Ch.6Chapter 1. A Familiar Year (6)

In life, there are times when you just want to give up on everything and die.

When work becomes too hard. When relationships you’ve been holding onto disappear through no fault of your own. When even the hope you’ve been clinging to turns out to be something others are secretly mocking.

Due to the nature of my job, I’ve encountered quite a few situations where death seemed like a possibility.

Sometimes people said I did well, other times they called me reckless, but truthfully, I wasn’t diving into those situations out of dedication to the work.

After all, when you look ahead, all you see is darkness anyway.

I figured if I jumped into the fire pit and did whatever came my way, at least I wouldn’t die like a stray dog.

Even if I died, maybe others would mourn me.

Something like that, I think.

But I always ended up going into the middle of those scenes and somehow coming back alive.

Once I was actually in that hot place, facing fire that could scorch my face and cook my flesh, I’d think:

Fuck, I don’t want to die like this.

I don’t know why I felt that way.

So I’d jump back out, survive. Go back to the scene, dive in again. Jump back out.

And after repeating that pattern—it seems that’s how it ended.

…Is this my life flashing before my eyes?

My vision was swimming. I might have lost quite a bit of blood.

Honestly, it’s the same now.

I followed Miura here without knowing how to fight.

And even after sending Miura away, I was just helplessly taking the hits.

Underlying those actions was probably the thought, “I might as well just die.”

But once again, it happened.

When I found myself in this situation, I remembered the handful of sand I possessed.

I’ve been reborn into this world after all.

Right, I wanted to live abroad.

Come to think of it, I had quite a few places I wanted to travel to.

Yeah. Fuck, I can’t die in a place like this, not like this.

I’ll die naturally when my time comes anyway.

“Go, child. Go and cut. Please me.”

A voice whispered in my ear.

Clang.

The blood-forged sword fell to the ground with a metallic sound.

Funny that something made of blood would sound like metal. Then again, blood contains iron, so maybe it’s not so strange.

I put strength into my arm.

“What? What are you? What on earth are you?”

Good question, what am I?

As I caught my breath, I thought.

…Perhaps my soul has somehow inhabited something created by a higher-dimensional being.

Again, I don’t know why.

I wiggled my fingers, trying to move them.

No wounds.

Even at the center of the pentagram on my wrist that had been torn open, there was only pale skin. No, the top was stained red with blood.

The voice that had been ringing in my ears was no longer audible.

“Haa, haa.”

Exhaling, I bent down. With trembling hands, I picked up the red sword.

It seemed to be a Japanese sword, a katana. There are probably detailed classifications, but that hardly matters now.

“Are you trying to kill me? But when did you take that out?”

The amanojaku spoke to me.

“You’re annoying.”

That way of speaking is really shitty.

Don’t stretch your words with that phlegmy voice. It makes me want to kill you.

“But, you know what? You can’t kill me.”

Hehehe.

The amanojaku laughed.

I gripped the sword’s handle with both hands. I’d never learned kendo or anything similar, but having a weapon was better than nothing.

I’d just swing it like a club and see what happened.

“You, you, you, your blood didn’t taste very good. What are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmm, you don’t know?”

The amanojaku tilted its head.

“Can’t be helped then? But I can still call an exorcist. I’ll have to kill you.”

“Go ahead and try.”

The amanojaku laughed again.

Then without warning, it lunged straight at me.

The way it flew toward me without any preparation was grotesque beyond words.

Its mouth, split almost to its ears, opened wide, revealing teeth covering both the roof and floor of its mouth.

I swung the sword randomly.

“Keck!?”

The side of the amanojaku’s mouth tore further. Blood splattered. It was red blood, like a human’s.

“You!?”

Before the amanojaku could say anything more, I raised the sword and struck again.

“Ah, wait!”

Once.

“It hurts!”

Twice.

“It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! What, what are you!?”

Three times, four times, five times—

The blade was strangely sharp, and the sword didn’t catch on anything.

Even when the amanojaku opened its mouth toward me, I struck down. The sword embedded in its philtrum cut through its lips, gums, and carved a huge groove between its teeth. Pink flesh shredded as blood splattered.

When it reached out its hand toward me, I struck down. Fingers were severed. Though there should have been bones inside, the amanojaku’s arm cut like jelly. As it screamed and flailed its arm wildly, blood splattered onto me.

The ear-splitting screams gradually subsided as I continued striking. And by the time nothing could be heard anymore, the amanojaku’s face had become unrecognizable from its original form.

The face was still swollen. But where the eyes had been, where the nose had been.

What shape the mouth had been, how the teeth had been arranged.

There was no way to tell from this corpse.

Blood, fat, flesh—they filled the alley. On the walls, on the floor, on my sailor uniform.

Suddenly coming to my senses, I noticed the sun shining down from above. Sunlight that had strangely avoided the alley was now gradually shining through.

Slowly, smoke rose from the flesh pieces. Like they were evaporating.

“Uwup!”

And only then did I come to my senses.

I dropped the sword I’d been holding.

It wasn’t because of the corpse. More precisely, I couldn’t believe that I had created that corpse.

It wasn’t human… but still.

As the tension drained away, and the realization that I’d fought for my life hit me, my legs gave out. If I had died, it wouldn’t have just been death. I would have been chewed up and swallowed, with whatever remained of my corpse carelessly strewn about.

“Uwek.”

I vomited sour bile. Ah, all those expensive desserts I’d just eaten came pouring out. What a waste.

I collapsed to the side.

There was no strength left in my body.

“Kurosawa!”

I heard someone shouting from far away. A voice from outside the alley.

Miura’s voice.

Ah, Miura survived.

I stopped a serial killer. That thought occurred to me.

The last thing I saw was a girl and two adults appearing at the entrance of the alley before I lost consciousness.

*

When I woke up, I was in a hospital.

“Kurosawa?”

Miura, who seemed to have stayed by my side after I collapsed, called my name.

“…Miura.”

I said that as I tried to sit up, but groaned. My hand hurt. But looking at it, there didn’t seem to be any visible wounds.

“What happened?”

Miura asked worriedly.

“What happened?”

“When I brought the police officers, there was only you in the alley. The man who was there was gone.”

“…”

I looked down at my hand.

The sensation of striking with the sword wasn’t… clear. I remembered it, but somehow it felt distant, like a dream. It felt like when you wake up briefly in the middle of the night and then fall back asleep.

“Blood… was there?”

“On your hands, Kurosawa.”

On my hands.

There had definitely been blood splattered all over the alley.

…Ah, I see.

This was a description from the original work too.

Yokai corpses can’t remain in reality for long.

Yokai establish nests in reality to find “food,” and within those nests, they eat their prey and gradually expand their territory.

The nest is maintained by the yokai’s power, and when the yokai dies, the nest collapses. The yokai’s corpse that remains in reality soon evaporates without leaving any trace.

Blood, internal organs—anything that came from the yokai’s body.

But my blood isn’t like that.

I quickly felt all over my body.

I’m pretty sure if a normal person floated up to about the height of a two-story building, hit a hard wall, and fell, something would definitely break. I’ve seen people fall enough times to know that, even if I haven’t seen people fly.

But apart from feeling terribly tired, there were no injuries anywhere.

“Did that man perhaps…”

Miura said with a pained expression.

I was almost eaten. Literally.

But I couldn’t bring myself to say that.

I know what Miura is thinking. She’s probably worried that I was sexually assaulted.

There were yokai like “that” too.

But at least the yokai I met today wasn’t that extreme.

Knock knock.

As I was wondering how to respond, someone knocked on the hospital room door.

…Wait a minute.

This is a private room?

I hadn’t noticed while trying to assess the situation after waking up, but this was an extremely expensive-looking private room.

My heart rate began to rise rapidly.

How much does this hospital room cost per day?

Japan must have health insurance too, right? But does it not cover private rooms? Is it not covered by insurance?

The person who knocked didn’t wait for our response and opened the door.

“Miss Kurosawa— Ah, you’re awake.”

The person who carefully opened the door and entered was a young woman. About the same age as Teacher Suzuki? She was wearing civilian clothes, but something about her demeanor suggested she was police.

I’d never seen her in illustrations from the novel.

Behind her followed a sharp-looking man who also had that police-like aura. He looked quite young too.

“I’m sorry. It might be a bit difficult, but we need to talk about what happened today. Miura, could you step outside for a moment?”

“Ah, yes.”

Miura quickly answered and got up from her seat—then turned back toward me and gently placed her hand on my arm.

“Hang in there, Kurosawa.”

“…Yeah.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, I just nodded briefly.

Miura pressed her hand on my arm slightly before removing it, gave a small bow to the two police officers, and left the room, quietly closing the door.

“…Phew.”

The young woman exhaled like that before approaching me.

“May I sit?”

“…Yes.”

I nodded.

The woman carefully sat down and took out a business card from her inner jacket pocket.

She held it respectfully with both hands and handed it to me.

“I’m Tomoko Tatsumi.”

“…I’m Kotone Kurosawa.”

Since she suddenly spoke formally and gave me her card, I also stated my name as I received it. Seeing me do this, Tatsumi Tomoko gave a slight smile.

I raised the card to read it.

[Metropolitan Police Department Criminal Investigation Division Sex Crime Investigation Section 1, Tomoko Tatsumi (巽方知子)]

See, I knew it.

I felt a slight throb in my head.

Of course, since the opponent’s corpse didn’t remain, it’s not murder, and given that I vomited and collapsed at the scene, anyone would see it that way.

A man pretending to be injured lures a high school girl, isolates her, assaults her, and then flees.

That would be the logical conclusion.

“Well then, Miss Kurosawa.”

Tatsumi asked carefully.

“Do you remember anything about today’s incident? Even the smallest detail would help.”

“…”

I fidgeted with the business card, considering how to escape this situation.

I quickly came to a conclusion.

“I don’t remember anything.”

“I see.”

Yes, I’ll just insist I don’t remember anything. They don’t have any evidence anyway.

Since I wasn’t actually assaulted, it would be fortunate if they just assumed that’s what happened and moved on.

Tatsumi turned to look at the male detective with a troubled expression, but she seemed to decide it wasn’t good to press further.

“Then, if you happen to remember anything, could you contact me using the information on that card? Phone call, text message, email—whatever works for you.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

Thinking it fortunate that this ended without having to write a statement or anything, I nodded.

*

Very fortunately, it seems Miura’s side covered the hospital expenses.

Moreover, they brought me a school uniform of the same size I had been wearing. The uniform I wore yesterday had been scraped on the ground and stained with blood, making it awkward to continue wearing. I’m really grateful.

Since there weren’t any actual injuries, I hurried to check out the next morning.

The day before, Miura had suggested that I should rest for a few more days to monitor my condition, but I felt a bit sorry about that, and more importantly, staying too long might reveal the fact that I had no guardian.

I didn’t want to go to a shelter. Though my body was that of a high school girl, my mind was that of an independent adult male, so I thought it was better to be free even if I had no money.

Thanks to today’s incident, Miura was safe, but… unfortunately, this seems to have become quite a trauma for her as well.

Does she think this situation happened because she left me behind? Well, from a common sense perspective, that would be the natural conclusion.

“…Haah.”

As soon as I returned to my room, I carelessly threw my bag into the corner.

Unfortunately, there were textbooks stacked there without a bookshelf, so they toppled sideways, but I didn’t have enough energy left to do anything about it.

My body was fine, but my mental energy was at its limit.

I lay down directly on the bare floor and stared at the ceiling.

The snoring sound from next door that I usually heard at night wasn’t audible at this hour. Perhaps they had gone out to work.

“…”

I raised my wrist to examine it.

The pentagram was still engraved here. Even though it had been crushed when bitten by the amanojaku yesterday, and a wound had opened up in the shape of a pupil.

Not only was there no scar, but there wasn’t even a wound that needed treatment.

So… is blood flowing from here the summoning condition?

To create a sword, or to talk with that being called “She.”

I think I know what “She” is. It’s probably not a name but a pronoun.

In Japanese manga and animation, characters of high status often refer to themselves as “She,” so it’s not uncommon.

It indicates a being of that level of importance.

In a world where yokai appear, probably a yokai from overseas rather than a Japanese one.

I didn’t even need to guess where it was derived from.

Obviously, it’s the Cthulhu Mythos.

At the time, there might have been copyright issues, so the names were modified in various ways. Or maybe the author wanted to maintain originality.

“…”

Sleep wasn’t coming, but I might as well try to sleep.

There’s nothing else to do just lying here anyway.

*

For all my self-talk about not being able to sleep, I fell asleep surprisingly quickly.

What woke me up was the sound of someone knocking on the door.

“Huh?”

Wait a minute.

Who’s knocking on my door?

Doesn’t Kotone Kurosawa not have any acquaintances?

Looking out the window, the sky was getting dark.

Who would come looking for me at this hour?

Knock knock knock.

Since I had returned when the sun was bright, I naturally hadn’t turned on any lights in the room.

Although the sun hadn’t completely set and the light coming through the window had a faint blue tint, the entrance area, which was half-open, was horrifyingly dark.

Knock knock knock knock.

Someone knocks on the door again.

This is totally like the beginning of a horror story, isn’t it?

If it had been the sound of a doorbell like in a Korean apartment, it wouldn’t have been so creepy.

As I was seriously debating whether to go check or not—

“…Miss Kurosawa?”

A cautious voice came from the entrance.

“…”

This was… a familiar voice.

I slowly got up from my spot and went toward the entrance.

Click.

When I flipped the switch, the fluorescent light in the entrance/kitchen area flickered on.

And when I approached the entrance and opened the door—

“…Ah, Miss Kurosawa?”

The person standing outside was Teacher Suzuki.

“Teacher?”

I blinked as I looked up at Teacher Suzuki.

Teacher Suzuki also had a troubled expression in many ways. An expression that suggested she didn’t know how to interpret the current situation.

“…Would you like to come in?”

“Ah, thank you.”

Teacher Suzuki quickly entered the entrance, as if she thought I might withdraw the offer at any moment.

I closed the entrance door, locked it out of habit, and went into the room first.

Ah, I forgot to turn on the light.

When I flicked the switch, the fluorescent light in the room flickered on, just like in the entrance.

A single room of just a few square meters, with bean sprout and coffee bread plastic bags carelessly piled in the corner.

Books stacked without a bookshelf. Moreover, since I had carelessly thrown my bag when I entered the room, those books had now collapsed and were rolling around.

With no closet or anything, the cheap underwear and T-shirts I had bought were just piled on the floor.

…

I turned to look at Teacher Suzuki.

Teacher Suzuki, with an incredibly shocked expression, couldn’t bring herself to cross the line that separated the entrance from the room.

…Maybe I shouldn’t have let her in?

I thought belatedly.