable. 
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“You know, she used to be a bully. She reformed some time
during high school.”
“That’s pretty late.”
“She met Tomo-chan, and, well, some things happened.
You know, yadda yadda yadda.”
Some things.
Yeah, I’ll bet some things happened. They had certainly
spent enough time together.
“What about you?” I said.
“Hm?”
“You make it sound like Tomo-chan really had a big influence
on Muimi-chan, but what about you? And Akiharukun?”
She fell silent for a moment, then let out a deep sigh. “You
know, I always thought human relationships were all about
the long term,” she said. “You spend a long time getting to
know a person, and then one day you start to click. That’s
what I thought. But I was wrong. I was wrong, Ikkun. You
don’t need to know somebody for a long time or to ‘click’ in
order to be drawn to a person.”
“Why do you think Tomo-chan was killed?”
“H . . . how would I know something like that?” She hung
her head down. “There was no reason Tomo-chan had to die.
There wasn’t a single possible reason for killing her.”
“I think the reason people kill one another is actually quite
simple,” I said, ignoring her. “Interference. If some factor is interfering
with your life, the logical next step is to try and weed
it out. It’s just like kicking stones off a railway track.”
“But Tomo-chan—“
“Yup, Tomo-chan made it a point never to overstep people’s
boundaries or be invasive. In other words, there was no 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 6
reason for her to have been considered an interference to anybody.
She was too far out of range to begin with.”
“Uh-huh.”
“To put it another way, she wasn’t even in a position to
become the object of somebody’s ill will or enmity or malice.
Thus, there was no reason for somebody to kill her. She
wasn’t disturbing anybody.”
You’re only living,
and that’s causing
disturbance to others.
“But it’s not that simple. I mean, Tomo-chan wasn’t some
hermit living in the forests of Mount Fuji. She was a normal
university student, living a normal university student’s life. As
such, she had to form personal relationships, whether she
liked it or not. Now let me pose you a question, Mikoko-chan,
and please answer with your own opinion. What does it mean
to form a personal relationship?”
“Umm . . .” she said, seeming a bit perplexed. “Well, I can’t
say for sure, but it’s like getting close to somebody, I think.”
“Yes, that’s right. That’s absolutely right, Mikoko-chan.
Now if you were to go and rephrase that, it essentially means
‘choosing somebody.’ But let’s think about that for a minute.
To choose someone means to not choose somebody else. The
act of ‘choosing’ and the act of ‘not choosing’ are just opposite
sides of the same coin. I’m not talking about things like how
you can only have one best friend or one lover. Such dilemmas
are irrelevant here. What I’m talking about is that it’s logically
impossible for a human being to be liked by everyone, to be
able to get close to anybody he or she hasn’t chosen.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 7
“Hmm . . . It may be hard—to be liked by everyone, I
mean—but I don’t think it’s impossible. Maybe not everyone
in the world, but I think it’s at least possible with the people
directly surrounding you.”
“I don’t think it is. That’s what I believe. People aren’t all
as kind as you think. There are monsters out there who only
view other people as subjects to be dissected. There are blue
things that can only process the world in terms of zeros and
ones. There are Mankind’s Greatest ladies who are cynical
about everything in the whole world, not to mention other
people. There are fortune-tellers who have seen all hope and
all despair in the entire world and still go on sneering away.
Artists who view their very existence—not to mention the existence
of others—as nothing more than elements in her style.
There are even people who can only accept human beings as
either good or evil.”
“. . .”
“Now don’t you think Tomo-chan’s awareness of this was
the reason she chose to avoid forming deep relationships with
people? She was trying to make as few enemies as possible.”
“Tomo-chan wasn’t . . . that kind of girl,” Mikoko-chan
said, fading in and out, but I mostly didn’t hear her. It seemed
she knew herself that such a claim had no basis. “But even if
that was true, the fact remains that she was killed.”
“You’re right. Tomo-chan made sure never to fall in too
deep with anybody, and yet at the same time, she showed superb
skill in not letting it show.”
It was the very thing I was incapable of.
No matter how hard I tried.
“But despite all that, she was murdered anyway. Tomochan
was murdered. Now at this point, Mikoko-chan, let’s 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 8
take a look at this serial killer who’s become such a sensation
as of late. This guy is an indiscriminate murderer. Just falling
into his field of vision or, conversely, not falling into his field
of vision, just happening to bump him on the shoulder, or
even not bumping him on the shoulder is enough of a reason
for him to kill you. He kills mechanically. Automatically. For a
killer like that, even Tomo-chan is a possible target. Even I
am.”
“So then Tomo-chan was killed by the slasher?”
“Apparently not. According to Sasaki-san—that detective, I
mean. Apparently, that’s the one thing that they know for
sure. Now then, if I might change the subject a little bit, let
me ask you this: Haven’t you ever thought there were just too
many people in the world?”
Taken aback by the suddenness of my question, she looked
away. Nevertheless, I silently waited for her answer.
“But that doesn’t mean you can just kill people,” she said.
“Ikkun, could you ever forgive someone for murder?”
“No,” I answered without hesitation. “It’s not a matter of
forgiving or not forgiving. There’s a far more fundamental
issue. That is, the fact that murder is the absolute worst thing.
That I can confirm. The desire to take a life is the most despicable
human emotion. To hope and pray and wish for another
person’s death is a hopelessly evil act. It is a sin beyond redemption.
It’s an atrocity beyond apology, and I’ll be damned
if it has anything to do with forgiveness.”
My voice was so rigid and merciless, I didn’t even sound
like me.
Complete nonsense.
Who was really the hopeless one here?
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 0 9
“Anybody who’s taken a life belongs in Hell, without exception.”
“B . . . but . . .” She gulped in terror at my bold declaration,
but managed to muster up an objection nevertheless. “Like,
what if the person was in danger? Like what if you were walking
around Kamogawa Park at night, and then this Kyoto
prowler guy came at you with a knife? Would you just sit
there and let him kill you?”
“No, I suppose I would resist.”
“Right?”
“You’re right. And I might even use too much force and
accidentally kill him. The same thing goes for me as goes for
everyone else. But I would also realize in that moment, when
I’m taking somebody else’s in order to preserve my own—I
would realize my own sinfulness. I would acknowledge that
I’m guilty of a sin so deep that it won’t even be forgiven when
I’m dead.”
“But you were going to be killed! It’s only natural to defend
yourself in a situation like that, right?”
“If you start thinking like that, you’ve already committed
the sin. Let’s make one thing clear right now,” I said sternly. “I
am capable of murder.”
“. . .”
“Whether it be for my own sake or for someone else’s, I
could slaughter another human being. I could eradicate another
life, whether it be a friend or a family member. Why do
you think that is?”
“Why? I don’t know,” she said anxiously. “I don’t think
that’s true. You’re a kind guy. I don’t think you could do
those things.”
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“I can. Without a doubt. The reason is that I can’t comprehend
other people’s pain.”
“. . .”
“For example, I have a certain female friend who lacks
most of the basic human emotions. She’s always super-happy,
having fun no matter what she’s doing, but that’s only because
she doesn’t know any other emotion. As a result, she can
barely comprehend when other people get sad or angry.”
It was the only way she could process the world. Never
able to distinguish between paradise and paradise lost.
“I’m the same way. No, I’m much worse. I can’t understand
the pain of others even a little bit. Why? Because I
myself can’t properly interpret my own feelings of ‘pain’ or
‘suffering.’ The thought of dying doesn’t even bother me. It’s
not that I want to die, but my will to resist it is abnormally
low. And thus this leads to what I was saying.
“There are a variety of ‘stoppers’ that prevent people from
killing one another. One of the most vital ones is having
thoughts like, ‘Gee, this probably hurts,’ or ‘Man, I feel sorry
for this guy.’ Isn’t that right? It is. For example, I’m sure
you’ve gotten the urge to hurt somebody before, right? But
you probably didn’t actually beat the crap out of them or
anything, did you?”
“Mm. I’ve never hit someone before.”
“But I’ll bet you’ve wanted to before, right?”
She didn’t answer. This was the clearest confirmation she
could’ve given. But this was no crime. Nobody can go through
life without ever harboring ill will toward someone, even if
you’re up in Heaven.
“I guess basically I’m talking about an ability to feel empathy.
You understand the other person’s emotions, you feel 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 1
mercy for them, and you conform to them. Of course, this
isn’t always a good thing. Jealousy and envy both have empathy
at their root. An understanding of another person’s
emotions. It’s both a merit and a demerit.”
And if, like the woman on that island, you knew everyone’s
emotions, all you could do was break down.
“But let’s not wax philosophical about loss and gain, here,”
I said. “The point here is that I don’t have these ‘stoppers.’ I
can’t make head or tail of people’s emotions. As a result, I
have to suppress myself. Doing so proves to be incredibly agonizing.
It’s not even funny. But somehow I’ve managed to
keep the demons down.”
I had some nerve, living life while harboring such a monster
within myself.
“Ikkun . . .”
“I could reach my limit any day now. And that is why I
can’t forgive a murderer. How could I? The very existence of a
murderer is detestable. Deplorable. I hate all murderers from
the bottom of my heart. I hate them heartily. I think I’d like
to crush them all.”
“. . .”
“Just kidding, I don’t think that at all,” I said.
Our food arrived. Mikoko-chan ordered more alcohol, and
I a glass of water. We sat for a while eating our food in silence.
“Say, Ikkun . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you telling me all this stuff?” she said, suspiciously.
It had been such a fun day.
Silently, I shook my head. It was no doubt a terribly cold
gesture. “I just figured you might want to hear it. Was I 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 2
wrong? No, right? And, well, I wanted you to know the extent
to which I was damaged goods.”
“Damaged goods? How can you say such a terrible thing?
And about yourself!”
“It’s because it’s about myself that I can say it. If I’m not
damaged goods, then I’m at least a human failure. Don’t you
think? Actually, people tell me that a lot. Anyone who’s
grown even slightly close to me has said so. ‘You’re out of
your mind,’ they say. ‘Abnormal.’ ‘A heretic.’ ‘Grotesque.’
‘Shoddy.’ And those are all correct.”
“Ikkun . . .” Mikoko-chan said nervously. “You sound like
you’re headed for suicide.”
“I won’t commit suicide. I promised.”
“You . . . promised?”
“Yeah. To the first person I killed.”
A pause.
I popped a cube of steak in my mouth. “Just kidding,” I
said. “Un fortunately, my life isn’t that exciting. And I’m not
romantic enough to make such an incredible promise. I’m just
an ordinary guy who’s missing some vital component. The
actual reason I won’t commit suicide is that, well, it just looks
bad. You know, like I’m running from my own flaws. Of
course, I am running from my flaws, but I don’t want to look
like I am.”
“Ikkun, I know you’re not like other people, but . . . if you
killed yourself, I would cry. I know I would. Forget about
what you’re missing. You’re living a normal life, aren’t you?”
“Broken things can be fixed. Things that are simply inadequate
can’t.”
Mikoko-chan let out a deep sigh. “It’s like I’m talking to
Tomo-chan.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 3
“Hmm? Did she talk about this kind of thing a lot?”
“Well, not really. I mean, she didn’t open up to people that
much. But if we ever had a ‘real’ conversation, I’m sure it
would’ve been something like this.”
“In that case . . .”
In that case, it was truly regrettable. I felt all the more like
I should have had a serious talk with Emoto Tomoe.
If I had . . . if I had?
What if I had?
Who would have been saved? Did I actually think she
might have been saved? As if.
Rather, wasn’t it because we had talked that she had . . .
“You know, about Tomo-chan,” I said without looking up
at Mikoko-chan. “I don’t think she would resent the person
who killed her. I’m sure she doesn’t, not even a little bit.”
“. . . Why do you think that?”
“Eh, just a hunch. No other reason. But that’s what I think.
I’m sure she’s not the type to resent others.”
I even had the gall to use present tense instead of past.
Present tense.
“Of course, they say she was strangled from behind, so she
probably didn’t even see the killer’s face. I don’t suppose she
could have resented the killer even if she wanted to, I said.
“The killer’s . . . face . . .” Mikoko-chan repeated. “The person
who killed her . . .”
“But Tomo-chan probably wouldn’t have had any interest
in something like that anyway. I mean, no matter who kills
you, the outcome is the same. In the end, being killed is nothing
more than just that. The fact that you die doesn’t change,
no matter whose fault it is. Plus, Tomo-chan was like me—she
had little resistance to the idea of death in the first place. I can 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 4
say this with a fair degree of certainty. She didn’t seem to like
herself very much. She told me so that day. She wants to be
reborn as you.”
Hearing that, Mikoko-chan looked like she was about to
cry. She managed to hold back the tears, but she continued
speaking Tomo-chan’s name softly to herself for some time.
“Tomo-chan . . . Tomo-chan . . . Tomo-chan.”
I watched this, unmoved. Honestly, truly, completely
without emotion.
“Mikoko-chan, who do you think did it?”
“You know, you sure do seem hung up on that,” she said
with just a hint of suspicion. “Have you been investigating or
something?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Well, not so much investigating
as wanting to know. I want to meet whoever did it. I
want to ask some questions. Or rather, I want to interrogate
this person. You know, like, ‘Can you justify your own existence?’
”
“Ikkun,” Mikoko-chan said, “You’re really scary, aren’t
you?”
“Am I? I personally don’t think so, but maybe I am.”
“You apply your own rules to other people. I don’t know
how to describe it. It’s like while you view yourself as one part
of the world, you view all people as like . . . the world’s gears.
No, not gears. If a gear goes missing, the whole machine
breaks down, but you don’t care if a person or two disappears.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I really don’t think you’re the kind of person who could
just kill someone, Ikkun. But I’ll bet you also don’t hesitate to
tell someone to die.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 5
“. . .”
“Am I right? I mean, asking the person who killed Tomochan
a question like that is the same as saying, ‘You don’t deserve
to live.’ It’s cruel. It’s so cruel. Ikkun, do you realize
that?”
“Yes,” I shot back. “I’m fully aware of that. I’m as aware of
my own sins and of my own nonsense-sputtering nature as I
am of the fact that I’m the one who belongs in the depths of
Hell. Someone once told me that most murders are the result
of a person ‘going too far’ or ‘using too much force,’ but in my
case, I’m fully capable of fully premeditated murder. I’m one
of the rare, deplorable breed of people who can take a life
without any need for self-approval or self-deception or selfdenial
or self-satisfaction.”
“You sure are self-hating, though.”
“I’m a masochist,” I said casually. “And an extremely nasty
one, at that. But that’s my way, my style, my assertion. And I
have no intention of giving that up.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
She looked a bit sad.
It was as if she were looking at somebody in the distance.
Somebody who was already gone.
An ephemeral, painful gaze.
Her expression.
Her aura.
Surely it was because she never hid her emotions, nor even
tried to do so.
I could understand.
I could comprehend.
It almost felt like I had gone and understood somebody’s
feelings.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 6
“But that’s . . .” she said.
This was, among other things:
A feeling of affection.
A lovely presence.
An utterance of sentiment.
A truly aloof air.
A truly casual aura.
A singular impossibility.
An inability to remain apathetic.
A dazzling nightmare.
A feeling like reality itself would distort and collapse.
I desired a partner. I faced my partner.
The pleasure of being beaten down.
The pleasure of being run through.
The ecstasy of being dismembered.
Cut into little bits and pieces.
A vital component-stealing,
Heart-clutching,
Mind-penetrating
Smile.
“That’s the Ikkun I love,” she said.
A single, thuggish-looking person was crouched down in front
of my apartment. I approached closer, wondering who it could
be, only to discover (as half-expected, I suppose) that it was
Aikawa-san. Her hairstyle had changed a bit since Wednesday,
suggesting she had gotten it cut. It was a slick style like the
kind celebrities sometimes get, where the bangs in front form
a perfectly straight line above the brow. With her already 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 7
extraordinary proportions, the new hairstyle made her look
even more like a model. If only she hadn’t been squatting like
some high school thug.
“Yo,” she said upon noticing me. She stood up and came to
greet me. She had a heartless, somehow catlike sneer on her
face. “So how was your date?”
“You were watching us?”
“I just spotted you in Shinkyôgoku. So I came here to make
fun of you.”
“I . . . see.”
How much free time did this woman have? I was amazed.
She was completely ungraspable. There was no way to guess
what she might do next. A wily phantom of a woman.
“So you cut your hair, huh? Looking for a change of pace?”
“To be more accurate, I got it cut,” she said as she tweaked
her bangs.
“Well, yeah, I suppose.”
“Yup. Like this”—flick—“with a survival knife. If I had
dodged a second later, I wouldn’t have my left eye anymore. I
gotta admit, even I was scared.”
She must have gone to the worst hairstylist ever.
“I figure I might keep it short for a while. What do you
think? Does it work?”
“Aikawa-san, any hairstyle would look good on you. You’re
a beautiful woman.”
“Aw, you’re too sweet. But how many goddamn times do I
have to tell you not to call me by my last name?”
She put me in a headlock and noogied my brains out
before letting me go again. Then she flashed me that wicked
smile. 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 8
You couldn’t hold anything against this woman. If you did,
you’d never get away with it.
“So? How was your date? What’s going on with that
younger girl? Hmm? Hmm? Come on, talk to me. If you’ve
got a problem, I can give you advice.”
“I think you’ve got it all wrong, er, Jun-san. She’s just one
of the people involved in this murder case.”
“Hmm? Oh. Really. Then . . . by any chance was it Aoii
Mikoko?” I nodded. Her face went blank. “Hmm,” she said. “I
see. Well, either way, I guess if you’re already back at this
hour, you don’t have much of a chance.”
Incidentally, it was eleven o’clock.
Mikoko-chan had imbibed a ridiculous amount of alcohol,
with all the inevitable consequences. She passed out in the
middle of the restaurant. I hoisted her onto my back and took
her all the way back to Horikawa Oike, entered her apartment,
put her to bed, locked up, and took the bus back home.
This time she didn’t look like she was fake-sleeping.
“Too bad, young’un. Want me to console you?” she teased
with genuine amusement.
“I’m telling you, it’s not like that . . . and more important”—I
decided to change the subject before I had another
annoyance to deal with —“so about this hairdresser who did
your bangs—was it Zerozaki, by any chance?”
“. . .”
Her facial expression distorted.
And became one of sheet delight.
“Yeah. Hell of a kid, lemme tell you. Still only a secondrate
killer, but as a knife wielder, he’s as good as they come.
He knows exactly how a human has to move which muscles
for maximum speed. And take a look at this,” she said, rolling 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 1 9
up her right sleeve. Her arm was wrapped in white bandages,
stained with crimson blood from underneath. “And he walked
away with hardly a scratch. Seriously, that’s one hell of a kid. I
guess he’s living up to the ‘Zerozaki’ name.”
“. . . Is he even tougher than you?”
“It’s not a matter of tough or weak. In terms of sheet
strength, I’m proud to say I’m several tiers above him. I’ll
admit that he is frighteningly quick, but he’s still a hundred
years too slow to deal with me.”
Aikawa-san, ever the narcissist. The possessor of unrivaled
confidence.
“Still, when he’s dead set on escaping, he’s really something.
He was unexpectedly calm too. As a homicidal monster,
I figured he’d be a little more hot-blooded. But he was
just like you said.”
“How do you mean?”
“He’s identical to you. I can’t exactly put my finger on one
specific similarity, but he’s just like you,” she said, her voice
full of cynicism. “The sick masochistic freak and the sick
sadistic freak. It’s a match made in freaking Heaven.”
“So in other words . . .” I said, choosing my words as carefully
as was humanly possible, “Er, in other words, you found
Zerozaki and you let him get away?”
“Hmm?!” She grinned creepily and pinched both of my
cheeks. “I’m sorry, did I just hear something come out of this
mouth right here? Huh? What was that? Aikawa Jun is just
some girl who likes to go around bluffing about herself, you
say?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. First of all, there’s no way you still
pass for a ‘girl’ . . .”
Squeeze.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 2 0
Huh. Who knew the elasticity of a human cheek was so
high?
“Eh, I guess you’re right,” she said, suddenly releasing my
face. She scratched the top of her head with a bored expression.
“I guess I’ve still got some things to learn. Oh, I wonder
if that tattoo face is still in Kyoto.”
“If I were Zerozaki, I definitely would’ve fled to another
prefecture.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, slumping her shoulders. “Oh,
what a hassle. Not that I had any intention of letting him get
away.”
Seeing the icy cold look in her eyes as she said this, I
couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Zerozaki after all.
Aikawa-san looked pretty damn persistent.
“Well, I’m done bothering ya,” she said. She stretched out
her back and began to leave. Evidently she had come on foot
today instead of in the Cobra. “Or rather, I’m done trying and
failing to bother you. Well, whichever. Good night. Let’s both
have sweet dreams.”
“Jun-san. Can I ask you something?” I said to her back.
“What?”
“Could you forgive a murderer?”
“Huh? What kind of question is that? Is this some sort of
metaphor?”
“Eh, well, to say it more directly . . . do you think it’s okay
for one person to kill another?”
“Yup, I do.” She answered immediately and firmly. “People
who are supposed to die should die. Heh heh,” she laughed
cynically. “Like let’s say you kill me. Just relax, dammit. The
world goes on,” she continued coolly, then waved a hand at
me and disappeared from view.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 2 1
Geez.
“. . .”
If only I could be so defiant. So filled to the brim with
cynicism. How wonderful it would be.
“I really am half-baked.”
I was sick of myself.
Not just sick, disgusted.
“But either way, Aikawa-san, it’s all just nonsense.”
I went inside my apartment building and managed to make
it to my door without running into anyone. I reached into my
pocket to get my key when I felt a foreign object inside. I
pulled it out and took a look.
It was Mikoko-chan’s apartment key.
“. . .”
In order to get her back inside, I had taken it out of her bag
without asking her. I couldn’t just leave the door unlocked, so
I had borrowed the key to lock up. At first I considered dropping
the key through the mail slot, but it was attached to the
same key ring as the Vespa key, so I ended up bringing it
home, deciding to just drop it off tomorrow along with the
Vespa. It wasn’t like I just wanted an excuse to try out the
Vespa.
“Besides, the Vespa and the key aren’t the only things I
have to drop off.”
I might have been antisocial, clueless, and kind of a big
jerk, but spending that much time face-to-face with someone,
you couldn’t just ignore them.
Aoii Mikoko.
“I remember, Mikoko-chan.”
I entered my room and lay down on the floor without even
bothering to set out the futon.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTI CIST ■■■ 2 2 2
It was my first day of college after coming back from that
ridiculous island. I didn’t know right from left in regards to
the Japanese schooling system, and it was Mikoko-chan who
was the first one to strike up a conversation with me.
“Nice to meet you! Is there anything you don’t understand?”
She was beaming with friendliness. This was the caring
gesture of a girl looking out for a classmate who had gotten a
late start.
I was horribly irritated. And just a little grateful. Because
somewhere in that bright, innocent aura, echoed a slight resemblance
to that precious friend of mine.
This is a real masterpiece,” I said like Zerozaki Hitoshiki,
and closed my eyes.
No thinking about tomorrow.
No thinking about the case.
No thinking about the prowler.
No thinking about private contractors or my one and only
friend.
I didn’t want to think about anything anymore.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 4
I’m begging you, please stop getting my hopes up.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Around twelve. You’ll have your answer
then.”
That was the note I had left for Mikoko-chan on her tea
table. Getting to Horikawa Oike took less than ten minutes by
Vespa, so I still had an abundance of time.
I awoke at eight in the morning. I did a little jogging to kill
some time, and after that I regretted it. Miiko-san invited me
to breakfast, so I went to her place and was fed. It wasn’t just
Japanese-style food, but full-blown Buddhist vegetarian cuisine.
As a result, the flavor left something to be desired, but
there was certainly a lot of it, so it at least took the edge off
my hunger.
“Well, I have to go to work,” she said around ten o’clock,
and left her apartment.
I returned to my own room to kill more time. I tried playing
a game of Eight Queens, just as I had done earlier, but my
brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly, and I gave up by
the fifth queen. I moved on to the Cannibals and Missionaries
problem, but again I got sick of it midway through. If only I
had owned a computer; I could have passed the time playing 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 5
video games. Maybe it was time I went and got one from
Kunagisa. But then again, it didn’t seem like a great idea to
decrease the amount of space in my room just for the sake of
having a way to kill time. Besides, time passes just the same,
whether you kill it or not. And like I had said to Mikoko-chan,
I didn’t particularly dislike being bored, and I was plenty used
to waiting.
. . .
As any child won over by shallow wit is oft to do, I read
The Little Prince at a very young age. I didn’t get it. The people
around me at that time told me, “You’ll get it when you’re a
grown-up.” Recently I had recalled this and tried reading
through it once again. I still didn’t get it.
“Zerozaki’s gone from Kyoto . . . there’s no way to contact
Aikawa-san . . . and Kunagisa’s a shut-in.”
I truly didn’t have a single normal acquaintance. Of course,
I never particularly wanted one. Still, sometimes it occurred to
me. I was just a single, lonely guy trying to live, but rotting
away in a cage instead.
“It’s a hopeless situation.”
In the end, there was no way for a guy like me, just a single
character in this great big world, to view my situation with
any kind of bird’s-eye perspective. Especially when, as
Aikawa-san had said, I wasn’t the main character or even a
supporting character, but merely the comic relief. I was just
sitting off in some corner away from the world, clumsily
babbling about the story.
And something this factual couldn’t even be written off as
self-deprecation.
“Well, I suppose I’ll get going.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 226
The time was currently eleven o’clock. It was still way
early, but I doubted I could be faulted for showing up ahead
of time. With that in mind, I left my apartment and made my
way out to the parking lot. I started up the vintage Vespa’s
engine and put on the helmet. It was the stylish, half-size
number Mikoko-chan had left in my room the previous day.
There was nothing I could do to make it suit me, but the size
was right, so it would at least uphold its role as a helmet, for
what that was worth.
Blast off! I rode down Senbon Street and turned east on
Maruta-machi Street. I broke east again onto Horikawa Street
and rode the Vespa straight ahead from there.
The sweet sensation of slicing through the wind. I could
almost forget about the fact that I was alive.
As expected, I reached Oike within ten minutes. I parked
the Vespa in the apartment’s underground parking lot and
locked it up, exited the lot, and walked around to the front of
the building.
“Did I really waste over an hour here last time?”
It was a pretty embarrassing memory. My brain had a
knack for remembering only this kind of thing. I guess the best
thing I could do was learn from these memories and not
repeat the same mistakes.
This time I entered the building without stopping. I gave a
quick greeting to the security camera and entered the elevator.
At this point.
At this point, I still hadn’t thought of anything.
How to reply to her confession.
What words I could use to respond to her affection.
I hadn’t thought of anything.
“Just kidding.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 7
In reality I had made up my mind long ago. I only had one
word to say to her. There was nothing to deliberate over. If
you thought about the kind of person I was and the kind of
person Mikoko-chan was and added them together, an answer
would emerge naturally, just like a mathematic equation. Of
course, reality never turns out like an equation. It’s more like
trying to figure out if the last digit in pi is odd or even. Meanwhile,
I was standing at the height of stupidity, off in outer
space with my equations and formulae and calculations, trying
to find the area of a triangle by multiplying the height and
dividing by two.
I was the kind of person who changed his opinion in the
end anyway, no matter what he had decided, so what I
thought about now was essentially irrelevant.
I got off the elevator on the fourth floor and walked down
the hall.
“Room three, was it?”
My memory was fuzzy, but that sounded right. I wondered
if she was awake yet. She certainly didn’t seem like she was
the kind of person who had low blood pressure and would
have trouble waking up, but considering how bad she was at
keeping time, I doubted she was much of an early riser.
I pushed the button on her intercom.
No reply.
It wasn’t simply that there was no reply through the intercom;
there was no reaction whatsoever. No noise coming from
the inside. Nothing.
“How odd . . .”
I pushed the button once again.
No change.
I couldn’t sense anyone moving about inside.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 2 8
Restless. Restless. Restless.
My heart throbbed.
My bodily functions grew abnormal.
I continued pushing the intercom button without speaking
a word.
Once, twice, three times, four times.
I quit counting after the fifth time.
I could feel it.
Not suspicion, but a premonition.
But closer still to precognition.
“It was like watching a nonstop stream of movies where
you already know the ending.”
Wasn’t that how that prophet had described it?
Like something you could never touch on the opposite side
of the boob tube.
Suddenly I understood her feelings, and I’d never even
wanted to.
Aoii Mikoko.
My classmate.
Always cheerful, sometimes sad.
The girl who said
She liked me.
Here now was an image.
A scene I had left behind somewhere.
A nostalgic view.
One that had been all too close to me for some time.
That I had forgotten somewhere along the way.
One that was unnecessary to recall.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 229
A terrible,
Detestable
View.
Death.
Nothingness.
. . . .
I mumbled a curse and opened the door to Mikoko-chan’s
room.
Aoii Mikoko was dead.
A brutal sight. A devastating sight.
I stood frozen in the center of Mikoko-chan’s room. It was
all I could bear to do.
I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.
I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.
I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.
Eiffelzick.
I clutched my chest.
I was nauseous.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 0
It was like I had accidentally choked down some absolutely
undigestible object. My eyes fell on the bed. Mikoko-chan was
there, lying down.
Sleeping.
Could you call it sleeping?
Even supposing her body had ceased to function.
Supposing she had no pulse.
Supposing the hideous marks left by fabric remained
etched into her neck.
Supposing her eyes were never to open again.
Even then, there was no other term I cared to use.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. I feel sick. I’m dizzy.
I’m dizzy. I’m dizzy. It’s spinning. It’s spinning. This is crazycrazycrazycrazy.
Or was it I who was crazy?
Right here, right now, I thought I might collapse.
My pulse was going wild.
It was hard to breathe.
It was hard to live.
I thought I might die.
The insides of my eyes were burning.
The inside of my heart was freezing.
I tried swallowing to calm myself, but to no avail. This was
agony. Agony. Agony.
“Aoii Mikoko was . . .” I said, as if making the announcement
to myself, “murdered.”
Whump.
I really did collapse, right there where I stood, right on my
rear end.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 1
I was used to people dying.
I was even used to people close to me dying.
Death was something close to me.
And still, this was agonizing. It hurt. It hurt too much.
It was excruciating.
I would probably never be able to forget this. To forget
Mikoko-chan’s “death itself” burning into my retinas the instant
I had entered the room. I would never forget her lifeless,
mindless corpse.
Somehow I managed to maintain consciousness. I shifted
my gaze back to Mikoko-chan’s body once more. She lay
faceup on the bed, her bloated, violet-hued face wrenched in
agony. Having known what her smile was like made this all
the more terrible.
She was no longer dressed in yesterday’s overalls. Now she
wore a snow-white bare shoulder top with a striking pants
skirt of the same white, but with more of a milky quality. I
stopped myself from thinking it looked like a burial outfit.
And then I remembered. This was one of the many outfits
Mikoko-chan bought during yesterday’s outing. It was the last
one she bought. She had tried it on and said, “How do I look?”
Finally tired of giving made-up answers, I looked at her and
said, “It’s a good match.”
It was that outfit.
When I had brought her home the previous night, naturally
I hadn’t made her change clothes. I just tossed her on the
bed with what she was wearing. This must have meant that
she had woken up later on and changed.
And then . . .
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 2
What had possessed her to put on this outfit? And who
was she waiting for? The power of my imagination was already
completely exhausted.
And then there were the red letters, right by her head.
x/y.
It was the exact same formula as the one we had found in
Tomoe-chan’s place.
“This has nonsense written all over it.”
I pulled out my cellular phone. I entered a number from
memory and sent it. She picked up on the first ring.
“Sasa here.”
“Hello . . .”
“Oh, it’s you,” Sasaki-san said before I had a chance to
announce my name. Apparently she could remember people
just by their voices. And we had only spoken once. If circumstances
hadn’t been what they were, I would’ve been impressed.
“What’s wrong? Did you remember something?”
She was cool and calm. This was somehow offensive. It
was objectionable. Objectionable.
“Sasaki-san, um, right, well . . . Aoii-san . . .”
“What’s that? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Could you please
speak up a bit? What’s that about Aoii-san?”
“Well . . . she’s been murdered.”
Something changed on the other end of the receiver.
“Where are you now?”
“In Aoii-san’s apartment.”
“We’ll be there soon.”
Click. The phone cut off as abruptly as a human life. I stood
there with the phone held to my ear. Mikoko-chan remained
there in front of me.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 3
“Christ . . .” I said to her still body. It was a pointless act. It
was pointless and despicable. “What was I really planning to
tell you?”
Mikoko-chan.
There was no prospect of me getting rid of that nasty feeling
in the pit of my stomach. Not a chance.
The police burst into the apartment in less than ten minutes.
“Are you okay?” Sasaki-san embraced me. I must have
looked pretty damn miserable, because she seemed genuinely
concerned for me “Are you okay?” she repeated. Unable to
form a verbal answer, I simply raised an arm instead. She saw
this and gave a firm nod.
“Let’s get you out of her for now. Come on, hurry.”
Leaning on Sasaki-san’s shoulder, I was taken out of the
hallway. Police were filing in one after another from the elevator.
Hey, now. No Kazuhito-san. Hadn’t he come? Maybe
he was somewhere else, doing something else. Maybe, maybe
not.
“Ughhh . . .” My chest hurts. My chest hurts. My chest
hurts. “Ughhhh . . .”
I feel sick. I feel sick.
I really feel like I feel sick.
A discomfort, as if my chest were burning, like my insides
were being demolished, like something was raging inside my
guts, seeped into my blood and traveled throughout my whole
body.
It burns it burns it burns it burns.
The anguish was maddening.
Sasaki-san took me out of the building and helped me into
the rear seat of her Toyota Crown. She sat in the driver’s seat.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 4
“Have you settled down a bit?” she said, looking back at
me.
I shook my head in silence.
“I see.” She eyed me suspiciously. “I thought you were the
kind of person who didn’t mind seeing a dead body. Even if it
belonged to a friend.” She’d abandoned her courteous manner.
“I guess you’re more sensitive than I thought. You looked like
you were dying back there.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll take that as a compli—“
Just as I was about to get the “ment” syllable out, I felt the
urge to vomit. I clamped my hand over my mouth. There was
no way I could just toss my cookies in Sasaki-san’s car.
Somehow I managed to keep control of my internal organs.
Dammit. I couldn’t even mouth off.
“Hmm.” Sasaki-san nodded with a slight look of disappointment.
“You’re awfully spineless. I’m surprised Jun-san is
so fond of you.”
Ah, come to think of it, hadn’t Aikawa-san said something
about being old friends with Sasaki-san? Recalling this completely
irrelevant detail helped distract me a bit. I sat up from
my hunched position and rested my weight against the back of
the seat. I breathed in deep.
“Yeah, I’m surprisingly fragile. Of course, I can’t tell if it’s
brittleness, frailty, or if I’m just delicate . . .”
“What in the world are you talking about? You’re not
making a lick of sense.”
“Well, please wait till next time. Next time, ‘kay? I’m in a
very irregular state right now, so let’s wait till next time before
you judge what kind of human being I am. I’m not doing so
hot right now.”
“Guaahhh,” I groaned, and shut my eyes.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 5
Sasaki-san was silent for a moment. “From here, we’re
going to have to question you about the circumstances of this
case. This means I’ve got to take you to the police station. Can
you handle this?”
“As long as you drive carefully, I think I’ll be all right.”
“Okay. I’ll try not to make the ride too bumpy.”
She faced forward and began to drive. Mikoko-chan’s
apartment disappeared from the window view in no time at
all. I couldn’t make out the speedometer from where I was sitting,
but judging by my body’s response to the car’s movement,
there was no way Sasaki-san’s driving style could be
defined as “careful.”
“Sasaki-san, is it okay for you to be away from the crime
scene?”
“My job is more about intellectual labor than about that
stuff.”
“That sounds like, well . . .” I wanted to say it sounded like
we’d get along, but I stopped myself. No matter how you
looked at it, there was no way we would get along. “Um,
Sasaki-san?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“How do you know Aikawa-san?”
She was silent for a moment—though it was plenty easy to
imagine the look on her face—and then said, “Sometimes I go
to her for help with work. Yeah, that’s all. Do you ever watch
detective TV shows and the like?”
“I know a thing or two about them.”
“Yes, well, you know how oftentimes the detective goes to
an informant to gather information that isn’t quite legal? Well,
it’s like that. We have a businesslike relationship.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 6
It was an awfully crude explanation. Or rather, she didn’t
seem to want to explain it at all. Then again, Aikawa was a
pretty inexplicable woman, so maybe there wasn’t much of a
choice.
“No, I don’t mean something that specific,” I said. “Can
you give me something more abstract? I mean, what kind of
person is she to you?”
“Do we absolutely have to talk about this right now?”
“It might take my mind off things.” I really meant this. If I
didn’t get something to distract me quick, my stomach was
going to burst. “Please, I’m begging you. Just talk about something.”
“You pose a difficult question, you know,” she said, after
awhile. “For example, would you believe a story about a person
who took a point-blank shot to the gut from a sawed-off
shotgun and survived? How about the one about someone
who can walk around in the midst of a storm of rifle fire with
a normal, straight face? How about someone who leaped from
the fortieth floor of a burning building a walked away without
a scratch? You wouldn’t believe it, would you? Whenever I
talk about Jun-san, people think I’m lying. So it’s a tough
subject to discuss.”
“. . .”
I understood exactly how she felt, so I didn’t dare press any
further.
In another ten minutes, we had arrived at the police station.
She took me inside the building.
“Looks like it’s exactly twelve o’clock—lunchtime. Would
you like something to eat?” she asked.
“Could we get katsu-don or something like that?”
“I don’t see why not. They’ll bill you for it later, though.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 7
The government was anal.
“Eh, never mind,” I said, shaking my head. If I tried to eat
anything now, I would just throw it up anyway. That I could
say with a fair degree of certainty.
“Hmm, well, then go on into that room and wait for me.
I’ve just go to make a quick report. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
She led me into a small conference room and made her
way back down the hall alone. Well, at least it wasn’t an interrogation
room, I thought as I sunk myself into a chair.
I want to smoke, I thought for an instant.
I had never smoked a cigarette in my life.
Was I bored?
Was I trying to escape reality?
Or was I just suicidal?
Any one of those was of equal worth, if you asked me.
These were pointless thoughts.
This was starting to get pretty bad.
One more push, and this existence known as “me,” this
state of being known as “myself,” was going to be over.
“Sorry for the wait,” Sasaki-san said upon returning. She
was carrying some sort of item wrapped in pink. “Are you
okay? You’re looking worse and worse by the second. Even
your hands are sweating.”
“I’m sorry, could you show me where the bathroom is?”
“Down that hall, on the right. It’s at the very end, so I
don’t think you’ll miss it.”
“Thanks,” I said, and raced out of the room, clamping a
hand back over my mouth. Suppressing the nausea.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 8
I found the bathroom right where she had said it would be,
entered one of the stalls, and vomited everything that had
built up in my stomach.
“Gwaaahhh . . . glllaaahhh . . .” Unpleasant noises that
sounded very unlike they were coming from myself spilled
from the depths of my throat.
An acid taste remained in my mouth. I had vomited so
profusely I thought my guts might have flipped upside down.
Slowly, I drew in a deep breath and rose to my feet, wiping
my mouth with a handkerchief.
I flushed the toilet.
Phew . . .
I made my way over to the sink and washed my face. I
scooped some water into my hands and rinsed out my mouth
as well. I looked into my own reflection in the mirror. Okay,
so I did look like I was at death’s door, but at least I was
feeling decidedly better than I had even moments ago.
“Okay,” I said.
Revitalized, I muttered as I left the bathroom behind. I
made my way back to the room, where Sasaki-san was still
waiting for me. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I’m okay. I puked, and now I feel a lot better.”
“I see. Here,” she said, placing the packaged item from before
in front of me. “It’s my lunch. Want it?”
“Is it okay?”
“I won’t bill you for it, don’t worry.” She chose a chair and
sat down across from me. I graciously accepted her lunch. It
was a fairly generic bento lunch, but my stomach was now
empty. I scarfed it down pretty fast.
“Okay, then,” she said once I was finished. “So what’s going
on here?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 3 9
“That’s what I want to know.”
“. . .”
Seemingly a bit offended by my phrasing, she grew silent
and gave me the death stare. I recoiled and diverted my gaze.
“Well, then please give me the facts, in simple terms.”
“Er, to do that, I’ll have to back up to last night, so it’ll be a
little long.”
“Go right ahead. Until we solve this case, you and I will be
spending a lot of time together.” She was smiling a little. Her
eyes, however, weren’t smiling, which was frightening. I decided
to quit with the mouthing off for a while and be straight
with her.
“Yesterday, Aoii-san and I went out. We were in the
Shinkyôgoku area. Then, well, she drank a little too much.”
“Oh, really? . . . And then?”
She sharpened her gaze on me as if she had been waiting
for this opening. Surely she wasn’t going to get on my case
about underage drinking. I realized I couldn’t let my guard
down.
“Yeah, so then I took her back to her apartment. I went
ahead and took the key out of her bag and put her to bed.
Then I took the bus back to my place.” I went ahead and
skipped the part about running into Aikawa-san, figuring it
wasn’t necessary to recount. “After that, I just went to bed like
I always do.”
“Did you lock up before you left?”
“I did. Her Vespa was still parked in my apartment parking
lot, so I was planning to bring the key and Vespa back together
tomo—today. So then today, I went to her place on the
Vespa. When I opened the door and went inside, well, things
were as you saw them.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 0
“Hmm . . . how about the door? Was it locked?”
“Huh?”
I looked up at her as if the question had taken me by
surprise. I made an expression as though I were searching
through my memory for as long as five seconds.
“No, it wasn’t locked. I don’t have any recollection of using
the key.”
“I see.” She wore a suspicious look on her face, but nodded
along anyway.
“That place has a lot of surveillance cameras, right. I think
they should be able to corroborate my story if you take a look
at those tapes.”
“Most likely. We’ve already arranged with the management
firm for a viewing,” she said coolly. “Now, this is just to make
sure, but—you didn’t touch anything at the crime scene, did
you?”
“No. As pathetic as it sounds, I was just too petrified. I
couldn’t even run over to Aoii-san.”
“You took a very appropriate action,” she said. From there,
she shut her eyes and thought to herself.
So “intellectual labor” was her major job responsibility.
That was already more than clear enough from the time she
had visited my apartment. That chess-game mindset of hers
was unforgettable, even if you wanted to forget it.
“I didn’t even touch Aoii-san’s body, so I don’t know, but
was she really dead?”
“Yes. That I can confirm. She had likely been dead for
around two to three hours. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy
results before we can confirm the specific details, but the incident
is believed to have occurred between nine and ten a.m.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 1
“This may be useless to you, but . . .”
“Go right ahead. Nothing in this world is useless.”
That was a line I thought I might like to try saying once
myself. But I doubted a guy like me would ever have the
chance.
“When I put her to bed last night, Aoii-san was wearing
overalls. But that wasn’t what she had on today, was it? So I
think that means she woke up at some point, either in the
morning or the middle of the night. And I locked the door last
night, so maybe Aoii-san let the killer in herself.”
“I see . . .”
“Oh, and just for your information, that outfit she had on
today was something she bought yesterday when we were out
shopping.”
“Really.” Sasaki-san nodded. I noticed that she hadn’t been
taking any notes. Come to think of it, that was true during the
time she visited my apartment as well. She was just listening
to me talk without recording anything.
“You’ve got a pretty great memory, huh?”
“Sorry? Oh, well, it does the job,” she replied as if it was
nothing special. But to me it was an extremely enviable trait.
“Also, as it happens, I was eating breakfast at my next-door
neighbor’s place during that nine o’clock to ten o’clock time
frame, so I think I have an alibi, for what it’s worth.”
“Ah, I see,” she nodded with an apparent lack of interest. It
was as if to say she had more important things to think about
than my damn alibi.
“You know, when you first called, I thought you were
probably the killer.”
“. . .”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 2
This sudden declaration left me speechless. “You certainly
are direct. Excuse me if I’m a little surprised.”
“Yes, well, you would be. But it’s true. The fact is that I
did think that, and I’m certainly not trying to hide the facts. I
thought you killed her and then tried to pretend you had discovered
the body. But it seemed you were feeling genuinely
ill, and time of death and such aside, there was no murder
weapon at the scene of the crime. Which means it would have
been physically impossible for you to have done it.”
“. . .”
“That is, of course, unless you’re hiding it somewhere in
your clothes right now.”
“Care to check?”
“No, that’s fine,” she said, but by no means could this be
considered negligence of duty. Sasaki-san had already finished
checking me out back when she took me out of Mikokochan’s
apartment. Unable to walk on my own, she had lent me
a shoulder to lean on. It was kindness—injected with a touch
of shrewdness.
I didn’t particularly have a problem with that.
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
“I’m sure your innocence will be proven beyond any doubt
once an official time of death has been established and we
take a look at those surveillance tapes. But only then.”
She looked me directly in the eye.
“Who do you suppose did it?” Sasaki-san asked. I’d already
asked her the same question twice before on other occasions.
“Well . . . I don’t know.”
“Nobody comes to mind at all?”
“Nobody,” I answered promptly. “I mean, Aoii-san and I
weren’t really all that close to begin with. It was only very 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 3
recently that we had started hanging out together and going
out to eat and stuff.”
“Allow me to be a bit direct,” she said. “Were you and
Aoii-san romantically involved?”
“The answer to that is a no. A no and nothing more.
Thinking about it now, I’m not even sure we were even
friends.”
“Ahh, I see. Come to think of it, Jun-san did say you were
‘like that,’ didn’t she?” she muttered, seemingly satisfied with
whatever explanation she had recalled.
“Aikawa-san? She said what about me?”
“Well, I can’t tell you that.” This tease of a statement was
sure to bother me, but it occurred to me that this too could be
part of Sasaki-san’s strategy, so I was careful not to press any
further. It was easy enough to imagine the kind of judgment
Aikawa-san had passed in regard to me anyway.
From there, Sasaki-san posed several more detailed questions
and ended with a simple, “I see.”
“Now then, do you have any questions for me?” she added.
“No, nothing this time,” I said after a moment’s thought.
“I’d rather just get home and rest as soon as possible.”
“I see. Well, that should be enough for today. Allow me to
take you back.”
She stood up from her chair and exited the room. I followed
close behind, and together we exited the building.
After getting into her Crown, I sat in the same seat in the
back. Sasaki started the car and accelerated even more aggressively
than before.
“Nakadachiuri, was it? Off Senbon?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you feeling?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 4
“Okay. Throwing up was surprisingly refreshing.”
“You know,” she said while driving. Her voice was stripped
of all emotion. “I can’t help but feel like you’re still hiding
something.”
“Hiding? Me?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, nothing in particular. As you can see, I’m just an honest,
harmless, and well-behaved young man.”
“Wow, really?” she said in a rare display of sarcasm. “You
sure don’t look that way to me, but I guess if you say so yourself,
it must be true.”
“You sound like you mean something by that.”
“No, not especially. If it sounds that way to you, it’s probably
because you’ve got a guilty conscience. Although I do
doubt that an honest, well-behaved young man would go
around breaking into crime scenes illegally.”
“Oh.”
Open bag, withdraw cat.
Naturally, I’d been prepared for this risk from the very beginning,
but Sasaki-san had certainly caught me off guard.
There hadn’t been a single word about this in those documents
from Kunagisa, so it had never been clear if I had been
found out or not.
She continued staring straight ahead at the road as she
spoke. “At any rate, please just relax,” she said as if she could
see right through me. “That information hasn’t gone beyond
me yet.”
“You?”
“That’s what I said.” Her voice lacked intonation. And yet
there was a meanness to it. Yeah, somehow it was very reminiscent
of mankind’s greatest private contractor.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 5
“I don’t know what possessed you to break into Emotosan’s
room, but I suggest you exercise a bit more discretion in
your actions. Consider this a piece of advice.”
“Not a warning?”
“No, no, just advice.”
But there was something very offensive about her wording.
Granted, my actions had been totally rash, and her attitude
was entirely justified, but still.
“Sasaki-san, I’m just asking, but . . . why hasn’t that information
gone beyond you ‘yet’?”
“Well, I have my ways. I won’t go into detail, but I just
want you to realize that I have that advantage over you. That’s
all. But please be sure not to forget it.”
All I could do was sigh. My shoulders slumped and the
energy drained out of my body. This damn pattern again?
Why were these the only kinds of people I ever met?
“Everybody I know is either extremely smart or has a terrible
personality. They all had that same damn character. Just
once I’d like to meet somebody who’s nice. I don’t even care if
they’re stupid.”
“Well,” Sasaki-san said without even cracking a smirk. “I’m
sorry to hear that. But I have no intention of forfeiting my
position.”
And we arrived at the Senbon Nakadachiuri intersection.
“Would you like to come inside?” I asked.
“I’m working,” she said. I didn’t find this particularly unfortunate,
nor did I think the opposite.
As a final thought, she opened her window. “What do you
suppose x over y means?” she asked.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 6
“Search me,” I said after a moment’s contemplation. I knew
she’d never be satisfied with this answer. But she simply nodded,
closed the window, and took off in her car once again.
I stood there awhile, unmoving, then felt the sheer pointlessness
of my inaction. I returned to the building, walked
down the second-floor hall, and entered my room.
This quiet space.
Not a single sound.
Not a single person.
A room Aoii Mikoko had twice visited.
Once I had set out yatsuhashi; once she had come with
handmade sweet potatoes.
I wasn’t much for sentimentality. I was no pessimist,
either. Nor was I a romanticist. Rather, I was a misguided
trivialist.
“I guess I can’t say this was a complete surprise,” I muttered.
“I won’t say that. No, no I won’t.”
I recalled my conversation with Mikoko-chan from the
previous day. A conversation we would never have again.
“It was all nonsense, huh?”
Let us hypothesize as to Mikoko-chan’s feelings towards
her killer. She probably wasn’t resentful. Accusing, maybe,
but that’s it. That was the kind of girl I took her for.
There must have been something.
Something I should have said to her.
What was I really supposed to say to her yesterday?
“This is like crying over spilt milk,” I said to myself.
My terribly lukewarm soliloquy. I realized that this was
probably the kind of situation that usually makes people cry.
The person over my shoulder sure thought so.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 7
Night fell.
Miiko-san visited my room looking concerned. “Eat this,”
she said, thrusting a bowl of rice porridge at me. She wore an
innocent expression, but her eyes were serious. Knowing her
gesture had come straight from the heart, I started to feel
guilty.
Christ. Just how many people had I caused extra grief by
now?
“Thanks a lot.” I scooped some up with the spoon Miikosan
had provided (there were only disposable chopsticks in my
place), and helped myself to a mouthful. She wasn’t an especially
good cook, but this porridge was pretty tasty.
“Did something happen?” Miiko-san didn’t ask. She never
asked that type of question. She was just the neighbor who
silently and protectively watched over me. A neighbor in the
truest sense. This was probably something entirely different
from true kindness, but she was a kind person all the same.
Come to think of it, hadn’t Mikoko-chan given me the
same compliment? That I was kind?
“Mikoko-chan . . . she died,” I said without any introduction.
“I see,” Miiko-san nodded. She sounded like she didn’t particularly
think much of it. “That night,” she said, “by which I
mean the night when the young girl stayed in my room, she
was strangely grouchy when she woke up the next morning.
At first I thought it was probably due to a hangover, but that
didn’t seem to be it.”
. . . .
“I asked her, ‘How do you feel?’ She answered, ‘this is the
worst morning of my life.’ . . . That’s the whole story.”
“That’s plenty,” I said. “Thanks so much, Miiko-san.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 8
“You really do lead a difficult life, don’t you? The road you
walk is not steep, but it is shaky and brittle. And yet you’re
able to go on without slipping. You have my honest admiration.”
“I slipped and fell through the cracks long ago. But this
path has a sort of strange gravitational pull, and I’m clinging to
the bottom of it now.”
“Whatever the case may be, you’re entering a crucial phase
now,” she said, her voice deepening a bit. It almost sounded
like a threat. “If you lose your grip now, you’ll never make it.
Everything you’ve endured and built up and worked for will
spill right down the drain. You probably don’t care either way,
but just remember that your life isn’t something you made all
by yourself. Don’t forget that there are those you have saved
just by being alive.”
“There are no such people.” Perhaps there was too much
self-loathing in my statement. Possibly as a result, Miiko-san
gave me a pitying glance.
“You carry too much of a burden,” she said. “Don’t think
you can really affect people so much. Only the weak turn red
when they cross paths with scarlet. As long as you can exercise
their own judgment, you’re less easily influenced by others.
Your existence isn’t such an annoyance to others.”
“Mmm, maybe not.”
It was just extreme self-consciousness in the end.
Whether I was alive or not made no difference.
Even if there were a murderer in my midst, the world
would go on.
“Still, I’m sure there are those who love you. There are
those who have unconditional affection for you, that much is
certain. That’s part of the world’s cycle. You may not under-
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 4 9
stand it now, but remember what I say. There will come a
time when you understand. At least stay alive that long.”
Those with unconditional affection for me.
Today, one of them had died.
So then how many people were left?
“I won’t tell you to cheer up. That’s a problem for you to
sort out on your own. Just know that that young girl’s death
wasn’t your fault. I can guarantee you that. I don’t have any
basis for my belief, but I feel sure of it all the same . . . Those
who die just die.”
“But . . . it’s like I killed her,” I said.
“Did you?”
“Well, no, but if . . .”
If.
If I hadn’t left her alone in her apartment, if I hadn’t gone
home, or if I had just brought her with me, things would have
turned out differently.
“And I say you’re taking on too much of a burden. Do you
realize the pointlessness of such thoughts?”
“Yes. But Miiko-san, I still had something left to tell her.”
That one last thing.
I hadn’t yet told her that one last thing.
“It’s useless to regret what’s done and gone. That’s all I can
say.” Her gaze wandered just a bit. “Also, I forgot to tell you
this morning. Suzunashi sends a message. She told me to make
sure I told you.”
“It’s from Suzunashi-san?”
She nodded. I sat up straight. It wasn’t like Suzunashi-san
was in the room or anything, so I knew there was no need to
do so, but something about that name just made me reflex-
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 0
ively fix my posture. Something about that Suzunashi Neon
character.
Miiko-san opened her mouth. “There are two types of
people—those who are frightening because you don’t know
what they’ll do, and those who are frightening because you do
know what they’ll do. But you’re not very frightening at all, so
you don’t need to worry about such things.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Make sure you do. She said she’ll come visit from Hiei
next time, so let’s all go out for lunch. I think she wants to
give you a good lecture.”
“Well, you had me up to the lecture. But I’m definitely
okay with lunch. Just . . .”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, nothing. Thanks a lot for the food.”
I returned the porridge bowl to her. She took it, said good
night and left my room. The word Impermanence was written
on the back of her jinbei. It was the second time I had seen this
one.
“Seriously . . .” I mumbled to myself. This was a troublesome
existence. Maybe it was about time I had a day-long
lecture from Suzunashi-san.
But.
“But I really don’t want to go to that restaurant again for a
while . . .”
When would this mind-over-matter business be over?
I didn’t know.

ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 2
Kill every suspect, starting at one end.
The one left standing is your culprit.
Three days later, it was Wednesday, May twenty-fifth. I
awoke at eleven fifty in the morning.
“I guess it’d be cheating to say it’s still morning, huh?”
I rose from bed feeling fairly awful. Lately it had been like
this every day. I couldn’t wake up at a normal time at all anymore.
I guess you could say my body had been rejecting the
idea. Naturally, once I had overslept, I couldn’t get into the
mood to attend classes, and if I wasn’t in the mood to attend
classes, there was no reason to.
And thus began my fifth straight day of skipping school
since Thursday of last week. For a freshman to already be
doing this in May, it wouldn’t be strange if I ended up having
to repeat my freshman year. I realized this, but I wasn’t particularly
opposed to the idea. There was no one to object—I
was paying for my schooling with my own money, after all.
. . .
Since the recent incident, Sasaki-san had come to visit on
both Monday and Tuesday with Kazuhito-san in tow. She
made a number of detailed inquiries regarding Mikoko-chan's 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 3
murder, and in exchange for my answers, provided several tidbits
of seemingly vital information.
She informed me that Mikoko-chan’s time of death had
been narrowed down to between nine thirty and ten o'clock.
They had also confirmed beyond a doubt that she had been
killed by strangulation with a thin cloth, and that it was the
same type of cloth that had been used in Tomo-chan’s murder.
From this the police had determined that the same killer
was responsible for both murders.
‘‘What’s different from Emoto-san’s case is that Aoii-san
appears to have been strangled from the front.”
“From the front?”
“Yes. Emoto-san was strangled from behind. You can tell
by the shape of the marks.”
“In other words, Mikoko-chan saw the killer?”
“It’s possible,” she said, without emotion. It probably
didn’t make any difference to her whether the deceased had
seen the killer’s face or not. It was certainly a rational viewpoint.
She also went over the alibis of the various involved parties.
Muimi-chan was out sightseeing with her younger sister
(named Muri-chan, as it were). Akiharu-kun didn’t have an
alibi. And of course, I was with Miiko-san. But all three of us
had alibis when Tomo-chan was killed, so none of us were
really prime suspects, so to speak.
“I personally don’t agree, but it seems the big shots upstairs
are considering the possibility that these were just robberies
gone awry, or possibly some stalker who went too far.”
“If either of those were the case, there wouldn’t have been
multiple incidents. It’s too strange to be a coincidence, and 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 4
besides, nothing was even stolen, right? There weren’t any
signs of a struggle, either.”
“I know. It’s just that neither of them had the ‘enemies’ to
account for it being a simple vendetta case. I guess it would be
one thing if it was some ‘enemy of the world’ kind of thing—
but then we’d have another indiscriminant killer like the
prowler.”
Speaking of which, the slasher case had come to a standstill.
The number of victims had yet to exceed twelve. In other
words, since encountering Aikawa-san, Zerozaki hadn’t had
taken any fresh victims. He probably wasn’t in Kyoto anymore
after all, just like Aikawa-san and I had talked about. I wasn’t
even sure he was still in Japan. Then again, if I had made an
enemy of Aikawa-san, I probably would’ve fled to the South
Pole. Or outer space, even.
“Still, there’s something strange going on,” Sasaki-san said.
“Strange? What?”
“The surveillance camera. That apartment had surveillance
cameras set up as a crime-preventing measure. You said so
yourself last time.”
“Right.”
“But on the camera videos, there wasn’t a single person
who seemed like a possible suspect.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. We checked all the tapes from
the time Aoii-san returned home—or rather, when you carried
her home—at ten thirty, but the only people to appear were
other residents of the building and you, from when you
showed up the next afternoon.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 5
What did that mean? Was the entire apartment building, in
essence, a locked room? What a joke. It was too unrealistic.
But then again, if it was a fact, such criticism was meaningless.
“But the camera in the hallway must have a blind spot
somewhere,” I said.
“Yes. We tried it out. It is possible to reach Aoii-san’s room
without entering the camera’s field of view. The stem of the
camera kind of swivels like this, see. But it’s nearly impossible
without having practiced it beforehand quite a bit, and even
then, your chances of success would be relatively low. Why
would a person go to all the trouble?”
“Well, what if they didn’t? What if they came in from the
veranda or something?”
“Not possible. It’s simply too high and too risky. At any
rate . . .” She let out an exhausted sigh that didn’t seem very
characteristic of her. “I think this is going to turn into a war of
attrition,” she said.
She was probably already in the middle of one.
“A war of attrition . . .”
But no matter how much new information she was willing
to divulge, I had already stopped thinking about this string of
incidents. Of course I wasn’t at such an elevated level of enlightenment
that I didn’t even have split-second thoughts
about it anymore, but I had been at least half-successful in
suppressing that part of me.
On the contrary.
On the contrary, I was hoping the truth behind the incidents
would never come to light. I didn’t want to have anything
more to do with it, in any form whatsoever.
But that was impossible. Sasa Sasaki-san was a detective of
immeasurable brilliance. This had become evident through my 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 6
several conversations with her up to now. It was clear how she
and Aikawa-san could be friends. It wouldn’t be long before
Aikawa-san uncovered the truth. Maybe she wouldn’t figure
out every little detail, but enough to form a consistent story.
And thus there was no need for me to do any more thinking.
Or to put it more plainly, I could already see most of the
facts. One more step and I would have the whole picture figured
out, and that was one step I didn’t want to take. Nor did
I feel much like condemning criminals. I had gone as far as
breaking into Tomo-chan’s room and enlisting Kunagisa’s
help, and here I was ready to throw in the towel, to leave
things as unfinished as a baboon without a butt.
But frankly, that’s just who I am. Half-baked all the way.
I’ve never put up a struggle. I’ve never shown any enthusiasm
for anything.
“Okay . . .” I stretched out my torso, took a deep breath,
and switched channels in my brain. “Maybe I ought to pay
Tomo a visit for a change.”
As a complete shut-in, it was essentially guaranteed that
she would be home, so I knew it wouldn’t be a waste of time
to just head there now. She might have been asleep, seeing as
it was the afternoon, but I didn’t care. It would serve as a good
chance to give her a stern talking-to for selling me out to
Aikawa-san.
Besides, being with her was sure to cheer me up.
With that decision made, I changed clothes and stuck my
cell phone into my pocket. I debated with myself for a while
over whether I should borrow Miiko-san’s Fiat, walk, or ride
my bike, but ultimately I decided on walking. It just felt like a
good day for walking. Of course, that would take a good three
hours, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 7
I left my room, locked up, and exited the building.
It was nice out. It had been muggy lately, but that day it
was pleasantly dry and crisp. I thought about how nice it
would be if the weather was always like this, but even I wasn’t
sure that I exactly meant “always.”
“Huh?”
After walking for a bit, I spotted someone familiar. I
couldn’t remember who, but it was definitely someone familiar.
Just who was it? It felt like we had met before, but . . .
He was a dressed in street fashion with light brown hair
and the face of a playboy. He was toting an abnormally large
bag that left a strong impression, but it was a poor match for
his street fashion.
I’ve always wondered why street fashion looked so bad on
Japanese people. It wasn’t so much that it didn’t suit them; it
was just that it always made them look like they were posing.
I suppose you could call it a national trait.
That aside, who in the world was this?
Upon noticing me, he ran over to me. “Yo!” he said casually.
“Hello,” I replied, but of course I still couldn’t remember
him. I knew he was a Rokumeikan University student, but I
didn’t remember knowing anyone like this.
“How ya been? Maaan, I don’t know this place too well.
You know, the geography ’n shit. I’m totally lost.”
“Ahhhh . . . yeah,” I improvised. “Yeah, those things sure
happen.”
“Start coming to school again, man. I had to come all the
way out here. I mean I know you’re shocked about the whole
Aoii thing, but man, you’re gonna end up having to repeat a
year. People will call you ‘Double Dragon’ ’n shit.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 8
Aoii? Did he just mention Aoii?
Oh, right. Got it.
“Akiharu-kun, right?”
“Whoa. What the hell, man? Don’t tell me you just figured
that out.”
Akiharu-kun had a boisterous, lighthearted laugh. I felt as
though he could see right through me and just the thought of
it had me in a cold sweat.
“You mean you came to see me?”
“That’s what I mean. Just some minor business. Come on,
follow me.”
He started walking. His explanation was not very convincing,
but I went ahead and followed after him as told. There I
was, just going along with the flow again.
“Where’re we going?”
“Kitanotenman Shrine. It’s parked there.”
“What’s parked there?”
“That’s the surprise,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite
sit right with me. “Man, I knew you were a gloomy guy, but
your face right now is like a full-fledged gloomathon.”
“You, on the other hand, seem cheerful.”
“Well, you know. It’s like, there was the Emoto thing,
right? It’s like that toughened me up. Maybe I’m still not over
the shock. Man, life sure likes to just peace out on ya, huh?”
It was an awfully casual way to put it, but I got the feeling
he was trying to laugh something off. What was it? I pondered
this for a moment, but came up empty-handed.
“Akiharu-kun, didn’t Gen. Ed. class just start? Should you
really be here just messing around like this?”
“Ah, whatever. I don’t care about school anymore,” he
laughed. “I just want to get this favor out of the way so I can 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 5 9
relax again. Let the dead rest, y’know? Besides, I hate that
Inosen guy, so I’m not really a big fan of Gen. Ed.”
That was short for Inokawa-sensei, by the way.
“Really? I think he’s a pretty good guy.”
“Well, I think there’s a difference between good and selfrighteous.
It’s not just the time thing, either. That guy’s always
trying to force his beliefs on other people, am I right? It’s
that kind of thing, man. I don’t like it. I mean I guess he’s not
a hypocrite or anything, but . . . eh, something like that.”
“Huh.”
“Besides, I’m not gonna lose any credits just for skipping
class a couple times. Our school is easy-peasy, man. They say
it’s famous for letting you pass classes blindfolded. Number
two in all of Kansai.”
Where the hell is number one? I started to ask, but I cut
myself off. The less I knew about that, the better.
We arrived at Kitanotenman Shrine within five minutes.
Despite its being a national treasure, something about its
proximity to home made it a lot harder to appreciate, and this
was actually the first time I had ever set foot on the premises.
“This way, this way,” Akiharu-kun said, bringing me to the
parking lot. “Here ya go, man.”
He pointed proudly to a white Vespa. It was a vintage
model. I took a glance at the plate and saw that this was, in
fact, the very Vespa that had belonged to Mikoko-chan, that I
had ridden to her house on that day.
. . . .
“Oh yeah, and this.” He handed me the key as I stood
there, flabbergasted. He pulled the helmet out of his bag and
gave that to me as well. I had thought it was a suspiciously 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 0
large bag, but who would’ve guessed there was a helmet inside?
“Akiharu-kun, this . . .”
“What do you call it again? Distribution of possessions?
That’s all this is.”
“You mean . . . I can keep this Vespa?”
“Yup. You like it, right?” he said casually. He sat down
backward on the Vespa seat. He let out a boyish giggle. “Aoii
was saying the Vespa was the only thing that tripped your
alarm.”
“Hey, that’s not true . . . but is it really okay? I mean, these
things are pretty valuable. Shouldn’t we give it to her family
or someone?”
“We got permission. Don’t worry.”
“But, I mean, it’s only me. We just met.”
“I’m tellin’ you, it’s fine. This was Aoii’s will. Her actual
will, I mean. Funny how the two words sound the same,” he
said contemplatively. “Anyway, that’s what it comes down to.”
“What do you mean, her ‘will’?”
“Oh, that’s to say, awhile back—last week, maybe—she
said it. If something happened to her, if she was killed like
Emoto, I should give her Vespa to Ikkun. She’s terrible, man. I
wanted this thing too. I told her that, and you know what she
said? ‘Hell no. Go die. Worse yet, go live.’ What the hell is
that, man? We’d been friends since high school.”
“If something happened to her?” Something? If what happened
to her? “What does that mean?”
“Well, I don’t know. Aoii was Aoii, man. She must’ve been
thinking about stuff, what with Emoto getting killed and all.
But I bet she didn’t really think she would be next, that’s for
sure.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 1
No . . . you’re wrong.
It has a deeper meaning than that.
You really haven’t noticed?
“Anyway, just take it. Think of it as a present from her.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I played with the key in the palm of my hand, then stuffed
it into my pocket.
“Get your own insurance. I don’t really know much about
applying. Ahhhhh . . .” Still straddling the Vespa, he stretched
his arms up toward the sky. He gave himself a good stretch,
then slouched weakly into the seat. “Things have gotten
crazy.”
“Yeah.” I absolutely concurred. “How’s Muimi-chan
doing?”
“Ohhh, her. She’s awful, man. This might be a bad way to
put it, but . . . honestly, I couldn’t bear to see her,” he said,
casting his glance away from me.
Perhaps he was thinking of Muimi-chan, perhaps not. Either
way, these words had revealed that underneath his lighthearted,
casual demeanor lay true compassion toward others.
Interesting; so he was that kind of guy. Such a decent
human being that he couldn’t even acknowledge it himself.
Believing he wasn’t anything special, he hid his true values
under the façade of a bad boy. He was a sheep in wolf’s
clothing.
The complete opposite of a wolf in sheep’s clothing—
like me.
“After it happened—Aoii’s death, I mean—I went over
there once. To Atemiya’s place. It’s in the middle of
Senbontera-no-uchi. Anyway, she was even more depressed
than Aoii was when Emoto died. Eh, but what can you ex-
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 2
pect? Those two were buds from way back in the day. I mean,
they grew up together.”
“She was that bad?”
“Dude, you should’ve seen the way she looked at me. Me,
man. I mean, come on. Where does she come off glaring at me
like that? And she’s not eating. Probably not sleeping, either.
If we just leave her be, I think she’ll die. I want to do something
for her, but . . . it’s like, what can a guy like me possibly
say? I only knew Aoii since high school. We were never that
deep.” Meanwhile, I had only known her for a short time in
college. Even if that hadn’t been the case, I had no words for
Muimi-chan. “She’s gonna end up massacring whoever did
this.”
“Muimi-chan?”
“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past her. That’s how
friends are, right?”
“But she’d still be committing a crime, even if her victim
was a murderer.”
“Well, sure. You’re right about that. But don’t these things
happen? Like, aren’t there moments where you just toss all
the laws of society and common sense to the wind?”
“Toss them . . .”
“Yeah. I mean they really are just moments, like a flash.
Then you come back to your senses. But it’s never pretty.
Hmm, but that kind of thing never happens to a guy like you,
huh?” he said with a strange amount of confidence.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you already look like you throw everything to the
wind all the time,” he chuckled, pointing a finger at me. “Heh,
but I’m just stealing Aoii’s lines. Say, would it bother you if I
talked about Aoii?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 3
“Not especially.”
“In that case, gather ’round, buddy. I feel like talking about
her,” he said. “Apparently she was pretty sure from the first
time she ever saw you. ‘I’ll probably fall for that guy,’ she
said. . . . You already knew she had a thing for you, right?”
“You could say that.”
“To be honest, I didn’t really get it at the time. It’s weird
saying this as a friend of hers, but she was a pretty desirable
girl. I don’t just mean she was hot. That has nothing to do
with a girl being desirable. A pretty girl is just a pretty girl.”
“Do you not like pretty girls?”
“I hate ’em. They always look like they’re up to something.”
That didn’t seem like it was the pretty girls’ fault to me,
but I didn’t bother interrupting.
“But with her, well . . . even if she was up to something,
she would always spill her guts about it. She let all of her
emotions show. There was no front and back to her. She was
more like double-sided tape.”
I didn’t really follow his analogy.
“I’ve never met anyone in my whole life who had their insides
as exposed as much as she did, and that includes back in
grade school. I thought she must be an idiot or something at
first. Anybody would, seeing someone like that, right? You
think, ‘Aw, man, what’s wrong with this chick?!’ ”
“I concur.”
“Yeah, but she was no fool. She wasn’t a ditz either. It
wasn’t even that she was emotionally immature or that she
had a low IQ or anything like that. She was actually pretty
sharp and clever, in her own way.”
“I agree with that, too.”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 4
“As soon as I realized all this, I got jealous, to be honest. I
mean, I can’t do that. It sounds simple enough just to be able
to cry when you want to cry, laugh when you want to laugh,
but guys like us, we can’t do it. We act tough or apply strange
logic to everything. Basically we’re all warped. That’s why
Aoii was so lucky; she could get pissed off if something bad
happened. She could enjoy herself to her heart’s delight if
something good happened. But I couldn’t even acknowledge
my own envy. It just turned into anger.”
“Isn’t there a class on that kind of thing?”
“Yeah. Educational something-or-other theory. I’m taking
it too. What did they say again? Modem youth lacks a sufficient
vocabulary? I think that’s pretty true. We don’t have
enough words to express ourselves, so we don’t even know
what we’re getting mad at. Even when we’re really just sad,
we say we’re pissed off. But Aoii was different. She expressed
exactly what she felt.”
“You’ve sure got a lot of good things to say about her,” I
said as passively as possible. “Akiharu-kun, didn’t you ever
consider going out with her?”
He gave a bashful chuckle, but his expression was otherwise
unreadable. “Well, I’m a guy, too, after all, so I won’t say
I never had feelings like that. Especially since I was still a virile
high school student when we met. And I didn’t believe in boygirl
friendships back then.”
“Ah yeah, I’ve heard of guys like that.”
But I also didn’t really believe that same-gender friendships
were possible either.
“But it wasn’t really like that with her, actually. This goes
for Atemiya and Emoto too, but it’s like, you look at them 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 5
and they’re definitely easy on the eyes, but it’s like . . . you
just don’t feel the fire, or like, you wither.”
“ ‘Withering’ is a good way to put it. I can’t say I don’t follow
you on that.”
“Right? So that’s how it was with her. Anyway, she was a
nice girl. Emoto too, but she always had this sort of distance
about her. Not that it was her fault, but still.”
“. . .”
“Well, anyway. I liked Aoii, romantic feelings aside. It
wasn’t like I was going out of my way trying to make her
happy, but I didn’t want to see her unhappy. I wouldn’t let it
happen. So when she fell for someone, I had to help out,
y’know?”
“Huh.”
“You’re that ‘someone,’ man.”
“Yeah, I know. She told me herself.”
“Oh,” he nodded. “Listen, I don’t know if I should be saying
this . . .”
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want.”
“No, I should. It’s just that at first, I was opposed to it. Not
just me—Atemiya and Emoto, too. Especially Emoto. She was
unusually upset about it, saying stuff like ‘anyone but him.’
She even threatened to cut off Mikoko-chan if she pursued
you.”
“So you guys didn’t like me.”
“You're not surprised?”
“I’m used to not being liked. On the contrary, it’s being
liked that’s weird for me.”
“Oh. But we didn’t actually dislike you. We had barely
even talked to you. But the thing is—I still feel this way now, 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 6
even knowing you’re a good guy, but thing is, there’s just
something freaky about you.”
“. . .”
“Like you could easily kill a person.”
“Hey now, let’s not go nuts,” I said.
“Don’t get me wrong, man, I’m not saying you did kill
someone, but it’s like you could kill someone, and you're just
suppressing it all the time with a completely straight face.
What you've got built up in your belly would take ten regular
people like me to choke down. It’s like you’re just pretending
to be human.”
“Geez.”
I responded as coolly as possible, but on the inside I was
whistling. If I had the coordination, I would’ve applauded and
praised him as well. Being so thoroughly figured out in less
than a month’s time was an entirely fresh experience for me.
It was no wonder he and Tomo-chan were friends.
“But Aoii was really stubborn about the whole thing. She
had no intention of giving up on you, so we gave in. But we
told her to let us make a test. You know, to see if this Ikkun
character was really right for her.”
“Is that what that birthday party was all about?”
“You guessed it. I mean it really was Emoto’s birthday and
all, but still.” He let out an exaggerated groan and hunched
forward. “But the story just cuts off when someone dies. That
goes for Emoto and Aoii both.”
“Akiharu-kun,” I said, deliberately cutting the intonation
out of my voice. “Who do you think killed Mikoko-chan?”
“Like I would know. I don’t even want to know. If I find
out, I’ll end up hating, despising whoever it was. But I don’t
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 7
like hating people and holding grudges and stuff. It totally
sucks, man, I mean, am I right?”
“Huh.” I chewed on his words in my head for awhile and
nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Interesting. So Akiharu-kun was living on his own terms.
What about me? What terms should I have been applying to
life?
I felt somebody’s eyes on me and turned around. The only
people there were tourists and a group of students on a field
trip.
“Huh? What’s wrong?” Akiharu-kun asked.
“Oh, nothing. It felt like someone was watching me.”
“Hmm. Probably just your imagination.”
“Yeah, maybe. But lately I’ve been getting that feeling once
in awhile when I leave my apartment.”
“Maybe it’s Aoii’s ghost or something.”
“Yeah, could be. Yeah. Maybe.”
He was probably only joking, but to me, there was truth to
his words.
“Hup,” he groaned as he jumped down off the Vespa.
“Well, that’s enough chitchat for today. Anyway, it’s in your
hands.’
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”
“Be sure you do. It’s Aoii’s memento.”
“Yeah. I’ll call it the Mikoko.”
“Ahh,” Akiharu-kun groaned, “I think you’d better not,” he
said. “You shouldn’t attach names to vehicles. It’s just needless
sentimentality.”
“If it’s a memento, it’ll be sentimental either way.”
“Ah, gotcha.” He nodded. “But don’t call it the Mikoko.”
He stretched out one more time. “Ahhh. Well, I’ve passed on 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 8
the Vespa, I’ve said my piece about Aoii; I can die happy
now.”
“Huh?” Something about his phrasing bothered me. A
blurt of suspicion leapt from my tongue, but I posed my question
anyhow. “What’s that supposed to mean? You make it
sound like you’re on your way to the afterlife or something.”
“Hahaha. Nah, it’s just . . .” His mouth curled into a smile
of defeat, or possibly resignation. “I just figure I’ll probably be
the next one who gets killed.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It means just what it sounds like. Or maybe it doesn’t
mean anything at all. Anyway, see ya later,” he said without
giving me a straight answer. He waved a hand at me, turned
his back on Kitanotenman Shrine, and started walking. I
thought to stop him, but decided against it just before saying
anything.
I sighed.
The bequeathed Vespa.
I wondered if it was really okay to use it, but somehow I
knew that if I didn’t, nobody would. It certainly would make
life more convenient. And I wouldn’t have to borrow Miikosan’s
Fiat as much. Maybe that was what Mikoko-chan had
been hoping for all along.
There was something a little amusing about that idea. Just
a little.
“Guess I’ll have to buy myself a parking space.”
I didn’t know how that was done. Deciding I’d have to ask
Miiko-san about it, I returned home.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 6 9
Whoa. Is that Mikoko-chan over there?
Yup, that’s right. Long time no see, Ikkun.
Uhhh, oh. I get it. This is a dream.
Ahaha. You catch on quick, Ikkun. I guess that’s about what you'd
expect from such a realist. Or are you a romanticist? Or maybe you're
a classicist. Half and half, maybe. And then you're one-third
pessimist.
I’m not sure that adds up.
True.
Hey, you’re not really Mikoko-chan, are you?
Oops. You got me. Well, who do you think I am?
Beats me. Who?
You decide. It’s your dream, after all.
Okay, you’re Tomo-chan, then.
Why do you think that? You might be wrong. I could be Kunagisasan
or Aikawa-san or Muimi-chan or Akiharu-kun or Miiko-san or
Suzunashi-san or anyone else.
I can talk to everyone else whenever I want. I can’t talk to
you. You’re the only person I want to talk to that I can’t.
Liar. You know there are others.
No, no, no. I don’t want to talk to them anymore.
Okay, fine. If you say so. Well then, let’s talk. Let’s discuss all the
things we didn’t get to that day.
Really? Okay, sure. In that case, there’s one question I’ve
wanted to ask you.
What?
Do you hate the killer?
The one who killed me? The answer is just as you thought—not
even a little bit. We talked about it on that day, didn’t we? I said I 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 0
want to be reborn. It was myself that I hated. I don’t think of my
death as unfortunate in the slightest.
Sounds like you're just saying that.
Well, sure. Anything you put into words sounds that way. Say,
Ikkun, do you ever read mystery novels?
I don’t read much in general. I used to, but now I just do it
when I need to kill time. But I basically know what mystery
novels are like.
I see. I’m a big fan. I’ll read anything, but mysteries are my
favorite. They're easy to understand. But one thing I don’t like is how
they always put so much emphasis on the criminal's motives. I mean,
I know you must need a pretty good reason to do something like kill
a person. After all, the risk is so high.
Yeah. A peer of mine said something like that once. The
risk is high, but the return is low. Of course, that guy turned
out to be a human failure who could only prove himself by
killing others.
But, you know, a motive is nothing more than an excuse. It’s just
a plea to a person's sympathies. When you think about it, it all comes
down to the morals of the individual. Do you know this saying?
‘A gentleman kills not for himself, but for justice and for the sake of
others.’ But hang on a second there. What does that mean, 'for the
sake of others'? What is 'justice'? I don’t know the answer.
I don’t know either. Sounds like it’s just a means of selfjustification.
I don’t know what your killer was thinking. Or
maybe I just don’t want to know.
Why not?
Because I can’t sense any rhyme or reason to it. I mean,
things obviously aren’t that clear regarding Mikoko-chan’s
death either, but in your case it’s like everything was totally
uncalculated. Like your death was just improvised.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 1
Yeah, maybe. But does it matter? I’m not angry about it, and I’m
not sad that I’m dead, either. Really, it’s no lie. I’m not the least bit
resentful.
And so now you’re going to be reborn as Mikoko-chan?
Yup.
But she’s dead too.
She is, isn’t she?
How do you feel about that? Your own death aside, how
do you feel toward the person who sent Mikoko-chan to
death? No resentment there either?
I guess I don’t really have an opinion.
Isn’t that a little cold? You were friends, weren’t you?
It’s a little funny hearing that from you of all people.
I’ve got a friend myself.
Kunagisa-san? Or could it be Miiko-san? I know it’s not Muimichan
or Akiharu-kun, right? But I think you're like me, Ikkun—even
if a friend dies, I don’t feel sadness. I know how to be sad, but I just
can’t seem to set foot into that domain. I must have less emotion
than the average person.
I can’t say I don’t understand.
Maybe it’s a matter of distrust toward human beings? Like I've
suffered some fatal wound that’s destroyed my trust in others. A
person once persecuted can never believe in another human being
for the rest of their life.
I think you’re going too far there.
You don’t think that.
Yes, I do.
No, you don’t.
No, I don’t.
People who realize how much human beings love to discriminate
can never trust anyone. Japanese people are particularly like that.
Like, let’s say someone's friend is being victimized by some group. It’s
one person versus many. Now obviously, the right thing to do is to 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 2
stick up for the friend. But the average person wouldn’t do that. They
would go with the group. Human beings crave to belong to a group.
They don’t even care who the group is. All that matters is that they
have a group and that people are with them. What kind of group it is
doesn’t matter at all. It doesn’t have any meaning or value. And once
you realize this cruel fact, it’s impossible to trust people. For
example, do you have a family, Ikkun?
If I didn’t, I wouldn’t exist.
That’s not what I mean.
Yeah, they’re alive and well. I think they’re somewhere
around Kobe. We haven’t seen each other in years, though.
Now that you mention it, Mikoko-chan once told me that I
didn’t seem like the type to show any devotion to my parents.
True enough. I haven’t seen them since I was in junior high.
You probably could call me a bad son.
Sounds like your household has some issues.
Nah, not really. Not at all. We didn’t have any problems,
actually. If I had been aware of any problems at all, I probably
wouldn’t have turned out like the person I am. What about
you? Do you have a family?
Uh-uh. Not anybody that really feels like one. That’s why I
decided on a university so far from home. Mikoko-chan and the
others apparently had similar situations.
You mean you all couldn’t trust your own families?
Yeah, that’s right. I can’t even trust myself. I don’t remember who
it was who said “there's nothing sure in this world,” but that’s about
what it feels like. It feels like the whole world is fragile and
threatening to topple over and shatter to pieces at the slightest
nudge. But in reality, that isn’t the world, but myself.
Sounds like you’re damaged goods.
You said it. I mean, think about it. Would you define a person who
has never cried since the day she was born as well rounded? I can 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 3
form a smile, but is that enough for you to be able to say I’m a decent
human being?
I’m the same way. I used to try to write it off as individuality.
What about now?
Not now. Individuality can go eat some shit. Being different
isn’t necessarily good. Anyone who’s ever thought about
the effect being radically different would never preach such
nonsense. People talk about “the chosen ones,” gifted individuals
who have left their mark on history. Most of those people
were probably totally messed up. But they were just regular
people, all the same. They weren’t outcasts. They were just
regular people, except that they were broken. But Tomochan.
From what you’re saying, it sounds like you don’t trust
Muimi-chan, Akiharu-kun, and Mikoko-chan, nor do you have
any faith in them.
Yeah. I won’t deny that. In fact, I’ll confirm it. You know, I think
you of all people must understand how inferior that makes me feel.
You know what a nice girl Mikoko-chan is. Akiharu-kun's a good guy,
too, and Muimi-chan is of a rare breed nowadays whose loyalty to
friends runs all the way to the bone. The idea that I can’t trust people
like that, that no matter how hard I try, I can’t truly think of them as
friends, makes me feel like a filthy human being. They've shown me
so much love, and I can’t give anything back.
I know how you feel. It’s a sense of guilt.
Yeah, that’s it. So it’s good that a flawed specimen like me
passed on.
What about Mikoko-chan?
That’s Mikoko-chan's problem. I’m already dead. There's nothing
I can say. And, Ikkun, that’s not really what you're here to ask, is it?
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 4
Well, I dunno. There were a ton of things I wanted to talk
about. No, actually there were only a couple. By which I mean
there was just one.
Go ahead.
Is it okay for me to be alive?
Ahhh, now that is a fine question.
As a member of this colony known as mankind who contributes
nothing toward their collective gain, do I have a right
to live?
I think I could have easily presented the same question myself. I
mean, if I weren’t already dead. Well . . . in regards to that question, I
only have one word for you.
Huh? What is it?
It’s —
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep
I awoke to an unpleasant electronic noise, groaned, and
got up.
Not from my futon, but directly off the floor where I had
apparently been sleeping. I had had an awful dream. It had
progressed so arbitrarily and with such self-indulgence that it
made me disgusted with myself. As if I had completely figured
out Tomo-chan’s inner psyche after less than an hour of
talking to her.
And yet I couldn’t shake the odd feeling that the dream
had been real.
“But what the hell am I doing holding debates with dead
people?”
Could it be that I was still feeling a bit regretful?
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep. In other words, even now—
beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep—even now, I—beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep—
Nah, let’s set that aside for now.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 5
This wasn’t my alarm clock. It was the ringtone from my
cell phone. Despising musical ringtones, my phone was still
set to its default ring, but even that wasn’t very pleasant. I
picked up the phone and pressed the send button.
“Yes, hello?”
“. . . .”
Huh. No answer. But I could sense breathing on the other
end. Maybe it was a weak signal.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
. . . . .
“Hello? Can you hear my voice? Not so much?”
Silence. It was strange. Maybe the phone itself was broken.
I had recently thrown it into the laundry with my pants, after
all. But modem electronics weren’t so fragile. In which case,
maybe it was a crank call.
“If you don’t say anything, I’m gonna go ahead and hang
up, okay? Is that okay?”
With inappropriate timing, my mind began to wander to
the time Mikoko-chan had called and gotten all flustered
thinking it was a wrong number.
“Okay, I’m hanging up. Commencing countdown. Five,
four, three, two—”
. . . .
Whoa. I’d heard something. But it was too soft to make
out.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t catch that. Could you say it again,
please?”
“Kamogawa Park.”
“I’m sorry? Kamogawa?”
“I’m waiting at Kamogawa Park. . . .”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 6
The voice faded in and out, my eardrums just barely able
to pick it up. I couldn’t tell if it was a male or female, adult or
child. There was no discernible intonation, so I couldn’t even
determine what emotions the caller was attempting to convey.
“I’m sorry? Please say that again. And who is this?”
“Mikoko.”
The voice said only that, and the call ended.
I tossed the phone on the floor, stood up, and stretched my
hands up toward the ceiling. It was low enough that I could
reached it if I exerted myself. Who lived above me again?
Oh, right, the fifteen-year-old brother and thirteen-yearold
sister. Those two shared a closeness that made even me
smile. Of course they were just barely surviving, so maybe
that wasn’t an appropriate reaction.
The apartment building was three stories tall, with two
rooms per floor, meaning there were a total of six rooms, two
of which were currently vacant. The brother and sister upstairs
lived next to the old hermit. He was into Christianity,
which meant he probably would’ve clashed quite a bit with
Miiko-san's ultra-Japaneseness, but by no means were they
enemies. Both rooms on the first floor were vacant, but the
landlord said someone would be coming in next month. Even
a place like this had a pretty impressive draw of tenants.
I plopped back down on the floor and picked up the abandoned
phone. Checking the call history, I discovered that, sure
enough, the call was from an unknown number.
Now let’s think about this. “Kamogawa Park. That’s definitely
what they said.”
So they were waiting there? Okay, fine. That was fine, for
now. The problem was with what the caller said after that,
when I asked for a name. How had they answered? 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 7
“ ‘Mikoko’ . . . yeah, I definitely heard ‘Mikoko.’ ”
There wasn’t likely to be another person on earth with a
bizarre name like that. But at the same time, it couldn’t have
been Mikoko. She was dead. If dead people could use telephones,
the whole telephone infrastructure would’ve gone to
hell in a handbasket long ago.
. . . .
With what little information I currently had, thinking
would do no good at all. Something about that made me feel a
little empty inside.
I deleted the call from the phone’s history and checked the
time on the LCD display.
Eleven thirty at night.
Wednesday, May twenty-fifth.
. . . .
Huh. How had I spent the day again?
I seemed to remember waking up at just around noon.
Then I had gone out to visit Kunagisa, had run into Akiharukun
along the way, inherited Mikoko-chan’s Vespa, returned
to my apartment to ask Miiko-san about the parking-space
thing, gotten frustrated by the hassle of the parking-space
thing, and gone to bed in a huff.
“In a huff? What’s wrong with me?”
What was I, a little kid?
Anyway, that was around two in the afternoon. I had no
recollection of what had occurred between then and now,
meaning I had slept for nearly ten hours. That was enough to
make even Sleeping Beauty gawk in disgust. I had been awake
for less than three of the twenty-four hours in May twentyfifth.
“I’ve been sleeping like mad lately. . . .”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 8
Anyway, then had come the phone call. A bizarre, garbled
phone call with no context, just words. I didn’t know its
meaning. Or rather, its meaning was the only thing I knew.
“Well, whatever.”
I had two choices. One, I could obey the caller’s request
and head down to Kamogawa Park; or two, I could ignore it.
Now, obviously, common sense would dictate that the latter
was the correct choice. But I didn’t know a thing about common
sense. And besides, I couldn’t just sit idly by when the
caller was throwing a name like that around. It didn’t take
long for me to reach a decision.
I washed my face and changed clothes.
“This is the first real piece of nonsense I’ve encountered in
awhile,” I said to myself.
I left a note behind and left the building. I mounted my
Vespa, which was tentatively parked illegally in a nearby alleyway
until I was able to secure a parking space. I could’ve just
walked, but Kamogawa Park was a bit far. The caller hadn’t
designated any specific meeting time, but I figured the sooner
the better.
I turned east onto Imadegawa Street and drove straight
ahead.
Still, I wondered, returning to my original train of thought,
what was that dream all about?
I didn’t believe in ghosts or apparitions or the afterlife or
that sort of thing, nor was I sure they didn’t exist. People do
have unexplainable experiences, after all, and I wasn’t so hardheaded
as to claim I didn’t believe in something about which I
truly knew nothing. Having said that, this wasn’t some piece
of classical literature, so it wasn’t like somebody else had en-
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 7 9
tered my dream. It had been a product of my consciousness,
and mine alone.
“Was it lingering attachment? Desire?”
Either way, it was only an illusion. Nothing to lose sleep
over, so to speak. The important thing was that it was Tomochan
who had appeared in my dream, not Mikoko-chan.
Surely this was a crime.
“Face your crimes. That is your punishment.” So
Suzunashi-san had told me one day in February. She was no
psychic, but she could see through me. She was the kind of
woman who commanded respect, yet never made you feel
inferior. Perhaps that was a rare thing.
I passed Horikawa, Torimaru, and Kawara-machi Streets,
eventually arriving in Kamogawa. Even if it was the middle of
the night, I couldn’t just ride a scooter through the park, so I
parked it by a bridge and headed down to the riverbank, also
known as Kamogawa Park.
“Ahh, so, now what?”
The name Kamogawa Park, in reality, represented a ridiculously
enormous area of land. It wasn’t spacious, exactly, just
long. And the opposite side of the river was considered part of
it. There wasn’t an idiot in all of Kyoto who would arrange a
meeting here without designating a specific street name.
“Well, whatever.”
I probably didn’t have to take a random phone call like
that so seriously anyway. I began walking down the river in
the direction of the current. Looking at my watch, I saw that
it was already past midnight. It was Thursday, May twentysixth.
It occurred to me that there wasn’t much left to the
month of May. Being here reminded me that it was along this
very river that Zerozaki had nearly killed me, right under the 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 0
big Shijô Bridge. At the time, neither Tomo-chan nor Mikokochan
had died yet.
That felt like ages ago. And I didn’t think it was just my
imagination.
I looked back. It was hard to tell because it was so dark,
but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Even though I
had felt something.
A gaze.
“Hmm . . .”
I had felt it this afternoon when I was with Akiharu-kun as
well. He had suggested that it might have been Mikoko-chan's
ghost, but what was a more realistic possibility? The most
likely explanation seemed to be that the police had sent someone
to tail me. After all, I was involved in the deaths of both
Tomo-chan and Mikoko-chan.
“But come on, at this hour?”
Besides, there was no reason for them to have to sneak
around. So on to the next possibility. A being of origins unknown
had summoned me on the telephone, and when I arrived
at the designated place, I felt somebody’s gaze. There
was really only one possible explanation here.
. . . .
I boosted my alertness a tad and kept walking. The strange
gaze seemed to vanish. It was around Maruta-machi Street
that I began to feel like a doofus. What the hell was I doing
here?
“I suppose I could just leave.”
I climbed back up the embankment onto the road. I
crossed the bridge to the other side of the river and descended
to the park below. I thought it would be a nice change of
scenery if I switched sides for the walk back. Looking out at 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 1
the river, I saw some ducks swimming around. Was that why
it was called Kamogawa—or Duck River? It seemed peculiar
that someone had actually named the river that for such a
bland reason.
I thought about hurrying back home to get to bed, but
then I realized I had just slept. Since I had come all the way
out, it might not have been a bad idea to take the Vespa for a
spin around Kyoto. If I kept parallel to the river, I could drive
to Maizuru. It would be good for getting used to my newly
acquired vehicle, not to mention for killing time.
Even as I pondered this, I continued walking straight
ahead. When I was approaching Imadegawa Street, I spotted a
shadowy figure huddled on the ground in front of me. Next to
it was a fallen bicycle. It was hard to make out because of the
darkness, but it looked like the figure was actually a person
who had collapsed. It lay motionless with its back to me. I
wondered if it was a sleeping homeless person, but if that
were the case there probably wouldn’t have been a bike
nearby. Perhaps someone had gone drinking out in Kiya-machi
and fallen off their bike passing through the park. Though I
had little sympathy, I couldn’t just leave a person there like
that. The figure’s long, black hair led me to believe it was a
woman.
“Are you all right?” I called out, but received no reply. It
almost seemed like the person was dead. Frankly, it was a
definite possibility. Just falling off a bike was enough to kill a
person if they had a bad landing. All the more if the person
was drunk. I considered the idea of just passing on by, but it
just didn’t seem right, so I ran over and tapped the figure on
the shoulder.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 2
“Are you all right?” I checked one more time. The figure
didn’t move an inch. “Are you all right?” I asked a third time,
and decided I should at least turn the figure onto its back. The
instant I gave the shoulders a tug, the figure, which had been
completely still until now, flipped over with incredible nimbleness
and sprayed some kind of mist in my face.
I tried to spring backward, but my timing was off. A dull
pain ran through my left cheek. As I realized I had been
struck, I slammed down into the riverbank onto my back
without even managing to roll.
My attacker stood up.
Not good. Either because I had been struck or because of
whatever that mist was, my eyes wouldn’t focus. What the
hell was that stuff? My eyes didn’t hurt enough for it to be
Mace. I forced my hobbling body up to a kneel and tried to
push myself up with my left hand, but the attacker was closing
in fast. I gave up on that idea and began rolling away instead,
spinning myself around more times than was even
necessary. When I had distanced myself about thirty feet from
the attacker, I managed to rise onto one knee.
The shadowy figure stood still before me. I could see that
it was a person of considerable height, but I couldn’t make out
the body frame. My vision still wasn’t coming back. But that
wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t stable. My feet, my knees,
and my head were just as bad. I thought I might collapse any
second. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. It was more like I was
falling into something. Yes. To put it simply, I felt . . . sleepy.
The knee that was supporting me collapsed.
Spray anesthetic? And this wasn’t your ordinary antipervert
concoction; this was high-powered stuff. Not only my
eyes, but all of my physical faculties had been disabled. Maybe 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 3
this kind of stuff is common in America, but I had never even
laid eyes on it (literally) in Japan.
My assailant approached me, one step at a time. Even with
my blurry vision, I could make out the knife in this person’s
right hand. A knife. Zerozaki Hitoshiki. The Kyoto prowler.
My mind was a mess.
“Why?”
“Who? Why? Of course, neither of these things mattered
in regards to the current problem at hand.”
Even with my mind all fogged up, I knew exactly how bad
it would be if I fell asleep at a time like this. It would mean
either death or something close enough.
Dammit. This was no time for hesitation, but I just
couldn’t work up the nerve to do anything that would cause
myself harm. I couldn’t help but hesitate. Naturally, my
attacker approached at a leisurely pace. I would be asleep in
no time anyway. But I knew this would be my one and only
opening.
Right hand or left?
I deliberated for only a moment before deciding on the
right. “Jesus Christ, man. Who am I, Nenbutsu no Tetsu?”
I gripped the thumb on my right hand with my left hand. I
hesitated for just one more second, then gave it a yank as hard
as I could in the wrong direction.
“Gyyyyaaaaahhhhh!” I let out a scream so piercing that
even my own ears hurt, and it reverberated throughout all of
Kamogawa Park.
It was now either broken or dislocated. Either way, my
sleepiness had cleared up. I recollected myself all at once, and
my vision, physical functionality, and alertness returned to 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 4
normal. Pain ran through my entire body as I stood to face my
enemy.
My attacker was clad all in black, complete with black ski
mask and black leather gloves. No hair was visible. The long
black hair I’d seen before was a wig. My vision had restored
itself, but it was still hard to make out my assailant’s figure
against the dark background. This must have been why I
thought it was a shadow at first. It occurred to me that the
attacker had definitely showed up dressed and prepared for
an ambush. This person looked far more like a killer than
Zerozaki—and far more like a prowler.
“Dammit . . . who are you?”
Naturally, there was no answer. All I could hear was the
attacker’s creepy breathing. Whoever it was pointed the knife
at me and slowly closed in. I didn’t have a single item that
might have been used as a weapon, and I had left my cell
phone in my room. I couldn’t even call for help.
“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. . . .”
I got into a fighting stance, and began to close in on the
distance from my end. Evidently surprised by this action, the
one in black came a second late with the knife. I attempted to
deal a palm strike to the jaw, which of course missed as the
enemy leaped backward and once again brandished the knife
at me.
The one in black was the next to make a move. He lunged
at me with the knife. But it was the motion of a novice. This
person was nothing compared to Zerozaki, and dodging was a
simple task. However, as I jerked my body backward, my
thumb bumped into the side of my torso. An intense shock of
pain shot through me.
 !
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 5
I regretted breaking it. I probably could have just torn a
nail off or something. Or, if I absolutely had to break something,
I should have gone with the pinky. Why would I choose
the thumb? What was I, an idiot? There’s such a thing as
limits.
Naturally, the one in black didn’t let the opportunity slip
away, and gave me a hard shove. Already off balance, I toppled
over onto my back. Without sparing a second, the enemy
mounted me. I took a moment to reminisce with inappropriate
calmness about how this same thing had just happened
last month. Now how had I dealt with the situation last time?
Without giving me a moment to think, the knife came
down. It was aimed directly at my face—no, my carotid artery.
I used every ounce of strength left in me to dodge my head to
the right, mostly avoiding the blade. It managed to slice
through a single layer of skin. I was bleeding. The one in black
pulled the knife back out from the earth of the riverbank it
had lodged into, and readied it for another swing. Just as I
thought there would be no escape this time, my attacker’s
hand came to a halt. Looking down at me as if making some
observation, my assailant tossed the knife away.
Without any time to contemplate the meaning behind this
action, the attacker plunged a fist into my face. The same left
cheek from before. The next moment, the opposite cheek
took a similar blow. Next, the left cheek took a third blow.
Then the right again. The attacker continued this endless barrage
of punches to my face, leaving no spaces in between.
I had long since stopped thinking about the pain. I could
just feel my brain rattling.
. . . . . ,
Suddenly, the pummeling ceased.
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But it didn’t take long for me to learn that this was no act
of mercy. The one in black clamped both hands around my
left shoulder. It was easy to guess what the plan was from
here. I tried to resist, but my body would not move the way I
commanded it. That paralyzing spray had eaten its way into
my core. Coupled with the pain, I was sure to pass out any
minute.
Except.
Except that at that exact moment, a deathly excruciating
pain shot through my left shoulder with a terrible cracking
sound, jarring me back to a fully conscious state. The one in
black had dislocated my shoulder joint without the slightest
hesitation. On top of that, the attacker then began pummeling
it.
“Nggaaaaaahhhh!!!” It was a shriek from Hell. I had never
known my own vocal cords held such destructive force.
Who the hell was this person? What were they doing all of
this for? They didn’t want to kill me. This wasn’t an act of
murder; it was a simple act of destruction. To this attacker, I
was nothing more than an object to be dismantled. Something
to be pulled apart like a chain-link puzzle.
Next, my assailant went for the right shoulder.
“Ghrr . . .” I had regained consciousness fully. I raised half
my body up, shook off the attacker's grip, and swung my fist
right into the attacker’s heart. The impact was strangely unsatisfying,
as if I’d punched a magazine. That black shirt must
have been concealing some kind of protective gear.
Having bashed my already broken thumb, I couldn’t bear
to use my right arm anymore. The one in black brushed it
aside like it was nothing and gripped my right shoulder firmly
again.
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I wasn’t lucid enough to shake it off a second time. I heard
a dull, cracking sound as if from a great distance. But the pain
was right there with me. A torturous pain ran up from both
my shoulders into my brain, even managing to penetrate the
numbness.
Then, just like before, the attacker began pummeling the
newly dislocated joint. And, from there, went straight for my
heart—as if exacting revenge. The sound of cracking bone.
The impact spread out to my disconnected shoulders, and a
dull pain followed an instant behind.
“Uhuhh . . . ahhh . . .”
I gasped for air. The impact of the punch had dealt significant
damage to my lungs. Whether that had been my attacker’s
aim or not, I didn’t know, but either way, it made for
a prime opening. The attacker gripped my face by the jaw.
Hey, now, hey, now, are you serious? That’s the most painful
thing you can do to a person. But there was no time to make
inquiries. I thought I ought to chomp down on the attacker's
finger, but I let myself hesitate.
The one in black gave a forceful yank on my jaw. There
was a far lighter cracking sound than the one from my shoulders,
but the pain was incomparably intense. Then, as had
become the routine, the attacker gave my dislocated jaw a
swift uppercut.
No voice came out. I couldn’t even be bothered to scream
anymore.
Allow me to correct myself.
This was an act of murder. The destructive nature of it was
irrelevant. It was clear now that this person was going to
torture me to death. They would make me suffer until I was
dead.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 8 8
Dissect me, piece by piece.
The one in black hesitated for a bit, most likely pondering
how to inflict the next dose of agony.
From there, the one in black grabbed the wrist of my limp
right arm and held it up, gripping the thumb in one hand.
My already broken thumb.
 !
Hehehe.
I heard the attacker chuckle.
I was in utter shock. There was nothing as fearsome to me
and terrifying in this world as a person who could beat and
torture someone this much and still have a good laugh.
The one in black muttered something I couldn’t make out,
then released my thumb in favor of my index finger. I could
tell that the plan was to break it. And not only my index
finger. From there, the attacker would move onto the middle
finger, ring finger, pinky, and then the left hand. Then would
come my feet. Maybe they were going to break every bone in
my entire body. Then they would tear apart the flesh. And
then, once I had been thoroughly dismantled, maybe they
would be kind enough to kill me.
I had already lost the will to fight back. In fact, I didn’t
even know why I had tried fighting back in the first place. I
should have just let the spray put me to sleep in the very beginning.
At least then I wouldn’t have had to go through all
this torture. Why the hell did I break my own thumb? But
then again, I probably would have awoken to this pain anyway.
I would have gone through the torture either way. If that
were the case, then the outcome would have been exactly the
same. I had just taken a different route.
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This was just like last time—a farce enacted with predestined
harmony.
I felt like I was watching myself from afar.
I was watching myself about to be killed from the opposite
side of the river.
What was I thinking, seeing myself like that?
Oh, come on, really now.
This is truly ridiculous.
Trivial and pointless.
What a load of nonsense.
“Whattaya doing over theeeeeeeere?!”
A thunderous howl.
My vacant eyes shifted toward the direction of the voice
coming from the opposite riverbank. But nobody was there. A
small-framed, shadowy figure was charging this way against
the river’s current.
I didn’t even have to wonder who it was. I knew this
person as well as I knew myself.
“Heeeeeeeyyyyy!”
Zerozaki.
Zerozaki Hitoshiki.
Zerozaki Hitoshiki hollered as he leaped from the river and
charged up the bank. The one in black seemed momentarily
startled by this new contender, but after assessing the situation,
released my finger and backed away from my body. My 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 0
attacker must have been aware that Zerozaki was not an
opponent you could take on from a sitting position.
With a bit of distance remaining between Zerozaki and us,
Zerozaki hurled a single drawing knife in this direction. This
wasn’t aimed at my attacker, but rather a warning used to
distance the attacker from me. Having arrived on this side of
the riverbed, Zerozaki got between the attacker and me. The
one in black went for the knife that had been tossed aside
earlier, and brandished it defensively at Zerozaki.
“Hahhh . . .” Zerozaki exhaled deeply as if adjusting his
breathing. “Why do you let people bully you like that? Stand
up for yourself, man!” he said mockingly. I thought about
saying something in response, but with my jaw dislocated, it
was impossible.
“Well, whatever. I guess you’re the one I should be talking
to now,” Zerozaki said, facing the one in black. “So what’s
your deal? You probably don’t want to hear this from me, but
you know you’re committing a crime, right? Assault and battery,
attempted murder. Do you realize that? Are you aware
of what’s allowed and what’s not?”
There were probably any number of comebacks the attacker
could have made in this situation, but none were
spoken.
The one in black took a cautious step backward. It seemed
this unknown assailant viewed Zerozaki, in all of his casualness,
with his utter lack of caution, as a true threat.
“Hmm. This sack of damaged goods here has some pretty
nasty wounds to be attended to, and I’m not really looking to
draw any more attention by killing someone, so if you want to
run away, feel free,” Zerozaki said after a moment’s thought.
The one in black took another step back, carefully attempting 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 1
to size up Zerozaki. It seemed they were still trying to make a
decision.
“What’s the matter? I’m telling you I’ll let you go, so hurry
up and chase yourself somewhere. Quickly now.”
The one in black didn’t respond.
Zerozaki let out a deliberate sigh. “If you still want to do
this, I’d be happy to kill you. You’ll be in pieces before you
even feel anything. I’m not such a nice guy that I’d show
mercy to someone going out of their own way to get cut. But,
hey, at least you’ll get to be lucky number thirteen. I’ll chop
you up and line up the pieces for everyone to gawk at.”
And that was the decisive remark.
The one in black spun around and dashed away in the direction
of Imadegawa.
“Go on, go on,” Zerozaki said, laughing. Then he turned to
face me. That tattooed face entered my field of vision, only to
go blurry an instant later. It seemed the anesthetizing effects
of the spray had reached a new peak.
“Hm? Hey, don’t go to sleep on me. At least give me your
address first.”
He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. Of course,
my shoulders were both dislocated, so this hurt like a bitch,
but at this point, I didn’t even care.
“Ugh . . .” With the last few drops of my consciousness, and
through a dislocated jaw, I told him my address.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 2
My next memory began Friday the twenty-seventh, at right
around nine o’clock a.m.
“Yo. Morning, sunshine.”
Zerozaki was right by my pillow. I looked at his face in a
daze, having no idea what was going on. Zerozaki himself, on
the other hand, seemed relaxed, and genuinely glad that I had
woken up.
“Man, this place is incredible. It was impossible to find
from that address. And the people here are crazy. I went to
borrow some bandages and stuff from that chick next door,
and she wasn’t even surprised by my face. I’ve never met a
chick like that. But I’m glad you’re awake. You must've been
pretty sleep deprived, huh? I guess you’ve been through a lot.”
“Uhhh . . .”
I planted my right hand down in an attempt to prop myself
up. An intense pain ran through me. “Gah!” I reflexively
pulled my hand away and began to fall back down, but somehow
managed to catch myself with my left arm.
“Nice one, man. It’s broken, you know. Your finger, I
mean. I jammed your jaw and shoulders back in place best I
could, but there’s nothing I can do about a broken bone. I did
some emergency first aid, but I think you’ll probably want to
take a visit to the hospital later.”
Looking at my right hand, I saw that my thumb had been
stabilized with a large amount of bandages, wire, and a splint.
Though far from orthodox, it did seem as though he had cared
for it properly. I could also feel something strange on my face.
It seemed my jaw had also been stabilized, with plaster and 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 3
gauze. Zerozaki must have been taking care of me while I was
sleeping.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Forget about it,” he said, waving a hand at me irritably.
“But that thumb is looking pretty bad. It’s gonna make life
hard, you know,” he teased. I guess one man’s pain is another
man’s amusement, killer or not.
“No worries. I’m ambidextrous.”
“Really?”
“Originally I was left-handed, but I corrected it when I was
young and became right-handed. But I had a teacher I hated
who used to say ‘chopsticks go in your right hand,’ so I
switched back to left out of spite. That was back in the third
grade.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
I struggled to return myself to full consciousness. I could
get up just fine, but my head was swimming.
“Hey, by the way, where’s the Vespa?”
“Huh? What’d you say?”
“Ah, nothing.”
It was probably still sitting abandoned by the bridge in
Imadegawa. I just had to go retrieve it at some point. If it
hadn’t been towed away, that is. More significant was the fact
that Zerozaki had carried me all the way back here on foot
with that small body of his. His physical strength was truly
admirable.
Zerozaki, meanwhile, didn’t seem to think anything of it,
and was as calm as ever.
“But what the hell was that back there? I can’t believe you
and I ended in a standoff, and yet you still let a clumsy oaf like 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 4
that get the better of you,” he said. His reasoning was a little
sketchy.
“That thing with you was special. Yeah . . . I mean, kind
of.” I lifted myself up, taking care not to do anything to my
thumb. “Yesterday . . . wait, was it yesterday? I got a call saying
to come to Kamogawa Park. In retrospect, it was an obvious
trap, but anyway, I fell for it. Hence, my current
situation.”
“Wow. What are you, an idiot?”
Indeed. “Yeah, I know it was dumb,” I said. “But let me ask
you something. What are you still doing in Kyoto? Didn’t you
leave?”
“Huh? How’d you know?”
“The killings stopped.”
“Ah, right, that. Yeah, I did leave for a while. I got attacked
by some weird lady in red. She was like this crazy maniac on
speed, man. I hit her with my bike and she kept coming at me
like it was nothin’. It’s a liter bike, man. What the hell kind of
shape is she in? Anyway, she was dead set on catching me, but
I was no match for her, so I fled to Osaka. Of course, she
came after me. So I came back to Kyoto, cuz you know what
they say, the darkest place is right under the candlestick. Anyway,
so the day I came back, I was trudging around when I
heard a howling like a whipped dog. Being the card-carrying
dog lover that I am, I couldn’t just sit around and listen to
that, so I ran toward the direction of the voice only to find
that it was you, getting your ass handed to you by that thing in
black.”
“So that’s what happened. I gotcha.”
He’d rattled out the second half of the explanation awfully
fast, as if he’d gotten tired of explaining. But I basically got the 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 5
point. Basically, what it came down to was that I’d gotten
really, really lucky.
Either that, or the one in black was unlucky.
“But man, who the hell was that red lady, anyway? I
thought I had run into the Red Death.”
“It’s Aikawa-san,” I said. It wasn’t my way of expressing
gratitude, it was just that it seemed unfair to give Aikawa-san
information on him and then not show him the same courtesy.
Then again, I wasn’t sure a guy like me should be using a word
like unfair.
“Aikawa?” Zerozaki said, his tattoo twisting into a dubious
grimace. “Did you just say ‘Aikawa’? You mean that was
Aikawa Jun?”
“Oh, you know her? I guess that means I don’t have to
bother explaining, then.”
“Nah, I just heard about her from the ‘General,’ that’s all.
Dammit, why, of all people, did it have to be Aikawa Jun?” he
whined. “There’s no hope now.”
“Is she famous or something?”
“She’s infamous. Do you have any idea what they call her?
‘The Sturm and Drang,’ ‘The Mighty Warrior,’ ‘The Laughing
Red Tigress,’ ‘The Killer of Mountain Men,’ ‘The Desert
Eagle’ . . . They told me not to have anything to do with her.”
“You forgot one.”
“Huh?”
“ ‘Mankind’s Greatest Private Contractor,’ ” I said, to
which Zerozaki didn’t respond. His expression was more serious
than I’d ever seen him. When confronted with an opponent
like Aikawa Jun, even he couldn’t play it casually.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 6
“Shit, man, this is not good. This is just too much of a
masterpiece . . .” he muttered to himself. He gave a weak nod.
“Well then.” He rose to his feet. “I’m gonna go.”
“What? Already?”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t really be lingering around doing nothing.
It looks like I’ve got some things to think over. There's nothing
to do here anyway, and you’re really in no shape to be
talking at length. Besides, I’m a wanted man right now. I can’t
stick around in one place for too long.”
“Ah, okay.”
This was all true. When I gave Aikawa-san a description of
Zerozaki, the word must have spread all the way to the police.
She wasn’t his only enemy now. For Zerozaki, spending a
whole day in this one room was like stepping into the red
zone.
“What if you just turned yourself in?”
“Not a bad idea, but I’m gonna pass on that,” he said with a
grin. “Just be sure you take care of your problems. I saw it in
the paper and all. That Aoii girl you were talking about got
killed, huh?”
“Yeah, well.”
“Looks like we’ve both got some shit to sort out.”
“Yeah. This has been the biggest hassle ever.”
“Same here. But hey, that’s life. These are the tracks we’re
riding. Anyway, that’s it for me.”
“We probably won’t meet again after this,” I said.
“No doubt,” he said, laughing. “Farewell.”
With that, he left from my room. Left alone, I returned to
my futon and lay down. He had either done a fine job of taking
care of me, or my wounds hadn’t been that bad to begin 
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 7
with, because I hardly felt any pain. Of course I would probably
have to go to the hospital to check out that broken bone.
Right now, though, I needed sleep. Was the anesthetic still
active? No, that didn’t seem plausible. So this was just regular
old tiredness. Why had I been sleeping so much lately?
“Ah, I get it. I was sleeping, but I wasn’t asleep.”
At last, I had reached my limit. I shut my eyes, deciding to
put off going to the hospital until after I had slept. I was
probably getting myself in too deep lately. I kept trying not to
think about Tomo-chan and Mikoko-chan, but I was thinking
about them all the while. That dream I had was sure enough
proof of that. I still hadn’t figured out a conclusion to this
murder case.
For now, I just needed rest. I decided to put off thinking
about that phone trap and the one in black until after sleeping.
“Hey.”
But right now I wouldn’t even be allowed to sleep. I heard
knocking, and a voice coming through the door. I got up and
hobbled over to answer it. Zerozaki had returned.
“What? Forget something?”
“Yeah, sort of. I was going to tell you one more thing.” He
entered the room again and sat down cross-legged. I returned
to my futon and sat down as well.
“Yeah, what is it? You made such a big show of leaving.”
“Well, I forgot about this. What do you want me to do?
Hey, check your phone.”
“Huh? Why?”
“You got a few calls while you were sleeping.”
“Huh. Around what time?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 8
“Just this morning. It kept going ‘beep beep beep beep.’
So annoying. Isn’t that what woke you up?”
I took a look at the phone’s call history as I listened to Zerozaki
rambling on. The calls had come from a familiar number.
I knew I had seen it before.
“Ahh, right, it was Sasaki-san,” I said, realizing. This number
belonged to that detective currently absorbed in a war of
attrition, Sasa Sasaki-san. Between eight and nine o’clock this
morning, my phone had received seven calls from her number.
“I wonder what she wants.”
“I didn’t pick up, so don’t ask me. I shouldn’t be answering
your phone, right? If you’re curious, just call her back.”
“I will.”
I entered in her number.
“Who's Sasaki again? I feel like I know that name.”
“I think I mentioned her that time at karaoke. She's that
hotshot detective.”
“Ah, right,” he said with a complex expression. The word
detective probably didn’t sit too well with Zerozaki these days.
Of course, it didn’t leave such a great impression on me
either.
The signal seemed to connect, and it continued to the dial
tone. I waited a few seconds.
“Yeah, Sasa here,” came Sasaki-san's voice.
“Hello, it’s me.”
“What were you doing earlier?”
“Nothing, just sleeping.”
“I see . . . Yeah, that’s fine.” There was something strangely
cool and reserved about her. It sounded like she was forcing
herself to be cool and reserved. Which meant that right now,
she wasn’t really cool or reserved at all.
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 2 9 9
“Sasaki-san, did something happen? Or is there something
else you wanted to ask me?”
“Something happened,” she said. “Usami Akiharu-san was
murdered.”
Suddenly.
Everything.
Connected.
“Usami-kun, you say?”
“Yes.”
“You're sure?”
“Do I seem like the kind of person who would make up a
lie like that? This morning a friend discovered the body at
school. He's been strangled, just like Emoto-san and Aoii-san.
I’m at the scene right now.”
Now that she mentioned it, it did sound like she was
speaking so as not to disturb the people around her. She was
probably surrounded by police officers, medical examiners,
and gawking onlookers.
Akiharu-kun.
Hadn’t he said he would be next? Oddly, his words had
become a reality.
“Really . . .”
But this was probably no simple coincidence. If Akiharukun
had figured out the truth, then it would make sense that
he could foresee his own death. And yet even knowing this, he
had let himself be killed all the same.
“I’d like to ask you some things, if you would come . . .”
“Before that,” I interrupted, “I want to ask you about
Akiharu-kun’s body. Do you mind?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 0 0
“Go ahead.” As if she could sense through my voice alone
that something was different about me, she made no objection.
“I’ll answer anything I can.”
“I just have one question. Is there another ‘x over y’ left
behind at the crime scene?”
“Yes,” she softly affirmed after a moment of silence. “But
this time it’s strange. We can’t say anything for certain yet,
but this time evidence suggests it was written by the victim
himself. Yeah. But why do you ask? Have you thought of
something? Did you figure out what x over y means?”
No, that wasn’t it.
I had already figured out the meaning of that formula long
ago. Or rather, at this point, it had no meaning. That wasn’t
the issue right now.
“No, that’s not it. Okay, so should I head down to the
police station later?”
“I’d appreciate it. What time is good for you?”
“This afternoon . . . no, this evening.”
“Okay, then I’ll—”
I hung up while she was talking. If I hadn’t, I would’ve said
something regrettable. I wasn’t so coolheaded myself right
now. I threw my cell phone at the floor with a violent force
normally unthinkable for a guy like me.
“Hey now, what are you doing?” Zerozaki said in surprise.
“Are you crazy? Don’t throw your phone. Look at the poor
thing.”
“This is what they call venting,” I said dimly. “That is, suppressing
your anger by taking it out on an inanimate object.”
“Yeah, I know that.” He picked up the phone, checked to
see that it wasn’t broken, and then put it down away from me.
“What happened?”
ZAREGOTO: THE KUBISHIME ROMANTICIST ■■■ 3 0 1
“Akiharu-kun was just murdered.”
“Ah, that’s, wow . . .” he said curiously as if impressed.
“That’s the third person, huh? Pretty hot stuff, whoever this
is. When’d it happen?”
“I don’t know when he was killed, but they just found the
body now. So the murder must have been between Wednesday
afternoon and this morning."
“Hmm. That’s quite the masterpiece. Three strangulations
in just ten days. That’s crazy. Ah, but I guess I can’t say stuff
like that. So what about the killer? Whodunnit?”
Zerozaki asked as if it was the most trivial matter in the
world.
I sputtered angrily. The killer? You mean the one who
killed Emoto Tomoe who killed Aoii Mikoko, who attacked
me in Kamogawa Park, and now has killed Usami Akiharu?”
“Who else would I mean?”
“It should be obvious.” I declared the name with such rigidity
that even I was taken aback. “Obviously it was Atemiya
Muimi.”